by Peter Beck
‘She didn’t say anything else?’
‘Just the usual: good evening, thank you and so on.’
‘What about Al-Bader’s security check, how was that?’
‘Routine. His papers were in order.’
‘Anything else?’
‘I know you shouldn’t speak ill of the dead, but I always get the feeling with these rich foreigners that they behave as if we weren’t there. This guy was polite, however, and didn’t make any trouble. But there are very different types. I could tell you…’
Then Ben turned around, and Heinz left his sentence hanging in mid-air.
‘Many thanks. You’ve been very helpful.’ Winter shook Heinz’s hand. ‘You’ve got a terrific eye for detail. If anything else occurs to you, even something tiny, I’d be very grateful if you would let either me or Ben know.’ Heinz gave a satisfied smile. Compliments were a rarity in his profession. They said goodbye.
Ben escorted Fatima and Winter out.
In the corridor, Winter asked, ‘Ben, have you ever heard of the TAA?’
‘Do you mean those nice rednecks, the True and Armed Americans?’
‘Precisely.’
‘Of course. Those lunatics are rising unstoppably through the rankings of the most dangerous groups out there. It’s just a question of time before they catch up with Al-Qaeda. A few years ago the TAA mostly consisted of trigger-happy village idiots who occasionally blew each other up. Now the TAA is far better organized. Under Bush they became acceptable amongst some high-ranking military figures and national–conservative intellectuals. And now they’re refining their skills with survival training in the desert.’
‘Shit.’
‘Exactly. The American security authorities have given me a few nice pictures for my album, amongst which are some TAA members. Their clean-shaven heads are simple to identify.’ Ben grinned, then turned serious. ‘Why do you ask?’
‘Our friend Meister thinks they’re behind the incendiary bomb.’
‘Christ. One thing for certain is that these sect members know how to blow something up.’
AUGUST 5 – 14:23
The drive to Bern was fairly silent. Although they’d only met recently, the two of them felt as if they’d known each other for ages. There was no need to make polite conversation. Fatima chose the same music that Winter had last played.
On the motorway she leaned back, adjusted her hair with a circular movement of her arm, and closed her eyes. Winter pondered space and time. In the silence they felt a connection. Then Winter switched off the music. Fatima stirred, sat up and looked around.
He ventured a sideways glance.
She blinked, rolled her neck and combed her shining hair with her fingers.
‘I propose we make a brief stop in the city centre for something to eat.’
‘Sounds good. I’m starving.’ She smiled.
‘Afterwards I’ve got to check something in headquarters. I’m sorry but I can’t take whole days off at the moment. I’m just an employee.’ Fatima looked sceptically at Winter and saw him grinning. ‘And tomorrow sees the start of the bank’s annual conference. In Interlaken. I’m going to have to show my face. As a client of ours you’re invited, of course.’
‘Thank you. I will place my destiny in your hands with confidence.’
That’s what Anne had done, too, Winter thought. He looked over at Fatima to see whether she was being serious.
She added, ‘So long as I’m in Switzerland. I’d love to go to the mountains. Up to the snow or, even better, a glacier. I’ve never been on one before.’
‘Well, I could offer you a rather nice glacier in the Bernese Oberland.’
‘Isn’t it cold there? I’ve only got summer dresses with me.’
‘No worries,’ Winter said. ‘In summer and with this fine weather we’ll manage. I can lend you a jumper if needs be.’
They left the motorway, wound their way around the one-way system and parked the car in the underground garage. When they emerged from the concrete they were in Bern old town.
The historic, sandstone houses were bordered on three sides by the River Aare. Winter loved his home town because it was a manageable size and relaxed. Sometimes, on the way to the office, he’d take a detour and wander through the cobbled streets and arcades, or through the fruit, vegetable and flower market.
Today they sat on the casino terrace, with its overhanging plane trees. Fatima’s eyes grazed on the lush green of the trees. ‘Beautifully cool.’
‘It’s bearable in the shade,’ Winter said.
They laughed, ordered two light lunches and began planning the coming days.
‘Can I visit the vault?’
Winter shook his head and said seriously, ‘For security reasons I’m afraid that’s not permitted. But of course we’d be happy to open a deposit box for you.’
‘Can I choose my neighbours down there?’
Winter was perplexed. ‘Why?’
‘I don’t want my valuables lying next to a dictator’s stolen gold. I’m very fussy about those sorts of things.’
Fortunately, just then the waiter came with the bill, allowing Winter to evade the question.
‘Come, I’ll show you the town.’
They strolled to the huge square in front of the federal parliament. Children skipped around, screaming in delight, running through the water features and trying to avoid the fountains that sprayed vertically into the air.
‘Underneath here are the Swiss gold reserves,’ said Winter. ‘Look, that’s the national bank. Can you see the house number?’
‘The national bank is Number 1?’ Fatima said in surprise. ‘Not the parliament?’
‘That shows you the priorities in Switzerland.’
‘And in a democracy, too.’
‘Money rules the world. Even in the Middle Ages we had the best mercenaries.’
A female minister crossed the square.
Winter nodded towards the woman. ‘Here comes our justice minister.’
Now Fatima was sure Winter was pulling her leg. ‘I don’t believe you.’
‘Our ministers even take the tram sometimes. In Switzerland, executive power is shared between a number of people.’
They walked across the flower market. He showed Fatima the Käfigturm with its mediaeval prison cells and large clock. Then they arrived at the bank. They arranged to meet again at six o’clock. Winter felt bad about letting Fatima explore the city on her own. He felt less bad when she told him with a grin what a shame it was that he couldn’t accompany her to all the clothes shops.
Watching Fatima vanish into the crowd, Winter studied the people walking behind her, but then decided against feeding his paranoia.
He climbed the stairs to his office, trying not to think about Fatima. An unfinished puzzle was awaiting him.
In his office, Winter listened to his phone messages as he started up his computer. A woman from Communications, whom he’d never heard of, wanted him to call back immediately to discuss the security measures in the contingency plans of the annual conference. Dirk was asking where he was and whether he’d like to come for lunch. Winter parked both messages and focused on the case at hand.
The first piece of the puzzle was the list of numbers from Schmitt’s mobile. Late afternoon was a good time to call the unidentified, anonymous numbers. Winter opened Skype on his computer, put on headphones and microphone, and dialled the first number.
‘Yes?’ a voice asked.
Winter assumed an affable tone. ‘Good afternoon, my name is Schneebeli. I’ve got some good news for you: you’ve won a great prize! Congratulations!’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘A few weeks ago you let us ask you some questions about your consumer habits. Today we picked a winner from all those who were kind enough to take part in our survey. The draw took place in the presence of a lawyer.’
‘I didn’t take part in any survey, and I don’t want to buy anything either.’ It was a man’s voice, guttural
and already annoyed.
A picture formed in Winter’s head of an unshaven alcoholic. He carried on regardless, ‘I’m not selling you anything, and I’m really sorry to disturb you, but it’s my job to notify and congratulate the winners, and send them their iPad minis.’
‘iPad?’
‘Yes, you’ve won one of the ten iPads in our draw.’
It took a little persuasion but eventually the man gave his address, Winter asked which finish he would prefer – white, black, or metallic – congratulated him again and said goodbye. Not bad for starters. He drank a mouthful of water then made his way through the list.
About every third call ended in a conversation, where the person on the line gave him their name and address. The prospect of a small gift worked. Bribery.
Another third of the numbers went to answerphone or voicemail. He didn’t leave messages, but noted down any names that were mentioned.
The final third brought Winter in contact with people who were decidedly curt. An elderly lady with a snooty manner fired obscene but imaginative insults at him. One man said Winter could shove his ‘iPad’ up his arse.
After an hour he gave up, pleased that he didn’t have to earn a living in telesales. His ears were hot and his friendly streak was all used up. None of the names got him any further. He’d call the rest of the list of anonymous numbers later.
Winter stood up, stretched and went on the hunt for another piece of the puzzle. Every child knows that the quickest way to complete a jigsaw is to start by finding the corners and then the edge pieces. His puzzle was more complicated, without edges and without a picture for reference. But time and space couldn’t be ignored.
Winter fetched a coffee.
Many people complained that everything and everybody was under surveillance these days: video cameras on every corner, dozens of access codes, passwords and IP numbers. As far as Winter was concerned, these made the bank more secure. Security was the prerequisite for trust. And trust was the bank’s capital.
Winter logged on to the bank’s access system that covered the doors with electronic locks. Employees could only open these with their security cards. All data was automatically saved. Precisely one minute after midnight the system generated a new folder for each card reader.
Scrolling to July 24, Winter opened the folder for the card readers of the Zürich lifts. The lift too could only be operated by the personalized security cards. Staff with a parking space could go down to the second basement level. A select group of employees with security level 3 were permitted to enter the fourth basement level with the deposit boxes and the vault. But almost all staff could access the third basement level with the heating, the archive and the stationery store.
The lift folder had nine subfolders. One for each floor. Winter opened the one for the third basement level. A list of personnel numbers and exact travel times filled the screen. A cemetery of numbers.
In the HR’s SAP module, Winter hunted fruitlessly for the names to match the numbers. After five, gruelling minutes he rang the HR department and got them to guide him over the phone to the employee roll. Winter thanked them, hung up and printed out the list. When Winter took the paper from the printer he was once again amazed at how many people were on the payroll.
Anne had not yet been deleted from the system.
At 19:19 she’d taken the lift down to the third basement level and gone up again two minutes later. Anne had been quick in fetching the box of chocolates noted in the file. Another piece of the puzzle.
Winter clicked further through the folders. Anne had opened the entrance to the Zürich branch at 19:10. This suggested she’d come by rail, as the trains from Bern always arrived on the hour in Zürich, and the bank was walkable from the station in ten minutes.
Eleven minutes after entering, Anne had left the bank again. The times confirmed what Frau Obrist had said. Winter wondered whether Anne had meant him when she’d talked about the fairy-tale prince.
Anne’s movements in time and space were growing ever clearer. Winter scribbled on a pad. First a bottle of whisky, then a Who? and a Where? Two questions remained to be answered. Who had given Anne the bomb disguised as Laphroaig? And where had the handover taken place? As he pondered these questions he shaded in the whisky bottle and went over the words ‘who’ and ‘where’ several times.
Then he checked his watch. The last thing he wanted was to keep Fatima waiting. At that moment his mobile rang. He must be telepathic after all. ‘Hello, Fatima.’
‘Found anything?’
‘Perhaps.’ A pause. ‘Where are you?’
‘In a changing cubicle. I just wanted to let you know I’m running a little late. A few Egyptian minutes.’
‘No problem. Found anything nice?’
‘Oh yes, you’ve got wonderful shops here.’
Winter didn’t have a clue about clothes shops.
‘But I’ve got to change a few things. See you later.’
He had time for his puzzle. Full of curiosity, Winter clicked through the folders for the card readers at headquarters in Bern.
Between five and six on the evening of July 24, Anne hadn’t left any electronic traces there. Where had she got her whisky bomb from?
Back with the folders for the Zürich branch, he started analysing the movements of other employees with the help of the personnel roll. Quarter of an hour later he muttered, ‘Interesting.’ Egyptian minutes had their advantages.
Max wasn’t late. About one hundred miles to the south of where Winter was sitting, he was driving a fully laden, four-by-four Land Rover. He’d bought the car six hundred kilometres to the west for cash. To make enough room for his cargo he’d flipped down the back seats.
The axles groaned under the load covered by a military tarpaulin. The Land Rover slowly climbed the single-track road that snaked through the mountain forest. Max consulted the 1:25,000 map on the passenger seat, then his mobile phone. The red dot wasn’t moving and there were four more hairpin bends to the meeting point.
AUGUST 5 – 20:15
Fatima was only half an hour late, ‘Five Egyptian minutes,’ as she emphasized. When Winter put Fatima’s shopping bags into his boot, he spied a box with heavy-duty mountain boots, and at the top a dozen chemical heat pads. A padded, winter coat bulged out of another bag. Bright green like a fluorescent marker.
He smiled. ‘Are you heading to the North Pole?’
‘No, but glaciers are made of ice, and ice is cold, right?’
‘Don’t worry. It’s summer.’
They left town via a rat run, and it wasn’t long before Winter took the scenic route. The sun was shining, and a quarter of an hour later they arrived at Winter’s little house.
‘Here we are.’
Fatima smiled and looked around. Green. It smelled of grass and cows. Winter fetched the bags from the boot and opened the door. Weighed down with the shopping they entered the low-ceilinged room. Fatima’s gaze fell on the huge bunch of flowers. ‘How beautiful!’
Winter silently thanked Frau Mettler.
He carried Fatima’s bags into the bedroom to find a puddle of water on the floor, which had spilled from a vase. Frau Mettler’s second bunch of flowers lay beside it; Tiger was stretched out innocently across the bed. Winter shooed the cat out of the room with a sharp word.
Fatima was standing in the doorway. ‘Winter, cats are sacred in Egypt. Watch out you don’t incur the wrath of the gods.’
Tiger rubbed up against Fatima’s legs.
‘May I introduce you both? Fatima, from the land of the pharaohs and the sphinx. Tiger, king of the local jungle.’
Fatima tickled Tiger’s neck. ‘You’re a spoiled boy, aren’t you?’
Winter pointedly ignored them both.
As well as courgettes Frau Mettler had also put some fresh tomatoes and a head of lettuce in the fridge, and Winter started preparing some food.
Fatima was impressed by Winter’s kitchen skills and seemed happy to be cooked for. They at
e with relish, spoke about Swiss barbecue culture, the melting ice of the glaciers and Egyptian farmers struggling against the encroachment of the desert.
Fatima stroked her hair behind her ears, put the last mouthful of courgettes in her mouth, and asked, ‘What proportion of energy production in Switzerland comes from water – white gold?’
‘I reckon we get about half our energy from hydroelectric plants. We have lots of reservoirs. These are our natural batteries.’
‘Very practical.’
‘Yes, so long as the dam walls hold.’
‘Our white gold is the water of the Aswan Dam. Unfortunately, it’s not enough.’
Both of them realized that they’d gone in a huge arc back to the Cairo power station. Winter got up and for pudding conjured up some frozen blackberries from his own garden. He served them, warmed in a bain-marie, with vanilla ice cream.
They watched the sun set and the blue sky slowly turn dark. Instead of pyramids, Winter had the crown of the Alps. Above it, threatening towers of dark storm clouds had formed over the course of the evening. As they each drank an espresso, the first flashes of lightning hit the water of the nearby River Aare, accompanied almost instantaneously by terrifying thunder. In the darkness, large drops of rain started to pelt down, but by the time the lightning came Winter and Fatima were too preoccupied to notice.
Early the following morning Winter disinfected his stab wound, laid some fresh gauze on it and re-bandaged his arm. It was another sunny day. Tiger had made himself scarce. His bowl was empty. Winter had given him a particularly generous portion the night before. Not that tomcats can be bribed.
His mobile phone didn’t show any urgent messages. The financial group’s head of security wanted to meet him at the annual conference. The communications department had sent him the conference programme.
Winter screwed up his eyes and tried in vain to decipher this on the small screen. There wasn’t a peep to be heard out of Fatima, and Winter crept silently to his car to get some fresh croissants.
Outside the bakery he bumped into the postman who handed him his post and the newspapers. A hedge fund of a large Swiss bank was being shut down by the authorities because of dramatic losses in its share price. The investors had lost ninety-five per cent. The fund’s speciality was leveraged investments in mining shares. Winter thought of Farmer and the different colours of gold: black, white, yellow.