Damnation

by Peter Beck

  ‘Winter?’ Al-Bader’s voice.

  ‘Yes, it’s me. How are you?’

  Beside him, Fatima turned around. Winter got out of bed and went over to the other room.

  ‘Fine. I’m at home. All peaceful here.’

  Al-Bader the younger wasn’t drunk this time. The vodka from St Petersburg had evaporated. He sounded relaxed. No background noises. Winter pictured Al-Bader nestled in oriental cushions, talking on the very latest model of mobile phone, in a large desert tent with handwoven carpets.

  Winter sat down naked on a chair, screwed up his eyes to drive away his sleepiness and heard himself say, ‘Are you in the desert?’ Privately he cursed his curiosity having got the better of him.

  Al-Bader didn’t resent Winter for having asked it, but remarked on the two different parts of his country: ‘Yes, out here in the desert I get an understanding of my roots. Much better than in our offices in Riyadh.’ He paused before adding, ‘Winter, you really must come and visit me some time. I’d love to show you my horses and falcons. And we can finish our round of golf.’

  No more word about the job offer, but an invitation nonetheless. Also no apology for calling so early in the morning. Saudi Arabia was three or four hours ahead of Switzerland. But Al-Bader looked to be one of those people who expected his staff to be on call twenty-four hours a day.

  ‘Thanks. I’d love to. How can I help you?’

  ‘I just spoke to Sheikh Baktar, and I recalled our last conversation.’

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘You wanted Pyramid Investment Partners’ project list, didn’t you? I found it. Where shall I send it?’

  ‘Oh, thanks very much.’ Winter was surprised.

  ‘We share the same goal.’

  ‘Have you heard anything from the other investors?’

  ‘I had a long talk with Sheikh Baktar and he told me that he met my brother shortly before the crash. Muhammed tried to persuade Baktar to vote on the board in favour of the special audit.’

  ‘Special audit?’

  Winter was wide awake.

  ‘Yes, clearly my brother suspected Farmer of having siphoned off money for himself. Only minor sums, a few million dollars.’ Everything’s relative, Winter thought. Al Bader continued, ‘He probably smelled a rat and wanted to get the other directors to agree to a special audit. Muhammed had lost confidence in Farmer and was considering getting rid of him as the administrator of the funds.

  That was a motive. But was it enough to kill someone?

  ‘Did you talk to Farmer, too?’

  ‘Yes, we spoke on the phone. He advised me again not to come to the States. Farmer said there’s still too high a risk that the American authorities would arrest me on a legal technicality. Now I’m no longer sure if that’s just his way of keeping me at arm’s length.’

  ‘What does he say about the criticism?’

  ‘I haven’t talked to him about that yet. First I want to see the documents my brother left behind and get a better understanding of the whole thing.’

  ‘When’s the next board meeting?’

  ‘I can call one any time. The next ordinary meeting is already scheduled for…’ Winter heard the rustling of papers, ‘September the fifteenth. In Riyadh, probably. I’ll be formally voted in as president.’ Al-Bader gave a short, scornful laugh. ‘This time Farmer’s coming to me.’

  ‘How well do you know Farmer?’

  Al-Bader thought for a moment, then said, ‘Not well. Muhammed was the one who did business with him. I only met him once, around six months ago at the George V in Paris. My brother introduced him as the man who’d open doors for us in America. We shook hands and exchanged a few words. That was all.’

  ‘Do you know why your brother put his trust in Professor Farmer?’

  ‘To my knowledge, Farmer has an outstanding reputation as a fund manager. My brother spent quite a while trying to find someone with the right connections.’

  ‘Did your brother find Farmer, or was it the other way around?’

  Al-Bader pondered this question then said, ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘But your brother convinced the other families to invest their money in Pyramid Investment Partners?’

  ‘Yes, he called the Baktars, and other families, and sold the opportunity to them. Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’ve heard rumours that Professor Farmer used to sympathize with extreme right-wing nationalists. They’re not exactly known for their love of people outside America.’

  Another pause while Al-Bader digested this information.

  ‘Are you saying that Farmer’s a fascist, who only set up Pyramid Investment Partners to get at our money?’

  ‘I’m not saying anything. But maybe Farmer hasn’t made himself rich, but has siphoned off money for extreme right-wing causes. These extremists need money too. They used to rob banks; maybe Farmer founded one for the same purpose.’

  ‘And I was thinking it was for rotten tax dodges or to get himself rich.’ A pause. ‘Where did you get this from?’

  Farmer, the wolf in sheep’s clothing, has been ripping off Arab sheikhs, Winter thought. ‘The NSA,’ he said.

  ‘Is their information trustworthy?’

  ‘Up to a point, but everyone always has their own agenda.’

  ‘I’m going to follow up these rumours right away. If they’re correct we need to act immediately.’

  Winter was sure that this ‘we’ didn’t mean him and he wondered who Al-Bader was thinking of. ‘Call me if you find out anything.’

  ‘I will, Winter. By the way, have you given the other matter any thought?’

  The job offer. ‘Yes,’ Winter said. ‘I’ve decided where it would be best for you to send the Pyramid Investment Partners project list. I’d be grateful if you could email it to me.’ He heard Al-Bader’s throaty laugh.

  ‘Winter, Winter. I’m coming to understand why my brother valued your bank so highly.’

  ‘Always at your service! I hope we can continue to be there for many more generations of the Al-Bader family.’

  ‘Enough advertising. You’re starting to sound like that von Tobler.’

  Winter gave Al-Bader his email address. They said goodbye. It felt as if his relationship with Al-Bader was gradually evolving into a friendship. Maybe he really would visit him in his desert tent.

  All of a sudden Winter felt he was being watched.

  Fatima had propped herself up on her elbows and was looking over at him.

  Impassively she asked, ‘What did he want?’

  ‘He wants to arrange a special audit so that Pyramid Investment Partners’ transactions can be checked by independent experts. Muhammed suspected Farmer of siphoning off money.’

  ‘That’s definitely a motive. Damn! I hope it’s not going to delay our Cairo project.’

  The email from Al-Bader pinged through. Winter opened the attachment. Four badly-scanned pages. Fatima slipped out of bed and sat beside him. On the little screen they studied Pyramid Investment Partners’ portfolio. There were handwritten remarks in an illegible scribble, a few items were underlined and certain investments had been marked with a highlighter.

  ‘Can you decipher this scrawl?’

  Fatima bent lower and shook her head. ‘No, not a chance. They look like abbreviations.’

  Winter enlarged the list and began studying the investments, by scrolling up and down. There were three sections.

  The first section was entitled ‘Financial holdings: listed companies’. It listed shareholdings in companies such as the German EON or the American Verizon. Amongst the thirty or so firms Winter spotted, two were from Switzerland: a telecoms company and an energy provider. After each holding was listed the value in US dollars and the percentage of the company owned. The shares were in the thousandths. A number of asterisks referred to footnotes in small type that were impossible to make out on the grainy scan.

  The second section contained roughly fifty direct investments in businesses Winter had never heard of, many of
them with made-up names that sounded like they were related to new technologies, environmental protection and the internet. These firms weren’t traded on the stock market but in private hands. In this section the share of the business owned by Pyramid Investment Partners was substantially higher, ranging between seventeen and one hundred per cent.

  Winter found three Swiss firms. Pyramid Investment Partners owned one hundred per cent of TheNewEnergy AG and had large shares in two other Swiss companies: Secer AG and TraPoCom GmbH.

  Investments in the tens of millions, which was rather small fry given the entire picture. Winter didn’t have a clue what these businesses did. Overall Pyramid Investment Partners had made direct investments across the whole world, although the focus was clearly on America, followed by Europe. What had Al-Bader said about Farmer? ‘The man who’d open the doors for us in America.’

  ‘There!’ Fatima exclaimed.

  She pointed at Orafin in the third section of projects. Two to three hundred million. But no percentage share. Negotiations hadn’t yet been concluded. In the ‘in charge’ column stood Muhammed Al-Bader’s name. He was responsible for this project.

  Someone had marked this project with a hand-drawn arrow. Sheikh Baktar was in charge of the fibre-optic projects in Dubai and Philadelphia.

  ‘Interesting,’ Fatima said.

  ‘Yes, something von Tobler could only dream of.’

  Farmer and his people had been busy over the past few years. In terms of value the shareholdings and direct investments were evenly matched. All in all, the portfolio included investments in the tens of billions. With the professor’s help the families around Muhammed Al-Bader and Sheikh Baktar had accumulated a vast fortune inside the pyramids. In the funerary chamber.

  AUGUST 7 – 06:12

  Going back to sleep was out of the question now. Peering out of the window, Winter saw the first modest rays of the sun. It was going to be a lovely day. Good for flying. The most successful account managers and a few clients were going tandem paragliding with experienced pilots. Winter knew a few account managers whose nerves would have kept them awake most of the night.

  The man with the green Land Rover had got up even earlier.

  Winter braced himself for a long day. A schedule of duties. Känzig had called a coordination meeting for seven o’clock. Winter ordered breakfast in the room: tea for Fatima and a pot of coffee for himself. When he came out of the shower, Winter saw that Fatima had made herself comfortable with breakfast in bed. He sat beside her with his tray.

  ‘I haven’t even asked you. Did you sleep well?’

  She spread butter onto a roll and said, ‘Yes, the hike, the fresh air and the massage in the spa while you were out last night did me the world of good.’

  Winter took his first sip of coffee for the day, ate a croissant with jam and said, grinning, ‘There’s a visit to an old military bunker on the programme for this morning. Would you like to go?’

  ‘Why should I be interested in military bunkers?’

  ‘It’s living history. Before the Second World War mountains were hollowed out completely. If Hitler had invaded with his tank divisions, the army would have withdrawn to the bunkers and defended Switzerland against the superior force of steel.’ Holding his croissant jokingly to his chest he lowered his voice, ‘Till the last drop of blood.’

  ‘What about the women and children?’

  ‘No idea. It never got that far. The Nazis got enough without taking possession of Switzerland.’

  ‘But what am I going to do in a bunker?’

  ‘Many of the tunnels in the mountain have been sold by the military over the last few years. Today we’re going to visit a firm who’ve bought one of these bunkers and maintain servers in them. Tradition meets cutting-edge technology. Dirk, our head of IT has organized the visit. We secure our data there.’

  ‘What else is on offer?’

  ‘Well, if you joined the ladies’ programme you could go on a hike with a suntanned mountain guide and admire rare plants.’

  ‘I’d rather stick with you and the bunker.’

  Fortified, Winter entered the small conference room in the hotel basement at 06:59. Känzig and Helfer were standing in one corner, talking in hushed tones. Baumgartner, the liaison man for the financial group, was sitting red-eyed at the table with a pile of printed out emails in front of him.

  ‘Morning.’

  His colleagues muttered a greeting and nodded to Winter. Hodel shook his hand.

  ‘Fighting fit? The Russians are hard to drink under the table, aren’t they?’ His laughter lines doubled in number. Hodel had seen him drinking with the plumber from St Petersburg yesterday evening.

  Winter quoted a phrase from the bank’s mission statement: ‘Every client receives a personal service tailored to their individual needs.’

  Hodel merely raised his eyebrows.

  Känzig clapped his hands. ‘Morning, everyone. Right, the quicker we start, the quicker we’ll be finished.’

  They sat down.

  ‘Schütz just called me. He can’t come. But he said that he’s done a poll of colleagues and established that our clients are no longer mentioning the minor incident.’

  So the helicopter crash caused by an incendiary device that had claimed the lives of Anne, Al-Bader and Strittmatter had shrunk to a minor incident and soon would be forgotten altogether.

  The table was round and covered with several layers of white linen tablecloths, some of which reached the floor and hid wobbly legs.

  Fortunately, someone had brought coffee.

  The liaison man poured it.

  Inside this windowless room the men felt cramped. They couldn’t stretch out in their habitual manner and mark their territory on the table with notepads, folders and devices. Baumgartner had lined up two mobile phones and a tablet in front of him. Känzig delineated the left-hand boundary of his personal space with a heavy bunch of keys, the right-hand one with his mobile.

  Hodel and Winter were the only ones without any items on the table, while Känzig rested his elbows on it and was holding a smart, fountain pen horizontally between the fingertips of both hands. He looked around the table and jutted out his chin. ‘Update?’

  Helfer said, ‘The crash isn’t a media story any more. Over the last few days the incident hasn’t been mentioned in the print media or online. The shooting in Geneva,’ he continued, frowning at Winter, ‘is only a story in Western Switzerland, although the name of our bank isn’t mentioned. We’ve been able to steer the issue towards the question of how much money the public purse should spend on security for rich tourists in Geneva.’

  He gave a narcissistic smile, ran a hand through his pomaded hair and sneered, ‘Thanks to the excellent relations we have with the Geneva authorities, our colleague Herr Winter was referred to as a personal bodyguard.’ The pretty boy was good at presenting ideas that he hadn’t thought up himself. ‘That sort of security is quite normal in those circles, so no connection has been made to us, at least not yet.’

  ‘Excellent.’ Känzig turned to Winter. ‘And I’d be grateful if you’d let us know if you intend take this further. Personal bodyguard.’ Känzig laughed. ‘That would be a career move.’

  ‘I’ll bear it in mind,’ Winter said. ‘Al-Bader would definitely be a good boss.’

  Hodel mediated. ‘Now, gentlemen.’ He only had to raise his hands briefly and the squabbling ceased.

  Helfer wasn’t done, however; he was bursting to continue with his commentary. Winter eyed the group of tired men. Five minutes and a whole lot of hot air later: ‘… overall,’ finished Helfer, ‘I get the impression that our communications strategy based on containment has worked well from the outset and we have the situation under control. People are quick to forget.’

  ‘Winter?’

  Winter didn’t have the slightest intention of telling these men about yesterday’s attack, nor was he going to articulate his thoughts about the events of the last couple of weeks. His warnings of a
connection between the murders and the bank had fallen on deaf ears and Känzig’s strategy was clear. He wanted to sweep the incident under the carpet as quickly as possible and get back to normal. Winter restricted himself to a brief summary of the facts, which would be in the police report anyway.

  Turning to the liaison man, Känzig asked, ‘Any observations from the financial group’s point of view?’

  ‘No.’ Baumgartner looked ghastly. His voice was hoarse, his face as white as a sheet. He’d probably drunk too much yesterday and now was feeling the effects. Served the son of a bitch right.

  ‘Thank you, gentlemen. On the basis of what you’ve said and if nobody objects…’ – a quick glance at Hodel, who didn’t stir – ‘… I conclude that we can put this sad incident aside and turn to address more important matters.’

  Känzig looked at his watch. ‘Thirteen minutes. Not bad. Must be the early start. Hope you all have a lovely day.’ He flipped shut his folder and stood up.

  Staying seated, Winter poured himself another coffee and watched Känzig point at the liaison man and ask whether he could spare another five minutes. Helfer was the first to leave. He was responsible overall for the annual conference and in no danger of being bored today. Känzig placed a hand on the liaison man’s shoulder and guided him to the door.

  Winter was about to put the pot down when he noticed that Hodel was still in his seat too. With his chiselled, inert features he reminded Winter of the Sphinx. He lifted the pot again. ‘More coffee?’

  ‘Love some.’ Winter poured him a cup.

  ‘Do you think the bank is out of this mess?’

  ‘Maybe.’

  ‘No mole? No accomplice under our roof ?’

  ‘I don’t think so. I expect Al-Bader must have unintentionally shared his travel plans with the murderer or murderers.’

  ‘Now you’re making me curious.’

  Winter told Hodel about the rumours concerning Professor Farmer’s past.

  ‘Yes, Josef once mentioned something along those lines.’

  Winter voiced his suspicion that the professor was using the opaque private equity vehicle of Pyramid Investment Partners to pilfer money from the enemy’s pockets. ‘Muhammed Al-Bader got wise to Farmer’s tricks and arranged a special audit. To preserve the cash cow, Farmer saw no other option than to get his chairman out of the way.’