He walked to the far end of this roof to the top of a fire escape.
Gagarin was probably already coming after him, after his blood. He wouldn’t stop to figure out who was innocent and who was guilty. People like him just struck out with their knives left and right, so their own throats didn’t get cut.
He saw that the fire escape descended into an interior courtyard, and he started to climb down.
Strangely enough, his heart, which had been so calm earlier, was now trying to beat its way out of his chest. He hadn’t been anxious jumping off the roof, but was sick with the fear that one of his hands would slip on a rung and he would go tumbling down.
Stanley thought that dying in a fall like that would be the best option. He imagined lying in a hospital bed under guard, paralyzed, pissing in a bed pan, with police and prosecutors visiting, and Gagarin’s thugs trying to get at him. The image amused him for some reason, and he clambered easily down the last rungs of the staircase and jumped onto the ground.
Chapter 45
He ended up directly across from the service entrance to the kitchen of a small restaurant. The gates leading out into the alley from the courtyard were locked. Just then, the kitchen door opened, and a Chinese worker came out carrying a large back trash bag.
“Can I help you, Herr?” he asked in surprise.
“I was in the bathroom,” Stanley replied, “and I got turned around on the way out.”
“It happens!” the man said with a smile.
He held the door open, pointing Stanley in the right direction. Stanley walked through the kitchen, then the dining room, and onto the street.
He turned right and soon came out onto Banhofstrasse next to the Chanel store.
Respectable white-collar workers streamed past him. A police car sped by, its siren on.
Stanley tightened his tie and walked along the right side of the street toward the train station. He had managed to escape from security and the police at the bank, but what now? Where could he go?
He had very little cash in his pocket, and he couldn’t use any of his cards or go back to his apartment. It would be best not to use his phone, either.
Cursing the triumph of gadgets over the human memory, Stanley sat at the table of an outdoor café and copied down some numbers from his telephone. He remembered Christine’s number, and he only needed a few others—Dillon, Monte, Lagrange, and, just in case, Durand, Biryuza, and Gagarin’s personal cell.
The waiter came over, but Stanley told him he would just have an espresso at the bar. The strong coffee gave him a boost. Stanley went to their restroom, washed his hands, and carefully examined his reflection in the mirror. With the black bags under his eyes and his haggard look, he was the spitting image of a long-term drug addict.
He winked at himself in the mirror, then took the SIM card out of his phone, dropped it into the toilet, and threw the telephone into the trash.
Stanley left the café and walked to the nearest side street. Small, cheap shops unable to afford the high-street rents lurked here, and he was looking for the shabbiest option. Luck was on his side; he found a hole-in-the-wall shop selling everything from cheap pens to discount laptops, which were arranged in stacks in the shop’s window.
Several minutes later, he came out with long-out-of-date cell phone. The owner had somehow sensed Stanley’s desperate need for the phone, and had jacked up the price. Stanley had haggled a little, but hadn’t managed to bring him down much. He’d had to part with most of his cash for the dark-red Motorola flip phone and a new SIM card.
As Stanley had turned to go, the owner, wishing to send him off on a pleasant note, had said, “That phone does have an excellent antenna, and the SIM card isn’t traceable. Have a good weekend, Herr!”
Stanley turned on Bahnofstrasse and continued toward the train station, even though his remaining money wouldn’t get him far, far away, which is where he wanted to be.
The first person he called was Christine, but she didn’t pick up. Operating his new phone with some difficulty, Stanley left her a message asking her to call him back. Then he called Frank.
“You learn quick, McKnight,” Frank said in place of a greeting. “You got rid of your old phone? Threw away the SIM card? Good work! And you absolutely must not use your bank cards. We know your accounts, and we’ll get you access to them a little later.”
“Okay,” said Stanley, “that’s good news. Now give me the bad news.”
“As you wish! We know what’s going on. That you were accused of stealing from the bank. We found out just after you were detained in the bank’s meeting room.”
“How, Frank? Do you have an informant? Surveillance?”
“Let us keep some of our secrets, Stanley. Just a few. So, they’ve loosed the hounds, and they’re tracking you. Two breeds—Swiss racers and Russian fighters. You can guess which is the more dangerous, but what you need to know is that I can’t help you on Swiss territory.”
“So you’re just abandoning me here?”
“Take it easy, McKnight! What I mean to say is, I can’t send an agent to rescue you. I don’t have one to spare, and I can’t stop the Swiss police. They’re happy to pin it all on you. You’re a perfect gift—a bit of revenge for the humiliations Swiss banks have endured from the American authorities in the past.”
“Could you cut to the chase, sir?” Stanley said, striving to put the maximum amount of sarcasm in his voice. “I’m not sure this is exactly the right time for a history lecture.”
“You’re right, you’re right, you know all about William Tell. I need to get you out of the country by any means necessary.”
“The point, Frank!”
“The Hyatt hotel, underground parking, a black Audi A-6, license plate 140388. The car will be unlocked, key under the driver’s seat, a mobile phone and envelope with a couple hundred euros in the glove compartment, and a parking pass on the passenger seat.”
“Two hundred! Is that all I’m worth to you?”
“Get moving! Don’t take a taxi, and remember: the Swiss police are the least of your problems—it’s Gagarin’s people you should be worried about. They’re already on your tail, McKnight, and as I said, I don’t have an agent to send you.”
Stanley walked down the block, crossed the street, and turned onto Pelikanstrasse.
He walked at a relaxed, measured pace. He remembered the sunglasses in his inside jacket pocket and slipped them on. Then he lit a cigarette.
He crossed a bridge over the river Limmat and walked along the embankment. There weren’t many other pedestrians; lunch hour was over and all the clerks and office workers had returned to their desks. Ahead, he saw two policemen walking toward him, a tall, heavy woman and a shorter man. They cast him indifferent glances as they passed on.
Stanley carefully put out his cigarette and tossed it into a trashcan, then stopped into La Stanza for another espresso before walking up the embankment to Dreikönigstrasse and turning on Beethovenstrasse. He saw the Hyatt up ahead.
He quickly found the car. As he approached, he heard the telephone ringing inside.
He sat in the driver’s seat and picked up.
“You weren’t exactly hurrying, were you?” said Frank.
“I stopped for a coffee.”
“McKnight, you’re too used to living the good life, and it’s going to get you killed. I’ve sent a dependable specialist to help you out. From Bern. He’s a problem-solver. Named Alexander. Drive to Wädenswil and wait for him in your car at the train station parking lot.”
“How will I recognize him?”
“He’ll find you. Be there in twenty-five minutes. Don’t be late! Get going!”
Stanley pulled out of the underground parking garage and turned right, then right again onto General-Guisan-Quai. His GPS suggested that he take Alfred Escher-Strasse onto the A3W, but he turned o
nto Mythenquai instead and drove along the shore of the lake. This route was a bit shorter, but often congested with traffic, and there were numerous speed limit signs.
Traffic wasn’t great, but things loosened up after Mythenquai merged into Seestrasse. The weather had taken a turn for the worse. Dark clouds covered the sun and it began to rain.
The Lindt chocolate factory flashed by on his left, and Stanley caught a sweet scent in the air. He checked the time and grew concerned that he was going to be late. He overtook one car, then other, honking to get the Mercedes in front of him out of the way, and stepped on the gas.
“I wonder where the speeding ticket for this will go?” thought Stanley, clenching his teeth as he got ready to pass another car. A half mile later, he passed two cars at once, flew into the oncoming lane, and swerved back just in time to avoid crashing into a bus. Only a couple of minutes until he was supposed to be there. He had to make it.
Stanley pulled into the Wädenswil train station parking lot twenty-seven minutes after leaving Zurich. The light rain had turned into a full-fledged summer downpour, slow and steady.
Stanley chose a spot a fair distance from the station, enough to see its doors and the tracks beyond. He shut off the engine, then rolled down his window and lit a cigarette. He tried to get in touch with Christine again. This time her phone was switched off, and he decided that she must be in the air already.
He smoked another cigarette, lighting it from the cherry of his first. His mouth was dry. He looked in the glove compartment, in the driver’s side door, under the passenger’s seat—and there he felt a plastic bottle. It was mineral water, and as he was drinking it gratefully, he saw over the top of the bottle a figure in a black trench coat emerge from the station and head directly toward him.
“And here’s Alexander,” whispered Stanley. He took another couple of sips, screwed the cap back on, and started the engine. He checked the instrument panel automatically and noted that the gas tank was nearly full. Several moments later, he noticed another two men wearing similar black coats as the first.
They were moving toward his car from the left and right, and when they got closer Stanley saw that they had short buzz cuts and Slavic faces, just like the guards he’d seen in Gagarin’s office and at his parties.
“That’s not Alexander,” whispered Stanley. “Shit, shit, shit! What am I going to do?”
The man who had come out of the train station reached the car first. The other two stood back. The first put his hand under his coat and took out a handgun with a silencer and tapped on Stanley’s window, gesturing for him to open the door.
Realizing it was too late to make a run for it, Stanley rolled down his window and glanced over at the others again—their guns were out as well, and they stood silently, one hand folded over the other, the rain falling on the black metal of the guns.
“Please step out of the car, Mr. McKnight,” the first man said in a Russian accent, smiling. “We’re not going to hurt you. We just got sent to pick you up. Some people want to talk to you.”
Stanley remembered his cigarette and brought it to his mouth. The long ash fell on his suit as he did.
“Ay-yi-yi, you’re going to ruin your suit. And smoking is bad for you. Come out, please!”
Stanley took a drag.
“Get out of the fucking car!” The man drew his hand back to hit the door with his gun, but Stanley heard a muffled click somewhere nearby, and a piece of the Russian’s forehead hit his suit right next to the ash.
“What the hell?” said Stanley, but the first click was followed by two more in quick succession and the man on the right fell, his face slamming into the fender on his way down.
Acting on instinct, Stanley crouched down in his seat, trying to slide to the floor, but his seatbelt prevented it. He heard a light clapping sound—Gagarin’s third man was shooting—but there was another dry click, and the last of the Russians fell onto the parking lot asphalt.
McKnight tossed his cigarette out the window, turned on the engine, and heard a knock coming from the passenger’s side window. Once again, someone was tapping the glass with a gun.
A girl was standing next to the car, in jeans and a dark-gray jacket, the hood pulled over her face. All Stanley could see were her narrow, dark eyes, high cheekbones, and full lips. He lowered the window.
“McKnight, right?”
“Yes, I’m McKnight, but who are you?”
“Open the door! I’m Alexander. Come on, open up!”
Stanley unlocked the door, and Alexander hopped in.
“Let’s go, McKnight!”
More Russians came running out of the building toward the car, and Stanley heard the sound of bullets slamming into the car with the rhythm of the rain.
“Are you awake?” Alexander swung back her hand as far as the narrow confines of the car would allow and slapped him across the face. “Drive! Drive, you fucker! They’re going to shoot us like a couple of rabbits!”
Stanley hit the gas then, coming to his senses. He shifted into drive and pressed the pedal down again, and the car jerked forward.
“I was expecting someone else…”
“A man? Rambo? And all you got was little old me,” said Alexander.
She reached out with her gloved hand for a handshake, but she was still holding the gun.
“Sorry,” she said, tucking the gun under her arm. “I don’t like silencers. They affect my aim. It’s not a problem to shoot from a meter away, of course, but still…”
“Where to now?” asked Stanley at the parking lot exit, amazed by how calm he was.
“Go left. We need to backtrack a little. And I apologize for running late—Swiss trains aren’t as punctual as they used to be.”
“No problem,” muttered Stanley.
“What was that?”
“I said, where are we going?”
“Kilchberg. Just ten minutes away. We should have met there, really, but never mind. It has one spot I’ve always loved there. We’ll do something there.”
“Really? Just like that?”
“Mister, I’ve had quick romances. But right away, after three corpses, with a complete stranger?”
“Well, it is the best way to get to know someone.”
“Indeed. But we’ve got something else on the agenda. So relax. We won’t be testing out your manhood.”
“That’s good, because I’m not at my best today, I have to tell you.”
Stanley glanced down and saw the piece of forehead from the man Alexander had killed on his jacket. He slammed sharply on the brakes, and the car behind nearly crashed into them but managed to swerve to the left.
“What happened?” shouted Alexander.
“That! It flew in the window. That’s a piece of his head! I’m going to be sick.”
“Like I said, you’re too easily rattled.” Alexander took the clump of skin, bone, and hair, and threw it out her window. “That was a nice suit! What are you waiting for? You want those assholes to catch up? They could. Drive!”
“What’s with your name?” Stanley asked five minutes later.
“My parents were hippies. I was conceived at the top of the Eiffel Tower, you see, and they named me in honor of the engineer who built the damned thing, Alexander Eiffel. That’s the name on my birth certificate—Alexander.”
“You’re lucky they didn’t decide to conceive you in the Trump Tower. Can I call you Alex? Alexander’s a bit too masculine.”
“I insist! That’s what everyone calls me. Ok, turn here, right here, a little bit further. Stop on that dirt road, right up. There’s an excellent view of the lake here. Keep going, keep going, right to the edge of the ravine, and…stop! Get out of the car.”
“Why?”
“Out!”
The view truly was superb. The light from the setting sun played across the wate
r, turning the white sails of a yacht flying across the lake’s surface red.
Stanley let out a deep sigh and looked around warily. What was Alex up to? I’m about to get a bullet to the head, thought Stanley. They don’t need me anymore, either. I’m just a burden. The flash drive is operational, information is coming, and they’d need to put a lot of effort into me. Well, go ahead and shoot, pretty girl. He squeezed his eyes shut.
“Do your eyes hurt?” Alex asked.
“No, I’m fine,” Stanley said, opening his eyes. “The view really is amazing, isn’t it?”
“I’m not a fan of all this fresh water. I like to swim in the sea, to come out of the water with salt on my skin. It’s good to lick off…”
“Yourself?”
“Sometimes, but I prefer a handsome man with a good body. Like you, for example. All right, get undressed.”
“Why? There’s no ocean nearby. I won’t be salty.”
“Listen, Stanley. Frank told me you’re a cocky guy, but for fuck’s sake, please just do what I tell you. I saved your life fifteen minutes ago. If you want to go on living, get undressed! And this is not a seduction!”
“Then why?”
“Do you only get undressed when you’re about to fuck? A real macho man. Get undressed! We have to get rid of your clothes.”
“Why?”
“To make sure we don’t have any bugs. They could have stuck them on you anywhere. You put them on other people in St. Petersburg. From a cigarette pack that Frank gave you? How many did you hand out? Ten? Two? Three? You think somebody else couldn’t do the same to you? They could, easily. Come on, we don’t have much time.”
Stanley took off his jacket, shoes, and pants.
“Goddamn it! Shirt! Underwear! Socks! Put your wallet here, I’ll check it. You have your passport? Put it here as well. Telephone. Okay, that’s the one you just bought? You can keep it.”
Stanley took everything off. He was completely naked and instinctively put both hands in front of his groin.
“Don’t worry. I’m not looking. Although you’re doing all right in that department,” Alex said. “Your watch!”
The Banker Who Died Page 44