The Magician's Accomplice

by Michael Genelin

  “I’ll stay here just long enough to get the answers that I need. You know why I’m here?”

  “About the phone bomb that killed Peter Saris?”

  “I have a few questions for you.”

  “I talked to Investigator Elias.”

  “And you were very cooperative. Unfortunately, he’s not here to fill in the gaps in his reports. The morning the bomb went off, were you here at your regular time?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did anyone visit him that morning?”

  “The attorney general, but very briefly.”

  “How briefly?”

  “No more than five minutes. They didn’t need me, so I stayed at my desk. They talked, and then the attorney general left.”

  “It seemed like it was a cordial conversation?”

  “They were even laughing at one point.”

  “The night before, when you left, was the office locked up?”

  “I didn’t have to lock the inner office. Mr. Saris was still here. I did lock the outer door. We kept even the janitors out because of the sensitive nature of the reports we had in the inner office. He could open both doors from the inside if he had to. He told me he had worked all night when I came back in the morning.”

  “The outer door was still locked when you came in the next morning?”

  “Absolutely. As you know, he spent the night in his office sometimes. And he did so that evening. He hadn’t even shaved yet when I came in.”

  “Let’s talk about the afternoon before the day of the bombing. I assume there were visitors?”

  Angelika reviewed a desk ledger, then swiveled it around for Jana to read.

  “All visitors have to sign in.”

  Jana examined the book. Three police officers had come in together, and apparently left together. Jana knew all of them. Nothing that she knew about them would cause her to suspect that they had planted the phone bomb. Their conference with Peter had lasted approximately two hours. There was only one other entry, immediately after the officers had left. The scrawled signature was undecipherable. So was the address and phone number. The agency the man was representing was also scrawled on the page, but had been made legible by a ballpoint overwrite. It said “Europol.” Jana now knew where the bomb had come from.

  “Do you know who overwrote the word ‘Europol’ on this entry?” Jana asked.

  “I did. I knew he came from Europol. When I saw the scrawl, I felt we should at least be able to tell what agency he came from by looking at it. I wrote ‘Europol’ over his scrawl. It would be illegal to overwrite his signature. I left it alone.”

  “Did the man give you a name?”

  “He said it very fast, and my English is very bad, so I can’t even guess at what he said. Mr. Saris came out and took him into the inner office as soon as he came in, so I never was able to get him to rewrite the name.”

  “Peter was expecting him?”

  “He appeared to be.”

  “Did Peter ever leave his office while the man was still inside?”

  “For a short while. Peter had been drinking coffee with the officers for two hours and, you know, coffee goes right through you, so….”

  “He went to the toilet?”

  “Yes.”

  “Leaving his visitor alone in the office?”

  “Yes.”

  “Just one more question: can you describe the man who came to the office?”

  “I told you he spoke English. He was broadly built. A little bit too heavy, his belly getting too big for his belt.”

  A picture of Aidan Walsh began to materialize for Jana.

  “The only other thing I can think of was that he was eating a candy bar when he came into the office.”

  Aidan Walsh.

  He had killed Peter.

  Chapter 43

  “Oil” plus “insurance” were the two words that kept popping up in her analysis. Jana didn’t yet know the questions to ask about oil, so she focused on insurance. Despite the fact that Fico’s insurance-investigation firm was international in scope, it was headquartered in Vienna. Austrian firms also handled a lot of the big-money insurance transactions in Bratislava, with the biggest of them headquartered on Hlavne Namestie near the Japanese embassy, so Jana headed in that direction, with Seges protesting all the way.

  “Do you have insurance?” she eventually asked him.

  “I’ll get it when I’m older.”

  “You need it now to take care of your wife and children in case the colonel kills you. The Austrians will come up with a good policy. Think of the security your wife will have. Then again, if you complain to her like you complain to me, maybe having insurance will be another reason for her to get rid of you.”

  “That’s not funny, Commander.”

  “It’s not meant to be.”

  They parked near Hlavne Namestie, walked past the embassy, then went into the building that had a gold plate on the side of the door advertising “Hayden-Schoenbrun-Weyl” with no other explanation. The organization evidently had the hubris to believe that if you came to them, you already knew what they did. Jana and Seges left Vesely at the front door looking formidable, then took the stairs up one flight to the first of the firm’s two floors. The receptionist hesitated about announcing them. But a police commander demanded respect, and, at Jana’s request, she called one of the senior agents to the front. His name was Ernst, a very polite middle-aged man, balding, patting his vanished hair into place, but still with a bit of salesman’s charm. He led them back into his office, where the main feature was a huge antique desk which Ernst sat behind, relieved to have a barrier between himself and the police. Jana explained they were there to obtain information which might aid in an investigation.

  Ernst spoke Slovak with only a slight accent. “We always cooperate with the police, if we can, so it’s a pleasure having you here. How can I help?”

  “I need to know about insurance.”

  Ernst looked a little amused. “We rarely insure private individuals; only on occasion, as a favor to corporate client executives, so if that’s why you’ve come, we can’t help you.”

  “I’m not interested in insuring myself.”

  “Yes?”

  “Did you know a man named Fico?”

  He looked surprised at the mention of the name.

  “I’ve just this morning heard that he had died. Murdered. Horrible. Mr. Fico was well known in the business. Very well thought of. A good investigator. We used him and his firm a number of times. They did good work. Is his murder the reason you’re here?”

  “Mr. Fico was in Slovakia recently. Did you know why he was here?”

  “Not on our business. And we’re not personal friends, so he didn’t contact me when he came to Slovakia.”

  “Can you find out which firm he was working for when he came to Slovakia the last time?”

  Ernst shrugged. “I prefer not to. We’re not supposed to track the business of rival firms, Commander. It might look like we’re trying to undercut them or to steal their customers. We take pride in our own ability to service our clients without having to poach on other firms. Our clients come to us.”

  “I’m happy to hear that. However, I’m not concerned about the fees or profits or incentives to sign with any given insurance company: I’m just interested in the names of the companies he was here on business for. So, it’s just a small favor that the police are asking of Hayden-Schoenbrun-Weyl. Surely you can accommodate us. And if and when you need the help of the police, well, you will have built up a reservoir of good will which you can call on. We remember favors owed.”

  He looked at her a long moment, then smiled broadly.

  “We have had long, good relations with the police in Slovakia. And we do try to keep track of trends,” he said vaguely. “So, perhaps this one time I can get you the information you need.”

  “I’d appreciate that, Mr. Ernst.”

  He stood up, bowed, and walked out of the office.

 
Seges eyed the office fixtures, then the antique desk.

  “I should have been an insurance salesman instead of a police officer.”

  “I agree with that, Seges. You might even have made money.” Jana could not resist the jibe. “Although I doubt it.”

  “Why not?”

  “You need a little charm to succeed in business.”

  “My wife thinks I’m charming.”

  “No, she doesn’t.”

  “She’s told me that I’m charming.”

  “All wives lie to their men.”

  The two of them sat in silence until Ernst returned. For a man who claimed that his firm did not track other insurance companies’ business, he was back very quickly, a few sheets of paper in his hands.

  “I seem to have been lucky,” he announced. “One of my associates has been researching the area of reinsurance in Slovakia and, it so happens, Fico was in the country investigating a number of policies that my associate was aware of. We don’t know the purpose of the investigation. However, I brought a list of the companies.” He handed the papers to Jana. “You can keep these.”

  “Thank you, Mr. Ernst.” She skim-read the list, then looked up, puzzled. “Can you explain what reinsurance is?”

  “Of course.” He steepled his hands, preparing his lecture. “Reinsurance is a means by which an insurance company can protect itself against the risk of losses by sharing the risk with other insurance providers. It allows the company to assume greater individual risk than its own assets would safely allow. It’s a hedge strategy. Most of the time it’s a strategy of surplus relief reinsurance, generally on a quota share basis, with many other insurance companies covering fractions of the loss over and above what the main insurer is covering.”

  Jana leaned forward, nodding her head. “So, if an insurance company can only afford to pay out, let’s say, a hundred million euros on a policy, it reinsures for the surplus that may have to be paid over that to cover the complete loss.”

  Ernst beamed. His pupil had understood his explanation.

  “And is that what happened here?” Jana prodded.

  “I would think so, because of the multiple insurance companies involved.”

  Jana ran her eyes over the sheets of paper Ernst had given her. The main policy was for 50,000,000 euros. She did a rapid computation. The sum total of all the insurance policies was 180,000,000 euros.

  “A large sum of money,” Jana hazarded.

  “For some things; not for others,” he agreed, pride in his voice at being in a business that dealt with such huge sums.

  “What kinds of things would they insure?”

  “Loss from earthquake, hurricane, flood, fire, this kind of thing. It’s really for catastrophic events that are going to completely or substantially destroy the item being insured; a building project of huge proportions, for example.”

  She checked the pages Ernst had given her.

  “There’s nothing on here to indicate what is insured, just the sums of the policies and the insurers. What was insured?”

  “My colleague didn’t have that information. You can find out, once you get through their red tape, by asking the insurance companies that are listed. Given the position you occupy on the police force, I assume they would check with their upper management and, if the policies are not on a confidential list, you could probably find out in a few days.”

  “A good idea,” suggested Seges.

  “Not such a good idea,” Jana countered. “There are still people out there trying to kill our illustrious Colonel Trokan, trying to kill me, and kill anyone else that they think may be trying to stop them from whatever it is that they’re doing. I’m not sure I have a few days.”

  Ernst looked shocked.

  “Someone is trying to kill you? The mafia people on the train?”

  Jana didn’t answer, countering with another question.

  “Some insurance companies specialize in insurance for certain industries. Do any of the ones on this list focus on certain events or certain goods, or crops, or buildings; or the like?”

  She handed back the list. He went over the names of the insurers. She got up, going behind him to look over his shoulder as he ticked them off.

  “Earthquake for this one, so they’re into structure insurance. This one also. That one also insures against earthquakes, generally focusing on geographic areas that are high-risk. They can charge exorbitant premiums that way. These two write petroleum insurance; for example, if an oil field catches fire and burns up. The other three are generalists. They all seem to specialize in reinsurance, which is less risk for them because they bet that the prime coverage has covered enough of the risk so that their liability will not be involved. And they all handle types of insurance other than those I’ve indicated when it’s profitable; we all do.” He handed the papers back to Jana.

  “Thank you, Mr. Ernst. You’ve been very helpful.”

  “My pleasure, Commander.”

  Jana shook Ernst’s hand, and he walked them to the door of his office. He waved before closing his door behind them.

  “Did we get anything?” Seges asked.

  “Not enough.” They passed the front desk and began walking down the stairs. “Peter got on to whatever it was, and so did Kroslak. The student who was killed understood it based on the old report that he found.” She lightly slapped the side of her head. “But nothing is coming to this brilliant mind of mine.” Vesely fell in behind them as they walked to the corner, turning in the direction of their parked car.

  Jana saw a small magazine/newspaper store across the street. The owners had pasted news headlines cut out from old newspapers in an artistic pattern in the window to call attention to their business. One of the headlines, almost dead-center in the window, proclaimed the nationalization of the oil field in the Tatras. The headline reminded Jana of the report the customs man had sent to Peter about the oil company shipping used equipment into Slovakia for work on the oil field, and then settling the complaint when they probably could have avoided any taxes if they’d fought.

  A drawer in her mind suddenly opened up to disclose its contents. She knew the answer.

  “Keep walking to the car. I’ll catch up with you!” she yelled at Seges. She jogged back around the corner, running even faster to the building housing Hayden-Schoenbrun-Weyl. Inside, she took the stairs two at a time, running past the startled receptionist and down the corridor to Ernst’s office, plunging inside without knocking.

  Ernst looked up, startled.

  “Mr. Ernst, would any of the insurance companies cover the loss by the company which had been awarded the contract to develop an oil field—I mean the total cost of development—if the field was nationalized? The prime minister has just nationalized the oil deposits in the Tatras and taken them away from an American oil company. Would insurance policies cover the loss to that company?”

  He was still gaping at her.

  “Can you answer the question, Mr. Ernst?”

  “Insurance can cover anything, Commander.”

  Jana smiled. She had reason to smile.

  The pieces had come together.

  Chapter 44

  Jana was surprised. She and Seges were getting along better, like two old people who had fought their way through life’s wars and were now, at least, acceptant of each other’s idiosyncrasies, tolerating each other’s ways with minor irritation rather than anger. Sitting around a small apartment, waiting for the telephone call that never comes, is hard, but there was no alternative. So they each selected one half of the living room and stayed there, staring at the ceiling, making small talk only when required by some exigency like eating or sharing the newspaper. Silence was golden.

  In the early afternoon, Jana’s cell phone rang, jerking them both to attention. It was Trokan. Thirty minutes later, they were all in the central city area walking a wide circular route east on Panska and then Laurenska, turning right at its end onto Gorkeho and then west back to Rybne Namesti, and then aro
und the circuit again. The procession was strung out, with Seges, Vesely and Trokan’s bodyguards stretched out behind them like a comet’s tail. A light snow was falling, gradually getting heavier. Their footprints started to remain on the street when they passed. All of them were in uniform, wearing their greatcoats, looking faintly sinister to the pedestrians who increased their pace as they went by. The public had not lost its fear of the police, the dread still clinging from the communist era, although it had diminished slightly in the past few years.

  A car splashed by, spraying slush on the sidewalk, causing Trokan and Jana, to jump out of the way. “That man has no consideration for pedestrians.” They walked on. “I hate the snow. Too many accidents,” a dour Trokan announced. “People ought to stop using cars.”

  “Would you give up your vehicle if it snowed?” Jana asked, knowing what the answer would be.

  “Of course not. I’m only talking about stupid drivers who have suicidal impulses, which means most people. I’m different.”

  “How are you different?”

  “Haven’t you noticed the insignia of my rank on my shoulder? I have been declared superior to everyone else. This is an apparent fact of which the Gods of Winter take notice. So, I would be exempted.”

  “I hadn’t heard of that. Did they hand down a decree?”

  “They talked to me directly.”

  “Perhaps you could put in a good word for me.”

  “I’ll think about it.”

  “Tell me what the interior minister said when you briefed him.”

  “I think he was struck speechless. For a while, I think he believed that I had gone quite insane.”

  “You convinced him otherwise.”

  “It took me a while. He read your report over and over again, just to make sure that the words would remain the same. I showed him the microfilm copies, the Romanian report, your narrative of the events, including the shootings on the train and all the other killings which your friends from The Hague seemed to be involved in. When I was sure he had completely digested everything, I told him about your ‘suspicion’ that the minister of economics was involved. That was when he started to choke.”