Dark Ambition

by Allan Topol

  "How about a lot more?"

  "Same for me," Ben added.

  Mercifully, Ben's stopping to take a sip gave Jennifer a chance to absorb what he had said. His story sounded credible, but so had Terry on the phone that day.

  Ben seemed to read her mind. "I'm going to say only one more thing and then I'll shut up. I felt I was wronged, and I'm sorry I didn't push you harder to clear the air. But now I have. So can we forget it and start over?"

  Confused, she left his question hanging. She didn't know what to believe or what she thought. Assuming the worst, he had made a mistake and cheated on her with this old Berkeley flame. He was sorry. Should she have forgiven him? She loved him at the time. Still, she thought she had made the right decision. That was no way to start a marriage.

  Suppose he was telling her the truth now, which she was beginning to believe. He had still been self-centered and inconsiderate at the time. Not calling after Monday was just one example of that. They were engaged. He didn't care enough to call. She sighed. On the other hand, they had had so many wonderful times together. Was he different now? More thoughtful? She wasn't sure. She doubted it. "Life's not like that, Ben. You can't just pick up from a prior point years ago. A lot's happened to both of us since then."

  "Well, we can try."

  "We can't," she said emphatically, "because I need somebody who'll treat me as their top priority, regardless of what happens in the rest of his life. And I don't think you're capable of making that kind of commitment."

  He frowned, listening to her. There was something more on her mind than what she'd just said. "You're involved with someone else now, aren't you?"

  She had no intention of telling him about Slater. "That's not the point."

  "But it is. Who is he?" Ben snapped.

  "It's none of your business. Discussion closed."

  * * *

  At five minutes past ten that evening, Gwen stood in the shadows behind the statue of Thomas Jefferson watching the figure in the long black coat pace nervously in the dim light from the moon's reflection on the water of the tidal basin. The floodlights on the memorial grounds had been turned off at nine o'clock. GSA was trying to save money.

  Before climbing the stairs to the memorial, Gwen had searched the grounds in every direction. She had to be satisfied that no one else was there. They might be trying to kill her. She realized how expendable she had become. She was the only thread linking them to the Winthrop killing. In their shoes, she would have shot her in an instant.

  Still, she needed the meeting tonight. She had to know what they knew.

  She approached the figure stealthily, moving on the toes of her tennis sneakers. Then she threw a hammer-lock around the neck, evoking a scream. "Hey, what—" She tightened her grip and conducted a body search. There were no weapons, so she let go.

  "What the hell?"

  "Sorry, I had to do that. We're down to the short strokes now. There are no team players. It's everybody for himself."

  "Why did you want to see me? I thought we decided that you'd handle the rest yourself. No more meetings."

  "Something's happened. Ben Hartwell's gone to Europe. He's taken Jennifer with him."

  "Europe?"

  "Yeah, Zurich and London. Zurich I can understand. I'm dealing with that. But why London?"

  "Ben won't find anything in London. You can count on that."

  "What's he looking for in London?"

  "You don't need to know."

  Gwen reached into her pocket and slipped out the push-button stiletto. The blade shot out of the end. "I need to know everything."

  "Don't worry. London will be a dead end for Ben Hartwell. We're in this together. I have more to lose than you do."

  Gwen thought about what she had just heard. "I've taken out an insurance policy," she finally said. "I have a good friend in one of the intelligence agencies. If anything happens to me, he'll receive a letter explaining everything we did."

  "Nothing will happen to you."

  "Hartwell's becoming more of a problem than I would have thought. I have to be more creative in dealing with him."

  "You don't have to worry about London. I told you it'll be a dead end for him."

  "If London isn't a dead end for Hartwell, I'll kill you."

  She said it matter-of-factly, as if she were announcing that she had to get a cup of coffee. Quickly she turned and disappeared into the shadows.

  Chapter 22

  The Bahnhofstrasse, running from the train station to Lake Zurich, cuts through the heart of Zurich's most fashionable shopping area. Each side of the wide thoroughfare and its tiny side streets are lined with the most expensive designer shops from France, Italy, and everywhere else in the world. Mixed in with those shops are the main branches of a half dozen of Zurich's largest banks. And under the street, encased in steel and concrete, are vaults that hold gold ingots, row after row, piled high for nearly half a mile.

  The taxi Ben and Jennifer took at Zurich airport turned onto the Bahnhofstrasse at the train station and threaded its way slowly along the street in heavy morning-rush-hour traffic. A wet snow was falling with thick, heavy flakes. As the taxi stopped for a red light, Ben yawned and looked around. Off to the left behind the buildings he could see the Fraumunster, a thirteenth-century church, with its slender spire shooting up to the sky and its five stained glass windows, in their current version designed by Marc Chagall.

  What he didn't realize was that he and Jennifer had been followed from the minute they cleared Swiss customs by a sophisticated tag team, using cellular phones and several different cars to avoid being detected. Now a gray Mercedes was trailing two cars behind the taxi.

  From the airplane, Ben had phoned Jack Carmack to arrange a meeting. He suggested the restaurant in the Hotel Bar Du Lac at the far end of the Bahnhofstrasse. Low, heavy clouds hung over the lake, blocking off any view as they scrambled out of the taxi, under the hotel's canopy.

  Ben looked around the lobby and the dark-paneled hotel restaurant. No sign of Carmack.

  "Let's get a table," he said to Jennifer. "Jack must be running late."

  When they were seated and a waiter had deposited a pot of hot coffee, Jennifer asked, "Suppose your buddy Carmack doesn't show? What's plan B?"

  "Jack'll be here."

  "What makes you so sure?"

  "On the telephone, he perked up when I said I wanted to come over and have some fun with him like the last time. He really hates the people at Treasury. Says they think they know everything. They're always freezing him out."

  As tired as she was, Ben's enthusiasm was contagious. "What's he doing here anyway?" she asked, interested.

  "He's a CIA operative whose cover is an import-export firm. What he's looking for is financial crimes involving U.S. currency. It's one of the CIA's main missions in the post-Cold War era. Treasury should want his help, but you know how these interagency squabbles go."

  "I almost forgot how delightful working for the U.S. government can be. Excuse me."

  Jennifer got up to go to the rest room. As he watched her walk away, he thought, We've been in an airplane all night, and she still looks so striking. She had so much natural grace and elegance that even bankers looked up from their stock listings in the morning paper. She looks as if she's ready for a fashion show, he thought, while I'm here with a stubble of a beard, dressed in my rumpled gray suit, looking like I snatched an hour's sleep on an airplane, which I did.

  Ben sipped some coffee and looked anxiously toward the door and then around the room. It was about two-thirds full. To the empty table next to them the maitre d' led a good-looking, smartly dressed young brunette. She was in her late twenties, being followed by a tall, distinguished-looking man in a banker's blue suit and tie, who must have been at least sixty, Ben guessed. The man was wearing a large hearing aid in his right ear and carrying a copy of Le Monde. The woman began rattling on in French about something or other, maybe her shopping plans for the day, while the man half listened and ha
lf looked through the paper. Ben smiled. It reminded him of breakfasts he and Nan had had when he traveled with her on a few concert tours.

  Where the hell was Carmack? He began to worry. Jennifer had a point. What if Carmack didn't show? He hadn't even begun to formulate a plan B.

  Jennifer returned to the table a moment later. Then Ben saw tall, wiry Jack Carmack standing at the restaurant entrance, and he breathed a sigh of relief. Unless Jack had changed his routine, which Ben doubted, at night he was a rakish bachelor playboy. In the mornings he ran five miles every day, regardless of the weather.

  Ben was no longer watching the couple at the next table. He didn't see the man reach into his jacket pocket and adjust the buttons on the listening device he had hooked to his ear. By pressing a couple of buttons and aiming a tiny pointer at Ben's table, the man could drown out other noise, including that of his breakfast companion, while amplifying Ben's conversation.

  Ben introduced Jennifer, whose hand Jack held for a very long time as he shook it, exchanged a few greetings, and quickly said in a whisper, "I need your help again, and I can't use Treasury."

  Carmack looked around nervously. When he didn't see anything suspicious, he answered in a soft, barely audible voice, "You're going after another Treasury official?"

  Ben hesitated. He didn't want to lie to Jack. On the other hand, he wanted Carmack to have only minimal information. The names of Joyner, Donovan, or other top CIA officials hadn't surfaced yet in the Winthrop affair, but a foreign government was involved. From Ben's knowledge of how Washington worked, that meant there was a chance some of the roads ran to Langley.

  "We don't know yet. But it's not the Company," Ben said.

  That was good enough for Carmack. "What do you need?"

  "I've got an account number at Credit Suisse, Number Twenty Bahnhofstrasse. It's been used to fund illegal activities in Washington. I need to know whose account it is, as well as the source of any deposits into the account."

  Carmack frowned and rubbed his forehead. "Credit Suisse can be tough."

  "Suppose I were to go in cold to an officer at the top and wave my prosecutor's ID at him. Do you think I'd be able to get what I need?"

  Carmack smiled. "You've got to be kidding. No way. He'd laugh at you."

  "That's what I was afraid you'd say. Got any bright ideas of what I can do?"

  Carmack broke off an end of a croissant and spread some marmalade on it. He ate it slowly, thinking about Ben's question.

  "I've got a pretty decent relationship with Klaus Fenster, who's one of their top people. About as good as any non-Swiss national can have, which isn't saying a lot. But more important, he owes me for some information I gave him a month ago about a money-laundering operation in the Bahamas. It's a valuable chip. I'd be happy to talk to Klaus and see if he'll quietly give you what you want."

  Ben looked at Jennifer. "That would be great."

  Carmack pulled a tiny cell phone out of his pocket. "The Company doesn't know about this little beauty."

  Ben's German wasn't good enough to understand every word, but he got the idea. Jack had just set up a meeting with Klaus in fifteen minutes.

  "You're in luck," Carmack said. "He's in today, but I'll have to see him myself first. That's the only way Klaus will do it. That's best for us as well. You wait here for forty-five minutes; then go to the bank and ask for Klaus Fenster. I'll have everything wired. He'll give you the information. If there's a snag, I'll be waiting in front of the bank to stop you before you go inside. So if you don't see me, it's a go."

  Carmack got up and hurried out of the restaurant. The man with the hearing aid followed him a few seconds later, leaving behind the smartly dressed brunette.

  Ben should have been tired from the long plane ride, but he was feeling a surge of adrenaline. Suddenly very hungry, he ordered a cheese omelet. Jennifer picked at the pastries in the basket on the table. Ben glanced at his watch. It was going to be a long forty-five minutes.

  * * *

  It was five blocks from the Hotel Bar Du Lac to Credit Suisse. The snow was coming down more heavily. The sidewalk was crowded with people with raised large black umbrellas. For the first block Carmack let the snow cake on his hair. Then he brushed it off and slipped a navy Fila ski cap out of his pocket and onto his head.

  At the next corner, he stopped for a red light. This was Zurich, where the good burghers waited patiently for the light to change. The snow made him think of Christmas. It had been almost six months since he'd visited his widowed mother in Queens. She continued hanging on, living alone in an apartment and neighborhood that had deteriorated so badly that Jack pleaded with her to move out each time he saw her. But she was too stubborn to leave. He'd go back this year for Christmas for sure.

  The light changed to green. Still thinking about his mother, Jack was about to take a step when he felt something sharp enter his left side. In an instant his training told him that it was a knife, and it had struck a nerve. His mind told him that, but his body was powerless to react. He collapsed to his knees. Blood dripped down his side. His mouth was open. Only a low gurgling noise came out.

  As he fell, he heard a couple of people scream. That was the last he heard.

  * * *

  With typical Swiss efficiency, it took only twenty minutes for an ambulance to transport Carmack to the hospital and for all of the blood to be cleaned from the street. When Ben and Jennifer passed the same corner, after waiting for forty-five minutes as Jack had directed, everything seemed perfectly normal again. There was no indication that anything out of the ordinary had occurred on the Bahnhofstrasse that morning.

  They walked quickly to No. 20, the headquarters of Credit Suisse. Ben paused before entering the large gray stone building to look around. There was no sign of Carmack. It must have gone smoothly with Klaus, Ben thought, feeling happy as they climbed the stone steps. They were on the verge of a major breakthrough.

  Inside the bank, his good cheer quickly evaporated. To his surprise, it took Ben fifteen minutes of shouting Jack Carmack's name at three different receptionists and waving around his Assistant U.S. Attorney's ID before he and Jennifer were passed through a metal detector and waved into an office with large gold-embossed letters on the door that said, Klaus Fenster. Obviously, there had been a breakdown in communications. Klaus hadn't told the receptionists to expect them.

  The man behind the desk had very little hair on his head, but he had a thick and neatly trimmed brown beard sprinkled with gray, which emphasized his large red round face. When he stood up, Ben saw a portly figure punctiliously dressed, with a gold chain across his vest and immaculately manicured fingernails.

  Klaus left the door open and pointed to two wooden chairs in front of his desk. Through the corner of his eye, Ben saw two armed guards move into place at the entrance to Klaus's office. One of them was gripping an automatic weapon.

  What the hell is going on here? he wondered.

  He began talking slowly in case Klaus's English wasn't too good. "Jack Carmack came to see you this morning about—"

  Klaus cut Ben off. In halting English tinged with a heavy German accent, he responded, "Mr. Carmack never came to see me."

  "But I was there when he called you about an hour ago and arranged a meeting."

  "Ja, that is correct. However, he changed his mind. He never came."

  Ben was perplexed. What had happened? "There must be a mistake."

  "Perhaps, but I don't know what it was."

  Exhausted and weary, Ben didn't know what to do next. He glanced at Jennifer.

  "We need some information," she said, picking up the ball.

  "What information?"

  She described for Klaus what they needed.

  As she spoke, the banker listened quietly. At the end, he tapped his chubby fingers on the wooden desk next to the computer. All he had to do was access the computer. They could have what they needed in an instant.

  Klaus refused to touch a single key.

  "I
'm very sorry," he said decisively. "We never give out information like that about our accounts."

  "I could get a court order," Ben threatened.

  Klaus shook his head and smiled. "I sincerely doubt that, Mr. Hartwell. This is Zurich, not Washington, D.C."

  Ben leaned back in his seat. He knew it was hopeless. If he continued to threaten Klaus, the armed guards would forcibly evict them.

  In the lobby to the bank, he found a pay phone and called the two numbers he had for Jack Carmack, and the one on the card Carmack had given Jennifer. On all three he heard a recording that Jack was unavailable.

  When he put the phone down, Jennifer said, "There are only two possibilities. Either your buddy Jack changed his mind after he left us, or somebody got to him before—"

  Ben didn't let her finish the sentence. He knew Carmack well enough to be certain that he hadn't changed his mind. The blonde and her friends must have known he and Jennifer were coming to Zurich. Once again, those people had been one step ahead of him and Jennifer. Ben felt the ache in his buttocks where the stab wound was crusting over.

  "We'd better get the hell out of Zurich," Ben said.

  Chapter 23

  "I want Elana to take me to school," Amy said stubbornly. "She always takes me."

  The three of them were dressed in coats, standing near the front door of Ben's house. It was Saturday morning, when the preschool scheduled a special reading class for children who were ready for it.

  For the fourth time Ann said, "Elana will be taking you to school. I'll just be coming along. It will be the three of us."

  Amy sat down on the floor. She started to cry and to kick her feet against the door. "Only Elana takes me to school!" she wailed.

  Ann was surprised at the outburst. She and Amy had been getting along so well. She had read Amy a story last night, and Amy had given her a big hug and a kiss before going to sleep. Amy had even asked Ann to play Ben's silly game with her of leaving the room after turning out the lights, then returning a couple of minutes later for one more hug. Poor kid, Ann thought. So many changes, so fast. Ann looked through the window next to the front door. The police cruiser was in place on the street. It would follow Elana and Amy as they walked to school. What further security could she provide? She looked at Elana, who shrugged her shoulders apologetically. Then she decided to relent and let Elana take Amy. She could also pick her up at three o'clock this afternoon by herself. There was no point upsetting the child further.