by Ken McClure
A few miles from MacLean’s hotel, Eva Stahl was also thinking about Von Jonek. She was lying awake; annoyed at herself for not being able to remember where she’d seen him last and the harder she tried the more difficult it became to concentrate. She sighed and turned for the third time in as many minutes, this time eliciting a grunt of protest from a sleeping Jean-Paul. Eva steeled herself to lie still and concentrate. It was a full half-hour before it came back to her but when it did, she smiled in the darkness and turned over to cuddle into Jean-Paul’s back.
TEN
MacLean was relieved to find that Jean-Paul Rives was in his early forties. He had considered the possibility, albeit unlikely, that Eva’s looks might have attracted the attentions of much younger men and that the new man in her life might turn out to be a twenty year old pop star in leopard-skin trousers. Instead he was tall, balding, bespectacled and charming. He made MacLean feel immediately at ease and fixed him a drink while they waited for Eva to emerge from the kitchen.
Eva entered, licking her fingers and requesting that Jean-Paul make her one too. She came over to MacLean and kissed him on the cheek, saying, ‘How are you two getting on?’
Rives handed her drink to her.
‘Jean-Paul works for Lehman Steiner too,’ said Eva.
The smile struggled to stay on MacLean’s face. Eva saw and she put her hand on his arm. ‘Don’t worry,’ she said. ‘Your secret is safe with both of us.’
‘Mother is the word,’ said Rives, putting a finger to his lips.
MacLean smiled. ‘Are you a doctor or a scientist Jean-Paul?’ he asked.
‘Neither,’ replied Rives. ‘I’m an accountant.’
‘But he’s no better with the housekeeping money than I am,’ said Eva.
‘We manage,’ smiled Rives and Eva linked arms with him to agree. MacLean could see that they were good for each other.
Over an excellent meal, Rives told MacLean how he had come to meet Eva when she was in the throes of her divorce from Peter Stahl. ‘I was in charge of financing a new clinic, which the company was setting up to work on infertility problems. Eva was seconded to recruit nursing staff.’
‘You stopped being a theatre sister Eva?’ asked MacLean.
Eva nodded. ‘When Cytogerm failed, the company started to wind down surgical research to concentrate on other things,’ she said. ‘I saw which way the wind was blowing and applied for the job of head nurse at the new infertility clinic. It was a good move; I enjoy the work.’
‘What sort of service does the clinic offer?’ asked MacLean.
‘The whole range,’ replied Eva. ‘From initial counselling sessions to in-vitro fertilisation and implant procedures.’
‘Here we go again!’ exclaimed Rives in mock horror. ‘We never have a meal in this house without discussing other peoples’ insides.’
MacLean smiled and apologised but Eva interrupted him saying, ‘Don’t apologise, Jean-Paul likes to pretend that he’s an outsider but he knows well enough what implants are.’
‘Oui,’ said Jean-Paul with a Gallic wave of the hands. ‘Mother and father make love in a test tube and you people put baby back in mummy. No?’
‘Couldn’t have put it better myself,’ said MacLean.
‘Ugh, whatever happened to romance?’ said Rives.
‘All he really cares about are numbers,’ said Eva.
‘Ah, numbers,’ agreed Rives. ‘In the right hands figures can make such beautiful music. A balance sheet in harmony is like a waltz by Strauss, a sonnet by Shakespeare, a painting by Cezanne.’
MacLean smiled. He liked Rives.
MacLean waited until the coffee before broaching the subject of Eva’s inquiries.
‘I was wrong about Von Jonek,’ she said. ‘I hadn’t seen him again.’
MacLean could scarcely conceal his disappointment.
‘But I had heard from him,’ added Eva. ‘That’s what made the name seem familiar.’
‘Go on,’ said MacLean.
‘First, you were right. Von Jonek is not an archivist; he’s some sort of scientist. Two years ago, just after the clinic opened, we received a request from him.’
‘What did he want?’
‘Sperm.’
‘Good Lord.’
Eva smiled and said, ‘The staff thought it was quite odd too. Preliminary screening of husbands at the clinic involves testing their sperm. Von Jonek wanted the samples when our lab was finished with them.’
‘Did he say what for?’
Eva shook her head. ‘No. As I remember there was something of a staff competition to provide suggestions.’
‘You probably won!’ exclaimed Rives.
‘No I didn’t,’ said Eva, giving Rives a playful slap.
‘You couldn’t trace the request letter could you?’ asked MacLean.
‘I already did,’ replied Eva, ‘but it wasn’t much help. It was written on Lehman Steiner paper but there was no unit address, just the reference, X14 for internal mail purposes.’
‘X14,’ repeated MacLean.
‘I think I can help with that,’ said Rives. ‘When a new research project is initiated it is allocated an “X” number. The “X” stands for experimental, of course, and the number fourteen simply means that it was the fourteenth project to be funded in that particular financial year.’
‘You see how he removes the drama from everything?’ said Eva.
MacLean asked Rives if there was any way he could find out what the X14 project had been concerned with.
‘I’m afraid not,’ replied Rives. ‘The best I could do would be to find out if the project was successful enough to warrant further funding as a fully fledged research unit.’
‘And if it was,’ said Eva enthusiastically, ‘We would be able to find Von Jonek’s address from the company list.’
‘That would be marvellous,’ said MacLean.
‘Very well,’ said Rives. ‘I’ll try.’
Later that evening, MacLean telephoned Tansy to let her know that things were going well. She, in turn, told him that Carrie had been allowed out of bed at the weekend and that she had walked with her in the grounds of the hospital. They had stood together under the cherry trees where she and MacLean had talked and she said that, for a moment, it had seemed that he had been there with them.
Carrie’s face was still heavily bandaged but she had started to communicate through hand gestures. MacLean remembered Carrie’s lunchtime lectures after their trips along the canal and a lump came to his throat.
The arrangement was that MacLean should wait until he heard from Eva. She would contact him at the hotel, either directly or by leaving a message, when Rives had something to report. In the meantime he occupied himself with walking the streets and drinking interminable cups of coffee in pavement cafes.
MacLean was in the shower when the call eventually came. He hastily wrapped a towel round himself and took it sitting on the bed, with water still dripping from his hair.
‘Jean-Paul has found out something important about X14. It’s better if we meet.’
‘Dinner this evening?’
‘Where?’ asked Eva.
MacLean mentioned the name of a small Greek restaurant that he remembered from his time in Geneva. ‘Is it still there?
‘Yes. We ate there a couple of months ago. What time?’
‘Eight?’
‘See you then.’
MacLean arrived early at the restaurant and nervously sipped gin and tonic while he waited. The table was by the window so he saw the white Citroen draw up and Eva get out. Rives waved to him through the windscreen and went off to park the car. When they were finally all together, MacLean summoned the waiter and ordered drinks for his guests while they looked at the menu. He was dying to ask what Rives had found out but contained his impatience until they had ordered and the waiter had left.
Eva said, ‘Would you believe it, he has not even told me?’
‘I thought I would tell you both together,’ said Rives.
‘Well, come on, tell us!’ urged Eva.
Rives, his eyes shining like a schoolboy about to impart some adult secret to his class mates said, ‘I checked the X14 file for the year Eva’s clinic got the request but there was no X14 file for that year!’ Rives paused for effect but all he got was a snort of disappointment from Eva. ‘That’s it?’ she said.
‘Not quite,’ said Rives knowingly. ‘There was no X14 file for the year before either.’
‘Amazing,’ said Eva sarcastically. But MacLean could see that there was yet more to come. Rives was just playing the overture. Eva caught the look in Rives’ eye and said, ‘You really are the most exasperating man. Tell us!’
Rives said, ‘The year before that there was an X14 file. It was registered to a Dr Hans Von Jonek with an experimental budget of ten thousand US dollars.’ He sat back in his seat with his arms folded.
MacLean felt a twinge of disappointment but from the look on Rives’ face he suspected that he had missed the significance of something along the way. ‘So if there was no X14 project listed in the following two years does that mean the Von Jonek was given a full research unit?’ he asked hopefully.
‘No,’ said Rives.
MacLean shook his head in confusion. He recapped, ”Von Jonek was given 10,000 dollars to set up an experimental project.’
‘Correct,’ said Rives.
‘But the fact that there was no X14 project listed a year later and that there was no full research unit set up either suggests that Von Jonek’s research came to nothing, is that right?’
‘Yes,’ said Rives.
Eva and MacLean looked at each other then Eva said, ‘Then why are you looking so pleased with yourself?’
Rives leaned over the table and said hoarsely, ‘Because that is exactly what we were meant to think.’
Eva and MacLean were still bemused.
Rives said, ‘There were two things I found puzzling. Firstly, Von Jonek’s research budget was for one year only, yet Eva’s clinic had a request quoting the X14 reference some two years later when officially, X14 had ceased to exist. To me this suggested only one thing: that the original X14 project set up four years ago by Von Jonek was still in existence.’
‘And is it?’ asked Eva excitedly.
‘It is,’ said Rives. ‘I traced it through the computer code for its initial budget allocation; the number was unchanged.’
‘How about the budget?’ asked MacLean.
Rives looked at Eva and said, ‘This man knows the right questions to ask. The budget figure for X14 this year my friends, is 18 million US dollars.’
When she could speak Eva said, ‘Lehman Steiner is spending 18 million dollars on research that nobody knows about?’
‘Precisely!’ said Rives, with the air of a man who has just pencilled in the last word to a crossword puzzle.
‘But if the company are spending all that money, why on earth does Von Jonek not have full research unit status?’ asked Eva.
‘I think I can answer that too,’ said Rives. ‘Research units have names and addresses; they have payrolls; they have staff lists. They are both visible and accountable. “X” rated projects are by their nature much more informal. Budgets are allocated as single block grants so that only minimal accounting is necessary. Having said that, I should also point out that the average “X” budget is around twenty thousand dollars and usually involves just one person.’
Eva said, ‘I am having visions of Lehman Steiner handing over 18 million dollars in a brown paper bag!’
MacLean smiled and said to Rives, ‘I’m very grateful to you. This tells me I am on the right track.’
‘What will you do now?’ asked Eva.
‘I have to find Von Jonek,’ said MacLean. ‘He is a scientist with an 18 million-dollar budget. Cytogerm is mixed up in all that somewhere I’m sure.’
‘I don’t suppose you could find out any more?’ Eva asked Rives.
Rives shook his head slowly and said, ‘I suspect not. Money is transferred by numbers. One set of numbers credits another set of numbers and it is all over. There is no need for names and addresses.’
‘That’s what the Swiss are famous for,’ joked MacLean.
‘That and cuckoo clocks,’ said Eva, who was Austrian by birth.
‘In theory it would be easier to trace Von Jonek’s whereabouts through Personnel,’ said Rives.
‘Don’t you know anyone in Personnel?’ asked Eva.
‘No.’
The conversation seemed to be reaching an impasse when Rives looked at MacLean and said, ‘Eva told me about the child and how important this is to you. I’ll see what I can do.’
MacLean nodded his thanks.
Jean-Paul Rives edged his white Citroen out into the morning traffic, attracting, as he did so, an angry honk from a little green Renault. Once more he had become a participant in the silliest show on earth, the rush hour, playing in all major cities and with matinees on most days. He glanced in the rear view mirror as the line drew to a halt and saw the Renault driver gesticulating angrily. ‘My God, did you really want to be ten metres further forward that much?’ asked Rives under his breath. He fumbled along the fascia till he found the cassette he was looking for and pushed it into the mouth of the player. Vivaldi would help.
Rives had been awake since the early hours of the morning, wondering how to find out more about Von Jonek without arousing suspicion. The truth was that he had not come up with any good ideas at all. He had said to MacLean that he would do what he could but, in the circumstances, that was almost tantamount to a promise. He was beginning to feel the pressure. It was a bit late to start cultivating friendships in other departments and far too risky just to walk in and start asking about Von Jonek. But what else could he do?
Rives parked the Citroen in his usual space in the underground car park and walked to the staff elevator. Perhaps inspiration would visit him during the course of the morning. The elevator took him swiftly to the third floor where he stepped out on to the green carpeted floors of Accounts.
Rives’ in-tray was full enough to occupy his complete attention for some time. Large International companies like Lehman Steiner were constantly obliged to review their pricing policy in individual countries to take account of local developments. He was currently working on the pricing of the company’s products in Belgium, making projections of the likely movement of the Belgian economy and re-pricing their goods accordingly.
Rives typed in his personal identity code to the computer terminal and asked for the company’s current holding in Belgium. The screen blinked then provided him with the figures. He matched them to the data sheet listing all Lehman Steiner’s assets in Belgium. The present position was satisfactory but he asked for spreadsheet predictions of profit margins and found that figures would still be within acceptable limits unless anything really untoward happened. He wrote his recommendation on the front of the file, ‘No action required’ and flipped it into the out-tray.
Rives was about to clear the screen when an idea came to him, a mathematical idea, the kind he was most at home with. The screen was showing him one side of an equation, the company’s investment in Belgium while the Belgian asset sheet was giving him the other side of the equation; what the company had to show for their money. One side matched the other; left hand equalled right hand with perfect balance. There were no embarrassing leftovers to send audit clerks scurrying into action like ants at a picnic.
Eighteen million dollars was a lot of money even by Lehman Steiner’s standards so, somewhere in the system, it must be responsible for quite a remarkable imbalance. If only he could find out where. Such a sum must involve a lot of people, he surmised, so there was little chance that an operation of that magnitude could be covered up here in the Swiss research labs. The X14 project was most likely located in another European country and this was where his idea came in. By conducting an assets versus holdings survey for all the company’s European holdings he just might be able to
spot the country which harboured an 18 million-dollar imbalance.
Rives was excited at the thought but reminded himself that there was still a possibility that X14 might be based at one of the company’s many out-of-the-way clinics in Switzerland. If that turned out to be the case he would be stumped. Swiss accounts were the province of ‘Home Accounts’. His department was only concerned with Lehman Steiner’s foreign interests.
Rives brought sandwiches to his desk at lunchtime but that still didn’t give him enough time to carry out the survey he planned; he decided that he would have to work late. He went back to working through his in-tray so as to prevent anyone noticing a log jam developing on his desk. When he had cleared that he would get back to doing equations. At four thirty in the afternoon he telephoned Eva at the clinic to say that he would be late home. A secretary said that she would pass on the message.
As dusk crept over Geneva and the office became deserted, Rives turned on his desk light and buckled down to his task. He was oblivious to the fact that darkness was gradually surrounding him like a silent ocean leaving him on a small island of light in the shadows. At eight o’ clock he thought that he had struck gold. He had found a large imbalance in the French equation. True, it was not as much as 18 million dollars but sizeable nevertheless. He re-checked the numbers and currency conversion figures and found them accurate. There was no mistake, the computer still said that the company had much more invested in France than the asset list would warrant. He checked the date on the survey and saw that it was five days old. The sheets were updated once a week so it was possible that the company had spent a lot of money in France in the last week but on what?
Rives racked his brain then thumped the heel of his hand against his forehead in annoyance as he remembered. On Pharmacies! That’s what! He had just remembered reading in the financial press that Lehman Steiner had been bidding for a controlling interest in a chain of French Pharmacies because they wanted their own retail outlet in France. The computer was telling him that the company’s bid had been successful. The chain had simply not yet been listed in the company’s French assets. Failure let tiredness gain an edge on Rives. He needed a drink and he was hungry. He would try the equation for the Netherlands and then call it a day. He was home by nine thirty.