As we left I paid the bill, and ordered two Colombian decaffs for Ronnie and Therese. They hadn’t been very impressed with the cappuccino or the espresso. In sympathy, I sent a chocolate filled croissant for each of them as well, then we were out the door, and onto our next adventure.
It was a brisk fifteen-minute walk to the Audi dealer’s lot, and we passed a branch of my new bank along the way. Coincidence? No.
I asked Evie to come in with me, as a man and woman together are never seen as potentially threatening as a man alone.
Evie had changed into the perfect outfit at the coffee shop. She’d dug around in her bags before we left the cache and found a pale-yellow skirt and jacket, made of a Jersey-based material, I think. Whatever it was, there wasn’t a ripple or a crease in it. The fact that it accentuated her blonde hair and light olive complexion were secondary to the way it highlighted her figure. The skirt came close to her knees, but not close enough to hide them, or her legs. She had wisely chosen to do the modern woman routine of wearing her sneakers while we walked around, and carrying a shoe-bag with her pumps in it. Probably along with several micro-grenades, knowing Evie. Her purse was light beige, just large enough for a gun or two, and it had one of those tiny spaghetti straps that went over the shoulder. A cream coloured silk over-the-head blouse with a deep V-neck completed the look. Maybe it was the way her blouse hung, draped really, from her feminine frame that made the look work so well. Maybe it was just Evie. However, she’d managed it, under the circumstances she looked very good indeed.
She changed into the pumps just outside the bank, slipping the Keds into the shoe bag, and stamping around for a moment or two before declaring herself ‘ready’. They were the exact same colour as the skirt and blouse. A soldier with fashion sense. Who’d ‘a thunk it?
As we entered the bank I noticed that it was a very new building, and the branch couldn’t have been there for very long yet. They were still being nice to strangers.
I deduced all of this as we walked the first three steps into the foyer. The guard at the other side of the foyer was smiling at us as he held the second door open. Very friendly indeed. Then the signals from the monitoring equipment built into the walls of the foyer started blinking on the guard’s desktop unit next to the inside door.
It was easy enough for both Evie and I to see the change come over the guard. He was being told by the sniffers that we were carrying enough metal for a small cannon or two. I stopped dead in my tracks and held up one hand while I slowly slipped my badge out of my jacket pocket, along with my bankbook. By this time the guard had his hand on his weapon holster, and was about to challenge us. Evie stayed where she was and waited out the interplay between the guard and I.
I took three slow steps forward and handed the bankbook to him, while managing to only show the badge. That wasn’t leaving my possession until I was sitting in my own home in Toronto again. The badge calmed him down, and the bankbook confused him. In rusty Swiss-German, I asked the guard to have a teller verify the account, and I would wait in the foyer.
He called out, never taking his eye off of me, which would have made him a great target for Evie, but that wasn't why we were here. I didn’t have to rob the bank, not with an account like this one. I still wasn’t used to the nuances of being a multi-millionaire, and I hadn’t taken the time to discuss it with anyone in the team yet. Chances were pretty good that I never would.
The guard held his ground, impressed by the badge, but knowing the rules full well. Nobody with a gun comes into the bank. Exceptions of that rule were outside of his province. The door guard’s mandate at a bank was a pretty straightforward one, and there was never any room for discretion. That wasn’t his call to make.
About forty or so seconds later, the manager herself was at the door, requesting an explanation from all concerned. The guard told her we were Interpol, but not Zurich police, and he suspected that we were carrying guns. Guns weren’t allowed. The manager asked to see my badge. I showed it to her. She then asked to see some additional identification. I showed her my Ontario driver’s license, which comes with a picture as well as a name and address. She asked for the license in order to verify the signature. I obliged.
She handed it to an assistant standing just behind her. The assistant was a young man, maybe twenty-five. He took off at a run, and was back at a run as well. He leaned close and whispered into the manager’s ear. I think he said ‘Open sesame’, because the guard was asked to stand down, and thanked him for his diligence, but she would take over from there. The guard, about forty I’d say, immediately resumed his previous demeanor, taking his hand away from his weapon, and smiling as he continued to hold the door open for us, wishing us a good day as we entered.
The manager was waiting just inside the bank, with her assistant trailing one step behind. She eyed Evie as we walked in together. This was the moment. If anything had gone wrong, and they wanted to take us down, as soon as we passed the guard he would have the drop on us. I could feel it in my shoulder blades. But a bank guard won’t shoot any person not waving a weapon around in a threatening manner, and certainly not in the back. Unless it wasn’t the regular bank guard, and then… it was just my general paranoia in action.
As we entered the bank’s main customer room, the manager offered her hand, welcoming me by name, Monsieur Claxton, and introduced herself as Ms. Pia Federmann. Her assistant she referred to as ‘Tim’. Apparently, he didn’t rate a last name.
Then she turned and shook hands with Evie, asking, “And you are…”, and I knew that Evie didn’t like her right away, because instead of following the plan of being a friend, she responded with much more animation and flair.
“Oh! I’m Mister Claxton’s Personal Secretary, and Companion.”
Companion?
The first question out of Federmann’s lips after that was “I see, and how may I be of service to you today Monsieur Claxton?”, in very fine English. I smiled.
“How nice to be able to converse in English. I would like to discuss a significant withdrawal, or at least be able to secure the funds I require for a transaction I’m about to make this morning.”
“Well, let us take a seat and get it sorted out for you, sir. Tim! Coffee for three, please. You would like a coffee, yes?”
I played along.
“That sounds quite nice, thank you. Evie, would you care for a coffee?”
I turned to look at her and got smiley daggers back for my trouble.
“Yes, that sounds fine, Jeffry.”
Using my first name put our roles in a new light for the manager. Who was an accomplished businesswoman I’m sure, or she wouldn’t be running a bank in Switzerland? They don’t have ‘affirmative action’ laws, or ‘quota systems’ for their employees. They usually just hired the best man for the job and carried on. The fact that this woman was in charge showed that she was an exception to the rule, and smart. You don’t get top jobs in Swiss banking unless you’re smart enough to do it well. Especially if you happen to be a woman.
We followed Ms. Federmann to her office, while Tim ran off for coffee. I could have followed Ms. Federmann a lot further than her office. She was about my age, forty, or thereabouts, but she carried it well. In fact, she carried it splendidly. Her outfit was similar in nature to the one Evie had on, but hers was a pastel, peachy, kind of number. And the skirt was shorter. And tighter. This lady worked out at least five times a week, or I was a transvestite.
Halfway to her office Evie grabbed my arm and weaved it through hers. I think there was a girl thing going on that I didn’t quite get, so I put it out of my head altogether. I gave Evie’s arm a little squeeze as we entered Federmann’s office. The decor of the office matched that of the entire bank. Fresh grey everything, with accents here and there in red. For example, Federmann’s office had a swath of red about eight inches wide running around the entire room at waist level. There was a print of one of M.C.Escher’s sketches on the wall to the left of her desk. There were no
picture frames on the desk itself, just the usual bank related documents in organized piles. And of course, the ubiquitous PC on the far corner, and the latest HP printer on a small table to the left of that, next to the desk. Managers often must print documents that are not cleared for the general staff, after all.
The one touch of feminism, besides the manager herself, was a crystal vase, the kind that holds just one flower. It had a gorgeous white long-stemmed rose in it, and the petals were just beginning to open. The fragrance was subtle, but effective.
“The fragrance of your rose is delicate, but lovely. Is it from your garden?”
“Yes, it is. How perceptive of you. I take a great deal of comfort from my gardening. My husband and I used to spend many happy hours designing and growing it, before his untimely death last year.”
Good grief. It was easy to see how pleased she was that I had commented on her rose, and she had already let me know that she was widowed, and the coffee wasn’t even here yet.
“I’m sorry to hear of your loss. They say that time is the great healer, and I believe that to be true. I hope that it works well for you.’
“Thank you so much. Ah! Here’s our coffee.”
Tim was coming through the door with a silver coffee set on a tray, which he set down on the far corner table, the kind used for staff meetings and the like, after which he served, checking with both Evie first, then myself, as to how we would like our coffee prepared. Federmann probably had him memorize several things a day for her, and how she liked her coffee would have been the first thing he learned, so while he asked us, he didn’t ask her.
Within a minute or two he had served us all with a fine dark roast coffee, which I took black with no sugar for a change. Now we were all cozy. Tim left and shut the door behind him. As soon as we were alone, Federmann became much younger at heart, even smiling and talking with Evie.
She was interested in the excitement factor, asking with respect if she could see our badges again, asking were we on the trail of international villains, and like that. I made up a story on the spot, which would no doubt be used to entertain the guests at her next dinner party. It incorporated all the elements of a decent movie script. The villains were very bad. There were airplane disasters involved. The trail had led here to Zurich, but it seemed that they had crossed into France, using Switzerland as an entry point to the continent.
I hoped that I was the only one that caught Evie trying to keep a straight face.
Eventually, what was probably a few minutes later but had felt like a lot longer, a small knock on the door gave me an opportunity to ‘hush my mouth’, as I used to be told during high school singing class. And I enjoyed singing so much, too.
I ended it at the knock by saying that I ‘couldn’t say more without compromising the situation and the people involved’, like that. It appeared to suffice.
“Thank you so much for sharing such a confidence with me, Monsieur. I will not soon forget it.”
Abruptly, she was all business.
“Entree.”
A small woman, young too, maybe just turning twenty, came into the office, and ignoring us completely at first, went right to Federmann’s desk and handed over a file. As she left I saw her ‘sneak a peek’ at the two strangers from Interpol. One of whom happened to be very rich, because they had my money and they knew how much of it there was.
Federmann excused herself for a moment while she scanned the file, then dropped it on her desk.
“You realize that there is also a code-word associated with this account, Monsieur?”
“No, I hadn’t, but that should be simple enough.” I took the liberty of using a pen from the holder on Federmann’s desk, but I had to ask for paper as none was in plain sight. She pulled open a drawer, and handed me an A-4 sized sheet of excellent bond paper. The paper was at least twenty-six pound-weight. This was contract document paper. The fine stuff, part linen and all. It would do for my purposes.
I quickly wrote the full name of Sam’s long-dead son in large script right in the middle of the sheet, YOUSEF, then below that I wrote the word ‘NEW PASSWORD’, and printed it in block letters, then wrote it in handwriting script, noting that this was the only way anyone would further access this account.
“This should contain the password. Most likely just the underlined part, the family’s given name for someone who died a very long time ago, and that contains the connection, as well. Below that is the new password and access orders.
Now your very professionally guarded curiosity can be salved with the completion of this transaction. I’m going from here to the Audi Dealer a few streets over, on… Friedrichstrasse, is it? I want to be on the road with a new vehicle as soon as is humanly possible. Maybe you know it? And yes, there may well be lives at stake.”
I passed the paper to her across the desk, and set the pen back in the holder. I’d taken the convoluted approach. Disinformation with a base of truthfulness. Never let you down, that.
“Now if I may have my license back, and my bankbook…?”
“Certainly, Monsieur.”
She handed me the license and book, which had come back to her in the file, and picked up the sheet of paper I’d written on.
“There appears to be no question that this account is yours, and you are to have full and complete access to it when and how you please, Monsieur Claxton. I hope that you will forgive us the duty of having to verify all of this information.”
“I understand, and it’s been enjoyable, not a chore. You’ve managed to make me, us, feel quite welcome. Now, if we can get down to business. I would like to withdraw about two hundred thousand francs. If you have the ability to make all the bills one thousand franc notes, I would appreciate that as well. Can you organize this for me quickly? Duty calls, and I’m afraid I’m beginning to run out of time.”
She nodded her head in understanding, and picked up the telephone on her desk. She didn’t have to dial, and she began speaking right away. Tim must have been hovering next to the phone at his desk, monitoring the light that signaled ‘BOSS’. Her speech was rapid, and I caught bits, but not the entire thing. The conversation was one-sided, and lasted about fifteen seconds. The money was coming, and so was a brief of the portfolio that was part of the account. Now that was something I didn’t need or want with me at this particular juncture.
“I understand that this is your first access of your account, and so I have prepared a copy of the portfolio for you as well. You may find it interesting reading. It’s all on a PC compatible CD-R Disc. I expect that won’t pose any problems for a man in your position. I’m sure you have many computers at your disposal.”
A CD. Ah! That would be alright, I could carry that easily. I changed my mind, and kept quiet about the portfolio. I knew it would make for interesting reading when I returned home. I didn’t quite have the social breaks or general leisure time that I normally experienced, at the moment. That would end soon though, I was beginning to feel it in my bones, and I would be very interested in finding out how Sam had pulled this whole money thing off.
“That would be fine, yes, thank you. Will it take long?”
Just as the words left my lips there was another small knock on the door, and again Federmann called out “Entree.”
The petite girl Friday that had brought the original file was back. This time there was an escort. It seemed that our man—let’s call him ‘Hans’—had found a stand-in for the door duty, and he wasn’t alone, either. Tim trailed right on the heels of ‘Hans’, and as soon as he entered the room, he shut the door. And locked it.
I glanced at Evie. She smiled, no problem.
I was now in a locked room with one man known to be armed—in Swiss banks you didn’t get the job in Security if you weren't trained to ‘Qualifications Level One’ to begin with—and one man that I couldn’t say was armed or not, and two women, one in a position of supposed power, the other a minion, and one female team member. I was seated, my team member was seated, and
the woman of power, the Bank Manager, was seated. With her back to the wall.
I knew that I was being paranoid, but that didn’t bother me in the least. Not when I was ‘On Mission’. Afterwards, if I continued to think and act the way I was doing these past couple of days, well to put it simply—they would lock me up in a rubber room and throw away the key. I deal with that afterwards, when it counts.
Now, I was ‘On Mission’, and real Paranoia was completely acceptable. The caveat was that I couldn’t, and wouldn’t, hurt any innocent people for any reason, concocted or otherwise. That made things more… touchy… for me at times. This was one of those times.
Tim had just turned the lock on the door and ‘Hans’ was still a few paces away, but headed for the desk. Hot on the heels of ‘minion’, who was carrying a brown paper bag.
I was on my feet and proffering the chair to her before anyone in the room could move or comment. My back was toward Evie, so I was covered there. She took the proffered chair, and began to open the paper bag on Federmann’s desk, while I stood with both hands behind my back, rocking on the balls of my feet, watching the men with interest. I knew that Evie was in position to deal with the bank manager. Louise, who gave me her name when she thanked me for the chair, pulled a wad of crisp new one thousand-franc notes out of the bag, and set them on the desk in front of Federmann. Then she pulled out a brand-new Bankbook, opened it to the last page and gave it to the manager.
The Diamond Dust on Dragonfly Wings: A Jeffry Claxton Mystery Novel Page 68
