“Oh no! That’s a collector’s Rolex. It cost 50,000 francs, and I never take it off.”
“Don’t lie!”
“Ok, I have taken it off, but…”
Alex took a small device out of the glove compartment. It looked like a portable electric razor, and she ran it over Stanley’s left wrist, through his hair, forcing him to hold up his arms.
“I’m not looking. I’m not looking,” she repeated, then opened the trunk and pressed a button. The floor of the trunk slid to one side, revealing a hollow space beneath.
“Get in!”
“This is really necessary?”
“We need to get out of Swiss territory as quickly as possible. The best way for you to do that is in the trunk of a car.”
“And if the border guards catch us?”
“This is a magical trunk. Once you get in, the panel slides shut. And anyway, calm down! I’m going to go throw your clothes in the lake. Then will you be you ready to go?”
“You couldn’t check my clothes with your little thingie?”
“The clothes stained with the blood of a Russian gangster? You want to auction them off later? Two thousand dollars? Wait, I see two thousand five hundred! Don’t be foolish, Mr. McKnight!”
“Why so formal all of a sudden?”
“I always treat naked men with respect. Especially if I’m dressed. Ok, it’s time! Hop in.”
Stanley sighed and put his foot into the trunk.
“Don’t hit your head on the roof of the trunk, sir!” Alex said with a laugh, her hand on his head.
“What exactly is funny about this?”
“It looks like danger gets you hard. That’s a sign of your virility. You, sir, must be a warrior. You just didn’t know it and became a banker by mistake. We’ll fix that. Give it time.”
Stanley readied himself for a long trip. He didn’t have room to stretch, so he lay there clutching his knees to his chest. The car threw him around a little at first, but when they made it back onto the asphalt road, the ride smoothed out. His eyes gradually grew accustomed to the dark, and he saw that this space intended for the secret transport of humans was equipped with certain comforts.
A slightly illuminated tube stuck out from the wall, and Stanley managed to drink something out of it. The trunk’s upholstery was comfortable, and the car’s heating system was right beneath it. Little by little, Stanley calmed down. He believed that Alex would protect him. He liked her, although he was a bit concerned by how calmly she’d dispatched the three Russian thugs.
Chapter 46
The ride calmed Stanley down. He dozed off and woke only when the car stopped. He heard the door slam, and the beep of the electronic lock.
Alex soon returned and the engine started again. By the sound of it, they were now driving through a city. Alex made several turns and then stopped. She got out of the car and locked it again. When she stopped for a third time, Stanley thought they were probably in a multilevel parking garage based on the tight turns they had made on a steady incline.
The trunk opened.
“Get out quick,” Alex ordered. “Into the back seat. It took me a while to find a place without a camera. You’re freezing! Here, get dressed. There’s bags with clothing on the back seat.”
“I didn’t tell you my size, but these look right…” They were indeed at the far end of a multilevel garage, Stanley noted. “Where are we, by the way?”
“Konstanz. A charming, quiet town on Lake Constance. As for the size, you have the same build as my ex. If something doesn’t fit, don’t worry. We’ll exchange it.”
Alex clearly knew her way around men’s fashion. And she wasn’t short on funds. The soft English suede shoes fitted just right, as did the jeans, T-shirt, and an excellent shirt to go over the T-shirt. He topped off the outfit with a nice suede jacket.
“I bought that at the market,” Alex said, watching as Stanley dressed. “Gently used. Don’t take offense. New clothes would be a little too pricey for the taxpayers. And, damn, I forgot socks.”
“I noticed.”
“The underwear isn’t too tight?”
“You must have really known your ex’s body. Why did you break up? Sorry for asking, but I think we’ve gotten pretty close, don’t you?”
“I’ll admit this isn’t the first time I’ve had to undress a man to check for listening devices. You’re lucky I didn’t tell you to bend over so I could check your behind.”
“I sure am! So why did you?”
“He got tired of my business trips. He thought I worked in fashion, setting up shows, traveling to look for models. Idiotic work—I could never do it.”
“Instead you’re an excellent shooter.”
“You sound like you’re judging me for it! Sit up front. We need to drive to the Steigenberger Hotel. We’re supposed to get instructions from Frank there.”
“Why there, specifically?”
“I’m not used to questioning these things. I was told to wait in the café of the Steigenberger Hotel. So, we’ll wait there. Let’s go!”
Alex sped down the spiral ramp and turned right. They passed Mayura, and Stanley smelled Indian spices wafting from the restaurant. Alex turned again, onto a street running alongside the lake. Stanley just managed to read the sign—Konzilstrasse—and they turned right into the hotel’s parking lot.
“My Russian friends love hotels like this,” said Stanley.
“I’m not surprised. It’s got five stars. I usually choose more modest places. Or rather, they get chosen for me.”
“That sounds like a complaint.”
“On the contrary! I don’t really like fancy establishments. You’re the one who’s used to them.”
They got out of the car, walked through the lobby into the hotel’s café, and sat by a large window. It was growing dark.
“What will you have?” asked Stanley.
“Are you buying? A double espresso, no sugar.”
“I’ll have one as well,” said Stanley to the waiter who had instantaneously appeared at their table. “It’s strange. All I’ve had the entire day is cups of coffee, but I don’t feel hungry at all,” he said.
“It’s nerves. Later you’re going to want to eat and eat until you’re stuffed. By the way, you’re on TV. They’re showing you on the television by the bar. And while I was running around buying clothes, your face was everywhere. You’re quite popular—everyone’s looking for you. Keep calm!”
Alex put her hand over Stanley’s.
“Don’t worry! No one would even think of looking for you here. In the picture they’re showing, you’re in a suit and tie. A rich banker. Ha ha! Come on, smile! Act like you’re happy to be on a date with a girl like me.”
Stanley smiled, but it came out a little sour.
“Also, I got a message on the way. Our people are already getting a lot of the information they need from your flash drive. Soon we’re going to have all the dirt on your bank and on your criminal clients. All you’ll have to do is testify, but you can do that back in the US.”
“I’ll do it if I manage to survive till then. I’m the subject of a manhunt here, remember?”
“Ha.” Alex slapped him on the shoulder. “Now they’re showing the bodies in the parking lot. The ticker says, ‘A criminal war between mafia families has made its way to Switzerland.’ Damn! I never get the recognition for my accomplishments. But don’t you worry, Stanley. You’ll be taken care of. We’ll get you back to America in good condition.”
Frank called as they were finishing their coffee. His instructions were something of a surprise—Stanley was to take a train to Marseille, where he would board a boat back home.
“That’ll take at least a week!” he exclaimed.
“It’s a week on a nice cruise ship. You’ll probably be on some cargo ship, and they take twice t
hat long. You’ll get the chance to catch up on your sleep, at least. And you’ll have dependable protection.” Alex tossed a bill onto the table. “Come on. They’re already waiting for us.”
At the station, Alex handed Stanley off to a colleague named Thomas, a thin, middle-aged man who spoke English with a strong German accent. She gave Stanley an encouraging smile, noticing his disappointment that they were parting ways.
“See you later, Stanley!” said Alex.
“I sincerely hope so.”
“You don’t have to worry about a thing with Thomas here. Bye!”
Stanley watched her leave until she joined the crowd by the exit to the station and disappeared. Thomas handed Stanley his ticket and a small bag.
“What’s this?” he asked. The bag was quite heavy.
“Dog food. Some rags,” Thomas answered in a raspy voice. “It’s just a bit of cover. A man traveling across half of Europe without any luggage arouses suspicion.”
The train was already at the platform, but Thomas asked Stanley to wait by an ice cream kiosk while he went to the bathroom in the train station. When Thomas was out of sight, Stanley called Christine.
Her phone rang for a long time, but she finally picked up. The connection was terrible. He asked where and how she was, and she replied that everything was fine, and that she was in Milan. She finally asked where Stanley was, and he told her he was on his way from Konstanz to Marseille.
Something in her voice made Stanley uneasy. She stammered a little, repeating the same word several times.
“Is everything okay, honey?” asked Stanley. “You sound drunk.”
“Everything’s fine, baby. I’m drinking Campari Spritz in Milan, and I’m flying to San Francisco in two hours.”
“How are you?”
“Everything’s really good!” answered Christine. “Where are you going from Marseille?” she asked.
“I’m flying to New York tomorrow.” Stanley had suddenly realized it might be a mistake to tell Christine his travel plans. What if they were listening to his calls? And he decided to fix things with a little lie. “Yes, flying out tomorrow!” He saw Thomas approaching. “Love you. Bye!”
“Who were you talking to?” Thomas asked, displeased. “You’re not allowed to talk on the phone.”
“Since when? Calm down. I was just talking to my wife. Are you married?”
“It’s not allowed,” the German repeated. “Give me the phone.”
Stanley handed it over.
“You’re a strict guy. I’m lucky you weren’t one of the ones looking for me in Switzerland.”
Stanley made some more attempts to start a conversation with Thomas, asking if he knew where Frank was, but Thomas turned out to be the grim, silent type.
He seemed to know absolutely nothing about Frank, seemed not to have known Stanley was married, and his only concern seemed to be getting Stanley off his hands as quickly as possible. Thomas explained at great length that Stanley must stay as close to him as possible and not leave his side for any reason. If a situation arose in which they were separated, Stanley should find a man named Kirk Baltz in the old port of Marseille, where he owned a fish restaurant. Baltz would help him.
Thomas’s droning voice put Stanley to sleep before he heard the rest of the details.
He dreamed that he was strolling down a long pier in Berkeley, with Mila on his left and Christine on his right. They each held his hand and were both acting nicely, with no arguments or jealousy, a happy little family. They walked along, discussing the life they all shared, which they were all quite pleased with. When they approached the end of the pier, Mila and Christine suddenly started to pull him forward. He thought it was a joke, but they were stronger, and they pulled him off the edge into the San Francisco Bay. They fell together beneath the surface, and he began to sink, choking and struggling, until he woke up in horror.
“Where are we?” asked Stanley.
“We’re in France already,” Thomas said, looking up from his mobile phone. “You slept for a long time. We’ll be in Marseille soon.”
“Okay. I’m going to take a piss.” Stanley got up and immediately fell back against the seat as the train jerked to a stop. “What the fuck was that?”
“The train stopped!”
“I’m sober, but I can’t stand up straight,” Stanley said, rubbing his temples.
“Something’s wrong, McKnight. Somebody pulled the emergency break.”
“Now we’re going to be late to Marseille. I think I’ll go back to sleep.”
“Get up, McKnight,” ordered Thomas. “I don’t like this! We need to get out of here.”
Thomas yanked Stanley, still drowsy, to his feet and pulled him forward.
“Let’s go!”
They walked from their carriage into the next and saw two men in black suits walking toward them. When the men saw them, they picked up their pace, and Stanley had no doubt who they were.
“Shit, Thomas. We have to go back.”
“Russians.”
“I can see that they’re not Buddhist monks!”
“We have a problem. They’re everywhere. They’ve got us surrounded.”
Stanley turned and saw another group of men entering the carriage, led by Shamil.
“Now we’ve got more than a problem, Thomas. This is the end.”
Shamil saw Stanley and grinned, and a gun appeared in his hand. The passengers started screaming in panic. Some jumped out of their seats, others fell to the floor. Stanley watched it all like a movie on screen. Shots rang out.
“This way! Wake up!” Thomas pushed Stanley toward the doors, pulling out his own gun and pulling the emergency lever to open the doors.
“Jump!” ordered Thomas, and started to shoot. “Jump!”
Stanley jumped into the darkness, but Thomas didn’t follow. He sank slowly to the floor of the train, a small hole in his forehead. Blood smeared the wall behind him.
Stanley saw all this and took off, running toward the forest. Too much death, he thought, and the phrase repeated over and over in his head. Too much death for one day. He ran as hard as he could, turning back occasionally to see if anyone was chasing him. But all he could see in the darkness was the lights of the train.
Past the tree line, he felt safe enough to slow down and began to make his way through the trees and brush. He couldn’t hear any sounds of pursuit. He wandered for several hours through the woods, and it was morning before he came across a small village. The fog lay thickly over everything, and his hands were numb with cold.
He hesitated, unsure of what to do, but soon realized he only had one option. He walked over to the nearest house and rang the bell. It took a long time for the elderly man who opened the door to understand what Stanley wanted, but eventually Stanley was able to make it clear that he needed the phone.
“Police?” asked the farmer in French. “I should call the police?”
“No, no police. I just need your phone! Telephone!” Stanley was practically shouting.
The farmer nodded and gestured for Stanley to come in, leading him to the living room and pointing out an ancient stationary phone with a rotary dial.
Stanley dialed Frank’s number.
“Frank!” Stanley cried when the other man picked up. “They’re here! Thomas is dead. Gagarin’s people are after me.”
“Are you okay, McKnight?”
“No, I’m not okay, goddamn it! I’m very fucking far from okay.”
“Where are you calling from?”
“I have no idea. A village.”
“A village?”
“Yes. A fucking village somewhere in France.”
“Stay calm, Stanley. Don’t panic. Stay where you are. I’ll send my people to pick you up. What’s the name of the village?”
“Hang on. I’ll ask.”
/> McKnight set the receiver down next to the phone and went into the kitchen. The farmer wasn’t there, and Stanley walked down the hallway to see if he was on the porch. He opened the front door and came face-to-face with his host, his eyes open wide in fright. Then something struck Stanley on the back of the head. He lost consciousness.
When he came to, he was in the trunk of a car. He heard the sound of a conversation in Russian and the radio playing “Never Let Me Down.”
Stanley smiled grimly, thinking that this was the end of the line—the Russians would never let him go. That thought brought with it a strange sense of calm. Stanley felt himself slipping back into that dream from the train, Christine and Mila dragging him under the water. He tried to break free, but it was no use. He sighed, closed his eyes, and everything faded to black.
Chapter 47
Stanley managed to open his eyes with some difficulty. He was surrounded by total darkness. His head ached, and he was lying on a painfully hard surface. His hands and feet were bound to metal pipes running next to where he lay. There was a gag in his mouth, and he was having trouble getting enough air.
He tried to get free, or at least move his arms and legs, but he couldn’t do it. The next thing he noticed was the cold; it was terribly cold. It took him a surprisingly long time to realize that he was bound, helpless, motionless, completely naked.
He struggled to get free again, even though he knew it was pointless. He tensed all his muscles and tried to move left, then right. He felt something else binding him across the chest to the hard surface beneath him, maybe duct tape.
His efforts weren’t completely in vain, however. The surface he was on moved slightly. He tried rocking from side to side again, then to lift himself upward and down as much as he could. He thought he felt movement beneath him again, and guessed that he was tied to a stretcher, on something like a hospital gurney.
Stanley took a break, breathing the damp, musty air, preparing to try the same maneuvers again. But then he heard the sound of a key in a lock, and a heavy door opening. The light switched on.
He squinted, trying to turn away from the light coming from a lamp hanging directly overhead. Several people approached his gurney. The first to reach him smelled like stale booze and cigarette smoke, and he bent over Stanley, shading his face. But Stanley couldn’t make out who it was in the sudden brightness.
The Banker Who Died Page 45
