by Ken McClure
Eva was excited when Rives told her what he had been doing and her enthusiasm went some way towards re-kindling his own. He had been feeling depressed on the way home but maybe it wasn’t such a crazy idea after all. He rubbed his eyes and said, ‘Do you know, when you look at a computer screen all day long everything starts to look pink
… ‘
Eva, who was standing behind his chair massaging his neck, switched to running her fingertips gently along his eyebrows. Rives sighed in appreciation. ‘Do you think I should call your friend and tell him?’ he asked.
Eva thought for a moment then said, ‘Let’s leave it until tomorrow. Who knows? You may have something more exciting to tell him.’
MacLean was restless. He kept telling himself that he had made good progress since his arrival in Geneva but the fact remained that today had been a day when nothing had happened. The minutes had passed like hours, each one laden with the accusation that Carrie was lying in hospital while he was doing nothing. But there was nothing he could do. His best chance of finding Von Jonek currently lay with Rives and he’d heard nothing from him or Eva. He wondered if he should call them but knew that Eva would have called him if there had been any progress. For him to call would be an invasion of their privacy and he’d already been guilty of that.
He walked over to the window and took in that it was still raining; it had rained all day, making him feel like a caged animal in the hotel room. He poured himself a tumbler of whisky and drank it more quickly than was good for him but it took the edge off things. By the time he had downed a second glass, he felt like sleeping.
When he woke the sun was streaming in through half closed curtains. There were still raindrops on the window and he could see their pattern reflected on the wall opposite. The last time he had looked at such a pattern it had been made by falling snow and he had been in Tansy’s bungalow but he couldn’t allow himself to dwell on this; it would only lead to more self-recrimination. Instead, encouraged by the sunshine, he got up, showered and dressed. He left the hotel without eating breakfast, wanting to be out in the fresh air before the traffic started to build but, after an hour, the smell of coffee and freshly baked bread in the air reminded him that he should eat. He stopped at a small cafe near the Cathedral St Pierre and ordered orange juice, scrambled eggs and coffee. The waitress was a smiling girl who asked if he was a tourist. MacLean wondered briefly what made her think that before deducing that it must be his clothes, smart but casual. He was neither a workman nor a professional and his French, although good, was accented. He agreed that he was and the girl suggested some places nearby that he might like to visit. MacLean thanked her and set off when he’d finished eating in the direction of the Rue de Rhone.
He found reminders of his past life as he walked past the jewellers where he had bought Jutte’s birthday present only the week before she died. He paused briefly to look in the window and rested the tips of his fingers lightly on the glass for a few seconds before moving on past other expensive shops, which had once contributed significantly to his lifestyle: they now seemed very alien. He turned his back on them and set out to find freedom down by the shores of the lake. As he waited to cross the busy road, a white Citroen was in the parade of cars that passed by. Unknown to him, it contained Jean-Paul Rives and the music of Vivaldi.
Rives spent the entire morning working on a revision of the price of Lehman Steiner products in Italy. Serious instability in the Italian government had meant that company profit margins had been stretched to their limit. Something would have to be done and it was his decision to recommend a ten- per cent rise across the board. He further decided that this should be implemented over a period of three months and gave a grunt of satisfaction as he closed the file and leaned back in his chair to stretch his arms in the air.
‘Lunch?’ suggested a colleague.
Rives shook his head, saying that he was going to get some fresh air and grab a sandwich.
After ten minutes spent enjoying the sunshine and taking deep breaths, Rives returned to the Lehman Steiner building with his sandwich and a plastic mug of coffee, which threatened to burn his fingers by the time he got to the third floor. He had to run the final few steps before hurriedly depositing it on his desk and blowing his fingertips.
He had been working on Italy all morning so Rives set up his test equation for that country. It took forty-five minutes to go through the analysis and for him to be satisfied that there was no serious imbalance in assets against investments. With a sigh he consigned Italy to the waste-paper basket and moved on to the next country.
Fifty minutes later Rives was looking at a serious imbalance. Excitement grew as he checked again, cautioning himself that he had been caught out once before and a perfectly rational explanation was possible. This time however, there was no chain of Pharmacies in the pipeline to account for the discrepancy in the figures. There really was an imbalance and what was more; it amounted to approximately 18 million dollars. He’d found the country where X14 was located.
Rives’ throat went dry with excitement. He drained the dregs from his coffee cup and couldn’t stop staring at the screen. He had come this far; was it conceivable that he could find out a bit more? Could he ask the computer to account for the imbalance? He typed in the question and the computer confirmed what he had just worked out for himself. The impassive lettering on the screen said, ‘X14 Account’.
Rives’s colleagues were all back from lunch and he had to return to the demands of the day. He decided he’d work late again and, for the moment, put X14 out of his mind while he worked on an appropriate price rise for Lehman Steiner’s products in Sweden. He also added a recommendation that one of their shampoos, which was selling very badly, be withdrawn altogether from the Scandinavian market. He tried twice to reach Eva during the course of the afternoon but once more had to leave a message with the clinic secretary to say that he would be late home.
By six thirty Rives was all alone in the office and had worked out his next plan of action. He would request access to the X14 file but would not really expect to get it. If and when that failed, he would go back to the original account numbers given to the X14 project. He had access to these and he knew that they had not been changed. Now that he knew which country was involved, there was a good chance he could trace which bank in that country was dealing with the financing of X14. Once that was established, a bank sort code might lead him to the city where X14 was located.
Rives requested access to the X14 file but the word, RESTRICTED, appeared on the screen followed by a request for his personal password. Without thinking, Rives typed it in and again was told, RESTRICTED. This time he was asked for his priority code number. Thinking that this might grant him access, Rives typed in the number and waited. NO ACCESS said the computer and Rives shrugged his shoulders. It was back to the numbers game.
There were sixteen relevant banks in the country Rives was interested in; two nationals and fourteen merchant banks with which Lehman Steiner did business. Rives wrote down the sorting codes for each and set out to find if any of them appeared in the account numbers he had listed for X14. By nine o’ clock he had found out which merchant bank was involved and by half past, he knew exactly where X14 was located. He phoned Eva at home and told her of his success. She was delighted and excited, saying that she would call MacLean immediately and ask him round to hear the good news. ‘How long will you be?’ she asked.
‘About half and hour.’
ELEVEN
As Rives was clearing his desk, he suddenly had the feeling that he was not alone. He paused as he imagined that he’d heard the squeaking hinge of a door somewhere along the corridor but there was nothing but the hum of the air conditioner and an intermittent buzz from a strip-light that needed replacing. He continued clearing things away and was fastening the clip on his briefcase when he heard movement outside in the corridor. ‘Is anyone there?’ he called out into the darkness. There was no reply.
Rives berated himse
lf for being so jumpy. He put it down to the darkness and the fact that he had been doing something the company would rather he hadn’t. There was nothing quite like guilt for distorting things out of all proportion, he concluded. He checked his desk for the last time and walked to the elevator. Somewhere far above, the winding gear whirred into life and the indicator lights above the door flashed silently on and off as they tracked the rise of the car.
The doors slid back and he was about to step inside when he was suddenly joined by two men, one on either side of him. They appeared to have materialised out of nowhere. Rives was startled and blurted out something about not realising that there had been other people working on the floor. Neither man replied but all three got into the elevator. Rives pressed the button for the basement garage and his companions seemed content with that.
Rives was afraid. The two men did not look like any members of staff he’d seen before in the building. The taller of the two had a distinctively yellow complexion, almost jaundiced, he thought, while the other was short, squat and fair with a squarish head that seemed to grow directly out of his shoulders. Both men stared into the middle distance as the elevator descended.
The doors opened and the smell of petrol and car wax heralded their arrival in the garage. Rives was just beginning to think that he had been worrying about nothing when he felt his elbows being gripped and he was steered quickly towards a black, Mercedes estate car. He protested and started to struggle but the short man held up a pistol to his head and motioned with the barrel towards the car.
The yellow man drove while the other sat with Rives in the back, holding the gun on him but still not saying anything, making Rives feel like the Invisible Man. All his questions about who his captors were and where the hell they were going were ignored by two men who did not even bother to look at him. Outside in the street he could see people smiling and talking. They didn’t even know he was there.
The Mercedes drew to a halt outside a building in the fashionable district of Sacconex and Rives was told to get out by the driver who came round to open the door. He was prodded along by the gun and directed down a flight of stone steps to a side door. The yellow man opened the door and all three entered to find a man obviously waiting for them. He was younger than Rives, well groomed and well dressed. He might have been an executive in Sales or Marketing.
‘Ah, M. Rives,’ the man smiled. ‘Sit down please.’
‘What is going on?’ Rives demanded. ‘I protest! This is outrageous! I can only assume that there has been some sort of ridiculous mistake.’
‘No mistake M. Rives,’ said the man evenly. ‘Why did you request access to the X14 file?’
Rives’ insides turned to water as he realised what must have happened. The X14 file had a security monitor on it. When he’d been asked to enter his personal details, it had not been for purposes of granting him access. It had been to identify the person making the request! The man questioning him no longer looked like a sales executive. His eyes were devoid of emotion and promised nothing but bad news unless he talk his way out of the mess he had got himself into.
Rives claimed that it was his job to monitor the company’s profits in European countries. By chance he had come across a discrepancy in the company’s assets versus investments in one of them. The computer had told him that something called X14 was responsible. He had thought it his duty to investigate further so he had simply asked for the file on X14.
There was a silence in the room that threatened Rives’ nerves. He watched as the man in front of him tapped his pen slowly end over end on the arm of his chair.
‘So you had never heard of X14 before today?’ asked the man.
‘No,’ answered Rives.
‘Then how do you explain this,’ said the man, removing two pieces of paper from his inside pocket and handing them to Rives who accepted them like a writ. He knew what they were before he looked at them. The crumpled nature of the paper said that they had been taken from his waste-paper basket. They were his notes from two days ago when he had found the connection between Von Jonek and X14. Rives said nothing and looked at the floor.
‘I’m waiting,’ said the man.
‘All right,’ conceded Rives. ‘I was trying to find Dr Von Jonek.’
There was another agonisingly long pause before the man said, ‘Why?’
‘Because someone asked me to.’
‘Who?’
‘A friend.’
‘Name?’
‘Schmidt, Karl Schmidt. He and Von Jonek were students together a long time ago. He’d heard that Von Jonek was working for the company and asked for my help in tracing him.’
‘Then why didn’t you say this at the beginning?’ said the man with an air of benevolence that Rives found disarming.
‘I didn’t want to lose my job,’ said Rives. ‘I enjoy my work.’
The yellow skinned man came from behind Rives and stood at the shoulder of Rives’ interrogator, who looked up at him and said, ‘What do you think Rudi?’
‘I think he’s lying in his teeth,’ said yellow skin.
The seated man rested his elbows on the arms of his chair and brought his fingertips together thoughtfully before saying slowly, ‘Then perhaps we should do something about his teeth?’
Rives started to shake with fear as he anticipated the pain to come. He felt himself being gripped from behind by the squat man and cringed away from yellow skin who was coming towards him. He closed his eyes against the expected blow but felt himself being manipulated into a headlock. He opened his eyes to see that yellow skin was holding a pair of electrical pliers in his hand.
Rives’ mouth was forced open and, at the third attempt, yellow skin managed to lock the pliers on to Rives’ right incisor and lever it horizontal to the gum.
Rives had never known such pain. He screamed and started to shake uncontrollably as the taste of blood filled his mouth
‘At the risk of repeating myself M. Rives,’ said the man calmly. ‘Why did you request access to the X14 file?’
With a desperate courage which Rives had never even suspected that he possessed he maintained that his story had been true.
‘Well Rudi, what do you think now?’
‘I think he’s lying to his fingertips,’ said yellow skin with plain meaning.
Rives’ tormentor did not have to say anything this time. He simply watched the horror register on Rives’ face.
Rives’ courage gave out. He told his torturers everything they wanted to know.
This time the man seemed satisfied. He looked to the squat man and nodded. The man screwed a silencer on to the end of his pistol.
Rives’ body was loaded into the back of the Mercedes and the three men set off to visit Eva Stahl.
Rives had told them about the man named Keith Nielsen who used to work with Eva at Lehman Steiner but had not been able to tell them what hotel he was staying at. No problem. Eva Stahl would tell them.
By nine thirty in the evening MacLean was convinced that this was going to be another day with no word from Eva. Frustration was building up inside him so he decided just had to get out for a while He had just left the hotel when Eva called. She left a message with the desk that he should phone as soon as he returned. MacLean came back just after ten and made the call from the desk.
‘Wonderful news,’ said Eva. ‘Jean-Paul has traced X14. He knows where Von Jonek is!’
‘Where?’
‘Come on over and we’ll tell you all about it.’
‘When?’
As soon as you like. He should be home at any moment now… actually he’s a bit late as it is.’
‘I’m on my way,’ said MacLean. It sounded like a celebration might be in order later. He checked that he had enough money in his pocket and also that he was carrying his passport. This was routine and the result of another of Doyle’s rules. When you’re in the field, stay mobile and solvent. MacLean tossed his key on to the desk at Reception and ran down the steps outside to hail
a cab.
A black Mercedes was leaving the rue St Martin as MacLean’s cab turned into it. MacLean paid it scant attention; he was looking for Rives’ white Citroen as a sign of his return. He didn’t see it. Still tingling with anticipation he reached Eva’s apartment and rang the doorbell: there was no reply. He rang again and this time the continuing silence spawned a hellish flashback to what he’d found at Vernay’s flat in Edinburgh. Fear gripped at his stomach as he rang again with still no response. He put his ear to the door and thought that he could heard a sound. He listened again and heard a distinct moan coming from inside.
He put his shoulder to the door and entered to find Eva lying on the floor in a pool of blood. She had been badly beaten. He cradled her head in his arms and began wiping the blood away gently with a handkerchief. Eva opened her eyes and tried to speak. ‘Told them your hotel… didn’t tell them you were… Sean MacLean…’
The effort was causing her agony but she was determined to continue. ‘Jean-Paul is dead…’
MacLean swallowed; he could see that Eva herself was close to death. The blood in her mouth was coming from her lungs, probably punctured by broken ribs. There was no point in breaking off to call an ambulance; it was more appropriate that she should spend her last few living moments in the arms of a friend. He kissed her gently on the forehead and she responded with the merest shadow of a smile.
‘I’m so sorry,’ whispered MacLean but it seemed desperately inadequate.
