Koenig struggled with what he was about to say and then blurted it out. "I'm afraid we will never find that money."
"Why?"
The banker threw his arms out. "It has been spread to the wind. I have never seen anything like it in all my years. The initial round of transfers was executed via fax in three waves. They came from all over the world."
"Where?"
"Hong Kong, San Francisco, New York, London, Berlin, Paris, Istanbul, Moscow, New Delhi..."
"Moscow?"
"Yes."
"I would like to see the faxes."
The banker shook his head.
Shvets sighed, "Ohhhh ... why must we do this the hard way? Herr Koenig, I know where the accounts were held. Your branch in Geneva. You are not as innocent as you would like me to believe. You will show me those faxes, and if you don't, some people will come visit you in the middle of the night and do to you what was done to Herr Dorfman."
Koenig swallowed hard. "I think I can make that concession."
"Good. Now why do you say we will never find the money?"
"My legal counsel has informed me that not a single bank that we transferred the money to today has consented to our request for information."
"Certainly there's a way."
"It would involve years of lawsuits, and even then you would be lucky to track down a fraction of the funds."
"Well, maybe you need to turn up the pressure." Koenig watched as his words seemed to have the opposite effect from the one he'd intended.
Koenig stiffened. "I should warn you that a faction of the board feels very strongly that this is dirty money."
"Dirty money?" Shvets asked, as if the accusation were an insult.
"There are rumors that Herr Dorfman was an agent for the East German Stasi before the wall fell."
"Rumors are bad things."
"And there is another rumor that he worked for your GRU as well. That he helped certain people launder money."
Shvets gave him a wicked grin. Dorfman had, in fact, been a spy for the KGB, not the GRU. "Where have you heard such things?"
"From people who know such things," Koenig answered cagily. "Would you like to talk to them?"
Shvets suddenly got the feeling that he'd lost the upper hand. He needed to say something to fluster Koenig. "Back to these banking laws for a moment. I assume these very same laws could be used to conceal gross incompetence of your branch in Geneva ... or better yet, that one of Herr Dorfman's colleagues at the bank helped himself to millions of dollars that did not belong to him. Don't they say that most bank heists are inside jobs?"
"That is pure, unfounded speculation."
"As is your gossip about Herr Dorfman being a GRU spy." Checkmate.
Koenig squirmed for a moment and then offered, "Would you be willing to talk to the people who have sworn that Herr Dorfman was a spy?"
"Absolutely," he said, even though he had no such intention, "but I would like to see those faxes first. Especially the one that originated in Moscow."
Koenig studied him cautiously for a moment and then said, "I will have copies of the faxes made for you. Give me a minute." He left the room, glancing back over his shoulder with a frown.
Shvets paced while he waited. This was starting to look like a big mess. Once these thieves in suits confirmed that Dorfman had worked for the KGB, they would not be the slightest bit inclined to repay a single dollar. The Germans hated the Russians almost as much as the Russians hated the Germans. Koenig came back a few minutes later. He had two other men with him this time, and Shvets knew the jig was up. Koenig handed over the stack of faxes. They were blank, except for the sending and receiving fax numbers. The man might as well have written "Fuck you" in large letters across the top sheet. Still, it was better than nothing.
CHAPTER 41
ZURICH, SWITZERLAND
THEY had drinks in the library, although Rapp thought of it more as shots like he had done back in college, except instead of a smelly bar in upstate New York he was in a mansion on the outskirts of one of the most refined cities in the world. Herr Ohlmeyer did not believe in ruining fine spirits with anything other than ice, so the liquor was served either up, on the rocks, or neat, which Rapp learned was basically naked, meaning nothing but the booze. Rapp chose a glass of sixteen-year-old Lagavulin single malt scotch and asked for it on the rocks. Ohlmeyer liked playing host and told Rapp it was a fine choice. Rapp took the glass, smiled, and said, "Thank you."
Greta had not made her entrance yet, so Rapp took the opportunity to corner Hurley, who was standing by the massive granite fireplace speaking with one of Ohlmeyer's two sons. He approached Hurley from behind and tapped him on the shoulder. "We need to talk."
Hurley said something to Ohlmeyer's son in German that Rapp did not understand, and after he had walked away, Hurley turned to Rapp and asked, "What's up?"
Rapp jerked his head in the direction of the small soundproof office. "What was that all about?"
Hurley's jaw clenched as was his habit when he didn't want to talk about something. Reluctantly he said, "It's part of the deal. Don't worry. Just listen to Carl, he knows what he's doing."
"Does Irene know about it, or Spencer Tracy, that guy who I'm not supposed to know?" That was how Rapp referred to the man he had met briefly at the offices of International Software Logistics, the man who, he assumed, was running the show. The question caused the veins on Hurley's neck to bulge, which in turn caused Rapp to take a step back. That particular physical cue was often a precursor to Hurley's blowing his top.
Hurley felt the older Ohlmeyer's eyes on him and told himself to take a deep breath through his nose and exhale through his mouth. It was a trick Lewis had taught him. It helped him center himself. Ohlmeyer despised public outbursts. "Listen, kid ... this is a tough business. There's certain things they don't need to know about, and quite frankly, don't want to know about."
Rapp considered that for a second before asking, "Can it get me in trouble?"
"Pretty much everything we do can get in you in trouble with someone. This is about taking care of yourself. No one else needs to know about this other than Carl and his two boys."
Rapp took a sip of his scotch and was about to ask another question, but thought better of it. Don't look a gift horse in the mouth.
Hurley wished he could say more, but the kid would have to figure it out the hard way, as he himself had had to do back in the day. He took a big gulp of bourbon and thought about how much easier it would have been if someone had just pointed a few things out to him. Hurley changed his mind and decided to let it fly. "Kid ... you're good, and that's no small thing coming from me. My job is to find faults and try to beat them out of you. At some point in this line of work ... I don't care how good you are ... I don't care how just your cause ... sooner or later you're going to land yourself in a big pile of shit. It might be your fault, although more than likely, it'll be some asshole back stateside out to make a name for himself so he can advance his career. He'll put a target on your back, and trust me on this one, even though you're going to want to stand and fight, you need to run. Run and hide ... lie low ... wait for things to blow over."
"And then what?"
"You live to fight another day, or maybe you just disappear for good." Rapp frowned, and Hurley knew exactly what he was thinking. "We're not that different, kid. The idea of running away for good isn't in our veins, but it's nice to have options. You bide your time, you find out who it is who's out to get you, and then you go after them."
Rapp absorbed the advice and looked around the courtly library. "When are we shipping out?"
"Tomorrow morning. I was going to tell you guys later."
"Where to?"
"Back to the scene of the crime."
"Beirut?" Rapp whispered.
"Yep." Hurley held up his glass. "Although I might have a small job for you first."
"What kind of job?"
"We might have a lead on someone."
"Who?
"
"I don't want to say yet."
"Come on!"
"Nope ... no sense in getting your hopes up. Irene is flying over in the morning to brief us. If she's verified it, I will send you on a quick one-day detour, and then you can join up with us in Beirut."
"And the intel on Beirut?"
"It's good ... really good. These guys have been singing like birds all day."
The men spent another thirty minutes in the library. Ohlmeyer took the time to introduce both of his sons to Rapp and Richards. The older one was August and the younger was Robert, and both were vice presidents at the bank and held positions on the board. The patriarch of the family assured the two young men that they could trust his sons, and Hurley seconded the opinion. Ohimeyer knew that they would be leaving in the morning and suggested that they reconvene at the earliest possible time to work out the protocols and to make sure that each man understood the details of his various legends.
CHAPTER 42
SHORTLY before seven they moved from the library to a sitting room that was decorated in the French Baroque style. The white, carved flowers, leaves, and shells on the furniture and molding were in stark contrast to the deep natural woods of the library. Sitting on one of the room's four sofas was Greta. Next to her was an older woman whom Rapp took to be her grandmother, and thus Carl Ohlmeyer's wife.
Greta smiled at him from across the room. Rapp, in control of his faculties this time, flashed her a crooked grin and walked over, shaking his head. "Good evening, ladies." Rapp offered his hand again. This time it was dry. "Greta, you look lovely."
"Thank you, Mitch ... I mean Mike."
Rapp laughed, "You're good."
"I'd like you to meet my grandmother, Elsa."
Rapp offered his hand. "Very nice to meet you, Frau Ohlmeyer. You have a lovely home." Rapp thought he noticed something wrong with her eyes when she smiled. A certain disconnect. Her grip was also a bit weak, and he wondered if she might be ill.
Herr Ohlmeyer was suddenly at Rapp's side. "Michael, I see you have met Greta."
"Yes, we bumped into each other this afternoon."
"And my wife." Ohlmeyer placed a hand on her shoulder
"Yes."
Looking back at his granddaughter, he said, "Greta is our pride and joy."
"I can see why. She is very sharp."
"Yes, and so far the only one of my grandchildren who has shown any interest in getting into the banking business."
For the next five minutes, Rapp got the family history. Carl and Elsa had two boys and two girls. One daughter was married and lived in London and the other was divorced and in Spain. August and Robert's wives were currently on vacation with their sister-in-law at her Spanish villa. There were eleven grandchildren, of which Greta was the third-eldest. Elsa did not speak, although she did smile a few times. Richards, Hurley, and the two brothers were at the opposite end of the room, no doubt discussing matters of far greater importance, but Rapp didn't beat up on himself too badly. Standing this close to Greta was worth it. Every chance Rapp got he stole a look. Her high ponytail had been changed out for a loose clip in the back that made her look much more mature than when he'd met her earlier in the day. She was wearing a cobalt-blue silk blouse and a black skirt with gray tights. He thought Herr Ohlmeyer caught him at least once ogling her and he had no idea what Elsa was thinking. She just kept smiling at him with that faraway look in her eyes.
The Ohlmeyers were kind enough not to ask him any personal questions about his own family, as he would have been forced to tell them a lie. Herr Ohlmeyer decided it was time to sit for dinner. He asked for his wife's hand, but before she stood, she pulled her granddaughter close and whispered something in her ear. Greta giggled, while her grandmother pulled away and flashed Rapp an intriguing smile, before pulling her granddaughter close again. She whispered another few lines before finally taking her husband's hand and standing.
Elsa took a step toward Rapp, and to his surprise, she reached out and gently patted him on the cheek. She gave him a warm smile and then walked away without saying a word.
Rapp turned to Greta. "You have a very interesting grandmother."
Greta reached out and grabbed his arm, pulling him close and walking him toward the dining room, but in no rush to catch up with the others. "Granny Elsa is an amazing woman. Unfortunately, she is not well."
"What's wrong?" Rapp said, as his stomach did flips over Greta's touch.
"She has Alzheimer's."
"I'm sorry."
"No need to be sorry. These things happen. Such is life."
"I suppose," Rapp said, turning toward her. She smelled so good, he wanted to bury his face in her mane of shiny blond hair.
"She has no regrets. She led a very active life up until just a year ago. I am living here now and working at the bank. This way I can spend time with her ... while she still remembers me."
"That's nice."
"We spend our evenings going through letters and photos. There is so much family history that only she knows. My grandfather is a brilliant man, but he has a hard time remembering the names of his own grandchildren."
"Not yours. You can tell, he thinks the world of you."
"Well ... I work for him. I would hope he remembers my name."
As they entered the dining room, Rapp said, "Do you mind me asking what your grandmother whispered in your ear?"
Greta gave him a nervous laugh and rested her head against his shoulder before releasing his arm. "Maybe after a few drinks."
Rapp followed her like a puppy dog down the right side of the long table. There were chairs for twenty but they were only eight, so they clustered at the far end with Carl at the head of the table and Elsa to his left, followed by Greta and Rapp. Hurley was to Carl's right, followed by August, then Richards, and finally Robert.
The wine glasses were filled and conversations that had been going continued while new ones were started. Richards got Rapp's attention at one point and gave him a you-lucky-bastard shake of his head while darting his eyes at Greta. Rapp for his part struck up a rather boring conversation with Greta's uncle, who was sitting directly across from him. When Greta had finished her glass of wine Rapp leaned over and asked, "So can you tell me now."
Greta slid her hand over and patted his thigh. "One more glass, I think." She held up her glass and one of the servants filled it. "So how does an all-American boy such as yourself end up in this nasty line of work?"
"We get recruited like any other profession."
"So your background is military?"
Rapp shook his head and smiled. "I'm a fine arts major with a minor in poetry."
Greta's face lit up in surprise for a moment and then she caught herself. "You are teasing me."
"Yes, I am."
"Why?" she asked playfully.
"Because you know I can't talk about my past ... and I tend to tease people whom I like."
"So, you like me?" she said with an approving nod.
He didn't know why he decided to say it. Maybe it was the wine, maybe it was his newfound confidence that he was finally making a difference, that he was part of something important, but he did nonetheless. Rapp leaned in close so only she could hear and said, "I don't know what it is about you, but I've had a hard time thinking of anything but you, since we met this afternoon."
She smiled at him, her cheeks flushing just a touch. "You are different. Not so guarded."
Rapp laughed. "I'm probably the most guarded person you'll ever meet. Just not with you, for some reason."
"Is that good or bad?"
"I think it's good. At least it feels good." Rapp looked into her blue eyes. She was smiling back at him. He was about to really open up when Herr Ohlmeyer tapped his wine glass with his knife several times and stood. Ohlmeyer raised his glass and started giving a toast. Rapp turned his chair slightly so he could face him, and his right knee moved to within a few inches of Greta's thigh. Then her left hand slowly slid over from her lap and found his k
nee. From that moment on, Rapp didn't register a single word that came out of Herr Ohlmeyer's mouth. Nor did he hear anything Hurley said when he rose to make his toast.
The main course arrived. It was a braised beef of some sort, served with mushrooms, potatoes, gravy, and vegetables, the kind of meat-and-potatoes meal Rapp loved. There was only one problem. He had just stuffed a forkful of beef in his mouth when Greta leaned over and told him what her grandmother had whispered in her ear.
"My granny thinks you are extremely attractive. She told me I should sleep with you."
Rapp would have been fine if it had ended there, but it didn't. As he tried to swallow the meat Greta leaned over once more.
"She said that if I don't she will."
Rapp froze, his eyes bulged, and a piece of meat got stuck in the crossroads of his throat. His brain's autopilot kicked in and the hunk of meat came flying back up as fast as a major-league fastball. The only thing that saved it from pelting Richards in the face was Rapp's quick hands. A fit that started out as a cough morphed into eye-watering laughter. Greta smacked him on the back a few times and had to hold her napkin over her mouth to conceal her own laughter and amusement that she had set the chain of events in motion. Conversation ceased and all eyes settled on the young duo.
Greta saved them by announcing, "I am sorry." She dabbed at her eyes. "I told him a bad joke."
Rapp finally got hold of himself and everyone went back to their conversations. Rapp noticed Hurley giving him a few cautious looks, but other than that no one appeared to notice the flirting. Shortly after dessert was served, Elsa tapped Greta on the arm and told her she was tired. Everyone stood while the two women made their exit, and then Ohlmeyer suggested they retire to the library. Hurley disappeared into the small soundproof office, and it was Rapp's turn to talk with the two uncles. They gave Rapp a message service to call if he needed to contact them. He was never to call the office directly, especially if he was in trouble. Rapp kept looking over his shoulder, hoping to see Greta, but she did not return. About an hour into it the brothers thought they had made enough progress and agreed they would sit down again when Rapp came through town again in the coming weeks.