Paul Erdman - The Billion Dollar Sure Thing

“After giving the matter twenty-four hours of thought, Bollinger decided not to tell the Americans. He is Swiss, like you and me. And we all know quite well that for all the good features of our friends in the United States, one talent they are not endowed with is the ability to tackle a problem with finesse, subtlety, a fine hand. This is not a criticism, mind you. Just a well-proven fact. As one of my British colleagues has often repeated, ‘At the United States Treasury, every night is amateur night.’ Had Bollinger told them, they would have come storming into Basel like a bunch of drunken cowboys, if you’ll excuse the expression.”

Bernoulli, who knew Americans well, felt that Gerber was overdoing things somewhat. But the minister of the interior, whose closest contact with America had been an occasional bottle of Coca-Cola amply laced with rum, burped his obvious approval. Also the pipe of the minister of justice seemed to be sending up positive signals. The resulting increased density of alcoholic fumes and smoke in the air did not seem to bother the minister of finance. He had apparently hardened in office. Gerber spoke again.

“The end of the story is quite simple. This morning, very early, Bollinger came to me, quite unofficially, of course, and asked for advice. I have pondered it ever since and reached the following conclusions about an hour ago. They are: First, we as a country very strongly desire that this gold revaluation plan be implemented as foreseen. It is in our national interest. Second, the fact is that the harm has already been done. The dossier is gone. Third, if we take this matter to the Americans, either a disastrous type of investigation will be started, and/or the devaluation will be called off permanently. Everybody, including the Americans, would suffer as a result. Fourth, we do not want any international institution domiciled in Switzerland to get involved in a scandal of such monumental proportions if we can help it. Thus my decision, based upon these conclusions, is the following: We will try to run this thing to the ground immediately. It may very well be a quite simple internal Swiss affair. If so, we will just squelch it. If a foreign government is involved, we will immediately withdraw from the scene, and everybody forgets everything. In any case, we as a government—and I cannot stress this fact more strongly—have no, absolutely no, knowledge of this incident. I hope you all quite clearly understand what I am saying—and especially you, Bernoulli.”

“Yes, sir,” replied the young man, “I understand this most clearly.”

“But I don’t.”

Gerber was startled. Of all people, it was the ex-professor who was speaking.

“As I understand these matters, a massive revaluation of the official gold price would mean, ipso facto, a massive devaluation of the dollar.”

Obviously the man had hidden, well hidden, strengths.

“I suspect, in fact I know, that this will not be acceptable to Western Europe, nor would it be acceptable under any circumstances to Switzerland.”

Gerber stepped in again. “My dear colleague, in theory you are of course correct. But in fact, I am convinced the following will evolve. Most countries in the world will follow the dollar’s devaluation completely. They will devalue, relative to gold, by exactly the same amount. So nothing will actually change, as far as exchange rates are concerned. It will only mean that the dollar is once again convertible into gold, at a much higher gold price. This obviously is in the interest of everyone.”

“Most countries, yes. But most probably not all. And those are the ones that count.”

“Indeed, this will represent a complication. Whether the Japanese, the Germans, or even the British will go all the way is not sure. You know as well as I do that the dollar outflow was not stopped by the 1971 and 1973 devaluations. They simply did not go far enough. So another adjustment in exchange rates, involving a limited number of countries, may be necessary. After all, this time we want to solve the problem once and for all.”

“Are you saying that, for the third time now in less than three years, the Swiss franc will be increased in value, relative to the dollar?”

“I am merely saying that we cannot rule this possibility out.”

“By how much?”

“Fifteen percent.”

“Our industry will not like this.”

“Nor will industry in Germany, Japan, or Britain. But we must end the dollar problem. And the time is now. Remember, this entire affair will bring a tremendous windfall gain to our country.”

“How?”

“We have one of the largest gold reserves of any nation on earth: $3.5 billion worth. This will almost triple in value overnight. It will insure that the Swiss franc will remain as the hardest currency in the world for years, perhaps decades, to come. This, gentlemen, is obviously in our country’s interest.”

The room fell into silence.

Gerber shifted his attention.

“Bernoulli, I have decided to put you in charge of this investigation. You will meet with Bollinger tomorrow morning at eight to get all the details. He is expecting you. The best thing for you to do is to go over to Basel this evening and get some sleep tonight. You have a completely free hand, Bernoulli. But I want you to report to me daily. By telephone, if you please.”

The audience was over almost as abruptly as it began.

Bernoulli took the eight-thirty train to Basel. At ten he checked into the Euler Hotel. Before he went down to the bar for a drink, he called his friend at the local police and asked him to start picking up all of the locally known safecrackers for interrogation. He explained the type of job that was involved and the place, but made no mention of the nature of the stolen goods. Kommissar Heinz Bucher promised to keep in touch.

Bernoulli turned in for the evening shortly before midnight.

At one the phone rang. Bernoulli was awake immediately.

“Is this Herr Doktor Bernoulli?” asked a familiar voice.

“Heinz, it’s me and it’s late,” replied George Bernoulli.

“We’ve already got something. A guy that might fit. He’s just in the process of being booked on suspicion of theft—for another job.”

“Where?”

“At the Lohnhof.” This was the city’s central jail, a converted medieval convent.

“All right, get back to your fellows, Heinz. Tell them two things. First, put the fellow into an empty cell but one with two beds. Second, tell them you’ll be bringing another one along in about a half hour. They should book me on suspicion of forgery with no other questions asked. Right? And then have me put in the same cell with this guy. And for God’s sake, don’t tell anybody, either the police or the jail people, who I really am. Use the name Salzmann for me. O.K.?”

“Agreed.”

“Heinz,” yelled Bernoulli. “What’s the man’s name?”

“Bechot. Sammy Bechot,” came the answer.

“I’ll be right over,” Bernoulli said and hung up.

He dressed quickly and left the hotel by the back stairs. It took him a quarter of an hour by foot to reach police headquarters. Bernoulli, like most Swiss, liked to walk. It’s supposed to be healthy. Kommissar Bucher was waiting for him outside. The jail was immediately adjacent to the police building.

The lockup proceedings were rather dreary. Tie, cuff links, watch, wallet went into a brown package. He signed his agreement that everything was duly there. Then down the corridor, through two doors of steel bars, and into a small room. He was ordered to strip. Disease check. Redressed more or less, he was handed over to a new warden and led up the stairs and then to the left. Ghastly place. Just a line of steel doors, all painted yellow. Why yellow? The door to cell 15 was closed. Bernoulli was handed two woolen blankets, two sheets, one rather worn towel, a mini bar of soap, and motioned in. The man inside had been sleeping. He barely took notice of the intruders. Bernoulli was instructed to pull down his bed, which was firmly hinged to the wall, make it, get in, and shut up. It was late.