Paul Erdman - The Billion Dollar Sure Thing

“When did you meet Secretary Crosby?”

“Shortly after my arrival at the hotel. We met in his suite, and after very long talks, ate dinner together in the Grill Room.”

“Did you continue your business talks over dinner?”

“Yes, of course. But we had a table quite to ourselves.”

“You noticed no one in your vicinity acting overly curious?”

“Of course not. Otherwise we would hardly have continued our talks.”

“And after dinner?”

“We said good-bye at the elevator. I took the dossier to my room and went to sleep very early. Quite early the next morning I met the Bank of England people, as arranged.”

“And you met no one else in the hotel?”

“No one.”

“And you recognized no one in the hotel who might have recognized you and perhaps Crosby as well?”

“No one. Well, that’s not totally correct. In fact I did recognize one man. As we were leaving the Grill Room after dinner, I had to return to the table to retrieve my pen which I had left lying there. Just by chance I noticed Dr. Walter Hofer, dining by himself of all things, on the opposite side of the room.”

“Dr. Hofer of the General Bank of Switzerland?”

“Yes.”

“You know him well, of course.”

“Certainly.”

“Did you greet each other?”

“No. I’m sure he also did not notice me.”

“And did you see each other later in the hall, or perhaps the next morning over breakfast?”

“No.”

By this time Bollinger was getting a bit peeved. He had expected that he would have to answer some questions after talking to Bern, but there were ways of going about such things and ways not to. This chap Bernoulli was getting just a touch too arrogant for his taste. But there was no sense in showing it. Just as long as Bernoulli stayed clear of his private life. And so far, he had. But if the Americans got involved, they would grab onto that first thing and never let go.

“In other words, as far as you remember, Hofer was the only acquaintance of yours who might have seen you and Secretary Crosby together?”

“Yes, if you want to put it that way.”

“That’s the way I want to put it.”

A smart ass, that’s what he is, thought Bollinger. He hoped it did not show.

Bernoulli continued. “Now I must assume that you made no mention of this whole thing at the Bank of England.”

“Yes, you’re quite safe in that assumption, my dear Doktor Bernoulli.”

Aha, thought Bernoulli. Finally getting under his skin. That’s always good.

“Right,” he said aloud. “Now let’s cover the trip home.”

“That’s quite simple. After lunch at the Bank of England, I went directly to the airport even though it was a bit early. It was the same story there. I saw no one I knew and talked to no one but the girl at the newsstand in the international lounge.”

“Fine. Now let’s take the flight home.”

“Well, that was a bit different,” replied Bollinger. “First I met Igor Melekov of the Soviet Foreign Trade Bank on the plane. We have known each other for years. In fact, we sat together for part of the trip and chatted.”

“Where did you have the dossier?”

“In my briefcase, of course.”

“Did you ever take the dossier out of your briefcase while on the plane?”

“No.”

“What were you and this Russian talking about anyway?”

“Things which cannot possibly be of any relevance.”

“Ah, so.”

“After landing in Zurich I had about a forty-five-minute stopover before catching the connecting flight to Basel.”

“And your Russian friend?”

“He went into Zurich.”

“I see. Please continue.”

“I chatted with the VIP greeter in the Swissair lounge in Zurich. He took me directly to the plane in his car. On the plane I was recognized, greeted, and spoken to by my tailor. He was just coming back from a trip to South Africa.”

“Hm. Quite a tailor. And in Basel?”

“I took a taxi directly home, deposited the documents in my wall safe which you have examined, and retired for the evening.”

“Fine. Well, I think that does it for today,” said Bernoulli, and rose abruptly. “Say, do you by any chance know a man called Rolf Lutz? He used to be with the police department here—fraud squad.”

“No.”

“Have you ever had any dealings with a company called Swiss Security Consultants?”

“The bank does, yes. They make regular security sweeps. I personally find the whole idea absurd. But some of the Anglo-Saxon participants in our regular monetary meetings at the bank insisted.”

“You mean the Americans or the British?”

“The Americans.”

“You have problems with the Americans?”

“No more than anybody else.”

“Lutz is head of Swiss Security Consultants.”

“Then no doubt I have met him. Why?”

“Just wondering.”

“Then we’ve covered what you want to know?”

“Yes. Thanks so much, Dr. Bollinger. I promise to keep in touch. If you think of anything else that might help, please call me at the Euler Hotel.”

They started walking toward the door.

“Say, just one more little item,” said Bernoulli, his hand resting on the doorknob. “What could happen if this document is in the wrong hands?”

“What do you mean by ‘wrong hands’?”

“Let’s say a government hostile to the United States.”

“That’s flatly impossible.”

“O.K., but just for the fun of it, what if it happened?”

“If they leaked its contents, it would start a tremendous run on the dollar. No one could foresee the ultimate consequences.”

“But why?”

“The world would no doubt interpret the contents of this document as the intention of the United States to make a new massive devaluation of the dollar. They would all want out—all at the same time.”

“But that’s not the intention of the United States, is it?”

“Technically yes, but only relative to gold. There will be another devaluation of the dollar relative to other currencies simultaneously, but it will be rather minor—15 percent. That’s not what matters. We are dealing here with mass psychology. The world has been extremely edgy about the dollar for years now. This could set off the panic which everyone has been trying to avoid.”

“And if it was just a private group, or person?”

“Obviously one or the other could make a lot of money.”

“Or,” added Bernoulli, “he could use the document to forward some private crackpot scheme. You know, bring on the death throes of capitalism or some such thing.”

“I must say, you certainly do not lack imagination, Bernoulli.”

“Well, I’m not a banker.”

With that he left. Bollinger walked slowly back to the living room and poured himself a fairly stiff cognac.

Ten minutes later Bernoulli was going through exactly the same exercise back at his hotel. Then he got on the telephone. First to Bern to report in and then to Kommissar Bucher at the local police headquarters.

“George,” said Bucher, “I’m glad you called. I’m starting to like working with you.”

“How come?” asked Bernoulli.

“Because between us things happen—fast. We’ve already got Bechot nailed. One of our fellows, checking out all the bars and hotels, determined that he spent another five-pound note. This time at the bar of the Three Kings Hotel. It was on the same evening as the robbery. The bartender is willing to testify as a witness. We already have a signed statement from him.”

“Great, but how does that help me?”

“It seems that Bechot has been coming to that bar each night, for four consecutive days, starting on Friday, October 24, and ending on the night of the robbery when he left the five-pound note.”