Paul Erdman - The Billion Dollar Sure Thing

“How much gold do you buy and sell here each day?”

“I’m afraid I can’t tell you. It’s one policy of this bank which is totally ironclad,” was the gold trader’s answer.

“Can you give me a hint?”

“Well, in recent years the amount of new gold, coming from the mines in South Africa and sometimes Russia, amounts to about 40 million ounces. At recent prices, that’s almost $3 billion a year. But then you must remember that there are about another 200 million ounces in the hands of private speculators—in Switzerland, or France, or the Near East especially—and they are constantly buying and selling. So that might give another ten billion changing hands each year. Some put it a lot higher—a whole lot.”

“And all that business is done from this little room?” was Mary’s response.

“No. But let’s say this: we do more than our fair share, by quite a bit. And that’s thanks to your uncle. He probably knows more about gold than anyone in the world today. He knows everybody in the business too—from South African mine operators to the big smugglers who run gold by the ton into India from Dubai on the Persian gulf. By comparison, that fellow Goldfinger in the James Bond book was nothing.”

“I didn’t know that.”

Zimmerer now broke in. “Please, Miss Rogers, for goodness sake don’t mention any of this to him. He doesn’t like publicity of any kind—especially where gold is concerned.”

All of a sudden Zimmerer seemed to be in a hurry. He said a few words in Swiss German to the men at the gold-trading desk and then left with Mary. After taking the elevator up three floors they entered a quite different world. The clatter and confusion of the foreign exchange department was suddenly replaced by the complete silence of a deeply carpeted, soundproof corridor. A uniformed guard rose to greet them after they had taken just a very few steps.

“Dr. Hofer is expecting us,” said Zimmerer. The eyebrows of the guard rose just slightly.

“This is his niece.” They fell back to normal.

Dr. Hofer’s office was immense and impressive: the oak panelling, the soft paintings, the huge rugs, and even the very faint scent of cigar smoke which must have represented the lingering memory of Cuba’s best. They crossed the room toward Hofer’s desk—he never greeted anyone at the door to his office but merely signaled them in by means of an electric “Please enter” signal outside his door—and were waved toward a group of chairs that was about twenty yards away, on the other side of the room. The two young people waded through the rugs and sat down. Neither dared to talk at first, but it seemed that Mary’s nature could not stand that for long.

“You know, Mr. Zimmerer, you’re awfully young to have such a position at the bank. Are you married?”

“No, Miss Rogers, I guess I’ve been too caught up in my work to get around to that.”

“Oh, come on now. You can call me Mary, you know.”

“Fine. I’m Werner.”

“That’s a very stern name.”

“Well, it’s rather common in Switzerland.”

“Werner, do you know any nice place to go dancing in Zurich? You know my uncle; my aunt is no different. And Mom is hopeless. So I can hardly ask them.”

“Sure, there are lots of places. But it depends on what you want. I mean like everywhere, I guess, you have to be a little choosey.”

“I’ve got an idea,” said Mary. “Why don’t we two go out somewhere together this evening. Maybe a place where we can have dinner and then dance. I’ll treat. I mean, if you’re not too busy or something. After all, I do owe you something after this morning.”

Zimmerer thought. Very nice long hair, cute little nose, and she sure looks great in that white blouse and blue skirt. Probably have to be careful though. He decided.

“I think that’s a terrific idea, Mary. But are you sure your uncle won’t mind?”

“Of course not. After all, I am twenty-two.”

“Are you staying at his place?”

“Yes, but that’s way down the lake. Can’t we meet somewhere so you don’t have to go out and back?”

“No. That’s no trouble. What time should I pick you up?”

“Would seven be all right?”

“Perfect.”

The deal was cinched. The career prospects of Herr Zimmerer had suddenly taken on a new dimension. And after a full week—no, eight days—of nothing, Mary’s rather active sex life was suddenly returning to normal. This would be her first Swiss. She had noticed that generally they were rather short, compared to American boys. But maybe that did not make any difference.

“Well, Mary, how did it go?” asked her uncle who had suddenly joined them, interrupting their introspective silence.

“Just fine, Uncle Walter. You were right. It is a fascinating business.”

“Good. Your mother’s waiting downstairs. I’ll take you. Herr Zimmerer, please wait here for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”

Mary solemnly shook hands with Zimmerer, winked at him, and disappeared. A few minutes later Dr. Hofer returned.

“Herr Zimmerer, I’m glad we have this chance to talk to each other in privacy. I hear that there is a bit of commotion at the foreign exchange desk this morning. What’s going on?”

“Herr Doktor, it’s really too early to say. But there’s big volume and some downward pressure on the dollar again.”

“Where’s it coming from?”

“Hard to say.”

“Any unusually big sellers?”

“Really only one that we’ve noticed. The fellows in Moscow. They were very big on the selling side yesterday, and they’re back at it again today.”

“For this time of year that is peculiar. They are almost always big net buyers of dollars in late fall to pay for agricultural imports, if I recall correctly.”

“That’s right, sir. But, of course, this selling could very well be just concentrated on us for the moment. They might just be doing a lot of trading, playing us off against Frankfurt or London, or more probably Budapest, Bucharest and Prague. All those fellows in Eastern Europe have gotten very big in the foreign exchange game during the past couple of years. Would you like me to check all this out in detail to see if something really unusual is going on?”

“Yes. Please do, Zimmerer. But do it carefully. And do not mention any of this to your associates. Now another thing. What’s our net dollar position?”

“I have brought the latest figures with me, sir. Right now we are slightly short, on balance. About $40 million. That’s well within the standing limits I’ve been given, sir, for the bank’s own position.”

“Of course.” Hofer paused and then went on. “Right. Now I want you to adjust our dollar position very carefully. From short to much shorter. You have authorization to go up to two billion short—as quickly as the market will take it. Stick to short maturities—three months maximum.”

“You mean $2 billion or Swiss francs equivalent?”

“Dollars.”

“You said, as quickly as the market will take it. Do you mean today?”

“Yes.”

“Well, there could be a problem. I just received a customer order to short exactly that amount on almost exactly the same basis—all one-month maturities if possible, but three months will be acceptable.”

Hofer appeared startled. He asked, “Within what price range?”

“No price limits were given. It’s an absolutely open order.”

“Who gave you the order?”

“Direktor Kellermann.”

Hofer frowned. Zimmerer continued. “And there’s something else. Kellermann told me to start executing a huge buy order for gold bullion. Same customer.”

“Who is it?”

“I don’t know, sir. Kellermann just said it’s an important numbered account.”