miss, which was Konrad Becker’s intention. He was waiting in the gloomy vestibule at 7 a.m., a small bald figure with the pallor of one who spends his days beneath ground. As usual, he was wearing a somber dark suit and a pall-bearer’s gray tie. His eyes, sensitive to light, were concealed behind a pair of tinted glasses. The brevity of the handshake was a calculated insult.
“What an unpleasant surprise. What brings you to Zurich, Herr Allon?”
“Business.”
“Well, you’ve come to the right place.”
He turned without another word and led Gabriel down a thickly carpeted passage. The office they entered was of modest size and poorly lit. Becker walked slowly around his desk and settled himself tentatively in the executive leather chair, as though trying it out for the first time. He regarded Gabriel nervously for a moment, then started turning over the papers on his desk.
“I was assured by Herr Shamron that there would be no further contact between us. I fulfilled my end of our agreement, and I expect you to honor your word.”
“I need your help, Konrad.”
“And what sort of
“Don’t be melodramatic.”
“Who’s being melodramatic? I’m lucky to be alive.” Becker folded his tiny hands and placed them carefully on the desk. “I am a man of weak physical and emotional constitution, Herr Allon. I am not ashamed to admit it. Nor am I ashamed to say that I still have nightmares about our last little adventure together in Vienna.”
For the first time since Chiara’s abduction, Gabriel was tempted to smile. Even he had trouble believing the little Swiss banker had played an operational role in one of the greatest coups the Office had ever engineered: the capture of Nazi war criminal Erich Radek. Technically, Becker’s actions had been a violation of Switzerland’s sacrosanct banking-secrecy laws. Indeed, if his role in Radek’s capture ever became public, he faced the distinct possibility of prosecution, or, even worse, financial ruin. All of which explained why Gabriel was confident that Becker, after a predictable protest, would agree to help. He had no choice.
“It has come to our attention you are the holder of a numbered account that is of interest to us. A safe-deposit box associated with this account is linked to a matter of extreme urgency. It is not an exaggeration to say it is a matter of life and death.”
“As you know, it would be a crime under Swiss banking law for me to reveal that information to you.”
Gabriel sighed heavily. “It would be a shame, Konrad.”
“What’s that, Herr Allon?”
“If our past work together ever become public.”
“You are a cheap extortionist, Herr Allon.”
“An extortionist but not cheap.”
“And the trouble with paying money to an extortionist is that he always comes back for more.”
“Can I give you the account number, Konrad?”
“If you must.”
Gabriel recited it rapidly. Becker didn’t bother to write it down.
“Password?” he asked.
“Balzac.”
“And the name associated with the account?”
“Vladimir Chernov of Regency Security Services, Geneva. We’re not sure if he’s the primary account holder or merely a signatory.”
The banker made no movement.
“Don’t you need to go check your records, Konrad?”
He didn’t. “Vladimir Chernov is the primary name on the account. One other person has access to the safe- deposit box.”
Gabriel held up the photograph of Anton Petrov. “This man?”
Becker nodded.
“If he has access, I assume you have a name on file.”
“I have a name. Whether it is accurate…”
“May I have it, please?”
“He calls himself Wolfe. Otto Wolfe.”
“German speaker?”
“Fluent.”
“Accent?”
“He doesn’t talk a great deal, but I’d say he came originally from the East.”
“Do you have an address and telephone number on file?”
“I do. But I don’t believe they’re accurate, either.”
“But you give him access to a safe-deposit box anyway?”
Becker made no response. Gabriel put away the photo.
“It is my understanding Vladimir Chernov left something in the box two days ago.”
“To be precise, Herr Chernov accessed the box two days ago. Whether he added something or removed something, I cannot say. Clients are given complete privacy when they’re in the vault room.”
“Except when you’re watching them with your concealed cameras. He left cash in the box, didn’t he?”
“A great deal of cash, actually.”
“Has Wolfe collected it?”
“Not yet.”
Gabriel’s heart gave a sideways lurch.
“How long does he usually wait after Chernov fills the box?”
“I would expect him today. Tomorrow at the latest. He’s not the kind of man to leave money sitting around.”
“I’d like to see the vault room.”
“I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
“Konrad, please. We don’t have much time.”
THE OUTER door was stainless steel and had a circular latch the size of a captain’s wheel. Inside was a second door, also stainless steel, with a small window of reinforced glass. The outer door was closed only at night, explained Becker, while the interior door was used during business hours.
“Tell me the procedures when a customer wants access to a box.”
“After being admitted through the front door on the Talstrasse, the client checks in with the receptionist. The receptionist then sends the client to my secretary. I’m the only one who deals with numbered accounts. The client must provide two pieces of information.”
“The number and corresponding password?”
Becker nodded his bald head. “In most cases, it’s a formality, since I know virtually all our clients on sight. I make an entry in the logbook, then escort the client into the vault room. It takes two keys to open the box, mine and the client’s. Generally, I remove the box and place it on the table. At which point I depart.”
“Closing the door behind you?”
“Of course.”
“And locking it?”
“Absolutely.”
“Do you and the client enter the vault alone?”
“Never. I’m always accompanied by our security guard.”
“Does the guard leave the room, too?”
“Yes.”
“What happens when the client is ready to depart?”
“He summons the guard by pressing the buzzer.”
