Where would the establishment be without golf?' said Fitzduane. 'Sir Francis Drake played bowls, the Egyptians built pyramids, and in Afghanistan, I hear, they play a sort of polo with a goat's head. I suppose those activities serve the same purpose.'
'You're going to like this,' said the Bear. 'I've been ordered to give you official help, access to information and records, that sort of thing.'
'Very nice,' said Fitzduane. 'Because of von Graffenlaub, you think?'
'Not just von Graffenlaub. There has also been a fair bit of toing and froing between the Chief and your friend Kilmara. They have decided to put their heads together over the small matter of the tattoo that keeps cropping up – what did you call it?'
'The Flowers of Evil.'
'So, the Flowers of Evil symbol being found on various dead bodies in both countries,' continued the Bear, 'not to mention some other developments.'
'Out with it,' said Fitzduane.
'We put out a flier through Interpol – normal procedure – as did the authorities in Ireland. All European countries and the U.S. were notified. No reaction at first. It's always more difficult when something is visual. Most police records are geared toward names, addresses, fingerprints, things like that. A nameless symbol is hard to index and classify in a way that all parties will understand.'
'But?'
'We had some luck. In some far-distant archive a penny dropped.'
'This has all the markings of a shaggy dog story,' said Fitzduane.
'A body bearing the tattoo was found in a burned-out car near San Francisco about eighteen months ago,' said the Bear after a momentary pause. 'The intention, it would appear, he been to completely destroy both car and body in the fire.'
'So what went wrong?'
'Overkill,' said the Bear. 'In addition to the gasoline in the tank, there was C-4 plastic explosive in the car. Part of an arm was thrown clear by the blast. It was badly damaged, but they could just make out part of the circle of flowers and one line of the letter 'A.' Our flier didn't ring a bell at first until they searched under the name of the flower. 'It's a small drawing, so it's hard to be sure about the species. They tried various names and came up with nothing. Then they hit the jackpot with-'
'Geranium,' said Fitzduane.
The Bear stared at him. 'How did you know that?'
'I'm the seventh son of a seventh son,' said Fitzduane. 'In Ireland we believe that gives you special powers. And I met somebody who knows flowers.'
'Who?'
'Andreas.'
They looked at each other. 'Means nothing,' said the Bear.
'Who knows?' said Fitzduane. 'Why don't you finish your story? You were at the severed arm.'
'Humph,' said the Bear. He glared balefully at a couple making signs of wanting to share their table. The couple scurried away.
'They don't know who the arm belonged to. No identification was possible. The hand was already severely burned when the explosion took place, and the body itself was almost completely destroyed, so no fingerprints, no dental records, no distinguishing marks or features apart from the tattoo, which was partially protected under the watch, and, of course, no face.'
'Sex?'
'Female. A white Caucasian, as they like to say over there.'
'Age?'
'Hard to say. The best guess was twenties.'
'How about the car?'
'It was a burned-out wreck by the time it was found, and the explosion had nearly returned it to its component state. Forensics was able to trace it to its owner by its engine number.'
'Who was not the body,' said Fitzduane.
'No,' said the Bear. 'The owner was a company executive described by the FBI as being clean as a whistle.'
'Why was the FBI involved? As I understand it, it has a strictly limited mandate.'
'Bank robbery is federal business,' said the Bear. 'The FBI believes the car was involved in a raid that took place in San Clemente.'
Over two million dollars was stolen and six people were killed. One of those shot was a guard. Before being cut down, he shot and wounded one of the perpetrators. The FBI says that the body had been shot not only by the guard but also with the same gun that killed the guard.'
'So the bank robbers, finding one of their own people wounded and doubtless somewhat in the way, killed her?'
'It looks that way,' said the Bear.
'How many were involved in the bank raid?'
'Including the woman who was killed, only three. But they had automatic weapons and were quite happy to use them. They killed the bank guard, as I mentioned, and five other people apparently for no good cause. Two were bank employees, and three were customers. All were unarmed and doing exactly what they were told when the attackers opened up.'
'This has the smell of a terrorist attack rather than a straightforward bank raid,' said Fitzduane. 'Did any organization claim credit?'
'No.'
'What kinds of weapons did they use?'
'A sawed-off shotgun and two Czech Skorpion machine pistols.'
'Familiar hardware. I can see why your chief and Kilmara have been talking to each other. Were any of the terrorists caught?'
'The investigation got nowhere,' said the Bear. 'Then, about a year ago, a man was questioned in New York after using some of the stolen money. He was an oil industry executive. He'd picked up the money cashing a check in a bank in Libya. The Libyan bank confirmed the transaction but declined to say where it had received the money. It suggested that it was probably another visiting American.'
'So what does the FBI think about all this?'
'It's keeping its options open,' said the Bear, 'but the most popular theory is the obvious one: a Libyan- backed terrorist organization topping up its coffers with a little terror thrown in.'
'I thought Libyan-backed terrorists had more than enough money.'
'Nobody after money that way ever has enough,' said the Bear. 'And perhaps they don't regard Qaddafi as a reliable paymaster, or they want to be prepared for a rainy day.'
'Or there is something special they want to finance,' said Fitzduane.
15
It was dark when they left the Klotzikeller. Medieval Bern at night had an atmosphere all its own. Dimly lit alleys and side streets, shadowed arcades, the echoing of footsteps, pools of light and warmth from cafes, restaurants, and Stuben all conspired to create an illusion of timelessness and mystery, and sometimes, when it was late and the crowds were gone and the hostelries closed and shuttered, of menace.
They took the now-familiar route past the clock tower. Lorenzini's restaurant was off a small arcade that linked Marktgasse and Amthausgasse. The restaurant itself was on the first floor. Inside there was the clamor, vitality, and distinctive aroma of good Italian food and wine.
The Bear's eyes lit up. He was greeted like a long-lost son, a long-lost hungry son. Arms outstretched, a quick embrace, a flurry of salutations, quick bursts of colloquial Italian, and they were seated at a table, menus in
