covering the route like a net. They went as far north as Oxford Street and over to Regent Street and Piccadilly before working their way back to Berkeley Square, where the two cabs pulled into a tiny, dark lane on the northeast corner of the square and stopped in front of a place called the Guinea Grill.
The two men got out of the cabs at the same time and quickly ducked through the door in the vine-laden facade of the pub.
“That was a goddamn waste of time,” Howard complained, folding his umbrella impatiently and tossing it toward a corner.
“Not for me.” Strand wiped his face with a handkerchief and leaned his umbrella against the wall. The Guinea Grill was a restaurant with a small pub proper at the very front of the establishment set off from the entry by a wood screen with a narrow door in it. The screen was open at the top, and the conversation from the tiny pub was audible as one waited to be seated in the restaurant.
Strand gave his name, and they were quickly taken to a table in an oddly shaped alcove that comfortably contained three tables. All three of the tables had “Reserved” signs on them. Strand and Howard were seated at the center one, farthest from the entry.
“You bought the other two,” Howard said.
“Yes.”
“Hang the expense.”
Strand ignored the sarcasm. They ordered drinks, and Howard wiped his hair and brushed at the sleeves of his coat, pissed at having gotten wet and pissed at having been wheeled around Mayfair because of Strand’s scrupulosity.
“What did he say?” Strand asked.
“Shit…” Howard fussed, flexing his arm to straighten out his coat. Using his linen napkin, he wiped his face again, dried his hands. “He says, Okay. Get everything together, bring it to Berlin. He’s willing to-”
“No.”
Howard stopped. He gave Strand a cold, tight-lipped stare.
“None of this will be done according to anything he says. I’ll spell it all out. How it’s done, when it’s done, all of it.”
“Bullshit.”
“I don’t trust him, Bill. Everything having to do with this exchange is predicated on that.”
“You think you’re in a position to dictate this?”
“If he wants the money, yes. If he doesn’t, then I guess not, and none of it matters anyway.”
They sat in silence, looking at each other. Strand had nothing else to say, and if Schrade really wasn’t going to cooperate, then the conversation was over and Howard could go back out into the rain. He suspected that Howard’s instructions were far more flexible than this. He was just engaging in his own little pleasures of prologue.
Their drinks arrived, gin and tonic for Howard, Scotch for Strand. They each drank.
“Okay,” Howard said, “what’s for openers?”
“Is he going to meet with me or not?”
“Yes.”
“Fine. Then I’ll arrange a meeting place where he’ll be safe.”
“What does that mean?”
“He’ll be familiar with it. He’ll be comfortable with it.”
“Okay, where?”
“My main concern is meeting with him alone, without his security. And I have to know we’re alone.”
“Okay, okay, okay.” Howard wasn’t interested in finessing his irritation. “Where?”
“I’ll e-mail you a date and an e-mail address. On that date Schrade has to be ready to travel.”
“Ohhh, bullshit, Harry. He’s not going to-”
“I’ll let him know where to go. He plugs in there and gets another e-mail message.”
“This is stupid.”
“It’s the only way I’ll do it.”
“Okay, so you do a treasure hunt. Then what?”
“When I know he’s clean, I’ll give him the meeting place.”
“Then?”
“I’ll bring everything in a briefcase. The CDs with all the accounts, detailed instructions about transferring them…”
Howard started to laugh. “Jeee-zus. He said you’d do that, that you’d say you’d give him the instructions. Wow.” He took a drink. “Well, Schrade says go fuck yourself.”
Strand waited.
“You told me this morning that the transactions could be done in minutes. Schrade says, fine, then you do them in minutes, right there. The two of you. When his people tell him he’s got the money, then he’s got the money.”
Strand waited again. He couldn’t relent too easily, he couldn’t say, “Fine, it’s a deal,” just like that.
“I don’t know…”
“Okay, you’re so damn fond of giving ultimatums, here’s one for you to deal with: You do it right there, in front of Schrade, or you forget it. Period.”
Silence. Finally Strand said, “Okay. We’ll do it right there.”
Howard laughed again. “You really did a hard ass negotiation on that one, Harry. You drove me right down to the wire, up against the wall, made me sweat.”
Howard was feeling cocky.
“But this is going to cause a delay.”
Howard tried to hold his grin, as if Strand’s last remark were of no consequence. “Oh, a delay. Why’s that?”
“If I’m going to move that kind of money electronically, in just a few minutes, I’ll have to give written notification signed in the presence of a designated bank officer that on a certain date, at a certain hour, I’ll be making these transfers by wire. They’re not going to do it just because they get a computer message that says I want them to do it. Even if I give authorized code numbers. I’ll have to make arrangements ahead of time, and I’ll have to do it in person, face-to-face.”
“You told me minutes.”
“That was if I handed over everything to Schrade. I would’ve had time to do that. But if you want it done this way, you’ve got to give me time to arrange it.”
Howard studied him. He was trying hard not to let his exasperation show. “How long?”
“The money’s in six banks in six different countries. It’s going to take me a day and a half-minimum-to fly to each of them, get the authorization, and move on to the next. That’s nine days. Banks are closed weekends.” He fixed his eyes on Howard. “Two weeks.”
Howard couldn’t argue. He really had no choice. “I’ve got to go back to Schrade with this.”
“Fine.”
“Let’s agree, right now, when and where.”
Strand nodded. He let his eyes slip to the side as if making mental calculations.
“Okay. Zurich. Two weeks from today. I’ll use your e-mail address to notify you of the exact time and location.”
“That’s it, then,” Howard said.
“That’s it.”
Howard downed the last of his gin. He had to recover. Strand could see his mind working. Howard was over the hill, even worse than Strand. He screwed up as much testosterone as he could muster for one closing gesture of bravado. He smiled thinly.
“You know what, Harry?” Howard said, his voice low, his tone almost pensive. “All these years, I thought you were better than average as an officer. Not the best by a long shot, but a good bit better than average.” He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “But I would never have guessed that you had the brains-or the stomach-for something like this. Never.”
