Disorderly Elements (20 page)

Piaget looked at Rawls coldly.

“I happen to know that this account contains no US dollars.”

“The money was laundered,” Rawls said. “It was converted into another currency in France before being deposited here.”

“Indeed. That makes your case a little difficult, doesn't it, Mr Clarke? Let me see…the only right that your organization has to examine this account would be under the 1973 Swiss-American Treaty. I presume you know all about that?”

Rawls nodded.

“Now as I recall,” Piaget said, “the treaty stipulates that the account holder must be proven to be involved in organized crime. It must also be shown that the investigators' evidence is not sufficient to allow prosecution for anything except tax evasion. I believe this is known as the ‘Al Capone Syndrome'.”

“Right,” said Rawls.

“I am sure that you can establish all these things,” Piaget said. “I don't doubt it for one moment. But you must first satisfy the officers of the Swiss National Bank and the Swiss police. Until you do that, I cannot lift the secrecy on this account.”

“I know that,” Rawls said, “and technically you're right. But for various reasons we want to avoid all that rigmarole. The person we're after is very highly placed, and if we began formal proceedings he'd probably hear about it. At the moment, he doesn't know we're onto him, and I'd like to keep it that way.”

“I'm sure you would,” Piaget smiled. “But I cannot afford to destroy the reputation of this bank merely to help the IRS with their investigations.”

Rawls breathed out deeply and nodded.

“Okay, Mr Piaget. It looks like I'm going to have to spell it out. In July '82, you and most other Swiss banks signed a document called—” he referred to some notes— “‘The Convention on the Need for Caution when Accepting Deposits and on the Use of Banking Secrecy'. Some title, isn't it? As I say, you're a signatory to this, aren't you?”

“That is so,” Piaget agreed. “What of it?”

“Article 9 of the Convention stipulates that you, the banks, must not assist with tax evasion, and Article 3 says that, quote, ‘the identity of the beneficial owner should be checked with a care appropriate to the circumstances', unquote.”

“I am aware of all this,” Piaget said.

“Good,” Rawls said. “Then you also know what the penalties are for infringing these articles. If an account beneficiary turned out to be a good old-fashioned crook with a hand in most forms of organized crime, it would probably be claimed that you didn't check up on him carefully enough. You'd be, quote, ‘guilty of negligence leading to the appropriation of illegal funds', unquote. You could be up for a fine of ten million francs—that's what the Convention says, isn't it?”

“You have studied the Convention very carefully, Mr Clarke.”

“It's my business to,” Rawls lied. “And that isn't the end of it. If my Government decides that your bank was unwilling to co-operate with the US in stopping tax evasion, your assets in the US might be frozen. You do have assets in the US, don't you, Mr Piaget?”

“You know perfectly well we do,” Piaget said frostily.

“Right,” Rawls said. “So it's in everybody's interest for you to give me the information I want. Your bank's name won't be mentioned in any criminal proceedings, and no one will ever know about it except us. Your reputation will remain unblemished. How does that sound?”

“Very neat,” Piaget said. “I will need a few moments to think about this.”

“Sure.”

Piaget leaned back in his leather-bound swivel chair and gazed at the ceiling in deep thought. After a few moments he said:

“Mr Clarke, we might be able to reach a satisfactory agree ment without having to compromise the bank in any way.”

“Yeah? How would we do that?”

“You work for the Internal Revenue Service. My client's agent suspected that this account might be the subject of inquiries by an American government organization, but not yours.”

Rawls' eyes widened in surprise.

“Did he? And which organization did he have in mind?”

“I am not at liberty to say. But the agent was quite specific. He seemed to think that someone called Rawls might come here. Apparently Mr Rawls works for this organization.”

“So?”

“We were instructed to keep a certain sealed document, which we were to give Mr Rawls if he appeared.”

“Your client expected Rawls to trace his account?”

“Quite so,” Piaget said. “It really is most extraordinary. However, we are accustomed to receiving extraordinary requests.”

“I bet you are,” Rawls said.

“The point is that our client seemed to think that Mr Rawls would be quite satisfied with the document, and that once he had read it, he would cease to investigate the account. Unfortunately, you are not Mr Rawls. You have identified yourself as Mr Clarke. However, if you were prepared to abandon all inquiries into this bank, and the account in question, I might be prepared to let you have the document.”

“Got it,” Rawls said.

“I would need your assurances that the matter would be regarded as closed, both by your organization and the other one. Are you in a position to make such an assurance on behalf of the other organization?”

“I am. They're also involved in this investigation.”

“I thought so,” Piaget said. “And what is your decision?”

“All right,” Rawls said. “I'll take the document, and the bank won't be troubled by us again.”

“Excellent,” Piaget smiled. “If you will excuse me for one moment, I will fetch the document.”

He left the room. Rawls' mind whirled with shock. How could anyone have expected him to arrive in Geneva? What the hell was going on?

Piaget returned, holding a long buff envelope in his bony hand. He gave it to Rawls, who opened it and drew out a typewritten letter. As he read the letter, Rawls went numb with surprise and confusion. Piaget watched him with detached interest.

“Is the document to your satisfaction?” he asked.

Rawls shook himself out of his trance, and forced himself to regain his composure.

“Yes,” he stammered. “It's—it's most satisfactory. Thank you. I don't think there'll be anything else.”

“Good,” Piaget said. “I'm so glad. There is one more thing, Mr Clarke. Since the document was destined for a Mr Rawls, perhaps you could see to it that he receives it.”

“Yes,” Rawls said. “I'll—make sure he gets it. Thanks.”

He pocketed the envelope and left M. Piaget's office, still numb with incredulity.

T
HE NORTH ITALIAN VILLAGE of Nirasca sits several thousand feet up in the Maritime Alps. Its bleached ochre streets and buildings have changed little in the last five hundred years. Hundreds of such villages are sprinkled across the region's grey-blue mountains, and Nirasca typifies their simple beauty and resistance to time. Tourists seldom visit the village, preferring to throng the crowded beaches of the Riviera some twenty miles to the south.

Wyman, however, had no desire to wallow in sweat and sun-tan lotion. He disliked tourists, and enjoyed the spacious serenity of the mountains.

He had first become acquainted with Nirasca some twenty-five years ago, when looking into the background of a suspected KGB plant in the Italian senate. The man had been a partisan in these mountains during the Second World War, and it was suspected that his contact with Communist resistance movements had led to his subornment by the Soviets.

Had the Senator stood as a Communist, or even a Socialist, there would have been little that anyone could do. But the man had been a Christian Democrat, and was tipped to be included in the next Government. Wyman had interviewed his friends and relatives in the village, and he established conclusively that the Senator was, in fact, a Communist. The information had been passed on to the Italian authorities, and the Senator was quietly expelled from the Christian Democrat party.

Since then, Wyman had visited the village a number of times, and had come to feel at home there.

On June 2 Margaret had arrived at Turin airport. They had driven down to Nirasca, and stayed at the village's tiny hotel, the
Albergo dei Santi
. Wyman no longer used the Ryle passport, and instead travelled under his own name.

“I suppose it's all over now,” Margaret said.

“What is?” Wyman asked.

“You know, all that business with the Firm. They will leave us alone, won't they?”

“I think so. But there's one more matter to be resolved. Shall I get the coffee?”

They were sitting at a table outside a café in the village square. Wyman went inside to order two coffees while Margaret watched the villagers begin the day's business. It was a cool morning, but the cloudless sky presaged a hot afternoon. Wyman returned with coffee.

“What's this unfinished business?” Margaret asked.

“Yesterday I received a telegram from Geneva. Apparently Rawls turned up at the Banque Descartes, as I suspected he would. I think we can expect him to arrive here any time.”

“What does he want?”

“My head on a plate, I should think. I've put him to an awful lot of trouble, you know.”

“Will he…will there be trouble?” Wyman smiled.

“I don't see why,” he said. “I intend to be most hospitable.”

Margaret stirred some sugar into her coffee.

“I hope you're right,” she said doubtfully.

“Of course I'm right,” Wyman grinned. He lit a cigarette and took a sip of coffee. “Up until very recently, Mr Rawls thought I was a harmless idiot. I suspect he has now revised his opinion of me.”

“And if he hasn't?”

“Then it is Mr Rawls who is the idiot.”

Margaret laughed and drank her coffee.

Five minutes later, a yellow Triumph Spitfire rolled into the square and parked by the café. A soberly dressed man with tinted spectacles got out of the car and walked to Wyman and Margaret.

“Good morning,” Wyman said.

“Maybe,” Rawls said. He was not smiling.

Wyman stood up politely and beamed affably at the American.

“May I introduce my fiancée? Mr Rawls—Margaret Ramsey.”

“How do you do?” Margaret said.

“I don't do very well,” Rawls snapped. “At least, not as well as your fiancée.”

Margaret stiffened in embarrassment.

“I think I'll go for a walk,” she said. “I'm sure you'd prefer to talk in private.”

“Yes,” Wyman said. “I'll be over for lunch at the hotel.”

“Cheerio, then. Goodbye, Mr Rawls.”

“Pleasure meeting you,” Rawls said, not making it sound very pleasurable.

Margaret walked away.

“Can I get you a coffee?” Wyman said. “Or perhaps some thing stronger?”

“Just coffee,” Rawls grunted.

He sat down and waited for Wyman to get the coffee.

“I must say,” Wyman remarked as he returned, “you don't exactly look full of the joys of spring.”

“That's because I'm not. In the last few weeks I've been thrown around the world, beaten up, and nearly had my ass shot off in Germany, just so you could sting the Firm for two million sterling. How would you feel?”

“You have my sympathy,” Wyman said.

“Sure. I bet you cried all the way to the Banque Internationale Descartes.”

“Did you visit Erfurt, then?”

“Yeah. Nearly got killed for my pains.”

“You should have taken Major Bulgakov's advice.”

Rawls' face lit up in surprise.

“You know Bulgakov?”

“Not intimately. He came round to my flat one evening and said that the search for a ferret in the Firm was a waste of time. Of course, I knew that better than anyone else, but I had to lead him along. He told me that he'd paid you a similar visit.”

Rawls nodded and looked grimly at the nonchalant Wyman.

“I suppose you'd better tell me the whole story,” he said. “I want to know how you set the whole thing up. And I want to know why your friends in Geneva were waiting for me to show up.”

Wyman smiled and leaned back in his seat.

“I'm surprised that you haven't worked out most of it already. Perhaps you have, and you just want it confirmed. Anyway, the story runs as follows.

“I was responsible for the Grünbaum file, and I was therefore in a position to alter it. When Grünbaum was killed in a genuine accident, I obtained the names of various other people who'd been arrested in previous, wholly unrelated incidents. By adding their names to the file, I made it appear that members of Grünbaum's network had been blown before Grünbaum himself. Since this cannot happen with an F-network, it gave the impression that there was a Soviet infiltrator in London who was feeding network details back to Moscow Centre. I wanted the Firm to believe this, as I knew that I would be put in charge of the investigation.

“Of course, all those other arrests had nothing to do with Grünbaum, and those people had never even heard of him, but how was the Firm to know that? Their names were on the file, and that was all that was needed.

“As soon as Owen gave me the task of finding this mythical Soviet plant, I invented a new DDR contact, whom we code-named Plato. I explained to Owen that Plato was a well-placed informer who could discover the full circumstances of Grünbaum's arrest. However, Plato had not been suborned. He was a mercenary, and he would only supply the information we needed for an exorbitant fee: two million pounds. I was eventually entrusted with the money (since Plato would only deal with me) and having put the money in Geneva, here I am.”

“Very cute,” Rawls observed drily. “So why involve the Company in all this?”

“Thanks to the Government, the Firm has been forced to economize severely. Stations have been closed down or put on ice all over the world. People are being made redundant, and there's very little spare cash around. Even after I had tampered with the Grünbaum file, I knew it would be difficult to persuade my superiors to part with all that money.”