Assassin's Game (30 page)

“An Israeli
kidon
? In our files? No way. Not many countries have people like that on their payrolls, and the ones that do guard identities very closely.”

Sanderson sighed. “Yes, I suppose they would, but could you look into it all the same? Anything would help—I’m really up against a wall.”

“For you? Not a chance. But you’ve piqued my interest. Meet me at the Flying Horse in an hour?”

“I can’t—I’m not in Stockholm.”

Another long silence.

“All right,” she said, “I’ll call you back.”

*   *   *

Sharply at ten that morning Slaton reached Bahnhofstrasse 81 with his customary reconnaissance complete. He was not worried about the police—not yet anyway—but Mossad was a definite concern. He had no idea where he stood with Director Nurin, but having tripped the inactive account there was a chance that Tel Aviv might be watching Herr Krueger. But only if they were very astute—and very quick.

At street level the building was staid and colorless, with a granite foundation that seemed to rise from the bedrock. Yet in the roofline Slaton saw distinct Baroque leanings, theatrical wings and ledges that made him think the place might have once been a church. Perhaps some long-forgotten denomination that had slipped into holy receivership during one of Europe’s Bohemian upswings.

He passed through an imposing set of doors and saw the usual directory of tenants, interchangeable white lettering on black felt. There were five listings—a number that had not changed since Slaton’s first visit—and KAM, Krueger Asset Management, still resided in suite 4.

In the office he was greeted by Astrid, the woman he’d spoken with on the phone, and ushered in directly to find a chipper Krueger. Seated across the desk from the banker was a second man Slaton had never met. The stranger’s dress, not to mention the briefcase in his lap, suggested he was a lawyer. Slaton, however, was never inclined to simple assumption. He paused at the heavy door, still ajar, which put him one step removed from the thick-walled outer office.

“Good morning, Monsieur Mendelsohn!” said a beaming Krueger. An obligatory hand-pump was followed by, “How did you find your room at Le Chateau?”

“Very nice, thank you. In all honesty, a bit above the standards I’m used to.”

“But no more, eh?” Krueger patted him on the shoulder as if he were an old college chum. “Allow me to introduce Herr Holmberg. He is the lead attorney in the matter of this estate.”

Slaton shook hands and saw nothing worrisome in Holmberg. The man moved efficiently—not in the way of a killer, but in the way of a bookkeeper, his eyes focused inwardly on documents, his delicate fingers sure and purposeful. His feet were set narrowly, such that he could not rise quickly and keep good balance. His open briefcase was a black leather article with gold-plated locks, and inside Slaton saw a single file that looked unusually thick and heavy. A lawyer, perhaps, who billed by the pound and not the hour. Three pens were holstered in a dividing flap, and next to these three pencils. Slaton could see only the eraser ends of the pencils, but he was sure that each was perfectly sharpened. He stepped away from the door and took a seat.

The model of efficiency known as Astrid produced a silver tray bearing coffee and biscuits, and on this cue the meeting commenced. The lawyer spent a full thirty minutes covering Swiss inheritance law. He explained that bequests to direct heirs were normally compulsory, yet not a concern in this case because Grossman had no family. Holmberg confirmed that the legacy would pass without restriction to Natan Mendelsohn, with the intent of guiding it toward the unnamed charity that he “kept close ties with.” Slaton had never before heard the State of Israel referred to as a charity, but he supposed there was no other way for Grossman to have designed things. One cannot name Mossad as beneficiary to an estate.

Ten signatures later, Holmberg was stuffing papers back into his briefcase.

Slaton, having been given a stack of duplicate documents, asked, “Is there a detailed property listing here?”

“Yes, of course,” said Holmberg, pointing his gold-tipped pen toward the papers. “Addendum Three contains a precise inventory of all assets, cross-referenced to the valuations in Addendum Six.”

What could be more Swiss?
Slaton thought, but did not say, as he flipped through and found what he wanted. He nodded approvingly.

With that, the lawyer snapped his briefcase shut and made a professional exit. When they were alone Krueger began the pitch Slaton knew was coming.

“So, as Holmberg has advised, we can expect no more than a few weeks for probate administration to run its course. Your friend Grossman was right to have put his affairs in order.” He sipped from a delicate china cup. “As the sole beneficiary of this estate you are faced with many important decisions. As you know, I have considerable experience in managing private accounts. Monsieur Grossman was, I think, quite happy with my results. I understand that a certain percentage of these funds will go to the foundation you keep ties with. I should advise you, however, that it could be in everyone’s best interest to retain a portion of the assets in reserve to … shall we say, construct a more permanent endowment. I think you could expect continued healthy returns using a strategy of—”

“Herr Krueger,” Slaton interrupted, “please allow me a moment.” Slaton pushed his own teacup aside, and his gray eyes leveled on the Swiss. “As you know, our late acquaintance was a man whose business skirted the bounds of … shall we say ‘propriety.’ I should tell you that I too have certain interests I would choose not be open to the light of day. Indeed, that is why we are both here in this quiet little office, is it not?”

Krueger shrugged and turned up his palms on his desk. “
D’accord
,
monsieur
.”

“Then we should not play games. You have a talent for characterizing money so that it does not draw attention, and subsequently using it to make more. I have a need for that service. The bargain I will give you is this: It is now ten forty-five. By close of business today you will provide me the equivalent of ten thousand U.S. dollars, split evenly between dollars and Swiss francs. In addition, you will make a reservation in your own name for one week at the Montreux Casino, beginning tomorrow night, and advise the hotel that I am to arrive as your guest. You will then deposit in advance fifty thousand Swiss francs for my use at their tables.”

“
Fifty thousand?
Monsieur, this is a good deal of money. There are laws to be considered.”

“If I was worried about laws, Herr Krueger, I would not be here but down the street at UBS. I am sure you have cash reserves, other client accounts, money in escrow. You are a private banker and a clever man. You also know that in a matter of weeks the benefits of this legacy will cover everything and more. If you can make these things happen, I will employ you to manage my account on a continuing basis, with a fee structure unchanged from your arrangement with Grossman. Will you agree to these terms?”

Krueger was beginning to glisten, no longer interested in his coffee. Slaton could almost see the commission numbers ringing in his head. “Yes, five o’clock today, ten thousand. And the other. Yes, I can manage.”

“Good. But we have more ground to cover.”

Krueger actually tugged on the collar of his shirt.

“You will not hear from me for some time, likely many months. When I see you later today, I will execute the papers necessary to allow you to manage this inheritance. My instructions are as follows. When the funds become available, you will split them evenly among ten numbered accounts. From there you will initiate a series of transfers. The Caymans, Bahamas, Aruba—I leave the specifics up to you. In the end, I want nothing—I repeat nothing—to remain in the name of Natan Mendelsohn. Incorporate, set up trusts or foundations if necessary. Once these accounts are established, you may select whatever investments you deem to be in our mutual best interest. Are we clear on everything so far?”

“Yes,” Krueger said, “absolutely.” He was about to stand when Slaton held out a palm to keep him in his seat.

“There are two last matters. First, the ‘charity’ referred to in Grossman’s legacy. I can tell you that it is not your typical benevolent foundation. In truth, this organization is not a charity at all, and in my opinion not worthy of receiving any of this money under its current governance. As I have been entrusted to steer the inheritance, I will do so in the spirit I believe it was intended. This begins with the instructions you now have.”

Slaton paused, and he imagined Krueger mulling the charitable merits of sending fifty thousand Swiss francs to a Montreux casino. To his credit the man remained silent, only nodding like the good banker he was.

“Finally,” Slaton continued, his cadence slowing, “you are aware of the late Monsieur Grossman’s gray business dealings. I dare say you are not so familiar with mine. To put it simply, those things that Grossman sold, I buy. I operate alone, and in the parlance of our small corner of the world, I am what is known as an ‘end user.’”

Slaton let that settle before leaning slightly forward. “I expect you to hold to the most stringent standards of Swiss banking. Our arrangements must be kept absolutely privileged—discuss them with no one. And be very clear on one last point, Herr Krueger. If any, or perhaps all of this money should disappear, you will in fact never see me again. But even if you should find yourself in a very small and very quiet corner of the world, rest assured that I will see you once more. Precisely once.”

The banker managed a weak smile. “Sir, I … I can assure you that my performance will leave no need for either of us to ever deviate from our arrangement.”

The gray eyes smiled back. “Then as you say—we are in accord.”

THIRTY-FIVE

Elin Almgren took slightly over an hour to call back. Sanderson, stirring cream into his second cup of coffee from a high stool, picked up immediately.

“Have you found anything?” he asked.

“A new Thai restaurant that makes a wonderful Panang curry.”

“Please.”

“Sex, Arne. Find some quickly.”

Sanderson, patient man that he was, thought,
If she wasn’t so damned good …

“Here’s what I have,” Almgren said. “Our files are thin. Pure intelligence on the sort of man you’re after is a nonstarter, at least anything recent. We have volumes on the shooters from Lillehammer and a few less spectacular incidents on European soil. All ancient history. This suspect of yours would have to be in his fifties for any of it to apply.”

“No,” Sanderson said, “he’s nowhere near it. So there’s nothing?”

“On the man you’re after, no.”

“But?” Sanderson prompted.

“It’s only a wild idea—one I’m surprised you haven’t fumbled upon yourself. Has it not occurred to you that Israeli assassins have been in the news a great deal lately? There were two attempts on the life of Dr. Ibrahim Hamedi this summer. Iran put the blame on Mossad.”

“Don’t they always?”

“Of course. But we did receive a report from Interpol that identified one of the men in the most recent assault. He was former Israeli Special Forces, almost certainly working for Mossad. Taken together, I’d say that puts him pretty close to your friend. He was a
kidon
.”

Sanderson said nothing.

“Well?” Almgren prodded.

“It’s not much, but I see what you mean. I suppose it bears looking into.”

“Iran’s development of nuclear-tipped missiles is Israel’s overwhelming concern. So maybe that has something to do with what’s been going on in Stockholm.”

“Is SÄPO pursuing this angle?” he asked.

“No. But I think somebody should.”

“Somebody. Maybe a retiree with nothing better to do?”

“Could be. Just to be a good sport I’ll see what I can dig up on Dr. Hamedi.”

“Yes, that might help.”

“And don’t forget, Arne—you owe me another Flying Horse Chipotle Burger.”

*   *   *

Iran’s Guardian Council was housed, for the day’s business, in a nondescript building outside Parliament’s contemporary pyramid—an eye-catching and useless place in both form and function.

Behrouz felt strangely alone as he walked up the broad central staircase. He answered this call on a regular basis, and the timing of today’s summons was in line with the usual reporting schedule. All the same, a worm of anxiety squirmed in his gut.

The council was already in session when Behrouz arrived, and he was ushered directly in, the members breaking away from less pressing business to give him an immediate audience. Taking the lone seat that faced the long table, he saw he was up against a full contingent of twelve—altogether, a disquieting lineup of dark robes and white turbans.

After cursory words of greeting—along the lines of what one would give a rarely seen neighbor—the chairman said, “Tell us of your preparations for Geneva.”

Behrouz was ready. “Our forward team has arrived at the embassy in Bern, and is now finalizing arrangements. They will secure the hotel well in advance of Dr. Hamedi’s arrival. We are coordinating with both the local police and Swiss national forces. The United Nations venue is well suited for lockdown during high-profile visits.”

“And the other? This ‘reception’ as they call it?”

“The local authorities are confident they can secure the area. The Swiss have a great deal of experience in hosting diplomatic events. And Dr. Hamedi, for all his importance, is hardly so much a target as the president of the United States or the queen of England.”

“That,” said another of God’s self-appointed emissaries, “is a matter of perspective.”

“We should not rely on others,” said the chairman. “Do you not have any…” he searched for the right word, “suggestion that the Israelis will make another attempt on Hamedi?”

“No, not at this time. But rest assured that I have taken every precaution. On Sunday I will have fifty of my best men on site. No one will get near him.”

“That is good,” said the robe on the right, a man Behrouz knew to be the leading
faqih
, or Islamic law expert, and consequently the most pious of the lot. “Dr. Hamedi’s progress has been nothing short of miraculous. If Allah wills it, he will soon deliver what we have long sought. We all pray for his safety.”