Fatherland

the Führer's intention. But by the time the Wehrmacht's planners had designed a strategy to subdue the Swiss state, the stalemate of the Cold War had begun. It remained a patch of no-man's-land, increasingly useful to both sides as the years went by, a place to meet and deal in secret.
    "There are only three classes of citizen in Switzerland," the Kripo's expert had told March. "American spies, German spies and Swiss bankers trying to get hold of their money."
    Over the past century those bankers had settled around the northern rim of the Zürichsee like a rich crust; a tidemark of money. As on Schwanenwerder, their villas presented to the world a blank face of high walls and stout gates, backed by dense screens of trees.
    March leaned forward and spoke to the driver. "Slow down here."
    They were quite a cavalcade by now: March and Charlie in a taxi followed by two cars, each occupied by a Swiss policeman. Bellerive-Strasse turned into See-Strasse. March counted off the numbers.
    "Pull over here."
    The taxi swerved up onto the curb. The police cars passed them; a hundred meters down the road, their brake lights glowed.
    Charlie looked around. "Now what?"
    "Now we take a look at the home of Dr. Hermann Zaugg."
    March paid the taxi driver, who promptly turned and set off back toward the city center. The road was quiet.
    All the villas were well protected, but Zaugg's—the third they came to—was a fortress. The gates were solid metal, three meters high, flanked on either side by a stone wall. A security camera scanned the entrance. March took Charlie's arm and they strolled past like lovers taking the air. They crossed the road and waited in a driveway on the other side. March looked at his watch. It was just after nine. Five minutes passed. He was about to suggest they leave when, with a clank and a hum of machinery, the gates began to swing open.
    Charlie whispered, "Someone's coming out."
    "No." He nodded up the road. "Coming in."
    The limousine was big and powerful: a British car, a Bentley, finished in black. It came from the direction of the city, traveling rapidly, and swerved and swung into the drive. A chauffeur and another man in the front; in the back, a flash of silver hair—Zaugg's, presumably. March just had time to notice how low the bodywork hung to the ground. Then, one after another, the tires were absorbing the impact as the Bentley bounced over the curb— whump, whump, whump, whump —and it was gone.
    The gates started to close, then stopped halfway. Two men appeared from the direction of the house, walking fast.
    "You!" one of them shouted. "Both of you! Stay where you are!" He strode into the road. March seized Charlie by the elbow. At that instant, one of the police cars began backing toward them, gearbox howling. The man glanced to his right, hesitated and retreated.
    The car skidded to a halt. The window was wound down. A weary voice said, "For fuck's sake, get in."
    March opened the back door and ushered in Charlie, then slipped in after her. The Swiss policeman executed a rapid three-point turn and accelerated away toward the city. Zaugg's bodyguards had already disappeared; the gates were banging shut behind them.
    March twisted around to stare out of the rear window. "Are all your bankers as well protected as that?"
    "Depends who they do business with." The policeman adjusted his mirror to look at them. He was in his late forties, with bloodshot eyes. "Are you planning any further adventures, Herr March? A brawl somewhere, perhaps? It would help if we had a little warning next time."
    "I thought you were supposed to be following us, not guarding us."
    " 'Follow and protect as necessary': those are our orders. That's my partner in the car behind, by the way. It's been a fucking long day. Excuse my language, Fräulein— they never said there'd be a woman involved."
    "Can you drop us back at the hotel?" asked March.
    The policeman grumbled. "So now I'm to add chauffeur to my list of duties?" He switched on his radio and spoke to his partner. "Panic over. We're going back to the Baur au Lac."
    Charlie had her notebook open on her lap and was writing. "Who are these people?"
    March hesitated but then thought: what does it matter?
    "This officer and his partner are members of the Swiss police, here to ensure I don't attempt to defect while outside the borders of the Reich. And also to ensure that I return in one piece."
    "Always a pleasure, assisting our German colleagues," grunted a voice