The Zurich Conspiracy

the top floor. She held Sali with both hands; his back was toward her as he sat on the balustrade, ready to take the plunge. Ropes were firmly tied to the metal railing of the landing, left and right. Sali was strapped into his climbing harness and looking like a well-wrapped Christmas present. The gear was Helene’s and really much too big for him. Josefa unhooked the karabiner. “You can go now, slowly,” she told him.
    “Slowly” was a word that Sali apparently didn’t like to hear. He pushed away like a bungee jumper off a bridge, something he’d evidently seen on TV.
    “Easy, easy,” Josefa cautioned. Fortunately the rope he was hanging from was securely fastened, and she only reeled it out a little at a time. “Toes up, always pointing up.”
    “Josefa’s letting you down on the rope, Josefa’s letting you down on the rope,” Esther chanted from below.
    “Stop that right now!” Josefa’s voice was so shrill that Sali looked up at her in alarm.
    “But he doesn’t understand a word anyhow,” Esther said to placate her.
    “Maybe he doesn’t understand, but he can sense it. Children can sense that.” She stroked Sali’s slender shoulders to calm him down. “Only silly adults let someone down on a rope. What we’re doing is called rappelling.”
    “Rappelling,” Sali repeated.
    He swung down like a pendulum and plopped onto the mattress—ignoring Esther’s outstretched arms.
    “Bravo, Sali,” Esther complimented him. Josefa knew her neighbor found all this climbing in the stairwell somewhat hazardous but didn’t want to be a killjoy. Esther would also never climb into an underground cavern with this gear, as Josefa planned to do. She just had no idea how much fun a venture like that could be.
    Sali looked up at Josefa, beaming. Her heart skipped a beat. How happy the kid could be! She was about to shout some words of congratulation when her cell phone rang.
    “Josefa, how are you?” It was Claire.
    “Hello, Claire. Right now I’m standing in a stairwell and practicing rappelling.”
    “What are you doing?”
    “I’m playing with the boy who lives downstairs.” She had no urge to start on a long explanation.
    Claire didn’t pursue it anyway. “Josefa, you can’t conceive of how everything’s changed here. Positive changes, really positive.” She sounded a little frantic but self-assured.
    “Positive?” Josefa was looking at Sali and Esther standing impatiently on the landing. “I heard Joan cancelled her contract because of the big scandal.”
    “Oh.” Claire hesitated slightly, as if caught off guard by the fact that Josefa already knew. “Joan was lured away by Prada, but she’d been planning it for a long time. Anyhow, we want a younger, fresher image-maker. You’ll be amazed at the people we’re negotiating with, Josefa, but I can’t breathe a word yet.”
    As a matter of fact Josefa was amazed. Who was this “we”? These decisions were discussed at the top management level, not with employees like Claire.
    Josefa continued, her curiosity piqued. “But Walther must be shaken up after all the things that have happened. And now Karl Westek as well. That’s red meat for the media.”
    Josefa was watching Sali and Esther tussling on the mattress. Good thing his uncle and aunt weren’t looking, she thought.
    “Westek is of no interest to us, Josefa. That has nothing to do with Loyn. Walther isn’t exactly overjoyed with any of this, of course, that’s obvious. But I told him, Herr Walther, people have short memories. In a year it will be all forgotten. That’s how it goes with the worst—”
    Her words were drowned out by the penetrating laughter from below.
    “Claire, we’ll have to talk next week,” she shouted. “I’m away for five days. We’ve finally got to get together.”
    “I’m always very busy. But we should at least try. Let me know when you’re back.”
    Josefa snapped her phone shut. Sali’s uncle was on the landing.
    “He wants to rappel too,” Sali announced gleefully. Everybody laughed, and Josefa joined in, though she really wasn’t in the mood.

“Well?” Heinz Zwicker asked. Franz Kündig was examining the two rows of photographic prints spread out on the table.
    “So she’s looking around under the table while her husband is posing for the press.” Kündig traced his index finger over the bridge of his nose. “He swings his club, and Francis Bourdin tries to get past him. The blow stops him. Where is Francis