The Zurich Conspiracy

Bourdin trying to go so fast that he doesn’t see that club? He sees somebody disappearing under the table, maybe only a leg or some movement. But he wants to check it out right away and see what’s going on.” Kündig made a dramatic pause. “See if somebody is looking for his bug or has found it already or what do I know.”
    The only sound in the conference room was the drumming of his fingers on the table.
    “I wonder if that wouldn’t be on tape,” Zwicker says at last.
    “It isn’t,” Kündig replied.
    “Yes, we know that. The question is whether there are more tapes of the goings-on under the table.”
    “If they exist, we don’t know anything about them,” Kündig said, wondering what Zwicker was getting at and whether this was the right moment to tell him about another of his observations. “Then we must find them and—”
    Zwicker pointed impatiently to three pictures. “Look very carefully in the background.”
    Kündig was not very pleased by the interruption but did take a closer look. A woman, a man. He clicked his tongue. “They seem to be deep in conversation.”
    “Yes, exactly,” Zwicker said excitedly. “They’re together during the whole press event and before it as well. And always a little off to the side. Westek has a definite conspiratorial look on his face. What’s the connection between them, I’d like to know.”
    “Hmm. We ought to speak with the lady, definitely.” Kündig snapped his fingers. “Where was I? Oh, yes. Where can we reach her?”
    Zwicker gathered up the pictures. “You’re asking me, seriously?”
    Kündig looked startled, then corrected himself quickly. “I mean the golfer’s wife, Pamela Hartwell. You’ve got to interview her as soon as possible wherever she is.”
    “Done,” Zwicker replied, a bit disappointed. “And the other woman?”
    “Her, too. But she won’t get away from us.”

A profound silence lay over the white landscape opening up before them. The sun was hidden behind thick clouds, but that didn’t spoil the view of the gentle hills dotted with snow-covered stands of trees. It all seemed frozen in a majestic calm, as if lava had been poured over everything and had captured the moment for all eternity. The only thing moving was their car slowly heading, curve after curve, for the highest point on the pass.
    “Isn’t it gorgeous?” Josefa exclaimed, having never seen this part of the Jura landscape; she was pleasantly surprised that there were still such wonderful discoveries left in Switzerland.
    “This is only a foretaste of what’s to come,” Pius said in his deep, pleasing voice. Josefa felt a blissful, exhilarating frisson. Three days of skiing had relaxed her and brought out her sense of adventure. She looked forward to discovering a new world, one only revealed to a few. It would be a therapeutic change from her work in Zurich.
    Pius had come to Crans the previous evening. He arrived late, and Josefa had already finished dinner. They had a nightcap in the hotel bar, then retired to their rooms knowing they’d be getting up very early.
    Pius was eager for Josefa to describe her experiences in the cave for his book, a challenging prospect that made her anxious, though Josefa felt honored that he was willing to share this corner of his life with her.
    “I’m completely euphoric every time I climb down in. I’m addicted to the feeling,” Pius confessed. Josefa observed him in profile: He was wearing light mountain-climbing clothes in fluorescent colors; his slim, sinewy fingers skillfully navigated the SUV like a ship over the ocean. He returned her gaze. She knew she looked good in spite of the short night; her face was lightly tanned, and she was elated.
    “I’m proud of the picture I took of you. It’s one of my best,” he said.
    She knew exactly which picture he meant. She’d look back when she was old and gray and recall the moment when she was truly beautiful. But she didn’t want to let on how much the photograph meant to her.
    “My dear, charming fellow, you must have gorged on honey for breakfast to make your words sound so sweet,” she kidded him. “Isn’t that part of your repertoire? I shall make you beautiful, madam, and you shall make me happy in return. No, even better: You shall make me rich in return .” Josefa placed a theatrical hand over her heart.
    “Josefa, you’re not that easy to sweet-talk. I had to ambush you just to snap a picture.”
    “And yet the most stunning