The Zurich Conspiracy

been away). Another was from Claire, who asked her to phone next week when she got home. Then her secretary wanted to know whether the famous race-car driver was booked for the event in St. Moritz this coming winter (of course he was, six months ago. Obviously somebody had been waking up sleeping dogs—Schulmann?). Then there was a message from Paul Klingler.
    “I’ve some news about one of your regulars. Feller-Stähli, that corporate lawyer in on the Swixan bankruptcy, got lost on a grizzly hunt in the wilds of Canada. He was found dead. You can take him off your VIP list.”
    Paul. Josefa had known him for a long time. Their paths had kept crossing after high school. Back in their school days she’d help him bone up on French literature, and he’d return the favor by helping her with descriptive geometry, but they much preferred to talk about bigger things, like God and the world here below. She thought a lot of him; he had an imaginative, quick-witted head on his shoulders and he used to amaze her time and again with his weird ideas. He was from an old, established Zurich family and knew every Tom, Dick, and Harry. He’d been calling himself a business consultant for the last few years, and his business was said to be making money hand over fist. A lot of gossip was circulating about Paul, especially in regards to his private life.
    After his divorce—he had a daughter from that marriage—he was very much a ladies’ man. Women liked his youthful charm and his undivided attention—for as long as his companion of the moment held his interest. Apart from that he was evidently a good lover, something his ex-girlfriends would offer without Josefa even asking. She had no interest in verifying that claim for herself, however. Josefa found Paul to be highly entertaining and valued his advice (even when she sometimes felt he was patronizing) because he usually turned out to be right. Still, she was not always clear about his intentions. Her gut feeling was always “Watch out!” whenever she’d go to meet him. Paul generally chose his acquaintances according to their usefulness, and she was not in any way useful to him. At least she didn’t think she was.
    Josefa sent him a brief e-mail thanking him for the information, appending the usual vacation greetings and promising to call him when she was back. A new message came in just as she was logging off, and she knew right away who it was from. Her mouth went dry as she opened it: We have to distrust each other. It’s the only defense against betrayal .
    English once again. Goosebumps ran up her arms. She shouldn’t have gone into the Internet café! The holiday had done her a world of good, and now disquieting reality had caught up with her. She quickly left the café; a merciless sun blazed down on the street outside.
    On the last morning of her vacation Josefa heard someone calling her name from the patio. It was the German woman.
    “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” Josefa said in surprise.
    “Oh, I was traveling, on business, you know,” the woman answered amiably. “Unfortunately this isn’t a vacation for me.” Hence the stylish clothes, Josefa thought to herself.
    “But I was going to suggest we have dinner this evening.”
    Josefa agreed at once. “At eight on the patio?”
    “That suits me perfectly,” the German lady replied, turning away with a smile and disappearing into the lobby.
    When Josefa came down to meet her acquaintance that evening, the blonde lady was already at the table.
    “I’ve ordered Sekt,” she said by way of a greeting. “I hope that’s all right with you.”
    Josefa didn’t mind at all. When they clinked glasses, the German lady introduced herself. “I’m Ingrid, by the way.”
    Josefa introduced herself and then got around to asking her what her business was on Tenerife.
    “A lot of Germans live here, and they often need legal advice.”
    “You work for the consulate?”
    “Not directly,” Ingrid answered evasively. “Not everyone wants to handle things through the consulate.”
    Josefa decided not to ask any more questions along those lines. Instead Ingrid asked her about her work. Josefa tried to give polite answers without being too concrete, but the Sekt had begun to go to her head.
    “Who gets on your company’s VIP list? What are the criteria for selection?”
    Josefa explained that she made suggestions but management had the final say.
    “And do many of them lobby hard to