The Zurich Conspiracy

all eyes turned expectantly to Josefa.
    “First of all,” she began, trying to compose herself, “I must emphasize that these plans were created and fine-tuned by my whole team. Second, the plan is reviewed every year after we receive feedback from important guests. We have a sophisticated feel for our guests’ wishes; they are our top priority. And we have found again and again that they have no appetite for changes to our program.” She was on the verge of adding that Bourdin knew all this very well, but she refused to seek shelter in the firm’s management.
    Schulmann exploited her brief hesitation. “That sounds like a rut to me, don’t you think, Josefa?” he said in a deprecating tone.
    Ignoring his familiar “Josefa,” she replied resolutely, “Maybe you will change your mind, Herr Schulmann, when you study the evaluations of our guests’ reactions. Our customers’ and business partners’ needs are more conservative than you think. It’s for good reason that golf rules are not changed every year.” Her last remark earned her a laugh from the group; even Schulmann offered an arrogant smirk.
    “I don’t require any lessons on business practices, Josefa. And I’ve spoken to a few important customers, or rather, they have spoken to me .” He paused for a beat. “We will go at the catering differently, I know some really good people in that line, and we will reorganize the concert program.”
    Josefa intervened as calmly as she could. “That won’t be possible, Herr Schulmann. We have signed the contracts long ago, as you can well imagine. Nothing can be done this year.”
    “I’d like to strike that last sentence from our staff’s vocabulary,” Schulmann counterattacked. “There is always something that can be done.”
    Josefa had trouble masking her irritation. “Don’t forget that I bear responsibility for this event, for the budget, and for its execution as well. I am accountable directly to management. A massive cost overrun due to penalties for breach of contract is not in the cards.”
    She turned to Bourdin. “How do you see it?”
    He cleared his throat. “Herr Schulmann is the marketing head. He makes the decisions now, and that also applies to the golf tournament at Lake Geneva.”
    A murmur went round the room. Chairs scraped, paper rustled, a pen fell on the shiny tabletop. Josefa felt like she’d taken a blow to the head. She didn’t look at Schulmann, didn’t want to see the look of triumph on his face.
    Bourdin continued as if nothing had happened. “We shall have a magnificent team for a magnificent event with magnificent guests…” His words cut Josefa like a knife, but then she heard a high, thin voice say, “If things are the way Herr Bourdin says they are, then I shall have to consider whether I shall continue to work for this magnificent company.”
    All heads turned to Claire.

The Explorer Bar in Zurich’s First District was a product of aesthetic Puritanism: just steel and blonde wood, nothing superfluous. Josefa ordered the Lebanese wine the bartender touted as having a “slightly coffee finish.”
    “You want out?” Pius asked, seated on the stool next to her. She looked at him, but it was hard for her to concentrate on his words. The tension she felt was slowly subsiding. At the end of the day Pius had summarily carried her off into Zurich’s night life.
    “I think that on a day like this it’s better for you not to go home alone,” he reasoned. “I’ll take you wherever you want to go.”
    The bar was full. Josefa couldn’t help but notice that women were turning their heads at Pius. It wasn’t only his good looks, but his carefree, ironic charisma that attracted them. He was rather rakish, like the cowboy in the Marlboro ad. And they were checking her out too.
    Josefa scrutinized herself in the mirror behind the bar. She saw a tired face, a few gray-black curls that had escaped the knot. Even her mouth was droopy. She looked away.
    “So you want to leave the company?” Pius asked again. Josefa didn’t answer; she was too tired to make any decisions. The last straw came just after lunch, when she received another e-mail, again in English: A woman cannot be careful enough in the choice of her enemies. That finished her off, three weeks of vacation blown away in one day.
    “You should stay and let Schulmann walk into the trap,” Pius said.
    “What’s the trap?”
    “The trap Bourdin set for him.”
    “What do you