The Zurich Conspiracy

said so much as a word about Josefa’s departure.
    Whereas Claire…she had stormed into Josefa’s office towering with rage when she heard. She’d never seen her assistant so beside herself. Frustration was written all over her face.
    “I can’t believe it, Josefa, I simply can’t believe it,” she repeated over and over. “We could’ve done it! We’re that strong of a team, you and I and the others. What’s going to happen to our projects now? We’ve worked so damn hard on them! How can you give everything up just like that? We’ve fought for so much. And what’s going to happen to our team? You’ve built this team, Josefa! We’re a lot stronger together than Schulmann and Bourdin. Why are you letting them beat you? This isn’t at all like you! Are you afraid of them? Are you scared of Schulmann?”
    Scared of Schulmann? Maybe she was, but not as scared as she was of herself. Something she ought to have confessed to Claire, told her of the anger inside, but of course she hadn’t. How could she have explained it to her? She didn’t exactly know how to explain it to herself. Besides— she was the boss, the strong one, masterful. How could she show any weakness in front of Claire? Things will be OK, she told herself. If you want to have a career, you’ve got to change.
    And Claire shouldn’t be blind to that fact either. Josefa had kept her out of Schulmann’s line of fire whenever she could during the past few months. But she couldn’t help notice that Schulmann never aimed directly at Claire; his tactics were to ignore her or treat her with exaggerated politeness. That was surely a particularly sadistic punishment for her. Regardless, her assistant didn’t talk about leaving Loyn anymore, to Josefa’s great relief.
    Claire, kind soul that she was, had deposited some empty cardboard boxes in her office, and Josefa was using them to pack up the rest of her things. Bianca had put press clippings from the golf tournament and a pile of photos on her desk—a final act of service. Some older pictures of Beat Thüring from the St. Moritz horse show were included, much to Josefa’s surprise. In those pictures he didn’t look like the playboy inclined to booze and drugs that the media portrayed. In one photo he seemed to be engaged in earnest conversation with some other businessmen. Another photo showed him sitting with Van Duisen, Westek, and Salzinger around a table, all with solemn expressions on their faces. What might they be talking about? she wondered.
    She sighed, pushed the photos and clippings aside, and began to clear out her desk. It was then she noticed a pretty earring on top of a note from Marlene Dombrinski: “This was found at the golf tournament. We don’t know whose it is. Am I to take care of this?” Josefa twirled the earring around between her fingers. She couldn’t recall who’d been wearing it, though it was extraordinary: Three rubies shaped like petals were set in gold, with a transparent stone in the middle and a diamond teardrop dangling from it. Lines were engraved on the back of the petals, suggesting tiny snail shells.
    She put the piece of jewelry in an envelope and shoved it into a small safe in the filing cabinet. She was about to e-mail Marlene when she got the sudden feeling that she was not alone. She heard a soft rattle, then a noise like somebody sucking air in between their teeth. Somebody was prowling around behind her door. She leapt to the door in a single bound and tore it open.
    “Good morning,” Pius said, holding a cup of coffee in one hand and a plate of croissants in the other.
    “It’s you!” Josefa exclaimed, both annoyed and relieved. “So early again. You gave me one hell of a scare.”
    “Let me put this cup down,” Pius said in his deep bass voice. And then with a look as warm as liquid chocolate, “You might easily have given me a nicer welcome.”
    Josefa suppressed a grin.
    “Why can’t you sleep until seven the way normal people do?”
    “I’m a man of the dark, my dear. Dark caves, darkrooms—”
    “You put a lot of work into creating your own myth, Pius,” she interrupted. “Am I supposed to be impressed?”
    “Don’t you wish to thank me for the nice surprise? I saw your car and straightway went to the kitchen. The croissants are warm, by the way.”
    “Thanks, Pius, that’s sweet of you. Maybe you can be so sweet as to carry these boxes downstairs with me?”
    “That’s a woman for you: Give an inch…Are