The Zurich Conspiracy

devil is most devilish when he comes in respectable dress. Recognize the evildoer before he tears you to pieces with his claws.
    What a peculiar warning! Josefa looked at the sender; it made as little sense to her as the message did: [email protected] . Somebody was clearly playing a trick on her, her e-mail address was easy enough to find, but who could it be?
    She thought about deleting the ominous message but moved it to a folder instead. Maybe it would make more sense later. Besides, she had more important things to think about now.
    That afternoon, sitting beside Joan Caroll in the Mercedes limousine on the way to Zurich-Kloten airport, she watched villages and meadows whiz by in the rain. The model was wearing jeans and a white T-shirt under a short, orange leather jacket, she’d put her blonde hair up in a ponytail, and her full lips were unpainted. No longer on the clock for Loyn, she seemed relaxed as she described the fondue evening in the rustic cabin that Yvon, the multimillionaire, had added onto his luxurious chalet. Musicians had played accordions and clarinets after the meal, and Joan quipped that all that was missing was some yodeling.
    As the two ladies chatted, a stone-faced Bourdin sat across from them. He’d hardly said a thing since they’d left the hotel, which made Josefa wonder whether Yvon had lived up to his lofty expectations. It was Bourdin’s practice to do all the talking, to radiate charm incessantly, to be unstoppable. She was often amazed at his verbal acrobatics. Francis, who was named “Franz” at birth, preferred to talk in speech bubbles: “Loyn is the culmination of the Here and Nothing in the infinite spectrum of innovative potential,” inspiring men and women to march out and buy deluxe luggage as if they really wanted to culminate in the Here and Nothing. And even Josefa could wax poetic about bags and suitcases of the finest leather (albeit with a slightly different spin).
    Thanks to Bourdin, upscale leather bags had become a quality Swiss product, like watches and chocolate—she had to grant him that, in spite of the smoldering anger she felt for him at present. She could even acknowledge at certain times, and today was one of them, that she too had made a considerable contribution to Loyn’s success. She efficiently orchestrated how the company was presented in public; her meticulous and reliable oversight of last night’s VIP gala event was a case in point. Loyn’s celebrity walking advertisements—they were called “ambassadors”—constantly affirmed and reaffirmed how much they valued Josefa’s dependability. And after all, there were several film stars, international sports heroes, and some icons in the music business among them. She was on call twenty-four hours a day—at least for four more days.
    Josefa sighed to herself. Good that her vacation was approaching. Three weeks away from the company, three weeks of doing nothing, three weeks of sun and sand. Yet she hadn’t planned anything, nothing was booked; she simply hadn’t had time until now to give it any thought.
    “Frau Rehmer,” Bourdin said, interrupting her thoughts. The limousine had arrived at the airport; it was still raining.
    “I’ll take Joan to the VIP lounge,” he said. “Tomorrow there’s a briefing in my office. Right this way, Joan.”
    But Joan paid no attention to him and took Josefa gently by the sleeve.
    “I want to buy a souvenir for my sister. Can you come with me?”
    Josefa thought for a moment; Joan in a souvenir shop—that wasn’t a good idea, people would be sure to recognize her.
    “What would you think if we went to the VIP lounge, and I got someone to bring you a selection?” she suggested. Joan acquiesced.
    Bourdin stayed close to them because there was an interesting audience for him in the lounge, and soon he was schmoozing with one of the world’s most photographed models. Although Joan hadn’t prepared for a grand entrée, all eyes were on her svelte figure and long legs. A ground stewardess brought them an assortment of Swiss souvenirs, and Joan selected a silk foulard adorned with droll cows. Kelly, her assistant, soon arrived to escort Joan on her flight to the US, and Josefa seized the opportunity to bid the model farewell.
    “You did a fantastic job,” Josefa enthused, and Joan made a gesture resembling an embrace.
    “Josephine, it’s not hard with you around,” she replied warmly, before exchanging a few polite noises with Bourdin