The Zurich Conspiracy

she couldn’t be at the Loyn Festival with the world-class stars of classical music she’d invited, that she wouldn’t be pulling the strings in the background, noiselessly and skillfully, as always. Maybe she should have proceeded differently, been smarter tactically. Wouldn’t it have been better if she’d started a rumor that she might be leaving, so that Walther would have to do some thinking about it? Maybe he’d have recalled how valuable she’d been to the company, all her tremendous accomplishments over the past five years; maybe then he’d have tried to get her to change her mind.
    But after she’d resigned, Walther hadn’t made the slightest effort to persuade her to stay on, hadn’t offered her a higher salary, and hadn’t made any concessions in her job description. She’d become expendable overnight. How was that possible? Josefa knew she was good, very good even, and they’d simply let her go her merry way. So easy to replace.
    Failure was just not in her plans, but this time she had failed. She felt anger rising inside her. Why did she let them do this to her? How could things have gone this far? Why had Bourdin brought Schulmann of all people into Loyn? So that Schulmann could toss her overboard? No, it couldn’t have been revenge. Not for Bourdin and not for Walther. Her instinct told her that. What are they keeping from me?
    Josefa closed the magazine. She’d been the victim of a dirty game—she was convinced of that. But the players were not going to get off so easily. She would not leave Loyn empty-handed. She wouldn’t let herself be dumped after five years. She was after something else: an answer she could live with.
    She heard applause through the closed door of the “prison hall,” chairs being shoved around, and loud voices. Somebody came into the restaurant; Josefa recognized him at once: Karl Westek. What was the former CFO of Swixan doing at some obscure company’s holiday party? Westek scanned the room, his body bouncing stiffly like a firm spring. Their eyes met. Josefa gave him a friendly nod, but before she could open her mouth he turned away and hurried over to the bored young woman at the bar. Westek said something to the blonde, and then he took her arm and left the bar, without deigning to acknowledge Josefa again.
    So now I am persona non grata, even for a fallen angel like Westek , she thought derisively. Did he not recognize her or not want to recognize her? Maybe he was a bit paranoid since two of his old cronies no longer dwelt in the land of the living and a third had gone missing. And who might that attractively dressed woman be?
    The door opened again. It was the band, who had a half hour before they went on. Josefa busied herself arranging the final details with the leader of the combo while the other members lugged their instrument cases inside. Koffertraeger—porter . The old man with the tomcat from Irchel Park popped into her head. Porter . She was still proud she hit upon that word. Porter! Why didn’t she think of it earlier? She gave the musicians a little nod and retreated to a quiet corner to dial a number on her cell phone.
    When the reception desk at the hotel near the Lake Geneva golf course picked up, she asked for the concierge. She was glad the man recognized her name right away; it spared her a long explanation. He assumed she was still working for Loyn. Josefa asked her question.
    The concierge replied that it was Herr Schulmann who had cleared out Herr Bourdin’s things from his hotel room. He corrected himself: No, Herr Schulmann packed Bourdin’s clothes and other appliances himself and then had the suitcase taken downstairs. Herr Schulmann had also taken on the responsibility, he said, of informing Bourdin’s wife that everything would be sent to her. But Herr Schulmann probably forgot to call, he added, because shortly afterward—Herr Schulmann had already left—Frau Bourdin called and didn’t have any knowledge of it.
    That was all Josefa wanted to know.
    She sipped on her orange juice as she tried to bring it all into focus. Did Bourdin plant the bugs and not Schulmann? But why? What would ever drive him to eavesdrop on people like Westek and Van Duisen? Maybe guests had been bugged at St. Moritz as well. It seemed clear to her that Schulmann knew about the bugs, but she couldn’t figure out exactly when he knew. Maybe he was in cahoots with Bourdin. Maybe he didn’t find out about it until he discovered the tapes and