The Zurich Conspiracy

sure that the airlines handled Loyn’s ambassadors with kid gloves. There was no doubt that Claire had genuine organizational talent.
    Josefa quickly realized that Claire had potential. She knew she’d have to act fast before somebody else took this gifted person under their wing. She wanted an assistant she could groom and promote—and yet still feel secure in the knowledge that she wouldn’t offer any competition later. Josefa quickly saw that Claire, despite her capabilities, would not be a danger. Her manner was too girlish, her voice too high and gentle to project authority, though it suited her fine-boned, diminutive figure, her round, childlike, freckled face, and her delicate little hands. But Josefa never let on to Claire what she was planning and was often a little ashamed of herself for it.
    So be it, she thought dismissively. She had to focus on the work at hand. Josefa slipped on her reading glasses and turned her attention to the file of newspaper clippings lying on the table. They’d all been there in St. Moritz: the magazines, the tabloids, and the financial press.
    Loyn had become a factor in the economy and received recognition for it, and their CEO knew how to enlist the media for his own purposes, even if it was just a social event like the horse show in St. Moritz.
    Josefa recognized the various celebrities featured, but one stood out: Joan Caroll. Josefa was always amazed at how radiant Joan looked in pictures, even better than in person. She had “star quality” as Pius Tschuor, Loyn’s official photographer, frequently remarked. “Everybody’s singing your praises, Frau Rehmer,” murmured Richard Auer, upon meeting Josefa in the corridor a few minutes later, sounding like he’d greased his vocal chords with the same copious amounts of gel he used on his hair. Auer was a German, from Hamburg, a fact he constantly emphasized, and “the sales boss of us all,” as Josefa liked to call him privately. Dick was his official company nickname, which suited his dynamic, man-of-the-world demeanor. He had blonde hair, a few coquettish fringes gracing his forehead. What’s he doing at head office? Josefa wondered, pushing her misgivings in front of her like a bulldozer. But Auer seemed in the best of spirits.
    “Thank you,” Josefa replied, squeezing by him. Everybody was assembled in the meeting room. Josefa felt her heart beating: My team , the team; built it myself , she thought proudly. She had ten people under her, of different ages because she prized both dynamism and experience. This team was her greatest achievement!
    Albert Tenning, the youngest member, was placing a bowl of fragrant butter croissants on the oval table when Josefa called the meeting to order. Surveying the ten eager faces, and about to begin her paean of praise for their good work, she suddenly noticed Claire. Something about her expression was disconcerting. She didn’t only seem tired but somehow just not there. What was going on? Well, she’d have to clear that up later. Josefa gave a brief, routine summary of the last few days’ events, handing out recognition and thanks, making some suggestions for improvements, and listening to her colleagues’ comments.
    Nobody mentioned Joan’s absence at the gala dinner, though that was to have been the main event. But Josefa had already passed the word around that she would straighten that out with management later. If Bourdin ever got wind of the fact that her colleagues had openly bitched about the debacle, he could charge Josefa with disloyalty, a fact that was evident to the whole team.
    “There’s to be a nine o’clock meeting with the CEO in the large board room,” Bianca Schwegler, Josefa’s reliable secretary, reported as soon as Josefa declared the meeting adjourned.
    That’s just in twenty minutes! Josefa looked quickly around for Claire who was standing right behind her.
    “Read this before you go to the meeting,” Claire muttered, pressing a telegram into her hand.
    Josefa caught her by the arm. “We’ve got to talk afterward.”
    Claire gave her boss what seemed to Josefa a beleaguered look and then nodded briskly.
    The weekly meeting with Bourdin was always on Friday morning, unless he was en route somewhere—that was the drill. But this Friday the room was exceptionally full when Josefa arrived. Bourdin had summoned the regional sales managers from various countries to Zurich—and had not informed Josefa about it. He was already enthroned