The Zurich Conspiracy

class.”
    “Can I see them?” The man in overalls tried to conceal his excitement. The less interest he showed, the better. He’d only be able to check afterward to see whether the articles the supplier was unpacking in front of him were really worth the money. But he had to take the risk. No guarantee of an exchange in this case.
    “So, as agreed?” the man in blue overalls asked.
    The supplier nodded.
    The man took a bundle of bills from the pocket of his overalls; the supplier counted them and tucked them away in his pocket. When the man jumped out of the truck with his package, the supplier called after him, “Good thing the guy can’t talk anymore!”
    The man in overalls went back to his truck without saying a word.



The hotel corridor was deserted. And though she was in a hurry, Josefa didn’t knock immediately on the door to room 398. She wanted to collect herself first. Her temples were pounding, and her breastbone felt sore. She must have picked up some bruises on the streetcar when she was thrown against the man in the lambskin coat. He didn’t seem to notice that the hard object in his pocket had hurt her. She couldn’t shake off the thought that it was a gun. That was exactly what it felt like.
    Her knees were wobbly. It had all been a bit much recently, and her nerves were raw. But she mustn’t keep the representatives from Dessag waiting any longer. She knocked firmly on the door, ignoring an illuminated button blinking “PLEASE ENTER.” She walked into the vestibule. A light was on in the adjacent room. No wonder, the curtains were drawn.
    Should that have tipped her off—the drawn curtains? Or the fact that nobody opened the door when she knocked? Should she have been more cautious in light of the fact that six people had been killed during the past few months, all of them men she knew from work?
    When she saw the figure in the doorway, she froze. Cut and run! Run, Josefa, run. But she was unable to move a muscle.
    Curt Van Duisen motioned for her to enter.
    “I’ve been wanting us to have a little chat for a long time,” he said, as if that explained everything.
    Somebody was fiddling with the door behind her. Josefa spun around anxiously. The man in the lambskin coat.
    “My bodyguard,” she heard Van Duisen say. Her panic level rose higher, but her way out was blocked. How stupid of her! How could she have walked right into the trap?
    Van Duisen saw her fear. “Frau Rehmer, you’ve nothing to be afraid of. Do come in. I’ve always thought a lot of you, which is why I owe you an explanation.” He took a step back into the room and turned slightly. “The police are monitoring our meeting.” A man emerged from behind Van Duisen, another face she recognized.
    “Please excuse any unpleasantness we have caused you,” Franz Kündig said. “We had no choice but to arrange matters this way.”
    “Is this an interrogation?” Josefa asked, alarmed. She was rooted to the spot.
    “No, no,” both men assured her simultaneously. “I only want to explain a few things,” Van Duisen added.
    “I’ll take your word for it, Herr Van Duisen.” Josefa replied, following him into the suite. Maybe there are hidden microphones, maybe this talk’s being taped , Josefa thought to herself. She was determined not to disclose anything that could harm her.
    Van Duisen gestured toward a patterned upholstered chair. “Please take a seat, Frau Rehmer.” He sat down on the sofa next to it. Franz Kündig was no longer in her field of view. He must be standing in a corner behind her; she’d rather have kept an eye on him. The bodyguard had apparently gone out into the corridor.
    Van Duisen lit a cigarette—she’d never seen him smoke before. Or at least not that she could remember. His face was flabby, his skin rough like rice paper. Josefa sat up stiffly in her chair, her hands knitted together.
    “Frau Rehmer,” Van Duisen began, then cleared his throat. “What I’m about to tell you is what I’ve already told the police. But I should like you to know it as well. I do not want you to think I’m a cad. I know how much you have put yourself out for Loyn and how difficult it was for you to leave the corporation.”
    Josefa kept silent and looked him straight in the eye. Now, Herr Van Duisen, that’s not what it’s really about , she thought.
    He puffed on his cigarette, releasing a cloud of smoke. “I won’t beat about the bush any longer. Well—Beat Thüring, Henry Salzinger, and