make their life difficult if a Swissbank also operated in that foreign country. We saw that when the Swiss refused for fifty years to give up any information
on the bank accounts owned by Jewish victims of the Nazis. But, in that case, Congress and the U.S. courts made them finally
talk and pay.
I waited for him to say more, but he did not. It was my turn. “It so happens that I have plans for a private visit to Switzerland,”
I said wickedly. “And I need to be on assignment in Germany. So I request your authorization to issue a round-trip ticket
to Berlin, with a stopover at my own expense in Zürich.”
“You’re on your own,” said David.
“I know that.” It’s the same old gambit: official refusal and a silent nod. It had worked fine thus far, because I’d been
careful not to break Swiss law, laid low, and limited my activities to brain power. And I never broke the eleventh commandment
of the trade: Though Shalt Not Get Caught.
The flight to Zürich was uneventful, except for the nosy and noisy lady beside me who insisted I meet her niece, who she swore
had lost weight since the photo she flashed had been taken.
I checked into the Canton Park hotel, a cozy three-star hotel in the center of town. On the following morning I went to Tempelhof
Bank near Bahnhofplatz in the heart of Zürich. The street-level entrance was palatial, framed by marble columns and lions.
The inside was just as majestic, laid with Persian rugs, antique furniture, and a seven-foot flower arrangement. A uniformed
blonde lady approached me.
“Grüezi,” she said. She switched to English, seeing the puzzled look on my face. “Welcome, how can I help?”
“I need some information concerning investment in foreign currencies.”
“Certainly,” she said. “Please be seated. I’ll have a specialist help you.”
A moment later, we were joined by a slim young man with rimless glasses.
“Hello, I’m Manfred von Wilhelm,” he said, and we shook hands.
“I’m Peter Wooten, an attorney from the United States,” I told him. Two out of three accurate pieces of information wasn’t
bad. Peter Wooten was my frequent alias. The name, though, is an alias I use when I need to hide my identity from the opposition,
and sometimes even from a foreign government as well.
“I’m exploring for my client—a major private U.S. investor—the option of investing in foreign currencies.”
“You came to the right place,” said Wilhelm. “Currency transactions have been our forte for many years. Swiss integrity, professionalism,
and absolute discretion in protecting our customers are our bywords. May I ask who recommended us?”
“My client talked about Harrington T. Whitney-Davis, a consultant who had assisted a friend of his with satisfactory results.”
“Many consultants recommend our services, and I’m sure Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis did the right thing when he mentioned
our name.”
“Good, I hope to be associated with Mr. Whitney-Davis as well. Can you arrange that?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
“Maybe I came to the wrong bank,” I said cautiously. “I want to make sure about Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis; I don’t think
it should be confidential. I’m asking about a business association, not about your bank’s clients.”
Slightly annoyed, he picked up his phone and dialed a three-digit number. He exchanged a few sentences in Swiss German, which
I found difficult to follow, but the name Harrington T. Whitney-Davis was mentioned twice.
He hung up. “Well, my colleague just told me that years ago, Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis was suggesting our services to
his clients, as an outside consultant. I’m sorry I wasn’t aware of it, since I came to work for the bank only last year. What
is your client interested in? Speculative trading? Hedging againstcurrency fluctuations to guarantee proceeds from an export transaction, or to safeguard against
on the bank accounts owned by Jewish victims of the Nazis. But, in that case, Congress and the U.S. courts made them finally
talk and pay.
I waited for him to say more, but he did not. It was my turn. “It so happens that I have plans for a private visit to Switzerland,”
I said wickedly. “And I need to be on assignment in Germany. So I request your authorization to issue a round-trip ticket
to Berlin, with a stopover at my own expense in Zürich.”
“You’re on your own,” said David.
“I know that.” It’s the same old gambit: official refusal and a silent nod. It had worked fine thus far, because I’d been
careful not to break Swiss law, laid low, and limited my activities to brain power. And I never broke the eleventh commandment
of the trade: Though Shalt Not Get Caught.
The flight to Zürich was uneventful, except for the nosy and noisy lady beside me who insisted I meet her niece, who she swore
had lost weight since the photo she flashed had been taken.
I checked into the Canton Park hotel, a cozy three-star hotel in the center of town. On the following morning I went to Tempelhof
Bank near Bahnhofplatz in the heart of Zürich. The street-level entrance was palatial, framed by marble columns and lions.
The inside was just as majestic, laid with Persian rugs, antique furniture, and a seven-foot flower arrangement. A uniformed
blonde lady approached me.
“Grüezi,” she said. She switched to English, seeing the puzzled look on my face. “Welcome, how can I help?”
“I need some information concerning investment in foreign currencies.”
“Certainly,” she said. “Please be seated. I’ll have a specialist help you.”
A moment later, we were joined by a slim young man with rimless glasses.
“Hello, I’m Manfred von Wilhelm,” he said, and we shook hands.
“I’m Peter Wooten, an attorney from the United States,” I told him. Two out of three accurate pieces of information wasn’t
bad. Peter Wooten was my frequent alias. The name, though, is an alias I use when I need to hide my identity from the opposition,
and sometimes even from a foreign government as well.
“I’m exploring for my client—a major private U.S. investor—the option of investing in foreign currencies.”
“You came to the right place,” said Wilhelm. “Currency transactions have been our forte for many years. Swiss integrity, professionalism,
and absolute discretion in protecting our customers are our bywords. May I ask who recommended us?”
“My client talked about Harrington T. Whitney-Davis, a consultant who had assisted a friend of his with satisfactory results.”
“Many consultants recommend our services, and I’m sure Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis did the right thing when he mentioned
our name.”
“Good, I hope to be associated with Mr. Whitney-Davis as well. Can you arrange that?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
“Maybe I came to the wrong bank,” I said cautiously. “I want to make sure about Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis; I don’t think
it should be confidential. I’m asking about a business association, not about your bank’s clients.”
Slightly annoyed, he picked up his phone and dialed a three-digit number. He exchanged a few sentences in Swiss German, which
I found difficult to follow, but the name Harrington T. Whitney-Davis was mentioned twice.
He hung up. “Well, my colleague just told me that years ago, Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis was suggesting our services to
his clients, as an outside consultant. I’m sorry I wasn’t aware of it, since I came to work for the bank only last year. What
is your client interested in? Speculative trading? Hedging againstcurrency fluctuations to guarantee proceeds from an export transaction, or to safeguard against
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