of a way,’ Clayton concluded, with more bravado than conviction.
That afternoon, unwilling to spend another minute with Langland and with no desire to sit in his hotel room, Tom hired a car and took the scenic route to Lake Constance. He dined on beef fondue in a tourist inn complete with Alpine band and yodellers and returned to Zurich at midnight, feeling totally drained.
While Clayton was killing time, the bank managers had been busy. Before Tom even left the building, Ackermann had requested an urgent meeting with Dr Karlheinz Brugger, a corpulent senior vice-president, responsible for private clients. Once Dr Brugger had listened to Ackermann’s account of the earlier meeting – and checked some facts – he glanced at the clocks on his office wall and set the wheels in motion. It was 12.15 in Zurich, 5.15 in the morning in New York. Brugger called in his secretary and sent two confidential faxes: one to the security officer of the United Credit Bank in Manhattan, directing him to telephone Dr Brugger immediately, and another to the Second Commercial Officer at the Swiss Embassy in Washington, advising him that Dr Brugger would be telephoning him at 8.00 a.m., DC time.
At three in the afternoon, Swiss time, Guy Isler of UCB New York called Dr Brugger and received his instructions. At three-fifteen, the Embassy took Dr Brugger’s call and he made his requests. But Switzerland is the perfect epitome of a military-industrial complex, a country with some of the world’s most effective and productive corporations run by men (seldom women, who until recently were not even allowed a vote) who spend their adult life, by law, serving in the armed forces. Although the service is very much part-time – fifteen days a year on average – their rank applies throughout the year. Thus, when a vice-president of the country’s second largest bank talks to a second attaché (commercial) at a Swiss Embassy, it is also understood that a serving colonel is asking a favour of a serving lieutenant. It is not an order, yet the subaltern would be wise to treat it as such.
So, when Clayton was admiring the shoreline at Konstanz, Brugger was leaving for home. This was an hour later than his usual five-thirty, which annoyed him, but he had his answer from the Embassy. The New York Consulate had indeed legalized the documents the previous week and a full set of photocopies were awaiting collection by Mr Isler.
And as Switzerland slept, Isler visited the New York Bar Association, the State Department, and the Register of Births and Deaths, before faxing his report back to head office in the evening. When Brugger got to the bank at 8.00 a.m. precisely, on Thursday, he had the confirmation that the signatures were all genuine and that the documents in question were valid and correct. The only part that fell short of total satisfaction was the contact with the firm of Sweeney Tulley McAndrews, in that the senior partner in question, Mr Richard Sweeney, was unavailable until the following Monday. But his associate, Mr Weston Hall, was able to confirm that Professor Michael Seamus Clayton had indeed died two weeks earlier, that his only son was Thomas Declan Clayton, and that the firm were executors of the will. All this information was in the public domain. Nevertheless, before answering any questions, the assistant had taken down the details of the enquirer, as well as the reason for the enquiry, then typed a memo which he left on Dick Sweeney’s desk.
Satisfied, Brugger summoned Ackermann and told him to call Clayton. When Ackermann did so, at ten that Thursday morning, he said he would be pleased to see Mr Clayton again at eleven, if that was convenient. In a moment of spontaneous perversity – he had hardly slept at all the previous night – Tom insisted on eleven-fifteen.
Brugger, before handing over the Clayton files, reminded Ackermann how much the bank valued the accounts of substantial depositors, and the dim view it took of
That afternoon, unwilling to spend another minute with Langland and with no desire to sit in his hotel room, Tom hired a car and took the scenic route to Lake Constance. He dined on beef fondue in a tourist inn complete with Alpine band and yodellers and returned to Zurich at midnight, feeling totally drained.
While Clayton was killing time, the bank managers had been busy. Before Tom even left the building, Ackermann had requested an urgent meeting with Dr Karlheinz Brugger, a corpulent senior vice-president, responsible for private clients. Once Dr Brugger had listened to Ackermann’s account of the earlier meeting – and checked some facts – he glanced at the clocks on his office wall and set the wheels in motion. It was 12.15 in Zurich, 5.15 in the morning in New York. Brugger called in his secretary and sent two confidential faxes: one to the security officer of the United Credit Bank in Manhattan, directing him to telephone Dr Brugger immediately, and another to the Second Commercial Officer at the Swiss Embassy in Washington, advising him that Dr Brugger would be telephoning him at 8.00 a.m., DC time.
At three in the afternoon, Swiss time, Guy Isler of UCB New York called Dr Brugger and received his instructions. At three-fifteen, the Embassy took Dr Brugger’s call and he made his requests. But Switzerland is the perfect epitome of a military-industrial complex, a country with some of the world’s most effective and productive corporations run by men (seldom women, who until recently were not even allowed a vote) who spend their adult life, by law, serving in the armed forces. Although the service is very much part-time – fifteen days a year on average – their rank applies throughout the year. Thus, when a vice-president of the country’s second largest bank talks to a second attaché (commercial) at a Swiss Embassy, it is also understood that a serving colonel is asking a favour of a serving lieutenant. It is not an order, yet the subaltern would be wise to treat it as such.
So, when Clayton was admiring the shoreline at Konstanz, Brugger was leaving for home. This was an hour later than his usual five-thirty, which annoyed him, but he had his answer from the Embassy. The New York Consulate had indeed legalized the documents the previous week and a full set of photocopies were awaiting collection by Mr Isler.
And as Switzerland slept, Isler visited the New York Bar Association, the State Department, and the Register of Births and Deaths, before faxing his report back to head office in the evening. When Brugger got to the bank at 8.00 a.m. precisely, on Thursday, he had the confirmation that the signatures were all genuine and that the documents in question were valid and correct. The only part that fell short of total satisfaction was the contact with the firm of Sweeney Tulley McAndrews, in that the senior partner in question, Mr Richard Sweeney, was unavailable until the following Monday. But his associate, Mr Weston Hall, was able to confirm that Professor Michael Seamus Clayton had indeed died two weeks earlier, that his only son was Thomas Declan Clayton, and that the firm were executors of the will. All this information was in the public domain. Nevertheless, before answering any questions, the assistant had taken down the details of the enquirer, as well as the reason for the enquiry, then typed a memo which he left on Dick Sweeney’s desk.
Satisfied, Brugger summoned Ackermann and told him to call Clayton. When Ackermann did so, at ten that Thursday morning, he said he would be pleased to see Mr Clayton again at eleven, if that was convenient. In a moment of spontaneous perversity – he had hardly slept at all the previous night – Tom insisted on eleven-fifteen.
Brugger, before handing over the Clayton files, reminded Ackermann how much the bank valued the accounts of substantial depositors, and the dim view it took of
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