business before the Council, he spoke to them electronically from a distance. He had never seen Herr Gessler or any of the other men in the room—at least not in connection with the Council. Herr Gessler said the peculiar arrangement was for their protection—and, perhaps more important, his.
“Gerhardt, are you ready?”
It was the reedy voice of Herr Gessler, made even thinner by the tiny earpiece.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“I hope we haven’t taken you away from any pressing state business, Gerhardt.”
“Not at all, Herr Gessler. Just an interdepartmental meeting on drug trafficking.”
“Such a waste of time, this silly war on narcotics.”
Gessler was infamous for his sudden digressions. Peterson folded his hands and bided his time.
“Personally, I’ve never seen the attraction of drugs, but then I’ve never seen the harm either. What someone puts in their body is none of my business. If they wish to destroy their life and their health with these chemicals, why should I care? Why should governments care? Why should governments spend untold resources combating a problem that is as old as human nature itself? After all, one could argue that Adam was the first substance abuser. God forbade young Adam the fruit, and he consumed it the first chance he got.”
“You make an interesting point, Herr Gessler.”
“Our detractors say that the drug trade has been very good to Switzerland. I’m afraid I would have to concur. I’m certain my own bank contains accounts of the so-called drug kingpins. But what is the harm? At least if the money is deposited in Switzerland it is put to good use. It is loaned to legitimate enterprises that produce goods and services and employment for millions of people.”
“So they can go out and buy more drugs?”
“If that’s what they wish. You see, there is a circular quality to life on earth. Nature is in harmony. So is the global financial system. But just as nature can be thrown out of balance by a seemingly small occurrence, so can business. Imagine the destructive consequences if the profits of the drug trade were not recirculated back into the world economy. The bankers of Switzerland are performing a valuable service.”
Gessler sipped his tea. Peterson could not see this but could hear it in the sensitive microphone used to amplify the old man’s weak voice.
“But I digress,” Gessler said, as his teacup rattled back into the saucer. “Back to the business at hand. It seems we have another complication concerning the Rolfe matter.”
“DOESthis fellow strike you as the kind of man who will let the matter drop?” Gessler said when Peterson was finished with his briefing.
“No, Herr Gessler.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“That we clean up the mess as quickly as possible and make certain there’s nothing for him to find.”
Gessler sighed. “It was never the purpose of this body to engage in violence—only to combat the violence that is being done to us.”
“In war there are casualties.”
“Surveillance and intimidation is one thing—killing is quite another. It’s critical we use someone who can’t be linked to the Council in any way. Surely, in your other line of work, you’ve come across people like this.”
“I have.”
The old man sighed.
Gerhardt Peterson pulled out the earpiece and headed back to Zurich.
7
CORSICA
T HERE WASan old joke on Corsica that the island’s notoriously treacherous roads had been designed jointly by Machiavelli and the Marquis de Sade. Yet the Englishman had never minded driving there. Indeed, he tore around the island with a certain fatalistic abandon that had earned him the reputation of being something of a madman. At the moment he was racing along a windswept highway on the western edge of the island through a thick blanket of marine fog. Five miles on, he turned inland. As he climbed into the hills, the fog gave way to a clear blue afternoon sky. The autumn sunlight brought out the
“Gerhardt, are you ready?”
It was the reedy voice of Herr Gessler, made even thinner by the tiny earpiece.
“Yes, I’m ready.”
“I hope we haven’t taken you away from any pressing state business, Gerhardt.”
“Not at all, Herr Gessler. Just an interdepartmental meeting on drug trafficking.”
“Such a waste of time, this silly war on narcotics.”
Gessler was infamous for his sudden digressions. Peterson folded his hands and bided his time.
“Personally, I’ve never seen the attraction of drugs, but then I’ve never seen the harm either. What someone puts in their body is none of my business. If they wish to destroy their life and their health with these chemicals, why should I care? Why should governments care? Why should governments spend untold resources combating a problem that is as old as human nature itself? After all, one could argue that Adam was the first substance abuser. God forbade young Adam the fruit, and he consumed it the first chance he got.”
“You make an interesting point, Herr Gessler.”
“Our detractors say that the drug trade has been very good to Switzerland. I’m afraid I would have to concur. I’m certain my own bank contains accounts of the so-called drug kingpins. But what is the harm? At least if the money is deposited in Switzerland it is put to good use. It is loaned to legitimate enterprises that produce goods and services and employment for millions of people.”
“So they can go out and buy more drugs?”
“If that’s what they wish. You see, there is a circular quality to life on earth. Nature is in harmony. So is the global financial system. But just as nature can be thrown out of balance by a seemingly small occurrence, so can business. Imagine the destructive consequences if the profits of the drug trade were not recirculated back into the world economy. The bankers of Switzerland are performing a valuable service.”
Gessler sipped his tea. Peterson could not see this but could hear it in the sensitive microphone used to amplify the old man’s weak voice.
“But I digress,” Gessler said, as his teacup rattled back into the saucer. “Back to the business at hand. It seems we have another complication concerning the Rolfe matter.”
“DOESthis fellow strike you as the kind of man who will let the matter drop?” Gessler said when Peterson was finished with his briefing.
“No, Herr Gessler.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“That we clean up the mess as quickly as possible and make certain there’s nothing for him to find.”
Gessler sighed. “It was never the purpose of this body to engage in violence—only to combat the violence that is being done to us.”
“In war there are casualties.”
“Surveillance and intimidation is one thing—killing is quite another. It’s critical we use someone who can’t be linked to the Council in any way. Surely, in your other line of work, you’ve come across people like this.”
“I have.”
The old man sighed.
Gerhardt Peterson pulled out the earpiece and headed back to Zurich.
7
CORSICA
T HERE WASan old joke on Corsica that the island’s notoriously treacherous roads had been designed jointly by Machiavelli and the Marquis de Sade. Yet the Englishman had never minded driving there. Indeed, he tore around the island with a certain fatalistic abandon that had earned him the reputation of being something of a madman. At the moment he was racing along a windswept highway on the western edge of the island through a thick blanket of marine fog. Five miles on, he turned inland. As he climbed into the hills, the fog gave way to a clear blue afternoon sky. The autumn sunlight brought out the
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