XPD. Len Deighton

      The colonel chuckled softly, appreciating Stein’s attempt to relieve his embarrassment.

      They went to Pitman’s study. It was a small room, decorated like a businessman’s office. There was an oak desk arranged between the windows, two comfortable leather armchairs with a battered foot rest and brass ashtray near them. The walls were filled with photos and certificates and souvenirs of the colonel’s army days and his hunting expeditions. On the shelf near the door were some silver motor-racing trophies.

      The light was better in here and Stein was shocked to see how much Colonel Pitman had changed since his last visit just a few short weeks ago. Age seemed to be shrinking him.

      Pitman sat down and began to remove the cork from the wine bottle. ‘We’re all getting older, Corporal, there’s no denying that. I had some ghastly news the other day, you’d better prepare yourself for a shock. One of our number is gone.’

      ‘That’s bad news, Colonel.’

      ‘Master Sergeant Vanelli. Can you believe it, a fine strong man like that?’

      ‘Yes, sir, you told me about Vanelli,’ said Stein. In fact the colonel had told him on his last two visits to the house.

      ‘Reach me two of those stem glasses from the case behind you. Yes, Vanelli left a wife and two daughters. The best senior NCO in the battalion, I would have said. Don’t you agree?’ He took a tissue and carefully wiped any trace of sediment from inside the neck of the bottle, then poured wine into the two glasses Stein had set up on the desk. ‘They got the usual cash settlement, of course. We sent it within fourteen days, as we always do. It came to a lot of money, but only because the US dollar is not what it used to be in the old days. It’s not so long ago that we were getting over four Swiss francs to a dollar; now I’m lucky to get one-seventy. You’d be appalled to hear what it’s costing me to run this house. And, with a lot of money tied up in long-term US fixed-interest investments, we’ve taken quite a beating over the last few years. I think I’ve shown you the figures, haven’t I?’

      ‘Yes, Colonel, you have. It was something no one could have foreseen.’ Stein walked over to the window. The sky had cleared. It was a fine spring night, bright enough to keep a few birds fidgeting in the purple sky before settling down. Pitman came across to the window as if to discover what Stein was looking at. ‘No one could have foreseen what would happen to the money markets,’ said Stein.

      Clumps of young beech trees and some willows made a pattern upon the oily-looking lake. It was just possible to see the movements of motor-car lights crawling along the road that skirted the far shore. It was Saturday evening and the road was busy. Colonel Pitman was holding two glasses of wine. ‘Taste that, Corporal,’ he said handing it to him.

      ‘Thank you, Colonel,’ said Stein with a courtesy appropriate between master and man. In deference to both colonel and climate, Stein had changed into a sober, dark, woollen suit.

      The two men drank and then Pitman said, ‘MacIver you say his name was?’

      ‘Military police platoon. He was the lieutenant with them.’ So the colonel had been thinking about Stein’s news all through dinner.

      ‘I just can’t seem to place him somehow,’ said Pitman. ‘And you went along to the film company and talked?’

      ‘Like I told you, Colonel. They said that Lustig – the man MacIver had talked about – was away in Europe. I spoke with a guy who calls himself Max Breslow. He says he’s probably going to make the film.’

      ‘What kind of man is he?’

      ‘Not the kind of guy I’d want to share a seat with on a hang-glider. I have a feeling they know something. I have a feeling they’re going to give us a lot of trouble.’

      ‘We already have a lot of trouble,’ said Pitman gravely. ‘I told you on the phone that I was personally checking things at the bank. Well, I’ve checked them and we are facing a disaster.’

      ‘Disaster?’

      ‘The bank is in trouble. We’re in conflict with the Creditanstalt. Unless we can get them to change their attitude, it looks as if we stand to lose one hundred million dollars.’

      ‘One hundred million dollars,’ Stein smiled. ‘You’re kidding, Colonel. Come on now.’

      ‘I wish I was kidding,’ said Pitman. ‘But I’m afraid we have been the victim of a monumental swindle.’

      ‘One hundred million dollars,’ said Stein breathlessly. So it was the colonel who had the most surprising news after all. Stein had put his drink down by now and his arms were thrashing about as he drowned in an ocean of dismay. ‘We’ve got a highly trained and highly paid Swiss and German banking staff downtown. How in hell could we be gypped out of one hundred million?’

      ‘The Creditanstalt is the biggest bank in Austria and it’s state owned. They gave a man named Peter Friedman – and that’s probably a fake name anyway – letters of credit for one hundred million dollars for ten big consignments of pharmaceuticals which were in the Zurich airport free zone. The documents say that Friedman was exporting these drugs from Holland to Yugoslavia, where the deal was to be handled by Interimpex, which is the Yugoslavian international trade corporation. Friedman can’t transfer the Austrian bank’s letters of credit – because they are not transferable – but he can’t be prevented from getting money by assigning the benefit to someone.’

      ‘How did we get into the act?’

      ‘Our bank gave Friedman the money, in exchange for that assignment of the benefits of the sale of the pharmaceuticals. A perfectly ordinary trading sequence; and it can be very profitable, as it has been in the past.’

      ‘OK, Colonel, never mind the commercial. What happened next?’

      ‘Friedman vanished. We checked the cases in the Zurich airport free zone …’

      ‘Aspirin?’

      ‘Not quite, but nowhere near as described in the shipping documents. Maybe worth two million dollars.’

      ‘Can’t we still cash the letters of credit with Creditanstalt?’

      ‘I wish we could, but letters of credit are not negotiable – so we can’t handle it – and become void if any part of an import/export transaction is illegal, or even misdescribed. This was misdescribed: the cases contain the wrong drugs. And today we hear from the Yugoslavs that these pharmaceuticals are not even destined for Yugoslavia. Interimpex are only acting as agents in a deal for someone else.’

      ‘Shit!’

      ‘We are the victims of a carefully planned swindle,’ said Pitman. ‘I’m not a banker – never have been, never will be – but I’ve learned a thing or two in over thirty years of watching those experts we employ to run our bank. One thing I’m sure about: old Mr Krug is even more upset than you are. And the young cashiers are worrying in case word of it gets around and affects their careers in banking. It’s not an inside job.’

      ‘Did they check it with you, Colonel? Before they paid out the money, did they check it with you? You’re in the bank almost every day, Erich told me so.’

      ‘They check everything with me,’ said Pitman. ‘They all run in and out of my office clucking like old hens. I’ve even seen Krug holding banknotes up to the light, to check out the watermarks before cashing fifty dollars for a tourist. But this seemed like a gilt-edged investment … with no risk at all.’

      ‘What about references?’

      ‘Friedman gave us wonderful references. My manager suspected that the drugs were not destined for Yugoslavia, because one hundred million dollars seemed far too much for a poor country like that to spend on one type of pharmaceutical. But that made it look better, rather than worse. Such things have happened before, and the bank has made a lot of money from such deals.’

      ‘Why didn’t those crazy bastards check the references