58

Alphons Marti popped his head into Marcus von Daniken’s unoccupied office. The overhead lights were extinguished. A sole desktop lamp burned, casting a halo on the papers covering the desk. It was eight o’clock in the evening, and he’d come for a briefing on the day’s progress. He wandered down the hall until he found an office still occupied. “Excuse me,” he said with a knock on the door. “I’m looking for Mr. von Daniken.”

A stocky bald man shot from his desk. “Hardenberg, sir. I’m afraid Chief Inspector von Daniken isn’t here at the moment.”

“I can see that. He was due to update me on today’s activity.”

“It’s not like him to miss a meeting. Was it scheduled?”

Marti avoided the question. The visit was unannounced. He hadn’t wanted to give von Daniken time to doctor his findings. “Where is he?”

“In Zurich. Looking into a lead regarding the financing of the operation.”

“Really? Aren’t the banks closed at this hour?”

“He’s not at a bank. He’s visiting Tobias Tingeli. They know each other from the Holocaust Commission. You can reach him on his cell phone.”

Marti considered this. “Not necessary,” he said after a moment. “I’m sure you can fill me in. You said that you’ve discovered a lead on the financing of this operation. Do you have any idea which group is behind the plot? Is it the Revolutionary Guard? Al-Qaeda? Islamic Jihad? Or is it some organization we haven’t heard of?”

“We’re not certain yet,” replied Hardenberg. “All we know is that Blitz’s house was purchased by an offshore company based in Curaçao. Once we find out who paid his bills, we’ll be a lot closer to knowing who’s behind this attack.”

“What’s standing in your way?”

“The law, sir. The existing bank secrecy requirements make it difficult for us to obtain the information we need. Still, Mr. von Daniken is confident he’ll be able to get around them. He has close ties with a number of bankers.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” said Marti, laboring to sound pleased. “Keep up the good work.”

Hardenberg accompanied him to the door. “I’ll tell Mr. von Daniken that you came by. I’m sure he didn’t mean to miss the meeting.”

Marti hurried down the stairs, a man with a mission.


Back in his office at the Bundeshaus, Marti rooted around in the files until he found the paperwork relating to the government’s request to Swisscom, the national telecommunications authority, for a record of all of Blitz’s, Lammers’s, and Ransom’s phone calls. Papers in hand, he phoned the Swisscom executive in charge of judicial relations.

“I need a complete record of all calls made to and from these numbers,” he said, after introducing himself. He provided Marcus von Daniken’s business, home, and cellular numbers.

“Certainly. Is there any time period you’re interested in?”

“Last Monday from eight a.m. to four p.m.”

“Just last Monday?”

“That’s all,” said Marti. “How soon can you have it?”

“Tomorrow at noon.”

“I need it by eight a.m.”

“You’ll have it.”

Marti hung up. In less than twelve hours, he would have his proof.

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