Rules of Deception

66

Formed in 1291, the nation of Switzerland considers itself the oldest continually functioning democracy in the world. The government is based on the bicameral parliamentary tradition and draws heavily from the American and British constitutions. The lower house, or National Council, is comprised of two hundred representatives, elected proportionally from the nation’s twenty-six cantons. The upper house, called the Council of Cantons, counts two members from twenty of the cantons, and one each from the remaining six half-cantons. Instead of electing a prime minister from the majority ruling party to serve as head of the executive branch, members of both houses convene every four years to elect seven members to a governing federal council, the seats being split proportionally according to each political party’s representation. Each councilor is assigned a department or ministry to run, with the president selected on a rotating basis for a one-year term.

Though at forty-five, Alphons Marti was the most junior member of the Federal Council, he had no intention of waiting six years until filling the president’s seat. He’d made his name as a crusader, first in his home canton of Geneva, where he’d cleaned up whatever organized crime was there, and more recently, at the international level, where he’d campaigned against the Americans’ practice of extraordinary rendition.

Sitting at his expansive desk that frigid Friday morning, he looked at the papers in his hand and knew beyond any doubt that the information they contained constituted his ticket to the presidency.

The papers had come from Swisscom ten minutes earlier and they held a list of all phone calls made to and from numbers belonging to Marcus von Daniken. There were a total of thirty-eight calls. Most of the numbers belonged to von Daniken’s colleagues in the Federal Police. Marti spotted his own number on three occasions; at 8:50, when Onyx’s intercept detailing the passenger manifest of the CIA charter was distributed; at 12:15, when the American jet requested permission to touch down on Swiss soil; and at 1:50, when von Daniken called to coordinate the drive to the airport.

Running a finger down the list of phone numbers, he stopped at a 001 country code. The United States. Area code 703-for Langley, Virginia. The number belonged to the United States Central Intelligence Agency.

Marti had his proof.

Setting the papers down, he called Hardenberg, the investigator he’d spoken with the night before. “Where’s von Daniken? I need to speak to him.”

“A helicopter picked him up in Zurich fifteen minutes ago,” Hardenberg replied. “He’s headed to Davos with Kurt Myer.”

“Davos?” Marti’s face fell. “What for?”

“We have a line on Jonathan Ransom. Apparently, he’s delivering an automobile to Parvez Jinn, the Iranian minister of technology.”

Marti pinched the bridge of his nose until it hurt. “Have you alerted security in Davos?”

“I believe so.”

“If you learn anything else, call me immediately.”

Marti hung up, then immediately dialed the number of the chief of the Federal Police across town. “Yes, Herr Direktor,” he began. “We have a grave problem. A man high in your organization has been identified as acting on behalf of a foreign power. The man we’re looking for is Marcus von Daniken. Yes, I was surprised, too. One never knows who one can trust.”

He lifted his eyes from the incriminating list and stared out the window. He was gazing east toward the mountains.

“How quickly can you get your men to Davos?”