The Atlantis revelation

22

Conrad paid the cabdriver and walked up the steps toward the venerable private banking firm of Gilbert et Clie. The bank was an austere granite building in Bern's Old Town, its presence marked only by a discreet brass plaque set in the wall.

A porter greeted Conrad as he entered the lobby with a leather weekender bag slung over his shoulder. The porter asked Conrad to state his business and then directed him to a reception area outside the private executive offices. Here, a smiling brunette in a red cashmere sweater took his Burberry raincoat. Her pale blue eyes seemed to linger in admiration of his athletic build beneath his three-piece suit. In the most exquisite French, she informed him that Monsieur Gilbert would see him in but a moment.

Conrad took a seat and surveyed the shabby but elegant reception area. The faces of several generations of Gilberts looked down from the oil paintings on the walls. For well over a century, the bank had remained in family hands, an outgrowth of their merchandising business. Why the family had sold the bank was just another one of the secrets it kept inside its vaults. It was one of only a few private banks in Bern, as most were in Geneva, and the only one with a French surname, not German. Like the other private banks, Gilbert et Clie was unincorporated and never published its balance sheets.

The mademoiselle returned and ushered Conrad into Gilbert's office. A tall, gray-haired man, elegant in boutonniere and black suit, rose from his desk. His resemblance to the faces in the paintings was unmistakable.

"A pleasure to meet you, Monsieur von Berg," Gilbert said in German, regarding Conrad keenly. "Please sit down and make yourself comfortable."

"Thank you," Conrad replied in English, dispensing with any Bavarian pretense.

An officer of the bank, a big, bald man whom Gilbert introduced as Monsieur Guillaume, stood silently by his side. He regarded Conrad warily from under his heavy eyelids.

"And how can I help you, Monsieur von Berg?" Gilbert asked.

"I've come to recover the contents of my grandfather's box."

Gilbert raised an eyebrow. "You have the key, of course?"

"No, you do," Conrad said. "Both of them. I have the box number and combination. And that's all that's required of me for this type of box."

Gilbert nodded. "You are correct. But you will forgive us for doing our best to protect the interests of our clients. You are the first person in seventy years to open"-he had to look at his computer screen-"box number 1740."

Gilbert called in his huissier-the brunette, who answered to the name of Elise-and handed her an envelope with the number on it. "Please escort Monsieur von Berg to the vault."

"Oui," she replied.

If they were letting her handle him, Conrad thought, that meant their guard was down-or they wanted him to let down his own.

Elise took him to the bank's antique elevator. As the polished brass cage began its slow two-hundred-foot descent to the vault beneath the bank, Conrad noted the Venetian mirrors on the elevator walls and the gray leather benches on three sides. He also noted a tiny hook in the corner of the floor. "This is an unusual elevator," he said. "It's the original?"

"Yes," she said. "It used to go down to an even lower level beneath the vault, where a secret tunnel to a park two blocks away would allow private clients like yourself to come and go without having to enter from the street. But the new owner filled the tunnel with concrete a few years ago."

Conrad nodded. Okay, so at least one alternative exit had been cut off.

The doors split open to reveal the safe deposit vault. The massive circular steel door was open, and a security guard standing beside a small desk nodded as Conrad followed Elise inside the vault.

As they walked past rows of gleaming boxes, Conrad could only imagine how much wealth was locked away here. Truly, this was the vault of the man called Midas. Finally, when they had reached the very back of the last row, Elise stopped and announced, "Box 1740."

Conrad turned to his right and saw the numbers. The box was at eye level. "That's right."

She took her key and inserted it into the box. "I will go first and then leave you to your box. You may take it to the private consultation room over there." She gestured to a small closet door, and Conrad nodded. "Then you will return the box, lock it, and call for me."

Conrad noted that she had failed to mention that if he got the combination wrong or blew the key toggle, the box's internal chemical lining would break and destroy whatever was inside.

Conrad eyed the brass doorplate with three brass fixtures. Left to right, there were the keylock, the four brass alphabetic dials set on top of a brass circular plate, and the small rectangular number plate that read 1740.

Conrad glanced at Elise, whose eyes grew ever wider as he turned the first dial to the letter "A," the second to the letter "R," the third to the letter "E," and the fourth to the letter "S." He heard an unmistakable click inside the box. He could also hear Elise catch her breath at the simplicity of the code.

"Now it is my turn," she said, and inserted the silver bank key into the keylock, gave it a twist, and then removed it. "I will leave you now."

Conrad waited until she was gone before he inserted his gold key into the lock. He turned it halfway and stopped. He then scrambled the dials and turned his key the full ninety degrees into a vertical position and felt the lock open with a satisfying click.

He opened the door and slid the box out. It felt light in his arms as he walked to the private consultation room. He grew anxious as he entered, shut the door behind him, and placed the box on the table.

He stared at it for a moment, took a deep breath, and with one hand opened the lid. As he stared inside the box belonging to SS General Ludwig von Berg, the Baron of the Black Order, he felt a pit form in his stomach. Then he reached in and removed the only item inside the box.

It was an old Swiss wristwatch.