The Geneva Trap

Chapter 16

The photographs spoke for themselves. Bech leaned forward in his chair in the office on Papiermühlerstrasse, and looked again at the glossy prints on his desk. He shook his head in exasperation. ‘Do we know who the woman is?’

Gollut, the veteran Head of the Surveillance Section, looked sideways at Patrick Foehning from Analytic Research. Foehning was young – barely thirty years old. He had been recruited from a risk assessment consultancy personally by Bech, something that had put a few noses out of joint, for there had been a popular internal candidate for the post. But Foehning had caught on fast, and had won the respect of even his most hostile new colleagues.

He said, ‘We have a name, but I don’t think it’s real. We checked with our London people and they found no one of that name who could plausibly be her.’

Bech nodded. It had to be a working alias then, a common enough piece of tradecraft. He said, ‘All right, I’m glad you’ve brought this to my attention. I think I’d better have a word with the British about it. They’ve obviously got something going on which they should have told us about.’

After the two men left, Bech’s PA came in. ‘Henri Leplan’s waiting outside, and would like to see you for a minute.’

Leplan had been night duty officer when Steinmetz had had his accident. ‘Send him in. And could you also see if Mr Russell White can fit me into his busy schedule?’ Bech was rarely sarcastic, but he was angry with the British. They think we’re the Botswana Special Branch, he thought to himself. Well, they’re about to learn we’re not. If Mr White’s not careful, he’ll find himself PNG-ed.

When Leplan came in, his expression was grim, though he was never a cheerful-looking man. ‘I thought you’d want to know about Dieter Steinmetz, sir. We’ve examined the wreckage of his car, and discovered paint on the passenger-side door.’

‘Well, so what? He’d probably had a scrape somewhere.’

‘That’s what we thought at first. But Madame Steinmetz said no. He loved the car, apparently, which is why he was still running it when most people would have traded it in long ago. She said he spent every Sunday morning washing and waxing it, and that if someone had run into him, she’d never have heard the end of it.’

‘So what are you telling me?’

‘We think there was another car involved in his crash.’

Bech considered this for a moment. ‘Are you suggesting that this was not a straightforward accident?’

‘Well, sir, it’s made us wonder. We couldn’t see why he should have driven off the road at that particular point – unless he fell asleep. And we still have no explanation for why he was there in the first place. We’re hoping we’ll be able to trace the paint.’

Good luck, thought Bech, but he nodded, not wanting to discourage the younger man. It was a long shot by any standard, but it wasn’t as if they had anything else to go on.

The thought that someone might have murdered one of his officers was so upsetting that by the time Russell White arrived, half an hour later, Bech, normally a calm, measured man, had worked himself into a towering rage. The sight of White, strolling into his office in a blue pinstripe suit and club tie, only inflamed him further. What was it with the English and their suits? he thought, as they shook hands. They wore them like uniforms; perhaps that was the point, he decided, they use them to intimidate their opponents. Just try that on me, he thought angrily.

Bech and Russell White had met many times before – most recently at an EU meeting on counter-terrorism a few weeks ago. Now, as White settled in his chair, he seemed relaxed, if curious about why he had been summoned. ‘Well, Otto,’ he said. ‘What can I do for you?’

Bech ground his teeth. At any other time he would have taken the casual familiarity for friendliness, but today he was not feeling friendly.

‘Let me start with these,’ he said shortly, throwing the photographs down on his desk.

White said nothing as he picked up one after the other of the four enlarged black-and-white stills. Each photo showed a woman sitting on a park bench; in two of them she was talking to a man who was sitting at the other end of the bench.

As White looked at the pictures, his expression didn’t change. Bech asked, ‘Do you know who that is?’

‘Yes. Alexander Sorsky of the Russian Trade Delegation.’

‘I was referring to the woman,’ snapped Bech.

White shifted uneasily in his chair, and it was clear to Bech that, for all his surface calm, the man had been caught by surprise. So the Swiss surveillance hadn’t been detected – by the British at least. At last White spoke. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘Because I want to know why a British woman was meeting Sorsky.’

‘Presumably to discuss trade matters,’ said White coolly.

‘I don’t think so. There is no British Trade Delegate here called Jane Falconer.’

‘I’m afraid I can’t confirm that, but I’ll take your word for it.’

Don’t dare play games with me, thought Bech, glaring at White as he struggled to keep his temper. ‘I think you know perfectly well who she is. I don’t, but I know that she flew in last week on a British passport, and the next day flew out – and now she’s back again. As for Sorsky, you know as well as I do that he’s an undercover Russian intelligence officer.’

White avoided Bech’s gaze, his eyes straying to the window. Then he seemed to decide something. He looked straight at Bech. ‘We had an approach.’

‘From Sorsky?’

White nodded. ‘Though he may just be the messenger. We don’t know for sure yet.’

‘So this Falconer woman flew in from London to meet him. Why didn’t you meet him yourself?’

White put both hands up in a gesture of helplessness. Bech growled, ‘I know, you were only following orders. Aren’t we all? But what did Sorsky want?’

White sighed. ‘I’m sorry, but I’m not authorised to tell you that.’

‘I see.’ Bech leaned back in his leather-upholstered swivel chair. He cupped his hands under his chin, looking thoughtful. Then suddenly he leaned forward, his fists clenched. ‘Then I would ask you to contact London and ask for authorisation. You can tell them that we are not at all happy we weren’t told in advance about this meeting – and you were obviously not planning to tell us about it afterwards either. This is Swiss territory, and we expect our friends and allies to act like friends and allies, not to go behind our backs. As it was, you could easily have derailed our own investigation.’

‘Into Sorsky?’

But Bech was not going to be any more forthcoming than White, so he simply said, ‘We will be happy to exchange information once we know it works two ways.’

‘All right. I’ll talk to London.’

‘Good. And in the meantime, I expect to be kept informed of any developments. Is that clear?’ He was watching White very carefully. ‘I assume another meeting is planned between this woman Falconer and Sorsky.’

Reluctantly, White gave a small nod.

‘When is it taking place?’ asked Bech.

White was looking very uncomfortable. ‘Tomorrow. I’ll get authorisation to brief you, and in return I must ask you not to repeat your surveillance. It could be very dangerous, not only for Sorsky but also for my colleague from London.’