Oh, my. What was Nat supposed to do with this? He was certainly never going to show it to Viv. He opened the next envelope.Dear Nat,So what do you think? Is this proper recompense for all that I’ve done to you in the past? I like to think so, but I need one last favor. Please share the findings with Sabine, especially the letter to Viv, which, as you can see, was never mailed. The rest is at your discretion. I’m trusting you’ll handle everything in the best interests of all concerned.Fondly,Gordon
A weighty statement, that last one. It made Nat responsible for the legacies of several people—Viv, Sabine and Bernhard, Bauer, perhaps even Holland and all the feds. Granting him that sort of power was the old man’s greatest possible gift, yet also his most burdensome. Nat had better get it right, beginning now.
The first order of business was some careful logistics. Fortunately, he had already given the matter a great deal of thought. He placed the two envelopes back in the steel drawer and locked it shut. The four folders went inside the bag for his laptop. Then he removed his right shoe and sock. He stuffed one of the flash drives, with all its important images, into the sock and put it back on along with the shoe. He stood, opened the door, and called for Herr Schmidt, who arrived promptly.
“I’m taking some of the items with me. The rest of them I’m leaving behind.”
“Very good, sir.” As if Nat had just chosen the perfect wine.
Nat handed over the key and walked out of the bank into the warm sunlight of late afternoon. It felt good to breathe fresh air again after being entombed with all those memories. Glancing in both directions, and detecting no sign of danger, he set out for the Bahnhof.
Two blocks later, Clark Holland stepped from a storefront and blocked his way.
“Greetings from sunny Florida, Nat. Sorry you couldn’t stick around.”
Before Nat could move a muscle, Neil Ford arrived at his right shoulder and a third agent sidled up on the left. Nat lunged at the gap between Holland and Neil, but six hands immediately clamped down.
They had him.
And what that really meant, of course, was that they had everything else, too.
THIRTY-TWO
HOLLAND WAS UNABLE to resist the temptation of a victorious sneer. “Your laptop bag looks a little heavy,” he said. “Neil, why don’t you take it off his hands.”
Neil rummaged through it, showed the four folders to Holland, and then took it to a black Mercedes that had just rolled to the curb. A rear door opened. Neil put the bag on the backseat and shut the door. The automatic locks slammed home.
“And now your camera, please,” Holland said.
Nat glumly handed it over.
Holland clicked through enough frames to satisfy himself that this time the flash drive actually had something on it.
“Very good,” he said, ejecting the wafer into his hand. “Next for the hard part. Neil, please take Mr. Turnbull into the men’s room of this fine establishment here and search him head to toe for anything he might still have on his person. Thoroughly, please, like they taught you at Quantico.”
“Aw, c’mon,” Nat said. “You’ve got your chip.”
“I’ve got a chip. Neil?”
The young agent nodded. Nat followed him inside the restaurant, and they trooped toward the restrooms in the rear.
“Your boss isn’t very trusting.”
“Sorry, sir. But it’s—”
“Stop. Don’t say it.”
“Yes, sir.”
The bathroom smelled like those soap cakes that go in urinals. Neil locked the door behind them and frisked Nat efficiently—head to toe, just like Holland wanted. If the Swiss police had burst in, both men would have been arrested on morals charges, assuming that the Swiss still bothered with such things.
“You’re going to have to remove your trousers and shirt,” Neil said. “Also your socks and shoes.”
Nat undressed, but left his socks on. Neil rummaged through everything else.
“Socks, too.”
Nat sighed and did as he was told. As he peeled off the right sock he took care to keep the wafer from falling out.
“Hand them here, please.”
Neil held each sock by the toe and shook hard. When he shook the right one, the flash drive wafer clattered to the tile floor.
“Dr. Turnbull!”
“If you knew what was on it, you’d hardly blame me.”
Neil shook his head. Nat dressed without saying a word. By the time they stepped back onto the sidewalk they were both wearing such hangdog expressions that Holland burst into laughter. Neil handed over the second chip.
“Guess I can’t blame you for trying,” Holland said cheerily. “But look at it this way, Nat. You’ve done a great service to your country. And I mean that. We’ll be acting on this material immediately. Believe it or not, I do intend to uphold my end of the bargain on first dibs. Not that you haven’t already read some of the juicier stuff, I’m sure.”
“A lot of good that’ll do me without the copies to back it up.”
“As I said, first dibs.”
“When?”
“You know better than me the way those things work. However long it takes, I suppose.”
Years, in other words. If not decades.
“Can I at least have my camera back?”
“All in good time,” Holland said. “And don’t forget to submit your expenses. In fact, have a nice meal on us. Take that old Swiss woman and her son, too. You’ve earned it.”
The federal entourage climbed into the Mercedes, and the car pulled away from the curb. Nat made sure to offer his most forlorn expression to give Holland something to remember him by. He guessed they’d be heading straight to the airport to catch a flight to Berlin. Then on to Bauer’s house.