I knew David. Although he was content to hear me recite the Swiss law he had often suspected I overlooked, he also wanted to make sure I remembered Swiss law special restrictions regarding foreign governments. The Swiss legislature included that restriction to protect Swiss banks from pressure by foreign governments, which could make their life difficult if a Swiss bank also operated in that foreign country. We saw that when the Swiss refused for fifty years to give up any information on the bank accounts owned by Jewish victims of the Nazis. But, in that case, Congress and the U.S. courts made them finally talk and pay.
I waited for him to say more, but he did not. It was my turn. “It so happens that I have plans for a private visit to Switzerland,” I said wickedly. “And I need to be on assignment in Germany. So I request your authorization to issue a round-trip ticket to Berlin, with a stopover at my own expense in Zurich.”
“You’re on your own,” said David.
“I know that.” It’s the same old gambit: official refusal and a silent nod. It had worked fine thus far, because I’d been careful not to break Swiss law, laid low, and limited my activities to brain power. And I never broke the eleventh commandment of the trade: Though Shalt Not Get Caught.
The flight to Zurich was uneventful, except for the nosy and noisy lady beside me who insisted I meet her niece, who she swore had lost weight since the photo she flashed had been taken.
I checked into the Canton Park hotel, a cozy three-star hotel in the center of town. On the following morning I went to Tempelhof Bank near Bahnhofplatz in the heart of Zurich. The street-level entrance was palatial, framed by marble columns and lions. The inside was just as majestic, laid with Persian rugs, antique furniture, and a seven-foot flower arrangement. A uniformed blonde lady approached me.
“Gruezi,” she said. She switched to English, seeing the puzzled look on my face. “Welcome, how can I help?”
“I need some information concerning investment in foreign currencies.”
“Certainly,” she said. “Please be seated. I’ll have a specialist help you.”
A moment later, we were joined by a slim young man with rimless glasses.
“Hello, I’m Manfred von Wilhelm,” he said, and we shook hands.
“I’m Peter Wooten, an attorney from the United States,” I told him. Two out of three accurate pieces of information wasn’t bad. Peter Wooten was my frequent alias. The name, though, is an alias I use when I need to hide my identity from the opposition, and sometimes even from a foreign government as well.
“I’m exploring for my client-a major private U.S. investor-the option of investing in foreign currencies.”
“You came to the right place,” said Wilhelm. “Currency transactions have been our forte for many years. Swiss integrity, professionalism, and absolute discretion in protecting our customers are our bywords. May I ask who recommended us?”
“My client talked about Harrington T. Whitney-Davis, a consultant who had assisted a friend of his with satisfactory results.”
“Many consultants recommend our services, and I’m sure Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis did the right thing when he mentioned our name.”
“Good, I hope to be associated with Mr. Whitney-Davis as well. Can you arrange that?”
He hesitated. “I’m not sure.”
“Maybe I came to the wrong bank,” I said cautiously. “I want to make sure about Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis; I don’t think it should be confidential. I’m asking about a business association, not about your bank’s clients.”
Slightly annoyed, he picked up his phone and dialed a three-digit number. He exchanged a few sentences in Swiss German, which I found difficult to follow, but the name Harrington T. Whitney-Davis was mentioned twice.
He hung up. “Well, my colleague just told me that years ago, Mr. Harrington T. Whitney-Davis was suggesting our services to his clients, as an outside consultant. I’m sorry I wasn’t aware of it, since I came to work for the bank only last year. What is your client interested in? Speculative trading? Hedging against currency fluctuations to guarantee proceeds from an export transaction, or to safeguard against currency-exchange-rate hikes if he’s importing goods?”
Forget about the transactions, I wanted to say, let’s talk about Whitney-Davis. But recognizing that any additional reference to him would arouse suspicion, I reluctantly moved on. I could revisit the issue after Wilhelm invested more time and effort in trying to sell me on the bank’s services. The more time he invested, the more effort he’d make not to alienate me.
“He wants to speculate,” I said. “$10 to $20 million, for starters.”
This didn’t seem to impress Wilhelm. If he hadn’t dealt with bigger fish, he certainly wanted to give that impression. Perhaps I should have mentioned a bigger amount.
“Would your client be giving the instructions? Or would he want us to trade for him?”
“Due to time differences, I think he’d prefer your experts to do it. Tell me how’s it done.”
He spent the next fifteen minutes explaining the investment mechanism. I gave him a gracious smile and a nod.
“Earlier you mentioned confidentiality. This is something that my client insists upon.”
“Swiss law and our bank’s rules assure that,” he said.
“What about communication? How does he contact you?”
“On the phone, unless there’s a problem for him in America,” he said smoothly, looking at my face through his rimless glasses. “Or he could fax or e-mail us. We can also hold his mail until he comes to Switzerland to collect it.”
“Do you have a U.S.-based correspondent bank? My client may want to use that link, rather than go through international communication lines.”
“I understand, sir. In fact, we can use McHanna Associates in New York. They aren’t a bank, but rather a service company, and I’m told they’re very experienced.”
“That sounds good,” I said.
“With your client’s written authorization, they could handle all matters for your client without any problem.”
“Including receiving mail, like your monthly statements?” “Of course.”
“By the way,” I said casually. “Where can I find Whitney-Davis? My client was so impressed with his professional abilities.”
He frowned and dialed his phone again and exchanged a few sentences.
“We aren’t sure,” he said. “You may want to contact McHanna Associates in New York. They may know more about him.”
Ah, but McHanna had already told me that he couldn’t remember whether he’d heard from Whitney-Davis since his South Dakota scam in the mid 1980s.
I returned to my hotel with a briefcase full of glossy brochures and application forms. Discovering a current business relationship between the former manager of a savings bank victimized by Whitney-Davis and a Swiss bank that appeared to run a legitimate business was peculiar but not earthshaking. There were, however, two very interesting findings. First, McHanna hadn’t only lied to me. He didn’t seem to hold a grudge against Whitney-Davis and now, in fact, could be in contact with him. I was puzzled by that finding. I had just heard that Whitney-Davis continued to use that name years after the scam. But the FBI had told us that the name had disappeared from all credit-reporting agencies. And now it had surfaced again? It was highly unusual.
Second, McHanna Associates was apparently helping U.S. residents avoid the prying eyes of the U.S. government by accepting and keeping their Swiss banking correspondence. That could be considered aiding and abetting money laundering, if the proceeds deposited by the client were the fruit of a crime. But at that moment I was too frustrated, tired, and hungry to follow up on these promising leads or think about the resurrection of Whitney-Davis’s name. The idea that man could live on bread alone turned out to be all wet. I was hungry and needed a beer. Unfortunately, the meal I ended up getting consisted of a tuna sandwich and a local beer that tasted as if it had gone through a horse first.