Nick’s drive through the night had gone far quicker than he had anticipated and he arrived almost two hours early for his meeting. He drove along the waterside, admiring the boats in the warmth of the early morning sunshine. His Peugeot was old enough to know a time before air conditioning and as the sun rose, the temperature responded.
Although confident that not a soul knew where he would be, old habits died hard. He parked the car in one of the many vacant spaces and walked back towards the bank, thankful of the early morning breeze. The waterside location meant there were many coffee shops that would allow him to sit and watch the goings on without drawing attention to himself.
With the time approaching 8:30 a.m., bank staff began to arrive. So far, everything appeared normal. He had noted a slight increase in joggers, particularly male ones but, given that the weather was far better than when he had last visited, that wasn’t unexpected. He finished his last mouthful of croissant and limped across the road with the aid of his walking stack, entering the foyer at precisely 8:31 a.m.
One of the oldest and most prestigious banks in Zurich, Rahn & Boderman was one of the few to benefit from a lakeside position. Zurich sat at the top of Lake Zurich, a stunningly beautiful lake that stretched off into the distant hills and mountains of the Swiss Alps. Unfortunately, the secret rear entrance had not afforded any of the visiting Americans the stunning views to the front of the property. They had had to make do with the old entrance of an obviously poorer time.
The aging guard that met them at the old entrance guided them back through a mind-boggling number of security doors, nearly all of which put the single vault door protecting the President’s emergency operations center to shame. Flynn and Barry had tossed a coin for the takedown team and much to Flynn’s disappointment, it would be an SOG team that would accompany Frankie and the investigative team.
By the time they were in the building, it was already 8:00 a.m. A quick tour confirmed the takedown had to be in Rahn’s office. The grand entrance and banking hall offered Nick far too many options. On the other hand, Rahn’s office had one entrance, was two floors up with bars across the window, and had as a bonus a secret sub-office hidden behind a bookcase. The team would be able to hide in there and the plan was that Rahn would leave Nick in his office to ‘deal with something’, and the team would come out from behind Nick and secure him in the enclosed environment.
After running through the scenarios, Barry instructed two of the bank’s security staff to be replaced by two of his men. The other eight SOG team members would be located in the sub-office.
Carson, Turner, and Frankie would wait in one of the other partners’ offices just along the hall. When Nick arrived, an assistant would inform Mr. Rahn of his arrival and then take him up in the private client elevator. All was standard procedure in the bank and would give everybody ninety seconds’ heads up.
At exactly 8:24 a.m., Paul Rahn arrived and proceeded to his office. He had been told to act as normal and so spent a few minutes chatting with staff. It was a Monday morning and this was the opportunity for staff to tell him what they had been doing over the weekend. Not that he was at all interested. However, his father had done it before him, just as his son would do it in the future.
He reached his office right at 8:30 a.m. Rahn ignored the entourage in his office and opened his calendar. The numbered account due at 8:30 a.m. was the first thing on it. He opened his bottom drawer, revealing a safe below. He keyed in a number and withdrew its only contents, a large ornate and very old leather bound and gold leafed ledger.
“What are you doing?” asked Turner, surprised at how cool the banker was, given the situation.
“I was asked for the name when you called yesterday. I told the young man I would get it when I arrived at the office.”
Turner shook his head. The name was irrelevant. It wasn’t as though the account was going to be in Nick Geller’s name. A bank of small screens on his desk allowed Rahn a view of the banking hall below and his eyes flicked between the ledger and the hall as he looked to match the number he had obviously memorized.
“Ah, there we are. It appears my 8:30 a.m. has arrived.”
Being the first customer in the bank, Nick was attended to immediately. His meeting with the director was confirmed against the diary and he waited to be taken through to the offices. His hand rested on the satchel and the reassuring outline of the Berretta below the material gave him comfort.
The director walked into the banking hall and warmly welcomed Nick.
“Monsieur Guillon, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he said, hugging one of the largest depositors at the Crédit Agricole branch of Marseille, France.
“Mister Harry Carson, number 652348190-235, you are Harry Carson, no?” asked Rahn.
“Yes, but…” said Carson, his face ashen.
“Passport number is…”
Carson raised his hand for Rahn to stop speaking. Turner looked at Carson, not fully understanding.
“He set us up! He’s not coming here. It’s a joke. It’s a fuck you!”
“The account is a fake?” asked Turner.
“We do not do fake accounts at Rahn & Boderman,” insisted Rahn, insulted at the suggestion.
“So you do have an account here?” asked Frankie.
Carson nodded. “From many, many years ago. There’s probably nothing in it.”
“Other than $250 million you mean?” she said mischievously.
“Let’s wrap this up. I’m not discussing my private details here. Obviously that money needs to go back to the sender. It’s a mistake!”
“So you wish me to send the money back?” asked Rahn.
Carson nodded, although every muscle in his body fought him. That $250 million sat in his account: it was therefore his. Whether the prince had made a genuine error or not, which of course he hadn’t, Nick Geller was fucking with him. The money was his and under Swiss law to do with as he pleased.
“Is that a yes?” asked Rahn, wanting a verbal response.
Turner and Frankie looked at him. “Yes,” he grumbled.
With two strokes of the keys, Harry Carson’s rainy day fund dropped from two hundred and fifty million dollars to three hundred thousand dollars. It hadn’t even been in his account long enough to gain a day’s interest.
Chapter 30
Nick smiled as he placed the items in the safety deposit box. He also couldn’t help smiling at the thought of what may have been happening in Zurich. They would have pieced the clues together he was sure. Carson would be furious. He always liked to be the smartest guy in the room. Closing the box, Nick’s smile dropped. What if they hadn’t found the clues? He had just given the cantankerous old bastard a quarter of a billion dollars! He shook his head. The prince’s transactions would be looked at with a fine toothed comb. Not a chance. Although Harry Carson was as sly as they came. Shit, he thought, leaving the bank behind, that was one scenario he hadn’t thought through properly. However, if that were his only mistake, Harry Carson wouldn’t enjoy his new-found wealth for very long.
Money was not an issue for Nick. That had been arranged many months before under the assumed name of Monsieur Jacques Guillon, a former diamond merchant, who had moved to Marseille from Tunisia after selling his business. Seven million euros, almost the equivalent in dollars, had been deposited at the local bank and with all the paperwork in order, no questions had ever been asked of their newest cash rich customer.
Using the funds over the last six months, on his travels he had purchased and loaded numerous pre-paid credit cards in various currencies. All transactions relating to the cards had been made in cash, rendering them anonymous and totally untraceable. His first transaction was for a ferry ticket to Algiers, departing in a few hours from Marseille, France’s largest port and gateway to North Africa and his African army of believers.