I Am Pilgrim by Terry Hayes Read Free Book Online Page B

prospectofwhatseemedtobedepositsworthhundredsofmillionsofdollars,Isatinaconference
    roomfulloffauxantiquesandwaitedforthebank’smanagingpartner.
    The meeting turned out to be one of the most memorable events of my professional life – not becauseofChristosNikolaides,butthankstoalessonIlearned.Myeducationstartedwiththeopening oftheoak-panelleddoor.
    Itisfairtosayalotofmyworkhasbeenarowthroughasewerinaglass-bottomedboat,buteven by those low standards Markus Bucher was memorable. Despite being a lay preacher at Geneva’s austereCalvinist cathedral, hewas, like mostof his profession, upto his armpitsin blood and shit.
    Nowinhisfifties,youcouldsayhe’dhitahomerun–abigestateinColognyoverlookingthelake,a Bentley in the garage – but given that he had started on second base, it wasn’t really much of an achievement:hisfamilywerethelargestshareholdersintheprivatelyheldbank.
    He made a big deal of the fact that the room we were in was soundproofed to ‘American intelligenceagencystandards’butfailedtomentionthehiddencameraIhadregisteredintheframeof a portrait on the wall. It was positioned to look over a client’s shoulder and record any documents theymightbeholding.Justtobebloody-minded,Icasuallyrearrangedthechairssothatallthelens couldseewasthebackofmybriefcase.Amateurs,Ithought.
    AsBucherworkedhiswaythroughtheforgeries,probablymentallytallyingthemanagementfees
    theycouldearnonsuchhugesums,Ilookedatmywatch–threeminutestoone,almostlunchtime.
    Unfortunately for the Nikolaides family, they had overlooked one salient point as they funnelled more and more money into Richeloud’s – Bucher ’s only child had also entered the banking trade.
    Twenty-three and without much experience of men or the world, she was working in the more respectableendofthebusiness–forCreditSuisseinHongKong.
    I glanced at my watch again – two minutes to one. I leaned forward and quietly told Bucher: ‘I wouldn’tknowanybodyintheParaguayanmilitaryfromafuckingholeintheground.’
    Helookedatme,confused–thenhelaughed,thinkingthiswasanAmericanversionofhumour.I
    assuredhimitwasn’t.
    IgavehimChristos’sfullname,whatIbelievedtobehisaccountnumberandsaidIwantedacopy of the banking records concerning him, his family and their associated companies for the last five years.InadarkcornerofmymindIwashopingIwasrightaboutthis,ortherewouldbehelltopay–
    buttherewasnogoingbacknow.
    Buchergottohisfeet,righteousindignationswellinginhisbreast,blusteringaboutpeoplegaining entrybyfalsepretences,thathehadimmediatelyrecognizedthedocumentsasforgeries,howonlyan AmericanwouldthinkthataSwissbankerwoulddivulgesuchinformation,evenifhehadit.Hecame
    towards me and I realized I was being given the singular honour denied to so many dictators and massmurderers:IwasgoingtobethrownoutofaSwissbank.
    Itwasoneo’clock.Hepaused,andIsawhiseyesflicktohisdesk:hisprivatecellphone,lyingwith his papers – the number he believed known only to his close family – was vibrating. I watched in silenceashestoleaglanceatthecaller ’snumber.Decidingtodealwithitlater,heturnedandbore downonme,wearinghisoutragelikebodyarmour.
    ‘It’seighto’clockatnightinHongKong,’Isaid,withoutshiftinginmychair,readytobreakhis armifhetriedtotouchme.
    ‘What?!’hesnappedback,notreallycomprehending.
    ‘InHongKong,’Isaidmoreslowly,‘it’salreadylate.’
    IsawaflashoffearinhiseyesashegraspedwhatIhadsaid.Helookedatme,questionsflooding inhecouldn’tanswer:howthehelldidIknowitwasHongKongcalling?Heturnedandgrabbedthe
    phone.
    IkeptmyeyesfixedonhimasheheardthatnotonlywasIrightaboutitbeingHongKongbutthat
    his daughter – fighting to keep the panic out of her voice – told him she was confronting a major problem.ItmayhavebeenonlylunchtimeinGeneva,butforMarkusBucher,thedaywasgrowing
    darkerbythesecond.
    It seemed that, two hours earlier, all communications within his daughter ’s luxury high-rise had