A Matter of Honor

“Please do,” said Romanov, relieved to be gaining the older man’s cooperation.

“Do you smoke?” asked the banker, taking a pack of Dunhill cigarettes from his coat pocket.

“No,” said Romanov, his eyebrows lifting slightly at the sight of the red box.

The old man paused as he lit a cigarette. “That suit was not tailored in Moscow either, Major,” the banker said, pointing at Romanov with his cigarette. “Now, to business—and do not hesitate to correct me if I have misunderstood any of your requirements. You suspect that lodged in one of these fourteen Swiss banks”—the chairman tapped the list with his index finger—“is the original Czar’s icon. You therefore want me to deposit large amounts of gold with each bank in the hope that it will give you immediate access to the head of the family, or chairman. You will then offer the chairmen the chance to control the entire hundred million if they promise to cooperate with you?”

“Yes,” said Romanov. “Bribery is surely something the West has always understood.”

“I would have said ‘naive’ if I hadn’t known your grandfather; it was he who ended up making millions of rubles, not me. Nevertheless, how much do you imagine is a lot of money to a major Swiss bank?”

Romanov considered the question. “Ten million, twenty million?”

“To the Moscow Narodny Bank perhaps,” said Poskonov. “But every one of the banks you hope to deal with will have several customers with deposits of over a hundred million each.”

Romanov was unable to hide his disbelief.

“I confess,” continued the chairman, “that our revered General Secretary showed no less incredulity when I informed him of these facts some years ago.”

“Then I will need a billion?” asked Romanov.

“No, no, no. We must approach the problem from a different standpoint. You do not catch a poacher by offering him a rabbit.”

“But if the Swiss are not moved by the offer of vast amounts of money, what will move them?”

“The simple suggestion that their bank has been used for criminal activity,” said the chairman.

“But how …” began Romanov.

“Let me explain. You say that the Czar’s icon hanging in the Winter Palace is not the original but a copy. A good copy, painted by a twentieth-century court painter, but nevertheless a copy. Therefore why not explain to each of the fourteen banks privately that, after extensive research, we have reason to believe that one of the nation’s most valuable treasures has been substituted with a copy and the original is thought to have been deposited in their bank? And rather than cause a diplomatic incident—the one thing every Swiss banker wishes to avoid at any cost?

??perhaps they would in the interests of good relationships consider checking in their vaults items that have not been claimed for over twenty years.”

Romanov looked straight at the old man, realizing why he had survived several purges. “I owe you an apology, Comrade Poskonov.”

“No, no, we each have our own little skills. I am sure I would be as lost in your world as you appear to be in mine. Now, if you will allow me to contact each of the chairmen on this list and tell them no more than the truth—a commodity I am always obliged to trade in although I imagine your counterparts are not so familiar with—namely that I suspect the Czar’s icon is in their bank, most of them will be disinclined to hold on to the masterpiece if they believe in so doing a crime has been perpetrated against a sovereign state.”

“I cannot overstress the urgency,” said Romanov.

“Just like your grandfather,” Poskonov repeated. “So be it. If they can be tracked down, I shall speak to every one of them today. At least that’s one of the advantages of the rest of the world waking up after us. Be assured I shall be in touch with you the moment I have any news.”

“Thank you,” said Romanov, rising to leave. “You have been most helpful.” He was about to add, as he normally did in such circumstances, I shall so inform my chairman, but he checked himself, realizing the old man wouldn’t have given a damn.

The chairman of the Gosbank closed the door behind him and then walked over to the bay window and watched Romanov run down the steps of the bank to a waiting car. I couldn’t have supplied you with the one hundred million in gold bullion at this particular time, even if the General Secretary had ordered me to, he thought to himself. I doubt if I have ten million dollars’ worth of gold left in the vaults at this moment. The General Secretary has already ordered me to fly every available ounce to the Bank of New York—so cleverly was his ploy disguised that the CIA had been informed about the deposit within an hour of its arrival. It’s hard to hide over seven hundred million dollars in gold, even in America. I tried to tell him. The chairman watched Romanov’s car drive away. Of course if, like your grandfather, you read the Washington Post as well as Pravda, you would already have known this. He returned to his desk and checked the names of the fourteen banks.

He knew instantly which of the fourteen had to be phoned.

Adam stepped out of Tattersall’s Tavern on the corner of Knightsbridge Green and headed past the Hyde Park Hotel toward the Royal Thames Yacht Club in Knightsbridge. It seemed a strange place for the Foreign Office to hold an interview, but so far everything connected with the application had been somewhat mysterious.

He arrived a few minutes early and asked the ex-Royal Marines sergeant at the door where the interviews were taking place.

“Sixth floor, sir. Take the lift in the corner,” he pointed ahead of him, “and announce yourself at deception.”

Adam pressed a button and waited for the lift. The doors opened immediately and Adam stepped in. A rather overweight, bespectacled man of roughly his own age who looked as if he never turned down the third course of any meal joined him. Adam touched the sixth button, but neither man spoke on their journey up to the sixth floor. The large man stepped out of the lift in front of Adam.

“Wainwright’s the name,” he informed the girl on the reception desk.

“Yes, sir,” said the girl, “you’re a little early, but do have a seat over there.” She gestured toward a chair in the corner; then her eyes moved on to Adam, and she smiled.