A Matter of Honor

“You really mean it, don’t you?” said Heidi, sounding serious for the first time. “But women are not impulsive creatures.”

“You could always bring Jochen along with you.”

Heidi laughed. “He wouldn’t fit on the plane.”

“Do say you’ll come,” said Adam.

“On one condition,” said Heidi thoughtfully.

“Separate planes?” said Adam grinning.

“No, but if the icon turns out to be worthless, you will let me refund the price of my ticket.”

“It couldn’t be worth less than thirty-one pounds, so I agree to your terms,” said Adam. He leaned over and kissed Heidi on the lips. “Perhaps it will take more than one day,” he said. “Then what would you say?”

“I would demand separate hotels,” replied Heidi, “if it wasn’t for the high cost of the Swiss franc,” she added.

“You are always so reliable, Comrade Romanov. You fulfill the primary qualification for a successful banker.” Romanov studied the old man carefully, looking for a hint that he knew exactly what had been awaiting him at the bank.

“And you are always so efficient, Comrade Poskonov,” he said, then paused, “the only qualification necessary in my chosen profession.”

“Good heavens, we are beginning to sound like a couple of aging commissars at an annual reunion. How was Zurich?” he asked as he lit a cigarette.

“Like a Polish tractor. The bits that worked were fine.”

“From that I assume the bits that didn’t work failed to produce the Czar’s icon,” the chairman said.

“Correct, but Bischoff turned out to be most helpful, as was Jacques. My every need was catered for.”

“Your every need?”

“Yes,” replied Romanov.

“Good man, Bischoff,” said the banker, “that’s why I sent you to him first.” The old man slumped down into his chair.

“Was there any other reason you sent me to him first?” asked Romanov.

“Five other reasons,” said Poskonov, “but we’ll not bother with any of them until you have found your icon.”

“Perhaps I’d like to bother now,” said Romanov firmly.

“I’ve outlived two generations of Romanovs,” said the old man raising his eyes. “I wouldn’t want to outlive a third. Let’s leave it at that for now. I’m sure we can come to an understanding when the spotlight is no longer on you.”

Romanov nodded.

“Well, you will be pleased to learn that I have not been idle in your absence. But I fear my results also resemble a Polish tractor.”

The banker waved Romanov to a seat before he reopened his file, which had grown in size since he had last seen it. “Originally,” the chairman began, “you presented me with a list of fourteen banks, eleven of which have now confirmed that they are not in possession of the Czar’s icon.”

“I have been wondering about that—is their word to be taken at face value?” asked Romanov.

“Not necessarily,” said the banker. “But on balance the Swiss prefer not to become involved rather than tell a deliberate lie. In time the liar is always found out, and I still, from this office, control the cash flow of eight nations. I may not wield what they would call financial clout, but I can still put the odd spoke into the wheel of the capitalist monetary system.”

“That still leaves us with three banks?” said Romanov.

“Correct, Comrade. The first is Bischoff et Cie, whom you have already visited. But the other two have refused to cooperate in any way.”

“Why is it your influence does not extend to them?”