The Fox

Or bribery? Back in the Cold War, falling for pro-Communist ideology had been the British weakness. For the Americans, it had always been money. He recalled the Walker Family, Aldric

h Ames – always traitors for money.

London is a world banking centre and has been for centuries. Add insurance, money management, international finance. Out of London tentacles spread to a thousand banks in a hundred countries, along with personal friendships and connections. Adrian Weston had some contacts in that world, centred on a single square mile of inner London called simply The City. He knew some ex-spooks who had settled after the fray for a life on the board of a bank. He decided to call in some markers. Within days, he had a reply.

The question he had asked was simple. Had anyone noticed, probably in a tax or banking haven – meaning home to dubious transactions – a deposit account recently opened by the Russians? Opened, massively endowed then quickly emptied and closed?

A merchant banker called to say he had heard a murmur. Liechtenstein. The Vaduz Bank. A well-lubricated dinner in Davos not too long ago and a certain Herr Ludwig Fritsch who talked too much.

There is no international airport for Vaduz. Liechtenstein is tiny, a principality situated entirely within the Alps and by head of population the richest country in the world. Its capital, Vaduz, contains twelve large and secretive banks. Sir Adrian secured an interview with Herr Fritsch over the phone. The knighthood helped; he indicated he might be seeking a home for some money and that was enough.

He flew to Zurich, in next-door Switzerland, and rented a car. He always travelled with carry-on luggage, he flew economy class and he dropped the ‘Sir’ on his passport. Old habits die hard. He had had a career dedicated to invisibility, and it had served him well.

With the help of a satnav he arrived an hour early at the bank so he took an extended coffee at a café across the street. Vaduz is a quiet little town; sitting at his window table, he must have seen a dozen walkers on the pavements. People drive in Vaduz. Carefully.

Inside the bank he was escorted across the lobby, up two floors in the lift and into the office of Herr Ludwig Fritsch. His first task was to dispose of the idea that he had come to open a lucrative account.

‘It is a delicate matter,’ he said.

Fritsch was as smooth as a ball of butter and about as communicative. He indicated that he rarely concerned himself with matters that were not delicate. They sipped spring water from crystal glasses.

‘How can I be of assistance, Sir Adrian?’

‘In my country a very large sum of money has been stolen. One of those dispossessed is Her Majesty.’

That shook the buttery Herr Fritsch. In the cyber-age financial crime was pandemic and London could not expect to be immune. But Vaduz did not wish to become a depository for the proceeds of theft – at least not the provable sort. And anything concerning the British queen could go as high as his own head of state, Prince Hans-Adam II. That was serious.

‘Outrageous.’

‘It was, of course, financial. A swindle on a massive scale, involving money-laundering.’

‘It is a scourge, Sir Adrian. Everywhere. I say again, how may I help?’ This time, he meant it.

‘We know the perpetrator. Scotland Yard’s bank-crime division are not fools.’

‘You think he resides here in Liechtenstein? Heaven forbid.’

‘No, no, no. He is a Russian. We know the stolen wealth went to Russia. A very shady billionaire, far too many of whom are permitted to live in London.’

Herr Fritsch nodded earnestly. On that subject there was not a cigarette paper between the views of the two men.

‘You British are very tolerant, Sir Adrian.’

‘Perhaps more than we should be.’

‘Indeed. But how can that affect Liechtenstein and the Vaduz Bank?’

‘All barrels of apples, Herr Fritsch, risk a bad one. We think the fraudster had some help. From inside the barrel. In fact, we know it. And the rogue will insist on taking a very large financial reward. I know I can rely on your discretion …’

‘This bank is known for it.’

‘… when I say that phones have been tapped, communications intercepted.’

Ludwig Fritsch needed no convincing. The expertise of the British at that sort of thing had been established when Sir Francis Walsingham, spy-catcher to Queen Elizabeth I, had kept his monarch alive by intercepting the secret letters of conspirators.

‘There is a possibility …’ Herr Fritsch knew it was beyond a possibility. The bloody British had proof, or what was this obvious spook doing in his office? And the prince’s palace was only a mile away.

‘… that quite recently a person of Russian origin opened a deposit account. That it was quickly endowed with a large sum of money. And that another person came to empty it, possibly to cash. We would, of course, be immensely grateful …’