Contents ( 44)
- DAUGHTER OF GOD
- ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
- CONTENTS
- ONE
- TWO
- THREE
- FOUR
- FIVE
- SIX
- SEVEN
- EIGHT
- NINE
- TEN
- ELEVEN
- TWELVE
- THIRTEEN
- FOURTEEN
- FIFTEEN
- SIXTEEN
- SEVENTEEN
- EIGHTEEN
- NINETEEN
- TWENTY
- TWENTY-ONE
- TWENTY-TWO
- TWENTY-THREE
- TWENTY-FOUR
- TWENTY-FIVE
- TWENTY-SIX
- TWENTY-SEVEN
- TWENTY-EIGHT
- TWENTY-NINE
- THIRTY
- THIRTY-ONE
- THIRTY-TWO
- THIRTY-THREE
- THIRTY-FOUR
- THIRTY-FIVE
- THIRTY-SIX
- THIRTY-SEVEN
- THIRTY-EIGHT
- THIRTY-NINE
- EPILOGUE
- AUTHOR’S NOTE
TWENTY
Zurich’s Bahnhofstrasse runs for less than a mile from the train station to the lake. But along its length, the visitor can see almost everything that has given this small Swiss city an international reputation for the gold beneath its sidewalks.
Banks and jewelry stores jam the Bahnhofstrasse. The banks store money, precious stones, gold, and objects more valuable than gold. The jewelry stores sell gold and precious gems in exchange for money, gold, and sometimes for things more valuable than gold. Bankers and jewelers have long been allies, but nowhere are the bonds tighter than on Zurich’s Bahnhofstrasse. All the big ones are here: Swiss Credit, Union Bank, J. Vontobel & Co., A. Sarasin & Cie., and more.
And between the impressive bank buildings, with their bold public facades and polished mahogany doors lined with armor plate, are private banks: small, exclusive, the most secretive among a secretive bank industry. The brass plates on their doors bear single muted names such as Bertholdier et Fils, or perhaps a string of names as in a law firm. Nowhere is there an indication that a bank may be behind the door. If a visitor does not know it is a bank, he has no business there.
The jewelry stores that separate the banks from one another operate in much the same way. The large ones have public displays designed to appeal to the bourgeoisie, and—accessible only by private elevators and au thorized escorts—salons for those who in all probability have just come from a small banking establishment with an armor-plated mahogany door.
Seth paid off his taxi at the foot of the Bahnhofstrasse, where it ended at the lake. It was a brilliant day and in the cold, clear distance, a lone sailboat braved the chill waters. From Seth’s vantage point the sail looked like a bleached wizard’s cap sliding across the water. He paused for a moment and thought of a summer day more than six months before, when he had taken a small rental boat up the lake as far as Zollikon while he waited for Zoe to return.
He turned abruptly, from the thoughts of that day as much as from the physical sight that reminded him of it. Walking briskly now, he passed a small park and plunged into the thickening crowds of Christmas shoppers. It was December 22, two more shopping days until Christmas.
The sidewalks lining the Bahnhofstrasse were crowded with shoppers, shopkeepers, a straggling of tourists, schoolchildren out for the holidays, and a sprinkling of immaculately groomed men and women. Most of the women were wrapped in furs, making their stately way between limousines and banks and jewelry stores.
Seth slowed his pace to match the crowds as he made his own way toward the Bahnhof, the train station. He paused briefly in a small triangular plaza next to a tram stop to consult a tourist map the front desk had given him before he left that morning. He looked about him and oriented the map to his direction of travel.