“You have business with us, sir?” the man said as he rose. He wore a dark, conservatively cut business suit, and as he came toward them, Seth noted that the suit had been expertly tailored to conceal the weapon the man carried under his left arm. The use of English was explained by the casual dress of the two visitors. Swiss bankers knew that people dressed like that were usually American and usually curiosity seekers who wanted to tell their friends back home they had visited the gnomes in Zurich. But the man’s voice was deferential. For Swiss bankers also knew that for every score of curiosity seekers there was an extremely wealthy American who simply dressed inappropriately for the conduct of financial business.

“I have confidential business to discuss,” Seth said imperiously. “And I have very little time. I must see an officer immediately.”

“Of course, sir,” the man said as his eyes took in the cheaply wrapped parcel and Zoe’s new—and obviously expensive—running shoes. He returned to his desk, plucked a telephone receiver from a hidden access, and spoke into it so softly that his words were unintelligible.

The man replaced the telephone and turned his attention to the couple. The Americans stood, apparently at ease in the middle of the reception room.

“The receptionist will see you now,” the man said. And as he spoke, a door, camouflaged by the joints in the room’s dark paneling and hidden further by subdued lighting, opened behind the desk. A tall, ascetically thin man with a Lenin beard and navy pinstripes stepped from the door.

“Good afternoon,” he said, with a polite but reserved voice. “I am Gunter Abels. How may I be of assistance?” He shook first Zoe’s hand and then Seth’s.

“We have an account,” Seth said, determined to brazen his way through. “A box whose access is determined by certain… arrangements.” Ridgeway looked about him. “I’d prefer to say no more until we’re in more … private accommodations.”

Abels raised his eyebrows, “Of course,” he replied obsequiously. “Pardon me, but… but we really have to be careful to screen out those who have no bona fide business here. Please. Follow me.”

Abels led them back through the door he had used to enter the reception room. It led to an elevator Abels entered last, closing the paneled door that faced the reception area, then punched a button for the eighth floor. The doors slid smoothly shut and the car moved upward. Seth avoided the receptionist’s glance and said nothing during the ride. Rich and powerful people, especially those who maintained accounts and boxes in Swiss banks, didn’t usually fraternize with the help. Besides, they had been accepted, at least this far. Anything he might say could not help them, and could possibly raise suspicions. Rich people were quiet people and he decided to see if he could play that part of the role.

Zoe followed Seth’s lead and kept silent.

“To your left, please,” Abels said, as the elevator slid open on the eighth floor. He held the elevator door while they exited. They were in another darkly paneled reception area, twin of the one on the ground floor. Another heavyset guard sat behind another massive wooden desk. Only this room had two corridors leading off both sides.