“You know, Mr. Zimmerer, you’re awfully young to have such a position at the bank. Are you married?”
“No, Miss Rogers, I guess I’ve been too caught up in my work to get around to that.”
“Oh, come on now. You can call me Mary, you know.”
“Fine. I’m Werner.”
“That’s a very stern name.”
“Well, it’s rather common in Switzerland.”
“Werner, do you know any nice place to go dancing in Zurich? You know my uncle; my aunt is no different. And Mom is hopeless. So I can hardly ask them.”
“Sure, there are lots of places. But it depends on what you want. I mean like everywhere, I guess, you have to be a little choosey.”
“I’ve got an idea,” said Mary. “Why don’t we two go out somewhere together this evening. Maybe a place where we can have dinner and then dance. I’ll treat. I mean, if you’re not too busy or something. After all, I do owe you something after this morning.”
Zimmerer thought. Very nice long hair, cute little nose, and she sure looks great in that white blouse and blue skirt. Probably have to be careful though. He decided.
“I think that’s a terrific idea, Mary. But are you sure your uncle won’t mind?”
“Of course not. After all, I am twenty-two.”
“Are you staying at his place?”
“Yes, but that’s way down the lake. Can’t we meet somewhere so you don’t have to go out and back?”
“No. That’s no trouble. What time should I pick you up?”
“Would seven be all right?”
“Perfect.”
The deal was cinched. The career prospects of Herr Zimmerer had suddenly taken on a new dimension. And after a full week—no, eight days—of nothing, Mary’s rather active sex life was suddenly returning to normal. This would be her first Swiss. She had noticed that generally they were rather short, compared to American boys. But maybe that did not make any difference.
“Well, Mary, how did it go?” asked her uncle who had suddenly joined them, interrupting their introspective silence.
“Just fine, Uncle Walter. You were right. It is a fascinating business.”
“Good. Your mother’s waiting downstairs. I’ll take you. Herr Zimmerer, please wait here for a few minutes, if you don’t mind.”
Mary solemnly shook hands with Zimmerer, winked at him, and disappeared. A few minutes later Dr. Hofer returned.
“Herr Zimmerer, I’m glad we have this chance to talk to each other in privacy. I hear that there is a bit of commotion at the foreign exchange desk this morning. What’s going on?”
“Herr Doktor, it’s really too early to say. But there’s big volume and some downward pressure on the dollar again.”
“Where’s it coming from?”
“Hard to say.”
“Any unusually big sellers?”
“Really only one that we’ve noticed. The fellows in Moscow. They were very big on the selling side yesterday, and they’re back at it again today.”
“For this time of year that is peculiar. They are almost always big net buyers of dollars in late fall to pay for agricultural imports, if I recall correctly.”
“That’s right, sir. But, of course, this selling could very well be just concentrated on us for the moment. They might just be doing a lot of trading, playing us off against Frankfurt or London, or more probably Budapest, Bucharest and Prague. All those fellows in Eastern Europe have gotten very big in the foreign exchange game during the past couple of years. Would you like me to check all this out in detail to see if something really unusual is going on?”
“Yes. Please do, Zimmerer. But do it carefully. And do not mention any of this to your associates. Now another thing. What’s our net dollar position?”
“I have brought the latest figures with me, sir. Right now we are slightly short, on balance. About $40 million. That’s well within the standing limits I’ve been given, sir, for the bank’s own position.”
“Of course.” Hofer paused and then went on. “Right. Now I want you to adjust our dollar position very carefully. From short to much shorter. You have authorization to go up to two billion short—as quickly as the market will take it. Stick to short maturities—three months maximum.”
“You mean $2 billion or Swiss francs equivalent?”
“Dollars.”
“You said, as quickly as the market will take it. Do you mean today?”
“Yes.”
“Well, there could be a problem. I just received a customer order to short exactly that amount on almost exactly the same basis—all one-month maturities if possible, but three months will be acceptable.”
Hofer appeared startled. He asked, “Within what price range?”
“No price limits were given. It’s an absolutely open order.”
“Who gave you the order?”
“Direktor Kellermann.”
Hofer frowned. Zimmerer continued. “And there’s something else. Kellermann told me to start executing a huge buy order for gold bullion. Same customer.”
“Who is it?”
“I don’t know, sir. Kellermann just said it’s an important numbered account.”
“I’ll check this out with Kellermann. In the meantime, just carry out my instructions, Zimmerer. Thank you.”
After Zimmerer had closed the door on the way out, Hofer picked up the phone and dialed four digits.
“Kellermann?”
“Jawohl, Herr Doktor.”
“Please come up to my office. Now!” He hung up.
The moment he hung up the phone, Hofer regretted his abruptness. Kellermann had a big future with the General Bank of Switzerland. Hofer had personally handpicked him for his current position, the one which Hofer himself had filled for ten years before taking over full command of the bank. He knew that Kellermann did not have it easy.
The big private numbered accounts—that was the bailiwick of Kellermann, as inherited from Walter Hofer. The system was simple. All transactions for such accounts were done under a number only. Even where cash withdrawals were concerned, the client—in the utter privacy of an upstairs conference room—signed for it with his number, written out of course, like “One Hundred and Thirty-five Thousand Six Hundred and Three.” That’s Swiss for John Doe. Only two men in the entire banking organization could identify the name of the account owner with the number of his account: the account executive who set up the arrangement and Kellermann who maintained the master file of these privileged clients. The papers which contained the matching names and numbers were kept in a special safe—a huge one—solely under Kellermann’s control. It was as burgler- and fireproof as modern technology would allow. But, as still a further safeguard, completely matching documents were kept in another vault, buried deep in an Alpine cavern in a small town in the Gotthardt Pass. It was literally bombproof. The key importance of the system lay in the fact that no internal spy, who, experience had taught long ago, could easily slip into a banking organization, could get at this strategic information. For strategic it was. As a group, the people behind these numbers kept assets totalling $20 billion at the General Bank of Switzerland. Brazilians, Frenchmen, Germans, Argentines, British. They were the old hands in the use of this system. But since the 1960s countless newcomers, from New York, Miami, Las Vegas, Washington, Seoul, Bangkok, Saigon, Taiwan, Hong Kong, had joined the ranks. And then there were the ex-Cubans, the ex-Algerians, ex-kings, ex-finance ministers, ex-presidents, ex-gangsters, many of doubtful nationality not to speak of residency, who regularly enjoyed the traditional hospitality of Switzerland.
The motives of all of these people were essentially the same. They sought protection from immoral intrusions into their private affairs. What could be more private than money? Nothing, said the Swiss, absolutely nothing. And they really meant it, with evangelical fervour. Sure, perhaps some of this money which sought refuge from prying eyes was untaxed. Perhaps it had been illegally smuggled out of Latin America or Asia into Switzerland. Maybe it was stolen. This was not Switzerland’s concern. If nations insisted upon introducing unreasonably high taxes or foreign exchange controls limiting one of man’s God-given freedoms to do what he likes with the money he amasses, that was their fault. Also a crime in Chicago was not necessarily one in Zurich. History had always proved that in money matters the Swiss were right and the rest of the world had been consistently wrong. Little did the world realize the benefits it accrued from this attitude. For it was banks like the General Bank of Switzerland which took what the incurable cynics insisted upon calling “black money,” bleached it, and put it to work productively; money which otherwise would have remained hidden and idle. Thus Switzerland was able to mobilize capital, lend it to industry, and raise the living standards of the world. Its banks regularly told their clients to buy World Bank bonds for their numbered accounts, thus truly helping—in concrete terms—those underprivileged in the developing countries. It was Swiss banks who opened the way for prudent men to buy gold, as a warning to those governments who sought to undermine the currencies of the world through reckless spending programs, which only led to inflation and the indirect confiscation of the hard-earned savings of countless numbers of the aged and afflicted. It was banks like the General Bank of Switzerland which offered the facilities enabling people from all countries to buy stocks and contribute to the survival of the free world in its fight against communism. The job, though difficult, was truly rewarding.