“Did he show up with Rosen yesterday?”
“No, sir. Apparently Rosen had all the account papers made out and signed a week or so ago. He had a habit of keeping a few sets with him. As I said, he maintains about twenty accounts with us and keeps opening up more all the time. So that’s hardly unusual. Of course we’ve got countless specimens of Fezali’s signature, and everything checks out there also.”
“Isn’t Rosen a Jew?” asked Hofer.
“I assume so,” replied Kellermann. “But I would not attach too much importance to that element. After all, we have seen a lot of stranger combinations around here.”
“Has Rosen ever done anything like this before?”
“No. He’s never touched either gold or currency futures. Actually, Widmer over at our Basel branch told me that this operation is completely out of his usual line. Apparently Rosen’s a type who plays things very carefully, never plunges, takes profits early, never tries to squeeze out the last drop. A rather ideal type of client. He never blames us for giving him bad advice, like so many of our other American customers. He relies completely upon himself and his own ideas. He’s often not too happy about the delays and errors in our accounting. But that’s not new. All Americans are very fussy in that regard.”
“The more I hear, the less I like it,” said Hofer. “Look, I don’t want our bank to be dragged into something that could bring us up against the American authorities. You know it’s illegal for an American national to deal in gold bullion. Sure they overlook all the little fishes, but a couple of years ago they tried to get at Bernie Cornfeld and IOS for an alleged gold purchase they made way back in 1968—a big one. This could mean big trouble, and that could bring big publicity, especially in those damned American newspapers. One Helga Hughes affair was enough for Zurich in this decade. And I have a funny feeling that there’s something wrong here. Kellermann, you tell our people in New York to get everything available on this man. Right away. And stall Rosen in the meantime. I want a reply on my desk no later than eight tomorrow morning. The fellows in New York have almost all of a working day left to get what we need.”
Kellermann frowned. This was not normal, and Kellermann did not like abnormal things. He lived a very orderly life. He prided himself that once his word was given, that was it. And he had given it to Rosen. As far as he was concerned, the bank was committed to carry out Rosen’s instructions, as received.
“Dr. Hofer, I’m afraid that it’s a bit too late to change things very much. I have accepted his order to buy the gold and to start building up his short position in dollars.”
“Verbally?”
“Of course. But he will expect to be able to go through the confirmations of these transactions from his dossier before the week is out. He’s staying in Zurich for that express purpose. As far as I know, Zimmerer’s men must have already arranged to accumulate part of that gold in this afternoon’s fixing session, and no doubt they are also selling dollars as instructed.”
Hofer thought this over.
“Kellermann, what’s done is done. That’s clear. But now I want you to do something. Immediately. Get hold of Rosen and tell him that we cannot proceed further with his orders unless we get 50 percent more cash margin. If that doesn’t stop him, it will at least slow him down quite a bit. Very few people can raise $50 million in cash quickly.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Now tell me, Kellermann, have any of your other big clients started to move in the same direction?”
“Nothing on the order of Rosen, but things have greatly heated up during the past few hours. Everybody was expecting an unusually large sale of Russian gold this week through the Bank for International Settlements. But nothing happened. Apparently they withdrew it at the last moment, without any logical explanation. Reuters had a speculative type of story on the wire just before I came up here. Apparently they got to somebody at the Zurich airport who claimed that the gold was actually shipped in last week but is just sitting there in the bonded warehouse out at Kloten. A thing like that alone could produce a lot more action today, especially in a market which is already on the move. One thing is for sure; these days the speculators do not lack either money or crazy ideas.”
“Kellermann, keep in touch with the gold department and the foreign exchange people. If anything really unusual develops this afternoon, I want you to stay personally on top of it. Something’s going on.” Kellermann knew when he was dismissed. Hofer simply no longer recognized his presence. This often proved highly offensive for executives new at the Hofer game. But Kellermann had gotten used to it long ago. He closed the double doors protecting Hofer’s office from any possible audible intrusion from the outside world, and walked down the corridor to the bank of elevators. He was perturbed. He did not like Hofer interfering with his clientele. Especially after he was already committed. More than just Hofer was involved here. It was the integrity of the bank, and of himself. His instructions were clear. If Rosen could produce the additional cash margin, as far as he, Kellermann, was concerned, the deal was on. If not, it was strictly Hofer’s responsibility, and he would have to explain it to Rosen. On that, he would insist.
But first he had to give the good news to Rosen. He proceeded to do so, in the briefest of telephone calls.
12
“SO we will need an additional $50 million in cash before we can proceed further, Mr. Rosen.”
“Fine, Herr Kellermann. I’ll see what I can do.”
The telephone went dead for a few seconds.
“You did understand what I said, Mr. Rosen.”
“Completely. I’ll be back to you this afternoon. Let’s say after lunch. You’ll be in?”
“Yes, yes.”
“Fine. Good-bye.”
Stanley burped, put on a pink shirt, a green tie, a blue suit, brown shoes with black socks. He placed a call to New York and went down to the Grill Room for a steak, well done, and some french fries on the side.
He actually enjoyed his lunch, while he mulled over Kellermann, the General Bank of Switzerland, and $50 million. So what else was there to expect? Everybody has to look after himself. And the aristocrats of the world were the first to learn this. That’s why they became aristocrats. To himself, over lunch, Stanley had no qualms about thinking of his big customers in the States. Sure, they were Mafia. But they were the aristocrats of their chosen line of business. They were the best surviving capitalists in the United States. They believed as fiercely in the system that made America what it is, as did the Rockefellers, the Harrimans, the Kennedys of past generations. Swiss bankers were cut of exactly—but exactly—the same cloth.
They used the cloak of piety plus the bank secrecy laws in the same way as the Mafia used bribes and the threat of secrecy or death. Both provided services that a greedy and essentially anti-law public wanted. Neither group of twentieth century capitalists could survive and prosper to that degree if vast numbers of people, in both low and high places, did not want and need them. The type of power that resulted by merit of their holding the keys to many different kinds of financial kingdoms was as close to invincible as you could get. There was no use fighting it. Bow your head, accept it for what it is, roll with the punches. Cooperate. Since you can’t join ’em, don’t be stupid enough to try to lick ’em. Just have enough money to keep up with them. Power and money. That was something that both the Mafiosi and the gnomes of Zurich respect. And money Stanley had. That’s why he enjoyed his lunch. In spite of the fact that his stomach was not exactly in A-1 shape.