‘I’ve been reluctant to let news of our trouble leak out but I’ll have to turn to other banks to help us. We tried one of the big ones yesterday and they turned us down flat. But that’s not significant. We’ll ride out the storm, Corporal, I’m convinced of it.’

‘Why our bank? Are we the most stupid?’

‘By no means. But we were suited to this kind of swindle. There’s no doubt that the people concerned studied our methods carefully and maybe got someone inside to steal the reference from the files. But references are not normally guarded very carefully. A cleaner could have stolen it. There was no reason to think it would be something a thief would want. Furthermore they knew enough about our banking methods to guess that we would say yes to the Peter Friedman deal. It was rather like deals we’ve made before and made money from. And they perhaps guessed that we’d finance it alone, rather than syndicating it with other banks.’

‘And who is this Dr Böttger? What do we know about him?’

‘He’s the president of a very successful German bank,’ said Pitman.

‘Shit,’ said Stein again, banging a hand on the chair in a purposeless display of energy.

‘There is nothing we can do about it right now,’ said Pitman. ‘Better that we talk about the documents. You saw Lieutenant Sampson?’

‘Yes,’ said Stein.

‘A good young officer,’ said the colonel. ‘An excellent transport officer, always kept his paperwork in order, I remember.’

‘Well, he’s not an officer and he’s certainly not young any more,’ said Stein. ‘I play poker with him every week. He’s got a big law practice with offices in LA, San Francisco and Santa Barbara. Two partners do nearly all the work nowadays. Jim Sampson is in semi-retirement.’

‘Time flies,’ said the colonel.

‘OK,’ said Stein ‘Well, I went to see him and told him that we’ve got people talking about making the Kaiseroda mine business into a movie.’

‘And he gave you a legal opinion?’

‘He went bananas!’ said Stein ‘He sat down heavily and went a pale shade of white. But he kinda got used to the idea after a while I pointed out to him that doing a movie about the Kaiseroda mine doesn’t have to mean showing us stealing any trucks. Maybe they just want to do a story about the treasure.’

‘And if they don’t just do a story about the treasure?’

‘Sampson says that MFA &A and the Allied Reparations Agency issued statements in 1945 that there was nothing missing. Jim Sampson says that, to prosecute us, the US government would have to admit that they were lying through their teeth. He thinks it’s unlikely.’

‘I can see why his partners put Jim into semi-retirement,’ said Colonel Pitman testily. ‘You didn’t tell me he was senile. Doesn’t he read the papers? Doesn’t he know that all the world’s governments tell lies all day every day, and show no sign of contrition even when they are caught out in such untruths?’ Colonel Pitman reached for the wine bottle and poured more for both of them. ‘Goddamned idiot, Sampson. I knew he’d never make captain.’

Stein tried to placate him. ‘Jim says it’s unlikely the US government will act. They’ll just say they know nothing about it.’

‘Very cool, calm and collected, was he?’ said Colonel Pitman sarcastically. ‘Do you remember Jim Sampson on the day I offered to cut him into our caper?’

‘Lieutenant Sampson was in charge of the maintenance platoon,’ said Stein. ‘We had to have him with us so that he could verify to the military police that we’d got a mechanical failure and had to stay halted at the roadside while the rest of the convoy continued.’

‘Never mind the details,’ said Pitman. ‘Can you remember all that stuff Jimmy Sampson gave us about having a sick mother who would suffer hardship if he went to Leavenworth?’ The colonel gave a cruel little laugh as he remembered the scene. He put down his drink and walked across the room to the humidor next to the drinks tray, He opened it with the key that released the pressure on the air-tight lid. ‘Want one?’

He didn’t wait for an answer, nor did Stein reply. He had never been known to decline a good cigar, and certainly not one of the cigars that Colonel Pitman had delivered from Davidoff, the best cigar merchant in Geneva.

The colonel selected a large cigar with considerable care, ‘I’m not allowed cigars nowadays,’ he explained. ‘But I’ll enjoy watching you smoke one.’ He cut the tip from it, presented it and lit it for Stein. ‘What are we going to do, Corporal?’ he said at last.

‘Losing one hundred million will wipe us out,’ said Stein.

‘Word of it will get around,’ said Colonel Pitman. ‘Maybe the bank could sustain the loss, but lost confidence will make it very difficult for us to continue trading, unless we find someone who will buy us out. There are the government guarantees and so on. So far, I haven’t taken advice about the legal implications because I don’t want to go spreading the story all round town.’

‘Say two million dollars from the cases of drugs in Zurich airport free zone,’ said Stein. ‘What else have we got in fixed-interest stocks and gold and stuff that we could sell?’

‘Maybe three-quarters of a million US dollars,’ said the colonel sadly. ‘I’ve been all through our assets time and time again. We’ve taken a terrible beating with the decline in value of the US dollar. We should have diversified much more. If I sold this house, maybe I could put another million into the pot.’

‘Nix on that, Colonel,’ said Stein. ‘None of the boys would want to put you on the street, or even in some lousy little apartment block downtown. By the time we’d shared it out, it wouldn’t be so much. We all shared in the benefits and we all have to share in the losses.’ He rubbed his nose. ‘I guess this is the end of the bank.’

‘My fault,’ said Colonel Pitman. ‘I take a nice fat salary for looking after everyone’s money. I can’t go on living in luxury after letting you down.’

‘Then maybe we should sell the documents to Breslow, or to the highest bidder,’ said Stein.

‘Let’s not jump out of the frying pan into the fire,’ said Colonel Pitman. ‘At present we are only short of money-and, let’s face it, none of the boys are paupers. If we put those old documents on the market, we might find ourselves facing fifteen years in Leavenworth. I’d want to get a lot of legal opinion before we let anyone know what we’ve got.’

‘Maybe you are right,’ said Stein.

‘You read all that stuff years and years ago,’ said Colonel Pitman. ‘I can remember you sitting upstairs, buried under it all. What’s in them?’

‘All kinds of junk,’ said Stein evasively. ‘My dad spoke fluent German. He always wanted me to learn, but you know how kids are. I have difficulty reading it, and that stuff we have is all written in the sort of bureaucratic double-talk that makes our own official documents just as baffling.’

‘I remember you showed me one lot of documents,’ said the colonel. ‘It was the minutes of a meeting. You were very excited by it at the time, you almost missed your lunch.’ The colonel grinned. ‘The pages were annotated and signed “Paul Schmidt” in pencil. You told me that he was Hitler’s interpreter.’

‘Schmidt was head of the secretariat and chief interpreter for Hitler and the Foreign Office in Berlin.’ He tasted the cigar, letting the smoke come gently through his nostrils. The last remaining shreds of light caught it, so that it glowed bright blue like some supernatural manifestation.

‘I remember it,’ said Pitman. He was speaking as if the effort of conversation was almost too much for him. ‘Führer-kopie was rubber-stamped on each sheet. You said it was the minutes of some top-secret meeting.’

‘That’s right,’ said Stein softly. Outside in the hall the old long-case clock struck midnight; the chimes went on interminably and sounded much louder than they did in the daytime.

‘What did you do with those documents?’ said Colonel Pitman.