Intrigue in Geneva Episode One
Here it is finally!
After The Hell Of Osirak readers asked me a number of questions about Nikki Sinclair’s lover – Mossad spy Dvora Bar Zahavi. I’ve written a short story featuring Dvora and I’ll be posting episodes here and on my blog for the next few weeks. If you can’t wait to read all of Part One – join my emailing list and I’ll send it to you. Happy Reading and I hope you enjoy!
The Hotel d’Angleterre
Geneva, Switzerland.
February 1980
Dvora Bar Zahavi had studied the three-inch-thick manila file for the last thirty minutes. It contained reports and statistics belonging to an insurance company that did not exist.
On a normal weekday evening, the faux-English bar would be heaving with after-work drinkers standing shoulder to shoulder. Tonight, though, the weather forecast had predicted a heavy snowfall. Geneva’s risk-averse inhabitants had heeded the warning and elected to return to the safety of their homes.
At the next table, two middle-aged men dressed in Pierre Cardin suits paid her no attention. They had just secured a successful business deal and were celebrating with double whiskies and bar food.
Dvora stared out the large picture window. In the daytime it commanded a magnificent, unrestricted view of Lake Geneva. Now she could barely see the other side of the street. Large snowflakes flew and bounced against the glass with increasing intensity.
In the reflection, she observed him sitting alone at a small table, inspecting her as if she were a highly paid prostitute. His eyes roamed blatantly over her body, causing her to look away. She would have loved to light a cigarette, but his dossier stated that he disapproved of women smoking. She felt his stare penetrate through her, causing her hand to tremble. She took another sip of her red wine, appreciating the smooth warmth of the vintage as it coursed down her throat and soothed her jangling nerves.
Dvora didn’t care much for Switzerland, the well-ordered home of chocolate, cuckoo clocks, watches and pharmaceutical products. Here, life continued on, as it had for many years, untouched and peaceful. During World War Two, Germany had elected not to invade it, perhaps because of Swiss neutrality or – more likely – the lure of a safe haven for its officials. Nazis who had stolen gold and other valuables from the Jews they murdered had stashed their ill-gotten gains in Swiss banks. After the war, those who fled Europe for South America were able to access their accounts with impunity and start a new life.
Of course, it had been a very different story for the Jews. During the 1930s, as the Nazis rose to power, they, too, had believed their money would be safe and secure in Switzerland and many had opened bank accounts there. However, many thousands had not survived the concentration camps, and when the war ended, the Swiss banks refused to assist the heirs of the survivors. Rules and regulations insisted upon a certificate of death or knowledge of the account numbers. Of course, most survivors had neither. It was estimated that over five million Swiss francs currently sat in dormant Swiss bank accounts.
Dvora lifted her glass, drained the last of her wine and, with a flourish of her Mont Blanc pen, scrawled a note in the margin of a report.
Another hundred and twenty seconds and her fate would be sealed.
The Hotel d’Angleterre
