Mike could see Lake Geneva ahead, and the huge water plume called the Jet d’Eau. The promenade was lined with people, ignoring the chill, enjoying the show. She got out of the car, checked her weapon on her hip. This wasn’t exactly how she’d always dreamed of visiting Europe.
Despite the shining sun, a cold breeze whistled through the city. Nicholas turned up the collar of his coat and looked at Mike, shivering in her leather jacket.
Menard said, “The wind is brutal today. You should see when the waves form on the lake and the water splashes over onto the streets. We are lucky, this is a warm winter.”
Mike shivered. “You’re saying it could be worse?”
Nicholas laughed. “What, and you a New Yorker? I thought your blood was thicker than this.” But he moved to shelter her from the worst of the wind. “It’s momentary; we’re going to have to cross the street to get into the bank. Yell when you’re ready.”
Menard had already started across. “Nicholas, you speak French, right?” Mike asked.
“Well enough. Geneva is trilingual—French, German, and Italian are all the official language—but everyone speaks English. You won’t have any trouble getting around, I promise.”
“Good. Because I doubt my high school French will do more than get us to the bathroom successfully. I’m ready now. Let’s go.”
They dashed across the Quai des Bergues, the wind cutting at their heels. Once inside the Deutsche Bank, Mike took a second to warm her face with her hands.
They were greeted by the bank manager, a short, rotund man with merry eyes and lovely white teeth.
“Bonsoir, mademoiselle, monsieurs. You are the FBI the Contonal Police told me to expect?” His pleasant manner made her think he’d been told they were coming, and warned to make nice.
“I’m Detective Inspector Drummond, and this is Special Agent Caine.”
“And I am Agent Pierre Menard, with FedPol. We require your assistance.”
“I am Tivoli, and I will do all within my power to help. How may I assist you?”
Nicholas handed Tivoli a picture. “Have you seen this woman? She came to the bank earlier today.”
He glanced at the photograph and shook his head. “No, monsieur, I have not.”
“Are you sure? Look again. She may have asked to access the security boxes. Her hair would be short and black, not long and brown.”
Tivoli’s eyes lingered on the photograph, but he shook his head. “I am most sure, monsieur. It has been a busy day. One of my men is out sick, thus it is I who have been handling the vault today. I would remember her. We sent our videotape to the police when they called, but I also checked the tapes from the time frame, and saw no one who matched her description. I am sorry.”
Nicholas said, “Thank you, Monsieur Tivoli. We appreciate your help.”
They stopped in the lobby next to the scrolled front doors.
Mike said, “Now what?”
Nicholas ran his hand over his chin. “The Fox isn’t stupid. She would have taken precautions, made sure if she had a tail, she could lose them. Driving up to the Deutsche Bank in broad daylight, plain as you please, was a bold move. It was also a brilliant stroke of camouflage. She came in here”—he pointed toward the other end of the lobby—“and she probably walked right on through. We have the police looking at the wrong tapes.”
Menard agreed. “I will ask for more surveillance video to be examined. To come to a bank first—it seems an odd thing to do.”
Mike said, “We were thinking she might be here to accept payment for the theft, but you’re right, it could all be a smoke screen. We can’t even be positive she’s still in Geneva.”
“I was told the pilot of her plane said she sent him skiing, and would meet him in twenty-four hours. Do you believe she meant to keep this appointment?”
“Yes, why not?”
Menard said, “Then she must still be in the city. We will find her. Come. Let us get a hot drink and I will call for a deeper search.”
58