Page 104 of The Atlas Maneuver

I bet you can, she thought.

And Kyra left the room.

Catherine took a moment and composed herself. She’d just orchestrated the deaths of two former friends. One quite close. And the daughter? Hopefully they would not need to involve her at all.

But as bait?

She was perfect.

She stepped back to the French doors overlooking the central garden. Below was a sea of wildflowers, cacti, palm trees, andfountains. At its center an ancient fig tree, tall and broad, thrust out its twisted arms. Beyond, toward the far end in a large open patch, a huge canvas event tent had been erected. Dinner tonight was for too many to host comfortably inside the house. But the evening’s weather was perfect for an outdoor gathering, though the tent itself was air-conditioned.

The staff had been working all week to make things ready. Representatives from Panama, Paraguay, Venezuela, Nicaragua, Brazil, Argentina, and Malta were staying at the Four Seasons in Marrakesh. Cars had been sent and everyone should be arriving within the hour. Representatives from six other nations that had already made the switch to bitcoin would also be here. It helped to have people with firsthand experience present to answer questions and ease concerns. It also maintained the façade that the bank was neutral relative to bitcoin, acting merely as a conduit for the exploration of new alternatives, something financial institutions had been doing for centuries. Her message later to the gathering would be carefully chosen, never advocating, merely reporting facts and allowing the participants to make up their own minds.

Say the right words, paint the right picture, allow their minds to believe what they so desperately want to believe, and the response is guaranteed.

She checked her watch: 6:40P.M.

Here she was plotting life and death. Her father would have never appreciated the gravity.

But her mother certainly did.

Which was all that mattered.

CHAPTER 58

CASSIOPEIA STARED UP AT THE LEADEN SKY THAT LAY LOW OVERGeneva, enveloping the city in a premature dusk. A biting wind howled off the lake, whipping the water into frothy waves, driving birds to seek cover beneath the bridges. Pedestrians hurried themselves along on the sidewalks, bending low in a quest for shelter from the unpleasant weather. The time was approaching 8:00P.M.She, Koger, and Citrone had driven back to the city after Citrone had finally—supposedly—told them all he knew.

From 1949 until the 1980s the Black Eagle Trust gold was stored in a secure mountain bunker, one of many that dotted the Swiss Alps. When the underground vault in Geneva was created the gold was moved. That had been a huge undertaking, accomplished in pieces so as not to draw attention to the extraordinary quantity. The gold had been crated by CIA contract help, then transported by armored cars to its new home. That had all happened during the good times between the agency and the bank, and Citrone had been provided access to the entire operation. When the vault was converted into a wine repository, the gold was never moved. Instead, it had stayed and the remodel of the facility had taken place around it, unknown to the contractor. The vault Cassiopeia had entered apparently acted as a decoy. A place to show and say the gold was gone.

The information made sense, but it was dependent on whether Citrone could be believed.

And believing him was a big leap.

Koger had driven, parking right in front of the wine depository. This was going to be the direct approach, especially considering that Citrone knew the custodian, Wells Townley.

“Wells and I have done business together,” Citrone told them. “Thankfully, he is a negotiable soul. He likes the good life. He just can’t afford it. I make sure he can. And it’s not easy. The bank operates at a security level comparable to Langley. They keep a close watch on their people.”

“That’s just a challenge for you,” Koger said. “Not an obstacle.”

Citrone smiled. “Exactly the way I view it too. Langley wanted me to cultivate the relationship. But be warned. Wells is loyal to the bank. He will not reveal its secrets easily.”

She noticed the tone, not that of someone cornered or caught, more the natural exasperated voice of someone genuinely bemused.

Which made her wonder.

“Just so we’re clear,” Koger said. “I’m going to hurt you bad if this turns out to be a wild goose chase.”

“It won’t.”

She was somewhat encouraged by Citrone’s confidence but kept reminding herself that this man was a proficient liar.

And that was a problem.

The city was bustling for the evening, cars darting back and forth on the busy boulevard that stretched past the repository. Both she and Koger were armed. She was still worried about Cotton. They’d heard nothing more from him about what was happening on the ground in Morocco.

“You ready?” Koger asked her as they all walked toward the repository’s front doors.

“I’m always ready.”