Slaton made his move ten minutes outside Wädenswil.
“Lovely evening,” he said in American-accented English.
The lawyer, having ended her call, gave a polite nod. “Yes, isn’t it.”
“Does this train carry through to Zurich?”
“No, there is construction. You will have to switch in Thalwil.”
“I see, thank you. I have a flight back to the States tomorrow.”
“You are in Switzerland on holiday?” she asked.
“I’m afraid not. I have relatives here, and my uncle summoned me for a meeting to discuss financial matters. In truth, it wasn’t much fun—I’m going through a messy divorce and my ex has her eyes on the family business. In the last week my uncle has fired every one of my attorneys and accountants. Very stressful—the kind of thing I usually try to avoid. If nothing else, it was wonderful to see his estate in the winter. I typically come in the summer months.” Slaton dispensed his most engaging smile before letting his eyes drift to the window.
“Estate you say?” queried the lawyer. “What is his name?”
Slaton turned back. “Hoffman—Walter Hoffman.”
The lawyer blinked. “Hoffman,” she repeated, “the pharmaceutical magnate?”
“Yes, I suppose so. My name is James—James Hoffman.”
They shook hands across the aisle.
“You are not involved in the family business?”
“Me? Good Lord, no—I’d have run it under years ago. I’m a language professor at a small college.”
They chatted for another five minutes—three more than he’d planned—by which point she made known that she was an estate lawyer herself, resided in a lovely suburb of Baden, and by the way, had recently suffered her own divorce.
With her business card in hand and the outskirts of Wädenswil in the window, Slaton pulled the broken prepaid phone from his pocket, and said, “It’s a shame I wasn’t able to say good-bye to Uncle Walter. These damned expendable phones are so poorly built.”
Esther Straumann, senior associate of the firm Fischer, Lenz & Frey, smiled with all that was good and kind, and said, “Here, Mr. Hoffman, please use mine.”
* * *
Stein watched the garbage man through the kitchen window. The man was retreating to his truck empty-handed because the cans were in the garage.
His phone vibrated, and he checked the number on the screen but didn’t recognize it. After a pause he answered.
“Hello.”
“Hello, Uncle Walter. I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to say good-bye. Is everything going as planned?”
Stein grinned. “Things are good here, no sign of trouble.”
“Glad to hear it.”
“And you? Are you getting any closer to discovering—” Stein was cut short by a squeal. He looked over his shoulder to see Davy toddle into the kitchen with Christine right behind.
She scooped him up, admonishing, “Will you never stay where I put you?” She then locked eyes with Stein, a questioning look that asked, Who are you talking to?
Stein gave an easy wave, then broke from her visual grip and strolled to the far side of the room. When Christine disappeared, he asked, “Are you making any progress?”
“Progress? Probably not the right word. Let’s say there have been developments. How is Christine holding up?”
“She’s good.”
“No issues having you as a houseguest?”
“She’s doing what she has to do.”
“Yeah, she’s good at that. Did you find out anything about our mutual friend?”
“Ben-Meir? I made a few calls. Apparently Mossad did let him go a couple of years ago after a botched mission—something to do with an arms dealer in Switzerland.”
“Grossman?” Slaton asked. “Was that the name?”
“Might have been. And I heard Ben-Meir went out recruiting last summer. He was offering a big payday for a few committed individuals. No word on what they were planning. Have you had any more run-ins with him?”
“Yes, but things dropped my way.”
Stein chuckled. “You make it sound like a tennis match.”
“Look, I shouldn’t talk long, I’ve borrowed this phone from a lovely lady.”
These words came in a more deliberate voice than the rest, and Stein grinned knowingly.
Slaton said, “I’m not sure when I’ll be able to call again. Use the old number if you need to get in touch.”
“The message board?”
“Right.”
“Okay,” Stein said, checking to make sure he was still alone. “But tell me one thing. What’s the plan when you’re done? Will you be coming home?”
An extended pause. “I hadn’t thought that far ahead. We’ll talk soon.”
The call ended, and a reflective Stein stared out the kitchen window.
Far across an ocean, a gracious traveler returned a phone to his seatmate and bid her a pleasant evening, adding a promise to call if he needed legal help, or perhaps even to arrange a more casual engagement during his next visit to Switzerland. The two exchanged broad smiles and a lingering handshake before Slaton stepped off the train.
He made his way to the ticket counter and immediately purchased a northbound billet on the Deutsch Bahn, a route that would take him deep into the heart of Germany. His actual point of disembarkation would be a decision for later. With thirty minutes to wait, he went to the restroom and splashed water from the basin on his face, and used a clutch of paper towels to wipe it dry. All alone in the room, he backed up to a wall and squeezed his eyes shut, his head hard against the cold tiles.
Esther Straumann and Yaniv Stein were nowhere in his thoughts. Even Christine and poor Astrid had been relegated. There was only one person in Slaton’s mind, and even if the visual image remained as much a blank as ever, he now had a sound. A tiny shriek.
For the first time ever, he had heard the voice of his son.