“That’s how it appears,” Cate said and moved the image, zooming in on the bottom portion. “While incarcerated in Teuling’s factory, I had two long weeks to think. No television, radio, computer or people to talk to until Marta came along. I went over and over what I’d seen on that bill of lading in my mind and kept coming back to the payment reference. Every bill of lading includes a clause that tells the forwarding company who’s paying the freight charge. What I found strange was that this one didn’t reference a US government disbursing office.”
“Which made you question its legitimacy.” Draco looked closer. “What does it reference?”
Cate glanced up. “An address on the Bahnhofstrasse, a twenty-minute walk from here. I looked it up. It’s a private bank.”
Draco went still.
“I was sitting in the car park at the freight company when I saw the address. It would’ve been my next stop after talking to Freddie.”
“Only you never got to talk with Freddie.”
“Because someone put a bag over my head and whisked me off to the Helvetic BioSolutions’s holding cell for State Department ransom victims.” She snorted.
A ruddy red color flushed across Draco’s face, nothing like his normal stoic countenance, shocking Cate.
He leaned forward, his hands on his knees. “You spent two weeks locked away.”
She shrugged. “It could’ve been worse. At least they fed me and let me shower every other day.”
“You spent two weeks thinking about your case.”
And you, she started to say, but bit down hard on her tongue to keep from letting the words escape.
“That’s right,” she managed. “And getting angry.”
“I bet,” Draco said. “Now what’s your plan? I assume you want to pay a visit to the bank?”
She nodded. “First, I need to conduct a little due diligence.” She frowned at the cell phone. “How much do you know about Hammer’s computer guy, Dmytro?”
“Hammer trusts him with his life,” Draco said. “He’s a good resource.”
“Good,” she said and searched through the list of contacts on the cell phone. When she found Dmytro’s name, she placed the call.
The man answered on the second ring. “Ms. Cate, is good you are alive this fine morning. Hammer told me of your visitor last night. So rude. His mother taught him no respect. What can I do for you?”
“Can you get information on a bank?” she asked.
“Da. It is my specialty. One moment.” Footsteps sounded and then the clicking of fingers on a keyboard. “Did you have a bank in mind?”
She gave him the bank’s name and address, and the payment reference number noted on the bill of lading.
Dmytro’s fingers tapped the information onto the keyboard. A moment later, he gave a grunt of approval.
“I also need information on Alpenhorn Relief Logistics,” she said. “I think it’s registered somewhere in Europe. Who formed the company, and how many shipments has it made?”
“Will be quick with the company. Banks take longer, especially Swiss banks. They are less friendly to infiltrate.”
Cate waited, the phone on speakerphone, as they listened to the tapping sound of a busy man, presumably hacking into data. Normally, hacking would make Cate squirm as a private investigator who did her work as much by the book as possible. Evidence obtained illegally wasn’t usually admitted in court. She figured that in this case, bending some rules was in order. Multiple attempts on her life had her punchy enough to bypass red tape and bureaucratic roadblocks.
“Ah,” Dmytro said.
“Ah?” Cate’s stomach tightened.
“Your logistics company, Alpenhorn Relief, registered fourteen months ago with a single director, a nominee.”
“Nominee?” Cate questioned. “What is that?”
“Someone who is paid to have his name on things he will never see,” Dmytro said, his fingers still tapping. “The registration address is a post office box above an automobile repair shop.”
