Page 7 of The Atlas Maneuver
But Samvel Yerevan’s bitcoin?
For him, those were in dire jeopardy.
Over the years the bank had acquired bitcoin through covert mining, front-running purchases, and trading. But stealing had, of late, become the fastest and easiest way. It was actually quite easy, provided the person doing the stealing was bold, competent, and knowledgeable. Which perfectly described Kyra Lhota.
“We should be able to transfer Yerevan’s wallets to us by the end of the day,” she told the other consuls.
Nods signaled all was good.
And she agreed.
On to other matters.
“The event in Morocco will happen, as planned,” she told them. “Everything is being prepared. So we all fly there tomorrow. I look forward to seeing each of you there. I’m also anticipating some good news later this evening from Mexico, and will alert you once that happens.”
“And the CIA?” one of the consuls asked.
That was the wild card in all that was about to happen.
“Surely they know that our relationship is at an end. But I have a plan to make that point absolutely clear.”
CHAPTER 4
GENEVA, SWITZERLAND
10:40A.M.
CASSIOPEIAVITT WALKED DOWN THE CORRIDOR. THE WALLS AROUNDher were stainless steel and shiny to the consistency of a mirror, the floor a polished gray terrazzo. Every ten meters windows of double-thick glass provided a view into dimly lit refrigerated rooms. The underground facility had first been built in the 1970s with stone walls a meter thick, surrounded by heavy support pillars to protect against earthquakes. It had served as a repository for Swiss banks, the perfect place to safely store large amounts of gold bullion. But that business ended years back. Now the whole thing had been converted into something unique, one of only a handful of such places in the world.
A wine vault.
Dedicated to aficionados worldwide who wanted a safe and secure place to store their precious bottles. Her research, done before coming, told her that, at present, there were forty-one thousand bottles, with room for fifty thousand more. Wealthy collectors, bankers, diplomats, and corporate executives made up the bulk of the clientele. Some owned as many as two thousand bottles. The fee? A mere quarter of a Swiss franc per bottle, per month. Quite a bargain considering the underground space came with zero temperature variations, controlled lighting, little to no vibration, and a constant humidity.
She kept walking.
She’d never been much of a wine fanatic, despite living in southern France among world-famous vineyards. True, she enjoyed a glass now and then, but never would she sink tens of thousands of euros into something to drink.
Not her idea of an investment.
But to be honest, business was not her forte.
Her parents had left her sole ownership of one of Europe’s largest corporations. Terra. Her Spanish grandfather started the business in the 1920s, when he began to import coal, minerals, precious metals, gems, and gold from all over the world. Her father grew the company even more and today that output was used in everything from high-end electronics to parts for planes and missiles. Demand never seemed to cease. He also hired the right people to run things, a practice she’d continued after his death. Which allowed her time to focus on her rebuilding project, which was progressing. The idea was to erect a French castle, from the ground up, using only 13th-century materials, tools, and techniques. Daunting, for sure, especially for a passion project, but she was about a quarter of the way complete, though a few setbacks of late had definitely cost time and money.
She’d been working at the construction site three days ago when the call came from Cotton. He’d been asked to help out an old acquaintance, Derrick Koger, with something in Basel, Switzerland. Simultaneously a repository in Geneva needed to be visited. Time was of the essence. Why? That had not been explained. Which was not unusual when favors like these were requested. Little information seemed the norm. But when Cotton asked if she was in or out her decision was never in doubt.
If you’re in, I’m in.
Truth be told, she’d do pretty much whatever he asked.
The intel she’d been provided indicated that the wine was actually a front for another vault, one left over from the facility’s former days, one that should contain a staggering amount of bullion. Part of Yamashita’s gold, unearthed in the Philippines after WorldWar II and secretly brought to Europe, eventually consolidated and managed in what came to be known as the Black Eagle Trust. The ownership of the wine vault itself was connected through a series of shell companies to the Bank of St. George in Luxembourg, which had maintained a long-standing covert relationship with the CIA, the organization that had initially created the Black Eagle Trust. Did the gold still exist? That’s what Koger wanted to know, so he’d provided her with a confidential password that should gain access to the hidden vault.
Which had worked.
When she’d given the password to the attendant back at ground level she’d been immediately shown to the elevator and told to descend to this level and walk past the cold vaults to a steel door at the end of the hall. There she should enter her personal code, which would release the lock. Only the owner of the vault knew the code.
She turned a corner and spotted the steel door.
Everything about this intrigued her. How could it not?
