The Zurich Conspiracy Read Online Free PDF

together, there was an immediate, concentrated rapport between them; she was seldom at odds with Pius, and he always seemed to know instantly what she wanted.
    Now he was considering her silently, an inquiring gaze on his handsome face. Josefa was in an unmistakable bad mood. She sat in her chair as if turned to stone; her arms propped on the armrests, her hands folded, stubbornly looking straight ahead. Finally she spat it out: “I feel like screaming right now.”
    Pius prowled like a puma around the desk and stopped at the window. “Oh-oh-oh,” he uttered. “How bad is it this time?”
    Josefa rubbed her nose. “Bad enough to ruin my whole holiday.”
    “Nobody in this company has any right to an enjoyable vacation, you know that,” he replied with a smile.
    “No right to a vacation, no right to recognition, no right to be treated with human dignity,” Josefa exclaimed, realizing she shouldn’t speak so loudly with the door open. But she didn’t give a damn. About anything else for that matter.
    Pius carefully laid a briefcase on the table.
    “Here are my ideas for the thank-yous to the St. Moritz VIPs,” he said, leaning toward her and bracing his arms on the table, his face enticingly close to hers. Josefa could smell his aftershave and even imagined for a moment that he might kiss her.
    “Loyn is not the only thing in the world, Josefa,” he said softly. Then he was out of the room in a flash. Josefa sat there for a minute, composing herself; then resentment got the better of her again.
    “No, the world is only slimy caves and blind bats,” she grunted as she picked up the phone and asked Claire to come in.
    Through her window she could see the swallows dancing.
    Oh my God! Werner Schulmann. He calls himself a communications consultant and an expert on new media. Josefa had worked with him a few years back when Loyn threw a birthday party for its new collection at the San Francisco Museum of Modern Art. Schulmann purported to be a specialist for every imaginable kind of technical gimmick—video sound shows, lighting effects, large-screen projections. They had worked together well while planning the event; he was easy to get along with, was open to her ideas, and had charm and a pleasant, sporty appearance. But he let her know in San Francisco that he didn’t like to spend his nights alone and made her an unambiguous proposition that she politely turned down. Schulmann still wouldn’t drop it, and Josefa had to be even more explicit: “You must take no for a no.”
    He just smiled and said suavely, “Do you really know how much your eyes expose your sexual hunger? Maybe you should do something about that.” Then he turned on his heel and left with a spring in his step. Josefa was speechless—that’s what annoyed her the most afterward. Why hadn’t she come up with a good retort right off? She was normally so quick-witted.
    Back in her hotel suite later that evening, she ordered a bowl of soup and a pot of peppermint tea. When the doorbell buzzed, she assumed it was room service and opened the door without looking through the peephole first. Schulmann was on her before she realized her mistake. He grabbed her and began kissing her and fondling her breasts. Josefa was terrified and overwhelmed; she tried to get out of his grasp, the struggle seemed like an eternity. When all of a sudden Schulmann let her go. The buzzer. The waiter. The soup. She threw open the door as fast as she could.
    “Please c-c-come in…” she stammered. The waiter looked unsure of himself, and Schulmann took advantage of his hesitation to push past them and disappear down the corridor.
    “Is everything all right?” he asked, placing the tray on the table.
    Josefa shook her head. “Can I get another room?”
    She was still rather new at Loyn back then. That birthday party was her acid test, and Schulmann’s production was an important component. The next day Schulmann acted as if nothing had happened, and Josefa only