The Russian's Son by John Belfort

Author:John Belfort [Belfort, John]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-03-07T22:00:00+00:00

15

Thursday 6th September 2012

06:30 CEST

Sion, Switzerland

‘IN HALF AN hour we’ll have to change trains at Visp,’ declared François from the facing seat.

He was clean-shaven and wearing a black suit. He had even visited Richard’s barber the previous day, returning with a few inches trimmed from his unruly shanks of hair. Richard yawned widely, looked at his watch, then glanced through the window at the cloudless, blue sky. It was going to be a beautiful, hot day.

The platform at Sion station had been packed with people waiting for the train. He guessed that some of them were also going to Bern. They were pendulaires, commuters who travelled three hours a day to work in the capital. The doors shut and the train departed. Fifteen minutes later they pulled into the small regional station of Salgesch. From this point onwards the language spoken in the canton was the patois of the Upper Valais, a strange hybrid of Swiss German, itself an odd variation on classical ‘High’ German.

Soon the train stopped at Leuk. Richard looked out through the window and noticed a massive satellite dish half-way up the northern mountain. François lowered his copy of The Financial Times and also looked out. ‘There’s a whole cluster of other dishes behind it,’ he commented. ‘You can’t see them from here. We call them ‘big ears’ in French. They monitor communications – telephone calls, texts, radio signals. That sort of thing.’

‘So it’s a state set-up?’

‘It’s privately owned, but its main client is the NDB.’ Seeing Richard’s puzzled expression, François tilted his head slightly upwards, as if about to sing. ‘Der Nachrichtendienst des Bundes. Switzerland’s Federal Intelligence Service, in other words. The dishes here listen to everyone – to you, to me, to anyone sending anything over Swiss airspace.’ He looked sideways at Stéphanie. She had been looking closely at him but went back to reading the free newspaper she had picked up at Sion station.

Richard’s two flatmates had barely exchanged a word since getting up. Stéphanie was clearly still furious with François. The two men looked significantly at each other and exchanged a furtive smile. Richard considered for a moment the reason for Stéphanie’s wrath and, once again, absolved himself of any blame.

When he and François had gone out for a drink late the previous Tuesday evening at La Grenette in the Rue du Grand-Pont, François revealed that FC Sion had sold David to a French club. ‘It’s a bit of a shame, of course,’ he said, ‘but there are always other fish to fry.’

After finishing off a bottle of wine, they noticed two pretty girls on the other side of the terrace outside the bar. Emboldened by the drink, Richard persuaded François to move tables next to them and soon the four of them were chatting. The next morning François was trying to coax his girl quietly out of the flat when Stéphanie opened her bedroom door, looked from the girl to François then slammed the door shut.

At first she took out her anger on Richard.

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