Blind Mission: A Thrilling Espionage Novel by Avichai Schmidt Page A

with the remnants of their skin-tight green plastic wrappings – littered the table. As he stood up, Greenberg folded and put into his back pocket the list of addresses he had copied form several newspaper ads.
    On his way out of the station, he stopped at an information booth to pick up a train timetable. At a nearby kiosk he purchased the most detailed map of the city he could find. Across the street from the station he noticed the signs of several hotels, several of them still illuminated as if in defiance of daylight. He picked a hotel of average size and inquired at the reception room overlooking the main street.
    He registered as Peter Ross of South Africa. As long as he spoke French, no one would suspect his origin. He was not concerned about a police inspection, because he knew this took place – if at all – in late afternoon or at night. By then he hoped to be gone from the city.
    From his fifth floor window Greenberg could see the main entrance of the train station and the adjacent main street. There was much traffic, but the room’s height cut off most of the street noise. The clock on the front of the terminal building showed 8:30. He went into the corridor and examined the two elevators, the stairwell, the emergency exit, the two laundry rooms, and the chambermaids’ room – all in case he should be forced to make an escape sooner than expected. Afterward he returned to his room – all in case he should be forced to make an escape sooner than expected. Afterwards he returned to his room and hung the “Do Not Disturb” sign outside the door. He filled the tub with hot water and by nine was in a deep sleep.
    He woke four hours later. Moving aside the heavy curtains, he looked outside to check the weather. It was somewhat cloudy, but still a nice day. At exactly 1:00 he left the hotel and walked down the street until he came to a store selling photographic and optical equipment. There he bought a pair of high-quality opera glasses. Walking at a leisurely pace, occasionally consulting his map, he then made his way to the center of Basel. He had to check four addresses, all of them downtown and very close to one another. After about an hour, at 2:15, he reached a decision.
    From the second floor window of the Café Cerise, Greenberg looked down at the opposite side of Basel’s main commercial street. Despite the swarms of tourists filling the pedestrian mall, he could see at the end of the street an almost pastoral picture of an ancient square paved with small cobblestones, surrounded by gray buildings in the classic European style.
    A waitress dressed in a traditional dirndl placed a pot of coffee and a gigantic cream pastry on Greenberg’s table and he promptly paid her. After taking a sip he put down the cup and took the opera glasses from his jacket pocket, focusing on the scene below. Any tourists who noticed him probably would think he was examining the steeples of the aged church sticking up from behind the group of buildings in front of him; for it was indeed hard not to marvel at the precision of the work performed hundreds of years before. But he had not come here to inspect old masonry; he was focusing downward on the ornate oak door of a building of thick, rough stone, whose entrance was separated from the street by five broad steps. From his angle of observation Greenberg could not read the tiny letters engraved on the shiny brass plaque to the right of the door; but he had already memorized the address when he stood on the sidewalk: The Swiss Fidelity Bank – Main Office.
     
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    The venerable Swiss Fidelity Bank was considered one of the most reliable and biggest banks in Europe. Its branches could be found in every large city on the continent and its name was well known throughout the world. It would have been reasonable to assume that the branch in this building would have a larger sign or a much more impressive entrance – but those who came here were not