The Decline and Fall of Silas Bream

A cobalt blue sky appeared as they emerged through the cloud layer into limitless crystal clear visibility. Silas had booked a window seat and sat sipping his coffee
as he gazed in wonder at the spectacular view panning out before him.
In the far distance he could make out strange shapes jutting up through the cloud layer beneath him and as they drew ever closer, he realised with amazement that he was looking at the tips of the highest alpine peaks in the French and Swiss Alps. A shudder of excitement passed through him.

The train journey from Zurich airport to Interlaken was equally enthralling as Silas gazed from electric silence through his train window. Designer industrial units
in subtle colours gradually morphed into open country with pretty villages, enchanting lakes and mountains looming ever closer. Neatness and pride were supreme in this picture book land, creating an environment which dared anybody to defile it. Silas somehow felt at home here.

He alighted at Interlaken West station and took a short taxi ride to the hotel Beau Rivage, where he had booked for two nights. It was imposing, opulent and expensive,
but Silas intended to indulge himself whatever the cost. This trip was the beginning of a brand new phase of his life and what he achieved here would be the very foundation of the new Silas Bream. He walked into the vast lobby and crossed between four imposing marble pillars to the reception desk. Before he had time to speak, the
highly polished clerk addressed him in perfect English, instantly gaining the upper hand. Silas had prepared his finest Grammar School German, but he had been pigeon-holed and thwarted by a simple polite greeting.

His second floor junior suite overlooked the front of the hotel, with an almost overpowering view of the mountains. Silas stood on his balcony and took deep lungfuls
of alpine air. His mind had already moved here and all that was required now was the fulfilment of his plan. He stepped back inside, suddenly feeling the late afternoon Autumn chill and closed the double glazed door.

Sitting at an elegant French desk, he took a file from his brief case and from it he found the telephone number of Hans Brendel, the agent he had spoken to the previous week. He dialled the number and waited. Brendel answered almost immediately
and, following the usual courtesies, the two men made an arrangement to meet in Thun the following morning. Silas replaced the receiver, smiled broadly and walked across the room to the large and inviting double bed. He slipped off his shoes, fell onto it and closed his eyes.

When he woke, it was early evening and nearly dark and it took several seconds before he realised where he was. For a while he listened to the faint noises drifting into the room across his balcony and considered whether he had the energy to
leave the comfort of his bed and set out in search of refreshment. He didn't.

Having risen early and breakfasted in style, Silas consulted the concierge on travel options for the twenty eight kilometre journey to Thun. He chose the two hour paddle
steamer ride across the lake and return journey by post bus and set off for what he had planned to be a game changer of a day. His first appointment was at the Oberland Bank at twelve noon, followed by a meeting with Hans Brendel at one thirty, but his morning would be devoted to full enjoyment of his lake steamer trip. As he chose his
seat on the rear upper deck he glanced down at others boarding and noticed a tall, rather ungainly man striding up the gangplank and a thought flashed through his mind that he'd seen that figure somewhere else. The thought was quickly banished by the boat's speaker system bursting into life with its welcome and safety notices in German, French and English. Silas, to his surprise, was able to understand all three.

Out on the lake it was silent, mirror still and glacial green. The mountains and forests on the far side reproduced in perfect mirror image on the water: the whole wonderful vista bathed in a vivid blue sky and caressed by gentle gossamer breeze. Silas sat on deck, mesmerised by the experience and the rhythmic beat of the boat's paddles. It was one of those rare moments in life when circumstances conspired to produce absolute perfection, and for a while he closed his eyes to absorb it until his reverie was suddenly punctured by a sharp blast on the ship's whistle as it approached the first lake stop at Neuhaus. As Silas refocussed to his surroundings, he noticed the tall gangly man staring blankly straight at him some twenty feet away. The man instantly averted the gaze, stood up and disappeared down the
stairway to the lower deck. Silas, now mildly perturbed, stared at
the empty stairway and forced unjustified thoughts out of his mind.

The Oberland Bank was located in Bahnhof Platz, only a short walk from the steamer terminal and Silas was forty five minutes early for his noon appointment. He took a seat outside a cafe which gave him a view of the railway station and bus terminus directly across the square and ordered a cafe-au-lait in his best German. The waiter smiled and asked if he would like to order any food, in perfect English. Silas stood his ground and declined gracefully, in German.

As he sipped his coffee, Thun bustled in front of him. The busy transport hub opposite relentless with train, bus and taxi activity. He lifted his briefcase onto the table and checked that he had all the necessary documents to complete his transaction, a completely unnecessary action as he'd already done this during the steamer journey. Silas wanted everything to run smoothly and if there were to be any hitches in the process, they wouldn't be of his making.

At five minutes to the hour, he entered the anonymous glass office complex of the Oberland Bank and spent forty two minutes setting up two bank accounts; the first in the name of Tiger Property Partnership Ltd and the second in the name of Silas William Bream. The process was trouble free and his documentation flawless and accepted without unnecessary scrutiny. Silas left the building elated and headed for the Hotel Seepark overlooking Lake Thun, where he would meet Hans Brendel for lunch. As he crossed from the square in search of a taxi, gangly man gulped down the last of his coffee, dropped a five franc coin onto the table cloth and left the cafe in some haste.

Hans Brendel was tall, elegant and effusive, with a full head of impressively greying hair, intelligent eyes set in an alpine tan and framed by gold rimmed spectacles. He made a comfortable living acting as agent and broker for overseas property investors and had gained a reputation for dependability and flexibility in his management of client affairs. Hans had acquired connections within the Swiss banking system that had given him the edge over others in his profession. He knew where to find suitable accommodation for investment capital of the more questionable kind, the sort of money that preferred to remain coyly anonymous. Hans was the very definition of the Swiss banking legend; discrete, unyielding and befittingly deviant. The minute Silas approached his table, Brendel knew instinctively that there was business to be done.

They chose the Schnitzel and a bottle of crisp Riesling, and after fifteen minutes of careful measure taking, Silas dropped his defences and decided on the direct approach. He told Hans of his two oppressors and their blackmailing him into illegal activity, although carefully avoiding
their names and details of the hold over him. He described the large
sums of money that he would be required to launder on their behalf
and how he had decided to turn the whole sordid situation to his own
advantage. He then set out his dream of disappearing from England and emerging, totally reinvented, in a chalet on a hillside in the
Bernese Oberland.

Hans chewed and sipped gracefully throughout this totally unexpected confession and listened without interruption. His eyes twinkled through their gold frames with an ever increasing intensity as Silas laid himself bare before him. He sensed a kindred spirit in this vulnerable yet defiant Englishman and smiled broadly as Silas finally sat back in his chair looking drained. Hans lifted his glass.

'A toast my friend, to the first totally honest client I have ever encountered in my entire business career.'

Silas, feeling huge relief at this response, lifted his glass in acknowledgement and drained it in one.

'Money is just a commodity Silas,' said Hans with a broad smile now creasing his tanned face, 'and I am a simple commodity trader. If your two English crooks are keen to use our services, then I'm sure we can accommodate them. As a commodity broker I can offer them a healthy return on their investment and the added benefit of complete discretion. This service however, will come at a price, and this price I can set out for them with very genuine and convincing documents. What they will never know, and I repeat the word never, is that there
will be monthly sums diverted in our direction completely unknown to
them, and those sums will be channelled into Swiss accounts of which
they have no knowledge.'

Silas finished refilling their glasses, dropped the Riesling back into the ice bucket and looked Brendel directly in the eye.

'Forgive me Hans, but you don't seem surprised by my predicament.'

Brendel's smile reappeared.

'Your honesty has been refreshing Silas and I will be just as honest in return. People all over the world come here to hide money and they do it for many different reasons. I don't really care what those reasons are
because, as I just said, money is a commodity and therefore
inanimate. A huge proportion of the money invested in Switzerland is
invested by dishonest people, people seeking absolution for their
money and, by inference, themselves. Think of us like the Catholic
church Silas, you bring along your sins and we wash them clean for a
modest commission, although in our case we can't quite shift all the
stains. What we can do though, is soak your money in years of
respectability and anonymity and what comes out of the other end will
be readily acceptable, because it's Swiss and it's what makes the
world go round.'

Silas considered these words for some seconds and then burst out laughing in such an infectious manner that Brendel was forced to join in. With tears in their eyes, the two drained what remained of the bottle and got down to business.