It could have been hidden from practically any intelligence agent in the world, even if that agent knew what he was looking for. Which he undoubtedly would not have. But the secret could not have been hidden from a banker. And because Clovis Porter was a banker and because he had discovered what was so terrifyingly obvious to him, he was going to die. And there was no one from his own country he could trust to protect him.

Clovis Porter waited, trying not to look too impatient, as the postal clerk pounded the envelope with an ink pad stamp. The clerk asked in French if the gentleman wished to send the envelope registered mail.

No, answered Clovis Porter.

Did the gentleman wish the envelope sent first class?

Not especially, came the casual answer from Clovis Porter.

Air mail?

Uh, yes, why not?, answered Clovis Porter absently as he casually glanced around the small post office. He was not being followed. Good. He would not be this safe in Washington. But Lucerne? A better chance indeed.

And how is the gentleman enjoying Switzerland?

"A lovely country," answered Clovis Porter, shovelling some franc notes across the counter at the clerk. "I think I'll stay another two… maybe three… weeks."

Clovis Porter told this to the manager of the hotel also. He mentioned his vacation to the Swiss bankers with whom he had had lunch. He mentioned it in the car rental office where he hired a Mercedes Benz for two weeks.

Then in his hotel room, he placed a call to his wife in Dubuque, and while waiting for it to be completed, printed in his own hand a message to a bright young man he had met three months before in an office in Langley, Virginia.

The message read:

Mr. A. C. Johnson,

Cormider Road,

Langley, Va.

Dear Mr. Johnson. Stop. Large money movements apparent result of market fluctuations. Stop.