Savich said, "I have accessed your phone records, Mr. Gerlach. There are also calls from your number to Kesselring. A total of six calls until yesterday morning. Then you left three messages."

Gerlach crossed his arms over his chest. He stood stiff and as tall as he could. "This means nothing at all. Agent Kesselring was here to find answers, not commit crimes. Naturally I wished to communicate with him, to find out the status of his investigation. There is nothing more to it than that."

Dieffendorf said slowly, "I have known Werner Gerlach for more than twenty years. He is loyal to me, he is loyal to Schiffer Hartwin. He would never conspire in a fraud of this nature, never."

Savich sat forward, his hands folded. "I believe eight months ago you married a young lady named Laytha Guerling, aged twenty-six?"

Gerlach erupted, "What business is that of yours? Don't you dare bring up my wife's name!"

"Actually, it's much worse than that, Mr. Gerlach. You see, your wife was hired by a man who knew of your first wife's recent death, who knew you were vulnerable. She was instructed to seduce you, and so she did. She's a professional, after all. When you asked her to marry you, the man she worked for was very pleased. She soon convinced you to collude with that man, didn't she? It must not have taken very long to convince you, Mr. Gerlach, since the shutdown of the Missouri plant and the sabotage of the Spanish plant happened eight months ago. How much money was promised you?"

Gerlach was breathing hard, his face turning alarmingly red. "I do not know what you are talking about. You will cease your slander of my wife, do you hear me?"

Savich said, "Do you wish to tell Mr. Dieffendorf who you've been working with? No? It was Claude Renard, the CEO of Laboratoires Ancondor, the man whose company has profited so handsomely from the skyrocketing sales of the cancer drug Eloxium, since you arranged for the shortage of Culovort to begin."

Savich pulled a photo out of his briefcase. "This was just sent to me by the Frankfurt police." He turned the full-color photo faceup.

It was Laytha Guerling Gerlach, seated behind a young man on a motorcycle. Her arms were wrapped tightly around his waist, her long blond hair blowing wildly about her head. She was smiling.

"I'm sure you recognize your wife. The man is Rupert Snelling, your wife's lover since before you met her."

All the color drained from Gerlach's face. "No," he whispered. He reached out toward the photo, then slowly pulled his hand back. "No, that can't be true."

"Believe it, Mr. Gerlach." Savich picked up the photo and held it out to face Gerlach. "This photo was taken yesterday morning. How much of the immense profits is Renard siphoning off to you, Mr. Gerlach? We know Caskie Royal had over four hundred thousand dollars in an offshore account. Who recruited him? Renard? You?"

Dieffendorf roared out of his chair, knocking it backward. "You traitor! You mewling fool! I trusted you, I was even a bit envious of you when Laytha wanted to marry you!" He grabbed Gerlach by his collar and jerked him forward. He shook him like a rat.

Sherlock took his arm. "Mr. Dieffendorf, you really don't want to kill him in front of three FBI agents. Let him go, sir, let him go."

"You betrayed me!" He shook him one final time and dropped him. It was only luck that Gerlach fell back into his chair. He swallowed, but remained silent.

Savich continued. "You and Mr. Renard have been very careful with your wire transfers. It will prove very difficult to track down those transactions, but your wife, Laytha, was not nearly so careful. She and Renard have a joint bank account, Mr. Gerlach. Someone has been making regular large deposits into this account. I've been working with the German authorities for the past day tracking their source in France."

Gerlach raised dead eyes to Dieffendorf. "Not Laytha, not Laytha. She loves me." He put his head between his arms on the table and wept. His sobs were the only sound in the conference room until Dieffendorf yelled, "You idiot, I remember when you met her! I'll wager her name isn't even real, you old fool!" He whirled around to Savich. "Am I right? What is the woman's real name?"

"Gerda Wallenbach."

"Yes, yes, you see? I knew she was too good to be true, you bloody blind sot!"

Gerlach never raised his head. His voice was liquid with tears. "She played tennis, her education was paid for by a rich old aunt. She was refined, she adored Wagner! I loved her!"

Dieffendorf hit his shoulder. "And she demanded what? Clothes, shoes, trips? You couldn't afford all her demands, and you were afraid she'd leave you? You probably saw Renard as your savior, with enough money to convince your precious young wife to stay with you.