Numbered Account (26 page)

Nick stopped speaking. He had stunned himself. He’d never strung together so many words in a single sentence and not had the slightest idea what he’d said. He stammered, wanting to explain, but a firm hand on his jacket stopped him dead.

“All right, Nick, come in. And since it is eleven-oh-five and I am wearing my most flattering pajamas, I imagine you’d better call me Sylvia.”

She turned and walked down a short corridor that gave onto a cozy living room. A brown sofa ran the length of one wall and half of another. A glass coffee table sat in front of it. Bookshelves adorned the other walls, the spaces between hardcover titles filled by framed photographs. “Sit down. Make yourself at home.”

She returned with two mugs of coffee and handed him one. Nick took a sip and relaxed. A fire burned in the grate. Soft music played from the stereo. He inclined his head toward the speakers. “Who is that?”

“Tchaikovsky. Violin Concerto in D minor. Are you familiar with it?”

He listened for a moment longer. “No, but I like it. It has passion.”

Sylvia sat away from him on the couch, her legs tucked beneath her. She stared at him for a minute, giving him some time to loosen up, letting him know that she was interested in him but that the clock was ticking. Finally, she said, “You seem upset. What’s going on?”

Nick looked into the cup of coffee, shaking his head. “The bank’s an exciting place. More than most people imagine. Certainly, more than
I
imagined.” And with that introduction he recounted to Sylvia the events that had led to his decision to shield the holder of numbered account 549.617 RR, an anonymous client known only as the Pasha, from the scrutiny of the United States Drug Enforcement Administration. His rationale, he explained, was to keep the bank out of trouble and to deny the DEA access to confidential client information. He kept his private reasons to himself, as he did any mention of his gentleman stalker, or of Sterling Thorne’s perfectly timed visit. He ended by recounting Maeder’s ominous warning that the “verdict would be delivered Monday.”

“He wasn’t too happy with me,” said Nick. “I may have helped the bank in the short run, but I broke some very important rules. I can imagine that Monday morning I may find a note on my desk informing me oh-so-politely that I’ve been transferred to some squalid little department in charge of counting paper clips.”

“So, that’s what happened,” Sylvia said. “I should have known.” Before Nick could question her omniscience, she went on. “Oh, you’ll have a transfer. That much I can promise you.”

Nick felt the bottom fall out of his stomach. So much for Sprecher’s soothing words. Status quo ante, my ass. “Shit.”

“You’re being transferred to Wolfgang Kaiser’s office. You’re to be his new executive assistant.”

Nick started to mouth a sarcastic aside but the no-nonsense cast to her voice stopped him.

“I wasn’t supposed to tell you until Monday,” she said. “Now I see why. The Chairman wanted you to stew in your juices for a while. He’d probably be happy if he saw how worked up you’ve become over this. First thing Monday morning, you’ll receive a summons asking you to report to the Emperor’s Lair. Ott called me today wanting to see your papers. Seems you’ve stirred some feathers. The big boys want you upstairs with them. Obviously by protecting this “Pasha’ fellow, you’ve endeared yourself to Kaiser.”

An odd sensation of complete disorientation swept over Nick. All through the day, he’d been preparing himself for a severe reprimand. Even dismissal. Now this! “That’s not possible. Why do they want me upstairs?”

“They have their reasons: Konig; the takeover. Kaiser needs someone able to do battle with unsatisfied American shareholders. That’s you. You’ve passed some sort of test in their eyes. I imagine they think they can trust you. But be careful up there. A lot of fat egos walk those halls. Stay close to the Chairman. Do exactly as he says.”

“I’ve heard that advice before,” Nick said skeptically.

“And not a word about this,” Sylvia ordered. “You’re to act surprised.”

“I am surprised. I’m shocked.”

“I thought you’d be happier,” said Sylvia disappointedly. “Isn’t that what every Harvard M.B.A. wants? A seat at the right hand of God?”

Nick tried to smile, but inside him, too many rivers had flooded their borders. Relief that he wouldn’t be fired. Expectation over the discovery of his father’s memorandums. Anxiety over whether he’d be able to live up to the Chairman’s expectations. Somehow he managed to say he was thrilled.

Sylvia appeared drained by her revelation. “Is that all, then? I’m glad I was able to put you at ease. You didn’t look too good when you walked in here.” She stood and walked lazily toward the corridor. Time to go.

Nick jumped to his feet and followed her down the hallway. She opened the door and leaned against it. “Good night, Mr. Neumann. I’m afraid to repeat what I said last night at dinner.”

“About calling if I need anything?”

She raised her eyebrows as if to say “Bingo.”

Nick looked at Sylvia long and hard. Her cheeks were pale, streaked with a hint of color up high under her eyes. Her lips were pink and full and he wanted to kiss them. His anxiety disappeared. Replacing it was the same rush of attraction, the same nervous jingle in his stomach coupled with the desire to smile like an idiot that had struck him last night.

“Have lunch with me tomorrow,” he said. Standing so close to her he felt faintly giddy, as if right now he could do anything and it would be all right.

“I think that might be pushing our luck a bit too far, don’t you?”

“No. In fact, I’m sure it wouldn’t. Let me thank you for listening to me tonight. Say one o’clock. The Zeughauskeller.”

“Mr. Neumann . . .”

Nick leaned closer to her and kissed her. He allowed his lips to linger only a second, just long enough to feel her against him and know that she did not for a moment recoil.

“Thank you very much for tonight.” He stepped across the threshold. “I’ll be waiting tomorrow at one. Please come.”

The Zeughauskeller reverberated with the cacophony of two hundred patrons consuming their midday meal. In past days a repository for the military arsenal of the canton Zurich, the restaurant’s main hall retained the air of a well-kept warehouse. Its high ceiling was straddled by crossbeams of varnished oak and supported by eight grand pillars of cement and mortar. Its stone walls were adorned with the pike, crossbow, and lance. At one P.M. on this winter’s day, the place was full up.

Nick sat alone in the center of the room, defending his table against all comers. Every empty seat was fair game. No keeping a table just for yourself. Not in Switzerland. He checked his watch — five after one — then tapped his foot on the floor.
She’ll be here
, he told himself. He remembered the touch of her lips, and knowing that God frowned on the cocksure, added a note of prayer to his statement.

From his vantage point Nick could keep an alert eye on the entryways at each side of the restaurant. The door to his left opened. An elderly couple marched in, brushing a light sprinkling of snow from their shoulders. And then behind them a svelte form wrapped in a camel’s hair topcoat with a colorful scarf tied around her head. The person turned away from him and the coat came off. He saw a hand tug at the scarf and then a swirl of blond hair. Sylvia Schon scanned the room.

Nick stood from his chair and waved. She saw him and waved back.

Did she smile?

“You’re looking better today,” said Sylvia when she reached the table. “Get some rest last night?” She was wearing tight black slacks and a black turtleneck to match. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. A few strands hung loose to frame her face.

“I needed more than I thought.” He’d slept for seven hours without waking. Practically a record. “Thanks for opening your door. I guess I seemed pretty whacked-out.”

“New country, new job. I can see that at times it might be overwhelming. I’m glad I could be a friend. Besides, I owed you a favor.”

“How’s that?”

“Something I didn’t tell you last night. Kaiser was very pleased that I’d extended the bank’s courtesies toward you.”

Nick didn’t understand her meaning. He proceeded with caution. “Was he?”

“You see, Mr. Neumann—” she caught herself and started again. “You see,
Nick
, I lied to you about it being a normal practice for me to take my trainees to dinner.” She raised her eyes and stared at him. “Just a white lie. I may take them to the bank’s dining room, buy them a Coke, but Emilio’s is a little out of the ordinary. Anyhow, the Chairman thought it wise of me to have taken you there. He said you were special and that I had an eye for nurturing talent. He ordered Rudy Ott to send me to the States to conclude our spring recruiting. I’ll be leaving in two weeks.”

Nick smiled inwardly. Sprecher had nailed her motivation dead on. Still, Nick understood her reasoning full well and he found her honesty disarming. “Congratulations,” he said. “I’m happy for you.”

She smiled broadly, barely able to contain her excitement. “It’s not the trip that’s so special, it’s the vote of confidence. I’ll be the first female personnel director permitted to conduct the recruitment of executives overseas. It’s as if the ceiling had been ripped off my office and the heavens revealed for the first time.”

Or at least a direct route to the Fourth Floor, thought Nick.

After lunch, Nick and Sylvia joined the throngs of men and women strolling up and down the Bahnhofstrasse. Saturday was shopping day and no amount of rain, sleet, or snow could deter the stalwart Swiss consumer from completing his rounds. Exotic foodstuffs could be had at Globus, finer clothing from PKZ, and pastries, of course, from Sprungli. While Sylvia kept her trained eye on the latest offerings from the fashion houses of Chanel and Rena Lange, Nick examined the opportunities his promotion to the Emperor’s Lair might bring. A position as Kaiser’s assistant would give him the authority he needed to gain access to the archives. He’d have no problem getting his hands on page after page of reports written by his father those many years ago.

Or would he?

Suddenly, Nick wasn’t so sure. Just as Cerberus made careful note of every numbered account accessed by a portfolio manager, so too would it note every file requested by a bank executive. And more menacing than Cerberus’s silicon eye were the all too human attentions of Armin Schweitzer and Martin Maeder. Sylvia had made it clear that he would be watched closely. What room Nick might have had for maneuver under Peter Sprecher’s lackadaisical supervision had disappeared. His every step would be scrutinized by anxious men who lived and died for the United Swiss Bank; men who would view any question about the bank’s integrity as a question about their own — and who would act accordingly.

Nick waited until the two of them were examining a racy gown in the Celine Boutique before broaching the subject of his father’s monthly reports.

“Sylvia,” he began cautiously, “ever since I got here I’ve been curious as to the work my father did at the bank. Last week I was talking with some of my colleagues and I learned that as director of the L.A. branch office, he would have sent reports to the bank on a monthly basis.”

“Monthly Activity Reports. I receive copies of them whenever one of our foreign branches requests personnel to be sent from Switzerland.”

“I’d love to see what kind of matters my father handled. It would be like getting to know him as a business colleague. Kind of man to man.”

“I don’t see any problem. Go down to DZ and ask Karl to help you find your father’s monthly activity reports. Those files are long since inactive. No one will mind.”

Nick shook his head gravely. “I thought about doing that, but I don’t want Herr Kaiser or Armin Schweitzer to think I’m ignoring my duties just to root around in the past. Who knows how they would interpret my actions?”

“Why should they care?” Sylvia asked playfully. “It’s history.”

“They might. That’s all. They just might.”

Nick looked through the store window at a woman struggling to open a stubborn umbrella. This is where Anna had balked, he reminded himself. She had called him selfish and obsessed. Your father’s death ruined your life once, she’d said. Don’t let it happen again.

He took Sylvia’s hand and led her to a quiet corner of the clothing store where he motioned for her to sit beside him on a soft beige ottoman. “No one ever found my father’s murderer. He’d been staying at a friend’s house when he was killed. He was hiding from someone or some people. The police never even arrested a suspect.”

“Do you know who did it?”

“Me? No. But I want to find out.”

“Is that why you want the reports? You think his murder was tied to the bank?”

“In all honesty, I don’t know the first thing about why my father was killed. But it may have had something to do with his work. Don’t you think his monthly activity reports might provide a hint if something was wrong?”

“Perhaps. They certainly would tell you what business he was conduct—” Suddenly, Sylvia stood from the ottoman. A curtain fell over her features. Her caged eyes promised anger where an instant before they had offered sympathy. “You’re not saying that the bank was involved in the murder of your father?”

Nick stood. “I don’t think it was the bank, itself. More likely, it was someone he knew through work: a client; someone at another company.”

“I don’t like where this conversation is going,” she said coldly.

Nick could feel her pulling back from him, could sense her own private cast of demons yanking her from his confidences. Still, he didn’t give up. “I was hoping those reports might be of some use. There has to be some information in there that will cast a clearer light on just what my father was doing at the time of his death.”

Sylvia reddened at his every word. “My God, that’s a cheap way to manipulate me. You should be ashamed. If I had any guts, I’d slap you right here in the store. Don’t you think I see what you’re trying to get me to do? You want me to put my fingerprints over information you’re too scared to get for yourself.”