Numbered Account

by Christopher Reich

  He had taken a young man’s life on that morning. A true believer, like himself. For one minute only, he had believed that his actions had been correct; that his responsibility as commander of the insertion team dictated that he take the shot in place of Burke; that his job was not to question the directives of his government, but to faithfully execute them.

  For one minute only.

  CHAPTER

  13

  Nick stood in the men’s room of Emilio’s Ristorante, his sweaty hands clutching the sink, and stared into the mirror. His eyes were open wide, unnaturally so. His hair was dripping wet. The walk from the lake had done little to calm him. He was still jittery, his system jerky with adrenaline. He shut his eyes and strengthened his grip on the sink. It’s done, he told himself. You can’t change the past.

  Nick turned on the water and splashed several handfuls in his face. He grabbed a paper towel and dried off his hair, then leaned over the sink, placing his ear next to the running tap, listening to the water fall onto the polished porcelain. He didn’t know how long he stayed in that position, maybe five seconds, maybe a minute, maybe longer, but after a certain time his breath came normally and his heartbeat slowed. He lifted his head and looked in the mirror. Better now, but hardly perfect. Remnants of coarse paper stuck out here and there, contrasting sharply with his disheveled black hair. He plucked the flakes free, one by one. “Good evening, Dr. Schon,” he rehearsed saying. “Don’t mind me. Just a mild case of dandruff. Happens all the time.” And seeing himself like that, hair mussed, fingers searching for the damp morsels of paper, mouth much too anxious, he managed a laugh, and slowly the tension began to slip away.

  # # #

  “Am I late?” Sylvia Schon inquired, checking her wristwatch incredulously.

  “Not at all,” said Nick, standing and shaking her hand. “I got here a little early. I had to get out of the snow.”

  “You’re sure? We did say seven, didn’t we?”

  “Yes. Seven.” He felt calmer now, no small thanks to the double vodka he had finished in several hurried gulps. “By the way, thanks for the invitation.”

  Dr. Schon looked surprised. “Manners too? I see the Chairman has brought us a gentleman and a scholar.” She slid into the booth next to him, and eyeing the empty highball glass said to the hovering captain, “I’ll have the same as Mr. Neumann.”

  “Ein doppel vodka, Madame?”

  “Yes, and one more for my colleague.” Then to Nick: “It is after hours, isn’t it? One thing I love about you Americans is that you know how to enjoy a decent drink.”

  “Some opinion you must have about us. A nation of noncommittal drunks.”

  “A little shy of commitment, yes. Drunks, no.” She turned her attention to the stiff napkins arranged on the table. She unfolded one and placed it in her lap.

  Nick turned his attention to Sylvia Schon. Her blond hair fell in a shower onto the shoulders of a maroon blazer, which he guessed to be cashmere. A chiffon blouse was prudishly buttoned just shy of the neck, revealing a strand of pearls. Her hands were a creamy white, unblemished by sun or age; fingers, long and graceful, absent of jewelry.

  Since his arrival at the bank six weeks earlier, he had yet to view her in anything but a professional light. In their meetings, she had conducted herself formally. She was instructive. She was attentive. She was even friendly—to a point. But she was always careful to maintain a certain distance. She laughed as if each chuckle was rationed, and she was allowed only one or two an hour.

  Now, watching her relax, sensing her shed her shell of harried importance, Nick realized he’d been anxious to see another side of her. Sprecher’s words had never really left his mind.She’s got something else in mind for you. He still wasn’t sure how to interpret them—as a sincere warning or a sophomoric aside.

  A mustachioed waiter brought their cocktails and proffered menus. Sylvia Schon waved the menus away. “There is only one thing to eat at Emilio’s and it is the chicken. A smallMistkratzerli roasted with herbs and absolutely doused in butter. It is heavenly.”

  “Sounds great,” said Nick. He was very hungry.

  She fired off their order in rapid Spanish.Dos pollos, dos ensaladas, vino de rioja, y dos agua minerales. Afterward, she turned toward him and said, “I view every member of the finance department as a personal responsibility. It’s my job to make sure you are happy in your position, and by that I mean that you have the opportunity to grow as a professional. Your career is my concern. We pride ourselves on attracting the best talent and on keeping them.”

  “For at least fourteen months,” he butted in.

  “At least,” she agreed, grinning. “You may have heard my displeasure at some of the American graduates Dr. Ott has brought over in the past, but don’t take it personally. My bark is worse than my bite.”

  “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind,” said Nick. He was taken aback by her solicitous nature. It was a new color for her and he liked it.

  Emilio’s was jumping. A stream of waiters in crisp white jackets plied back and forth from kitchen to table. Patrons crowded the banquettes that lined the garish red walls and spoke loudly, effusively to one another. Meals were devoured with relish and abandon, cigarettes smoked with hearty appreciation.

  “I had a chance to glance through your papers,” said Dr. Schon after she had taken a generous sip of vodka. “You’ve led an interesting life. Growing up in California, visits to Switzerland. What made you join the marines? They’re a tough bunch, aren’t they?”

  Nick shrugged. “It was a way to pay for college. I had a track scholarship for two years, but when I didn’t have quite the spring in my step the coaches expected, I lost it. No way I was going back to waiting tables. I’d had enough of that in high school. The marines seemed like the right idea at the time.”

  “And your work here? It must seem rather dull to work in a Swiss bank when compared with flying in helicopters and playing with guns.”

  Dull?Nick asked himself. Today I shielded the assets of a suspect wanted by the international authorities. I was followed through the streets by a guy dressed like Sherlock Holmes, and I was threatened by a rabid drug enforcement agent. Where else can you sign up for those kind of thrills?

  “Mr. Sprecher is keeping me busy,” he said, keeping to the official line of banter. “He tells me we’re lucky this is a quiet time of year.”

  “My sources tell me that your department is doing just fine. You, in particular, seem to be excelling at your position.”

  “Any word on Mr. Cerruti?”

  “Actually, I haven’t spoken to him, but Herr Kaiser thinks he may be improving. Cerruti may assume a calmer post at one of our daughter companies when he’s recovered. Probably the Arab Overseas Bank.”

  Nick saw his opening. “Do you work closely with the Chairman?”

  “Me. Good lord, no. You have no idea what a surprise it was to see him in my office that day. First time in ages anyone can remember spotting him on the first floor. What exactly is his relationship to your family?”

  Nick often asked himself the same question. Kaiser’s intermittent contacts were alternately professional and paternal. He did not know whether they were motivated by a strict sense of bank protocol or a blurry allegiance to a fallen friend. “I hadn’t seen Herr Kaiser since my father’s funeral,” he explained. “He kept in contact with us periodically. Cards, phone calls, but no visits.”

  “The Chairman likes to keep his distance,” said Sylvia Schon.

  Nick was happy the two had the same perception. “Did he ever mention anything to you about my father? He started at the bank a few years after Kaiser.”

  “Herr Kaiser doesn’t mingle with the little people.”

  “You’re a vice president.”

  “Ask me that question when I’m on the Fourth Floor. That’s where the power is. Right now you’re better off asking the old timers—Schweitzer, Maeder, why not the Chairman himself?”

  “He’s done enough for
me already.”

  “You’re the first employee he’s personally recommended since I’ve been handling human resources in the finance department. How did you swing that?”

  He shook his head. “Actually, he approached me about the job. He first mentioned it about four years ago, when I was getting ready to leave the marines. Called me up out of the blue and suggested that I consider business school. Harvard. Said he’d call the dean on my behalf. A few months before I graduated, he phoned to say that there was a job waiting for me if I wanted one.” Nick pasted an angry scowl across his features. “He didn’t tell me I’d have to interview for the job.”

  She smiled at his facetious quip. “Obviously, you managed just fine. I must say you fit right in line with the usual type Dr. Ott manages to lure over. Six feet tall, bone-crunching handshake, and a line of bullshit that would make a politician blush.” She raised a hand. “Except for the bullshit, that is. I hope you’ll excuse me, Mr. Neumann.”

  Nick smiled. He liked a woman who wasn’t afraid of a little salty language. “No offense taken.”

  She shrugged. “When his golden boys leave ten months later, it’s marked very clearly on my hiring record.”

  “And that’s your problem with him?”

  Sylvia squinted her eyes as if appraising his ability to keep a secret. “So we’re being honest with each other, are we? Actually, it’s nothing more dramatic than a little professional jealousy. I’m sure you’d find it very dull.”

  “No, no. Go ahead.” Nick was thinking that right now she could talk about the mathematical derivation of modern portfolio theory and it wouldn’t bore him.

  “Currently, I direct the recruiting of employees who’ll work in the finance department of our Swiss offices. But the finance department’s biggest area of growth is overseas. We’ve got a hundred fifty people in London, forty in Hong Kong, twenty-five in Singapore, and two hundred in New York. The sexy stuff—corporate finance, mergers and acquisitions, equity trading—most of that takes place in the world’s financial capitals. For me, the next step up is to conduct the recruiting of the professionals who will fill those upper-level positions in our foreign offices. I want to make the deal that brings a partner at Goldman Sachs to the United Swiss Bank. I’d love to lure away the entire deutsche mark team from Salomon Brothers. I’ve got to get to New York to demonstrate that I’m capable of finding top performers and convincing them to come to USB.”

  “I’d send you in a second. Your English is impeccable, and with no disrespect to Dr. Ott, you make a much nicer impression than he does.”

  She smiled broadly, as if the compliment meant something to her. “I appreciate your confidence. Thank you.”

  At that moment, their waiter arrived, his hands full with two green salads and a basket of fresh bread. He placed them on the table and returned bearing a carafe of red wine and two bottles of San Pellegrino. They had hardly finished their salads when two sizzling chickens were brought for their inspection. Approval was given, and the waiter set about preparing the succulent birds.

  Sylvia raised her wineglass and offered a toast: “On behalf of the bank, we are happy to have you with us. May your career be long and successful! Prosit!”

  Nick met her eye and was surprised when she held his gaze a moment longer than he expected. He looked away, embarrassed, but a second later looked at her again. He couldn’t stop himself. He felt a flush of attraction warm his stomach and spread upward into his chest. The feeling made him uncomfortable. She was his superior. She was off-limits, he told himself.

  He couldn’t go any further until he had sorted out his feelings for Anna. Two years they’d been together and two months apart. Yet right now it felt like the opposite, and that their separation would be permanent. The first few weeks in Zurich, he had expected her to phone to say she was sorry, and that she understood why he had dropped his life and rushed across the Atlantic. He’d even teased himself with a fantasy of her showing up unannounced on his doorstep. She’d be wearing ratty blue jeans, scuffed boots, and an impossibly expensive camel’s hair coat, the collar turned up. She’d cock her head and ask to come in, as if she’d only been driving through the neighborhood and hadn’t flown five thousand miles to surprise him.

  But she hadn’t called. Now he saw that he’d been foolish even to ask her to come. Had he actually expected her to quit Harvard in the middle of her senior year? Had he really thought she’d give up the job she’d lined up on Wall Street just to be with him?

  “Your father’s been dead for seventeen years, Nick,” Anna had said the last time he saw her. “What can you expect to find except more disappointment? Leave him in peace.”

  “If you cared about me, you’d make the sacrifice,” he’d fired back.

  “And you—” she cried, “why won’t you make the sacrifice for me?” But before he could respond, she answered for him. “Because you’re obsessed. You don’t know how to love anymore.”

  Seated in the busy restaurant, Nick wondered if he still loved Anna. Of course he did. Or maybe he should say a part of him did. But time and distance had weakened his love. And every minute he spent in the presence of Sylvia Schon weakened it further.

  # # #

  Over coffee, Sylvia inquired, “Do you happen to know Roger Sutter? He’s the manager of our representative office in Los Angeles. Been there forever.”

  “Vaguely,” said Nick, wondering if forever was longer than seventeen years. “He called our home a few times after my father died. I haven’t been back to L.A. for a while. My mother moved away about six years ago. She passed away last year, so I don’t have much occasion to visit.”

  Sylvia met his eyes. “I’m sorry. I lost my mother when I was little, just nine. Cancer. After she was gone it was just my father and my little brothers, Rolf and Erich. Twins. That’s probably why I feel so comfortable working in a bank full of men. Some may think I’m a little bossy, but when you have two brothers and a rigid father to contend with, you quickly learn how to fend for yourself.”

  “I can imagine.”

  “Brothers? Sisters?”

  “Nope. Just me. “Independent’ is how I look at it.”

  “Best to rely on yourself,” said Sylvia, without a trace of sympathy. She sipped her coffee before resuming her personnel director’s interrogation. “Tell me what really brought you to Switzerland. No one just ups and leaves a post at one of the top firms on Wall Street.”

  “When my mother died, it hit me hard that I didn’t have any real roots in the world. All of a sudden I felt alienated from the States, especially from New York.”

  “So you quit and came to Switzerland?” Her voice said she wasn’t buying his spiel.

  “My father grew up in Zurich. When I was younger we came over all the time. After he passed away, we lost contact with our relatives. I didn’t like the idea of letting it all fade away.”

  Sylvia stared at him a moment, and he could see she was evaluating his answer. “Were you close to him?”

  Nick breathed easier, happy to be over that bridge. “My father? Tough question to answer after so many years. He was from the old school. You know, kids should be seen and not heard. No television. In bed at eight o’clock sharp. I don’t know if I was ever really close to him. That part was supposed to come later, when I had grown up.”

  Sylvia raised the cup to her lips and asked, “How exactly did he die?”

  “Kaiser never told you?”

  “No.”

  Now it was Nick’s turn to size her up. “So, we’re supposed to be honest with each other, right?”

  Sylvia half-smiled and nodded.

  “He was murdered. I don’t know by whom. The police never arrested anyone.”

  Sylvia’s hand registered a minor tremor, and a few drops of coffee tumbled from her cup. “I am sorry for prying,” she said crisply. “Please excuse my being so rude. It was none of my business.”

  Nick saw that she believed she’d gone too far, and that she was ashamed. He app
reciated her respect for his privacy. “It’s all right. I don’t mind you asking. It’s been a long time.”

  Both took a sip of coffee, then Sylvia said she had something to tell him, too. She moved closer to him, and for a moment it seemed that the din and roar surrounding them faded. He hoped she didn’t have some catastrophic family secret of her own to share. She gave him a puckish smile and he knew his fears were for naught.

  “Since the beginning of the evening I’ve been dying to take these horrid little pieces of paper out of your hair. I was afraid to ask how they got there, then I realized that you must have had to dry your hair—because of the snow. Come on, lean a little closer.”

  Nick hesitated for a moment, studying Sylvia as she shifted her body on the banquette to face him more directly. She looked at him and a puzzled expression wrinkled her brow. Her eyes were a soft brown, no longer so challenging, and for a moment they held his in their embrace. Her nose crinkled slightly, as if he had asked her a vexing question, and then she smiled and he saw that a small gap separated her front teeth. And in that smile, he spotted—if only for a moment—the girl who had grown into this, perhaps, too responsible executive.

  “Don’t be afraid. I told you that my bark is worse than my bite. You must believe me.”

  Nick inclined his head toward her. He came nearer her body, smelling her perfume, then sensing it mix with her own warmth, her own peculiar, feminine scent. He blushed, and as she removed the last pieces of tissue from his hair, he dismissed any worries he had had about her being his superior at the bank. Abandoning himself to her feminine charms, he could barely suppress a sudden and powerful urge to wrap his arms around her and bring his mouth to hers and to kiss her long and deep and hard.

  “I think we’ve cured your rather nasty case of dandruff,” Sylvia stated proudly.

  Nick brushed the top of his head, not quite ashamed of his secret thoughts. “All gone?”

  “All gone,” she confirmed, a bright smile gracing her features. And then she added in a tone of hushed confidentiality, “If you ever need anything, Mr. Neumann, I want you to promise me right here that you’ll call.”