Numbered Account

by Christopher Reich

  “Really?” asked Kaiser. “I disagree. I can’t think of a better way in which we could have tested his executive mettle, or his loyalty to the bank. It takes balls for a trainee to make that type of decision in the absence of any guidance. Rudy, call Dr. Schon. Have her join us.Sofort!”

  Ott scrambled to the telephone.

  Kaiser took two measured paces toward Schweitzer so that the men were an arm’s length apart. His countenance darkened. “It’s you with whom I should be concerned, Armin. Isn’t it your duty to monitor the surveillance list given us by Mr. Studer and this Thorne character? Of all our numbered accounts, certainlythis one should have caught your eye.”

  The director of compliance met the Chairman’s gaze. “Franz Studer gave us no warning. I was indisposed Wednesday evening when the list was submitted to us. I didn’t have a chance to review the list until yesterday afternoon. When I saw it, naturally I was appalled.”

  “Naturally,” said Kaiser, unconvinced. Schweitzer had two excuses for every missed step, but never an apology. Indisposed? Probably something that could only be cured by a few generous shots of schnapps. He put his hand on the man’s shoulder and squeezed. “Don’t ever forget at whose behest you serve, Armin.”

  Rudolf Ott hung up the phone. “Neumann’s papers will be here right away,” he announced, then glared at Schweitzer. “I can’t get over the coincidence of this account number appearing on the list while both Herr Kaiser and I were absent in London. And you, Armin,” Ott let the final word dangle,“indisposed.”

  Schweitzer rolled forward onto the balls of his feet. His cheeks colored. Ott took a step backward, cowering. Schweitzer looked at the Chairman, and his stance relaxed. “You’ve confirmed that Franz Studer did not accidentally allow the account past his desk?” he asked.

  “If the account is on the list, it is because Studer put it there,” said Kaiser calmly. “Hard to believe even he’s joined the Americans. At least we know where he stands.” He shook his head and for the first time realized the hairbreadth nature of their escape. He exhaled noisily. “We were damned lucky.”

  Ott raised his hand shyly as if afraid to be called upon. “Another piece of unfortunate news. Dr. Schon has just informed me that Peter Sprecher is leaving us.”

  “Not another one,” said Kaiser. He didn’t have to ask where Sprecher was going.

  “To the Adler Bank,” said Ott. “Another lion for Konig’s menagerie.”

  “One more reason not to trust Neumann,” said Schweitzer, suddenly heartened. “The two are fast friends. Where one goes, the other will follow.”

  “I think we can rule out Neumann’s leaving,” Kaiser stated. “He stuck out his neck for all of us. He didn’t do it without a reason.” He walked slowly over the maroon carpet, his feet traveling from one canton to the next. From the blue and white shield of Lucerne to the bear of Bern to the bull of Uri. “Regardless of Mr. Neumann’s motivations, it is clear that we can no longer handle our special accounts as before.”

  Schweitzer spoke immediately. “Why not have members of my staff, of compliance, handle our special accounts? We can keep perfect track of our clients’ commands.”

  Kaiser said nothing. He had his own notions about who should keep track of the special accounts.

  “Why not bring Mr. Neumann into our offices?” suggested Ott. “He’s shown a flair for handling this account, and you do require a new assistant. Mr. Feller isn’t coping well with the increased workload. Konig’s bid is making matters unmanageable.”

  “I beg your pardon, Herr Kaiser,” said Schweitzer hurriedly. “But the thought of bringing Neumann to the Fourth Floor is unconscionable. No thinking man would—”

  “No thinking man would have allowed this numbered account to appear on our very own internal surveillance list,” said Ott. “Studer be damned! But to calm you, Armin, we can keep a closer eye on Mr. Neumann on the Fourth Floor. He would be ideal to assist in responding to our North American shareholders. We require a native English speaker to pen our rebuttals to the American press.”

  Kaiser stood between the two men, his head tilted slightly backward as if he were smelling the air. “Very well,” he announced, pleased that Ott had beaten him to the suggestion. “Decision made. I want him here Monday morning. No time to lose. We’ve only four weeks until our general assembly.”

  Schweitzer stalked from the conference room, ever the jilted suitor. As he reached the door, Kaiser raised his voice. “And Armin . . .”

  “Jawohl,Herr Kaiser?”

  “Keep a sharper eye on the lists submitted to you by Franz Studer. He’s on the other side now. Is that clear?”

  “Jawohl,Herr Kaiser.” Schweitzer nodded curtly and closed the door.

  “Poor Armin must feel rather the goat today,” said Kaiser, sighing.

  “I’m disappointed in him,” added Ott. “I hope we mustn’t question his allegiance.”

  Kaiser turned on his plump deputy. “Schweitzer has been with us for thirty years. His devotion cannot be questioned.” He didn’t need to mention what had secured the man’s obeisance. Two female corpses, a smoking gun, and a philandering husband made for big news in any country. It had been an expensive affair to keep quiet. But worth it. He’d have his hands wrapped tightly around Schweitzer’s balls for the rest of the man’s life. He turned his mind to more pressing matters and asked, “Have our friend’s assets been located and transferred?”

  Rudolf Ott clasped his hands in contrite supplication. “The entire amount was wired out first thing this morning. The transfer of funds form Neumann mentioned was located and removed. It never reached Agent Skouras.”

  “Christ, it doesn’t do to upset a client like that, two hundred million on deposit and one percent of our shares in his pocket.”

  “No sir, most unwise.” Ott parroted the Chairman like a court eunuch.

  “And were we able to route the transaction through Medusa?” Kaiser referred to the on-line data management system that had become operational only two days before.

  “Yes, Herr Kaiser. Sprecher’s and Neumann’s terminals have been altered to share access with it. No sign of our client’s transfer will be detectable.”

  “Just in time,” whispered Kaiser gratefully. He’d been aware for years that the intelligence agencies of several Western nations possessed technology capable of tapping into their main data banks. The Americans were especially crafty. Their first line of attack was the sophisticated communications technology that allowed them to listen verbatim to the interbank conversations carried on between Cerberus and its computer brethren around the world. Transfers of funds made from Zurich to New York or from Hong Kong to Zurich were easily intercepted.

  Medusa was the answer to these unwarranted incursions: a state-of-the-art encryption system capable of detecting and defeating any and all on-line surveillance measures. When Medusa was fully up and running, USB would be able to conduct her private banking the old-fashioned way:privately. But it had not come cheap. One hundred million francs had been allocated for the development, construction, and implementation of Medusa. And one hundred fifty million spent. What were hidden reserves for?

  A firm knock on the oak door interrupted Kaiser’s thoughts.

  “Good morning, Herr Kaiser, Herr Dr. Ott,” said Sylvia Schon. “I have Mr. Neumann’s dossier.”

  Ott walked briskly to meet her and thrust forward his right hand, palm up. “The file please. You may go.”

  “Not so quickly,” said Kaiser. He walked the length of the room and extended his hand. He had forgotten how attractive she was. “Dr. Schon, a pleasure to see you.”

  She looked questioningly at Ott, then walked past him and handed the file to Kaiser. “Neumann’s file as requested.”

  Kaiser accepted the file. “He’s one of your boys. Any word on how he is faring?”

  “Nothing but praise from Mr. Sprecher.”

  “Given his decision to leave the bank, I don’t know precisely how to evaluate that. What about you
? Had a chance to get to know him?”

  “Only briefly. We had dinner last night.”

  “Where?” He couldn’t prevent himself from asking.

  “Emilio’s.”

  Kaiser raised an eyebrow. “I see. Maybe Konig has a point about using our assets better. If you took every one of your recruits there, we’d have to file for bankruptcy within a week.”

  “I thought the bank should ensure he feels welcome.” Sylvia Schon darted a glance at Rudolf Ott.

  “I’m hardly one to tell you how to do your job,” said Kaiser. “Neumann’s special. His father was very close to me. Fine man. Fine son. And how does Mr. Neumann feel about our “proposed cooperation’? Get a chance to discuss that with him?”

  “We touched on the matter. He mentioned in no uncertain terms that he thought it unwise for the bank to cooperate with the authorities. He said “the walls of the bank should be made of granite, not sandstone.”’

  Kaiser laughed. “Did he? How refreshing for an American.”

  Sylvia Schon advanced a step. “Has he gotten into any trouble? Is that why you wished to see me?”

  “On the contrary. Seems our boy has a nose for keeping usout of trouble. We’re thinking about bringing him to the Fourth Floor. I need another assistant.”

  “Mr. Feller isn’t bearing up under the increased pressure,” added Ott malevolently.

  Sylvia Schon raised a hand in protest. “Mr. Neumann has been here less than two months. Maybe after a year, he could assume a position on the Fourth Floor. He’s hardly begun his employ.”

  Kaiser knew the promotion would feel like a dagger in the woman’s back. No one was more ambitious and in truth, no one worked as hard. She was a tremendous asset to the bank. “I understand your concerns,” he said, “but the boy did go to Harvard, and Ott tells me his thesis is brilliant. Knows more about the bank than you or I, right, Ott?”

  “Certainly more thanI do,” said the vice chairman. Ott checked his watch. He fidgeted as if needing to visit the men’s room. “Herr Kaiser, we are expected in Salon 2. The Hausammanns.”

  Kaiser tucked the file under his left arm and shook Sylvia’s hand. He’d forgotten how soft a young woman’s skin could be. “First thing Monday morning, understood?”

  Sylvia Schon lowered her eyes. “Of course. I’ll inform Mr. Neumann immediately.”

  Kaiser noted the downcast expression on her face and made a sudden decision. “From now on, I want you, Dr. Schon, to handle our recruiting in the States. Get over there in the next couple of weeks and find us some stars. You’ve shown a talent for nurturing the employees in your department, eh, Ott?”

  But Ott was too busy glaring at Dr. Schon to respond.

  “I asked you, Rudy, if you agreed with me?”

  Ott said, “Of course,” and breaking off his stare, scurried to the door.

  Kaiser stepped closer to Sylvia Schon. “By the way,” he asked, as if an odd idea had just popped into his mind, “do you think you could get to know him better?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Neumann,” Kaiser whispered. “Ifurgently required?”

  Sylvia Schon glowered at the Chairman.

  Kaiser looked away. Yes, perhaps that was pushing things too far. Best to go slowly. He wanted Neumann around for a long time. “Forget I asked,” he said. “One last thing, though. About you telling Neumann—better wait until Monday. Clear?” He wanted Nicholas to sweat over the weekend. He didn’t like his subordinates making important decisions without first consulting him. Even if their instincts were correct.

  Sylvia Schon nodded.

  Rudolf Ott returned from the tall double doors and taking hold of the Chairman’s arm, led him from the room. “Good morning, Dr. Schon. Thank you for coming,” he muttered.

  “We’re off, Ott,” said Kaiser, as if embarking on a jaunty morning cruise. “Who did you say is on the agenda? The Hausammanns? Slumlords. Amazing who we have to work with to keep Konig at bay.”

  Sylvia Schon was left standing alone in the empty boardroom. For a long while she stood motionless, staring at the empty space where the Chairman had been. Finally, as if having struggled with a difficult decision, she took a deep breath, buttoned her blazer, and walked briskly out of the room.

  CHAPTER

  17

  Upon entering the Keller Stubli, Nick was assaulted by the usual mixture of hot air, stagnant smoke, and stale beer. The small bar was crowded beyond its capacity. A sartorially diverse assortment of men and women were packed together tighter than a stack of new hundreds, waiting for a table to clear. Asshole to belly button, they would say in the Corps.

  “You’re late,” Peter Sprecher barked over the maddening roar. “Fifteen minutes and then I’m gone. Nastassia’s waiting at the Brasserie Lipp.”

  “Nastassia?” Nick asked, reaching the far end of the bar, where his friend sat with a stein of beer in his hand.

  “Fogal,” Peter explained, referring to the pricey hosiery emporium situated two doors down from USB. “The gorgeous bird behind the counter. I’m giving you fifteen minutes ofher precious lunch break.”

  “You’re a generous man.”

  “Least I can do. Now, what’s the trouble? Spill your guts to Uncle Peter.”

  Nick wanted to ask him a hundred questions about his second day at the Adler Bank. Had he met Konig? What had he heard about the takeover? Was it simply a bid to drive up the share price and exact greenmail from Kaiser? Or would Konig unleash a full-scale attack? But those questions would have to wait for another time.

  “The Pasha,” Nick said simply.

  “Our most reliable client?”

  Nick nodded and for the next ten minutes explained his decision to delay the Pasha’s transfer.

  “Probably a wise move,” said Peter afterward. “What’s the problem?”

  Nick leaned closer. “I got a call at six this morning from Martin Maeder. He dragged me into his office and asked me one too many questions about why I did it. Did I know the Pasha? How dare I disobey the bank? Regular drill.”

  “Go on.”

  “I was ready for the questions. Not quite so soon, to be honest, but that didn’t faze me. When it was over, Maeder sent me home. Told me not to go back to the office; that I shouldn’t contact you. ’The verdict will be delivered Monday,’ he said.” Nick rubbed the back of his neck and scowled in self-doubt. “Yesterday I was sure I had done the right thing. Now I’m not so sure.”

  Sprecher laughed raucously. “Worst you can expect is a transfer to logistics in Alstetten or the new office in Latvia.” He slapped Nick’s knee. “Just joking, chum. Don’t sweat it. Come Monday, all will be status quo ante.”

  “This isn’t funny,” Nick protested. “I don’t think for a second that anything will be the same as before.”

  Sprecher straightened his shoulders and spun on his stool so that he faced his colleague. “Listen, Nick. You didn’t lose any money, you steered a client out of trouble, and in doing so, you kept the bank’s nose a damn sight cleaner. I’d be surprised if you didn’t get the Victoria Cross for bravery under fire.”

  Nick didn’t share his friend’s jovial mood. If he was fired, or even transferred to a less important post, his ability to effect any type of meaningful investigation into his father’s death would be hindered greatly, if not destroyed.

  “And then yesterday,” Nick continued, “I was walking toward the lake when Agent Sterling Thorne stopped me.”

  Sprecher appeared amused. “I take it he wasn’t inviting you to happy hour at the American Club?”

  “Hardly. He asked me if I had seen anything “interesting’ at the bank, anything illegal.”

  Sprecher feigned shock. “Good gracious. What else? Did he ask if you were working for the Cali Cartel? Bribing the whole of the Italian Senate? Don’t look so surprised, it’s been done. Promise me, Nick, that you didn’t confess.” He lit a cigarette. “The man is pathetic. The DEA has a mandate to get some arrests, to force our banks to cooperate
. I’ll bet he didn’t say anything specific about the Pasha. Right?”

  “Nothing specific. But he mentioned Cerruti.”

  “Did he now? So what? That clown tried to come down on me two weeks ago. I said,“Sorree, no speakee Ingrish.’ He got bloody pissed at that, I can promise you.”

  “If he came after you, Peter, and then tried to speak with me, it has to mean he’s after the Pasha. No other client in our section came up on the surveillance list.”

  “Thorne can lick my silver bells.” Sprecher raised his mug of beer. “I hope you told him to get stuffed.”

  “More or less, yeah.”

  Sprecher nodded his head once. “No worries, mate. Cheers.” He drained his stein, lifted his pack of cigarettes from the bar, and threw down a ten-franc note. “Say five Our Fathers, five Hail Marys, and you will be absolved of all sins.”

  Nick put his hand on Sprecher’s shoulder and indicated he should retake his seat on the wobbly stool.

  “You mean there’s more?” Sprecher slumped against the bar’s railing. “Nastassia is going to be very cross with me.”

  “Tell her that if she wants you, she’ll have to fight me first,” Nick said sarcastically.

  “Go on then, boy. But make it snappy.”

  Nick hesitated before diving in. He’d told himself before coming to Switzerland that the bank was only a means to an end. That he would do whatever was necessary to dig up any available information about his father and to hell with the rest of it. But today he needed some answers. The events of the past twenty-four hours had stirred up too much in him. The agonizing decision to shield the Pasha, the visit from Thorne, the call from Maeder. He was taking fire from too many angles. He was on the run. From the bank, from his father, and most surprisingly, from himself.

  “After my meeting with Maeder, I went back to the office anyway. I had to check out the account, you know, 549.617 RR. Just to see. All the money had been transferred out. No initials anywhere on the computer as to who ordered it done. Aren’t you curious to know who this guy is?”