Sprecher nodded. “You don’t think me daft for assuming it to be the same man? I don’t fancy either the Adler Bank or USB being owned by—what did you call him? A major heroin supplier? If your friend Thorne is correct, that is.”
Oh, he’s correct all right, Nick wanted to say. That’s the whole problem.
“You say the buy order was for a hundred thousand shares? Around forty million dollars? Would you believe me if I told you that I transferred that exact amount out of Mevlevi’s account yesterday at four P.M.?”
“Not happily, I wouldn’t.”
“To the banks listed on matrix one. The Adler Bank’s nowhere on that list. How could you have already received the money?”
“I didn’t say we had received the money. As a matter of fact, Konig asked Faris to ensure that settlement won’t be made until Tuesday. We’ll claim an administrative error on our part. No one will care if payment is twenty-four hours late.”
Nick ran his hands along the guardrail and peered into the mist. He played with the question of why Mevlevi would be backing the Adler Bank’s takeover of USB but gave up after a few seconds. The realm of possibilities was too great. Another idea came to him. “There is an easy way for us to confirm if the Pasha has been behind all of Adler’s purchases. Match his transfers through USB with the Adler Bank’s purchases of USB shares. If every week Konig bought shares worth the amount Mevlevi transferred through USB, we’ve got him. Of course, that assumes that Mevlevi followed the same pattern as yesterday.”
“The Pasha is nothing if not a creature of habit,” said Sprecher. “Never missed a transfer in the eighteen months I worked with Cerruti—God rest the poor bugger’s soul.”
Nick sighed heavily. “Peter, there’s more to this than you can imagine.”
“Shoot, sport.”
“You don’t want to know.”
Sprecher stamped his feet on the metal platform while vigorously rubbing his arms. “Yesterday, the day before even, you’d be right. Today I want to know. Let my reasons be my own. Now out with it.”
Nick looked Sprecher in the eye. “I know where Mevlevi’s getting the forty million dollars.”
“Pray tell?”
“A shipment of refined heroin is due in on Monday morning. Mevlevi arranged to be prepaid for the merchandise by Gino Makdisi.”
Sprecher looked skeptical. “May I inquire as to the source of your information?”
“Iam the source,” said Nick, giving vent to the full range of his frustrations. “My eyes. My ears. I watched Mevlevi murder Albert Makdisi. In return for his battlefield promotion, Gino transferred the money for the shipment up front. Forty million bucks. New terms on trade, says the Pasha. Don’t like ’em? Bang bang, you’re dead. Termination effective immediately.” Nick wiped at his nose. “Jesus, Peter, my life is royally fucked.”
“Calm down. You sound like you’re a member of the Cosa bloody Nostra.”
“Not yet, I’m not. But he’s trying like hell to pull me in.”
“Go easy, Nick. Who’s trying to pull you in?”
“Who do you think? The Pasha. He owns Kaiser. Don’t know how, don’t know why, or for how long, but he owns him, lock, stock, and barrel. And what about Cerruti? He didn’t drink. You know that. Did you see the picture in the paper? Whoever killed him left the bottle right on his lap. And what about that pillow? It was from his bedroom, for Christ’s sake, and I bet there’s a bullet hole smack dab in the middle of it. Can you see it? Cerruti is drunk as all hell, ready to blow his brains all over the living room wall, but he’s still concerned not to disturb his neighbors. Boy, he’s a real saint. Mr. Considerate till the very end.”
Nick broke off his tirade and circled the restricted platform. He stared at Peter, and Peter stared back. A sharp wind whistled through the trestles of the observation tower, blowing with it a smattering of frozen rain and the smell of damp pine.
“So why kill him?” Sprecher asked finally. “What does he know now that he hasn’t for the last five years?”
Nick halted his pacing.What about our nagging problem? Mevlevi had asked Kaiser yesterday afternoon.The one that threatens to do us so much harm.
“The way I see it, Cerruti was going to talk to Sterling Thorne or to Franz Studer. Mevlevi got wind of it and had him killed.”
As Sprecher shook his head in disbelief, Nick explained his predicament with the conviction of the damned. He told Sprecher everything that had happened during the past two weeks. Maeder’s plan to liberate the equity shareholdings of USB’s discretionary clients, the theft from DZ of the Pasha’s correspondence, how he’d foolishly put his own fingerprints on the pistol that shot and killed Albert Makdisi. Finally, he told Sprecher about his true reasons for coming to the bank. He explained how his father was murdered. He described his interest in the USB Los Angeles rep office monthly activity reports and underlined his growing certainty that Mevlevi had been involved in his father’s killing. He left nothing out.
Sprecher whistled long and low. “You really believe the Pasha had a hand in your father’s death?”
“If Mevlevi is Allen Soufi, then I’m sure of it. What I have to discover is why my father felt so strongly about not working with him. What was Goldluxe up to? The only person who can tell us is Caspar Burki.”
“Who?”
“Allen Soufi was recommended to my father by a portfolio manager out of USB London. His name was Caspar Burki. He’d have known what Soufi and Goldluxe were up to. You’ve been at the bank twelve years. Name ring a bell?”
“I don’t know anyone by that name in our London office.”
“He retired in 1988,” said Nick. “Used to live in town. I have his old address. I went by before coming to see you. The place was deserted.”
Sprecher shifted his gaze from Nick to the panorama of drizzle that enveloped the tower. He fished for another cigarette. “Can’t say I know a Caspar Burki. Only fellow I know who dates from that period is Yogi Bauer. In fact, we both know Yogi.”
“Both of us?” Nick raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know anybody named Yogi.”
“Au contraire, mon chere.You’ve even bought the man a drink. At the Keller Stubli. Fat bloke with greasy black hair, white as death. We toasted Schweitzer’s talented wife.”
Nick remembered him. “Some luck. The guy’s a full-blown alcoholic. He can’t remember how he gets to the bar every day, let alone a stranger from twenty years ago.”
“Yogi Bauer worked in the London branch of USB. He was Schweitzer’s assistant. If Burki was there at the same time, Bauer is bound to have known him.”
Nick laughed at their situation. “Are you getting the feeling that this is a pretty tangled web we’re caught up in?”
Sprecher lit the cigarette that had been dangling from his mouth. “I’m sure the authorities can unravel it just fine.”
“The authorities won’t be of any help. We have to take Mevlevi down ourselves.”
“Far beyond our domain, I’m afraid. Tell the proper authorities. They’ll see to it that all is set right.”
“Will they?” Nick was incensed by Sprecher’s willful naivete. “Any documents we show the police will incriminate us. The bank will press charges that we stole them. Violation of bank secrecy laws. I can’t see nailing the Pasha from the inside of a jail cell.”
Sprecher was unconvinced. “I don’t think the federal government will be keen to learn that two of its most important banks were being controlled by a Middle Eastern drug lord.”
“But, Peter, where are the drugs? Mevlevi’s been convicted of no crime. We have numbered accounts, money being laundered, maybe even a tie to the Adler Bank. But no drugs. And, I might add, no name. We have to do this ourselves. Do I have to mention what happened to Marco Cerruti? Or to Marty Becker?”
“Please don’t,” said Sprecher, blanching.
Nick thought he was finally getting through. “You agree that we can match Konig’s purchases of stock to the Pasha’s transfers through USB?”
<
br /> “Theoretically, it’s possible. I’ll grant you that. I’m afraid to ask what you want of me.”
“Get me hard-copy evidence that the Ciragan Trading account holds eighty percent of the USB shares. It’s got to be clear that the shares do not belong to the Adler Bank, but that they are only being voted on their behalf. We need a historical record of Adler’s accumulation of USB shares through that account: dates, quantities, and purchase prices.”
“Should I bring you back Cinderella’s glass slipper while I’m at it?” Sprecher’s tone was as flip as ever, but Nick could see that his jaw was set and his eyes harder than before.
Nick smiled. For a split second he felt that they might even have half a chance. “I’ve got to get a copy of all the transfers made for account 549.617 RR since last July, when Konig began accumulating shares. Plus a copy of the Pasha’s banking instructions. Our records show where the money went on its first leg. Your records will show which bank it came from on its last leg. Together that’s a pretty good map.”
“Maps are all well and good. But who are we going to show it to?”
“We don’t have much choice. There’s only one man reckless enough to move while Mevlevi is in Switzerland.”
“Besides you and me, you mean. Who is it?”
“Sterling Thorne.”
Sprecher looked as if someone had just stolen his cigarettes. “You’re joking? I don’t disagree that the man is reckless. The portrait you’ve painted makes him sound absolutely possessed. But what of it?”
Nick was careful to hide his own misgivings. “Thorne will do anything to get his hands on the Pasha. He’s the only one who can use any evidence we manage to steal. If he knows that Mevlevi is in this country, he’ll put the full efforts of the DEA behind our plan. I bet Thorne will bring in a fucking Ranger A-Team to kidnap the Pasha and take him back to the States.”
“If he can find him . . .”
“Oh, he can find him. Monday morning at ten A.M., I’ll be escorting the Pasha to a meeting in Lugano with an employee of the Federal Passport Office. Seems Kaiser has arranged for Mevlevi to obtain citizenship in this fine country as a way to get the DEA off his back.”
“Kaiser set that up?” Peter gave a soft laugh. “Like you said, “lock, stock, and barrel.’ So how does one go about finding our Mr. Thorne?”
Nick patted his pocket. “I’ve got his card. Didn’t he give you one too?”
“He did, but I’m a smart lad. I threw it away.” Sprecher shivered suddenly. “All right, mate, let’s make the plan. It’s too cold up here to continue our little parley.”
Nick thought of what he needed to do that afternoon. He wouldn’t be free until six at the earliest. “Let’s hook up at the Keller Stubli tonight at eight,” he suggested. “I’m looking forward to seeing Yogi.”
“Keep your fingers crossed,” said Sprecher. “Hope that Bauer hasn’t quaffed one too many beers.”
Nick placed his palms together and brought them up to his chest. “I’m praying.”
CHAPTER
52
Nick arrived at the Paradeplatz at five past two, anxious to get to the bank. It had taken him over an hour to slog down the icy path from the Uetliberg and catch a tram into the center of the city. An hour that he did not have. The game had a time limit now. Monday, Gino Makdisi would take possession of the Pasha’s merchandise. Tuesday, Konig would officially be voted his seats on USB’s board of directors. Nick could not allow either to take place.
The sky had darkened in the last hour. Ominous clouds rolled in from the north like an advancing army and hovered low overhead as if preparing to lay siege to the city. Oblivious of the weather, a throng of shoppers flocked up and down the Bahnhofstrasse. Smartly dressed men and women attacked their errands with a brio as joyless as it was efficient. Nick sliced through their ranks, impatience dampening his fear of what he was about to do.
He passed the front entrance to the bank and peered up at the gray building. A row of lights burned from the windows on the Fourth Floor. The lights enlivened the building’s sterile facade and offered passersby the impression that here stood an institution unmatched in its commitment to its clients. The model of industry and enterprise. He shook his head in disgust. Nothing could be further from the truth.
Nick walked to the rear of the bank and climbed the short flight of stairs leading to the employee entrance. He was dressed in a charcoal suit and navy overcoat, his workaday battle gear. He entered the bank, flashing the security guard his identification as he slid through the turnstile. The guard saw his dark suit and waved the card away. Anyone crazy enough to work on a weekend deserved easy entry.
# # #
On the Fourth Floor, Nick was hit with the sounds of an office in uproar. Phones rang, doors were slammed, and voices were raised, though none louder than Wolfgang Kaiser’s.
“Dammit, Marty,” Nick heard him shout from the far end of the corridor, “you promised me two hundred million in buying power. Where is it? Five days I’ve been waiting. So far you’ve produced only ninety million.”
A response was mumbled and Nick was surprised to hear his own name mentioned.
Kaiser said, “If I needed Neumann for a day or two, you should have taken his place and liberated the shares yourself. That’s what leadership means. Too late to teach you, I see.”
Rita Sutter scurried from the Emperor’s Lair and bustled down the hallway. When she saw Nick, a worried expression crossed her features. “Mr. Neumann. I didn’t expect you here today.”
Nick wondered why not. It looked like everyone else was here. “I need to speak with Herr Kaiser.”
Rita Sutter nibbled on a slender finger. “It’s a bad day. Terrible news from the exchange. Mr. Zwicki and Mr. Maeder are with the Chairman now. You’ve heard?”
“No,” he lied. “What is it?”
“Klaus Konig has picked up another one percent of our shares. He will have his seats.”
“So it’s finally happened,” said Nick, mustering whatever disappointment he could.
“Don’t mind the Chairman,” Rita Sutter counseled. “He has a sharp tongue. He doesn’t mean the half of what he says. Remember, he likes you very much.”
# # #
“Well, where is he?” Kaiser asked when Nick walked through the set of tall doors, this afternoon flung open to admit the Chairman’s counselors. “Where’s Mevlevi? What have you done with him?”
Rudolf Ott, Martin Maeder, and Sepp Zwicki stood in a semicircle around the Chairman. Only Schweitzer was missing.
“Excuse me?” said Nick. The question was preposterous.No one did anything to the Pasha.
“I’ve been trying to reach him at his hotel since last night,” said Kaiser. “He’s disappeared.”
“I haven’t seen him since yesterday afternoon. He was a little preoccupied with his business’s distribution network. He had a falling-out with one of his partners.”
Kaiser took note of his colleagues. “Tell me more when I’m finished with these two. Stay,” he commanded and snapped his fingers toward the couch. “Sit over there until I’m through.”
Nick settled into the couch and listened as Kaiser vented his anger at hissubordinates. He accused Zwicki of a catastrophic failure to communicate and of allowing Konig to scoop up the shares without so much as a peep. Zwicki tried unsuccessfully to defend himself, then bowed his head and fled.
Kaiser turned his attention to Maeder. “What is Feller doing now?”
Maeder melted under the Chairman’s burning glare. “Finishing up the last of the discretionary portfolios. We’ve managed to scrape up another fifteen million.” He adjusted his necktie and squeaked out a question. “No word yet on the loan from . . .”
“Obviously not,” barked Kaiser. “Or we would have purchased those shares instead of Konig.” He dismissed Maeder and found a place on the couch next to Nick. Ott followed suit.
“No idea where he is?” asked the Chairman again. “I leave you with the man who owes
me two hundred million francs and you let him disappear.”
Nick didn’t recall the Pasha owing Kaiser anything. Mevlevi had given his word to consider the loan. Nothing more. Clearly, he was keeping his whereabouts secret to avoid just this sort of confrontation. “You might find him with Gino Makdisi. Probably taking the place of his older brother. Cementing a new relationship.”
Kaiser stared at him queerly, and Nick wondered if he knew what had transpired yesterday at the Platzspitz. Or if that was to be the Pasha’s little secret.
“Your responsibility was to guide Mr. Mevlevi around Zurich,” said Kaiser.“At all times. An easy task, or so I would have thought. Instead you show up at the bank at half past three, a zombie from what Rita Sutter tells me, and sit in your office waiting to do that bastard’s bidding. Forty million he received. Forty million you transferred out. You had the good sense to delay his transfer once. Why didn’t you think to do it again?”
Nick met Kaiser’s intense gaze, knowing it was wiser not to answer. He was sick and tired of Kaiser’s constant bullying. At first he had found it a mark of the Chairman’s decisiveness, his will to succeed; now he saw it as pure bluster, a means to shift the blame for his own mistakes onto his subordinates. Nick knew that even with the two-hundred-million-franc loan, it was too late. Konig had his thirty-three percent. And the cash for his purchases had come from Ali Mevlevi. Tough luck, Wolfgang. There’ll be no loan from the Pasha, no last-minute dispensation granted by your unholy savior.
“What have you come in for today?” Kaiser asked. “More lazing around? Three weeks at the top and you’re exhausted. One more soldier who couldn’t cut the mustard.”
“Don’t get upset at Mr. Neumann,” said Rita Sutter, who had entered the room with a stack of photocopies. “I’m sure he has been doing his job as best he can. You told me yourself Mr. Mevlevi can be diffi—”
Kaiser attacked her venomously. “No one asked for your opinion. Put the papers down and show yourself out!”
Rita Sutter smiled tremulously, blinking back tears as she retreated.
Numbered Account Page 45
