Christopher Reich - Numbered Account

“Over five hundred billion dollars was spent on illegal drugs in 1997,” said Thorne. “Heroin, cocaine, marijuana, the works. Five hundred billion dollars. Of that sum, roughly one fifth, or one hundred billion dollars, made its way up the food chain into the pockets of the world’s drug supremos. The big guns. That’s quite a sum to be traveling around the world looking for a safe home. Now, somewhere down the garden path a large chunk of that money disappears. Vanishes into a black hole. No individual, no institution, no country ever reports receiving it. It just ceases to exist en route to the narcotraficantes. Location unknown.

“Banks all over the world—including plenty in the United States, I’ll readily admit—help launder this money, help recycle it, and put it back into play. Phony invoicing, paper companies, unreported cash deposits to numbered accounts. A new way to launder money is being created every other day.”

Listening closely, Nick detected a faint country twang, a stubborn reminder of home that had resisted bullying. He thought that if Thorne had been wearing a cowboy hat, he’d tip it back on his forehead right now and raise his chin the smallest bit, just to let us good people know that he was getting serious.

Thorne raised his chin and stated, “We are not interested in the average clients of this fine establishment. Ninety-five percent of your clients are law-abiding citizens. Another four percent are your small-time tax evaders, bribe takers, lower-level arms traffickers, and bottom-feeding drug dealers. As far as the United States government is concerned, they do not exist.

“Gentlemen,” Thorne announced, as if they were now united in cause, “we are going after the big game. The top one percent. We have, after these many years, received a license to go elephant hunting. Now, the rules of the hunt are strict. The Swiss gaming authority doesn’t want just any elephant brought down. But that’s all right. We at the DEA have a clear idea of which elephants have the biggest tusks, and they’re the ones we’re after. Not the baby elephants, not even the mama elephants. We’re going after the rogue males. See, they’ve been tagged by you Swiss ‘game wardens’ at one time or another, so even if you don’t admit to knowing their name, you certainly know their serial number.” He grinned slyly, but when he spoke next his voice assumed a solemn tone. “What matters is that once we provide you gentlemen with the name or serial number of one of those rogue males, for which I remind you we have received a license, you cooperate.” Thorne cocked one knee and pointed into the audience. “If you so much as think of protecting one of my rogue males, I give you my word that I’ll find your sorry ass and kick it to the fullest extent of the law. And maybe then some, too.”

Nick noted more than a few flushed cheeks. The normally calm Swiss bankers were getting pissed off in a hurry.

“Gentlemen, please pay attention,” Thorne continued. “This is the important part. If any of the rogue males—hell, why don’t we just call them what they are—if any of the criminals we’re looking for deposits large sums of cash, amounts in excess of five hundred thousand dollars, Swiss francs, German marks, or the equivalent, you people must call me promptly and let me know. If any of these criminals receives wire transfers in excess of ten million dollars or the equivalent, and transfers more than fifty percent of that amount out again, to one, ten, or a hundred banks, in less than twenty-four hours, you gentlemen must inform me, pronto. Keeping your money in one place, that’s being a wise investor. Moving it around day and night, that’s laundering—and his ass belongs to me.”

Thorne relaxed his stance and shrugged his shoulders. “Like I said, the rules of the hunt are strict. You people are not making it easy on us. But I am counting on you to give me your entire cooperation. We’re trying out this arrangement as a gentlemen’s agreement. For now. Don’t play with this one, boys, or it will explode in your face.”

Sterling Thorne picked up his briefcase, shook hands with Kaiser and Maeder, then accompanied by Rudolf Ott, walked from the boardroom.

Good riddance, grimaced Nick, as the spasm of a painful memory grasped his spine. He had his own reasons for not liking the man.

For a moment, the room guarded a funereal silence. There seemed to be a sort of collective confusion, whether to stay or whether to go. But as long as Kaiser and Maeder remained no one left the room.

Finally, Wolfgang Kaiser drew a labored breath and rose to his feet. “Gentlemen, a word. If you please.”

The bankers drew themselves to attention.

“We are all hoping that our cooperation with the international authorities will be at once brief and uneventful. Mr. Thorne clearly has some unsavory characters in mind when he speaks of going elephant hunting. ‘Rogue males’ and all that.” Kaiser’s blue eyes smiled as if to say that he too had seen some interesting customers over the years. “But I am confident that none shall be counted among our esteemed clientele. The foundations of this bank were built upon fulfilling the commercial requirements of the honest businessmen of this country. Over the years, the services we offer to our countrymen, and to the international community, have grown more diverse, more complex, but our commitment to working exclusively with honorable individuals has never wavered.”

A collective nodding of heads. Nick’s fellow bankers appreciated their Chairman’s affirmation of the bank’s innocence in any unseemly matters.

Kaiser pounded his fist on the table. “We have no need now, nor shall we ever, to seek profit from the bitter fruit of illegal and immoral commerce. Please go back to your posts confident in the knowledge that while Mr. Thorne may search far and wide for his rogue males, he shall never find what he is looking for within the walls of the United Swiss Bank.”

And with that, Kaiser marched from the room. Maeder and Schweitzer followed on his heels like two overgrown acolytes. The assembled bankers milled around for a few minutes, either too shocked or too stunned to say much. Nick maneuvered through their ranks toward the tall doors. He walked out of the boardroom and down the hallway. He shared an elevator with two men he didn’t know. One was telling the other that the whole thing would blow over in a week. Nick was only half listening to them. He kept replaying Wolfgang Kaiser’s words over and over again. “… while Mr. Thorne may search far and wide for his rogue males, he shall never find what he is looking for within the walls of the United Swiss Bank.”

Were they a statement of fact or a call to arms?

“The terms of our surrender,” Peter Sprecher declared the following day as he threw a copy of a memorandum entitled “Internal Account Surveillance List” onto his desk. “Issued by Yankee Doodle Dandy, no less.”

“Well, we’re safe,” said Nick, after studying his own copy of the memorandum. “None of the accounts on this list belong to FKB4.”

“It’s not us I’m worried about,” said Sprecher, jamming a cigarette into the corner of his mouth. “It’s the bank. It’s the whole bloody industry.”

The list had arrived earlier that morning, delivered personally by a cheerful Armin Schweitzer. Despite the Chairman’s spirited defense of his customers’ good names, four numbered accounts belonging to clients of the United Swiss Bank had made their way onto the list.

“‘Any transactions made for benefit of an account listed above must be reported immediately to Compliance, extension 4571,’” Nick read aloud. “This should keep Schweitzer busy.”

“Busy?” Sprecher rolled his eyes. “The man has died and gone to heaven. No more niggling over documents without the proper dual signature, no more quibbling over violation of margin requirements. Armin has hit the big time. A servant of Honesty and Decency, with capital letters. He’s answering the call of his nation’s government to ensure that our gentlemen’s agreement is honorably enforced. Am I the only one here who feels a dire urge to scream?”