Christopher Reich - Numbered Account

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.”