Christopher Reich - Numbered Account

Wolfgang Kaiser stood as if in a daze. “Please leave, Mr. Thorne. We have no information for you today. We do not know any Mevlevi. We do not work with heroin smugglers. That you would stoop so low as to bring my boy into this is beyond my understanding.”

“Oh, I don’t think it is, Mr. Kaiser. Allow me to light the last couple of candles on this cake before I leave. I want to make sure you have plenty to think about over the next few days. I know about your time in Beirut. Four years over there, eh? Mevlevi was there, too. Seems he was setting up his operations around the time you arrived. He was a big shot around town, if I’m not mistaken. What I find curious is how you could have lived in the same town for three years and never met the man. Not once, you say. Excuse me, Mr. Kaiser, but wasn’t it your job to beg for the scraps of the local gentry?”

Kaiser turned to Nick as if he hadn’t heard a word Thorne had said. “Please escort Mr. Thorne from the premises,” he said pleasantly. “I’m afraid we’ve run out of time.”

Nick admired Kaiser’s self-restraint. He placed a hand on Thorne’s back and said, “Let’s go.”

Thorne spun to knock the hand away. “I don’t need an escort, Neumann, thanks all the same.” He pointed his finger at Kaiser. “Don’t forget my offer. A little information on Mevlevi is all that’s required or else I’ll take your whole damned bank down with you standing at the wheel. Is that clear? We know all about you. Everything.”

He walked away from the Chairman, and as he passed Nick, he smiled and whispered, “I’m not through with you, young man. Check your mail.”

As soon as Thorne had gone, Rita Sutter swept into the office, her dignified bearing restored. “That man is a beast. Why, the nerve…”

“Everything is all right, Rita,” said Kaiser, who looked pale and shrunken. “Would you be so kind as to bring me a cup of coffee and a Basel Leckerei.”

Rita Sutter nodded in response to the command, but instead of leaving, came a step closer to the Chairman. She placed a hand on his shoulder and asked tenderly, “Gehts? Are you all right?”

Kaiser lifted his head and met her eyes. He shook his head slightly and he sighed. “Yes, yes, I’m fine. The man brought up Stefan.”

She scowled, patting Kaiser on the shoulder, then walked out of the room.

When she had left, Kaiser straightened his shoulders, regaining some of his martial bearing. “You mustn’t believe the lies Thorne is spreading,” he said to Nick. “He’s a desperate man. Clearly he’ll stop at nothing to capture this man, this Mevlevi. Is it our job to be a policeman? I hardly think so.”

Nick cringed at hearing Kaiser fall back to the Swiss banker’s standard defense. To his ears, it was a startling admission of the bank’s complicity with the heroin dealer, Ali Mevlevi.

“Thorne has nothing,” Kaiser was saying, his voice grown vigorous once again. “He’s flailing his sword in the wind, hoping to chop down anything he comes in contact with. The man is a menace to the civilized business world.”

Nick nodded his head in understanding, thinking how odd life’s random and symmetrical balance could be. He had lost his father. Kaiser had lost his only son. For a moment he wondered if Kaiser had desired his arrival in Zurich more than he himself had.

“I’m sorry about your son,” he said softly, before leaving the room.

Wolfgang Kaiser did not acknowledge the condolence.

Alone in the corridor, Nick breathed a sigh of relief. He began the short walk back to his office confused at what exactly he had just witnessed. He needed to decide who had been telling the truth and who had been lying. Most of what Thorne had said made perfect sense. If Ali Mevlevi had been a big shot in Beirut, Kaiser would at the least have known of him. More likely, he would have actively solicited his business. It was a branch manager’s job to circulate among the city’s better crowds, insinuate himself in its loftier circles, and at the appropriate time, normally, Nick imagined, after a second martini, suggest that they trust him with a good portion of their assets. Similarly, if Ali Mevlevi was the Pasha—which certainly seemed the case—then Kaiser would also know him. No man became chairman of a major bank by ignoring his most important clients. Certainly not Wolfgang Kaiser.

Hell, Nick thought, everything Thorne said made sense. The Pasha being Ali Mevlevi; his using numbered account 549.617 RR at the United Swiss Bank to launder his profits; that Kaiser must not only know him, but must know him pretty damn well. All of it.

Nick turned a corner and entered a smaller corridor. The ceiling was lower and the hall narrower. He had advanced a few steps when he heard the distinct thud and rattle of a drawer being violently shut. The sound came from an office ahead and to the right. Its door was slightly ajar, and a sliver of light curled from under it onto the carpeted floor. Coming closer, he saw that someone was inside the room searching through a raft of papers that lay on top of the desk. At the same instant, he realized he was peering into his own office.

“I thought you waited until after banking hours to root through an individual’s private affairs,” Nick said, slamming the door behind him.

Armin Schweitzer continued to rummage through the papers, unfazed. “Simply checking for the list of clients you’re to phone. The bank can ill afford for you to alienate its major shareholders.”

“I have that list right here.” Nick withdrew a folded sheet from his jacket pocket.

Schweitzer put forward his meaty hand. “If you please…”

Nick held the copy as if assaying its value, then slid it back into his pocket. “If you’d like a copy, see the Chairman.”

“A moment of the Chairman’s time would indeed be welcome; alas between you and your close friend Mr. Thorne, it seems that he hasn’t a moment to spare.” Schweitzer carelessly dropped the papers he held onto the desk. “Coincidental your arriving just when Thorne needs you. You and the American gestapo.”

“You think I’m working with the DEA? Is that why you’re here?” Nick laughed grimly at the suggestion. “If I were you, I’d spend more time looking after my own affairs. I understand you’re the man on the tightrope, not me.”

Schweitzer flinched as if he’d been slapped. “You understand nothing.” He rounded the desk, gathering steam like a runaway locomotive, stopping only when he came within an inch of Nick’s chest. “I walk no tightrope here, Mr. Neumann. My blood runs in this bank as deeply as the Chairman’s. Thirty-five years of my life, I’ve given it. Can you even begin to understand such a commitment? You, an American, who flits from one job to another, hoping only for a bigger paycheck and a fatter bonus. Herr Kaiser has never questioned my loyalty to him or my service to the bank. Never!”

Nick stared into Schweitzer’s bulging eyes. “Right now, I understand only one thing. This is my office and you should have at least asked my permission before coming in and messing up the place.”

“Your permission?” Schweitzer put his head back and laughed. “I’ll remind you, Neumann, it’s my job to ensure that the bank complies with all legal requirements and that our employees do the same. Anyone who I believe might have reason to do the bank harm warrants my total concern. And any actions I may wish to take are so justified. That includes having a look at your office and your papers whenever I please.”

“Do the bank harm?” said Nick, retreating a step. “What have I done to give you that impression? My actions have spoken loudly enough.”

“Too loudly, perhaps.” Schweitzer placed a hand on Nick’s shoulder and spoke softly into his ear. “Tell me, Neumann, whose sins are you atoning for anyway?”