Numbered Account

At 11:05, a dark-haired man walked into the room. He was a clerk returning from the lavatory. Nick waited until he approached the service counter, then counted to three and extracted the transaction confirmations from the Pasha's dossier. Sure not to raise his head, he brushed the unmailed letters into his lap. With his right hand, he removed the dozen surrogate confirmations from under his thigh and placed them into the dossier. Still keeping his head immobile above the dossier, he arranged the stolen letters into a neat stack and in one assured motion deposited them in the inside pocket of his jacket. Every letter slid in smoothly. Except one. One envelope protruded from his jacket for all the world to see. Nick flung his elbow in a wide arc and repeatedly jammed the envelope into his jacket. Three times he tried to stuff it into his jacket. On the fourth try the letter slipped in.

Nick waited for the alarm to sound. Karl must have noticed. One of the secretaries had to have seen his bungled burglary. Nothing happened. Daring a glance toward the counter, Nick saw that Karl was staring directly at him. Why hadn't the old codger spotted his brazen theft?

Nick rearranged the Pasha's dossier so that all was neat and orderly. As he approached the counter, he looked past Karl and saw that the young secretaries behind him were laughing. Nick returned his eyes to the keeper of Dokumentation Zentrale. He was leaning over the counter, his chin resting comfortably on his palm. His bifocals sat precariously at the end of his nose, and his eyes were closed.

Karl was snoring.

***

Nick left the office that evening at seven on the dot. He hurried up the Bahnhofstrasse to the Paradeplatz, hoping to catch the next tram. A light snow was falling, and tonight it made Zurich the prettiest city in the world. His step was light and energetic, buoyed by a sense of purpose he hadn't known since his first day at the bank eight weeks ago. He passed the tram stop that would take him to his grim apartment in the USB Personalhaus and crossed the square, arriving just in time to board the number two, heading in the opposite direction.

Nick chose a seat near the doorway and settled in for the short ride. He repeated Sylvia's address in his head as the tram bucked and jostled its way up the Universitatstrasse. He hoped she wouldn't mind his showing up unannounced- if she was even home. He had tried to call her earlier, but her assistant had said she would be out for the day. A rush of well-being came over him, and he smiled. He didn't know why he felt so exhilarated. Maybe part of it was because he had pulled off his petty theft; maybe part because he was keeping his word, taking concrete steps to make amends for his poor conduct. Whatever the reason, he felt alive and vital- full of piss and vinegar, his father would have said- and he needed to see Sylvia. He needed to see someone who understood the foreign world into which he had delivered himself.

Nick arrived at the top of Frohburgstrasse twenty minutes later and caught his first glimpse of Sylvia's apartment. A light was burning in her window. He had a hard time keeping himself from running the short distance to her doorway. Two weeks ago, he'd asked himself what it was about her that he found so attractive and he hadn't been able to fashion an answer. Yet tonight, he knew it without thinking. She was the first person he'd ever met who kept a tighter rein on her life than he kept on his. For once, he could be the one to let go, to be a little crazy, even whimsical, and relax doing it, knowing that she was in control. It was a role he'd never played before, and he liked it. Then, of course, there was the sex. He didn't like to admit it, but at first he had enjoyed the taboo implicit in seducing his older female superior. And he thought she did, too. When he was with her, the whole world stopped turning. Everything beyond their immediate periphery ceased to exist. She made him feel complete.

Nick reached the entry to her apartment and pressed the call button. He prayed Sylvia would be at home. He felt too good to be left alone on a Friday night. He tapped his foot nervously. Come on, answer, he said to himself. Open the goddamned door. He pressed the buzzer again, and his spirits began to fade. He took a step back. A voice came from the intercom. "Who is it?"

Nick felt his heart skip a beat. He was nervous and excited at the same time. "It's Nick. Let me in."

"Nick? Are you all right?"

He laughed. She was probably wondering if he was as frazzled as he'd been that Friday night not so long past. "Yes, of course."