Numbered Account

A buzzer sounded on his telephone. Rita Sutter's mellifluous voice informed him that Mr. Neumann had arrived. He told her to send him in.

***

Wolfgang Kaiser greeted Nick in the center of the office. "Fantastic news this morning, Neumann. Just great." He laced his good arm around Nick's shoulder and guided him to the couch. "Cigar?"

"No thank you," said Nick. Alarm bells sounded in his head.

"Coffee, tea, espresso?"

"Mineral water would be fine."

"Mineral water it is," Kaiser enthused, as if no answer could have pleased him more. He walked to the open doors and told Rita Sutter to bring a mineral water and a double espresso.

"Neumann," he said, "I need you to run a special errand for me. Something very important. Requires your gifted touch." Kaiser seated himself on the couch and blew out a cloud of smoke. "I need a diplomat. Someone with manners. A little worldly experience."

Nick sat down and nodded unsurely. Whatever Kaiser was up to had to be big; Nick had never seen him so friendly.

"An important client of the bank is arriving tomorrow morning," said Kaiser. "He'll require a chaperon to help him transact his business throughout the day."

"Will he be coming to the bank?"

"At some point, I'm certain he will, yes. First, though, I'd like you to greet him at the airport."

"At the airport?" Nick rubbed the nape of his neck. He didn't feel well. Too long in front of the computer. "You're aware that we've only just begun implementing Martin Maeder's sales plan. I've got another five hundred dossiers to get through."

"I understand," Kaiser said graciously, "and I appreciate your diligence. Continue on that for the rest of today. You can finish off tomorrow evening, day after that, all right?"

Nick wasn't thrilled at the prospect, but he nodded his assent anyway.

"Good. Now then, some details about the man you'll be meeting." Kaiser took a long drag off the cigar. Several times, he began to speak and then stopped, first to pluck a speck of tobacco from his mouth, next to adjust his position on the couch. Finally, he said, "Nicholas, I'm afraid I lied to you the other day. Rather I lied to that bastard Thorne. There was no choice, really… given the circumstances. Should've told you earlier. Don't know why I didn't. I know you would've understood. We're cut from the same cloth, you and I. We do what's necessary to get the job done. Am I right?"

Nick nodded once, enthusiastically guarding the Chairman's eye. Kaiser was suffering under the mounting pressure. Like a worn truss, his face betrayed a constant interior strain. His eyes, normally clear and confident, were puffy and decorated by dark circles etched into his chalky skin.

"I know Ali Mevlevi," said Kaiser. "This man Thorne is after. The man you call the Pasha. In fact, I know him well. One of my first clients in Beirut. I wouldn't expect you to be aware that I opened our representative office in Beirut a very long time ago."

"Back in seventy-eight, wasn't it?"

"Exactly." Kaiser smiled briefly and Nick knew he was flattered. "Mr. Mevlevi was then, and is to this day, a well-respected businessman in Lebanon and throughout the entire Middle East."

"Sterling Thorne accused the man of being a heroin smuggler."

"I've known Ali Mevlevi for twenty years. I've never heard the slightest hint that he was involved with drugs. Mevlevi is active in commodities, rugs, and textiles. He's a well-respected member of the business community."

That's the second time you've said that, thought Nick, suppressing a sarcastic grin. Marco Cerruti certainly respected Mevlevi- to the point of suffering a petit mal seizure upon the mention of his name. Sterling Thorne respected Mevlevi- so much that he came charging into the bank like a wounded bull rhino. How the hell did the people act who didn't respect him?

"No need to apologize," said Nick. "It's best to keep the confidence of your clients. It's certainly none of Thorne's business."

"Thorne wants us all as members of his private constabulary. You saw the picture of my son. Do you think I could work with a fiend who gained his living from the international commerce of death? Thorne's mistaken about our Mevlevi. I'm sure you'll learn that tomorrow when you meet the man. Remember, Neumann, it's hardly our job to be policemen."

Not that old chestnut, thought Nick. Now he was really feeling sick. And sicker still when he heard himself mutter, "I agree fully." The defender of the faith had spoken.

Kaiser puffed his cigar and patted him on the knee. "I knew you'd see things clearly. Mevlevi will be arriving by private jet tomorrow morning at eleven o'clock. You'll be there to meet him. Car and driver provided, of course. I'm sure he'll have plenty of errands to run."

Nick stood, eager to get back to his own cloistered den. "Will that be all?"

"That's all, Neumann. Get back to Maeder's project. Have Rita order you some lunch in. Anyplace you like. Why not try the Kronenhalle?"

"I have plans…" Nick began.