Numbered Account

Kaiser shivered involuntarily, glad he was warm and dry inside the automobile with the heater roaring. Things were looking up. Thanks to the rapid implementation of Maeder's share accumulation plan, the bank had picked up three percent of its outstanding votes today. Young Neumann had added another one percent to the kitty, sweet-talking Hambros into committing their shares to current USB management. Perhaps most encouraging, the Adler Bank had been silent the entire day. Their traders had stood by passively as USB snapped up all available shares of its own stock: a packet valued by market's close at over one hundred million Swiss francs. Maybe Konig was finally tapped out. Was it too much to hope for? Poor Klaus. An auction's really no place to be without a checkbook in hand.

Kaiser allowed himself a moment of silent elation. He turned onto the Seestrasse, accelerating down the two-lane straightaway that would carry him to Thalwil, fifteen kilometers along the lake's western shore. He checked the car's digital clock. It read 9:08. He was late.

And now a chore. A task. A wayward baron's final errand to secure his fiefdom.

Once completed, there was no reason Mevlevi shouldn't turn over the two hundred million francs Kaiser required. The funds would guarantee his continued stewardship of the bank and doom Klaus Konig's gamble to ignominious defeat.

First, one chore.

Kaiser appraised the clumpy object wrapped in oilskin that sat on the passenger seat. He had been surprised at its weight when he withdrew it from his private vault. It seemed much heavier than when he had last used it. But he had been a younger man then.

One task.

Kaiser checked the rearview mirror for traffic and found another man staring back at him. A man with dead eyes. His elation smoldered. Self-loathing replaced self-congratulation. How did this come to pass? he asked the unfeeling man. Why am I driving to Thalwil with a loaded pistol in the seat next to me? Why am I going to the home of a man who has worked by my side for thirty years, my only intention to fire a bullet into his skull?

Kaiser returned his gaze to the road. The automobile whisked past the turnoff to Wollishofen. He shrugged, disposing of his self-pity. The answer's simple, he said, explaining his predicament to the weaker man. My life belongs to Mr. Ali Mevlevi, the distinguished trader from Beirut. I handed it to him years ago.

***

"I require the services of a Swiss bank."

Patrolling the night, Kaiser hears the words as clearly as if they were spoken by an invisible passenger. They are words from another era, another lifetime. Days long past when he was a free man. He recalls the dashing figure of Ali Mevlevi, some twenty years ago. And instead of negotiating the final stretch of the slick road that leads to murder, he is at its beginning, and the road, like the weather, is dry. For no longer is he in Switzerland, but Beirut, and the year is 1978. "I require the services of a Swiss bank," says the dapper client, dressed like a British gentleman in a navy blazer, cream slacks, and red striped tie. He is a youngish man, no more than forty, with thick black hair and a razor-sharp nose. Only his skin betrays him as a native.

"At your disposal," answers the newly arrived branch manager, eager to be of service.

"I would like to open an account."

"Of course." A smile now. Show the client he has been wise to follow his instincts by choosing the United Swiss Bank as his financial partner, by entrusting the young and not yet altogether polished Wolfgang Kaiser to safeguard his money. "Will you be wiring funds to the account or making deposit by means of a check?"

"Neither, I'm afraid."

A frown. But only fleeting. After all, there are many ways to begin a business relationship, and the new manager is the model of ambition. "Did you wish to make a cash deposit?"

"Precisely."

A problem. Cash deposits to foreign institutions are not permitted in Lebanon. "To our office in Switzerland, perhaps?"

"To your office at 17 Al Muteeba Street, Beirut."

"I see." The branch manager informs his fastidiously groomed client that he cannot accept a cash deposit. Such an act would put his company's banking license in jeopardy.

"I will be depositing a trifle over twenty million dollars."

"Well, that is a large sum." Kaiser smiles. He clears his throat but stands firm. "Alas, my hands are tied."

The client continues as if he hasn't heard. "The entire amount is in American banknotes. Primarily hundred-dollar bills. I am sorry but you will find some fifties and some twenties. Nothing smaller. I promise."

What a reasonable man, this client, this Mr… Kaiser consults the silver tray that bears the prospective client's carte de visite, this Mr. Ali Mevlevi. No tens. No fives. He is a saint."Should you wish to deposit this amount in Switzerland, I'm sure arrangements could be made. Unfortunately…" The manager motions with his good arm that he appreciates the opportunity but in this instance must let it fly away.