Numbered Account

The limousine set off. Nick didn't feel like indulging in the usual pleasantries. He'd be damned if he'd kiss the ass of a drug smuggler. Mevlevi remained quiet. For the most part, he kept his eyes directed out the window. Every so often Nick would catch the Pasha staring at him, not unkindly, but from a distance, and he knew he was being sized up. Mevlevi would offer a faint smile and avert his gaze.

The limousine sped through the Sihl valley. The road wound steadily uphill through an endless pine forest. Mevlevi tapped Nick on the knee. "Have you seen Mr. Thorne lately?"

Nick looked him squarely in the eye. He had nothing to hide. "Monday."

"Ah," said Mevlevi, nodding his head contentedly, as if they were discussing an old friend. "Monday."

Nick glanced at Mevlevi, turning the simple question over in his mind, allowing its myriad implications to confirm what he should have known weeks ago. A man like Mevlevi wouldn't be satisfied keeping an eye only on Thorne. He'd want to know what Nick was up to also. An American in Switzerland. A former United States marine. No matter what Nick had done on his behalf, he hardly merited his trust. And then Nick knew why Mevlevi had really asked the question. Thorne wasn't the only one being followed. He belonged in the same boat himself. Mevlevi had sent the dapper man in the mountain guide's hat. Mevlevi had ordered his apartment searched. Mevlevi had been watching him the entire time.

***

The International Fiduciary Trust was housed on the third and fourth floors of a modest building in downtown Zug. A simple gold nameplate above the doorbell indicated the businesses housed here. Nick pressed the buzzer, and the door swung open immediately. They were expected.

A bent stick of a woman in her late forties asked them to come in and led them to a conference room overlooking the Zugersee. Two bottles of Passugger sat on the table. A glass and coaster, an ashtray, a tablet of paper, and two pens had been placed in front of every chair. The woman offered coffee. Both men accepted. Nick had little idea as to the subject of the meeting. He would sit and listen. Kaiser's yes-man.

A polite knock and the door opened. Two men entered. The first, tall and jowly with a ruddy complexion. The second, short, thin, and bald, except for a strand of black hair twirled on top of his head like a sticky bun.

"Affentranger," announced the heavy-set fellow. He approached first Nick and then Mevlevi, offering each a business card and a handshake.

"Fuchs," said the smaller man, following his partner's example.

Mevlevi began speaking as soon as all four men were seated around the table. "Gentlemen, it's a pleasure for me to work with you again. A few years ago I worked with your associate, Mr. Schmied. He was of great assistance in opening a number of corporations for me in the Netherlands Antilles. A sharp man with figures. I trust he's still with you. Perhaps I could say hello?"

Affentranger and Fuchs exchanged concerned glances.

"Mr. Schmied died three years ago," said Affentranger, the jowly one.

"Drowned while on vacation," explained Fuchs, the runt.

"No…" Mevlevi placed the back of one hand to his mouth. "How terrible."

"I had always thought of the Mediterranean as a calm sea," said Fuchs. "Apparently it gets quite rough off the coast of Lebanon."

"A tragedy," opined Mevlevi, his eyes smiling at Nick.

Fuchs brushed the insignificant matter of his colleague's passing aside. He smiled broadly to dispel any lugubrious thoughts. "We hope our firm can still be of service, Mr…"

"Malvinas. Allen Malvinas."

Nick gave his complete attention to Ali Mevlevi, or rather to Allen Malvinas.

Mevlevi said, "I am in need of several numbered accounts."

Fuchs cleared his throat before replying. "Surely, you realize that you can open such an account at any one of the banks just down the street from us."

"Of course," Mevlevi responded politely. "But I was hoping to avoid some of the more unnecessary formalities."

Affentranger understood perfectly. "The government has grown much too intrusive as of late."

Fuchs concurred. "And even our most traditional banks, not as discreet as they once were."

Mevlevi opened his hands as if to say such is the world we live in. "I see we are in agreement."

"Unfortunately," Fuchs complained, "we must abide by government regulations. All clients wishing to open a new account of any type in this country must provide legitimate proof of their identity. A passport will do."

Nick found the emphasis Fuchs had placed on the word new strange.

Mevlevi, though, jumped on the word as if it were the cue he had been looking for. "New accounts, you said. Of course, I understand the need to follow regulations should one wish to open a new account. However, I would prefer an older account, perhaps one registered in the name of your company that you don't use on a day-to-day basis."