Numbered Account

Fuchs looked to Affentranger. Both men then looked at Nick, who kept a concerned expression on his face. Whatever it was they were seeking from him, he supplied it, for the next moment, Affentranger began talking.

"Such accounts do exist," he said cautiously, "but they are very expensive to obtain. A dwindling resource, so to speak. Banks insist on certain minimum conditions being met before we are allowed to transfer a numbered account originally opened by our office to a client."

"Naturally," said Mevlevi.

Nick felt like telling Fuchs and Affentranger to name their price and get on with it.

"Do you wish to open just the one account?" asked Fuchs.

"Five to be exact. Of course, I have proper identification." Mevlevi removed an Argentinean passport from his jacket and laid it on the table. "But I prefer to have the account remain anonymous."

Nick eyed the navy passport and choked down a smile. Mr. Malvinas of Argentina, Malvinas being the Argentinean name for the Falkland Islands. Mevlevi thought himself a pretty clever customer. Sure, he was clever- his men at USB had informed him that the DEA had compromised account 549.617 RR- but he must be desperate too. Why would he leave his safe haven in Beirut and risk arrest to straighten out a banking problem that could just as easily have been remedied by someone here? Kaiser, Maeder, even Nick alone, could have made this trip to Zug. It was hardly adequate reason to flee the security of his prickly nest.

Fuchs asked, "Would accounts at the United Swiss Bank be of interest?"

"No finer institution in the land," replied Mevlevi, to which Nick just nodded.

Fuchs picked up the phone and instructed his secretary to bring in several account transfer forms.

Affentranger said, "The minimum amount the United Swiss Bank has set for granting a client a preexisting numbered account is five million dollars. Of course as you need five accounts, we can discuss terms."

"I propose placing four million dollars into each account," said Mevlevi.

Nick could see Affentranger and Fuchs calculating their commission, somewhere between one and two percent. On this one transaction the august International Fiduciary Trust would garner fees of more than two hundred thousand dollars.

Fuchs and Affentranger answered in unison. "That would be fine."

***

Conversation ebbed as Mr. Malvinas drank his coffee and the necessary paperwork was filled out. Nick excused himself and walked down the corridor to the rest room. He was joined immediately by Affentranger.

"A big fucking fish, that one, eh?"

Nick smiled. "It appears so."

"You're new at the bank?"

Nick nodded.

"Usually Kaiser sends Maeder. Don't care for him much. He bites too hard." Affentranger slapped his own fat ass. "Right here. Get my drift."

Nick murmured his understanding. "Oh."

"And you? You're okay?" Affentranger asked. Which meant did Nick expect a commission on the business?

"I'm fine."

Affentranger looked puzzled. "Fine, then. And remember, if you've got any more like him, send 'em our way."

***

Inside the conference room, Fuchs rifled through the paperwork. Mevlevi sat at his side and together they filled in the pertinent information, or didn't fill it in, as was the case. No name was placed on the accounts. Nor an address. All mail for the accounts was to be held at the United Swiss Bank, Main Office, Zurich. All that was required from Mr. Malvinas was two sets of code words. These he gave happily. The primary code word would be Ciragan Palace. The secondary, his birthday, November 12, 1936, to be given orally as day, month, and then year. A signature was required for verification of any written requests he might have, and this Mr. Malvinas kindly supplied. A seismic scrawl was duly inscribed at the bottom of the form. And then the meeting was finished, adjourned with smiles and handshakes all around.

Nick and his client remained quiet as they took the elevator to the ground floor. A Cheshire grin peeked from the corners of Mevlevi's mouth. And why not? thought Nick. The man held five account transferral receipts in his hand; he possessed five clean numbered accounts to use as he saw fit. The Pasha was back in business.

In the limousine en route to Zurich, Mevlevi finally spoke. "Mr. Neumann, I will need to use the bank's facilities. I have a small amount of cash that needs to be counted."

"Of course," Nick answered. Now the other shoe drops. "How much, approximately?"

"Twenty million dollars," Mevlevi said coolly, staring at the bleak landscape. "Why do you think those suitcases were so damned heavy?"

CHAPTER 45

At 11:30 the same morning, Sterling Thorne took up position fifty yards from the employee entrance to the United Swiss Bank. He stood inside the pillared entryway of an abandoned church, a drooping concrete assemblage of right angles, more sump house than place of worship. He was waiting for Nick Neumann.