Numbered Account

Fast-forward to Alex Neumann's agenda. April 20, 1979. "Dinner with Allen Soufi at Ma Maison," accompanied by the word Schlitzohr – the familiar words were made clearer by a matching entry in the April activity report. Alex Neumann calling for the suspension of credit facilities to Goldluxe. A return letter from Franz Frey follows. Frey agrees that USB should sever relations with Goldluxe, but suggests AXN (Alex Neumann) obtain approval of WAK (Wolfgang Andreas Kaiser). The letter contains a handwritten note from Frey. "Interpol trace of A. Soufi located nothing."

Nick stopped at the mention of Interpol. What had his father found out about Goldluxe that warranted contacting Interpol?

Fast-forward to the June activity report. Wolfgang Kaiser responds in writing. "Continue business with Goldluxe. No grounds for concern."

Sylvia searched the agenda, stopping on July 17. She held the book out for Nick to read. Four words filled the page. Franz Frey, dead. Suicide.

Jesus, No! thought Nick. How had they killed off Frey? Gunshot wound to the head, slashed his throat, take your pick.

Fast-forward to August. The activity report lists letters of credit issued on behalf of Goldluxe amounting to three million dollars. The beneficiary, the same El Oro de los Andes. Cash balance listed as sufficient to cover the full amount. No outstanding debt. Why then was his father so against working with them? What the hell was Goldluxe's business, anyway? Obviously they imported large quantities of gold into the United States, but then what? Did they sell gold to jewelry manufacturers or did they make jewelry themselves? Did they mint some type of coin? Were they wholesalers or retailers?

Fast-forward to September. The first of several entries in his father's agenda that Nick had found frightening. "Lunch at Beverly Wilshire with A. Soufi" and directly below it, written in a forceful hand brimming with rage, "Bastard threatened me!"

November 12. "Soufi to office. 2 P.M." On the same page, a number for the Los Angeles office of the FBI and the name of Special Agent Raylan Gillette.

Sylvia stopped Nick from turning the page and asked, "When you first saw this entry, did you call the FBI?"

"Only about ten times," said Nick. "No information given to civilians without proper authorization. Sound familiar?"

November 19. "Head office calls. Keep relations with Goldluxe open at all costs."

November 20. "Evans Security. 213-555-3367."

Sylvia pointed at the number. "What about Evans Security? Did you call them?"

"Of course. Evans Security supplies professionally trained limousine drivers, bonded couriers, and personal bodyguards. I figure my father was interested in the bodyguard service. I called them up but they don't keep records going so far back."

"Your father seriously thought about employing a bodyguard?"

"Not seriously enough, he didn't."

Nick snapped his fingers. He remembered the bait he had left for Armin Schweitzer. "Sylvia, I need to see your phone. I mean your answering machine." He rose from the table and found the phone. An old dual-cassette answering machine sat next to it. A red light flashed intermittently. "You have some messages. Come over here and play them."

"They may be private," she answered fussily.

Nick frowned. "I won't tell any of your secrets. Now come on, I need to know if the trap I set yesterday afternoon worked. Come on, come on, come on. Let's see who called."

Sylvia rewound the machine. The first message was from a squeaky-voiced girlfriend, Vreni. Nick tried not to listen. He tapped his foot impatiently while Vreni spoke. The machine beeped. "This is Mr. Peter Sprecher calling on behalf of the Adler Bank. We would very much like to speak with you as soon as possible regarding the voting of your block of USB shares at the general assembly on Tuesday. Please feel free to call me back at the following number."

Nick and Sylvia listened to the entire message. The machine beeped. A gruff voice spoke. "Sylvia, are you there?" Sylvia hurriedly turned off the machine. "My father," she explained. "I think I'll listen to that one alone."

"Fine. I can see it's personal." The voice echoed in Nick's head. He decided Sylvia's father sounded a lot like Wolfgang Kaiser. "Did you hear Peter Sprecher? I was right. Someone at the bank stole the piece of paper I had left on my desk and gave it to the Adler Bank."

Sylvia fiddled with the machine. "Do you really think it was Armin Schweitzer?"

"My gut feeling says it's him, but I can't be sure. Any one of four or five people could walk in my office when I'm not there. I wanted to hear his voice on that machine. Dammit."

"Schweitzer," she scowled. "Selling out his own bank."

"We can't be sure it's him," cautioned Nick. "Not yet. I need to talk to Peter Sprecher first. See if he knows who gave the list to the Adler Bank."

"Talk to him," she commanded.

Nick tried to call Peter Sprecher, but there was no answer. He suggested to Sylvia that they move back to the table and return to their work.