Numbered Account

Nick slammed the gun down on his desk. He heard a voice telling him that all his life he'd been doing what other people had wanted him to. That the marines was just another excuse not to have to make his own decisions. That a degree from Harvard Business School and the high-paying career it promised would have made his father proud. And that abandoning his career to come to Switzerland to investigate his father's murder would have been Alex Neumann's only recommended course of action.

As Nick stared out the window into the bleak morning sun, a strange sensation took hold of him. He felt as though he were seeing himself from a distance. He wanted to tell the man standing in the dim apartment to stop living for yesterday, and that while finding his father's murderer might make the past easier to deal with, it wouldn't provide any magic path into the future. He'd have to find that path for himself.

Nick nodded, taking the advice to heart. He finished cleaning the components of his pistol, then put the Colt back together again. He screwed the barrel back in, reracked the slide, shoved home the clip, and chambered a round. He couldn't sit back and watch anymore. He had to act.

Nick raised the gun and took aim at a ghostly figure only he could see- a shadowy silhouette looming in the dusky middle distance. He would clear his own path into the future. And Ali Mevlevi was standing right in the middle of it.

The phone rang. Nick holstered his weapon and put it away before answering. "Neumann speaking."

"It's Saturday, chum. You're not at work, remember?"

"Good morning, Peter."

"I suppose you've heard the news. Just saw the papers myself. Didn't think the jumpy bastard had it in him."

"Neither did I," said Nick. "What's up?"

"Since when don't you return phone calls? Three times I called yesterday. Where the hell were you?"

"I wasn't in the mood for a drink last night."

"I sure as hell wasn't calling about a drink," complained Sprecher. "We need to talk. Serious business."

"I heard your message. That was Sylvia's number you called."

"I wasn't calling about the shareholder lists. It's a damn sight more important than that. Something came up yesterday that I-"

"Keep it short, Peter. To the point." Nick imagined that if his place had been searched, his phone had probably been bugged. "Let's keep our conversation private. Follow?"

"Yeah," Sprecher replied hesitantly. "Okay, I follow. Maybe what you were saying about our best client wasn't entirely off base."

"Maybe," answered Nick noncommittally. "If you want to talk about it, go to our favorite watering hole in two hours. I'll leave instructions where to meet me. And Peter…"

"Yeah, chum?"

"Dress warmly."

***

Two hours and fifty minutes later, Peter Sprecher staggered to the highest deck of the steel observation tower, two hundred fifty feet above the crest of the Uetliberg. "You've a helluva nerve," he puffed, "bringing me all the way up here in this weather."

"It's a beautiful day," Nick said. "You can almost see the ground from here." He had taken a circuitous route to their rendezvous, ducking through the back alleys of the old town until he reached Central. From there, he took a tram first to the Stadelhofen train station, and then to the zoo. Certain no one was behind him, he assumed a direct course to his destination. The entire trip had taken two hours- including forty minutes to climb the path up the mountain to the crest of the Uetliberg.

Sprecher leaned his head over the safety railing. The tower disappeared into the mist fifty feet down. He reached into his jacket pocket for a Marlboro. "Want one? It'll keep you warm."

Nick declined. "I should ask you for some identification. I didn't recognize the man who called me earlier. Since when have you grown so inquisitive, O cynical one?"

"I blame any recent changes in my condition on one too many a beer in your company. My time in England made me sympathetic to the plight of the underdog."

"Thanks," Nick said. "I guess. So what have you learned about Mr. Ali Mevlevi that has you spooked so badly?"

"I overheard something very disturbing yesterday afternoon. In fact, right after I called the Widows and Orphans Fund of Zurich." Sprecher inhaled, then pointed the ember of his cigarette at Nick. "You're a clever lad. Next time, though, do spice it up a bit. We may want to take off the bag to see who we're fucking."

There wouldn't be a next time, thought Nick. "Who slipped your team my notes?"

"No idea. They were in Von Graffenried's possession. He intimated that they came at a bargain price."

A strong wind blew and the tower swayed like a drunken sailor. Nick grabbed hold of a railing. "Any hint that it was Armin Schweitzer who gave them to you?"