Numbered Account

"Schweitzer? That's who you think is stealing your notes?" Sprecher shrugged his shoulders. "Can't help you there. Anyway it doesn't matter a shit. Not anymore. Yesterday afternoon, right after calling your specious fund management company, I overheard my neighbor on the trading floor, Hassan Faris, take a call from Konig. A large buy order was sent to the exchange. An order for one-hundred-odd thousand shares of USB. You're sharp with figures; do your math."

Nick tallied up the cost of a hundred thousand shares of USB going at four hundred twenty Swiss francs each. Forty-two million francs. Something about the sum sent a dagger into his gut. "Once you capture those shares, your holdings will top thirty-three percent."

"Thirty-three point five percent, to be exact. Not including the Widows and Orphans Fund."

Nick could not rid himself of the nagging figure. Forty-two million francs. About forty million dollars at the current exchange rates. "You'll get your seats. Kaiser's reign will be history."

"It's his successor who worries me," Sprecher said. "Listen carefully, young Nick. Eighty percent of all USB shares we own are held in a special account that belongs to the Adler Bank's largest investor. Konig exercises proxy over the shares, but he doesn't own them. The name of that account is Ciragan Trading."

"Ciragan Trading?" Nick asked. "As in Ciragan Palace? As in the Pasha?"

Sprecher nodded. "You don't think me daft for assuming it to be the same man? I don't fancy either the Adler Bank or USB being owned by- what did you call him? A major heroin supplier? If your friend Thorne is correct, that is."

Oh, he's correct all right, Nick wanted to say. That's the whole problem.

"You say the buy order was for a hundred thousand shares? Around forty million dollars? Would you believe me if I told you that I transferred that exact amount out of Mevlevi's account yesterday at four P.M.?"

"Not happily, I wouldn't."

"To the banks listed on matrix one. The Adler Bank's nowhere on that list. How could you have already received the money?"

"I didn't say we had received the money. As a matter of fact, Konig asked Faris to ensure that settlement won't be made until Tuesday. We'll claim an administrative error on our part. No one will care if payment is twenty-four hours late."

Nick ran his hands along the guardrail and peered into the mist. He played with the question of why Mevlevi would be backing the Adler Bank's takeover of USB but gave up after a few seconds. The realm of possibilities was too great. Another idea came to him. "There is an easy way for us to confirm if the Pasha has been behind all of Adler's purchases. Match his transfers through USB with the Adler Bank's purchases of USB shares. If every week Konig bought shares worth the amount Mevlevi transferred through USB, we've got him. Of course, that assumes that Mevlevi followed the same pattern as yesterday."

"The Pasha is nothing if not a creature of habit," said Sprecher. "Never missed a transfer in the eighteen months I worked with Cerruti- God rest the poor bugger's soul."

Nick sighed heavily. "Peter, there's more to this than you can imagine."

"Shoot, sport."

"You don't want to know."

Sprecher stamped his feet on the metal platform while vigorously rubbing his arms. "Yesterday, the day before even, you'd be right. Today I want to know. Let my reasons be my own. Now out with it."

Nick looked Sprecher in the eye. "I know where Mevlevi's getting the forty million dollars."

"Pray tell?"

"A shipment of refined heroin is due in on Monday morning. Mevlevi arranged to be prepaid for the merchandise by Gino Makdisi."

Sprecher looked skeptical. "May I inquire as to the source of your information?"

"I am the source," said Nick, giving vent to the full range of his frustrations. "My eyes. My ears. I watched Mevlevi murder Albert Makdisi. In return for his battlefield promotion, Gino transferred the money for the shipment up front. Forty million bucks. New terms on trade, says the Pasha. Don't like 'em? Bang bang, you're dead. Termination effective immediately." Nick wiped at his nose. "Jesus, Peter, my life is royally fucked."

"Calm down. You sound like you're a member of the Cosa bloody Nostra."

"Not yet, I'm not. But he's trying like hell to pull me in."

"Go easy, Nick. Who's trying to pull you in?"

"Who do you think? The Pasha. He owns Kaiser. Don't know how, don't know why, or for how long, but he owns him, lock, stock, and barrel. And what about Cerruti? He didn't drink. You know that. Did you see the picture in the paper? Whoever killed him left the bottle right on his lap. And what about that pillow? It was from his bedroom, for Christ's sake, and I bet there's a bullet hole smack dab in the middle of it. Can you see it? Cerruti is drunk as all hell, ready to blow his brains all over the living room wall, but he's still concerned not to disturb his neighbors. Boy, he's a real saint. Mr. Considerate till the very end."