Numbered Account

Mevlevi was tempted to give it to the man, if only to appease his own conscience. After all, even he needed to be reminded now and again he possessed one. Chuckling at the thought, he took a long sip of the strong liqueur. Kaiser and his one percent. Young Neumann the investigator. The world was much larger than that, wasn't it?

In Ali Mevlevi's view, the world, and his place in it, was infinitely larger.

He finished his drink, paid, and walked into the cold night. He raised his hand and immediately a car started its motor. A silver Mercedes drove forward. He got in the car and shook hands with Moammar-al-Khan, his Libyan majordomo. "You know where you're going?"

"It is not far. Another few kilometers along the lake and then into the hills. We will make it in fifteen minutes." Khan brought the gold medallion he wore around his neck to his lips and kissed it. "The prophet willing."

"I have every confidence," said Mevlevi, smiling. He knew he could rely on Khan. It had been Khan who had discovered that the heroin being sold in Letten by the Makdisis had not been his own.

Fourteen minutes later, the Mercedes approached a lone cabin at the end of a rutted track deep inside a dark and snowy forest. Three cars were parked in front of the cabin. Lights burned from the front window.

"One of them has yet to arrive," said Khan. "I don't see his car."

Mevlevi guessed who the tardy man was but did not begrudge him his theatricality. He was simply practicing his new role a few days in advance. After all, a chief executive should always be the last to arrive.

Mevlevi stepped from the automobile and crossed through the snow to the cabin. He knocked once, then entered. Hassan Faris was standing by the door. Mevlevi kissed him on each cheek while pumping his hand.

"Faris, tell me the good news," he said.

"Chase Manhattan and Lehman Brothers have signed a letter of intent for the full amount," said the svelte Arab. "They've already syndicated the loan."

A taller man approached from the crackling fire. "It's true," said George von Graffenried, vice-chairman of the Adler Bank. "Our friends in New York have come up with the cash. We have bridge financing in place for three billion dollars. More than enough to buy every last share of USB stock we don't already own outright. You kept us waiting until the last minute, Ali. We almost came up a few pennies short."

"George, I always keep my word. Or Khan keeps it for me."

Von Graffenried wiped the ridiculous grin off his face.

Mevlevi waved to a thin man standing by the fire. "Mr. Zwicki, it is nice to finally meet you. I appreciate your involvement in our little project. Especially your help these last few days." On his command, Zwicki, chief of USB's equity department, had slowed his bank's purchases of its own shares to a trickle, thus effectively declawing Maeder's vaunted "liberation plan."

Sepp Zwicki stepped forward and bowed his head. "A pleasure."

"We are awaiting your colleague, Dr.-"

The door to the cabin opened suddenly and Rudolf Ott bustled inside. "Mr. Mevlevi, good evening. Sepp, Hassan, George, hello." He drew Von Graffenried close and whispered, "You received my last memo. Did you contact the Widows and Orphans Fund yet?"

"We're hoping to know tomorrow, Herr Dr. Ott. I'm sure you won't be disappointed."

"Good evening, Rudolf." Mevlevi detested the smarmy man, but he was the most important member of their team. "Is everything in place for tomorrow?"

Ott removed his glasses and wiped away the condensation with a clean handkerchief. "Naturally. The loan documents have been prepared. You'll have your money by noon. Eight hundred million francs is a decent sum. I don't know if we've ever lent so much to an individual."

Mevlevi doubted it. He had collateral, of course. Approximately three million shares of USB held at the Adler Bank, not to mention another couple hundred thousand at USB itself. In the future, though, calls for collateral would disappear. That was why he was taking the reins of the bank, wasn't it? The purpose of this entire exercise. Time to become legitimate.