Numbered Account

"The driver, Remo, made a run for it. He did not get far. He lost control of the lorry and it exploded. The merchandise was destroyed. More than that I don't know. I am sorry."

"And what of Joseph?"

"He survived. I saw him on the ground. The police, they helped him to his feet. I saw an officer hug him. It was he, the informant."

Not Joseph, Mevlevi screamed mutely. It was Lina. She was the Makdisis' contact. She helped the Makdisis set him up with the American DEA. Joseph, my desert hawk, is ever loyal. He alone can be trusted.

Khan said, "You must leave the country immediately. If the DEA knows about the shipment, they certainly are aware that you are in Switzerland. Joseph would not tell them one thing without the other. Who knows when they will spring?"

Mevlevi could not speak. Joseph was an informant for the United States Drug Enforcement Administration.

"Did you hear me, Al-Mevlevi? We must secure you safe passage out of the country. Get to Brissago. On the Italian border, outside of Locarno. Be there in one hour. The main square."

"Yes, Brissago. Main square. One hour." He hung up the phone.

Wenker was staring at him unabashedly, a look of keen revulsion souring the bureaucrat's features. Mevlevi followed his gaze to the floor. To his own feet.

A pool of blood was growing steadily on the ivory Berber carpet.

***

Downstairs, a forest-green Range Rover drew into the circular forecourt of the hotel. The car's tires squealed painfully as it negotiated a one-hundred-eighty-degree turn and slid to a halt in front of the main entry. The passenger door swung open, and an imposing man in a three-piece charcoal suit descended. Wolfgang Kaiser straightened his jacket and smoothed his bristly black mustache. He checked his reflection in the passenger window and satisfied as to his appearance, marched into the lobby.

"Time?" he called over his shoulder.

"Eleven-fifteen," answered Reto Feller, rushing to join him.

"Fifteen minutes late," complained Kaiser. "No doubt the count will be impressed. For that I can thank you, Mr. Feller. And your new automobile." The fucking car had gotten a flat tire in the middle of the St. Gotthard tunnel. It was a miracle they hadn't choked to death on the exhaust fumes.

Feller scurried ahead to the front desk, where he rang the arrival bell twice. "We are looking for the Count Languenjoux," he announced breathlessly. "What room can we find him in?"

A hotelier in black morning coat delivered himself to the polished walnut counter. "Whom may I announce?"

Kaiser presented his business card. "We are expected."

The hotelier discreetly read the card. "Thank you, Herr Kaiser. The count is in Room 407." He leaned closer, and in a gesture of implied intimacy, spoke softly from beneath a furrowed brow. "We've received a number of calls for you this morning. All extremely urgent. The caller insisted on waiting on the line until you arrived."

Kaiser arched an eyebrow. He glanced over his shoulder. Feller stood three paces behind him, taking in every word.

"A woman from your office in Zurich," said the hotelier. "Shall I check if she is still on hold?"

"Do you know her name?" Kaiser asked.

"Fraulein Schon."

"By all means, please check." How had she found him here? He had told no one of his trip except Rita.

"Sir, the count is waiting," said Feller.

Kaiser could imagine the little weasel's impure thoughts. "Then go keep him company," he ordered. "I'll be up in two minutes."

The hotelier returned to the desk. "The lady is still on the line. I'll have the call transferred to one of our private cabins. Directly behind you, Herr Kaiser. Booth number one, the first glass door on the left."

Kaiser thanked the hotelier and walked rapidly to the booth. He closed the glass door and sat down on a stool facing the telephone. The phone jangled in an instant. "Kaiser."

"Wolfgang, is it you?" asked Sylvia Schon.

"What's going on? What's so important that you demean the good name of the bank by calling this hotel in a frenzy? Word will certainly get back to the count."

"Listen to me," Sylvia commanded. "You must leave the hotel immediately."

"Don't be ridiculous. I've only just arrived."

"It's Nicholas Neumann. He's arranged some sort of trap. I've been trying to reach you all night."

What nonsense was this? wondered Kaiser. "Nicholas is with an important client of mine," he said sternly.

Sylvia's voice grew frantic. "Nick thinks that your friend, Mr. Mevlevi, killed his father. He said you knew all about it. He told me he has proof, but he wouldn't say any more. Now listen to me and get out of that hotel this second."

"Who has proof?" demanded Kaiser. The girl was rattling on at a hundred kilometers an hour, and he didn't care for the gist of her argument.

"Just leave the hotel," she pleaded. "They're going to arrest you and Mr. Mevlevi."