Numbered Account

Kaiser took a deep breath, unable to decide if her ranting had merit. "I have an appointment with one of our bank's most important shareholders. His votes could be crucial to our long-term ability to keep Konig from enacting his plans. I can't just come back."

"Haven't you heard?"

Suddenly Kaiser felt very alone. The concern had fallen from her voice. Pity had replaced it. "What?"

"The Adler Bank has offered five hundred francs a share for the bank. Konig announced it on the radio this morning at nine. A cash bid for all the shares he doesn't own."

"No, I hadn't heard," Kaiser managed to whisper after a few seconds. Reto Feller had insisted on listening to the Brandenburg Concerto on his new car's hi-fi. He would kill him.

Sylvia said, "Konig is going to ask for a vote of confidence from the executive board at tomorrow's general assembly."

"Oh," said Kaiser halfheartedly. He was no longer listening. A commotion was brewing in front of the hotel. He could hear car doors slamming and instructions being issued in a flat military tone. Several members of the hotel staff hastened toward the revolving door at the front entry. He brought the phone closer to his ear. "Sylvia, be quiet for a few moments. Stay on the line."

He pushed open the cabin's glass door a crack. Outside the hotel, a heavy motor rumbled closer, then quit. Commands were given in excited Italian. A parade of jackbooted feet hit the ground. A bellboy ran into the lobby and disappeared behind the front desk. A moment later the hotel's general manager appeared, senatorial in dress and demeanor. He nearly jogged to the revolving door and went outside. Seconds later, he returned accompanied by two gentlemen, one of whom Kaiser recognized as Sterling Thorne. The other man, identifiable from countless photos in the daily papers, was Luca Merolli, the Tessin's crusading prosecuting attorney.

Thorne stopped in the center of the hotel lobby. He bent over the hotel manager and announced in his booming provincial accent, "We're going to send a dozen men up to the fourth floor. They have loaded guns and their captain's permission to fire. I don't want anybody to interfere with them. Understand?"

Luca Merolli repeated Thorne's words and gave them his own authority.

The general manager bobbed excitedly on his toes. "Si. We have the elevator and the interior stairwell. Come, I show them to you."

Thorne turned to Merolli. "Bring in your men right away. Kaiser's up there this very second with Mevlevi. My two rats are sitting in a gilded cage. Hurry up, goddammit. I want both of them."

"Si, si," shouted Merolli as he ran out of the lobby.

"Wolfgang?" came a faraway voice. "Are you there? Hello?"

Kaiser stared dumbfounded at the receiver in his hand. She was telling me the truth, he whispered. I'm to be arrested with Ali Mevlevi. Curiously, his concerns were not for himself, but for the bank. What will become of USB? Who'll protect my beloved institution from that bastard Konig?

"Wolfgang, are you there?" asked Rita Sutter. "Listen to Fraulein Schon's warnings. You must come home immediately. For the good of the bank, get out of there now."

Rita's calm voice awoke in him a rational sense of self-protection. He took stock of just where he was and what was happening. He realized that not only did he have a full and unimpeded view of Sterling Thorne, but that the odious American had an equally unobscured view of him. One glance in his direction and Thorne would spot him. Kaiser removed his foot from the sill of the door, letting it close. He shifted on the velvet stool so that his body faced the interior wall.

"Rita, it appears you were correct. I'll try and get back as soon as possible. If anyone calls for me, press, television, simply say that I am out of the office and cannot be reached. Do I make myself clear?"

"Yes, but where will you go? When can we expect-"

Kaiser replaced the receiver and shielded his face as best as possible with his right arm. He didn't dare look toward the lobby. He focused his gaze on a patch of carpeting near his left foot, where the embers of another guest's cigarette had burned a neat round hole. Staring at this petty ingratitude, he cringed in expectation of the sharp knock against the transparent door. He imagined the leering visage of Mr. Sterling Thorne staring at him through the window, beckoning him with a crooked finger to give himself up. Wolfgang Kaiser's life would end at that moment.

But no sharp knock came at the cabin window. No American voice demanded that he vacate the booth. He heard only the orderly procession of a large number of men crossing the marble floor. Tic tac, tic tac, tic tac. Thorne yelled more instructions. Then, thankfully, there was quiet.

***

Ali Mevlevi looked up from his bleeding leg and said, "I'm afraid I must go immediately."

Yves-Andre Wenker pointed at the pool of blood. "You can't go anywhere bleeding like that. Take a seat. Let me get you medical attention. You need to see a doctor."