Numbered Account

The corridor was quiet. A single policeman stood guard at the elevator landing. Another waited next to an open door at the far end of the hallway. Miles of blue carpeting lay in between. Nick could smell the cordite even at this distance. Gunshots had been fired. Who was dead? Who was wounded? Who had suffered from the failure of his ill-conceived plan?

Nick gave his name and waited while the policeman walkie-talkie'd for approval to an unseen poobah in the room at the end of the hallway. A two-syllable response blurted from the walkie-talkie, and Nick was allowed to proceed.

He was halfway down the corridor when Sterling Thorne emerged from the room. The drug enforcement agent was wearing a drab green jacket, and his face was streaked with grime. If possible, his hair was more disheveled than usual. All in all, it was an improvement.

"Who do we have here? The prodigal son himself. 'Bout time you showed up."

"Sorry," said Nick, deadpan. "Traffic."

Thorne began to smile, then as if seeing him for the first time, grimaced. "Jesus, Neumann. What happened to you? Looks like you've been in a fight with an alley cat. And lost." He pointed at the bloody shirt. "I'll have to tell the boys to order up another ambulance. How bad is it?"

Nick kept limping toward the room. No point in going into the details now. "I'll live. What happened here?"

"Your buddy took a cap in the shoulder. He's all right, but he won't be pitching in the World Series. Lost a lot of blood."

"Mevlevi?"

"Gone." Thorne pointed to the emergency exit at the end of the hall. "We found some of his blood going down the stairs. Some more in the hotel room. The police have sealed the borders and are searching the hotel and the surrounding towns for him."

Nick was furious. How could Thorne have allowed a wounded man to escape? He had known all along that the Pasha would be at the hotel. Why hadn't he positioned his men here before Mevlevi's arrival? He could already hear Thorne's excuse. The Swiss police won't move until they have proof of wrongdoing on their own soil. We had to wait for Jester.

"Was it you that cut him?" Thorne asked.

"We had a personal disagreement," said Nick, checking his anger. "He wanted to kill me. I didn't think it was such a great idea. He had a gun. I had a knife. It was almost a fair fight."

"Tell you the truth, we all thought you were dead. We found the limo you were supposed to have come in downstairs. Chauffeur was in the trunk. Arm near torn off and a bullet in the back of his neck. I'm glad to see you alive." Thorne laid a hand on Nick's shoulder. "That's a treasure trove of financial impropriety you collected. Mevlevi's file from USB, proof of his accounts at the Adler Bank, even photographs with his signature on the back of them. Not to mention his phony passport. Not bad, Neumann. We'll have his accounts frozen in less than forty-eight hours."

Nick shot him a burning look. In forty-eight hours, Mevlevi would have wired every last dime he had out of this country. In forty-eight hours, he would be back in his Lebanese mountain hideaway, safe and sound. In forty-eight hours, I'll probably be dead.

Thorne caught his stare. "I know we should have gotten him." He raised a finger. "And that's as close to an apology as you're going to get from me."

"Jester?"

"Alive. The contraband was lost in the arrest. Burned up." Thorne dragged a thumb across his sooty cheek and held it up for inspection. "That's about the only thing left of it. But we have our tie to Mevlevi nonetheless. Thanks to you, we finally managed to get the Swissies' cooperation. Kaiser's going down. Your colleague Mr. Feller says he was here but stopped to take a call in the lobby from a Miss Schon. Must've been a warning because he never came up. We can't find him anywhere. The Swiss won't issue an APB until formal charges have been filed."

Nick let the mention of Sylvia's name pass right through him. He'd have plenty of time later to tell himself what a fool he'd been. "I thought you said they were cooperating."

Thorne shrugged. "In fits and spurts. Mevlevi is one thing. Wolfgang Kaiser another. Right now I'm taking what I can get."

Nick started toward the open door. He felt incredibly sad. The whole plan had fucked up. The police hadn't gotten Mevlevi or Kaiser. "I want to see my friend."

"Go ahead. The ambulance is on its way, so hurry it up."

***

Peter Sprecher lay on the floor of the large salon. He was conscious. His eyes were open, darting around the room. Bath towels had been placed under his shoulder. A police officer sat beside him, keeping pressure on the wound in an effort to stanch the bleeding. Nick eased himself to the floor, sure to keep his right leg extended, and relieved the officer of his duty.

Sprecher lifted his head and gave the weakest of laughs. "Didn't get you either?"

"No, he didn't." Nick kept his hand firmly on Sprecher's shoulder. "How are you, chum?"

"I may be taking a smaller jacket size. But, I'll live."

Nick was worn out. "Well, we tried."