Numbered Account

"A little shy of commitment, yes. Drunks, no." She turned her attention to the stiff napkins arranged on the table. She unfolded one and placed it in her lap.

Nick turned his attention to Sylvia Schon. Her blond hair fell in a shower onto the shoulders of a maroon blazer, which he guessed to be cashmere. A chiffon blouse was prudishly buttoned just shy of the neck, revealing a strand of pearls. Her hands were a creamy white, unblemished by sun or age; fingers, long and graceful, absent of jewelry.

Since his arrival at the bank six weeks earlier, he had yet to view her in anything but a professional light. In their meetings, she had conducted herself formally. She was instructive. She was attentive. She was even friendly- to a point. But she was always careful to maintain a certain distance. She laughed as if each chuckle was rationed, and she was allowed only one or two an hour.

Now, watching her relax, sensing her shed her shell of harried importance, Nick realized he'd been anxious to see another side of her. Sprecher's words had never really left his mind. She's got something else in mind for you. He still wasn't sure how to interpret them- as a sincere warning or a sophomoric aside.

A mustachioed waiter brought their cocktails and proffered menus. Sylvia Schon waved the menus away. "There is only one thing to eat at Emilio's and it is the chicken. A small Mistkratzerli roasted with herbs and absolutely doused in butter. It is heavenly."

"Sounds great," said Nick. He was very hungry.

She fired off their order in rapid Spanish. Dos pollos, dos ensaladas, vino de rioja, y dos agua minerales. Afterward, she turned toward him and said, "I view every member of the finance department as a personal responsibility. It's my job to make sure you are happy in your position, and by that I mean that you have the opportunity to grow as a professional. Your career is my concern. We pride ourselves on attracting the best talent and on keeping them."

"For at least fourteen months," he butted in.

"At least," she agreed, grinning. "You may have heard my displeasure at some of the American graduates Dr. Ott has brought over in the past, but don't take it personally. My bark is worse than my bite."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind," said Nick. He was taken aback by her solicitous nature. It was a new color for her and he liked it.

Emilio's was jumping. A stream of waiters in crisp white jackets plied back and forth from kitchen to table. Patrons crowded the banquettes that lined the garish red walls and spoke loudly, effusively to one another. Meals were devoured with relish and abandon, cigarettes smoked with hearty appreciation.

"I had a chance to glance through your papers," said Dr. Schon after she had taken a generous sip of vodka. "You've led an interesting life. Growing up in California, visits to Switzerland. What made you join the marines? They're a tough bunch, aren't they?"

Nick shrugged. "It was a way to pay for college. I had a track scholarship for two years, but when I didn't have quite the spring in my step the coaches expected, I lost it. No way I was going back to waiting tables. I'd had enough of that in high school. The marines seemed like the right idea at the time."

"And your work here? It must seem rather dull to work in a Swiss bank when compared with flying in helicopters and playing with guns."

Dull? Nick asked himself. Today I shielded the assets of a suspect wanted by the international authorities. I was followed through the streets by a guy dressed like Sherlock Holmes, and I was threatened by a rabid drug enforcement agent. Where else can you sign up for those kind of thrills?

"Mr. Sprecher is keeping me busy," he said, keeping to the official line of banter. "He tells me we're lucky this is a quiet time of year."

"My sources tell me that your department is doing just fine. You, in particular, seem to be excelling at your position."

"Any word on Mr. Cerruti?"

"Actually, I haven't spoken to him, but Herr Kaiser thinks he may be improving. Cerruti may assume a calmer post at one of our daughter companies when he's recovered. Probably the Arab Overseas Bank."

Nick saw his opening. "Do you work closely with the Chairman?"

"Me. Good lord, no. You have no idea what a surprise it was to see him in my office that day. First time in ages anyone can remember spotting him on the first floor. What exactly is his relationship to your family?"

Nick often asked himself the same question. Kaiser's intermittent contacts were alternately professional and paternal. He did not know whether they were motivated by a strict sense of bank protocol or a blurry allegiance to a fallen friend. "I hadn't seen Herr Kaiser since my father's funeral," he explained. "He kept in contact with us periodically. Cards, phone calls, but no visits."

"The Chairman likes to keep his distance," said Sylvia Schon.