Numbered Account

The Zeughauskeller reverberated with the cacophony of two hundred patrons consuming their midday meal. In past days a repository for the military arsenal of the canton Zurich, the restaurant's main hall retained the air of a well-kept warehouse. Its high ceiling was straddled by crossbeams of varnished oak and supported by eight grand pillars of cement and mortar. Its stone walls were adorned with the pike, crossbow, and lance. At one P.M. on this winter's day, the place was full up.

Nick sat alone in the center of the room, defending his table against all comers. Every empty seat was fair game. No keeping a table just for yourself. Not in Switzerland. He checked his watch- five after one- then tapped his foot on the floor. She'll be here, he told himself. He remembered the touch of her lips, and knowing that God frowned on the cocksure, added a note of prayer to his statement.

From his vantage point Nick could keep an alert eye on the entryways at each side of the restaurant. The door to his left opened. An elderly couple marched in, brushing a light sprinkling of snow from their shoulders. And then behind them a svelte form wrapped in a camel's hair topcoat with a colorful scarf tied around her head. The person turned away from him and the coat came off. He saw a hand tug at the scarf and then a swirl of blond hair. Sylvia Schon scanned the room.

Nick stood from his chair and waved. She saw him and waved back.

Did she smile?

"You're looking better today," said Sylvia when she reached the table. "Get some rest last night?" She was wearing tight black slacks and a black turtleneck to match. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail. A few strands hung loose to frame her face.

"I needed more than I thought." He'd slept for seven hours without waking. Practically a record. "Thanks for opening your door. I guess I seemed pretty whacked-out."

"New country, new job. I can see that at times it might be overwhelming. I'm glad I could be a friend. Besides, I owed you a favor."

"How's that?"

"Something I didn't tell you last night. Kaiser was very pleased that I'd extended the bank's courtesies toward you."

Nick didn't understand her meaning. He proceeded with caution. "Was he?"

"You see, Mr. Neumann-" she caught herself and started again. "You see, Nick, I lied to you about it being a normal practice for me to take my trainees to dinner." She raised her eyes and stared at him. "Just a white lie. I may take them to the bank's dining room, buy them a Coke, but Emilio's is a little out of the ordinary. Anyhow, the Chairman thought it wise of me to have taken you there. He said you were special and that I had an eye for nurturing talent. He ordered Rudy Ott to send me to the States to conclude our spring recruiting. I'll be leaving in two weeks."

Nick smiled inwardly. Sprecher had nailed her motivation dead on. Still, Nick understood her reasoning full well and he found her honesty disarming. "Congratulations," he said. "I'm happy for you."

She smiled broadly, barely able to contain her excitement. "It's not the trip that's so special, it's the vote of confidence. I'll be the first female personnel director permitted to conduct the recruitment of executives overseas. It's as if the ceiling had been ripped off my office and the heavens revealed for the first time."

Or at least a direct route to the Fourth Floor, thought Nick.

***

After lunch, Nick and Sylvia joined the throngs of men and women strolling up and down the Bahnhofstrasse. Saturday was shopping day and no amount of rain, sleet, or snow could deter the stalwart Swiss consumer from completing his rounds. Exotic foodstuffs could be had at Globus, finer clothing from PKZ, and pastries, of course, from Sprungli. While Sylvia kept her trained eye on the latest offerings from the fashion houses of Chanel and Rena Lange, Nick examined the opportunities his promotion to the Emperor's Lair might bring. A position as Kaiser's assistant would give him the authority he needed to gain access to the archives. He'd have no problem getting his hands on page after page of reports written by his father those many years ago.

Or would he?

Suddenly, Nick wasn't so sure. Just as Cerberus made careful note of every numbered account accessed by a portfolio manager, so too would it note every file requested by a bank executive. And more menacing than Cerberus's silicon eye were the all too human attentions of Armin Schweitzer and Martin Maeder. Sylvia had made it clear that he would be watched closely. What room Nick might have had for maneuver under Peter Sprecher's lackadaisical supervision had disappeared. His every step would be scrutinized by anxious men who lived and died for the United Swiss Bank; men who would view any question about the bank's integrity as a question about their own- and who would act accordingly.

Nick waited until the two of them were examining a racy gown in the Celine Boutique before broaching the subject of his father's monthly reports.