Numbered Account

"It's not doubtful. It's a fact." Thorne looked at Nick and then back at Kaiser. "Mr. Ali Mevlevi."

Kaiser appeared unfazed. "Never heard of him."

"I'll repeat the name for you. I know some gentlemen begin losing their hearing at your age." Thorne cleared his throat noisily. "Ali Mevlevi."

"I am sorry, Mr. Thorne. The name means nothing to me. I hope you didn't make such a dramatic entrance on behalf of this friend of yours."

"Mevlevi is no friend of mine and you know it. I believe you folks call him the Pasha. Mr. Neumann sure as hell knows him. Isn't that right, Captain America?"

"I never said any such thing," Nick answered calmly. "I thought I made it clear that I'm not allowed to comment on the identity of any of our clients."

"Let me help jog your memory. Account 549.617 RR. Makes transfers every Monday and Thursday. Oh, he's a client of yours. Of that, if nothing else, I'm sure."

Nick, the casual spectator, the man who knew nothing, kept his face a stony blank. He had less success governing his stomach, which like his conscience was growing queasy and increasingly anxious. "I'm sorry. Like I said, no comment."

Thorne reddened. "This isn't a press conference, Neumann. No comment, you say. You, too, Kaiser? Well, I have some comments for you." He withdrew a sheaf of papers from his jacket pocket and unfolded it. "July 11, 1996. A transfer incoming for sixteen million dollars, departs same day to twenty-four numbered accounts. July 15, incoming for ten million, outgoing same day to fifteen banks. August 1, 1997. Incoming thirty-one million, outgoing same day twenty-seven banks. This list goes on and on, like a bad case of gonorrhea."

Kaiser leaned forward, extending one hand. "Did you obtain this information from an official source?" he asked. "If so, may I see it?"

Thorne refolded the papers and jammed them into his jacket. "The source for this information is classified."

Kaiser frowned. "Classified or created from thin air? Neither the name you mentioned nor the figures in which you obviously have so much faith mean anything to me."

Thorne turned again to Nick. "Those figures ring a bell, Neumann? This is your account, is it not? I wouldn't recommend lying to an officer of the United States government. Money laundering is a serious offense. Ask your buddies at the Gotthardo Bank."

Kaiser placed an iron hand on Nick's leg. "I must interrupt you, Mr. Thorne," he said. "Your zeal is commendable. We, too, share your enthusiasm for putting an end to the illegal practices for which the banks in our country are often used. Really, though, this Alfie Merlani, was it? The name doesn't sound familiar."

"Mevlevi," said Thorne, who by now was growing agitated, shifting constantly in his chair. "Ali Mevlevi. Imports over a ton of refined heroin per month into Europe. Usually through Italy, then into Germany, France, Scandinavia. About a quarter of his stuff ends up right here in Zurich. Look, I'm trying to offer you a deal. A chance to make things right before we blow this case up in public."

"I do not need a deal, Mr. Thorne. This bank has always prided itself on rigorously obeying the laws of this country. Our laws governing secrecy prevent me from disclosing any information about our clients. I am willing, however, to make an exception, just this once, so that we may demonstrate our goodwill. The account number you mentioned was in fact on our internal surveillance sheet last week. And, you are correct that the account was managed by Mr. Neumann, here. Nicholas, tell Mr. Thorne everything you know about this account. I'm absolving you of any responsibility you may have toward our bank under the Bank Secrecy Act of 1933. Go ahead, tell him."

Nick stared into Kaiser's eyes, all too mindful of the Chairman's dissuasive clutch. Willful ignorance was one thing, premeditated obfuscation, quite another. But he was too far along his chosen path to change course now. "I recognize the number," he said. "I remember seeing it on the surveillance list last Thursday. But I don't recall any activity that day. I have no idea to whom it belongs."

Thorne tossed his head back and gave an unpleasant laugh, a horse's whinny. "Well, well. Who do we have here? Edgar Bergen and Charlie McCarthy. I am going to give you one more chance to make a deal with us and spare your company the indignity of seeing its Chairman implicated in the business affairs of one of the world's largest distributors of heroin. I would've thought that a man who had suffered like you- I mean your family's tragedy and all- would be sensitive to the efforts of the authorities to nail a parasite like Mevlevi. He's a big fish for us. We are not going to stop until we've landed him, dead or alive. In fact, I found a snapshot that I thought might inspire you to give us a hand."

Thorne threw a five-by-seven color photograph onto the coffee table.