Numbered Account (77 page)

“Anytime,” said Nick. He was put off guard by Kaiser’s collegial tone. He reminded himself that yesterday the same man had wanted him dead. “Where’s Rita Sutter? I didn’t see her at the assembly.”

Kaiser opened his eyes a little wider and laughed. “So that’s how you knew I was here? Clever of you. She’s waiting for me downstairs. We came in through the gate at the rear. She stuffed me in the trunk of her car. Insisted it was safer.”

“I’d say that makes her the clever one.”

Kaiser placed the cardboard container on the couch behind him. He took a step away from Nick, absently brushing the end of his mustache. “You have no idea how thrilled I was when you decided to join the bank. Foolish of me, I know, to think you actually wanted a career with us. For a while, I thought you might take my place one day. Call it an old man’s ego.”

“I didn’t come here for my career. Just to find out why my father was killed. He didn’t deserve to die so you could leave your stamp on this bank.”

“Oh, but you have it backward, Nicholas. I needed the bank to make sense of my life. I always viewed it as something greater than my own ambition, or at least something worthy of it. Your father was a different story. He wanted to shape it in his own image.”

“The image of an honest man?”

Kaiser laughed wistfully. “We were both honest men. Just living in dishonest times. Surely you can see all I’ve done for the bank. We’re up to three thousand employees. Think of their families, the community, the country even. God knows what would’ve happened had Alex taken over.”

“At least he would have still been alive, along with Cerruti and Becker.”

Kaiser frowned, then sighed. “Maybe. I only did what I had to do. You have no idea the pressure Mevlevi put me under.”

Nick thought he knew it only too well. “You should have fought him.”

“Impossible.”

“Only because you’re a weak man. Why didn’t you tell my father that Mevlevi was going to kill him?”

“I did. I warned him time and time again. I had no idea things would get out of hand so quickly.”

“You had every idea. You closed your eyes because you knew without my father there was no one to challenge you for the chairmanship of the bank.”

Nick stared at him, allowing his anger to crest and flow over him. This one man whose actions were responsible for so much in his life. His father’s death, his own wandering childhood, the struggle to pull himself from a foundering ship, and when he had, the decision to chuck it all and come to Switzerland. If he wanted to, he could lay every step he’d taken at this man’s feet.

“Why?” he shouted. “I want a better reason than your stinking career.”

Kaiser shook his head and a look of commiseration saddened his face. “Don’t you see, Nicholas? It was the only way. Once we choose our paths, we are committed. You, me, your father. We’re all the same. We’re true to ourselves, victims of our character.”

“No,” Nick said. “We’re not the same. We’re different. Very, very different. You convinced yourself that your career was worth the sacrifice of your morals. Offer me ten million dollars and the chairmanship of the bank and I still wouldn’t let you leave this building.”

Kaiser started forward, an inner rage darkening his features. He raised his arm to protest and opened his mouth as if to shout, but no sound came out. He took a few steps, then slowed, as if he no longer had the energy to continue. His shoulders slumped, and he walked to his desk and sat down.

“I imagined that was why you were here,” he said in a defeated tone.

Nick looked him in the eye. “You were right.”

Kaiser managed a weak smile, then slid open a drawer to his right and removed a dark revolver. He lifted it in the air, admiring it, then lowered it to the desk, and with his thumb cocked the hammer. “Don’t worry, Nicholas. I won’t harm you, though I’ve plenty of reason. It’s you who I have to blame for this mess, isn’t it? Funny I’m not more upset. You are a good man — what we all wanted to make of ourselves once.”

Nick approached the desk slowly. He twirled the cane once in his hand, tightening his grip on its rubber handle. “I won’t let you do this,” he said softly in quiet counterpoint to his inner fury. “Please put it down. That’s a coward’s way out. You know that.”

“Really? I thought it was the warrior’s way.”

“No,” Nick said. “When defeated, a warrior lets the enemy decide his punishment.”

Kaiser stared at him oddly, then raised the gun to his head. “But, Nick, as you yourself know, I am the enemy.”

At that moment, a cry came from the doorway. Later, Nick realized it was Hugo Brunner yelling for Kaiser not to shoot. But right then, it registered only as a distant noise, hardly a distraction at all. Nick was lunging toward the desk, sweeping his cane across its broad expanse, hoping to deflect Kaiser’s arm. The cane smashed a lamp and bounced off the computer monitor. A shot exploded in the room, and Kaiser toppled in his chair to the floor. Nick thudded against the desk and fell to the floor.

Wolfgang Kaiser lay a few feet away, motionless. Blood flowed copiously from the wound to his skull. In a few seconds, his face was painted a dark red.

Nick stared at the body, cursing Kaiser for having gotten off so easily. He deserved to spend the rest of his life in a gray concrete cell, eating watery soup and ruing the loss of everything he had held dear.

Then Kaiser coughed. His head lifted a few inches off the rug before banging down again a moment later. His eyes blinked wildly and he gasped repeatedly, realizing at that instant that he was still alive. He brought a hand up to his head and when he pulled it away, Nick saw that the bullet had carved a three-inch furrow across his temple and into his hair. The wound was only a graze.

Nick scrambled across the carpet and pulled the gun from Kaiser’s hand. He didn’t plan on giving the Chairman a second chance.

“Stop,” shouted Hugo Brunner as his boot crunched onto Nick’s wrist. He lowered himself to one knee and removed the pistol, then in a kinder voice said, “Thank you, Mr. Neumann.”

Nick stared into the older man’s gray eyes, and his heart sank. He was certain Brunner would assist the Chairman in his escape. But for once, he was wrong. The hall porter helped Nick to his feet and after mumbling something about his jaw being swollen, phoned the police.

Nick sat on the couch, tired but content. The seesaw wail of a siren sounded in the distance and drew near. It was the sweetest noise he had ever heard.

Outside, the sky was a downy gray. A sharp wind blew from the south, teasing the air with the first intimations of spring. Nick paused on the steps of the bank and breathed in deeply. He had expected to feel happier, freer maybe, but deep inside him a doubt lingered, a certainty that he had somewhere to rush to, someone he had to see, but he couldn’t quite remember who or what it was. For the first time since his arrival in his father’s country two months ago, he had nowhere to go, no pressing schedule to meet. He was on his own.

A black Mercedes sedan was parked at the curb. Sterling Thorne lowered the window. He was grinning. “Get in the car, Neumann. I’ll give you a lift.”

Nick said thanks, then climbed into the car. He was waiting for a final comment, something about everyone getting what they deserved, but for once Thorne kept quiet. The car pulled away from the curb and for a few minutes, no one spoke. Nick stared through the window at the sky. He spotted a patch of blue, but an angry gray cloud soon covered it. Thorne shifted in his seat and looked over his shoulder at Nick. The West Virginian was still smiling. “Say, Neumann, know where we can get a decent hamburger in this town?”

Wednesday morning, Nick stood in the departure lounge of Zurich Flughafen, staring up at a massive blackboard that listed all flights scheduled to leave before noon. An overcoat was draped over one arm. His only suitcase sat on the floor next to him. Resting his weight on the sturdy cane, he eased the pressure from his injured leg and allowed his eyes to roam the destinations: Frankfurt, Stockholm, Milan. The names excited him. Cosmopolitan cities offering the chance to start a new life. After an instant, he lowered his eyes and studied the flights bound for more familiar locales: Chicago, New York, Los Angeles.

The departures board fluttered, the twirling of hundreds of aluminum tabs sounding like the shuffling of a giant deck of cards. New letters clicked into the place of old as each flight climbed a row closer to the top of the board, a few minutes nearer to takeoff.

A voice announced, “Swissair flight one seven four, departure to New York, now ready for boarding through gate sixty-two,” then repeated the message in German and Italian.

Nick opened his wallet and took out a square of white paper. He unfolded it and studied the address: 750 Park Avenue, apartment 16B. He smiled. The only way Anna was going to Greece this summer was with him. He thought a ceremony atop the Acropolis might be very nice. Looking up, he found the flight to New York listed on the departures board. He had thirty minutes to make it.

I would like to thank the following people for their kind assistance:

Babs and Willy Reich offered only encouragement and support.

Farlan Myers, a longtime family friend, showed his true colors when it counted.

Karla Kuban, Tina Venema, and David Yorkin read early drafts of this book and offered helpful advice.

Sarah Piel of Arthur Pine Associates provided invaluable assistance in whipping the first drafts of the book into shape.

Lori Andiman, also of Arthur Pine Associates, proved to be nothing less than a wizard.

Jacqueline Miller, my editor, lit the way and held my hand through some difficult times.

Carole Baron showed her faith in a new writer.

Most important, I’d like to thank Leslie Schnur for believing in the book and pulling out all the stops. You’re the best.

And finally, I offer my heartfelt thanks to my agent, Richard Pine. Onward and upward!

Christopher Reich was born in Tokyo and grew up in Los Angeles. He worked in the private banking department of a major Swiss bank in Geneva before joining the bank’s department of mergers and acquisitions in Zurich. In 1995 he decided to pursue writing full-time. He lives in Texas with his wife and child.