Numbered Account

CHAPTER 60

“Bring us another bottle,” Wolfgang Kaiser ordered, grimacing at the ferric aftertaste. “This wine has turned. Tastes like piss and vinegar.”

The Kunststube sommelier inclined his head in mute query and poured a sample of the Corton-Charlemagne 1975 into his sterling tasting cup. He sipped the wine, swishing it across his palate, then swallowing it. “I do not share Monsieur’s opinion. It is rare for a Corton to turn. Rarer still for two bottles of different vintage. I beg Monsieur to clean his palate with some fresh bread and try the wine again.”

“Balls!” retorted Kaiser after sipping the wine. “Tastes like it was poured from the barrel of a gun. Bring us another.” He was drunk and he knew it. Scotch never sat well with him, and he had finished two straight up while waiting for Mevlevi to show his face. The gall! Disappearing from his hotel for the entire weekend. Telephoning on a Sunday afternoon to suggest a private dinner just the two of them, then arriving an hour late.

The sommelier’s eyes shifted to the door of the kitchen, seeking the approval of the restaurant’s owner and chef, Herr Petermann, and when he received it said, “Right away, sir.”

“Shameless bastard,” said Kaiser to the sommelier’s retreating back, though in his heart he directed the comment at the man seated across the table.

“Bad news, Ali. Friday afternoon Klaus Konig secured a large packet of our shares. He’s standing at the portal of the bank with his boarding party. I can hear their swords being drawn even now.” He attempted a light hearted chuckle, but his thick tongue managed only a nervous titter.

The Pasha dabbed at the corners of his mouth. He was his usual elegant self, dressed in a double-breasted navy blazer, a silver ascot adorning his throat. Not a worry in the world. “Mr. Konig cannot be as bad as all that,” he said, as if referring to a pesky neighbor.

“He’s worse,” Kaiser grunted. “The man is an insolent raider. Well-financed, but a pirate all the same.”

Mevlevi raised an eyebrow. “Surely you have the resources to repel his advance?”

“You’d think that controlling sixty percent of the bank’s shares would guarantee me a healthy margin of comfort. Not in democratic Switzerland. We never expected to be bested by one of our own countrymen. Our laws were written to keep the barbarians beyond the pale. As for ourselves, we Swiss are saints, one and all. Today it’s the enemy within we have to defend against.”

“What exactly do you need, Wolfgang? Is this about your loan?”

What the hell else did he think it was about?

“The terms stand,” said Kaiser in his politest voice. “Ninety days is all we require. You’ll have your cash back with a ten percent kicker. Come, Ali, that’s not just reasonable, it’s damned generous.”

“Generous it is.” Mevlevi reached a hand across the table to pat the Chairman’s arm. “Generous you have always been, my friend.”

Kaiser pushed his shoulders back and offered a humble smile. What charade was this he must play? The utter pretense of it made him ill. Acting as if all these years he had sheltered the Pasha’s income of his own volition.

“You must understand,” Mevlevi continued, “that if I had such a bountiful reserve of cash at this time, it would be yours. Damn the interest, I’m no shylock. Unfortunately my cash flow is dreadful at this time of year.”

“What about the forty million that passed through your accounts on Friday afternoon?”

“Already spoken for. My business does not allow for credit.”

“The full two hundred million isn’t necessary. Half of that amount would be sufficient. We must have an order to buy on the floor tomorrow morning when the exchange opens. I cannot risk the Adler Bank’s purchasing any more shares. They have their thirty-three percent as it is. More, and it will appear a mandate on my tenure at the bank.”

“The world is changing, Wolfgang. Perhaps it’s time for younger men to have a go at it.”

“Change is anathema in the world of private banking. Tradition is what our clients seek; security is what we at USB offer best. The Adler Bank is just another hustler on the street.”

Mevlevi smiled as if amused. “The free market is a dangerous place.”

“It shouldn’t be the floor of the Colosseum,” Kaiser argued. “A loan of seventy million francs is the least we could accept. Don’t tell me that with your substantial investments, you can’t commit to such a small sum.”

“Small sum, indeed. I should ask you the same question.” Again the amused grin. “If you recall, a good deal of my assets are already in your hands. Two percent of your outstanding shares, no?”

Kaiser leaned closer to the table, wondering what Mevlevi found so damned funny. “Our back is to the wall. It’s time for old friends to come to the fore. Ali,” he pleaded, “a personal favor.”

“My poor cash flow dictates that I say no. I’m sorry, Wolfgang.”

Kaiser smiled wistfully. Sorry, was he? Then why was he so fucking delighted by USB’s imminent demise? Kaiser reached for his glass of wine but stopped halfway there. He had one last chip. Why not burn it with the rest of them? He lifted his eyes to his companion’s and said, “I’ll throw in young Neumann.”

Mevlevi tucked in his chin. “Will you? I didn’t realize he was yours to throw anywhere.”

“I’ve come across some interesting information. Our young friend is quite the investigator. It seems he has some questions about his father’s past.” In his mind, Kaiser apologized to Nicholas, saying he was sorry but that he’d been left no choice, that he’d done everything he could to make a place for him by his side but that unfortunately he had no room for traitors. He’d told his father practically the same thing nearly twenty years before.

“That should concern you more than me,” said Mevlevi.

“I don’t think so. Neumann believes that a Mr. Allen Soufi was involved in his father’s death. That is not my name.”

“Nor mine.” Mevlevi sipped his wine. “Not any longer.”

“Neumann’s learned about Goldluxe as well.”

“Goldluxe,” Mevlevi cried in jest. “A name from another century. Another epoch. Let him learn all he wants about Goldluxe. I don’t think the authorities will show much interest in a laundering operation shut down eighteen years ago. Do you?”

“Of course, you’re right, Ali. But, personally, I wouldn’t be comfortable knowing that such a bright young man with so much to make up for was looking closely at my past. Who knows what else he’s found?”

Mevlevi pointed an inquisitive finger at Kaiser. “Why are you telling me this now?”

“I found out myself only last night.”

“Do you expect me to be afraid of these revelations? Should I cower in front of you with my purse held wide open? I have Neumann in the palm of my hand. Like I have you. Neumann’s prints are all over the gun that killed Albert Makdisi. If he mentions one word about me to the police, he’ll be arrested and placed in protective custody while I line up some reliable witnesses who can put him at the scene of the crime. Neumann is mine. Just like you. Do you really believe he has the courage to cross me? He’s seen the consequences of betrayal close up. You tell me Nicholas Neumann is looking into my past. I say fine. Let him look.” Suddenly Mevlevi laughed. “Or maybe you’re just trying to scare me, Wolfgang.”

A tuxedo-clad maitre d’ appeared with a white-jacketed waiter at his side. The captain supervised the serving of a grilled Chilean sea bass in a black bean sauce. All conversation ceased until the plates were set down and both waiters out of earshot.

“My duty has always been to look after your best interests,” continued Kaiser. “To be honest, I thought bringing you this information would be worth at least forty million francs. That amount should buy us one full percentage point.”

“‘One full point?’” Mevlevi repeated. “You’re giving me Neumann for one full point? Tell me what else he might know. If you’d like me to evaluate your proposition, I need to hear it all.”

“Ask him yourself. It’s not what Nicholas knows, but what his father knew. And wrote down. Some mention of the FBI, I believe. The boy has his father’s diary.”

“Why are you so smug?”

Kaiser lied smoothly. “I’ve seen the pages. I’m in the clear.”

“If Neumann uncovers Goldluxe, you will be hurt worse than I.”

“If I am going to lose the bank to Klaus Konig, I don’t give a damn. Twenty years ago you robbed me of any other life I might have had. If the bank is going down, let me go down with it.”

“You never wanted any other kind of life. If you prefer to use my actions to soothe your guilty conscience, go ahead. In your heart you know you are no different from me.” Mevlevi pushed his plate toward the center of the table. “I am sorry, Wolfgang. Banking is your business. If you can’t protect yourself from those more competitive, perhaps even more competent than yourself, I can’t be to blame.”

Kaiser could feel his face flushing as his desperation increased. “Dammit, Ali. I know you have the money. You’ve got to give me it. You owe me.”

Mevlevi slammed his hand on the table. “I owe you nothing!”

Kaiser’s eyes bulged and his neck grew crimson. He felt as if the floor had been ripped out from under him. How could this be happening?

Mevlevi sat back in his chair, once again the picture of cool restraint. “Still, in appreciation of your telling me the news about young Neumann, I will try and make arrangements. I’ll phone Gino Makdisi tomorrow. He may be able to come to your assistance.”

“Gino Makdisi? The man is a hoodlum.”

“His money is as green as yours. Pecunia non oelat. Practically your country’s anthem, isn’t it? Money hath no odor. He’ll be pleased to accept your generous terms.”

“Those terms are for you only. We could never do business with a member of the Makdisi family.”

Mevlevi gave an exasperated sigh, then dabbed at his mouth. “All right, then, I’ll reconsider the loan. But frankly, I don’t see where I’m going to get the cash. I’ll make some calls. I can have an answer for you tomorrow at two P.M.”

“I have an important meeting with one of our oldest shareholders. I won’t be back in the office before three.” Kaiser knew not to expect a reprieve, but couldn’t help himself from jumping at the offer. Hope was difficult to kill.

Mevlevi smiled graciously. “I promise to have an answer for you by that time.”

Ali Mevlevi packed a half-sotted Wolfgang Kaiser into his automobile, then returned to the restaurant’s lounge and ordered a Williams aperitif. For a few seconds he actually pitied the poor fool. One percent, Kaiser had practically slobbered, hoping to sell young Neumann like he was chattel slavery. Neumann was worth the price of a single bullet, no more, and that’s how much he’d spend on him.

Give me my one percent.

Mevlevi was tempted to give it to the man, if only to appease his own conscience. After all, even he needed to be reminded now and again he possessed one. Chuckling at the thought, he took a long sip of the strong liqueur. Kaiser and his one percent. Young Neumann the investigator. The world was much larger than that, wasn’t it?

In Ali Mevlevi’s view, the world, and his place in it, was infinitely larger.

He finished his drink, paid, and walked into the cold night. He raised his hand and immediately a car started its motor. A silver Mercedes drove forward. He got in the car and shook hands with Moammar-al-Khan, his Libyan majordomo. “You know where you’re going?”

“It is not far. Another few kilometers along the lake and then into the hills. We will make it in fifteen minutes.” Khan brought the gold medallion he wore around his neck to his lips and kissed it. “The prophet willing.”

“I have every confidence,” said Mevlevi, smiling. He knew he could rely on Khan. It had been Khan who had discovered that the heroin being sold in Letten by the Makdisis had not been his own.

Fourteen minutes later, the Mercedes approached a lone cabin at the end of a rutted track deep inside a dark and snowy forest. Three cars were parked in front of the cabin. Lights burned from the front window.

“One of them has yet to arrive,” said Khan. “I don’t see his car.”

Mevlevi guessed who the tardy man was but did not begrudge him his theatricality. He was simply practicing his new role a few days in advance. After all, a chief executive should always be the last to arrive.

Mevlevi stepped from the automobile and crossed through the snow to the cabin. He knocked once, then entered. Hassan Faris was standing by the door. Mevlevi kissed him on each cheek while pumping his hand.

“Faris, tell me the good news,” he said.

“Chase Manhattan and Lehman Brothers have signed a letter of intent for the full amount,” said the svelte Arab. “They’ve already syndicated the loan.”

A taller man approached from the crackling fire. “It’s true,” said George von Graffenried, vice-chairman of the Adler Bank. “Our friends in New York have come up with the cash. We have bridge financing in place for three billion dollars. More than enough to buy every last share of USB stock we don’t already own outright. You kept us waiting until the last minute, Ali. We almost came up a few pennies short.”

“George, I always keep my word. Or Khan keeps it for me.”

Von Graffenried wiped the ridiculous grin off his face.

Mevlevi waved to a thin man standing by the fire. “Mr. Zwicki, it is nice to finally meet you. I appreciate your involvement in our little project. Especially your help these last few days.” On his command, Zwicki, chief of USB’s equity department, had slowed his bank’s purchases of its own shares to a trickle, thus effectively declawing Maeder’s vaunted “liberation plan.”

Sepp Zwicki stepped forward and bowed his head. “A pleasure.”

“We are awaiting your colleague, Dr.—”

The door to the cabin opened suddenly and Rudolf Ott bustled inside. “Mr. Mevlevi, good evening. Sepp, Hassan, George, hello.” He drew Von Graffenried close and whispered, “You received my last memo. Did you contact the Widows and Orphans Fund yet?”

“We’re hoping to know tomorrow, Herr Dr. Ott. I’m sure you won’t be disappointed.”

“Good evening, Rudolf.” Mevlevi detested the smarmy man, but he was the most important member of their team. “Is everything in place for tomorrow?”

Ott removed his glasses and wiped away the condensation with a clean handkerchief. “Naturally. The loan documents have been prepared. You’ll have your money by noon. Eight hundred million francs is a decent sum. I don’t know if we’ve ever lent so much to an individual.”

Mevlevi doubted it. He had collateral, of course. Approximately three million shares of USB held at the Adler Bank, not to mention another couple hundred thousand at USB itself. In the future, though, calls for collateral would disappear. That was why he was taking the reins of the bank, wasn’t it? The purpose of this entire exercise. Time to become legitimate.

Tomorrow morning Klaus Konig would announce his cash bid for USB: 2.8 billion dollars for the sixty-six percent of USB he didn’t yet control. Tuesday, at USB’s general assembly, Ott would announce his support for the Adler Bank’s bid. He would call for the immediate resignation of Wolfgang Kaiser, and the executive board would support him. Each board member held a hefty packet of USB shares. No one could turn down the huge premium offered by the Adler Bank. For his loyalty (or his betrayal, depending from which side one looked at it), Ott would be installed at the helm of the newly consolidated bank: USB-Adler. Day-to-day operations would be handled by Von Graffenried. Zwicki and Faris would share the equities department. Klaus Konig would retain the nominal position of president, though his real tasks would be confined to fashioning the combined banks’ investment strategy. The man was much too impulsive to head a universal Swiss bank. If he didn’t like it, he could have a heart-to-heart with Khan.

Over time, new employees would be brought in to fill key posts: global treasury operations, capital markets, compliance. Men of Faris’s ilk. Men of Mevlevi’s choosing. New appointments would be made to the executive board. The combined assets of the United Swiss Bank and the Adler Bank would be his. Over seventy billion dollars at his disposal.

The thought brought a broad smile to Ali Mevlevi’s face, and everyone around him smiled too. Ott, Zwicki, Faris, Von Graffenried. Even Khan.

Mevlevi would not abuse his power. At least not for a while. But there were so many good uses to which he could put the bank. Corporate loans to worthy companies in Lebanon, shoring up the Jordani dinar, slipping a few hundred million to his friend Hussein in Iraq. Khamsin was only the first. But in his heart it was the most important.

Mevlevi excused himself and stepped outside to place a call to his operational headquarters at his compound near Beirut. He waited while he was patched through to General Marchenko.

“Da? Mr. Mevlevi?”

“General Marchenko, I’m calling to inform you that everything is proceeding according to plan on this end. You will have your money no later than noon tomorrow. The baby must be ready to travel at that time. Lieutenant Ivlov’s attack is to begin simultaneously.”

“Understood. Once I have received confirmation of the transfer, it will be only a matter of seconds before the baby can be airborne. I look forward to hearing from you.”

“Twelve o’clock, Marchenko. Not a minute later.”

Mevlevi folded the cellular phone and put it in his pocket. He breathed in the chill night air, enjoying its bite. He felt more alive than ever before.

Tomorrow, the Khamsin would blow.