Numbered Account Page 29

  Nick didn’t find the prospect so thrilling. “I’m afraid the answer is no.”

  “Do yourself a favor, Nick. If you help us, I can promise you a position here after USB’s been swallowed. Otherwise your head will be on the chopping block with everyone else on the Fourth Floor. Get with the winner!”

  “If the Adler Bank is so awash in cash,” Nick demanded, “why don’t you just make a bid for the whole company?”

  “I wouldn’t believe every rumor you hear. Hold on a second, chum.” He cupped a hand over the mouthpiece, but Nick could still make out the muffled words. “Hassan, throw me that price sheet. No, the pink one, you bloody wog. Yes, yes, that’s it.” Sprecher released his hand from the mouthpiece. “Anyway, Nick, think about our proposition. I’ll tell you more tonight. See you at eight, right?”

  “I don’t think so. I only drink with my friends.”

  Sprecher started to protest, but Nick had already hung up.

  # # #

  At 12:35, Nick headed to the Chairman’s office with a final copy of his letter in hand. He sauntered lazily down the quiet hallway. At this hour even the biggest grinds were eating lunch. The floorboards squeaked under his lolling step. Suddenly, he felt the presence of someone behind him.

  “Tired or drunk, Neumann?” Armin Schweitzer barked.

  Nick was sick of being afraid of Schweitzer. Shaking the papers in his hand, he turned and said, “I couldn’t get the words to flow right, so I took a wee taste of Scotland’s finest. A dram of single malt does wonders for finding the muse.”

  Schweitzer smirked. “A smart-ass, no less. Well, on this floor we keep our backs straight and our step spirited. You canwander in the park, if you like. What do you have there?”

  “Some ideas the Chairman had for whipping the bank into shape. It’s a letter to be sent to the shareholders.” Nick handed Schweitzer a copy. Why not extend an olive branch? He still wanted to find out what the bastard meant by his father’s “embarrassing behavior.”

  Schweitzer skimmed the letter. “Dark days, Neumann. We can never fit Konig’s model of a bank. He prefers machines. We still like the living, breathing variety, thank God.”

  “Konig doesn’t stand a chance. He’ll need a mountain of cash if he wants to take us over.”

  “Yes, he will. But don’t underestimate him. I’ve never met a greedier man. Who knows where he’s put his mitts? He’s an embarrassment to all of us.”

  “Like my father?” Nick asked. “Tell me, what exactly did he do?”

  Schweitzer pursed his lips, as if considering how to answer. He sighed and put his hand on Nick’s shoulder. “Something you are much too intelligent to even contemplate, my boy.” He handed the letter back to Nick. “Run along now. I’m sure the Chairman is eager to see his puppy dog.”

  Nick rose on his toes, flushed with anger. He bit his tongue but couldn’t resist a parting jab. “My office is open if you’re interested. Help yourself. Never know what you might find there!”

  CHAPTER

  33

  A war council had convened in the executive boardroom. Four men in progressive states of unease were scattered around the immense chamber. Reto Feller stood against the far wall. His arms were folded across his chest, and the heel of his foot was rapidly wearing a hole in the carpet. Rudolf Ott and Martin Maeder sat at the prodigious conference table, the very picture of conspiracy. Each faced the other with hunched back and lowered head, whispering. Armin Schweitzer paced the length of the room. A sheen of perspiration matted his heavy features. Every few steps, he withdrew a handkerchief from his hip pocket and with an unashamed stroke dried his forehead. They all awaited the arrival of their master. On this ship, there was only one captain.

  At precisely two P.M., Wolfgang Kaiser threw open the tall mahogany doors and entered the boardroom. He walked briskly to his usual chair. Nick followed him and took an adjoining seat. Ott and Maeder straightened their backs. Feller dove into the nearest chair. Schweitzer alone remained standing.

  Kaiser dispensed with all formalities. “Mr. Feller, what is the status of the Adler Bank’s share purchases?” His voice was dry and grim, as if assessing the damage of an artillery barrage.

  Feller answered in a shrill voice. “Twenty-eight percent of shares outstanding. Another five percent and Konig will automatically be granted two seats on the executive board.”

  “Scheisse!”came an unattributed response.

  “Rumor has it the Adler Bank will make a fully funded takeover bid,” said Schweitzer. “Bastards don’t want two seats, they want the whole damned show.”

  “Quatsch,”said Maeder. “Nonsense. Look at their balance sheet. No way they can take on that much debt. Their assets are fully leveraged to cover their trading positions.”

  “Who needs debt when cash will suffice?” squealed Feller.

  “Mr. Feller is correct,” said Wolfgang Kaiser. “Klaus Konig’s buying power has hardly dwindled. Where in God’s name is that son of a bitch getting his cash? Doesn’t anybody know?”

  No one spoke. Maeder and Ott bowed their heads, as if shame were ample excuse for their ignorance. Schweitzer shrugged. Nick couldn’t remember when he had ever felt more ill at ease. He was profoundly aware of his inexperience. I don’t belong in this room, he kept telling himself. I shouldn’t be sitting here with the bank’s top brass. What the hell do they want with me?

  “More disturbing news,” said Ott. “I’ve learned that Konig is wooing Hubert Senn, the count’s grandson, to accept a seat on Adler’s executive board. I don’t need to remind anyone here that Senn Industries has long been an ardent supporter of current management.”

  “And that they control shares worth six percent of outstanding votes,” said Kaiser. “Votes we have counted as our own until now.”

  Nick recalled the pale young man dressed in his baggy navy suit. Hubert Senn’s name was indeed on the count’s primary account. The boy’s signature would be required to vote their shares for USB. One more obstacle.

  Feller raised his hand as if in elementary school. “I’ll be happy to phone the count and explain the bank’s restructuring plan. I’m sure—”

  “I think the Chairman should speak with the count,” Nick said brusquely, cutting off his ass-kissing associate. “Senn is at an age when tradition means everything. We should arrange a personal meeting with him.”

  “The count will remain loyal,” stammered Schweitzer as he mopped his brow. “Right now let’s concentrate on buying up our own shares.”

  “With what, Armin, your life savings?” Kaiser shook his head. “Neumann’s right. I should see the count personally.” He turned to Nick and said, “Set it up. Just tell me where to be.”

  Nodding his head, Nick felt something inside him relax. He’d been blooded. He’d made a suggestion and it had been accepted. From the corner of his eye, he could see Reto Feller reddening.

  Kaiser drummed his fingertips upon the table. “At this juncture, there aren’t many options left to us. First and foremost, Neumann and Feller must continue contacting our most important shareholders. Marty, I want you to join in. Talk to everyone holding more than five hundred shares.”

  “The list is endless,” complained Maeder.

  “Do it!” ordered Kaiser.

  “Jawohl.”Maeder lowered his head.

  Kaiser went on. “Still, I feel that our efforts in that regard may come up short. What we need is cash and we need it now.”

  There was a collective nodding of heads. Nick noted that all present were only too aware of the bank’s lack of liquidity.

  “I have two ideas in mind. The first involves the participation of a private investor—an old friend of mine; the second, the creative use of our own customers’ accounts. It’s a plan a few of us have been batting around these last days. Daring, perhaps, but we have no other choice.”

  Nick glanced around the table. Maeder and Ott appeared relaxed enough, hardly curious about what was to come. Schweitzer, though, had stopped pacing and
stood at attention, as rigid as a statue. So, the big boys have left you out of the loop. Poor Armin, what have you done to lose your place at the top table?

  “Our only way out,” said Martin Maeder, standing and gripping his seat back with both hands. “Our managed portfolios.”

  Schweitzer bent forward as if he hadn’t properly heard. He muttered a single word over and over again:“Nein, nein, nein.”

  “We have over three thousand accounts under our discretionary management,” continued Maeder, ignoring his colleague’s fretful mumbling. “Over six billion Swiss francs of cash, securities, and precious metals under our direct control. We can buy and sell on the client’s behalf as we please. Simply stated, we must reconfigure the portfolios of our discretionary clients. Sell off some underperforming stocks, get rid of some bonds, and use the proceeds to buy every last share we can find of our own stock. Pump those portfolios full of United Swiss Bank class A equity.”

  “We can never do such a thing!” protested Schweitzer.

  Maeder granted Schweitzer a single sidelong glance, then went on as before. “Most of our discretionary clients ask that all mail be held at the bank. If they visit the bank, it’s once, maybe twice a year. They’ll have no idea what we’ve done with their accounts. By the time they check their portfolios, we’ll have defeated the Adler Bank, sold off our own shares, and reconfigured their portfolios just as they were before. If one of them does find out, we’ll just say it was a mistake. An administrative error. It’s not as if they can contact another account holder. They’re anonymous—to the outside world and to one another.”

  Nick shuddered involuntarily. What Maeder was proposing was grossly illegal, fraud on a gargantuan scale. They were taking all their clients’ chips and betting them on black.

  Schweitzer removed his jacket. His shirt was soaked through and clung to the crook of his back. “I am this bank’s director of compliance and I forbid it. Such actions constitute a violation of the most fundamental of banking laws. The funds in a discretionary account are not ours to do with as we please. They belong to our clients. Our duty is to invest their money as if it were our own.”

  “Why, that’s exactly what I’m proposing,” said Maeder. “We’re investing their money as if it’s our own. And right now,we need to buy shares of USB. Thank you, Armin.”

  Ott pulled an oily grin at his cohort’s sarcasm.

  Schweitzer appealed directly to Kaiser. “To appropriate their funds to buy up our own shares is madness. They’re trading at an all-time high. Their value is grossly inflated. When we defeat Konig, the share price will plummet. We must follow the strategic investment guidelines promised our clients. It’s the law.”

  No one paid Schweitzer’s argument an ounce of attention. Least of all Kaiser. The Chairman averted his gaze from the offending party. He didn’t say a word. Nick imagined Sylvia sitting at the table with them. What would she say? Would she be in favor of going this far? Several times he’d caught a glint of steel in her eye—something unmerciful, cruel even—and he thought that maybe she might. Another image of Sylvia provoked in him a sudden, intense flush of sexual excitement, and because of his surroundings, it both thrilled and annoyed him. Sylvia sat astride him, slowly moving up and down. He saw his hands on her breasts. He caressed them gently and felt her nipples harden under his touch. He was deep inside her. She drew his hand to her mouth and longingly licked his fingertips. She moaned again, louder this time, and he was lost in her pleasures.

  Feller’s voice interrupted his reverie. “One question. After we defeat the Adler Bank, don’t we risk losing many of our clients if we’re unable to show a gain in the value of their portfolio?”

  Maeder, Ott, and then even Kaiser broke into a hearty laugh. Feller looked to Nick, who returned his mystified gaze.

  Maeder answered the question. “True, we’re expected to report modest gains, but preservation of capital is our real goal. Growth beyond the rate of inflation of each portfolio’s base currency is . . . well, let’s say growth is an afterthought. After we defeat Konig, our shares may suffer a temporary decline. I’ll grant Armin that much. Consequently, we may be forced to report a minor loss in the value of our clients’ portfolios. Not to worry. We’ll assure them that next year promises to be much better.”

  “We may lose a few clients,” said Kaiser. “But it’s a damn sight better than losing them all.”

  “Well said,” chipped in Ott.

  “And if the Adler Bank wins control of the bank?” demanded Schweitzer, unappeased. “Then what?”

  “Win or lose, we’ll set the portfolios back to how they stand today,” explained Maeder flippantly, to everyone but Schweitzer. “If Konig wins, the share price will remain high. He can take credit for the gains his takeover provided his newest clients. For him, it will be icing on the cake!”

  Kaiser slammed his hand ferociously upon the table. “Konig will not win!”

  For a few moments, everyone was silent.

  Ott lifted his scholarly head, speaking as if to remind his assembled colleagues of a minor inconvenience. “Should word of our activities leak, I need not mention the consequences.”

  Schweitzer laughed rudely. Down but not defeated.

  “Three square meals a day, a few hours of exercise, and a well-heated room, all at government expense,” joked Maeder.

  “Nothing could be worse than being owned by the Adler Bank!” exclaimed Feller, gleeful in his role as coconspirator.

  “You idiots,” Schweitzer spat out. “A two-year stint in the St. Gallen penitentiary is hardly the vacation Marty describes. We’d be ruined. Disgraced.”

  Kaiser paid no attention to his director of compliance. “Rudy has brought up an important point. Word of our plan can never leave this room. All buy and sell transactions will be routed through the Medusa system. Our eyes only. Can I rely on every man here to guard his silence?”

  Nick watched each man nod, even Schweitzer. The sum of their surroundings—the cavernous room occupied by so few men, the haunting echo of their voices, the imposing table at which they sat bunched up in a tight arc—cast a mantle of evil on their planning that far exceeded the first whispers of fiscal larceny, no matter how sophisticated. Suddenly, he found the full bore of their eyes upon him. He clenched his jaw to mask the doubt lurking so close behind his eyes. He nodded his head once.

  “Good.” Kaiser’s eyes remained fixed upon Nick. “This is a time of war. Keep in mind the punishment for treason. Believe me, it stands.”

  Nick felt the man’s cold eyes drilling into him. As the newest member of Kaiser’s inner circle, he knew that the words were directed at him.

  The Chairman expelled a heavy sigh, then continued in a lighter tone. “As I mentioned, I’m in touch with an investor who may be willing to purchase some shares on the bank’s behalf. He’s an old friend and I feel confident he can be convinced to take a five percent stake. The cost, however, will be high. I’m proposing we guarantee him a ten percent gain over ninety days.”

  “Forty percent per annum,” shouted Schweitzer, again at odds with his Chairman. “That’s extortion!”

  “That is business,” said Kaiser. He turned to Maeder. “Call Sepp Zwicki on the trading floor. Begin a program of share accumulation. Hold the shares for two-day settlement.”

  “Will two hundred million francs’ worth do the trick?” asked Maeder.

  “It’s a start.”

  Maeder grinned at Nick and Feller, clearly excited by the challenge before them. “We’ll have to sell off one shitload of stocks and bonds to reach that amount.”

  “We have no alternative,” said Kaiser. He shot up from his chair, beaming like a man given a last-minute reprieve. “And Marty, tell Zwicki to short Adler shares. A hundred million worth. That ought to give Konig a minute to think. If he loses this battle, his investors will crucify him!”

  CHAPTER

  34

  How did I get drawn in so deep?

  Nick stood on the rotting p
lanks of an abandoned jetty, asking himself the same question over and over again. The green waters of the river Limmat swirled below him. Across the river, the twin spires of the Grossmunster cathedral rose into the mist. It was five o’clock and he knew he shouldn’t have left the office. Martin Maeder had wanted to begin instructing his “boys”—as he now called Nick and Reto Feller—on the intricacies of the new Medusa computer network.

  “Medusa tells it all,” Maeder had gushed, as if describing the bells and whistles of a high-end stereo. “Direct access to every account.” And then, like a drunk whose loose tongue had revealed one secret too many, he had grown surly and defensive. “And I’ll remind you of the promise you made to the Chairman. You’ll guard these secrets with your life.”

  Maeder was probably looking for Nick even now, anxious to begin issuing sell orders and generate the cash that would keep Wolfgang Kaiser’s hand firmly on the bank’s tiller. Nick wished he could tell Maeder the truth. “Sorry, Marty, I needed some fresh air to help me figure out what in the hell I’m doing to my life” or “Gee, Marty, give me a few minutes and let me figure if there’s a way off of this bucket of bolts. What did you say her name was? TheTitanic ?” He had a dozen pithy excuses to explain his flight from the constricting corridors of the bank. In the end, he had simply told Rita Sutter that he was running out for a quick errand.

  He hadn’t mentioned that it was his soul he’d be searching for.

  Looking out over the snow-covered roofs of the old town, Nick felt the realization creep over him that he had gone too far, that in his quest to locate information that might shed light on his father’s murder he’d strayed from the boundaries of decent behavior. When he’d first taken Peter Sprecher’s place, he had justified his actions by saying he was just doing as others before him had done. Shielding the Pasha from the DEA had simply been an extension of that philosophy, though secretly he had hoped that such an act would gain him the confidence of his superiors. He had rationalized his behavior by arguing that he had had no idea as to the true identity of the man who held numbered account 549.617 RR and that his disobeying of the instructions spelled out on the account surveillance sheet was a reaction to his bitter experience with Jack Keely.