Still, he had half a notion that Kaiser just might show up. Self-preservation would dictate he stay far away from the general assembly, but Nick didn’t think the idea of being caught had ever surfaced on Kaiser’s private radar. The Chairman of the United Swiss Bank forced to flee Switzerland? Never! Even now he probably believed that he had done nothing wrong.
Nick spotted Sterling Thorne slouching near a fire exit to the left of the stage. Thorne caught Nick’s glance and nodded. Earlier, he had given Nick a copy of that morning’sHerald Tribune. A small article on the inside front cover was circled. “Israeli Jets Knock Out Guerrilla Strongholds.” The story said that a renegade faction of Lebanese Hezbollah loyalists had been captured as they massed near the Israeli border, an unknown number killed. A final paragraph stated that their base in the hills above Beirut had been bombed and destroyed. “So much for Mevlevi’s private army,” Thorne had said, smirking. Though when Nick asked him about the battlefield nuclear weapon, his smile vanished and he shrugged as if to say “We’ll never know.”
Directly in front of Nick, a yellow rope was strung across ten chairs in the first row. Each chair held a white index card bearing the name of its occupant. Sepp Zwicki, Rita Sutter, and others he knew as residents of the Fourth Floor. Looking to his right, he caught sight of Sylvia Schon making a slow march up the aisle. She was counting heads, spotting how many of her precious charges had attended the meeting. Even now, she was following the Chairman’s orders.
He walked toward her, his choler growing with each step. A portion of it was directed at himself—for believing, for trusting, maybe even for loving, all when he should have known better. But most took Sylvia as its target. She had traded on his life for her own benefit, and for that he could never forgive her.
“I’m surprised to see you here,” he said. “Shouldn’t you be helping the Chairman find the next flight to the Bahamas? Come to think of it, I thought you might even be there already.”
Sylvia moved closer to him, trying on a sad smile. “Nick, I’m sorry. I had no idea that—”
“What happened?” he cut in, unable to stomach her false apology. “Did you discover that getting someone out of a hotel is a helluva lot easier than getting him out of the country—especially when the whole world’s after him? Or are you planning on joining him after this whole mess cools down a little?”
Sylvia narrowed her eyes, and her face grew rigid. In that instant, any feelings they had shared for each other disappeared forever. “Go to hell,” she snapped. “Just because I helped the Chairman doesn’t mean I’d run off with him. You’ve got the wrong woman.”
Nick found an unoccupied seat three rows from the stage and laid his cane on the floor. He sat down awkwardly and adjusted his leg. Doctors had cleaned and sutured the wound to his lower thigh. He wouldn’t be doing the samba anytime soon, but at least he could walk.
The lights dimmed, and Rudolf Ott rose from the table and walked to the dais. A heckler from the rear of the auditorium yelled, “Where is the Chairman?” His cry was quickly picked up by others. Nick craned his neck in the direction of the catcalls, then after a moment, returned his gaze to the stage. Two rows in front of him, all seats were filled but one. Only Rita Sutter had not yet arrived.
Ott placed a sheaf of papers on the lectern, then removed his glasses and laboriously polished them as he waited for the jeers to die off. He adjusted the microphone and very audibly cleared his throat. The audience quieted and soon an uncomfortable silence filled the room.
Waiting for Ott to begin, Nick couldn’t keep Sylvia’s words from playing over and over in his head.“You’ve got the wrong woman.” Where was Rita Sutter? he began to wonder in earnest. Why wasn’t she attending the most important general assembly in the bank’s history? He recalled the photograph of Rita Sutter kissing Kaiser’s hand at his father’s going-away party in 1967. Had it been more than just a show for the camera? He remembered wondering why Rita Sutter would settle for a job as Kaiser’s secretary when she was clearly capable of so much more.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Ott said, finally, “normally, I would open the proceedings with a brief welcome followed by a summary of the past year’s activities. However, recent events dictate that I depart from our traditional schedule. I have news of a special nature that frankly, I cannot keep to myself any longer.”
Nick sat up straighter, as did every other living, breathing being in the auditorium.
“Following the directives of Klaus Konig, the Adler Bank no longer wishes to present its own slate of candidates for election to the executive board of the United Swiss Bank. Therefore, I am pleased to hereby nominate all sitting members to a term of one year.”
A cheer erupted from the gathered employees. It rippled through the hall and spilled into the foyer and washed out onto the street. A string of reporters ran from the auditorium. An orgy of flashbulbs exploded.
With one sentence, the monster had been defanged.
No explanation was given, though Nick figured he knew why. All shares held in the Ciragan Trading account had been indefinitely frozen by the Swiss federal prosecutor’s office. The Adler Bank would be prohibited from exercising its proxy on the shares until such time as rightful ownership could be determined—meaning that for the next several years the shares would be without any voting power. When it could be proved that the shares belonged to Mr. Ali Mevlevi, a heroin-smuggling murderer, now deceased, the Adler Bank would file claim to their unfortunate client’s assets in Federal Court—as would the United States Drug Enforcement Administration and any other agency that had the least bit to do with the pursuit of Mevlevi. No decision regarding the ultimate disposition of the shares would be made for a decade. The United Swiss Bank could rest easy until then.
Nick remained seated while everyone around him stood and cheered. He told himself he should be happy too. USB was rid of Kaiser and free of Mevlevi. The bank would stand alone as it had for the past one hundred twenty-five years. Its continued independence might be his only victory.
In front of him, Martin Maeder pumped Sepp Zwicki’s hands. Ott paraded up and down the dais, patting his fellow board members on the back.The king is dead, Nick thought, staring at his pudgy figure.Long live the king.
Nick lowered his eyes and found himself staring at Rita Sutter’s empty chair. Practically the entire bank was here, but not her.
“You’ve got the wrong woman.”
And then he knew.
Abruptly, Nick rose and made his way to the aisle. He had to get to the bank. Wolfgang Kaiser was there. Now. Forcing his way through the exuberant crowd, Nick ran his suppositions through his mind over and over again. Kaiser had never expected to be a fugitive from justice. Faced with the prospect of an uncertain term in a Swiss jail or flight to a country with lax extradition laws, he would choose the latter. Nick had been foolish to think Kaiser might show up at the general assembly, but he was certain that the Chairman wouldn’t flee before learning that Konig had lost his battle for seats on USB’s board. Kaiser was too prideful for that. Before leaving, he would need to retrieve some belongings—cash, passport, who knew what—from the bank. And this was the only time that had been left him. The bank would be nearly deserted, with only a skeleton staff on duty. And one very efficient executive assistant.
Nick reached the end of the row and started up the aisle. His leg argued for him to slow. He ignored it and moved even faster, passing through a pair of swinging doors into the foyer. The long, low room was packed to bursting with the overflow crowd. Reporters hovered in every corner, urgently filing dispatches by cellular phone. Nick threaded his way through all of them. He had a strong desire to yell at the top of his lungs for every goddamned person to get out of his way, but somehow he was able to check it, and after another minute he was outside. He rushed down the broad flight of granite stairs. A fleet of taxis had assembled along the curb. He jumped into the first in line and barked his instructions. “Take me to the United Swiss Bank.”
Three minutes later, the taxi lurched to a halt in front of the imperious gray building. Nick paid the driver and got out. He hurried up the stairs, noting the uniformed policemen loitering on the pavement nearby.
Hugo Brunner stood behind the lectern inside the lobby, and when he saw Nick, he came forward shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Mr. Neumann. I have strict orders you are not to be allowed into the bank.”
Nick leaned on his cane, a little out of breath. “From who, Hugo? The Chairman? Is he here?”
“That is none of your business, sir. Now if you please . . .”
Nick stood up straight and slugged Brunner in the stomach. The hall porter gasped, and as he doubled over, Nick rewarded him with a jab to the chin. Brunner collapsed to the marble floor and lay still. Apologizing silently to the older man, Nick bent forward and dragged him behind the lectern. The bank was so quiet that not a soul had noticed.
The Emperor’s Lair was deserted. Lights burned in offices on either side of the corridor, but all were empty. Nick limped toward the Chairman’s anteroom, his only company the echo of his own uneven gait. The double doors to the Chairman’s office were closed. Nick took a deep breath, then placed his ear against the smooth paneling and listened. He heard a rustle inside, then something heavy hitting the floor. He gripped the handle and turned it slowly. It was locked. He took a step backward, lowered his shoulder, and threw himself at the door. It buckled inward and he stumbled into the room, unable to stop himself from falling to one knee.
Wolfgang Kaiser stood a few feet away, a surprised look pasted on his face. His skin was gray and haggard. Dark pouches supported his eyes. He had removed the canvas of the Renoir oil from its gold leaf frame and was rolling it up tightly. A cardboard cylinder sat on the couch next to him.
“It’s the best I can do,” he said, in a light tone inappropriate for the occasion. “I haven’t put aside any cash, and I imagine my accounts have already been frozen.” He motioned with the rolled-up canvas. “In case you’re wondering, it belongs to me, not to the bank.”
Nick found his cane and pushed himself to his feet. “Of course. I know you wouldn’t dream of stealing from the bank.”
Kaiser stuffed the canvas into the cardboard cylinder, then popped on a plastic top. “I suppose I should thank you for killing Mevlevi.”
“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 andBecker.”
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 th
at 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?”
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