Numbered Account

"It was a win-win proposition. Some of us over here made a little extra money, all the poor devils in the P.I. would make out a lot better, too."

"Win-win? Did I hear you spouting that bullshit, you miserable fuck? You set up nine United States marines to die so you could feather your own lousy nest. You got one good man killed and another permanently disabled. I am twenty-five years old, Keely. I'll have this leg for the rest of my life."

Keely's moral complacency drains the pond of mercy that had begun to form inside of Nick. Qualms about physical retribution and the purposeful infliction of pain vanish. His world turns to black, and then very distinctly, he hears something inside him snap. He sees Burke's smoldering torso splayed on the Philippine sand; he recalls the ragged crater carved from the back of his right leg, can feel himself gagging at the sight, not believing that is his leg; he hears the plush tones of the doctor's voice telling him that he will never walk properly again and relives in a microsecond the painful months of rehabilitation to prove him wrong. He spins and lashes out with his strong leg, whipping the hardened toe of his boot with all his force into Keely's exposed crotch. Keely expels his breath and keels over onto his side. His face is a deep crimson and as he vomits, his eyes look as if they will pop from his skull.

"Payback, Keely. That one was for Burke."

Nick's memories faded as quickly as they had come. Only a second had passed. Maybe less.

"I'm sorry, Thorne. I just can't be of service to you. That's all there is to it."

"Neuma

Nick brushed past the federal agent. "Nice try. Do what you gotta do. So will I."

"I didn't have you figured for a coward, Neuma

CHAPTER 35

The office was dark, except for a halo of light focused on a stack of papers in the center of his desk. The building was quiet. No footsteps scurried through the hallways. Only the hushed electronic breathing of the computer disturbed the pall of silence that surrounded him like a fertile cocoon.

Wolfgang Kaiser was alone.

The bank once again belonged to him.

Kaiser stood with his cheek pressed against the glass, staring out the arched window behind his desk. The object of his attention was a stout gray building fifty yards up the Bahnhofstrasse: the Adler Bank. No lights glowed from behind its shuttered windows. Squat and ominous it sat, eyes closed for the night. The predator, like its prey, was asleep.

Kaiser peeled his cheek from the cold window and circled his desk. For twelve months he had been aware that the Adler Bank was accumulating USB's shares. A thousand here, five thousand there. Never enough to upset the average daily volume. Never enough to bid up the price. Just small blocks. Slow and steady. He had guessed Konig's intentions, if not his means. In response, he had conceived a modest plan to permanently cement his own position as Chairman of the United Swiss Bank.

Twelve months earlier the bank had celebrated its one hundred twenty-fifth birthday. A celebratory di

Kaiser recalled the greedy glow that lit those ratlike faces that evening. When he had a

How could he have doubted that the board was comfortably in his pocket?

Kaiser allowed himself a self-pitying laugh. Less than a year later, many of the executives so content to pocket a cool hundred grand had joined Klaus Konig's snarling wolf pack, eager to denounce his own "antiquated" management strategies. The future lay with the Adler Bank, they argued, with aggressive trading in options and derivatives, with controlling stakes in unrelated companies, with leveraged wagers on the directions of foreign currencies.

The future, Kaiser summarized, lay with the inflated value of USB shares a takeover by the Adler Bank would bring.

The Wild, Wild West had arrived in Zurich. Gone were the days of negative interest rates, when foreigners anxious to deposit their funds in a Swiss bank would not only forgo interest but actually pay the bank account-management fees to accept their money. Switzerland was no longer the only safe haven for capital "in flight." Competitors had raised their ba

In this hostile environment, Wolfgang Kaiser had struggled to maintain USB's position at the top of the private banking hierarchy. And succeeded. True, accounting measures of the bank's profitability were down. Key indicators of the bank's financial strength- its return on assets and return on equity- had suffered as internal investment was fu

Kaiser slapped his hand against his thigh in frustration. His course for the United Swiss Bank was sound and correct. It respected the bank's history and played aggressively to her strongest points. For its first hundred years the bank had prospered as one of a dozen medium-size local institutions that catered domestically to the commercial requirements of Zurich's smaller concerns and internationally to the discreet demands of those foreign neighbors, who wanted to place their earnings in an atmosphere of maximum security and minimum scrutiny. When deciding where to deposit these newly gotten gains, more than a few educated heads turned toward the far-off safety of Switzerland and to the private banking division of the United Swiss Bank. Others followed.

Kaiser stood alone in the center of his dark office, savoring the past. He swore he would not allow Klaus Konig and his damned Adler Bank to take USB. Yet the situation was not encouraging. Even USB portfolio managers eager to lock in a decent return on their clients' managed assets had taken to selling shares of USB stock. Meanwhile, the Adler Bank continued its purchase of shares on the open market, if at a calmer tempo. Was it too soon to hope that Konig's inexhaustible supply of cash had dried up?