Numbered Account

Nick pulled the sheet closer. It was a photocopy and not a very good one. The sheet listed the names of five institutional shareholders of USB stock, their approximate holdings, the portfolio manager, and his telephone number. He raised his head abruptly. "I typed this sheet."

Sprecher smiled, victorious. "Bingo. Your initials are at the top. 'NXM.' Whoever copied this did a shoddy job. You can see half of the USB logo."

Nick looked at Peter skeptically. "Where did you get this?"

"Like I said, it fell on my desk." Sprecher fumbled for a cigarette. Something in his face weakened. "If you must know, George von Graffenried threw it at me. He's Konig's right-hand man at the bank. George mumbled something about an investment finally yielding a dividend. It seems, chum, you have a very naughty mole in your organization."

"Jesus Christ," Nick muttered under his breath. "This sheet is from my desk. Only a few people have seen it."

"Only takes one."

Nick counted off the names of those he knew had copies of the sheet: Feller, Maeder, Rita Sutter, and of course, Wolfgang Kaiser. Who else might have seen it? Immediately, Nick recalled the guilty expression of a lumbering prowler caught in flagrante stealing a glance at his papers. Armin Schweitzer had been so emboldened- or so desperate- as to even request a copy of this very sheet. Nick's cheeks colored with anger and embarrassment.

Peter took back the sheet, folded it neatly, and replaced it in his jacket pocket. "I'll have to contact these investors. No way around that, is there? But, I've got a feeling a few of these chaps may be tied up this morning. Best wait until later this afternoon or early tomorrow. You know these intercontinental co

Nick stood and put out his hand. "Thanks, Peter. I'd say this evens the score."

Sprecher shook it uneasily, an odd expression straining his features. "Still haven't figured out whether I'm a hero or a whore."

Nick rushed back to the bank, his mind boiling with conspiracy. He passed Hugo Bru

Inside his office, Nick made a beeline for his desk. He shoved the endless stack of client portfolios to one side and positioned himself squarely before the computer. He exited Medusa and logged on to Cerberus, where he accessed the word-processing software. The noble struggle to "repatriate" shares of USB would have to wait a few minutes. He had a more urgent calling: ferreting out a traitor.

First he accessed the list of institutional shareholders holding blocks of USB shares. It was the same list now in Peter Sprecher's possession- the list that he was certain had been taken from his desk. Once it was on the screen, he erased the date and all pertinent shareholder information: name, phone number, address, and finally contact person. He typed in today's date and moved to the area reserved for shareholder information. In this space, he added the name of a heretofore unknown shareholder- a group Martin Maeder, Reto Feller, and he had failed to locate during their initial screening. He chewed on his pen, trying hard to recollect the institution's name. Ah, yes, he had it. The Widows and Orphans Fund of Zurich. He typed in the name and next to it wrote "140,000 shares held in trust at J. P. Morgan, Zurich. Contact Edith Emmenegger."

Happy with this piece of fiction, Nick inserted a piece of USB stationery into his laser printer and printed the document. He took it in his hands and reviewing the information, saw that he had forgotten to list the phone number of the good Mrs. Emmenegger. Whose number could he use? His own was out of the question. The prefix for the USB Personalhaus was the same as the bank's. Only one other number came to mind. He called it and waited for the answer. As he hoped, a machine picked up. A woman's voice said, "You have reached 555-3131. No one can take your call at this time. Please leave your name, phone number, and any message after the tone. Thank you."

"Thank you, Sylvia," Nick whispered. "Or should I say "Frau Emmenegger'?" He typed in her phone number and reprinted the document. Once more he held it up for examination. Everything was in place. To authenticate it, he jotted some notes in the margin. "Called at 10 and 12." He added yesterday's date and "No answer. Message left." It was complete. He marched around his desk paper in hand, surveying where to put it for best effect. Somewhere obvious, but not out of place. He settled on tucking the document under the bottom left side of the telephone so that only the U and the S of the letterhead were visible. He stepped away from the desk and admired his petit chef-d'oeuvre, his little masterpiece. His gem of misinformation.

Wolfgang Kaiser circled his office, enjoying a Cuban cigar while listening to Nicholas Neuma

Neuma

"Thank God for that," replied Kaiser, eager to align the deities on his side. "And the count? Have you arranged the meeting?"

"Bad news. The earliest date he's available is the morning of the assembly. Can you give him a half hour at ten o'clock?"

"Out of the question. I have a breakfast with the board at eight sharp." Se

Neuma

Kaiser realized he had few options open. "All right, then, ten o'clock. But keep on him. See if you can't move it up a day or two."

"Yessir."

"And Neuma

"Yessir."

Kaiser terminated the call. The boy was a wizard. Nothing less. Hambros committing this morning; and yesterday afternoon, Banker's Trust- the cagiest outfit on the street. Neuma

He picked up the phone and called Feller to obtain an exact vote count. He wrote the figures on his desktop blotter. USB forty-six percent. Adler thirty point four percent. Christ, it would be close. Mevlevi's loan would end all speculation. Kaiser was prepared to do all demanded of him to see that his Turkish friend coughed up the money required to keep the United Swiss Bank free from Klaus Konig's grip. If it was necessary for Neuma

Kaiser sat in his chair, considering how to tell Neuma