As Nick stared out the window into the bleak morning sun, a strange sensation took hold of him. He felt as though he were seeing himself from a distance. He wanted to tell the man standing in the dim apartment to stop living for yesterday, and that while finding his father's murderer might make the past easier to deal with, it wouldn't provide any magic path into the future. He'd have to find that path for himself.

Nick nodded, taking the advice to heart. He finished cleaning the components of his pistol, then put the Colt back together again. He screwed the barrel back in, reracked the slide, shoved home the clip, and chambered a round. He couldn't sit back and watch anymore. He had to act.

Nick raised the gun and took aim at a ghostly figure only he could see- a shadowy silhouette looming in the dusky middle distance. He would clear his own path into the future. And Ali Mevlevi was standing right in the middle of it.

The phone rang. Nick holstered his weapon and put it away before answering. "Neumann speaking."

"It's Saturday, chum. You're not at work, remember?"

"Good morning, Peter."

"I suppose you've heard the news. Just saw the papers myself. Didn't think the jumpy bastard had it in him."

"Neither did I," said Nick. "What's up?"

"Since when don't you return phone calls? Three times I called yesterday. Where the hell were you?"

"I wasn't in the mood for a drink last night."

"I sure as hell wasn't calling about a drink," complained Sprecher. "We need to talk. Serious business."

"I heard your message. That was Sylvia's number you called."

"I wasn't calling about the shareholder lists. It's a damn sight more important than that. Something came up yesterday that I-"

"Keep it short, Peter. To the point." Nick imagined that if his place had been searched, his phone had probably been bugged. "Let's keep our conversation private. Follow?"

"Yeah," Sprecher replied hesitantly. "Okay, I follow. Maybe what you were saying about our best client wasn't entirely off base."

"Maybe," answered Nick noncommittally. "If you want to talk about it, go to our favorite watering hole in two hours. I'll leave instructions where to meet me. And Peter…"

"Yeah, chum?"

"Dress warmly."

Two hours and fifty minutes later, Peter Sprecher staggered to the highest deck of the steel observation tower, two hundred fifty feet above the crest of the Uetliberg. "You've a helluva nerve," he puffed, "bringing me all the way up here in this weather."

"It's a beautiful day," Nick said. "You can almost see the ground from here." He had taken a circuitous route to their rendezvous, ducking through the back alleys of the old town until he reached Central. From there, he took a tram first to the Stadelhofen train station, and then to the zoo. Certain no one was behind him, he assumed a direct course to his destination. The entire trip had taken two hours- including forty minutes to climb the path up the mountain to the crest of the Uetliberg.

Sprecher leaned his head over the safety railing. The tower disappeared into the mist fifty feet down. He reached into his jacket pocket for a Marlboro. "Want one? It'll keep you warm."

Nick declined. "I should ask you for some identification. I didn't recognize the man who called me earlier. Since when have you grown so inquisitive, O cynical one?"

"I blame any recent changes in my condition on one too many a beer in your company. My time in England made me sympathetic to the plight of the underdog."

"Thanks," Nick said. "I guess. So what have you learned about Mr. Ali Mevlevi that has you spooked so badly?"

"I overheard something very disturbing yesterday afternoon. In fact, right after I called the Widows and Orphans Fund of Zurich." Sprecher inhaled, then pointed the ember of his cigarette at Nick. "You're a clever lad. Next time, though, do spice it up a bit. We may want to take off the bag to see who we're fucking."

There wouldn't be a next time, thought Nick. "Who slipped your team my notes?"

"No idea. They were in Von Graffenried's possession. He intimated that they came at a bargain price."

A strong wind blew and the tower swayed like a drunken sailor. Nick grabbed hold of a railing. "Any hint that it was Armin Schweitzer who gave them to you?"

"Schweitzer? That's who you think is stealing your notes?" Sprecher shrugged his shoulders. "Can't help you there. Anyway it doesn't matter a shit. Not anymore. Yesterday afternoon, right after calling your specious fund management company, I overheard my neighbor on the trading floor, Hassan Faris, take a call from Konig. A large buy order was sent to the exchange. An order for one-hundred-odd thousand shares of USB. You're sharp with figures; do your math."

Nick tallied up the cost of a hundred thousand shares of USB going at four hundred twenty Swiss francs each. Forty-two million francs. Something about the sum sent a dagger into his gut. "Once you capture those shares, your holdings will top thirty-three percent."

"Thirty-three point five percent, to be exact. Not including the Widows and Orphans Fund."

Nick could not rid himself of the nagging figure. Forty-two million francs. About forty million dollars at the current exchange rates. "You'll get your seats. Kaiser's reign will be history."

"It's his successor who worries me," Sprecher said. "Listen carefully, young Nick. Eighty percent of all USB shares we own are held in a special account that belongs to the Adler Bank's largest investor. Konig exercises proxy over the shares, but he doesn't own them. The name of that account is Ciragan Trading."

"Ciragan Trading?" Nick asked. "As in Ciragan Palace? As in the Pasha?"

Sprecher nodded. "You don't think me daft for assuming it to be the same man? I don't fancy either the Adler Bank or USB being owned by- what did you call him? A major heroin supplier? If your friend Thorne is correct, that is."

Oh, he's correct all right, Nick wanted to say. That's the whole problem.

"You say the buy order was for a hundred thousand shares? Around forty million dollars? Would you believe me if I told you that I transferred that exact amount out of Mevlevi's account yesterday at four P.M.?"

"Not happily, I wouldn't."

"To the banks listed on matrix one. The Adler Bank's nowhere on that list. How could you have already received the money?"

"I didn't say we had received the money. As a matter of fact, Konig asked Faris to ensure that settlement won't be made until Tuesday. We'll claim an administrative error on our part. No one will care if payment is twenty-four hours late."

Nick ran his hands along the guardrail and peered into the mist. He played with the question of why Mevlevi would be backing the Adler Bank's takeover of USB but gave up after a few seconds. The realm of possibilities was too great. Another idea came to him. "There is an easy way for us to confirm if the Pasha has been behind all of Adler's purchases. Match his transfers through USB with the Adler Bank's purchases of USB shares. If every week Konig bought shares worth the amount Mevlevi transferred through USB, we've got him. Of course, that assumes that Mevlevi followed the same pattern as yesterday."

"The Pasha is nothing if not a creature of habit," said Sprecher. "Never missed a transfer in the eighteen months I worked with Cerruti- God rest the poor bugger's soul."

Nick sighed heavily. "Peter, there's more to this than you can imagine."

"Shoot, sport."

"You don't want to know."

Sprecher stamped his feet on the metal platform while vigorously rubbing his arms. "Yesterday, the day before even, you'd be right. Today I want to know. Let my reasons be my own. Now out with it."