Nick smiled inwardly. Sprecher had nailed her motivation dead on. Still, Nick understood her reasoning full well and he found her honesty disarming. "Congratulations," he said. "I'm happy for you."

She smiled broadly, barely able to contain her excitement. "It's not the trip that's so special, it's the vote of confidence. I'll be the first female personnel director permitted to conduct the recruitment of executives overseas. It's as if the ceiling had been ripped off my office and the heavens revealed for the first time."

Or at least a direct route to the Fourth Floor, thought Nick.

After lunch, Nick and Sylvia joined the throngs of men and women strolling up and down the Bahnhofstrasse. Saturday was shopping day and no amount of rain, sleet, or snow could deter the stalwart Swiss consumer from completing his rounds. Exotic foodstuffs could be had at Globus, finer clothing from PKZ, and pastries, of course, from Sprungli. While Sylvia kept her trained eye on the latest offerings from the fashion houses of Chanel and Rena Lange, Nick examined the opportunities his promotion to the Emperor's Lair might bring. A position as Kaiser's assistant would give him the authority he needed to gain access to the archives. He'd have no problem getting his hands on page after page of reports written by his father those many years ago.

Or would he?

Suddenly, Nick wasn't so sure. Just as Cerberus made careful note of every numbered account accessed by a portfolio manager, so too would it note every file requested by a bank executive. And more menacing than Cerberus's silicon eye were the all too human attentions of Armin Schweitzer and Martin Maeder. Sylvia had made it clear that he would be watched closely. What room Nick might have had for maneuver under Peter Sprecher's lackadaisical supervision had disappeared. His every step would be scrutinized by anxious men who lived and died for the United Swiss Bank; men who would view any question about the bank's integrity as a question about their own- and who would act accordingly.

Nick waited until the two of them were examining a racy gown in the Celine Boutique before broaching the subject of his father's monthly reports.

"Sylvia," he began cautiously, "ever since I got here I've been curious as to the work my father did at the bank. Last week I was talking with some of my colleagues and I learned that as director of the L.A. branch office, he would have sent reports to the bank on a monthly basis."

"Monthly Activity Reports. I receive copies of them whenever one of our foreign branches requests personnel to be sent from Switzerland."

"I'd love to see what kind of matters my father handled. It would be like getting to know him as a business colleague. Kind of man to man."

"I don't see any problem. Go down to DZ and ask Karl to help you find your father's monthly activity reports. Those files are long since inactive. No one will mind."

Nick shook his head gravely. "I thought about doing that, but I don't want Herr Kaiser or Armin Schweitzer to think I'm ignoring my duties just to root around in the past. Who knows how they would interpret my actions?"

"Why should they care?" Sylvia asked playfully. "It's history."

"They might. That's all. They just might."

Nick looked through the store window at a woman struggling to open a stubborn umbrella. This is where Anna had balked, he reminded himself. She had called him selfish and obsessed. Your father's death ruined your life once, she'd said. Don't let it happen again.

He took Sylvia's hand and led her to a quiet corner of the clothing store where he motioned for her to sit beside him on a soft beige ottoman. "No one ever found my father's murderer. He'd been staying at a friend's house when he was killed. He was hiding from someone or some people. The police never even arrested a suspect."

"Do you know who did it?"

"Me? No. But I want to find out."

"Is that why you want the reports? You think his murder was tied to the bank?"

"In all honesty, I don't know the first thing about why my father was killed. But it may have had something to do with his work. Don't you think his monthly activity reports might provide a hint if something was wrong?"

"Perhaps. They certainly would tell you what business he was conduct-" Suddenly, Sylvia stood from the ottoman. A curtain fell over her features. Her caged eyes promised anger where an instant before they had offered sympathy. "You're not saying that the bank was involved in the murder of your father?"

Nick stood. "I don't think it was the bank, itself. More likely, it was someone he knew through work: a client; someone at another company."

"I don't like where this conversation is going," she said coldly.

Nick could feel her pulling back from him, could sense her own private cast of demons yanking her from his confidences. Still, he didn't give up. "I was hoping those reports might be of some use. There has to be some information in there that will cast a clearer light on just what my father was doing at the time of his death."

Sylvia reddened at his every word. "My God, that's a cheap way to manipulate me. You should be ashamed. If I had any guts, I'd slap you right here in the store. Don't you think I see what you're trying to get me to do? You want me to put my fingerprints over information you're too scared to get for yourself."

Nick placed his hands on Sylvia's arms. "Calm down. You're taking this too far."

Or was it he who had taken things too far? In an instant, he realized he had been foolish to trust her. He had been scared that alone he couldn't come up with a way to get the activity reports. He'd looked into her eyes and mistaken his own affection for hers. Why should she be willing to help? Why should she risk harming her own career for the sake of someone she barely knew? Christ, he was a rube.

Sylvia bristled at his touch, violently shaking off his hands. "Is that why you showed up at my door last night? Were you trying to win my sympathy? Hoping to soften me up so that you could convince me to help you with your wild goose chase?"

"Of course not. I needed to see someone. I wanted to see you." He took a breath, hoping a pause would impose some order on things. "Forget I even asked you about the files. I was too presumptuous. I can get them myself."

Sylvia scowled at him. "I don't give a damn what you do about those files, but I'll keep myself well out of any intrigue you may be up to, thank you very much. I can see it was a mistake to extend our relationship outside working hours. I'll never learn, will I?"

She stalked from the showroom, stopping at the entry and calling over her shoulder, "Good luck on Monday, Mr. Neumann. Remember one thing: You're not the only one on the Fourth Floor with his own private agenda."