The Chairman returned to his desk, sat down, and looked at his neatly stacked papers. The lacquered ear of a photograph protruded from the bottom of the pile. He pulled it out and gazed at its lifeless subject. Stefan Wilhelm Kaiser. Sole fruit of an acrimonious and short-lived union. His mother lived in Geneva, remarried to another banker. Kaiser hadn't spoken with her since the funeral.

"Stefan," he whispered aloud to the ghosts hovering in his office. His only son had died at nineteen from an overdose of heroin.

For years, Kaiser had shielded himself from the pain of his death. His son was still ten years old. His son loved skating at the Dolder Ice Rink. His son clamored to swim at the local hallenbad. He did not know this man on the slab, this unkempt ruffian with the matted hair and acned skin. This drug addict who had exchanged a soccer jersey for a leather jacket, who preferred cigarettes to ice cream cones. This man he did not know.

Now Kaiser had a second chance. The son of a man he had known as well as a brother might replace Stefan. The thought of young Neumann on the Fourth Floor comforted him. The boy's resemblance to his father was uncanny. Glimpsing him each day was like glimpsing the past. He saw every opportunity he'd taken and every one he'd missed. Sometimes when he looked at Nicholas he felt like grabbing him and asking him whether all his work had accomplished anything. And he could see in Neumann's eyes that the answer would be yes. A resounding yes. Other times he felt as if he were staring at his own conscience, and he prayed for it never to betray him.

Kaiser turned off the light. He leaned back in his chair and wondered where it all was going to end. He didn't care for the image of his tired body lying on the slag heap of deposed corporate chieftains. He'd give his last franc to remain Chairman of the United Swiss Bank until his death.

Kaiser closed his eyes and willed himself not to feel, but to be. He was the bank. Its granite walls and impenetrable vaults; its quiet salons and frenetic trading floor; its imperious directors and ambitious trainees. He was the bank. His blood flowed in its veins and his soul was mortgaged on its behalf.

"The Adler Bank shall not pass," he declared aloud, taking the words of another embattled general. "They shall not pass."

CHAPTER 36

"I am positively sated," declared Ali Mevlevi, allowing a last forkful of braised lamb to fall to his plate. "And you, my darling?"

Lina puffed her cheeks. "I feel like a balloon filled with too much air."

Mevlevi examined her plate. Most of her midday meal had gone uneaten. "You did not enjoy it? I thought lamb was your favorite."

"It was very good. I am simply not hungry."

"Not hungry? How is that? Not enough exercise, perhaps?"

Lina smiled wickedly. "Perhaps too much exercise."

"For a young woman like you? I think not." Mevlevi slid his chair back from the table and walked to the broad picture window. He had devoured her that morning. Acted like a man just released from prison. One last time, he had told himself. One last moment in her arms.

Outside, an army of clouds surrounded his compound. A weak storm from the Mediterranean advanced over the Lebanese coastal plain, gathering against the low foothills. Pockets of wind swept rain across the terrace and rattled the windows.

Lina joined him, locking her arms around his stomach and rubbing her head against his back. Normally, he enjoyed her attentions. But the time for such enjoyment was past. He unclasped her hands. "I can see clearly now," he declared. "The way ahead is shown to me. The path illuminated."

"What do you see, Al-Mevlevi?"

"The future."

"And?" Once more, Lina laid her head against his back.

He turned and pushed her arms to her sides. "Surely you know what it must bring."

Lina met his eyes. He could see she thought his behavior odd. Her innocence was disarming. Almost.

"What?" she asked. "Do you know what it will bring?"

But Mevlevi was no longer listening. His ears were attuned to the staccato snap of Joseph's footsteps, sounding from a distant hallway. He checked his watch, then walked out of the dining room and through the house to his office. "Do join us, Lina," he called over his shoulder. "Your company would be most welcome."

Mevlevi entered his study and brought himself face-to-face with his chief of security. Joseph stood at attention, eyes drilled to the fore. My proud desert hawk, thought Mevlevi.

Lina padded in a moment later and settled herself on the sofa.

"News?" Mevlevi asked Joseph.

"Everything is as according to plan. Sergeant Rodenko has two companies training on the south pitch. They are working with live grenades. Ivlov is giving a lecture on the deployment and detonation of antipersonnel claymore mines. Sentries report no activity."

"All quiet on the western front," said Mevlevi. "Very good." He sidestepped the soldier and began pacing the room. He clutched the back of his chair, then straightened a few papers on his desk. He moved to the bookshelf, where he selected a novel, examined its cover, frowned, then replaced it. Finally, he placed himself directly behind Joseph. "Has your affection for me waned?" he asked.

Lina began to answer, but a quickly raised hand stopped her. He repeated the question, this time as a whisper in Joseph's ear. "Has your affection for me waned? Answer me."

"No, sir," the desert hawk replied. "I love and respect you as I would my father."

"Liar." A sharp blow to the kidneys.

Joseph fell to one knee.

Mevlevi wrenched his ear and lifted him to his feet. "No father could be more ill served by a son. No man more disappointed. How could you fail me so? Once you would have given your life for me." A finger traced the crooked scar that creased the hawk's cheek. An open palm slapped the hawk's face. "Would you still?"

"Yes, Al-Mevlevi. Always."

A fist fired into the stomach.

Mevlevi glared at his retainer. "Stand up. You're a soldier. Once you protected me. Saved me from a suicide raid by Mong's killers. Once you were proud and hungry to serve. And now? Can you not defend me?"

Lina grabbed a pillow and clutched it to her chest.

Mevlevi placed his hands on the bodyguard's shoulders. "Can you not save me from an asp in my household? One so close to my bosom?"

"I shall always do my best."

"You will never betray me."

"Never," said the desert hawk.

Mevlevi grasped Joseph's jaw with his right hand and with his left caressed his minion's closely shorn hair. He kissed him on the lips- a hard, sexless embrace. "Yes, in my heart I know this. Now I know this." He released him and walked with measured steps to the couch where Lina sat. "And you, cherie? When will you betray me?"

Wide-eyed, she stared at him.

"When?" Mevlevi whispered.

Lina jumped to her feet and ran past him into the hallway.

"Joseph," the Pasha ordered. "Suleiman's Pool!"

Fifty yards from Ali Mevlevi's principal residence stood a low rectangular building, unremarkable in all aspects. Its cement walls had recently been whitewashed. Its terra-cotta roof was common to the region. Trellises laced with dormant bougainvillaea decorated its bland facade. A quick inspection, however, would yield several curious observations. No approach was cut from the manicured lawn surrounding the building. No door interrupted its plain exterior. Blackout curtains were drawn inside double-paned, soundproof windows permanently secured by a row of four-inch nails. But nothing was stranger or more inescapable than the odor that seeped from the house. It was an invasive smell that caused the eyes to water and the throat to burn. "An astringent or a cleanser?" one might ask. "A detoxicant?"