Kaiser and Mevlevi were still seated around the long coffee table. They paid no attention to his slow approach.

"How have my investments fared of late?" demanded the Pasha.

"Rather well," said Kaiser. "As of yesterday afternoon's close, your investment has earned twenty-seven percent in the last ten months."

Nick listened, wondering what Kaiser had put the Pasha's money into.

Mevlevi asked Kaiser, "And if this Adler Bank gains seats on your board?"

"We will not allow that to happen."

"They're close, no?"

Kaiser looked up at Nick, only now registering his return to the office. "Neumann, what's the official tally? Take a seat. Here, give me that dossier."

Reluctantly, Nick handed Mevlevi's file to Wolfgang Kaiser. "The Adler Bank has stalled at thirty-one percent of outstanding votes. We are holding fifty-two percent. The rest are uncommitted."

Mevlevi pointed to the dossier sitting on Kaiser's lap. "And what percentage of the votes do I control?"

"You hold exactly two percent of our shares," said Kaiser.

"But an important two percent. Now I understand why you need my loan so badly."

"Think of it as a guaranteed private placement."

"Loan, placement, call it what you like. The terms you are offering still stand? Ten percent net after ninety days?"

"For the full two hundred million," Kaiser confirmed. "The offer still stands."

Nick grimaced at the usurious terms the Chairman so blithely offered.

Mevlevi asked, "Would this loan be used to buy shares?"

"Naturally," said Kaiser. "It will raise our holdings to sixty percent. Konig's bid will be effectively blocked."

Mevlevi crinkled his brow, as if he had been misinformed. "But should the Adler Bank's offer unravel, the price of your shares would plummet. I may stand to earn the ten percent you are offering on the two hundred million, but the value of my shares will decrease. We both stand to lose a good deal of money."

"Only temporarily. We've taken steps to drastically improve our operating ratios and lift the year-end net profit. As soon as they're in place, the price of our shares will far surpass their current level."

"You hope," cautioned Mevlevi.

"Markets are unpredictable," said Kaiser, "but seldom illogical."

"Perhaps I should sell my shares while I'm ahead." The Pasha motioned toward his private file. "May I?"

Kaiser extended it halfway to his client, then drew it back. "If arrangements for the loan could be made this afternoon, I would be most grateful."

Nick held his breath. His eyes were riveted to the dossier, while an inner chorus demanded to know who had discovered the transfer confirmations beneath his desk.

"This afternoon?" said the Pasha. "Not possible. I have pressing business. Mr. Neumann will be required. I'm afraid I can't give you a response until Monday morning. Now, I'd like to take a moment and leaf through my papers. See what mail I've received."

Kaiser handed Mevlevi the dossier.

Nick rubbed his forehead. His eyes examined the carpet under his feet. All his senses were directed inward. He listened to his heart beating steadily. Surprisingly, his pulse was hardly elevated. His fate was sealed.

Mevlevi opened the dossier and picked up an envelope, one of Nick's phonies. He flipped it over and placed his thumb under the flap, digging a smooth nail along the seal.

Nick watched him intently. He could hear the envelope being opened. He could feel the paper tearing. Then he shut his eyes. He was not aware of Rita Sutter's presence until she was halfway into the Chairman's office.

Kaiser rose sharply to his feet. "What is it?" he asked.

Rita Sutter appeared shaken. Her skin was gray and her face cast with grim resolve. As she neared, she extended her hand as if seeking a wall to steady herself.

"What is it, woman? What in God's name is the matter with you?"

Rita Sutter took a step back, visibly hurt by his brusque indifference. "Cerruti," she whispered. "Marco Cerruti. He's killed himself. The police are outside."

Like two deer caught in an automobile's headlights, Kaiser and Mevlevi stared at each other for one interminable second, and the acknowledgment of conspirators passed between them.

Suddenly, the room was in motion. Mevlevi threw the half-opened letter into the dossier and closed the cover. "This will keep for another time."

Kaiser gestured toward the private elevator. "We can speak this evening."

Mevlevi walked with measured strides to the concealed elevator. "Perhaps. I may be busy with other matters. Neumann, come with me."

Nick hesitated. Something told him not to leave the bank. Cerruti was dead. Becker was dead. Hanging around the Pasha did not improve your life expectancy.

Rita Sutter hugged her chest as if to console herself. "I can't understand it. You told us Marco was getting so much better."

Kaiser paid the disconsolate woman no heed. "Nicholas," he ordered. "Go with Mr. Mevlevi and do as he says. Now!"

Nick stopped considering whether or not to go. The defender of the faith had no choice. He walked to the elevator and slid in alongside Mevlevi. The door closed and he caught a last glimpse of Wolfgang Kaiser. The Chairman had draped an arm around Rita Sutter and was speaking softly to her. Nick could only make out a few of his words.

"My dear friend, Marco," he was saying. "Why would he do such a thing? I wouldn't have thought him capable of it. Did he leave a note? A terrible tragedy."

And then the elevator door slammed shut.

CHAPTER 47

For the next quarter of an hour, Nick's life passed in a blur. He was presented with a succession of hazy images, as if watching a separate self through the fogged window of a fast-moving train. Nick descends in the cramped elevator with the Pasha; Nick climbs into the waiting limousine; Nick offers appropriate noises while Mevlevi issues the first in a string of hollow laments over Marco Cerruti's death. And when the Pasha instructs the chauffeur to take them to the Platzspitz, instead of voicing his concern, Nick remains silent. He is too busy replaying in his mind's eye the interplay between Wolfgang Kaiser and Ali Mevlevi at the moment Rita Sutter informed them of the unfortunate banker's death. He is convinced of their complicity.

The limousine sped down Talackerstrasse. Nick sat in the backseat watching the city pass by. As they drove past the Hauptbahnhof, he took note of the Pasha's instructions and running them once more through his head, spoke up. "The Platzspitz isn't open to the public anymore," he said. "The gates are locked. It's off-limits."

The chauffeur pulled the limousine to the curb, then turned in his seat to offer a like opinion. "This is correct. The park has been closed for eight years. Too many bad memories."

The Platzspitz was Zurich's infamous "needle park." Ten years ago the place had been a junkie's paradise. An assembly point for the forlorn and forgotten of Europe. The Pasha's private gold mine.

"I've been assured we'll have no problem entering," said Mevlevi. "Give us forty minutes. We just want to have a stroll through the grounds." He climbed out of the car and walked to a gate cut into the heavy wrought iron fence that surrounded the park. He tried the handle and the gate swung open. He cast a last glance at Nick. "Come on, then."

Nick jumped from the car and followed. He had a presentiment that something bad was going to happen. What business could bring Mevlevi to the park? Who had assured him the gate would be open? And been right?

Nick passed through the gate and followed the Pasha along a gravel pathway bisecting triangular patches of grass dusted with snow. Giant pines towered above their heads. Behind them loomed the Gothic tower and cleft battlements of the Swiss National Museum.