The side of his office building was now visible, an eighteenth-century edifice only the facade of which had been preserved. Henry fetched his wallet and checked his hand. It was no longer bleeding. He took his security card out, the face in the photograph was smug and slightly heavier. He had had the good idea of wearing a suit to visit Pritchard QC and was carrying a small black satchel for paperwork. He looked at his watch, 16.42. He could have been coming back from a meeting. The timing was good, the early morning security team would be eagerly waiting for the next shift to come in. They started work at 6am.
Despite all his mental calculation since he had left the cafe, Henry felt nervous as he strode along the large bay windows of GL’s front atrium. He was annoyed by this lack of control. He replaced the security pass in his wallet and stuck his wallet in his back pocket. He started composing himself, trying to look casual yet absorbed by the task at hand. GL’s entrance hall was large and imposing but the walk to the escalators leading to the trading floors didn’t take long.
As predicted, most of the security guards had retreated to the far end of the atrium leaving only one young man in charge of the turnstiles. Henry recognised him instantly. He had started his job only a couple of months ago. He was keen but impressionable. Henry pushed the revolving doors with confidence, his coat unbuttoned. He stuck his mobile phone to his ear and walked with what he judged a measured but assured pace towards the escalators, taking his wallet from his back pocket in an irritated fashion. The phone got stuck between ear and shoulder, as Henry tried to get his pass out of the wallet, pushing, shoving as if the card was stuck and with a sudden move the card sprang out, flying over the turnstiles to land on the other side. Henry looked annoyed, muttering his apologies, now curtailing the non-existent conversation on his mobile to give his full attention to the young guard.
“So sorry, John. Could you please?” said Henry gesturing at the gates.
The young fellow jerked upright and stuck his own pass over the electronic eye.
“Certainly Mr …” he had forgotten Henry’s name.
“Much appreciated,” replied Henry with one of his best grins, picking up his security ID and starting his speedy climb to the third floor.
He was in.
He had to be fast, his next goal, Ted’s office. He carried on climbing the stairs two at a time as he always did and within seconds found himself on the Equity Trading floor. He inhaled deeply, the atmosphere was intense. Out of habit Henry cast one eye over the screens that were hanging at regular intervals across the immense open-plan room. Five hundred traders were packed together and the herd smelt fear. All major indices had dropped by over ten per cent since the opening. Henry made a quick calculation – $900 billion had just been wiped off the market since the opening in Tokyo. Henry had little time. He had slowed his pace but was still crossing the floor in haste. Ted’s office was at the far end. He saw from the corner of his eyes the incredulous look of Morag his PA. He quickly moved his finger to his lips. Silence. She closed her eyes in acknowledgement and with this, anger burning, Henry found himself in front of Ted’s office. The door was shut. He spread his hands on the glass wall and took a few seconds before entering.
The expression of terror on Ted’s face was exquisite. Ted was reaching for the phone in slow motion, his hands weighing a ton. Henry moved swiftly. He opened the door, crossed the office in one stride and tore the headset from Ted’s hand. Without a word he turned back, closed the door he had left open and closed the blinds, ensuring privacy. Ted had picked up his mobile but fumbling with it, did not manage to place the call before Henry threw the first punch. He caught Ted in the stomach, the young man’s eyes opened wide, his mouth agape in a silent scream. Henry grabbed the mobile and crushed it underfoot. His attention turned now to Ted, who was still leaning against his desk but had not yet recovered his breath. Henry pulled a petrified Ted to his chair. The little bastard had never thrown a punch in his life, he reflected, with a smile on his face. It was one thing to play hardball at the bank, another on the streets.
“You and I are going to see the old man,” said Henry calmly.
He was sitting on Ted’s desk, his hands ready to throw the next punch.
“You’re mad,” stammered Ted, his face growing redder.
He had grabbed the armrests of his chair, his eyes still wide open, bracing himself for another punch.
“You try to prevent me from reaching McCarthy and I will break your neck before anyone can rescue you, understood? Understood?” repeated Henry, slamming his hand on the desk.
Ted nodded and stood up, grimacing in pain. Henry gestured for Ted to move and open the door. The office was close to the lifts. Henry ignored the havoc of the trading floor. He stood uncomfortably close to Ted who was already in front of the lifts.
“I forgot my pass,” said Ted lamely.
“Voila,” replied Henry, with a sarcastic grin on his face as he produced the much-needed item between his index and middle finger. “Thank God one of us has got brains.”
Henry pressed the ninth floor button and shoved the card in the security slot. Ted eyes grew dim, there would be no escape.
The elevator pinged open. Henry pushed Ted out.
“Not one sound or you are dead.”
Ted simply nodded and started moving. At the far end of the large open space was Cindy. She was typing and Henry knew Cindy would not be distracted from her task. She was not expecting anyone but must have heard the lift. She would probably be preparing one of her spectacular rebuffs. Henry smiled at the thought.
As predicted she finished her typing before looking up. She would not be distracted by unacceptable behaviour. She had no time to utter one of her scolding remarks. Henry and Ted had crossed the hallway, Henry shoving Ted abruptly forward. Ted’s panic was etched across his face.
Cindy had barely stood up when Henry pushed her back into her chair with a rapid harsh movement. She nearly screamed.
“Don’t,” commanded Henry with a menacing finger.
He looked around. There was no way he could silence these two for long enough to do what he had decided to do. Cindy sensed the hesitation and made a small gesture towards the panic button. Henry stopped her with a sharp move of his hand. He had to act ruthlessly right now or give up. He pulled the telephone cord from the wall in a firm and precise move, a sharp pang and the wire sprang up. Henry caught it with the same hand, he had not left Ted for a second.
“Tie her up,” he ordered Ted, rummaging in Cindy’s desk.
“I can’t,” stuttered Ted.
Henry’s fist tightened and Ted took the wire with a feeble hand. Cindy made a second attempt at screaming but a large piece of gaffer tape covered her mouth in an instant. It was way too late despite Ted executing Henry’s order at the slowest of paces.
“Tighter,” ordered Henry.
Ted pulled the wire and Cindy winced. Ted proceeded, he was not doing a bad job thought Henry. Little Ted had succumbed to fear. Like Cindy, little Ted never saw the fist coming down on him for the second time. Henry caught the side of his head, below the eardrum. Ted fell to his knees. The other blow sent him into the middle of the room, unconscious. The deep and luxurious carpets had muffled the sound of his falling body. Henry used the rest of the gaffer tape to tie him up.
McCarthy was alone in his office, no interruption. Henry turned towards the old man’s office. He was only a few feet away but suddenly it seemed as if he had a gulf to cross. If he crossed that gulf, Henry knew the consequences would be devastating, not only for him but also GL and so he slowed down. Cindy had followed him with a sceptical eye. Would he dare? Henry’s hesitation gave her hope. He saw the fever in her eyes and stopped. He marvelled at that hope, anchored in the belief that there could be at this very moment restrain or consideration. The slow motion gave him an immense sense of power that he savoured silently.
“The time has come,” said Henry and with one single push fuelled by the fire burning in his gut he opened McCa
rthy’s door wide.
McCarthy was facing the large bay window. He was standing in his favourite corner of the room, a place that overlooked the City. He enjoyed that position in which he felt he had domination over the world below. McCarthy was making a call on his private mobile, with headphones on. He certainly did not want his call to the Global Head of Risk to be recorded in any way, shape or form. The door opening with force did not startle him, Cindy entered his office in such a fashion at least once a day, when she felt matters required his full attention. No other member of staff would have dared cross the threshold without his say so. It was only the much heavier footsteps moving behind him and a tall shape profiled in the window that caused him to interrupt his call, abruptly, and turn. As he did so he found himself face to face with Henry.
Henry saw the unmasked shock in the CEO’s eyes and liked it. A mixture of fear and astonishment was swiftly replaced by anger. Henry sat on the corner of DMac’s desk, his leg squarely masking the panic button. Henry and DMac had locked eyes when they faced each other and their gaze had not shifted. Henry leaned backwards, running his fingers along a small shelf on McCarthy’s antiques desk. He pressed the secret button twice and a small drawer no bigger than a matchbox opened. Henry reached inside for a key. McCarthy shouted,
“Don’t you dare you little shit.”
He lunged forwards, instantly meeting Henry’s fist. But DMac had known the streets in his time. The fist on his jaw made him retreat but it had not managed to bring him down. He fought back, finding his footing and lunging again. His last move had given Henry enough time to turn the key of the top left drawer, pulling a loaded gun out of it.
Henry sat down calmly in his boss’s chair, a triumphant grin now on his lips.
“Good afternoon Douglas.”
McCarthy did not reply, he needed the gun back. His eyes darted from Henry’s face to his hand, assessing the determination of the other man to shoot.
“Don’t try Douglas, I didn’t come here to kill you.” Henry’s voice was a strange blend of excitement and anticipation.
McCarthy changed tack. Confrontation was not an option, neither was reasoning. He had to anticipate Henry’s next move if he had any chance of surviving.
“How?” asked McCarthy, no longer hiding his amazement at Henry’s knowledge of the secret drawer.
“You hired me because of the accuracy of my observations, Douglas and so I observed. The undisclosed documents, the hiding cache. I know all your dirty secrets Doug.”
McCarthy was about to try another tack when Henry interrupted him.
“I know what you are trying to do Douglas and time is of the essence.”
“That’s the name of the game, I guess,” shrugged McCarthy.
A pinch of admiration for the old man ran through Henry. Under threat, he was still in control.
“Open the top drawer nearest to you,” asked Henry.
McCarthy did not flinch.
“No.”
“Suit yourself,” replied Henry.
The gun discharge deafened them, resounding against the windows, shattering the wood in a burst of violence Henry had not experienced for decades.
Fear and shock showed for the second time in McCarthy’s eyes, both men facing each other, on their guard. McCarthy moved first, desperation and rage overtook him, the thought of his impotence in front of Henry unbearable. Henry avoided the charge and McCarthy came crashing down on the side of his desk, displacing it. He was about to turn back and resume his attack when Henry gave a single kick, hitting McCarthy in the face. The blow threw the old man flying across the room. He landed on his back with a harsh muffled sound.
The drawer was pulled open frantically and Henry grabbed the file that McCarthy had concealed there only a few hours ago.
“What are you going to do with it?” mumbled McCarthy, incapable of getting up.
“What you should have done, Douglas, had you had a shred of honesty,” replied Henry.
McCarthy lifted himself on one elbow so that he could see Henry but rolled on his back again. Through a mouthful of blood, he started laughing, stopping and starting in pain.
“You are not going to give me a lesson in ethics, are you Henry? Not you.”
Henry did not reply. He took his new BlackBerry out of his pocket to find a number and punched the digits on McCarthy’s phone.
“The office of David Cooper-James, HXBK,” replied a male voice.
“Is he there? This is extremely urgent. My name is Henry Crowne.”
“Mr Cooper-James is in a meeting.”
“I have vital information concerning the takeover of GL,” interrupted Henry. “This information will change the value of the bid. What fax number can I use?”
McCarthy took a few seconds to realise what was about to happen. He summoned his last ounce of strength and lunged forward one last time. He met Henry’s foot again, this time in the stomach. It left him crying in agony. Henry had pressed the mute button just in time. McCarthy’s body curled up in the middle of the room, in a heap, motionless.
“David Cooper-James,” announced a very nasal voice on the loudspeaker.
Henry depressed the mute button.
“You wish to give me core information,” carried on the voice.
“I do indeed, sir. It concerns the exposure of GL to the subprime market – several billions worth of it.”
“How do I know?”
Henry did not have time to justify himself, instead he read a string of figures to HXBK’s CEO. The phone stayed ominously silent. Henry thought he heard some noise in the reception area. He needed to act now.
“Are you still on the line?” asked Henry.
“I am,” said the other man in a strangled voice.
“The fax is on its way to you.”
Henry dashed to the fax machine. It swallowed the document, a familiar strident noise started.
From the corner of his eye Henry detected movement.
* * *
A few hours before, Inspector Pole had received the transcript of Liam’s interview. He had read the document in one breath, after each page assessing the impact of its content, increasingly aware that this case was about to escape him.
The document had landed on Pole’s desk with a soft feathery sound, so little noise for such heavy content. Pole had to locate Henry fast, before the Counterterrorist Squad took over. Something about the interview worried Pole. He wasn’t satisfied, a sense of unfinished business began to set in. Pole opened the door of his office and called Nurani who had just arrived back from Belfast. She turned, the phone pressed to her ear and indicated she had nearly finished. Pole then called Andy. The young man pushed his heavy glasses up from the tip of his nose where they had slid and rushed into Pole’s office.
“I need to find Crowne as soon as possible. Call his lawyer to check whether he is there. I have tried the mobile. No response.”
Andy nodded and disappeared. Nurani made her own entry, knowing that the transcript had just arrived.
“Bloody good job, no?” she said with pride.
“It is pretty compelling. Not in Henry’s favour as you can imagine.”
Pole found himself annoyed at this admission. Nurani sensed this but not knowing how to respond, remained silent. Pole handed over the report and closed the door of his office. Nurani started reading. She remained standing throughout and moved, as she was finishing, towards the chair in front of Pole’s desk. She cautiously pushed it with her foot and sat down in a slow motion before handing the document back to him. She was looking at Pole with a large smile on her face. For the first time since he had started working with Ms Shah, Pole resented her sense of victory. He liked, and cultivated, restraint in shows of success.
“So, Mr Crowne, the darling of the structured product world in the City, is contributing to an undisclosed Swiss account, which turns out to be run by his good friend Liam O’Connor, who in turn uses it as a slush fund for his IRA pals. Mmmmmm, naughty!”
“
Used to,” Pole corrected her. “The IRA is now officially decommissioned.”
Nurani waved her hand in the air; that was but a small technicality. Of course, she was right. Henry Crowne had been contributing to an undisclosed fund for years and it was only a matter of days before the link with that fund and the IRA would emerge. These donations stretched as far back as his first big City bonus, Liam had said with a hint of admiration for his friend. Pole had no intention of sharing his new line of thoughts with his young colleague. What other terrorist organisations were linked with this fund and why had Liam been heading to North Africa when he was caught?
“I’ve asked Andy to locate Henry,” said Pole changing the subject. “I want to get to him before the other guys do.”
“They can’t take the case over, can they?” said Nurani.
“You know the rules as well as I do – yes they can and they will without hesitation. Careful what you wish for my dear,” said Pole, satisfied his number two was about to learn a valuable lesson.
“Don’t tell me you are going to roll over just like that Jon!”
“No, it’s not my style. We may still have a chance to salvage the situation if we can prove the case is not related to a terrorist act,” continued Pole.
“But you need to speak to Henry to get him to confess to us first.” Nurani sounded sceptical.
Pole did not have time to reply before Andy burst into the office.
“There has been a disturbance at GL’s offices. The security guards think Henry has entered the building without authorisation. They don’t know where he is.”
“Let’s go,” shouted Pole, “Andy you’re on.”
Pole’s car screeched down Waterloo Bridge, turning onto Aldwych and then Fleet Street. The flashing light was making it easier to move but Pole still cursed the traffic.
“Shit, we’ve hit rush hour.”
“We should have taken the tube,” replied Andy.
Nurani looked at Andy with an expression reserved for the demented and Pole flashed a black look at the young man in the mirror.
A voice came on the radio and all focused on what was being said. The Counterterrorist Squad was on its way. Pole doubled his efforts to avoid the traffic, using the horn, winding the window down and waving madly at the cars that would not move. The car finally burst into King Edward Street and came nose to nose with another police car. Pole rushed out without closing his door.
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