Ruiz continues. “Mitchell had no idea when he took control. You couldn’t be sure how he’d react, so you hired someone to infiltrate his household, someone to seduce him just in case you needed leverage. You were willing to blackmail your own son. Once you succeeded in gaining his co-operation, you sent Polina to your daughter’s house to seduce your son-in-law.”
“That’s a fanciful story, Vincent. You’ve been hanging around with journalists for too long.”
“I’ve talked to Polina. She told me.”
“And you believe the word of a prostitute?”
“She has no reason to lie anymore.”
Bach continues to prune, holding the branches with a gloved hand to avoid the thorns.
“Do you know why roses have thorns, Vincent? It’s to prevent grazing animals from eating them. The sweetest-smelling roses have the sharpest thorns, because their scents attract the most animals. We all need defense mechanisms… even banks.”
“You broke the law.”
Bach chuckles with delight. “The law! Where have you been, Vincent? The law doesn’t apply to banks. We’re too big to fail.”
Shaking his head, he grows circumspect. “I didn’t mean for any of this to happen. Things got out of hand. It began with a few accounts. Major corporations. We helped hide their assets or shift profits between territories to avoid tax or arrange a hostile take-over. Over time our client base expanded and became less than savory, but we couldn’t say no because they could expose us.”
“You were blackmailed,” says Ruiz.
Bach gives him a pained smile. “The system was working. It was brilliant really. Almost foolproof…”
“Until the global financial crisis came along.”
“Mersey Fidelity was hemorrhaging money like all the others. People were closing their positions, selling investments, withdrawing their money. We had a liquidity crisis and needed funds to stay solvent. Mitchell panicked and tapped into some of the ghost accounts.”
“That’s why North was so concerned with the audit.”
“He came to see me. Begged me to intervene.”
“When?”
“On the Saturday he disappeared. He said he’d been robbed the night before—picked up by some girl in a bar and drugged. I thought he was bluffing when he told me about the notebook.
“Nobody was supposed to have a complete list. That’s how we protected the bank—nothing in writing, nothing on file, nothing on computer. Numbers, not names on the accounts.”
“North began piecing it together.”
“Yes.”
“Did you tell Ibrahim about the photographs or was it Maluk?”
“I have no control over Yahya. I’m not the chairman anymore.”
“You signed Hackett’s death warrant.”
“I don’t even know who you’re talking about.”
“The private detective… Ibrahim had him killed.”
“You can’t hold me responsible for his actions.”
“Why not? You’re a part of this. Did you have North killed?”
“Of course not! Now you’re being ridiculous.”
“North was trying to find out where the money was going.”
“He was foolish. He fell for the lifestyle and then developed a conscience. I told him not to go looking for trouble.”
“When?”
“That Saturday he came here. He said that he’d traced some of the money to a postbox in Luton… something about a Muslim charity. And he was prattling about earlier transactions in Madrid. The Spanish police had contacted him about some ATM withdrawals prior to the train bombing in 2004. North managed to fob them off by saying the accounts didn’t exist at Mersey Fidelity, but he knew where the money had come from.”
Bach stands, straightening his back, gazing across the pond towards the house, which is wreathed in ivy. A castle fit for a king.
“He should have kept his mouth shut. The audit would have blown over.”
“Don’t you feel any responsibility?”
“What’s done is done.”
“I’m going to tell the authorities.”
Bach laughs. “Good luck with that. Nothing is going to happen. They know already. Why do you think I haven’t been charged? I’m an old man. They’re not going to prosecute me. They can’t risk damaging confidence in the banking system.”
There’s no hint of triumphalism in Bach’s voice, yet he was right all along, thinks Ruiz. People might hate him or question his morals, but when the economy picks up and the banks grow strong again, they’ll envy his wealth and his power. They’ll want to be just like him.
“Can I ask you one favor, please, Vincent?”
“What’s that?”
“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t tell Lizzie about Polina. She’s been through so much. Family is all she has left.”
His arrogance is astonishing; hubris on a grand scale. Ruiz can feel the skin tighten across his face.
“If it’s a question of money,” says Bach, “I’m sure I can find some honey in the pot to sweeten your medicine.”
The buzzing in Ruiz’s ears has grown louder. “I’m not the only person who knows.”
“Polina won’t say anything. She’s been too well paid.”
Ruiz has already turned away, in sudden need of fresher air. After several steps, he stops and spins.
“By the way, Elizabeth has a new nanny who knows all about dysfunctional families and their secrets. She can even tell when someone is lying.”
“My sins have been confessed.”
“But they haven’t been forgiven.”
Ruiz leaves, walking up the slope towards the house, the turf soft beneath his worn leather shoes. Beneath the canopy of a fig tree he notices a rope swing dangling from a lower branch and can picture Elizabeth as a young girl, her hair flying, pushing herself from the shadows into the sunshine.
Although reality can sometimes corrupt the fairytale and alter our ambitions, some things remain unalterable. From richest to poorest, we start and end with family.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
The Wreckage is based on many real-life events and documents but the characters are entirely fictitious. I am indebted to many fine journalists and authors who have written about the global financial crisis and about Iraq. I have drawn upon their experiences and wisdom to hopefully create fiction that reads like the truth.
As always, I wish to thank my agents Mark Lucas, Richard Pine, Nicki Kennedy and Sam Edenborough, as well as my editors David Shelley and John Schoenfelder.
For their hospitality, friendship and advice I thank Mark and Sara Derry, Martyn Forrester, Peter Temple, Jonathan Margolis and Scott Dalton.
Last, but by no means least, I am indebted as always to my beloved wife Vivien, who has suffered more than usual during the birth of this particular baby. My daughters have also endured my mercurial mood swings and many absences. One day I’ll make it up to them.
I love you guys.
Contents
FRONT COVER IMAGE
WELCOME
DEDICATION
BOOK ONE
1: BAGHDAD
2: LONDON
3: LONDON
4: BAGHDAD
5: LONDON
6: LONDON
7: BAGHDAD
8: LONDON
9: LONDON
10: BAGHDAD
11: LONDON
12: LONDON
13: BAGHDAD
14: LONDON
15: LONDON
16: LONDON
17: BAGHDAD
18: LONDON
19: BAGHDAD
20: LONDON
21: BAGHDAD
22: LONDON
23: BAGHDAD
24: LONDON
25: BAGHDAD
BOOK TWO
1: LONDON
2: LONDON
3: LONDON
4: LONDON
5: LONDON
6: LONDON
7: LONDON
8: BAGHDAD
9: LONDON
10: LONDON
11: LONDON
12: WASHINGTON
13: LONDON
14: BAGHDAD
15: LONDON
16: LONDON
17: BAGHDAD
18: LONDON
19: LONDON
20: LONDON
21: LONDON
22: WASHINGTON
23: LONDON
24: LONDON
25: LUTON
26: BAGHDAD
27: LONDON
28: LONDON
BOOK THREE
1: LONDON
2: ISTANBUL
3: LONDON
4: WASHINGTON
5: LONDON
6: LUTON
7: LONDON
8: LONDON
9: LONDON
10: LUTON
11: LONDON
12: LONDON
13: NEW YORK
14: LONDON
15: LONDON
16: LONDON
17: LONDON
18: LONDON
19: LONDON
20: LONDON
21: LONDON
22: LONDON
23: LONDON
24: LUTON
25: LONDON
26: LUTON
27: LONDON
28: LONDON
29: LONDON
30: LONDON
31: LONDON
32: LONDON
33: LONDON
34: LONDON
35: LUTON
36: LONDON
37: LONDON
38: LONDON
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
ALSO BY MICHAEL ROBOTHAM
COPYRIGHT
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Before writing full-time, Michael Robotham was an investigative journalist in Britain, Australia and the US. He is the pseudonymous author of ten best-selling non-fiction titles, involving prominent figures in the military, the arts, sport and science. He lives in Sydney with his wife and three daughters.
Also by Michael Robotham
The Suspect
The Drowning Man (aka Lost)
The Night Ferry
Shatter
Bombproof
Bleed for Me
Copyright
Copyright © 2011 by Michael Robotham
All rights reserved. Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the publisher.
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First eBook Edition: June 2011
Mulholland Books is an imprint of Little, Brown and Company, a division of Hachette Book Group, Inc. The Mulholland Books name and logo are trademarks of Hachette Book Group, Inc.
The characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
The publisher is not responsible for websites (or their content) that are not owned by the publisher.
ISBN: 978-0-316-18063-4
The Wreckage: A Thriller Page 43
