‘OK,’ she smiled nervously. She went over to the bookcase and pulled out a couple of volumes. She curled up on the floor and began to read. I sat in an armchair and listened and watched.
The poems were by someone called James Wright. They were about simple things: a man lying in a hammock, two Indian ponies. Rachel read them beautifully. Her low, husky voice with its gentle Scottish accent brought out the atmosphere of each poem. She had clearly read them all many times for her careful delivery picked up nuances that a casual reader would have missed.
When she had finished with Wright she picked out Lawrence Ferlinghetti. I ceased following the words, but was lulled by Rachel’s voice. Her face glowed a soft golden brown colour in the yellow light from the standard lamp beside the bookcase. Her dark eyes glistened as they darted back and forth across the page. Her slim hands occasionally brushed aside the strands of dark brown hair as they drifted in front of her face.
I watched her, bewitched.
19
The wind bit into my face as I looked across at the fishing village slowly waking up. It was grey and cold. A stiff breeze whipped up the waves against the harbour wall. I shivered and stuffed my hands deep into my jacket pockets. My brain was tired and confused.
I had returned to Kirkhaven after midnight, and had slept fitfully. Waves of conflicting feelings washed over me as I lay in bed until, at half past five, I could stand it no longer. I got up, pulled on some clothes, and walked down past the burned-out boathouse to the small patch of sand by the sea.
I had spent a long day with Rachel the day before, and felt I had got to know her much better. She fascinated me. To spend time with her was to communicate with another human being in a way that was completely new to me. And I was beginning to realise that, physically, she was beautiful. It was a beauty that was carefully hidden behind an array of defences: the baggy jerseys, the blank stare at meetings, the hours spent behind computer screens. But watching her the night before, I had seen a beautiful woman with a graceful body, a torrent of dark hair, clear golden skin, a wide smile, and those deep brown eyes that could express emotion, understanding and intelligence all at the same time.
I could feel myself slipping towards something. I didn’t know what, but it both excited and scared me.
I trudged along the shore, keeping just out of reach of the impatient waves spreading over the new yellow sand of early morning. What was I doing? What was I thinking of? Rachel might fascinate and intrigue me, but she was a strange woman. Part of the unreal world I had entered over the past month, a world bathed in this grey northern light, a world of virtual reality machines, of murder, of a company that could either be worth hundreds of millions or nothing. I had been under a lot of pressure recently. I was in danger of losing my sense of perspective.
I struggled to get a grip, to remember who I was. A successful young trader at Harrison Brothers with excellent prospects. I had a beautiful girlfriend. I had worked hard over the last year to achieve a stable, happy relationship for both of us. Sure, the last few weeks had been difficult, but that was mostly my fault for opening up the whole can of worms that was FairSystems. I trusted Karen completely, and I knew she trusted me. I couldn’t betray that trust and still keep my self-respect. It would be a stupid, foolish thing to do.
I would have to make sure Rachel realised there was nothing between us, nor was there likely to be.
I waited till ten to call Karen. When she answered the phone her voice, full of sleep, sounded very sexy.
‘I’m sorry to wake you,’ I said. ‘I thought you’d be up by now.’ I could quite happily stay in bed till eleven on a Sunday morning, but Karen was usually up at eight.
‘Oh, Mark, morning. No, I just thought I’d have a lie-in this morning.’ Her voice sounded tense.
‘What did you do last night?’ I asked.
‘Nothing,’ she said, a hint of anger creeping into her voice. ‘I stayed here and watched TV. Why do you ask? Are you checking up on me?’
Whew, she was tetchy this morning. I backed off. I had just wanted to ring for a chat, but things had not started out well. ‘No, I was just curious. Just making conversation.’
‘Well, I watched TV. What did you do?’
Oh God. I had asked for that. I meant to tell her the truth. After all, I had nothing to hide, and that was the whole point of ringing her. But somehow I didn’t.
‘I just read some poetry.’
‘Huh? You read poetry? Are you OK, Mark?’
‘I read poetry sometimes,’ I said defiantly.
‘Oh yeah? Like when.’
It was true that in the year since I had been with Karen I hadn’t read any.
‘There’s something in the air here that made me want to do it.’
‘Very romantic,’ said Karen flatly.
She was silent. I had called. I should say something.
‘Did you find anything out about Hartman?’ I asked, more to break the silence than anything else.
‘Is that what you called me about? You ring me at ten o’clock on a Sunday morning to ask about that crook Hartman? Well, Mark, I didn’t find out anything about him because I didn’t ask anyone. Nor am I going to. You and Richard got yourselves all worked up over nothing. And I’m not going to threaten my reputation in the market over imagined conspiracies.’
This conversation was going nowhere fast. I had called Karen to tell her, and myself, how important she was to me, and I had ended up in the middle of a row.
‘OK,’ I said. ‘I’m sorry. Let’s just leave it.’
‘Fine.’
‘I’ll call you later.’
‘Good. Bye.’
The phone clicked in my ear.
Although it was Sunday, I went into work. There was a lot to do, as there always was. I should think half of the workforce was there.
There was a knock on my door. It was Rachel.
‘Hi,’ she said, as she entered. She wore a broad smile, and it may have been my imagination, but her face seemed to glow. She looked delectable.
‘Oh, hello Rachel.’ I smiled weakly, and tried to stop my heart pounding.
She sensed there was something wrong. Her smile faded. ‘I, um, wanted to see if you had any ideas about what we should do with Jenson.’
I picked up my pen. ‘There’s not very much we can do right now, is there? Perhaps we can discuss it later.’
Her smile was completely gone now. ‘OK,’ she said as she turned to leave.
‘Rachel?’
‘Yes?’
‘About last night.’
‘What about last night?’ she asked, avoiding my eyes as she lit a cigarette.
I wasn’t sure how to go about this. I had to make certain that she realised I didn’t want to become involved with her. I felt I needed to make a definitive statement, a restraint on myself as much as on her.
I cast around for some words. ‘I, er, spoke to Karen this morning.’
‘Oh, yes?’ said Rachel, blowing smoke up to the ceiling in that dismissive way I recognised.
‘Yes.’ Now what? Rachel’s eyes finally met mine. Cold and aloof, she stood there, impassive, waiting. ‘Yes. I hope she’ll come up to Kirkhaven soon. I’d like to introduce you.’
‘That would be nice.’
‘Yes. Dinner, or something?’
‘I like dinner.’
‘Good. OK,’ 1 said, and picked up a sheet of paper in front of me, and pretended to read it. It was instructions for the photocopier.
Rachel looked down and saw the title. ‘Well, I’ll leave you to it,’ she said without a hint of irony, and walked out.
Ten minutes later I walked past her office. She had the blinds drawn.
I had a few pints that night. A few more than I had intended. But it was warm in the Inch Tavern, the company was friendly, and became friendlier as the evening progressed. I enjoyed losing myself in the affairs of Kirkhaven, and what was on the telly.
It was late when I left. The night air was crisp
against my face. I stood still and craned my neck upwards. I could see stars. Lots of them. They were lovely.
Kirkhaven was a lovely village. A friendly place. I could feel at home here, I thought, as I slowly made my way downhill from the pub. It was nice to go out for a proper drink. I was taking life too seriously these days.
I paused at the little stone bridge over the tumbling Inch. And looked down. You could see flecks of water reflecting white in the moonlight. The eddies danced and changed according to some irregular pattern. My father would have had fun with that. The chaotic motion of the Inch Burn. I chuckled at the thought.
I stood up and crossed the bridge. I had only walked five yards, when I heard a low moan. I stopped and looked around. I couldn’t see anyone on the road behind me.
There it was again.
It was coming from the bushes down by the stream. It was dark down there. Perhaps someone had fallen off the bridge.
I scrambled down the side of the little gully until I was standing on a stone, peering into the gloom. I waited hoping that my eyes would adjust to the darkness.
I heard a rustle behind me, and felt a crashing pain on the back of my skull. Then everything went black.
I awoke to feel the cold stone under my cheek. My head hurt like hell. I tried to get up, but it was difficult. I lay back for a couple of minutes to regain my strength. When I did stand up, I swayed uncontrollably. The beer swilled in my stomach and I was sick. I stood still, breathing deeply, and then pulled myself up the bank of the stream. I staggered home, and collapsed on to my bed.
I ignored the alarm and slept through till eleven. When eventually I did wake up, my head hurt like hell. I rang Sergeant Cochrane, who came round straight away. I told him all that I could remember, which was precious little.
‘We’ll make some inquiries to see if anyone saw any strangers around the time you were attacked,’ he said. ‘Especially anyone who looked like Doogie Fisher. And I’ll inform Inspector Kerr.’
I nodded.
‘But, laddie, if I were you, I’d be very careful. I don’t know if whoever it was meant to do permanent damage, but they could easily have done. And they may try again.’
He looked round at the windows in the kitchen. ‘You should get some locks fitted. This place would be a doddle to break into. In the meantime, I’ll give you a lift to the surgery.’
The doctor chastised me for not calling out an ambulance immediately after the attack, and told me to stay in a darkened room for the rest of the day. He would check up on me later that evening.
I did as I was told. The combination of the knock on the head and the hangover was extremely painful. I slept as much as I could.
I felt much better the next day, although my brain was fuzzy round the edges. I went into the factory first thing in the morning. An appreciable pile had built up on my desk during that one day away.
I switched on the computer and scanned the e-mails. One instantly caught my eye. The title was ‘Warning’. It was dated Monday, the day before.
I clicked on it:
You could have been killed last night. You will be killed next time. Remember what happened to your brother.
Go back down to London. Forget all about FairSystems. Stay alive.
It was unsigned.
I looked for the sender’s address. All e-mail over the Internet has an address. It was [email protected].
Uh?
I rang Rachel.
‘Are you OK? I heard you were attacked on Sunday?’
For a moment I was pleased to hear the concern in her voice. But I didn’t let it show. ‘Oh, it’s nothing,’ I said coolly. ‘Just a tap on the head. But can you come up and take a look at something? I’ve just received a weird message.’
She came right up. After a quick glance to make sure I was still in one piece, she avoided looking at me. I showed her the message.
‘Nasty,’ she said.
‘Who’s it from?’
She looked at the Internet address. ‘Someone in Finland.’
‘Finland?’
‘Yes. It’s almost certainly an anonymous server.’
‘What’s that?’
‘It’s a way of sending messages anonymously over the Internet. They’re supposed to be for people who want to contact support groups for things like AIDS or alcoholism, or for dissidents in oppressive regimes. But you can use them for virtually anything.’
‘But why would anyone in Finland want to kill me?’ I was confused.
‘The sender could come from anywhere in the world. It’s just the server that’s based in Finland.’
‘And presumably whoever runs it won’t tell us who sent this message.’
‘No. That’s the whole point.’
‘What about the police?’
‘I imagine even they would find it difficult. The people who run these services feel they’re defending a basic right.’
‘Well, I’m sure Kerr will try.’ Then I asked the question they, and I, were most interested in. ‘Who do you think it was? Doogie?’
‘I don’t know,’ said Rachel. She was still sullen.
‘The last one he sent was signed.’
‘Ah ha. But after what happened to you last night, he’d be foolish to send you another one with his name on it. He would certainly be capable of using this service. But then so would anyone who knew a bit about the Internet.’ She looked at her watch. ‘I’ve got to go now. There’s a lot on at the moment.’
As she closed the door behind her, I rested my sore head in my hands and thought.
Once again someone was pushing me around. Trying to get me to abandon Richard and his dream. And once again I wasn’t prepared to give up.
But this time was different. This time I had nearly been killed. This was getting much more serious.
Was it worth it?
It was very important to me that Richard’s life had not been in vain. So important that I would risk my own to ensure that his dream would be realised.
And maybe I was suffering from that innate overconfidence of the trader. The belief that in the end I could always outwit the market. Whoever this guy was, I believed I would get him before he got me.
David Baker came in to see me that afternoon to discuss a new contract. We walked over to the machine to get a couple of cups of coffee.
‘Are you still determined to hang on?’ he asked.
‘Yep,’ I said. ‘More determined than ever.’
‘Have you found any more cash?’
‘No. We’re going to have to do this from internal resources.’
‘We haven’t got any.’
‘Minor point, David,’ I smiled.
He looked grim. ‘We don’t have long now, Mark. Less than three weeks.’
‘Well, I’ll worry about that.’ I wondered why he hadn’t mentioned the attack. He must have known about it. Wouldn’t it be the natural thing to do? Maybe. But our relationship was hardly natural. ‘Now, what have you got for me?’
David pulled out some papers. ‘I think we’re finally getting somewhere with ARPA. It looks like they’re willing to sign up with us.’
‘Great!’ And it was good news. ARPA was the US Department of Defense’s Advanced Research Projects Agency. It was the chief source of largesse for small virtual reality companies, and hence an important customer. But it was difficult for us as a UK company to get contracts from them. David had done very well to get to this stage.
‘When will we get paid?’ For companies in the sort of cash-flow situation that we found ourselves in, the first question was always when? The second was how much?
‘Not till January one,’ said David. ‘If we’re still here, of course.’
I ignored the comment. I knew that the moment any of us ceased to act as though we were around for the long-term, it would all be over.
‘That’ll be a good start to next year,’ I said. ‘Now, let’s see what you’ve got here.’
The issues at stake were complex, and Da
vid and I worked on the deal for two hours. I was impressed by his grasp of the problems, and also pleased that he had decided to consult me. There was still no love lost between us, but if we could at least talk to each other on business issues, that was good for FairSystems.
We had just finalised the deal we would offer ARPA, when the phone rang. It was Scott Wagner. He was to the point.
‘I have some good news for you,’ he said. For a moment, I thought he might have decided to sponsor an equity issue after all, but it wasn’t that. ‘There’s been heavy trading in FairSystems stock early this morning. The price is up two to five dollars on good volume. This could be a good opportunity to sell.’
My relief to see the price moving up was tempered by suspicion. ‘We’ll see,’ I said. ‘Who’s behind this? Frank Hartman?’
‘I honestly don’t know,’ said Wagner.
I didn’t believe him. ‘OK, tell me if you see any more buying.’
‘And what about my client, the guy who wants to buy the whole company?’
‘We’ll see.’ I hung up.
David Baker looked at me enquiringly. I told him what was happening to the share price.
‘Wagner’s right,’ he said. ‘This is the time to sell.’
The phone rang again.
‘Hi, Mark, Carl Jenson. How are you doing?’ His voice boomed down the wires from Palo Alto.
‘Fine, Carl.’ I tensed, waiting for what he had to say.
‘Good. I’m calling out of courtesy to tell you something you should know. Today we’re filing a thirteen D with the SEC to inform them that we’ve built up a stake of over five per cent in FairSystems.’
My heart pounded. Was Jenson finally showing his hand?
‘Are you going to make a bid for the whole company?’
‘It’s a neat little company. I’d just like to own some shares, that’s all.’
I seized my opportunity. ‘So will you reconsider your decision to cancel the advance payments on Project Platform?’
‘Hey, Mark. I just called out of courtesy, you know? I don’t want to start renegotiating something we’ve already agreed. Bye.’ And with that he was gone.
I put the phone down, took a deep breath, and sat up straight in my chair.
Trading Reality Page 27
