Book Read Free

The market maker

Page 21

by Ridpath, Michael


  "Luis Pereira planted that story didn't he?"

  I sat at my chair, looking up at him, my face hot. I didn't reply.

  "And he knew about my conversation with Bocci because you told him!"

  Once again, no reply. A few faces in the trading room were pointing our way. They could tell something was wrong.

  "This is going to do our reputation in Brazil serious harm," said Ricardo.

  "So it should," I said. I couldn't resist it.

  Ricardo's eyes were on fire. His chin stuck out. I had never seen him this angry. He was totally different from the kind, considerate man who had spoken to me a couple of hours before.

  "Nick, I went out on a limb for you," he said through

  clenched teeth. "You were smart, hungry, good with people. You could have made a great Dekker man. I know what happened to Isabel affected you. It affected me too." For a moment Ricardo paused to get control of himself. "And I know that you were angry about what I did with her favela deal. But we spoke about that. If you didn't like that sort of thing, you should have left, not tried to ruin everything for the rest of us." He glared at me.

  "I did what I thought was right," I said. "If that wasn't entirely in Dekker's interests, then I'm sorry."

  "Sorry!" Ricardo almost shouted. "That won't do, Nick. We're a team here. We all work together. When things go wrong, we cover for each other. We don't go running to the papers. I trusted you. And you've betrayed me. And not just me, all of us. Now give me your phone."

  I passed the receiver to him. He punched in four numbers on the keyboard. "Eduardo?" he said. Then a burst of Spanish.

  He dropped the phone and looked down on me. "Wait here. Eduardo will take care of you. I hope I never see you again. And you can be sure I won't see you working for another firm in the City."

  He turned his back on me and returned to his own desk. Watchers gawped. They hadn't been able to hear exactly what Ricardo had said, but they could tell he was angry, and it wasn't often Ricardo was angry with anyone in public. Jamie saw me from the square. "What the hell?" he mouthed. I shrugged.

  I waited for Eduardo. I felt very alone at my desk. Quickly I grabbed the few items that I had accumulated there that might be called personal. I looked for the fax from United Bank of Canada, but still couldn't find it. And rummaging through my in-tray, I still couldn't see a reply from them with the name of their contact at the DEA.

  I felt as much as saw Eduardo's large frame shambling over to me, a half-smoked cigar jutting outward.

  "Get your jacket and follow me/' he growled.

  I did. He led me through the square past Miguel, Jamie, Carlos, Pedro, and the others. Past Ricardo's back. And into his office. He placed himself in the large leather chair behind his desk.

  "As from this moment you are fired," he snapped. "You spoke to the press without permission, a clear breach of contract. I will send on your personal effects and your P 45 this afternoon."

  "Thank you," I said neutrally.

  Eduardo stared at me for a long minute. I stood still, focusing on the clear desk in front of him.

  "You have to understand, Nick, that you can't do this kind of thing and get away with it." His voice was low, almost a whisper. It made my skin prickle, a physical reaction to the danger that loaded his words. "When you go I want you to forget Dekker, and forget all you saw here. But I won't forget you. I'll be watching you. And if I see you try anything, any tiny little thing, which might do more harm to this firm, I will take the appropriate steps." His eyes bored into me. "Do you understand?"

  My throat was dry. I knew Eduardo didn't make empty threats. But I didn't want him to see me swallow.

  "What I do with my life is my own affair," I said.

  "Oh, no, it's not," said Eduardo, leaning forward. " It's mine now too."

  There was a knock at the door, and two security guards came in. Eduardo nodded to them, and one of them took my arm. They led me through the unnatural silence of the trading room to the lifts.

  I plummeted forty floors down to the real world.

  22

  I felt elated as I pedaled rapidly back to Primrose Hill, leaving the Tower farther and farther behind me. While I had been in Brazil, my doubts about the money laundering, the way I had deceived Wojtek, and what had happened to Dave had receded into the background. But I knew they would have come back sooner rather than later. I had been fired for doing what I considered right. There was no shame in that, in fact there was a certain freedom. No more worrying about Ricardo, and Eduardo. I could forget money laundering and murder. I had escaped!

  By the time I reached home, it was one o'clock, and I was hungry. As soon as I was through the door I checked the refrigerator for something for lunch. Nothing. There was a pint of milk though, so I made myself a bowl of cornflakes. There were also a couple of cans of beer. I don't drink during the day, but I took one. It turned out beer and cornflakes don't go well together.

  I was glad to be leaving Dekker, although I felt a fool for going there in the first place. It would be a difficult mistake to unravel. I would have to go cap in hand to Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies, admit I was wrong, and ask if he knew of any jobs anywhere. I

  shuddered as I thought of applications, interviews, explanations of why I hadn't any formal Russian qualifications, if I even got far enough to be allowed to explain. My father would think I was crazy

  And money. I had received one paycheck from Dekker, which helped a lot. But I stiU had the mortgage on my flat. Mr. K. R. Norris would be on my back again in no time. And I owed Ricardo his five grand, three of which I still had in the bank. Well, that would come in useful to tide me through the next few months. One day rd pay him back. Maybe.

  Sharp hammering started up somewhere above me, followed by the muffled crash of plaster pulled away from a wall. I remembered that the old lady upstairs had warned me that she was having some work done. I was never home during the day, so I hadn't noticed

  before.

  I finished the bowl, and prowled through to the tiny bedroom. My euphoria at escaping Dekker was swiftly evaporating as I faced the realities of life without a salary. The bed beckoned and I flopped onto it. I lay facedown, eyes open, thoughts rushing through

  my mind.

  I missed Isabel. The initial shock had been replaced by a tiring, chronic despair. The uncertainty was hard to cope with. Most of the time I told myself she was alive. But in dark moments, like now, I felt she was dead, that I would never see her again. The question was always there. If she was dead, why hadn't they found her body? If she was alive, why hadn't Zico called back with the proof of life? Why would he want to kill her when he was on the edge of making a fortune out

  of her? The phone rang. It was Jamie. The noise and chatter

  of the Dekker trading rcxjm came through strongly in the background.

  ''What the hell have you done?"

  "I didn't do anything. Luis placed the story."

  "Based on information you had given htm."

  "It was the truth," I said. "Nothing more. And maybe the favela bairro project will get financed after aU."

  "Jesus, Nick. You can't do things like that. It's put Ri-cardo in a hell of a bad mood. He thought a lot of you, you know. And why didn't you tell me?"

  I should have told Jam^ie, but I hadn't. I just couldn't face explaining it to him.

  "I'm sorry, Jamie. But you know I've had questions about Dekker ever since I joined. It's not for me."

  "Are you all right? The theory here is that you've lost it since Isabel's kidnap. Are you sure you know what you're doing?"

  "I'm sure. I am upset about her, but I'd been thinking about resigning in any case. Ricardo just made up my mind for me."

  "Well, we're busy doing a Dave on you here. Although it's a bit easier in your case."

  "Yeah, well. I'm not surprised." But I was a little hurt. I liked the other guys. I didn't want to be erased from their consciousness.

  "You must feel awful,
mate. Come round to our place later on in the week. We'll have a beer or two."

  "Yes, Jcmue. That would be good."

  Jamie had stuck his neck out for me with Ricardo, and I had made him look a fool, something Jamie never liked. But I knew he would stick with me. It would be good to see him.

  I drank the other can of beer. Then went out to the shop on the comer and bought some more. I put on

  some of Joanna's old CDs. I suppose I hoped that they would remind me of her, and push Isabel to the back of my mind for a moment. They didn't. I ordered a pizza and ate it. Then I rang Luis and told him I had been fired. He said he was sorry, but I told him not to worry. He had no news of Isabel. At some point, as the day dragged to an end, I went to sleep.

  I went to sleep thinking of Isabel, and I woke up thinking of her. But I also woke up determined to pull myself together. I cleared up the debris of the day before, bought some real food from the supermarket, and made myself a proper breakfast: bacon, sausages, fried eggs, fried bread, the works. And I made a pot of fresh coffee.

  Feeling fat and a little happier, I sipped my coffee and stared out of the window at my small garden. It was a mess, with weeds bursting upward, overwhehn-ing the few perermials that had survived the winter. The grass was looking more like a miniature hay field than a lawn. Perhaps I would get stuck into that after breakfast.

  I should call Russell Church at the School of Russian Studies. But not today. Tomorrow.

  The phone rang.

  "Hallo." It was the first word I had said all day. It came out thick and hoarse.

  "Nick. It's Father."

  "Oh, hallo."

  "Are you aU right?"

  "Yes, sorry, I'm fine. Father. What's up?" My father never called me. Never. My mother rang very occasionally, on my birthday perhaps, or when she hadn't heard from me for a couple of months, but not my father.

  "I telephoned you at the office last week, but they

  said you were in Brazil on a business trip. Sounded interesting. Then when I rang this morning, a nice chap said I could find you here."

  "Well, here I am."

  "Listen, Nick. I thought Fd come down to London for the day next week. Catch up with a few old pals. I wondered if I could drop in and see you?"

  Oh, God. Just what I needed.

  "Fine," I said.

  "I think I can remem^ber where Dekker's offices are. They haven't moved, have they?"

  "I don't work there anymore."

  "What?" He sounded shocked.

  "Heft. Yesterday."

  "Whatever for?"

  I groaned inwardly. How could I explain this.

  "The City is just not for me. Father."

  There was silence. "OK. I see." His voice blew cold down the phone line from Norfolk. "It was a terrific opportunity for you to make something of yourself, Nick."

  "It's not a good place. Father. Honestly. I'm better off out of it."

  "Well, your mother will be most disappointed," he said. Actually I though she'd be quite pleased.

  "I'd still like to see you," I said, almost to my surprise.

  "Um, yes, well. Maybe another time. I was hoping to see you in situ, as it were. But if you're not working, then there's not much point, is there?"

  "I suppose not."

  "Good-bye, then."

  "Bye."

  I put the phone down. Despite myself, I felt guilty and angry. Guilty that I had disappointed him, angry that he hadn't wanted to see me.

  I felt alone.

  My thoughts turned back to Dekker. Jamie had said they were doing a Dave on me. I wondered what had happened to Dave. I hadn't had time to get to know him very well, but I had liked what I had seen of him. And now I felt some kindred spirit with him. A fellow ex-Dekker nonperson.

  Like me, he had been fired for talking to the press. And like me, he had suspected that Dekker was involved with money laundering. I should talk to him.

  I dug out the phone list I had been given when I had joined Dekker. It listed all home numbers, Dave's included. Dekker employees were expected to be able to deal around the clock.

  He answered the phone. "Nick! All right, mate. That's a blast from the past. I thought I'd never speak to another Dekker man again."

  I explained my situation, and I asked if I could come around and see him.

  "Course you can. Come around this afternoon, if you like. It's not like I've got anything to do. Have you got wheels?"

  "Only two."

  "Motor or push-bike?"

  "Push-bike, I'm afraid."

  "Well, never mind. Take the tube to They don Bois, and give me a ring from the station. I'll pick you up."

  Dave met me in an old Ford Escort. We drove through a succession of well-kept suburban roads to a large modem house at the end of a private road. Two for sale signs guarded the short driveway. He fiddled with a remote control to open the doors of a huge, empty garage, and then drove the Escort into the middle of it.

  ''Lots of room for this little car, isn't there?" I said.

  "Don't/' said Dave. "I had a Porsche 9111 parked just there, and a four-wheel drive just there. And the missus had a little MR2. All gone now."

  He led me into the house through a door in the garage. "Have you met my wife, Teresa?"

  She was big, like Dave with dyed blond hair and a wide smile. "Hi," she said. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

  "Love some."

  Dave led me through a couple of miles of corridor to a huge lounge, with picture windows overlooking a large lawn and a swimming pool. Now, Dave was about my age, and this place had cost a bundle.

  "Nice place, innit?" he said, following my eyes. "Shame it's not mine."

  "Oh, you mean the bank owns it?"

  "Worse. Dekker. If I can't meet next month's mortgage payment, which I can't, they'll repossess. I'm desperate to sell it before then."

  "Don't you have any savings?"

  "All tied up in the employee trusts, aren't they? I can't get hold of them if I'm dismissed for bad faith. So, you could say I'm up shit creek."

  "Have you tried to get another job?"

  "Yeah. I tried. No chance. I don't know how Ricardo did it, but you'd think I'd robbed the Bank of England, the way they treat me."

  "So what are you going to do?"

  Teresa came in with two mugs of tea. "Thanks, love," said Dave, taking his. He sipped it and then answered my question. "SeU this place. I've got some old mates from my forex days who'll back me to buy a pub. Then Teresa and I'll run it. Quite honestly, I'm looking forward to it. I've had enough of the City."

  "So have I/' said Teresa.

  "I know what you mean/' I said.

  "So you got the boot too?"

  I nodded.

  "What happened?"

  I told him about Luis and the favela deal. And about my reservations about Dekker, and Isabel's kidnapping. He was shocked.

  "She's a nice chick. Bright too. So, they don't know whether she's still alive?"

  "No."

  "Nor who the kidnappers are?"

  "No, again. Kidnapping is an industry in Brazil. This kind of thing happens all the time."

  "Like bankers getting topped for their wallets?"

  I looked at him sharply. "You told IFR you were suspicious about that. Why? "

  "It was no more than that, a suspicion. But a strong one. There are all those numbered accounts at Dekker Trust, supposedly overseen by Eduardo. Ricardo says he knows where all that money comes from, but I'm not convinced he does. And you know Eduardo. He'd happily turn a blind eye."

  "OK, so there might be some dodgy money there. But that's not proof, is it?"

  "No. But there's talk in the market."

  "Talk?"

  "Yeah. Everyone knows Chalmet handles dodgy money, and they own twenty-nine percent of Dekker Ward. Now they're beginning to talk about us too. Ricardo doesn't hear that stuff of course, no one would dare to say that kind of thing to his face. But I've heard things down the pub over a few pints."


  "And you think it's true? "

  "I wasn't sure at first. I ignored it. But I thought it was interesting when that bloke Martin Beldecos started rooting around. He was asking difficult questions, and waiting till he got answers that made sense. Then he was conveniently murdered. And when you got yourself stabbed, it was too much of a coincidence."

  "So you talked to someone at DFR?"

  "Yeah. Big mistake."

  "Why?"

  "Because he wrote about 'sources inside Dekker Ward,' didn't he? Then he spoke to me on the phone here. I reckon Eduardo was tapping it somehow. That's how they caught me."

  "But why did you talk to him? You knew Ricardo wouldn't like it if he found out."

  Dave sipped his tea and glanced at Teresa. "I dunno. It just seemed wrong. A bloke murdered, another guy attacked, everyone wringing their hands, no one asking the right questions. I'd been thinking a lot about it, and it didn't make sense. I'd probably have kept my trap shut, but we'd had a few beers, and I thought, what the hell. It just sort of slipped out. I didn't think it'd blow up in my face like that."

  I nodded.

  "I went to the police, you know," he said.

  "Really?"

  "Yeah. After they fired me. I was so pissed off, I wanted to get back at them somehow."

  "And what did the police say?"

  "It was a complete waste of time."

  "Why?"

  "Well, a murder in Venezuela is hardly their jurisdiction, is it? And Martin Beldecos was an American citizen technically resident in the Cayman Islands. I mean, it was a total nonstarter."

  "What about the money laundering? Weren't they interested in that?"

  "They was. Sort of. But Ricardo's clever. You see, most of his activities are not really regulated by anyone."

  "Why not?"

  "Well, to start with Dekker Ward, the stockbroker, is regulated by the Securities and Futures Authority, not the Bank of England. The SPA is less worried about money laundering. Then Ricardo's biz is all run from Canary Wharf, and the SEA deals mostly with Head Office in the City. Most emerging markets trading is unregulated anyway, it's not like trading on the London Stock Exchange. They keep a close eye on that. Anyway, many of Ricardo's trades are booked through Dekker Trust in the Caymans, which is a legally unrelated company, so it's outside the U.K. authorities'

 

‹ Prev