by Powell, Mark
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THIRTEEN
The next morning as Ying descended the marble steps to the hotel cafeteria, she had a clear view of the café. Scanning the tables, she noticed McCabe talking to a mystery man. Maybe it was Brian Stowe, the man McCabe had mentioned. They were both engaged in a heated debate judging by their hand movements. As Ying approached, Stowe looked up.
‘Good morning, Ying. I’m Brian, a friend of Mark’s,’ he greeted her with his best imitation of a smile.
‘Good morning, Mr Brian Stowe. Yes I have heard all about you,’
Ying responded with an exaggerated emphasis on the ‘Mister’. McCabe observed Ying’s smile and the exceptional feminine grace displayed as she approached them. McCabe knew her well enough to spot that she was on the hunt, but Stowe might be a prey too big for even Ying’s seductive talents.
‘Well it’s nice to meet you, Brian. So what’s good for breakfast?’
Ying enquired.
McCabe had just polished off a plate of sausages and egg, washed down with three cups of coffee. ‘It’s all good,’ he replied, not even glancing at her. His eyes were fi xed on a page in the local paper.
Ying placed her expensive Miu Miu handbag, an item that had cost her a small fortune, carefully down beside one of the empty chairs and strode off in search of food. Once Ying had gone, McCabe looked up at Stowe.
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‘Have you seen this?’ he asked.
Stowe glanced down to look at the page McCabe had placed in front of him and saw the photograph of a burnt-out car wreck at the bottom of a steep slope.
‘No problem. We told the local police to explain it as a simple accident, brake failure.’ Stowe was calm and confi dent in his explanation.
‘The British Embassy has already alerted the local authorities, told them to cover it up.’
‘And they went along with that?’ McCabe asked with a note of scepticism.
‘They’ve been most accommodating, in fact. They don’t want such terrorist activity to dampen their tourist numbers,’ Stowe explained.
‘It’s not so much them I’m worried about. What if this chap Aziz sees it headlined in his morning paper over his cornfl akes?’
‘Well, if he does and he is implicated, it may fl ush him out. Just what we need, in fact,’ Stowe said and looked directly at McCabe, as if pleased the incident could, in fact, be turned nicely to their advantage.
‘Good point. We need to get on him right away and establish his involvement, if any. It seems very coincidental that we observed him in that café with a mystery woman, and the next thing we have is an attempted hit on us, don’t you think?’ McCabe paused. ‘Plus, the survivor of the crash told us he was working for a woman,’ McCabe concluded.
‘Yes, it means we may be getting close.’ Stowe was now looking more serious. The two of them looked at each other as if some kind of sudden inspiration would descend upon them.
Ying sashayed back to the table carrying a plate of eggs and bacon which she set down carefully as she placed herself between the two of them. Before she had even taken her fi rst bite, McCabe gave her instructions.
‘Ying, I want you to go to the offi ce as per normal today. I will come with you.’
‘You know this Aziz guy, right, a salesman?’ Stowe looked intently at Ying for her response, somewhat surprised at McCabe’s direct order.
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Ying carefully placed her fork down. ‘Yes, I do. In fact, I book all of his deals.’
McCabe and Stowe looked at each other, both now thinking of the implications of what Ying had said.
‘Is there a problem?’ Ying enquired.
Taking the risk that Ying was clean and not knowing McCabe had already briefed her, Stowe jumped in. ‘No, not a problem, Ying, but I need you to do something.’ Stowe then glanced back at McCabe as if to say ‘Hold off, buddy, and let me fi nish.’ Stowe knew McCabe would not like Ying being dragged into this, especially since John, the last undercover plant, had all too recently rolled out of the boot of a burning car with his throat cut.
Stowe was aware that what he was expecting Ying to embark upon was risky. John at least was a trained MI6 operative; Ying was just a 26-year-old Singaporean with no formal training as an agent. Ying sat motionless at the breakfast table, intently listening to Stowe.
‘Now here is what I need you to do: follow my directions to the letter. Do not deviate from the plan, got it?’ Stowe spoke in a calm yet authoritative tone. ‘I want you to just observe Aziz. Let McCabe or me know if he leaves his desk for long periods of time, how many deals he asks you to book … just general stuff for now. Okay?’ Ying just nodded.
‘If it helps, each time I record a deal Aziz makes, I can let McCabe know,’ Ying said.
‘Okay, good, but just observe him, okay? No heroics. He won’t suspect you,’ Stowe replied
Ying nodded again. She was almost disappointed there was not much more to it. ‘Will I get a gun at least?’
Both McCabe and Stowe looked at her in surprise. ‘Oh, that would look just great hanging out of your designer suit. Ying, get serious, this is no joke,’ McCabe growled at her. ‘Can you go wait for us in the lobby? I need a few words with Stowe in private.’ McCabe was fi rm in his tone. Ying was slightly embarrassed by her own joke. She gathered quantum breach 290709.indd 110
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her things, got up and strutted off towards the lobby area.
Turning immediately back to Stowe, McCabe had anger in his eyes.
‘Have you gone mad, Stowe? She’s just a kid!’
‘Listen, McCabe, she is the best hope we have of getting close to this guy and fi nding out why he’s in your bank,’ Stowe spat back. ‘Does it not puzzle you that a known terrorist associate is working right under your nose?’
‘Okay, okay, but we have to play this very carefully, Stowe.’ McCabe sat back, knowing Stowe had a point, but he still did not like the turn events had taken. The pair of them then paid their bill and walked off towards the lobby. They found Ying pacing up and down in the foyer.
‘Ying, you come with me to the offi ce,’ McCabe instructed her.
‘I will meet you both here at eight this evening. Stay safe and you can let me know what you fi nd out,’ Stowe said, then vanished through the hotel doors.
‘Come on Ying, let’s grab a taxi. We have a lot to do.’
On the way over, the pair of them sat silently. McCabe was deep in thought. He rubbed his fi ngers as his eyes stared out at the road ahead. As they drew towards Building 1 at the DIFC, McCabe turned to Ying.
‘Okay, here we go. Natural and everything as normal. Just observe him, okay?’
‘Sure, boss. Got it,’ Ying replied, slightly annoyed by the authoritative nature of McCabe’s instructions. McCabe himself could sense this.
‘Ying, you don’t want to end up in the desert with a hole in your head. These people can get very nasty, so no nonsense.’
Ying’s face dropped. She knew he was serious. Ying could feel her stomach beginning to knot up. When they entered the offi ce on the third fl oor, they walked up to where Ying sat.
‘I need to go say “Hi” to a few folks, let them know I’m here for the week,’ McCabe said.
‘Sure. I’ll just get on, and, by the way, thanks for breakfast, boss,’
Ying responded, knowing that Aziz was within earshot.
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McCabe turned and looked at her. He thought that was very smart of Ying to say. It made their arrival seem all the more real. He turned and walked towards the glass offi
ces situated on the other side of the long Dealing Room.
‘Good morning, Aziz, I’m Ying.’
Aziz looked up, slightly startled by Ying’s approach. ‘Ying?’ he replied with some surprise as well as annoyance at being interrupted.
He deliberately wanted it to seem as if he did not recall who she was.
‘Yes, I book your deals. I’m one of the traders.’
It was then that Aziz made it seem he had recalled her name. He remembered how Ying had rejected one of his trades and forced him to tag his identity to the deal. But he admired her for being on the ball there. Not wanting to show any great surprise, he calmly acknowledged her.
‘Ah yes, of course; Ying. But I thought you were based in Singapore?’
‘I am normally, but I’m here for a couple of weeks helping John as he was so busy.’
Ying then looked intently at Aziz, trying to observe his reaction to her reference to John. Aziz paused for a few seconds, though his dark eyes continued to hold their steady gaze on her.
‘Ah yes, John. Not seen him this morning. Maybe he is unwell?’
Dead, more like, Ying thought to herself. Just before she could respond, she heard a voice behind her.
‘Excuse me—Ying, can we talk for a moment, please?’
It was McCabe, standing right behind her.
‘Sure, boss.’ She turned back to Aziz. ‘This is my boss, Mark McCabe.
Boss, this is Mr Aziz, one of the local salesmen for commodities.’
McCabe paused; Ying had now forced him to respond. He gave a polite nod. ‘Pleasure, Aziz. We should catch up some time.’
‘Sure, that would be good. But I do have a very busy day. Another day perhaps. Now you both must excuse me, I have to fi nalise some deals. Your girl here can book them for me later.’ Ying was taken aback quantum breach 290709.indd 112
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by his use of the term ‘girl’, as if she was now some cheap lackey to do his bidding.
‘Fine. Come on, Ying, Mr Aziz is busy.’
McCabe was pleased that Aziz appeared not to have reacted awkwardly to meeting him. This meant he might not have been aware of the attempt on him and Stowe the night before. Either that or he was one extremely cool character.
As Ying and McCabe entered the pantry, McCabe shut the door fi rmly behind them.
‘What were you thinking, Ying? We said observe only, and I fi nd you talking to the man. And you’ve now compromised me to the very man we’re investigating.’ McCabe was angry, his tone curt and blunt; his eyes were cold.
‘Boss, it is part of my job. I book his deals. I was just trying to help.
Besides, he will notice you soon enough. You work in the same bank.’
Tears welled up in her eyes.
The door of the pantry opened and a small man entered the room.
Observing that the two people already there were clearly in an argument, he turned sharply and left as suddenly as he had appeared.
‘Okay, stop that Ying. I’m just looking out for you.’
Then with a direct tone, which took McCabe somewhat by surprise, she said, ‘Okay, I’m in this now, like it or not. So quit trying to keep me out. I’m no fool. I can handle this.’
Ying raised her head. The tears had vanished and her steely stare was directed straight at McCabe. ‘I may not be a tough guy like you or anything, but I know my trades and I can help you. This guy has been booking weird trades with the same counterparties each day for the past few days, large amounts. I think he is up to something. I can help work it all out, okay?’ She then turned deftly on her heels and walked over towards the other side of the small pantry, as if waiting for McCabe’s angry response.
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me know what you fi nd out. And … I’m sorry about anything hurtful I might have said there.’ McCabe then opened the door and walked out.
Christ, I’m in, Ying thought to herself. She then followed McCabe out. He had gone off to a desk on the other side of the room. She walked back to her own desk, thinking about what she had let herself in for.
As Ying resumed her place at her desk, she could see that two deals were in her work queue, an alert was fl ashing on her screen, and both deal instructions were from Aziz. Ying could feel her heart begin to race.
He had taken the bait, or at least not suspected anything. She opened up the details on her system and studied the transaction carefully.
What are you up to, Aziz? she thought to herself, as she studied every detail of the term sheet. Something seemed very wrong. From what Ying could tell, the two companies, both very large shipping companies, were going to buy oil forward options valued at US$50
million each. The deal structure seemed normal other than it was structured to suggest that the oil price would move down from US$145
to US$135 and the chosen FX would move up from 20 to 40 basis points. This meant Al Safad would lose considerably on the deal but TJ
would make a bundle. Ying continued to wrack her brain for anything that would make sense of this deal. She reclined back in her chair and closed her eyes for a few seconds, desperately trying to think. Al Safad!
What was the connection? she thought.
She jumped as someone tapped her on the shoulder from behind.
Swinging around, she saw it was Aziz.
‘You book my deals yet? Sorry, but I need them done today, okay.
And no mistakes.’ He turned and headed back to his own seat.
Slightly shocked at his sudden appearance, Ying took a couple of deep breaths. After a few seconds, and feeling calmer, she lifted up her body by pushing down on the arms of her chair. Straining to look over the row of desks in front of her, by craning her long neck, she could just see Aziz sitting back at his desk. He was picking up the phone and about to call someone. Relaxing her arms, she slumped back down into quantum breach 290709.indd 114
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her chair. It was clear that Aziz was okay using her to book his deals, so that was good. She might be able to help McCabe and Stowe work out what this man was up to after all, she thought.
After getting a cup of chamomile tea, Ying returned to her desk, her head busy trying to work out if the deal Aziz had structured was in any way wrong. It all seemed okay, other than the fact that the price at which Al Safad was buying the oil option seemed very high, higher than market, in fact. The name Al Safad kept bouncing around in her head. She had heard it before, but simply could not recall where. Ying collected the printed term sheets off the printer and tucked them into her handbag.
McCabe was busy at his computer scanning the internal contacts directory and internal organisation charts, building up a view of whom Aziz reported to and whom he worked with. As far as he could tell, Aziz had only one direct boss, Khaled Patel, Regional Head of Sales.
McCabe made a mental note of the name; not that he really thought it would be of any use, unless his boss was also in on the action. I will have Stowe check him out though, he thought.
McCabe then cast his mind to what Stowe was up to. Probably in a souk somewhere, sipping Arabic coffee thick enough to stand your spoon in, observing a shady suspect, he thought.
McCabe then checked his watch, a nice chrome Omega Sea Master.
It had the words ‘To the man I love, Kate’’ engraved on the back. Four-thirty, he noted. He had almost had enough for the day. He selected another page of the internal website and started to look at the company share performance. He had a very specifi c interest in how they were performing, given his last two bonuses were made up of a 40% share option allocation.
Christ, he thought. It was dropping like a stone. As his eye
s scanned the share price, he could see that the value had dropped from £14 per share to £12.40. His heart sank at the thought that that was at least
£30,000 he had just lost off his pension fund.
Across the room, Ying was looking at another pair of deals initiated quantum breach 290709.indd 115
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by Aziz. The same type as before, oil contracts, but this time, Al Safad Shipping was going to buy oil from TJ Cargo at what seemed to be a very high price, almost US$170 a barrel, and this time the amount was much larger, US$70 million. But again, it was in favour of TJ Cargo.
Ying hit ‘Print’ and got up and walked over to the printer to retrieve the details. As she reached the printer, she observed Aziz staring at her from his desk, his eyes just following her. She felt his eyes drilling into her intensely and felt shivers running down her spine.
After she collected the printed copies of the term sheets, she turned sharply and looked directly at Aziz, expecting to see him jump and turn away, as if spotted by his prey. Instead, Ying saw an empty seat. He had vanished.
Where are you, Aziz? she thought, her eyes scanning the room to try and spot him. As she approached his desk, she observed he had turned off his screen; he must have left for the day. Heading back to her own desk, she decided to call McCabe. As she dialled his number, it just rang out.
Oh God, where is he? she thought. Putting down the receiver, she went back to studying the last transaction Aziz had placed in her work queue.
‘What are you up to? There has to be something not right about your deals,’ she muttered to herself.
McCabe was outside, carefully leaning against one of the marble pillars just outside the offi ce entrance. He watched as Aziz stepped into his white Mercedes, his driver obediently holding open the door. After his driver had walked around the car to the driver’s door, he paused to scan the area to see if anyone was looking. That told McCabe he was no ordinary driver. He appeared to have been trained in counter-surveillance, most likely a bodyguard. Though clearly not that good, as he had not observed McCabe watching him.
Interesting, McCabe thought to himself. What would you, Mr Aziz, a so-called salesman for a bank, need with such protection, ha? As the car pulled away, McCabe followed it with his eyes, carefully noting quantum breach 290709.indd 116
