by Powell, Mark
The lady half smiled and nodded her head, not liking his tone. But he was more powerful within the group. His was the money that funded the cause and without him, Afzal Jihad would be back to blowing up rubble and buses, so she had to take his lead.
‘Good. I want the fi nal stage of the project to be completed by next week. I want to pump some cash into Banning Capital and stake our claim, so no mistakes. I also want those British Secret Service guys dealt with. It’s personal, and I want it to hurt, so tell your people to get it done right this time. You know why.’ Surat paused, his eyes momentarily cold and dark.
‘Have you spoken to our dear friend in MI5 recently?’ she enquired.
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‘Yes, indeed I have. He is still on side and knows what to do. Not that he has much choice in the matter if he wants his dirty little secrets to stay buried. He must keep you informed of their every movement,’
Surat responded. He then paused and took a sip of water,
‘Understood. I will make sure it gets done,’ she replied
‘Good, now let us enjoy our dinner.’ With that, Surat poured some wine and they settled back to enjoy dinner.
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SIXTEEN
As the car pulled into the driveway, McCabe was already standing at the top of the drive like an angry father whose daughter had arrived back home in a police car. Ying stepped out of the car, followed by her two new guard dogs, and she looked up at McCabe.
‘I just went out for a while. I didn’t want to get you worried.’ She broke a smile at him, hoping it would subdue his look of anger.
‘I’m not angry, just glad you’re safe. However, the rules of the game have now changed greatly. These two chaps will be your shadow from now on.’ With that, McCabe took Ying by the arm and led her inside.
As Ying sat down on one of the chairs in the living room, her mind started to whirl: something inside her was beginning to connect the toxic dots. Clients, one makes money, the other loses. Oil prices, facts and fi gures were now colliding in her brain as if trying to fuse together.
‘Oh my God!’ Ying sprung up from the chair she had just sat down in.
‘What is it?’ Stowe reacted fast to her tone.
‘The loss exposure! That’s how he’s doing it.’ Ying felt a rush of excitement as it dawned on her how Aziz was structuring the trades.
‘What is it? Ying?’ McCabe felt himself freeze dead in his tracks.
Ying was now deep in thought. ‘Okay, sit down the pair of you, let me lay this out.’ Both McCabe and Stowe sat on the sofa, their faces expectant of an explanation from Ying.
‘Okay, he has two shipping companies as his clients, right? One quantum breach 290709.indd 146
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good and one bad.’
‘What do you mean?’ Stowe piped in.
‘Hang on, Brian. The bad side, Al Safad in this case, deliberately pays too high a price for its oil contracts. Why? To deliberately force a loss which is large enough to affect its capital. Clear?’
‘I’m still not with you.’ Stowe was looking confused.
‘The parent company, Moon Star Holdings, has to pay in more cash to cover the loss Al Safad Shipping has just made. The objective being the cash injection is most likely dirty money, made from drug deals, prostitution, whatever, right: money laundering!’
Ying was now smiling. ‘That’s brilliant, Ying,’ McCabe now piped in.
‘Hang on, there’s more.’ For the fi rst time, Ying felt she was adding some real value to the operation. She even felt a little in control.
‘Okay, now for the other company, TJ Cargo. They buy oil at a low price. This is where Aziz uses his talents: they make a profi t based on the fact the oil price goes up, and the currency they use also goes up in value, more for their dollar.
‘Now—and here is the smart part—TJ uses the capital made to pay up the chain, and they put this into the banks in the form of stock. TJ
also buys the options from Al Safad at a knock-down price, and later uses this to sell into the market at a higher price.’
‘That is bloody brilliant, Ying.’ McCabe and Stowe were both looking at each other.
‘Well, one small issue. It’s only a guess and we don’t know who owns Moon Star Holdings, but maybe it’s Tai Investments? Now that would be big news.’ Ying was now really beginning to think.
‘It sounds very plausible to me,’ McCabe said.
‘We need to fi nd out who owns Tai Investments. Maybe it’s Afzal Jihad,’ Stowe said. ‘Then we have the bastards.’
‘Yeah, but that’s not all. Boss, thinking about it, Aziz knows that the bank is about to propose a rights issue across the existing shareholders to build up cash reserves, so he may have hit the timing perfectly.’
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‘Bugger me,’ McCabe said. ‘Ying, you stay on him and continue to book his deals like all is normal, okay? Stowe, did you speak with Trent about getting the CEO to call Brown?’
‘Yes, all done. They will inform her you are helping them with an internal audit issue,’ Stowe said.
‘Great, that means London will be calling Brown in a while and that means the offi ce here will be off our backs, and we can start to unwind this web of deals, get to the bottom of what is going on. It appears our friendly Al Safad Shipping Company is up to no good, and Aziz really is the executioner of doom.’
‘No, your Aziz is just a puppet, believe me. There is someone else behind this with even more brains and a real edge, you mark my words.’
Stowe’s eyes were dark and his face bore a serious frown.
‘Who is it, Stowe, any thoughts?’ McCabe asked as he took a bite out of an apple he had carefully selected from the fruit bowl.
‘That’s just it, I don’t. And given that it is the more serious aspect to focus on, we are pretty much in the dark. Not a good place to be, people.’ Stowe sat down at the kitchen table.
Ryan had now placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him. ‘Maybe that’s why Aziz is off. It’s a diversion, they expect us to follow him.’
McCabe now joined Stowe at the table.
‘Come on, you lot, put your heads together. I think there has to be a connection.’ Ying sat in the armchair, her eyes staring up at the ceiling fan as it went round.
‘A mole of some kind,’ McCabe speculated. ‘Someone who is trusted by the Afzal Jihad group, or is a major player within, but also has a line into MI5 and 6. That’s the only explanation. After all, they seem to know our every move.’ He turned with an impish look on his face as his tone shifted into a more playful register. ‘It’s not you, Stowe, is it?’
Stowe jerked his head towards McCabe; his look said it all. ‘Not funny, McCabe. But you have a point. It is the description of whom we need to fi nd.’
A silence fell upon the room; everyone just sat around as if waiting quantum breach 290709.indd 148
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for the solution to pop up. After about 15 minutes, Ying got up and walked into the kitchen. ‘Anyone hungry? I can cook. I want to take a shower fi rst and freshen up though. Then I’ll whip up something for dinner, okay?’
‘Great,’ said Ryan. Stowe and McCabe just nodded and went back to their thoughts. Faces past and present were fl icking through McCabe’s head, each face being processed by his subconscious brain. It was as if he was processing every face he had ever seen in the hope something would stick.
Stowe got up from the kitchen table and walked out of the living room and down the narrow corridor. He wanted to get some cigarettes from his room; the odd smoke helped him think. As his hand grabbed the doo
r handle to his room and opened the door, he turned. Ying was standing right behind him, draped in only a white towel.
‘Shush,’ she said and motioned with a fi nger to her lips to stay silent.
As she stepped forward, she pushed him back into his room and placed her arms around his neck.
‘Ying, what are you … ’
Before Stowe could fi nish, her tongue was in his mouth, her lips now fi rmly against his. Stowe felt any possible resistance melting. Ying’s soft lips tasted great; her tongue working its way around the inside of his mouth. As he opened his eyes, he could see Ying’s half-open eyes looking right back at him. He was lost; her cat-like eyes just grabbed his attention. He felt her knee rise up and nudge gently into his groin. By now, he was hard. Even Stowe had urges and there was no way he could resist Ying. Her hand lowered and started to stroke his groin. Stowe moaned as her lips continued to kiss him. Ying unfastened his belt and deftly undid his trousers, her hand now working its way inside.
As he broke the kiss, his eyes were now wide open. ‘Ying, we can’t!’
Her fi nger was quickly placed against his lips.
‘I want you, Brian. Please,’ Ying pouted at Stowe and he felt himself weaken and his animal instincts take over.
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SEVENTEEN
As Stowe walked somewhat casually into the sitting room, his mind was not as focused as it should have been given the magnitude of the operation they now had in play. Instead, his mind was focused on the time he had just spent making love with Ying. Ying had fucked him to within an inch of his life. He was feeling so good, and he had, in fact, never felt this close or erotic to anyone before. As if his walk were not enough of a clue to say he was not his normal self, his face had a big smile splashed all over it; McCabe spotted it instantly.
‘You okay, Stowe?’ McCabe said, his own face showing a somewhat concerned expression.
‘Yeah fi ne. Just had a lie-down and a smoke.’ McCabe instantly knew this was bullshit: Stowe never took a nap, and certainly not when critical thinking had to be done. McCabe decided, however, to ignore it for now, not so much because he actually liked seeing Stowe happy for a change, but because he needed Stowe’s head back in the game.
A few moments later, Ying appeared dressed in her track pants and a baggy grey T-shirt with the words ‘Bite Me’ printed in big black letters on the front.
‘Hi, guys. Okay, who’s for food?’
McCabe looked at her. Her actions, combined with the way Stowe had just looked at her as she entered the room, confi rmed his fears: they had just had sex with each other.
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‘What?’ Ying asked in response to that knowing look McCabe gave her.
‘Nothing. Just thinking.’ With that, McCabe got up and walked out into the garden. Ryan and Geoff were also outside making sure the house was secure, each one pacing around the garden. Stowe also headed outside.
McCabe was now sitting on the stone wall that surrounded the swimming pool. He looked up, ‘Stowe, you remember Beirut, when Kate was killed?’
‘Yeah, of course I do. Why?’ Stowe replied, somewhat surprised at the question. There was even a note of defensiveness in his voice.
Having now sparked up a cigarette, he fl icked his ash onto the grass.
‘The informer, a lady I think, the one who told you who did it.
What was her name?’ McCabe paused. Stowe now just gazed into the swimming pool.
‘Rain Angel. Why?’
‘Ever thought that she could be our leak? I mean, she has the access to all the information and that guy from the car chase—you know, the guy you so artfully interrogated—did say the word “Rain”.’
‘You think she’s our mole?’ Stowe turned sharply, knocked fully off stride by McCabe’s thoughts.
‘Well, it’s plausible, right? She knew Hezbollah, right, now Afzal Jihad, and is an informer for MI6 to boot. She defi nitely fi ts the bill.’
‘Yes. But that’s like saying a dozen or so other informers could also fi t the bill.’ Stowe was clearly trying to get his head around the idea.
‘Well, it’s just a hunch, that’s all. So how do you account for the
“rain” comment from the guy who is now rat food?’ McCabe went quiet and just sat on the wall.
‘No one has ever seen the Rain Angel, no idea who she is. All we know is that she is a woman, always dealt with via a handler, but you have a point, McCabe.’ Stowe said instantly, his mind now buzzing, whilst at the same time very concerned at the possible leak.
‘Come and get it,’ shouted Ying. Stowe and McCabe looked at each quantum breach 290709.indd 151
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other blankly and went inside. Sitting down at the table, they were presented with a steaming bowl of spaghetti, which in fact smelled fantastic. Seeing the glances Stowe and McCabe were shooting each other, Ying sarcastically quipped, ‘What were you expecting—chicken rice?’ Stowe then laughed. Even McCabe cracked a smile.
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EIGHTEEN
As Christopher Fleming, the bank’s Chief Executive, sat at the boardroom table, it was clear he had to make a hard decision. The bank needed capital, and fast: the losses they had incurred via the credit crunch had resulted in the bank being hit for US$350 million.
Whilst to some institutions this was a drop in the ocean, for Banning Capital, it was the difference between staying alive and collapse. The bank had securitised a loan for a US mortgage provider; a very bad decision, as it turned out. His fellow board members were all looking at each other, as if some divine intervention would save their jobs.
Fleming looked at the fi nance executive and nodded.
‘Good. Trigger the rights issue. We need at least £500 million to cover ourselves, so I suggest we try and raise one billion, issued at £5
a share, and only offer it to the bank’s existing shareholders. In fact, Tai Investments, one of our newest shareholders, has already expressed interest in buying more stock. I don’t want us being bailed out by the government, is that clear, gentlemen?’ He paused. ‘I also want this to be presented well to the media. Just say we are issuing the stock to ensure we are well capitalised, not that we need it.’
With that, he looked around the room. Each of the board members was busy writing his instructions down, or nodding like an obedient puppy that had just been given permission to pee on the lawn. After the meeting had been adjourned, they all left the room, scurrying off to prepare the rights issue and the media packs.
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Just over 3,000 miles away in Dubai, and four hours deeper into the working day, Aziz sat, as he always did, hunched over his computer keyboard. His face had the look of someone who was very pleased with himself, evident from the wry smile as his eyes scanned the numbers now presented to him on screen. His two best clients had deposited a further US$100 million with him. His eyes only left the screen when his phone rang.
As he picked up the call, the smile that had been evident now drained. ‘Aziz, get ready to execute the fi nal deal. And no mistakes, okay.
And make sure you execute from India.’ The voice on the other end was fi rm and cold as usual. As Aziz listened intently to that voice, he could not help but think he was being treated like an idiot. He resented the harsh tone this woman always used with him, especially when he had made so much money for his clients. Just as she had fi nished speaking, Aziz made his move.
‘I want US$20 million deposited into an account of my choice.
Then I will execute the fi nal deal,’ he demanded and then paused. An awkward silence now greeted him.
&nbs
p; ‘Hello, are you there?’ Aziz enquired.
‘I will get back to you,’ she replied. The lady then hung up the phone.
Aziz knew from her tone that she was not happy, but he had to take care of himself now. He knew that his work was almost done. As he allowed himself to relax for a few moments, he worked out in his head that after three weeks of activity, US$500 million in funds would have been cleared by his efforts alone, and close to US$12 million in revenue made. Tai Investments should be very happy with him.
However, he now drifted back to wondering if his lady boss would deliver on her end of the bargain; he wanted his bonus. He also recalled how the phone had fallen silent when he presented his terms. She was clearly not amused.
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Damn it, he thought, she had no choice, and she should reward him, especially given the fact that he had eight other salesmen placed at other banks now copying his exact same model. He had put together a network of salesmen all beavering away in eight different banks that, it appeared, had the same lapse of controls and the deal structure was simply working. Aziz had created a spreadsheet that contained every salesman’s name, client’s name, client account number, deal type, revenue, currency, contract expiry date; it was all there in black and white. As extra protection, Aziz took a back-up copy every evening as the information was fed to him.
As he sat in his chair, staring out the window at the afternoon sun, Aziz cast his mind back about two years, to his last similar job. There he had made a small fortune, having successfully laundered US$200
million for his employer, a Burmese drug cartel based out of Bangkok, where all their international sales took place. It was in fact the head of that cartel, Mr Surat, a ruthless man who took pleasure in personally shooting anyone who betrayed him, who had recommended Aziz to his new boss.
He then remembered his assistant, Mr Nuru, a slight Egyptian man with very badly pockmarked skin and a rather annoying habit of chewing tobacco, which he duly spat out into his wastepaper bin.
