‘No. Had to be back home. How is it there?’ He replied.
‘Same old tamasha.’
‘Yeah? Who’s making a fool of himself?’
‘Almost everyone except the seniors.’
‘How come?’
‘They are here with their families. Indrani, Tanuja, Vikram and the Mumbai cluster managers have all come with their spouses.’
‘All on their best behaviour then?’
‘Everyone. I’m trying to see what they’re wearing.’
‘Who is the smartest?’
‘Without a doubt, Abhishek, Tanuja’s husband. Quite stylish. He’s apparently a hot-shot consultant at McKinsey. That’s what I overheard anyway. Anika is sad. Sonia is okay-okay.’
‘Haha. Chal, I’ve reached home. Don’t drink too much.’
‘Goodnight,’ said the SMS from Harshita, signalling the end of the conversation.
The next morning there were two messages for Raymond. One was a short three-line mail from Nikhil, which he saw on his BlackBerry: ‘Raymond, have discussed this issue with Vikram and he seconds Anand’s view that the Asia Logistics account need not be put on the suspicious transaction monitoring list. He has recommended that we revisit this after six months. Trust this closes the issue.’
The second was a SMS from Harshita, sent late in the night. ‘The bitch got the Best RM Award. Fuck. And guess what, Tanuja’s husband gave away the award. I don’t know whether to be disappointed about the former or the latter. Life in branch banking sucks.’
11
Hotel Diaghilev
Tel Aviv, Israel
Sometime in the Last Quarter, 2011
It was the middle of the night in Israel. Joseph Braganza was fast asleep in his hotel room in Tel Aviv. He had just finished brokering and negotiating an arms deal for the Argentina government who were under renewed threat from the British over the Falkland Islands. A $150 million worth arms deal from Israel munitions had fetched him a cool $17 million. It was so much easier dealing with the Israelis. They were clear that they were interested in selling arms and ammunitions to anyone who wanted to buy them. Whether it was for a democratic or nondemocratic process, it didn’t matter to them. This unabashed sales focus had often embarrassed the United States of America, as Israel was seen as their ally.
When he heard the phone ring, he woke up with a start. It wasn’t the regular phone. His principals required him to carry on his person twenty-four hours a day, a special scrambled phone on which they could reach him whenever they wanted to. Operatives like him had to follow that protocol. They could be called upon to act at a moment’s notice.
He looked at the semi-naked woman lying next to him. He had picked her up at the upmarket bar in Hilton earlier. Sometime during the night—he had no clue when—she had put on some clothes. As far as he remembered, she was bereft of clothing when he was pounding her, earlier that night. Wasn’t she awesome in bed? He smiled to himself, but only for a split second. There was no way that she could be there when he answered the call. She had to go.
With his left leg, he kicked her. She woke up in shock. By then Joseph had picked up her clothes and was standing by the door.
‘Get out,’ he said.
‘What the fuck?’
‘I said. . .Get the fuck out. NOW!!!’ he screamed.
The girl snatched the clothes from him in frustration and started putting them on.
‘Not here. Out!’ he pointed towards the corridor. ‘Move. Move!’ He literally pushed her out and slammed the door shut. All this while, the phone kept ringing.
He walked inside, picked up the phone, selected a spot farthest from the door and pressed the connect button. The girl he had pushed out, naked, into the corridor would be loitering around the suite door. Joseph didn’t want her to listen in.
The call was from somewhere in the United States of America, that was something he had gathered in his experience of over a decade working with these guys. As a covert Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) operative, all his dealings were over the phone or mail. He never, ever met them.
‘Yes.’
‘Calling from base. Identify yourself.’
‘462389, Holiday in Paris.’
‘Agent Solomon,’ the caller said curtly, addressing him by his code name.
The discussion went on for fifteen minutes. Joseph’s task was cut out. He was glad he had closed out the arms deal. He was free to attend to this business now.
‘It will be done,’ he said, towards the end of the call.
‘The money has already been wired to your account with UBS Geneva.’
‘Okay, thank you.’
‘Will call you tomorrow to confirm. Good night.’ It was the same voice for the last four years. Curt instructions, specific discussions, nothing else. They didn’t even ask him if he would be able to deliver. He was expected to—there was no other choice.
He picked up his regular phone and dialled a number in Austria. Joseph Braganza hurriedly barked out instructions in German, which the man at the other end quietly listened to. A name of a bank, an amount and an account number were mentioned. ‘Do this first thing in the morning.’
‘Consider it done. You know where to send my money to,’ the guy said in broken English.
‘Done,’ and Braganza hung up.
Getting up from his bed, he walked towards the bathroom. On his way he switched on the television. A news anchor on BBC was announcing that the United States of America had publically declared that it was siding with the British in the Falkland island dispute. Braganza smiled. He found it a strange and amusing contradiction of sorts that Israel, a staunch US ally, had gone ahead and sold the ammunition to Argentina, and what made the concoction even more interesting was the fact that he, Joseph Braganza, who had brokered this arms deal, was infact a covert CIA agent—one of many such agents who made up the clandestine network that CIA used to channelize and launder money for purposes that the United States could never have publically admitted to being involved in directly.
When inside the bathroom, he looked at himself in the mirror. Lean body, small frame, toned figure, not an inch of fat. He smiled as he remembered the escapades of the previous night. Involuntarily his hand went up to his forehead as he touched the gash there. That was the only thing that spoilt his near-film star looks. How much he wished he had been careful the day his convoy was ambushed in Iraq!
12
GB2, Mumbai
January 2012
The next quarter results were outstanding for the Bandra cluster. They topped GB2’s branch network on almost every single parameter. Wealth management, insurance, deposit growth and even loan origination—they were winners across every single deliverable. Nikhil was a star cluster manager now. It had hardly been nine months since he had moved into his new role, still a novice. Now he was the toast of everyone. Within Nikhil’s cluster, the Bandra Branch was the super star. Thirty-three per cent of the country insurance numbers came from this branch. The Bandra Branch also contributed to twenty per cent of the country’s mortgage origination and this kind of contribution was unheard of in the past.
The day the numbers came out, the whole branch was in a jubilant mood. Everyone was thrilled, not only at the phenomenal performance at the branch, but also at the relative performance of the branch as compared to the other branches. There is more fun in winning when the margin of victory is staggering.
Amidst all this, Harshita was sitting at her workstation with a sullen face. A look of disgust and tears in her eyes told everyone a different story. Her sales numbers were abysmal. It was not that she had never had a bad month before. There were many, she was human too. But invariably, in the past, the branch performance tracked Harshita’s performance. If Harshita failed, the branch failed. This was the first time that, despite Harshita’s disastrous performance, the branch had achieved record numbers. This undermined her position as the leading member of the Bandra Branch’s wealth management team.
As luck would
have it, the top performer that quarter was a rookie. Zinaida Gomes delivered numbers Harshita was used to delivering and that hurt badly. Harshita’s self-confidence had taken a tumble. In fact, it had nose-dived a few weeks ago itself when, in the presence of the entire bank, at the branch banking gala night, Vikram had announced that the RM of the year was Zinaida.
And now, when the final numbers of the last quarter of the calendar year were published, Zinaida had actually stolen the show. That day, Harshita walked to the washroom many times. And each time she would look at herself in the mirror and brood. Was age taking its toll? Had she become unattractive? Was she paling in comparison to the seductive Zinaida? Had customers started preferring to deal with Zinaida than with someone more stable and experienced like her? But then she would splash water on her face and remind herself of what Siddhartha had said to her during the conversation about streaking her hair. She was in banking and not in the business of entertaining clients. Looks didn’t matter as much as trust, faith and dependability did. And on those counts Zinaida couldn’t have beaten her. Even though she consoled and reassured herself, it really hurt to see someone earning a higher incentive than her at the Bandra Branch. How could she set things right? She thought hard and long, even called Siddhartha and spoke to him for close to an hour. Normally, Siddhartha would not have indulged her for so long while at work but he too realized what his wife was going through. The call to her husband helped her make up her mind on the future course of action. She got up and walked to Anand’s secretary.
‘Need to see Anand today.’
‘Sweetheart, he is away for the day with Vikram and Nikhil. He’ll only be back after lunch. Maybe you can meet him then. I’ll let him know.’
‘Please do. . .it’s important.’
‘Cool.’
Harshita didn’t have to wait for long. Anand was quite sensitive about his responsibilities towards his people. At around three-thirty in the afternoon, Anand called her and she walked into his room.
‘You wanted to see me, Harshita?’ Anand had a smile on his face, probably because Vikram had said some nice things to him.
‘Anand, I am not sure how you will react to this. I want to take an off for three weeks.’
‘What? Three weeks? In January, the beginning of the year? Harshita, is everything okay?’
‘I don’t know, Anand. I feel like I’m just not living up to my own expectations. I want to take a break, think about what I need to do, how to get things back on track on the work front etc. I have started wondering if I have gone past my expiry date for this job. I need to find answers to some serious questions.’
‘Harshita, it’s okay. Everyone has a bad month.’ Anand walked across and put his hand on her shoulders and made her sit.
‘It’s not about that, Anand.’
‘I know. But it’s fine. Look at it this way. The branch had a great month. So your poor performance didn’t matter. We were able to absorb your off-day.’
‘That’s exactly the point, Anand. If my poor performance didn’t matter to the branch, it means I don’t matter. It only shows that the branch can do well without me. I don’t want to sound selfish, but that’s not a position I have ever been in. Nor do I ever want to be in such a position again.’
‘Don’t think so much Harshita.’
‘Anand, I have not done anything different this month. I have worked the same way month after month, with the same commitment, the same dedication, yet my numbers are dropping. And that concerns me. Someone else is getting you your numbers, Anand, so you are fine with it, but for me it’s not acceptable.’
‘Okay, what do you want to do?’ Anand was getting frustrated with this conversation. He wanted to get it over with and go home.
‘I want to take a break for three weeks. I spoke to Siddhartha sometime back. He recommended we take a short vacation and come back recharged. I hope that will do me some good and after that I don’t give you any reason to complain.’
‘I will never complain, you know that. I have full faith in you. And if I ever say anything to you, it will be and has only been in your interest.’
Liar, thought Harshita, but didn’t say anything. It was not too long ago that they’d had the dirty conversation about the branch’s performance and her commitment and passion. Anand had probably forgotten it. But that had marked the beginning of her fall.
‘Thanks Anand. You’ve been a great help,’ Harshita said and almost as an afterthought, added, ‘always.’
Anand smiled. ‘Chill.’
‘I’ll send you a mail requesting a leave today,’ and she turned and stepped out of his cabin.
As she walked out of Anand’s room, she could sense a fair bit of commotion in the banking hall. The bank had just downed its shutters for the day, hence such a commotion was not routine. It didn’t take her too much time to realize what the issue was. The mammoth numbers the branch delivered that quarter attracted the pests from the compliance and audit team. They landed up for a spot audit.
Doors were slammed shut. No one was allowed to enter or leave the branch. People had to drop whatever they were doing and move to a side, to allow the compliance folks to do their job.
Raymond walked in with two other junior blokes, who were trying their best to look menacingly important. They had left Malvika back in the head office because Harshita was in the branch and there would have been an obvious conflict of interest if she was in the auditing team. They went straight to the Branch Manager’s room. Anand was surprised and stiffened up a bit when he saw them. He was standing by his desk, hands firmly planted on the two sides of his laptop kept on the table, eyes firmly fixed on the screen. In the same pose, he turned his head and looked at the three. ‘Hey Raymond, what’s going on?’
Raymond smiled. ‘Nothing. Just a regular inspection. We should be done in about an hour. Can you please request your team to stand down? No one leaves the premises, no one destroys any paper, no one makes any notings. . .’ After rattling off instructions, Raymond paused. Anand stood up, his face conveying a mix of shock and surprise. Raymond liked the pained look on his face and, with a sadistic glee, added, ‘. . .the regular stuff. You are familiar with the rigour, aren’t you?’
Anand nodded. ‘But why suddenly? Aren’t you supposed to inform us?’
Raymond’s already sadistic grin only got wider. ‘You should know me better by now, Anand. Nikhil was informed in the morning. I am sure he told you.’
‘No, he didn’t.’ He suddenly looked confused. ‘But why?’ After a pause, he added, ‘Wait, let me call him.’ Anand picked up his intercom and dialled Nikhil’s number. Simultaneously he looked at Raymond and said, ‘Are you trying to fuck me over because of the Asia Logistics issue?’
Raymond just smiled. Anand’s question was not worth a response. ‘Please go ahead and call him. I will do my job.’ Raymond walked out of Anand’s cabin, towards the banking hall. Nikhil picked up on the fourth ring. Anand’s pleas of not being prepared fell on deaf ears. Nikhil would have none of it. He was clear: if there was to be an audit, it had to be a surprise one; else the purpose of an audit was defeated. ‘Fucker,’ muttered Anand as he slammed the phone down.
The audit lasted precisely ninety minutes. Everything was dealt with very efficiently. Raymond was not vindictive at all, as Anand initially thought he would be. He was quite rational, balanced and even overlooked minor discrepancies in adherence to the branch process manual. For the entire duration Anand was in the banking hall, talking to his people, joking with them, passing smart comments on the audit team—even likening them to Pakistan’s ISI. Raymond didn’t react to the needling and quietly went about his job.
Finally the audit ended and Anand breathed easy. The audit did not dig out anything of significance. January is the time foreign banks start working on employee salary increments and Anand didn’t want an adverse audit to impact the perception of his stellar performance of the last six months.
From the looks of it, Raymond seemed quite sa
tisfied with the outcome of the audit. He shook hands with Anand and thanked him for the courtesy—it was customary, he wasn’t particularly keen to do that—and promised to send him the audit report within the week for his comments, before it was sent to the higher authorities. He walked out of the main door to his car parked outside the branch. He seldom drove to work. Only when he had to travel to some other branch would he drive, else he was quite used to the local trains. The moment he got into his car, the phone rang. It was his wife. He frowned, as usual and picked up the call. The moment Raymond said ‘Hello’, his wife started howling something into the phone.
‘Okay. . .okay. . .I’m at the branch only. . .I’ll get it. Don’t worry.’ The call abruptly disconnected. Raymond frowned again. His eyebrows curled, his moustache twitched and creases appeared on his forehead. He was irritated, it was evident. He hurled the phone on the dashboard. ‘What the fuck?’ he swore. For a few minutes he sat there, hands on his head, elbows on the steering wheel, looking stressed. He felt the back pocket of his trousers. The wallet was intact. He had his ATM card. He got out of the car and slowly walked up to the ATM installed just outside the branch.
The ATM lobby was empty. He glanced inside the branch. The staff was all huddled inside the conference room, presumably talking to Anand about the audit. He looked back at the ATM lobby. Three ATMs displaying various promotional messages smartly adorned the lobby. Wasn’t GB2 a bank to die for? Almost everything they did was in impeccable style. He was proud to be working there.
He walked up to the closest ATM. His wife had asked for ten thousand rupees. ‘Fuck,’ he said, as the account balance came up on the screen. ‘Over a decade of work experience and nothing in the bank to show for it,’ he said to himself, letting out a deep sigh and turning back. Right next to the ATMs was a cheque deposit box. He saw the box and remembered he had been carrying a refund cheque in his wallet for the last two weeks, but hadn’t managed to deposit it. Happy he had remembered when he was in the lobby itself, he pulled out the cheque, wrote his account number on the back and walked up to the box, and inserted the cheque into the slit on the top and let go.
The Bankster (Ravi Subramanian) Page 10
