The Marketmaker

by Michael Ridpath

  But Jamie was my friend, dammit! How could Ricardo take away my friend from me? Surely our loyalty to each other stretched back further, ran deeper?

  In which case, why had I gone behind Jamie’s back to sell Dekker to Bloomfield Weiss? I was beginning to regret that. Now it looked as if that decision was going to lose me my best friend. And, barring a miracle, it might lose Isabel her life too.

  But I had genuinely believed that Jamie would be just as well off if Bloomfield Weiss did take over Dekker.

  And what about Kate? I shouldn’t have dragged her into this. She and I were good friends, and I could feel her losing her respect for Jamie. The last thing I wanted to do was pull her away from him. But, unless I was careful, that’s what would happen.

  Of course, I still had the hardest problem of all waiting for me. How to find and release Isabel.

  I sighed, drank down my whisky, and looked at my watch. Three o’clock. The kidnappers’ deadline was four, British time. One hour to go.

  I nodded off in my chair, and was woken by the phone ringing. It was ten past four, and I could hear the scattered chirping of the first blackbirds outside the window.

  ‘Nick? It’s Luís.’

  ‘What did Zico say?’ I asked him.

  ‘They’ll keep her alive. I told him that the deal wasn’t called off, but merely delayed. He said that as soon as they hear that the deal is closed, they’ll kill her.’

  ‘So we have until next Wednesday to find her.’

  ‘Yes. But at least she’s still alive.’

  ‘At least she’s still alive,’ I repeated.

  With the hope that Isabel would live glimmering like the dawn light seeping through the curtains, I dragged myself upstairs to bed.

  I woke at nine. Five hours’ sleep was enough for me to feel refreshed. Kate was taking Oliver to his nursery school, and Jamie had left hours before. I made myself a cup of coffee and some toast, and went back upstairs to think.

  I put all thoughts of Jamie, Kate, where I was going to find a job and where I was going to live out of my mind. I had to work out how to find Isabel by next Wednesday. I pulled out some fresh clean white sheets of paper, and stared at their emptiness.

  Whoever had organized Isabel’s kidnap wanted Dekker to remain independent. Ricardo and Eduardo were the two people most likely to want Dekker to remain independent. Yet Ricardo refused to admit any knowledge of the kidnapping, and it would be impossible to tie them into it from here.

  But what about the other end? What about Brazil? What about Rio? Now we were getting somewhere. I began to jot down some thoughts.

  The kidnappers were a Rio gang. I had been attacked by a gang in Rio, even if it was only a gang of kids. Dave had guessed that this was linked to Martin Beldecos’s death in Caracas, and money-laundering at Dekker. Money-laundering that was organized by Francisco Aragão, Ricardo’s brother-in-law.

  But why would Francisco Aragão want to kidnap Isabel?

  I looked over my jottings. It was clear that if I was to work out who was holding Isabel, I would have to go to Brazil. But, in the meantime, there was one lead in England I should follow up.

  I pulled out my list of Dekker home numbers and dialled one.

  ‘Alô.’

  ‘Can I speak to Luciana Ross?’

  ‘Speaking.’

  ‘Oh, hallo. This is Nick Elliot. We met at your party in April, I don’t know if you remember?’

  ‘Ah, Nick, of course I remember!’ Her voice was husky, warm and friendly. ‘How are you doing?’

  ‘Um, not too bad. You talked about some of the Latin American designs you do, and since I’m planning to redecorate my flat, I wondered if I could come and see some?’

  ‘Of course. Any time you like.’

  ‘Today?’

  ‘Sure. Come round here for some lunch.’

  ‘OK.’ I checked my watch, and thought about train times. ‘I’ll be there at about one.’

  ‘See you then.’

  *

  The Rosses’ apartment was in one of the grand squares of Belgravia. I chained my bike out of the way down some steps, and rang the bell. I was wearing the smartest casual clothes I could muster, but I knew I would look more in place in the School of Russian Studies common room than here.

  A disembodied voice crackled through the entry-phone. ‘Nick?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Second floor. Take the lift.’

  There was only one door on the second floor, and I rang the brass bell beside it. In a moment, it was opened, and Luciana appeared. She was wearing a simple white top, and jeans that clung to her hips and legs. Her full black hair shone round her shoulders. She gave me a broad smile, as though she had known me for years. ‘Nick, come in!’

  She proffered her cheek, and I kissed it, smelling a hint of expensive perfume. Then I followed her into the sitting room.

  It assaulted my eyes. Dark polished wood, lush carpets, gold trim, and large, heavily patterned drapes clamoured for attention. But I was drawn to the walls, where three long paintings swirled in greens, blues and reds.

  Luciana followed my gaze. ‘These are by an up-and-coming artist from Bahia. Do you like them?’

  ‘They remind me of my mother’s.’ And, in a strange kind of way, they did. Although the subject matter, Norfolk beaches and tropical forests, was entirely different, the whirling brush strokes evoked the same kind of dark despair. It was uncanny.

  ‘Really?’ said Luciana. ‘She must be a good painter.’

  ‘She is,’ I said, thoughtfully.

  Luciana watched me closely. She knew and liked these paintings. It was as though she knew my mother.

  ‘Would you like a glass of wine?’ she offered.

  ‘That would be lovely.’

  ‘Have a seat, I’ll be back in a minute.’

  I sat down on a sofa, and looked around at the carpets, vases, clocks, candlesticks, some old, some new, all expensive. Between the paintings hung a vast, gilded antique mirror. What sort of people would like to have their homes done up like this? I wondered. Rich people, I presumed.

  I could see no trace of Ricardo anywhere. He probably had an office stuck away out of sight. This was Luciana’s territory.

  She returned with two glasses of white wine, and curled up in a large armchair next to me. I noticed she was barefoot. Red toenails.

  It seemed to her perfectly natural that a junior ex-employee of her husband’s firm should come to see her to talk about designs. Somehow, I had guessed it would.

  ‘So, you’re decorating your place?’ she asked.

  ‘Yes. Now I’ve earned some money I thought I ought to brighten the flat up a bit. And I liked some of the things I saw in Brazil, so I thought I would come and ask you for ideas. If you don’t mind?’

  ‘I don’t mind at all,’ said Luciana. Her dark eyes looked straight at me over her glass. ‘But let’s have a drink and some lunch first, shall we? It’s just a salad.’

  I gulped at the wine. I felt uncomfortable. In her own way, this woman was as powerful as Ricardo. She was used to getting what she wanted. Well, I needed something from her, and it seemed best to come to it straight away, before I lost control of the situation.

  ‘Actually, there is something else I wanted to ask you about.’

  ‘Oh, yes?’

  ‘It’s about your brother, Francisco.’

  This surprised her. Her smile wavered, and those dark eyes hardened for a second. ‘Why do you want to know about him?’

  ‘You know Isabel Pereira was kidnapped, don’t you?’

  ‘Yes. That was awful. These things happen in Rio. It is terrible.’

  ‘Well, it seems that Dekker Ward have been dealing with drug gangs. It may be that there’s a connection between this money-laundering and Isabel’s kidnappers.’

  ‘And you think this connection might be Francisco?’ Luciana looked shocked but not offended.

  I took a deep breath. ‘I have heard rumours that Francisco is connected wit
h some drug gangs.’

  ‘Are you saying my brother is a narco-trafficker?’ Luciana still looked more amused than offended.

  ‘No, Luciana. I’m saying your brother is a businessman. I’m sure he doesn’t deal in drugs, but he deals in money, doesn’t he?’

  ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Well, people invest money with him, he invests money with other people. Perhaps he invested some money with Ricardo? Money belonging to contacts of his? Contacts in the import-export business?’

  I was guessing and Luciana could see it. She smiled. ‘And why should I tell you anything about this, even if there is anything to tell?’

  ‘What’s the harm? I don’t care where Francisco’s money came from. I have no desire to get him into trouble. All I care about is tracing Isabel, and I need some sort of lead. If I don’t find her in the next week, she will die.’

  ‘She means a lot to you, doesn’t she?’ Once again, Luciana’s gaze was direct.

  I nodded.

  ‘Your glass is empty. Let me get some more wine.’ She disappeared again, to the kitchen presumably, and returned with the bottle. She filled her own glass and mine.

  She sat down next to me on the sofa, and touched my arm. I didn’t move. But it was very hard to remain detached with such a beautiful and intensely sexual woman next to me.

  ‘Ricardo doesn’t like you very much, does he?’ she said.

  ‘No. I don’t think he does. Do you mind that?’

  ‘No,’ she said, running her finger along my sleeve. ‘I rather like it.’

  ‘Will you tell me about your brother?’ I asked.

  ‘Maybe,’ she said, and smiled, looking up at me through blackened eyelashes.

  I knew what I would have to do to get my question answered. And, looking at Luciana, just how bad could that be?

  But in the same way that I didn’t want to be manipulated by her husband, I didn’t want to be manipulated by this woman. She moved even closer to me, I could feel one of her breasts touching my arm. ‘Don’t be shy,’ she said.

  ‘Do you do this often?’

  ‘Sometimes. For fun. And it is fun, I can assure you.’

  ‘That’s what Jamie says,’ I lied.

  ‘Does he talk about me?’ she said, in mock anger.

  I nodded. ‘We’re old friends.’

  ‘And I thought you English men were too uptight to talk about sex!’

  ‘What does Ricardo think? Does he know how you amuse yourself at home?’

  ‘We never talk about it. I think he must guess I have some outside interests. I don’t think he realizes that some of them are his own people.’

  ‘And doesn’t that bother you?’

  ‘I like it.’

  ‘You like it?’

  Luciana sat upright. ‘When you’re married to someone like Ricardo he tries to control you. Well, I don’t like to be controlled. I want to decide what I want to do, and if he knows it, so what?’

  ‘I think I can understand that.’

  ‘Most people don’t stand up to him. You did. You drive him crazy. Maybe that’s why I like you.’

  ‘And Jamie?’

  ‘I think Jamie likes to think he can fuck the boss’s wife. Well, that’s fine with me. He likes living dangerously and so do I. And he is cute.’

  ‘So where does that leave us?’ I asked.

  She leaned forward, and kissed me gently on the lips. ‘Right here.’

  Suddenly my confusion resolved itself. Either I could stay and be laid by this woman and then perhaps hear some lie about her brother, or I could leave now.

  ‘Well, thank you for the wine, Luciana,’ I said, pulling myself to my feet. ‘I’m sorry I can’t stay to lunch.’

  I left her curled up on the sofa, coolly drinking her wine.

  ‘Tchau,’ she said.

  27

  For the third time in the last three months, I saw the brown dusty mess of Rio’s northern suburbs through the window of an aeroplane. But it was different this time. Before, I had felt anticipation and excitement. Now I felt desperation and fear. Fear for Isabel, and fear for myself. I had nearly been killed on my first trip, and kidnapped on my second. What would happen this time, I wondered.

  The ticket for the British Airways flight departing that evening had cost me half of what was left of the money Ricardo had lent me. I had had no choice but to pay it. I had to do all I could to find Isabel, and that involved flying to Brazil. If I didn’t go, and the kidnappers carried out their threat, I would never be able to forgive myself.

  Luís had been pleased to hear of my plans, and Kate had been understanding. Her willingness to help me save Isabel was touching, but no less than I would have expected of her. She asked me to keep her informed of events. Jamie was at work. He would, no doubt, be happy to find me gone when he returned.

  My feelings towards Jamie were confused. I was angry with him. Angry that he had turned his back on me in favour of Ricardo. And angry that he had been so callously unfaithful to Kate with Luciana. I could imagine him justifying it now: ‘It was just a bit of fun, a bit of adventure,’ he’d say. ‘I don’t even really like Luciana, but I love Kate.’ Yuk.

  But I also felt guilty. About plotting against Dekker from his house, and about making his wife my accomplice. I bore my responsibility for the destruction of ten years of friendship.

  Still, now I was down here, I had to put all that behind me, and focus on one thing: setting Isabel free. It would be hard to find her by next Wednesday, but I had an idea that just might extend the deadline further. We would see.

  Luís met me at the airport with a smile and an embrace, and his chauffeur drove us back to his apartment in Ipanema. There, Nelson, Cordelia and her husband Fernando were waiting. Cordelia was noticeably larger; I was relieved that Isabel’s disappearance hadn’t disrupted her pregnancy.

  They greeted me with handshakes and smiles, and I was pleased to be among them again. We sat in the living room, and despite the difficulty of our task, there was an almost palpable feeling of optimism among us. It was as though now we were together again our collective determination to find her would succeed, despite the odds.

  ‘So, what do you think, Nick?’ Luís asked.

  ‘I’m pretty sure I can guess who’s behind Isabel’s kidnapping.’

  ‘Who?’ asked Cordelia, leaning forward.

  ‘Francisco Aragão.’

  ‘Francisco Aragão? Ricardo Ross’s brother-in-law? I wouldn’t be surprised,’ muttered Luís.

  ‘I think he’s working together with Ricardo and Eduardo Ross. I don’t know who’s calling the shots, but my best guess is that between the three of them they had Martin Beldecos murdered, and Isabel kidnapped.’

  ‘But why?’ asked Luís.

  ‘I think Dekker Ward is laundering drug money for Francisco. He approached Dekker through his sister Luciana, who is, of course, Ricardo’s wife.’

  ‘Have you spoken to Luciana?’ Luís asked.

  ‘Yes, I have.’ I coughed. I didn’t want to go into the details of that conversation. ‘She didn’t actually admit it, but the idea didn’t seem to surprise her either.’

  Luís nodded, and I continued. ‘Francisco set up accounts at Dekker Trust in the Cayman Islands with the help of an American attorney in Miami named Tony Hempel. They’re both under investigation by the American Drug Enforcement Agency. Martin Beldecos was on the point of uncovering this arrangement, so he was murdered in Caracas. I might have been attacked for the same reason.’ I paused and looked out of the window towards Ipanema beach and the sea. The stretch of sand where I had been knifed was just out of view. ‘Over there.’

  The four of them were listening to my words closely.

  ‘OK, but what has Isabel’s kidnapping to do with this?’ Luís asked.

  ‘I can’t be sure, exactly. At first it looked like a standard Rio kidnapping. For money. We all assumed that Isabel was kidnapped so that you would have to pay a ransom.’

  Luís nodded.

/>   ‘But now it looks as though that wasn’t the real motive. The kidnappers seem more interested in protecting Dekker than in extorting money.’

  ‘So why did they kidnap her in the first place?’

  I had given this much thought on the plane journey down, and I believed I had an answer. ‘Well, it wasn’t just her that was snatched. They took me as well. Perhaps they thought that I had some knowledge about Martin or Francisco that would compromise them. They wanted me out of the way. Even when I escaped, they kept me distracted by launching into negotiations for Isabel’s ransom, and, of course, I left Dekker soon after I returned to England.’

  ‘So why didn’t they just kill her, like they did Martin Beldecos?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘Good question. I don’t know the answer.’ Actually, I could guess at why Isabel hadn’t been killed, especially if Ricardo was involved in the operation in some way. But I didn’t want to tell Luís about his daughter’s affair with Ricardo if I could help it. I knew she wouldn’t want me to. ‘For some reason they wanted us to believe she was dead. That’s why they dropped the ransom so suddenly, and didn’t respond to the proof-of-life question. But they obviously decided to keep her alive. Thank God.’

  ‘Do you have proof of all this?’ asked Nelson.

  ‘No, I don’t, but it all adds up. What do you think, Luís?’

  Luís rubbed his chin. ‘I think you might be right. What you say makes sense.’

  ‘Do you know him?’

  ‘Francisco? No. I mean, I’ve met him once or twice but we’ve never done business together.’

  ‘What does he do? All I know is he’s some kind of financier.’

  ‘His father is a senator, and so was his grandfather. His elder brother runs a contracting company that makes good profits from government contracts. But in Brazil, that’s normal.’

  ‘And Francisco himself?’

  ‘He made a lot of money in the eighties through offshore investment companies. It was easy, and very profitable. A lot of people did it. It involved currency speculation against the various government exchange-rate programmes. It had to be offshore to avoid exchange controls.’

  ‘By offshore, do you mean Panama?’ I asked. I remembered Tony Hempel and International Trading and Transport (Panama) Ltd.