The Predator

by Michael Ridpath

  'I was still ill when I got back to England. I came back here, saw a doctor, had some tests, took some medicine and lay in bed. My mother kept calling; she was worried about me, but I told her I was all right. She didn't believe me. One day she just showed up on my doorstep. We had an enormous fight. She wanted to take me back with her to Halifax so she could nurse me better, but I refused to go. She drove back by herself in tears.'

  'Why didn't you go with her?' Megan asked.

  'Stubbornness. Stupidity. I have nothing against my mother. Usually, we get on well. She's a strong woman, and I owe her a lot. She brought me up believing I could do something in the world. I suppose that was my problem. I had spent my entire youth planning my escape from Halifax, with her encouragement. Going back would have been an admission that I'd failed, not just myself, but also her. Although I was in a bad way, I didn't quite want to do that yet. So I stayed, and festered.

  'Then Lenka called. She said she knew I was a good trader. She asked what had happened when I'd been fired from Bloomfield Weiss, and when I told her, she said she thought it must have been something like that. She said I was her first choice as a partner to set up a hedge fund. She wasn't just being kind; she needed me. Of course, I did my best to refuse, to condemn myself to perpetual failure. But you know Lenka. What she wants, she gets.' Chris stopped to correct himself. 'I mean, what she wanted . . .'

  'You don't look like a failure to me,' said Megan.

  'No, I'm not. Not now. Provided I can keep Carpathian going.'

  'Are there problems?'

  Chris took a deep breath. 'Let's just say that Lenka's death brought some complications. Nothing I can't sort out. I'd rather not think about it now.'

  'Well, good luck, with that.' Megan stood up. 'And now, I'd better get to bed if I'm not going to get totally drunk.'

  That's a good idea,' said Chris, standing up as well. 'Look, I've got to go to Lenka's flat tomorrow evening and sort some stuff out for her parents. Would you like to come? You can stay here again tomorrow night if you want.'

  'I can find a hotel,' said Megan.

  'Are you sure? You're welcome to stay.'

  She looked at him and smiled. 'OK. That would be good. Now I must get to bed.'

  4

  It made no sense. Chris sipped his coffee as he stared at the Eureka Telecom papers in front of him. The first thing he had done when he had arrived at the office that morning was go through them one more time in the hope that the reason Lenka had bought the bonds would become obvious. It hadn't. In fact, he found it difficult to believe that she had bought them at all.

  But she had. Carpathian owned them. And they had no means of selling them.

  The phone rang. It was Duncan.

  'You remember you gave me some junk bond recommendations the other day?' he began.

  'Yes.'

  'Well, my client checked them out. He said they seemed to make more sense than anything anyone else had told him.'

  'Good.'

  'Do you think you could have lunch with him?'

  'Duncan! There's a lot going on here, and only me to do it now Lenka's gone.'

  'Come on, Chris. This guy's my best client. He's stuck with me since United Arab International. I know you'd give him an honest idea of what's going on out there. I'll pay.'

  'Oh, all right,' Chris said. 'Who is he, anyway?'

  'His name is Khalid. Royal Bank of Kuwait. Smart guy. Don't underestimate him. How are you placed next week?'

  Reluctantly, Chris agreed a date. He put down the phone, reflecting that Duncan couldn't be that useless a salesman: he seemed to possess that essential ability to make people do things they didn't really want to do.

  Now what the hell was he going to do about the Eureka Telecom bonds?

  He stared across at Lenka's desk. Tina had put some fresh flowers in her vase, delphiniums or something. But they didn't know the answer.

  If only he had been there the previous week. Although they trusted each other, he and Lenka always discussed major investment decisions. She would certainly have gone over this one with him. He had given her his phone number in Courchevel before he went skiing, but she had refused to use it, saying he needed a complete break from the office. If only he could at least have listened in to her end of the phone conversation with Ian when she had bought the bonds.

  At Bloomfield Weiss, that would have been possible. All phone conversations were taped to resolve any disputed trades. But they hadn't installed any recording equipment at Carpathian. The firm was too small, and both Lenka and Chris hadn't liked the Big Brother aspect of bugging phones. Besides, if there was a problem they could always rely on the broker's recordings.

  That was it!

  Chris hit the number for Bloomfield Weiss.

  Ian answered. 'Where are the Eurekas trading this morning?' Chris asked without preamble.

  'One tick.' Chris waited. He knew the Bloomfield Weiss trader would have to think about this one. Eventually Ian returned. 'He's indicating ninety to ninety-two. But that's only good in a million.'

  'That's down five points!' protested Chris.

  'What can I say? There's a big seller out there.'

  'I can't believe this market!'

  'I told you it was different from trading govvies,' said Ian, with little sympathy in his voice.

  Chris didn't bother to ask where the bid for his ten million block would be. He knew the answer would be below yesterday's price of seventy and he didn't want to hear it. There was no point going to any other houses in the market, either. Eureka Telecom was a Bloomfield Weiss deal, and if Bloomfield Weiss were moving the price down sharply no other dealer in his right mind would want to buy the bonds. They might pretend to make a price, but if Chris tried to hit the bid it would fade immediately. No, he'd have to argue this one out.

  'Ian, why did Lenka buy this deal?'

  'It looked great last week, before the numbers came out.'

  'No, it didn't. I've looked at the prospectus. It was a dog. It's not the kind of deal she'd do. And certainly not in twenty-five million.'

  'I don't know. It yields three per cent more than Buck Telecom.'

  'Yeah, but Buck has a network already in place. And a market cap of three billion quid. This is a totally different deal. Didn't she say anything about why she liked it?'

  Ian didn't reply.

  'Come on, Ian. Help me here. This is a major headache for me. Lenka's dead, it's not as if she and I can talk about it.' Chris had no compunction in using Lenka's death as a means of getting what he wanted. It was her company's survival that was at stake; he was sure she wouldn't mind.

  'Sorry, Chris. I've no idea.'

  Although Ian was an experienced salesman, he couldn't keep the guilt from his voice. Chris knew him too well. And he knew he was lying.

  'I'd like to listen to the tapes,' Chris said.

  'What?'

  'I'd like to listen to the tapes of Lenka buying the bonds.'

  'Come on, Chris. There's no need for that.'

  'Yes, there is. There's something funny about this and I want to find out what.'

  'But you can't listen to the tapes unless you query the trade.'

  'Then I'm querying the trade.'

  'But it's already settled.'

  'Ian. These are special circumstances. The person who did the trade is dead, and I have reason to believe that the deal was never done.'

  'What reason?'

  'It doesn't make sense.'

  'What kind of reason is that? If everybody who bought a bond argued about it when the price went down, the market would grind to a halt.'

  Ian was right. Chris didn't have any evidence. But his suspicions were growing.

  'Look, Ian,' he said, trying to take on a more conciliatory tone. 'If there's nothing wrong with the trade, then it won't do you any harm if I listen to the tapes, will it?'

  'I told you, there's no need.'

  'I demand to listen to them.'

  'No.'

  Ian wa
s hiding something. Chris was now certain of that.

  'Put me on to Larry Stewart,' Chris said. He wasn't exactly sure how the reporting lines worked at Bloomfield Weiss, but he knew Larry would be somewhere up above Ian.

  'Do you think he'd listen to you?' said Ian, with something close to a sneer.

  For a moment, Chris's confidence nearly deserted him. Ian knew Chris's reputation. If it was his word against Chris's at Bloomfield Weiss, Ian was pretty confident that his would be believed. Then Chris pulled himself together. Larry knew Chris had done nothing wrong three years before. Chris was willing to gamble that Larry had at least a scrap of humanity left in him somewhere.

  'Yes, Ian. I think Larry would listen to me.'

  There was silence at the other end of the phone as Ian tried to decide what to do. Chris had got him!

  'Chris, I really don't think it would be a good idea for you to listen to those tapes.'

  'Put me through to Larry, or I'll hang up and dial him direct.'

  'I can explain.'

  'Go ahead.'

  'Not here,' said Ian in a whisper. 'Let's talk about it later. Out of the office.'

  'Let's talk about it now.'

  Chris could hear Ian exhaling down the phone. 'OK. There's a café at the bottom end of Liverpool Street. Ponti's. I'll meet you there in half an hour?'

  'See you there,' said Chris.

  It took Chris twenty minutes to get there, but Ian was already waiting. The ten years since the programme showed. Lines had begun to etch his face, in particular a frown crease between his eyebrows. He was still trim; in fact, he exercised at the gym three times a week. His suits were tailor-made, his shirts hand-made, his ties the latest fashion from the latest fashionable house. His hair was cut rakishly and frequently. He looked older than his thirty-three years, and more experienced. The only clue that belied the veneer of elegant self-confidence was his fingernails, which were still bitten down to the quick.

  Chris fetched a black coffee and joined him. 'Well?'

  Ian played with the froth on his cappuccino with a spoon. He stirred the bubbly cream for several moments before replying. Finally, he looked up, straight at Chris.

  'Lenka and I were seeing each other,' he said simply. 'That's why I don't want you to hear the tape.'

  'Seeing each other? What, sleeping together?'

  'Call it what you like. We were doing it.'

  'I can't believe it,' said Chris.

  Ian shrugged.

  'But why would Lenka . . .?'

  Ian frowned. 'Come on Chris. There are a lot of women who don't find me that unattractive.'

  'Yes, but Lenka?'

  'You know I always liked her. Turns out she liked me too.'

  'No.'

  'Stop saying that!' snapped Ian. 'She and I were seeing each other, OK? Now we're not, because she's dead. Do you understand that?'

  'Sorry,' said Chris. 'How long had this been going on for?'

  'Not long. Remember we had that European High Yield Conference in Barcelona last month? We both got a bit drunk. That's when it started.'

  'Was it serious?'

  'Not really. But it wasn't totally meaningless either. It was just fun. I knew there was no point in getting serious with Lenka.'

  'No,' said Chris. Lenka never got serious with anyone. He tried to remember any clue that Lenka had given that she and Ian had had a relationship. Nothing. Ian had been phoning her more frequently over recent weeks, but Chris had always assumed that was the flow of business. It had obviously been something more.

  'And this comes out on the tape?'

  'Probably. I haven't listened to that particular conversation, but there's probably something there that would suggest we had more than a business relationship.'

  'OK. Let's listen to it then,' said Chris. 'Just you and me.'

  'We can't do that,' said Ian. 'An IT geek needs to be there as well. To make sure no one messes with the recording.'

  'All right. We'll have the IT geek as well.'

  'Please, Chris.'

  'I understand why you wanted to warn me. And I certainly understand why you don't want anyone else to hear. But I want to listen to the tapes. Now more than ever. I want to know why Lenka bought those bonds, and the fact that you and she had something going just makes me more suspicious.'

  Ian sighed. 'I guessed you say that. Just stay here for twenty minutes, while I dig them out.'

  'No,' said Chris. 'Call whoever you need to call on your mobile. We'll go and listen together.'

  'Don't you trust me?' asked Ian.

  'No,' said Chris. 'I don't.'

  Chris followed Ian through Broadgate Circle to the entrance of Bloomfield Weiss. They passed the twenty-foot iron phallus standing at an angle outside, rusting. It seemed exactly right for the firm. Chris felt a shiver as he entered the squat, marble-clad building; he hadn't set foot in there since that awful day three years before.

  They took the lift to the third floor, passed quickly through the deceptively sedate reception area, and entered one of the largest trading rooms in Europe. Chris tried to look straight ahead as he followed Ian weaving his way through the desks, but he couldn't help noticing the activity around him. The familiar cries, the bustle, the oaths, the screens, and the paper. Paper everywhere. There were some faces he recognized, but most he didn't. Turnover at investment banks is high; traders come and traders go. He spotted his own desk, occupied now by a youth who didn't look a day over twenty, lolling back in his chair, cradling the phone. Near the far wall of the room, he spied Herbie Exler. Their eyes met. A rush of pure disgust coursed through Chris's veins, taking him by surprise, and he was gripped by an urge to vault the desks, grab the little American's head, and ram it into a screen.

  'Come on,' said Ian. 'Don't make a spectacle of yourself. Let's get this over with.' He steered him towards a conference room in the far corner.

  'This is Barry,' said Ian, introducing Chris to a skinny man with a shaved head who was facing a computer screen. 'Things have changed since your day. All the tapes are voice activated now, and they're not actually tapes. We record to disk. Barry will have to listen to everything that's said, but don't worry, he'll keep it all confidential, won't you, Barry?'

  Ian managed to lace these last words with a heavy dose of threat.

  Barry seemed unconcerned. 'That's right, Ian,' he said.

  Barry handed Ian a log to sign, and then tapped commands into the computer. Barry and Ian put on headphones and listened, searching backwards and forwards until they found the conversation. Chris couldn't complain about this. It would be unthinkable that Ian could let him listen to a conversation with another client.

  After about five minutes, in which Chris fidgeted uncomfortably, Ian held up his hand. 'I think I've got it.'

  'OK,' said Chris. 'Let's hear it. But I want the whole conversation, mind.'

  'All right, all right,' said Ian. He took off his headphones and flicked a switch. The conference room was filled with the sound of Lenka's voice. Ian hurriedly turned the volume down, and checked that the door was closed.

  'Hi, babe, how are you?'

  Babe! She called him 'babe'. For the first time, Chris realized how difficult this was going to be. Lenka had been able to say what she liked to Ian without fear of being overheard. Chris had been away on holiday, and Ollie and Tina would have been too far away and too busy to hear.

  'I'm OK,' drawled Ian. 'I'm really feeling pretty good.'

  'After last night I'm surprised you made it into work,' said Lenka, with the wicked laugh that Chris knew so well. He flashed a glance at Ian.

  Ian shrugged. Barry stared fixedly at the computer screen. Although he was trying not to look it, Ian was clearly embarrassed. 'You asked for it,' he said.

  Chris had. He took a deep breath and listened.

  'I've got more stamina than you think,' Ian said from the speaker.

  'Oh, please!' said Chris, rolling his eyes in a mixture of embarrassment and fury.

  Ian ignored
him. But on the tape he said: 'Have you thought any more about the Eureka Telecom?'

  Yeah. I think I'll go for twenty-five. Will I have any problem getting them?'

  For you, anything,' said Ian.

  'Seriously. Is there a chance that I'll be cut back?'

  'No. This deal isn't going terribly well.'

  'What about the takeover play?' Chris's ears perked up. Ian saw his reaction.

  'No one else knows anything about it.'

  'But it's an obvious fit, isn't it?'

  'I think so,' said Ian. 'Radaphone needs to fill in its Central European network. Eureka has all the agreements in place. All Radaphone has to do is buy them.'

  'And then I'll own Radaphone credit risk at a yield of twelve per cent.'

  'Precisely.'

  'And you're sure this takeover is going to happen?'

  'I spent a week with these guys doing the road shows. You get to know people. They think it's going to happen, and soon. Don't you trust me?'

  'Of course I trust you,' said Lenka. 'Do you want to know why?' The wicked tinge had crept back into her voice.

  'Why?'

  'Because if you lie to me I will personally see to it that your Little Jan will never be any use for anything again.'

  Although this was meant to be a threat, the way Lenka said it, it sounded more like an invitation. And Chris could guess what Ian's 'Little Jan' was.

  'Well, that's something I would hate to happen,' said Ian. 'So I think you're safe.'

  'All right,' said Lenka, suddenly businesslike. 'Put me down for twenty-five.'

  'OK. We're pricing tomorrow afternoon. I'll confirm you've got the full twenty-five then. Any chance of seeing you tonight?'

  'Greedy,' said Lenka. 'I'm busy.'

  'Busy? What are you doing?' asked Ian, a tinge of something that sounded like jealousy creeping into his voice.

  'Wouldn't you just love to know,' said Lenka, and rang off.

  Chris and Ian exchanged glances. Hearing Lenka talk like that had been tough for both of them. But it was what she had said that interested Chris. No wonder Ian hadn't wanted him to hear the tapes. It wasn't just that it revealed their relationship. It also revealed that Ian had been effectively giving Lenka inside information.