After she signed off with her parents, Ariel finally returned Mikkel’s calls. He’d tried to reach her three times on Friday, twice yesterday, once today while she was at Jake’s, and then again while she was talking to her folks. She felt bad putting him off, but she knew what the conversation was going to be about and she didn’t want to have it.
“Ariel, I’m going to say it one more time. We can find another way to do this. You don’t need to take this risk.”
“I don’t want to argue,” she answered, “and you know damn well that is why I haven’t called you back. There is no other sure way to accomplish what we both want. You know that. And I know for a fact that my odds of living don’t even improve all that much if I try to run from Baldur now. And in exchange for what, maybe a ten or twenty percent higher chance of surviving, you get nothing at all for what you are trying to do. So let me do this. It’s not like I’m choosing death here—I am not suicidal. I’m choosing to take some risk in order to do the right thing. I mean it. Don’t try to talk me out of it.”
She could hear Mikkel sigh over the phone. “I knew you’d say something like this. I suppose that is why I am actually becoming attached to you. Unfortunately.”
Ariel’s heart skipped a beat. “Yeah? Well, I’m unfortunately becoming fond of you back. My intention is to live long enough to make that a problem for both of us.”
He laughed a little. “That’s a good plan. I’ll look forward to dealing with it.”
They hung up with goodbyes that held faint promises of good times ahead, and left Ariel glad that she had made the phone call.
Now it was time to go to the airport. Ariel thought for just a second of going somewhere totally different. Maybe getting on a flight to Jamaica. Ah, rum and reggae. How long could she stay drunk and hidden at some all-inclusive resort in Montego Bay?
But no, that was not what she was going to do. Not now. She grabbed her bag and headed for her car, determination in her every step.
Monday morning Cillian decided to go to Iceland. Brendan was beside himself trying to talk the man out of it.
“I know, I just know that if I could make Baldur see what I see, then I could turn the man. He’d let Ariel live. I bet you that he’d even help fund some of what I’m doing. Hell, he could still be filthy rich and keep getting richer and frankly I don’t give a damn what he does with his money. It doesn’t have to go down this way. It isn’t an either or. We get off his back, he has everything he wants and more, why wouldn’t he agree?”
“He won’t,” Brendan said. “He won’t because he doesn’t want to be reasonable, Cillian, and he doesn’t want to be richer. He wants to win. That’s different.”
“But I can make him see otherwise. I know I can.” Cillian was adamant.
Brendan called the Ullow office for help in talking his friend out of going, but in the end the only argument centered around who would leave with Cillian the next day.
Brendan insisted that he should go, not only as Cillian’s closest friend but also as his liaison at Ullow. Jake trumped him, insisting that Baldur’s Ullow contact should be the one who was present and handling the meeting. Eoin overtrumped them both. He insisted on going as their boss and as a dual point of contact for both sides. More compelling, Eoin wanted one chance to stand up to Baldur in the ways he never had. He would be delighted to do that with Cillian at his side. Maybe together they would be effective enough to make amends for the all damage Eoin had failed to prevent thus far.
Monday morning, Ariel got a cab and presented herself at 7 a.m. at the receptionist’s desk of the stylish offices of d4. It was approximately an hour before the London Stock Exchange opened. It was still the middle of the night as far as the stars overhead were concerned, and Ariel couldn’t help but notice that the sky was as unseasonably clear here as it had been in Ireland the last few days. The Northern Lights seemed to have taken a break for electromagnetic reasons of their own, leaving an almost full moon in the southwest to glow like a searchlight on the snow.
Ariel was surprised to find a receptionist already at her desk. The small, dark-haired woman who greeted her was definitely not Hulda, but she thankfully spoke English well, even if she had a heavy Icelandic accent. She introduced herself as Sigrun and showed Ariel into Baldur’s trading room, which normally contained several large screens attached to a few of the fastest computers money could buy. Today it also contained the portable massage table, but this time it was covered in a soft blue quilt and held a large, firm pillow for her head and a smaller pillow to slide under her knees.
“Baldur asked me to make sure that you would be able to remain comfortable for several hours,” the receptionist said as though it was the most normal request in the world for people interested in the stock market. “You’re free to change here in this room if you like, just lock the door when I leave and unlock when you’re done.”
Ariel shrugged, wondering what in the world Baldur had told this woman. Didn’t matter. She pulled out the ugly grey gym trunks and oversize men’s tank top that she planned to wear this time around. It was show time.
Baldur greeted her like a friend when he came in, his eyes barely dropping to her clothes and a small smile crossing his lips as he took them in. He asked politely after her health and offered her coffee or juice. She declined but thanked him for the courtesy. She responded with pleasantries of her own about the unusually clear days they were having in Ireland right now and apparently here in Iceland too.
“If we are going to put in the kind of hours this time that you want, and that I want too, I’ll need to take breaks in order to stay focused, and even to stay awake. You’ll be more effective that way too. How about we plan a nice break once the sun is well up. We can get some fresh air, maybe have a bite to eat then.”
Baldur nodded, he saw the sense in what she said. “I’ll have Sigrun order in a late lunch. We can take it on the roof top.” Ariel could have sworn she saw a trace of sadness in his eyes.
You’re a selfish, self-centered son of bitch, she thought, but you’re not really a killer, are you? You don’t have the temperament for it—you’d rather not do it. If it just wasn’t so damn necessary in my case, huh?
She said none of what she was thinking, of course. Instead she lay down, and a few minutes later when he came back into the room, he said nothing as he lay the inside of his left forearm along her bare thigh and they began.
There was something mesmerizing about the linkage. Ariel was fairly certain that Baldur and Siarnaq experienced it too. News reports and stock prices floated through a mind lulled into a state of relaxation, and she fought to try some of the techniques that Jake had suggested.
She needed to think about something that Baldur would largely ignore. Cosmetics. Estee Lauder. How was Ms. Lauder doing? How was she going to be doing? How about her friend L’Oréal? Were things looking good or not so good for the hair and skin care business these days?
The hope was that Ariel’s concentration would force these stocks far enough into Baldur’s worldview, that he might chance a small investment in them, and Mikkel and Cillian could then place a much larger bet on the same table. Ariel reminded herself that the entire Dublin Ullow office was tied into what was happening. Toby and Nell and even her freakin’ mother were following along as best they all could, ready to pounce in and help when the time was right.
Breathe deeply. Think about feminine hygiene products. Bras. Playtex. How was Playtex doing? Wait, Playtex had been bought out by Energizer. Okay, bras, tampons and batteries. Ariel let her mind drift in ways that she hoped would help her friends.
The break was friendly enough and the food surprisingly good. It was in the fifties outside, comfortable enough in the sunshine on the roof wearing only light jackets. Sigrun had gotten them an assortment of cold appetizers to snack on, and it wasn’t until Ariel saw the little sushi rolls that she began to study Sigrun’s backside more carefully as the woman retreated downstairs. That thick black hair was almost certainly a wig
. Could Nell have managed to be here somehow? Or was the inclusion of her favorite food just a fluke?
“I love sushi,” Baldur said, actually licking the sauce off of his fingers. “I wonder how this new girl guessed. And look. Greek dolmades. Now that’s not something you see every day in Iceland.”
The dolmades clinched it. Sigrun had to be a well disguised Nell.
Baldur gestured over the to stairs. “This girl is a temp, but I may have to keep her.” Then sadness flickered across his face again. Ariel made a mental note to try to find a way to let the Dublin office know that Baldur was likely closing the d4 office once this session was over. He liked his office. He was probably going to miss it. You never knew what piece of knowledge might be useful.
The second session of the day centered on stocks better traded directly in New York and on a few futures in the agricultural section handled through the Chicago Board of Trade. Ariel changed her personal strategy to focusing on Jake’s second suggestion, and worked her own premories to precall trades and then watch for ones that Baldur passed on after all.
“You’re paying more attention to what I do than you were this morning,” he remarked after a while.
“I was getting a little bored,” she shrugged. “I’m trying to stay awake and keep my head in the game.”
“Good girl,” he murmured as he typed. He’d gone to sitting on a bar stool and using a laptop, and had rolled up his pants so that he could drape his bare leg over her exposed back as she lay face down for a while. The change in position might have looked silly, but it was doing them both good.
Mikkel had a point, she thought. Not just about sex, either. Human touch brought people closer. It was hard to dislike someone with whom you shared prolonged contact. She remembered her mother speaking of losing the last vestiges of her white Texan prejudice once she took over the face painting booth at her children’s school carnival. Hours of holding, and decorating the skin of the children of, people once considered “others” had affected her mom; it had taught her about the common humanity of all on a very visceral level.
“Face Painting for World Peace” had become one of her mother’s favorite themes, and had been the title of the magazine article that she had written and finally sold last spring. Hadn’t her mother been bothered by some news outlet making fun of what she had written? Ariel felt bad that with everything else that was going on, she’d never asked her mother about how that was going.
Ariel resolved to bring it up next time she talked to her mom. Better yet, she’d be able to point out how touch apparently even softened your fear of someone contemplating hurting you, if that touch was gentle, ongoing, and bore no malice in the moment. Ariel was guessing, even hoping, that this worked two ways. The more contact they shared, the harder it would be for Baldur to harm her. At best that reticence might force him to delay, and even a few seconds of delay could be good.
“Where have you drifted off to?” he asked irritably. “I’ve been getting children’s toys and now who the hell is SHW?” He hit a few keys. “Sherwin-Williams Company? Painting? Could we get back to the financial sector, please?”
“Sorry.” Ariel made an effort to focus on the market sector that was Baldur’s favorite and also the one that probably offered the greatest rewards. She didn’t need him unhappy with her, and she wanted him to do well almost as badly as he did.
She wondered what to expect when they parted for the night. One disturbing possibility was that all the touching had aroused him sexually. Ariel stopped herself. Intimacy wouldn’t matter a bit to a man accustomed to killing, but to an amateur like Baldur with little stomach for it to begin with, she needed to acknowledge that sex with him could increase her chances for survival. She’d hardly be the first woman who’d pretended pleasure to stay alive, unsettling as the prospect was.
But no, he was all business as the New York Stock Exchange closed at 8:30 pm in Iceland. She worried for a second that he might think he had made plenty of money already. He could do away with her now while no one was around and before he lost his nerve. She’d be less likely to suspect anything. No, she told herself. He wanted what he could get from tomorrow’s trading. She could count on his greed, if nothing else.
As he shut down the computers Sigrun knocked on the door lightly and let herself in.
“I told you to go home at 6:30,” Baldur said in irritation.
“Oh, I know, but I wanted to be here to call a cab for the young lady, make sure she got out of here okay.” Definitely Nell, Ariel thought, even though she could barely detect her friend through the disguise.
Baldur said something in Icelandic and Sigrun looked at him blankly for a second. Oh dear. Ariel jumped in with the first thing that popped into her mind.
“So you want me to be here again at seven a.m. or will something more like a quarter till eight work?”
“Seven thirty—no later,” Baldur said to her then he turned back to Sigrun and looked at her in expectation. She looked him back in the eye and said something that sounded like “yeg ski.” She turned to Ariel.
“Good night. Your cab should be here in a few minutes. See you tomorrow.”
Baldur reached for his coat as well. “I’ll let you change,” he said amiably. “I trust that I can continue to depend on your desire to help your comrades, though of course you must know that I do have a bit of extra security assigned to you tonight as well. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to you at such a critical point in our collaboration.”
“I’ll do as I agreed,” she assured him. Then on a whim, she asked, “What are you going to do after tomorrow?”
“I’m going to get ready to be extremely rich,” he said.
“Obviously. We’ll take our one percent of that, and part with no issues,” she agreed. “It will take a few months before either of us really reaps the benefits though. I’m guessing that you won’t need to do this ever again with me, will you?”
“I think that you’re right. Lots of money makes more money, and even with normal investing and mere conventional odds my wealth will now grow at a rate far greater than any economy. I have you to thank for that, you and the fact that your success rate turns out to be much higher than anything I hoped for.”
Ariel nodded as though none of this was a surprise to her. It wasn’t, and she couldn’t see anything to be gained by pretending otherwise.
“I’ll be busy for a while,” Baldur continued, “just spacing out exactly how I can best cash in on these trades in ways least likely to cause suspicion. My next order of business, as you probably know, will be to get the rules changed regarding high frequency trading. I need to take away the artificial advantages now in place, to make sure that no one in d4 gets any ideas about following in my footsteps. Luckily I’m better at this than any of the rest of them, so unlike them I’ll always be able to use my natural skills a little in the day trading arena if I want or need to. That means that you and I can part as two people who once had a business arrangement.”
He has thrown out all his earlier thoughts of trying to include me in his life, she thought. Very well. After tomorrow I am nothing but a liability to him and I know it.
“I do have a sense of honor,” he added, and she heard a certain defensiveness in his voice. “I have decided that no matter how powerful I become or what else happens, I will uphold my agreement to never interfere with your friend’s space project, or with anything else involving Mikkel or Siarnaq, even if doing so is to my advantage. So there. You’ve bought your two lovers shelter from me, and there aren’t many who will be able to claim that eventually.”
“That’s nice to know,” she said. “Then we continue to have an agreement.”
“The night watchman will lock up after you go,” he said as he left. “I will see you in the morning.”
Ariel was exhausted by the time she got back to the hotel and could hardly stay awake until the room service she ordered arrived. Matters were worse because all of the prolonged contact with Baldur seemed to have
created a new problem. She was now getting little aftershocks of short-term premories, snippets of the next few seconds that were nothing but annoying. She busied herself making handwritten notes about trades Baldur had passed on but Mikkel might want to make on his own later, and in an hour or so the little flickers stopped. Ariel chalked it up to fatigue and too much time spent melding.
Because Baldur obviously knew where she was staying, any communication through the hotel internet was painfully easy for him to pay someone to access. She opted for a quick “I’m in Iceland safely and all is well” email that went only to her co-workers that Baldur knew. She sent nothing more.
She fell asleep trying to premember anything from next week, next month, anytime ahead. All that sunk in was that the likely futures had split into one of two kinds. There was no longer an Ariel being held prisoner, no longer an Ariel working with Baldur, no longer any of the other odd variations. There was either a future in which she was safe, completely safe and relieved as hell, or there was a future in which she wasn’t at all.
******
Early Tuesday morning, Baldur made the call. He’d spent a restless night with the sensation of touching Ariel’s silky, lightly freckled skin drifting through his dreams. He recognized lust, and he also saw an admiration growing for the young woman who had so unexpectedly accelerated his plans beyond his wildest dreams.
Any alternative that involved him spending a second longer with her than he needed was dangerous. For the first time in his life, Baldur wasn’t sure he could trust himself to do what was in his own best interest. So someone else would have to be told to do it, and they’d best be given those instructions before he lost the nerve to do even that.
His pilot didn’t question the change in plans. Of course he could fly a couple of guys over to some small town in Greenland Wednesday morning instead of taking Baldur to the Caribbean. No, he didn’t need to check the cabin personally to see who was on board. Yes, he could remain seated in the cockpit and keep the door to the cabin closed, no matter what sorts of sounds he heard. He understood that sometimes a man such as Baldur had a need for extreme discretion. He would be glad to fly the plane exactly as directed and not leave his seat. But the pilot balked at Baldur’s last request.
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