One Step to Danger

by John Gubert

  She had dressed that evening in a tight skirt that ended about six inches above her knees. The top she was wearing was held up by two narrow straps and fell around the curves of her body in casual pleasure. She was not wearing a bra, but her breasts held firmly under the flimsy garment. Occasionally a hint of a nipple would peep tantalisingly from under it.

  I ran my hands down her back and across her buttocks. I kissed her as we clung tightly to each other.

  “You feel as if you’ve got nothing on under the skirt,” I said. “I have” she replied. “I put on a pair of tights. The skirt is too tight to wear anything else. They’d show through.”

  “Do you mean to say that I am dancing this close to you while you are half naked?”

  “Not all. I have three garments on. There’s a pair of tights, a skirt and this silk top.”

  “I despair. What would you say if I said I was only wearing a shirt and a pair of trousers?”

  “I’d prefer if you weren’t,” came the reply. “Look, I’m a full bloodied girl and am dancing with the man I love. I have no plans to dance with anyone else but you. So you and I have a secret. I am playing tarty and you like it. In fact you rather love it.”

  I licked my lips nervously. “This is not easy. You drive me wild and you are teasing. That’s making it worse.”

  I felt her pull me closer to her again although the next number picked up the tempo. We swayed to it rather than danced to it, and ignored the now writhing bodies that surrounded us. I smelt Jacqui’s hair with its gentle, soft fragrance. I sensed her perfume, a delicate bouquet of exotic flowers that seemed almost overpowering close up and yet almost fleeting as one moved away. It was as if the perfume had found its home and had decided not to leave it.

  The music stopped and we went back to the table. The club we had visited was a mixed one. There were lonely business executives sitting at tables, keenly eyeing up the aircrews transiting yet another city. A few lone women prowled around the edges of the crowd that wondered if they were at work or at play. The cool scene brigade drank beer straight from the bottle, their chains and safety pins making strange accompaniments to their designer outfits. And then there was us.

  Jacqui was in her disco gear. I was wearing clothes she had bought. My trousers were white and somewhat baggy and my shirt a cool cotton designer creation in a delicate shade of blue. The only strange part of my outfit, if anyone had seen it, was the gun I was wearing in the special holster on my leg. And it was this gun that met Jacqui’s hand as her fingers caressed me just below my knee.

  “Will there be a time when we don’t have to be armed?” she asked wistfully.

  “I’ve a horrible feeling that’s only when we are in bed . And even then I keep the gun on the table near me.”

  We carried on dancing until long gone midnight and then went out into the fresh air. We decided to walk the short distance to the hotel, enjoying the cool air after the throbbing heat and noise of the club.

  The next day, we hired the car and drove to the health club. There, lost in the quietness of the late September sunshine, we spent an idyllic time. Our mornings were spent getting fit. We each had our personal trainers. During the afternoons we would head to the sea and walk along the cliffs and beaches of the Californian coastline.

  In summer, there were crowds, now during the daytime there was loneliness. Where in summer there was a sea populated by yachts, surfboards and swimmers, the sea birds outnumbered the human presence. Where in summer the beach was a patchwork of brown and red bodies clad in minimalist multi-coloured garb, now it was a golden carpet of sand untroubled by the disruptive impact of human bodies.

  In the early sunset, we strolled bare foot through the shallows, indifferent to the sharp chill in the water and the sea’s cooling breeze. We stopped, far away from the nearest person, and watched the sun in the distance play with low fluffy clouds. We sat on the sand, holding hands, enjoying each other’s presence without a word passing between us. And once we made love in a deserted place against the added excitement of inquisitive grains of sand on our backs and the slight, but real, fear that we would be discovered.

  The nights were equally idyllic. The open window let cool breezes play with our bodies. We would get up from the heat of lovemaking and stand naked on the porch. Jacqui called that having an air bath. There was none of the arrogant ostentation of the naturist beaches of Europe; this was a private communion with the stars and the wind.

  We sat together in the bath and drew delicate patterns on each other with the soap as the foam dissolved into the water. When this became too much to bear one night, we pulled all the towels on the floor and together reached a damp and ruffled climax of pleasure.

  We dressed and undressed at will. And with our growing understanding of each other’s physical needs, came a deep personal understanding of each other. During those weeks, we grew to know each other. We stripped each other of the veils and filters that protected us from the outside world. We learnt about our strengths. And we dealt tenderly with our weaknesses. As we moved to a total understanding, we filled the gaps in each other’s lives. We became more as one rather than as a couple.

  We understood each other’s reactions to situations without needing explanation. We anticipated each other’s wishes. Yet we never ceased to surprise each other. The variety of life meant that we always found ourselves in some situation that we had never experienced. As we grew together we changed, and the reactions we had had to given events changed. We communicated without talking. We exchanged glances without seeing. Our senses worked in unison.

  We did not realise it at the time, but we had blended together in a way that would allow us to react instinctively to the other’s needs. And that instinct would bring us closer. It would blend us mentally and physically. And it would protect us when we most needed each other.

  Neither of us had known this feeling before. My parents noticed it and left us to bond in these idyllic surroundings. The hills of California beckoned. The sea of California caressed our feet on the calm days and roared angrily through the surf on others. The Californian sun smiled gently at times and then withdrew behind clouds as if angry that we had not smiled back. The Californian wind blew at us, playfully attempting to rid us of our clothes, as if it enjoyed our habit of bathing in its caress.

  The days were short. The nights were shorter as we balanced love making with sleep. The time flew by, as we knew total peace. We hoped this idyll would never end, but knew it had to.

  We had no intention of asking when that would be. Each added day made up for the years we had been apart. Each stolen touch made up for the miles that had separated us. Each passionate moment made up for the anguish of the months alone.

  In the background we saw my parents. Further back we saw the staff. As the exercise toned our bodies, we changed in our minds. We used that cocoon of pleasure to exorcise the past. For Jacqui that was the past of many years. The desertion of a mother, the brutal criminality of a father, the despotism of a dynasty and the loneliness of the Di Maglio name all fled in this peaceful harbour. For me, the chill of fear as we planned our task was now forgotten. The anger of separation became a distant memory. I no longer feared I could lose her, for we had neutralised her father’s power and soon would dispel it for good. The grotesque conflicts with Di Maglio’s people became inconsequential incidents even if for some they had been terminal. The intrusive thuggery of the punks and petty crooks we had met was banished from thought.

  We were not what we had been before we came together. We were not even what we thought we were. We had become different. We were together. And we knew we would remain that way.

  We also knew that soon, we would need to break out of this reverie and return to a crueller world. But that was a means to an end. And Jacqui had been brought up with the idea that the end could justify the means. I had been persuaded that that was the case. We were different but we had not totally dispelled the trappings of the past. As the poet said, our child remained
the father of the man. Our past remained our present. We had removed it from our minds, but not from our memory.

  Now though was the time to continue and enjoy the pleasure of our today existence. Tomorrow we would tackle the challenges of a road without a destination.

  ASIA BREAKS

  Next morning we switched on CNN to see stories of booming world markets and record turnovers. I watched carefully as the reporters switched to the overnight performances in Asia.

  “The Hang Seng index reached a new all time high when it topped eighteen thousand in record trading volumes. The market was spurred on by the announcement of the new five year plan for China which forecasts continued double digit growth of their economy,” reported their man in Hong Kong.

  Then came reports from the rest of Asia. All of the regional markets had hit all time highs. Most of the currencies were now near their levels of early 1997 again. The crash of 1997 had been forgotten. It had been an aberration. The investment gurus were dutifully wheeled out and did their habitual task of forecasting that there was plenty of upside and little downside risk.

  I muttered, “What arseholes. They follow the trend. How they keep in business God only knows.”

  I was not surprised when a call came from my father. “It’s work time. Have you seen the markets? Nobody sees downside. It’ll crash by the end of the week. We need to get to work. The holiday’s over.”

  Jacqui was getting out of bed. She stood there as I took the call. “I knew every morning that we could get such a call. I’d hoped we wouldn’t. But we have to do it. Then we will find another refuge for a bit.”

  I agreed. I took her in my arms, playing with my fingers down her naked back. She was still warm from the bedclothes but we resisted the temptation we both experienced. Now we had to be disciplined and make that billion. Then we could be masters again of our fate.

  I dressed in a pair of slacks and a white business shirt. Jacqui put on a dress. It was as if we were gearing up for work. We no longer wore the casual clothes that had been our normal attire during the last few weeks. We switched clothes with the ease that we switched our minds. There would be no relaxation now. This was going to be work.

  Over the weeks of exercise and relaxation, we had changed. I had put on a light brown tan. I was four or five pounds heavier and yet my body had been toned to a better shape than ever before. Jacqui had still her healthy olive glow. Her slim body did not appear any different but she walked with a greater ease. In short we were both as fit as we had ever been.

  My parents were around the table in their room, where a selection of screens were blinking at them. The television monitor was on CNN Business. The Reuters screen was on the currency page. They, too, looked fitter than before. Their clothes also were casual business rather than the relaxed holiday wear of the previous weeks.

  My father glanced up at Jacqui and me. He nodded approvingly, recognising that we appreciated the seriousness of the situation.

  “I guess it’ll soon time to act,” I said. “The markets look as if they are out of control.”

  My father nodded. “Let me recap. If there are any questions, just interrupt.

  “At the moment we have a war chest in Fucquet that amounts to ninety to a hundred millions of our money. We have a couple of million in Hochzeit. Our expense money is in United. I am not planning to use that for the moment.”

  “Could we get Hochzeit to lend us some funds? They may be a bit more relaxed than Fucquet who are incredibly conservative,” I suggested.

  “No,” responded my father. “Hochzeit will take on a lot of risk for us when we use them as our broker. They are safe, as their parent would have to stand behind them even if they lost a major amount. And I suspect that they will. They have a reputation of going with the tide and we will use them to build up some of our positions.”

  He continued, “I plan to do two things. As stage one we will start a run. We’ll target the stock market index through over the counter options.”

  “What does that mean?” asked Jacqui. “We will get someone, both Fucquet and Hochzeit in this case, to guarantee us protection from a fall in the markets. The idea is that we will pay them a fee and they will pay us any losses we may incur on investments in selected countries. The technical word is that they will grant us an option. But, in reality, it’s insurance.”

  “But we have no investments in those countries,” protested Jacqui.

  “They don’t need to know that. I am going to invent a portfolio and say that I want them to give me protection against a market fall. For a fee they do that. The markets call that sort of insurance hedging,” he replied. “It’s normal business practice.”

  “What sort of rates are we talking about?” I enquired.

  “Everybody believes this gravy train is going to last forever. The rates for options on the downside are just crazy. They are terribly cheap at the moment. I believe we can get a guarantee that the market will be at current levels in one month for a fee of around two or three percent of the portfolio insured. I’ve never seen rates like that before. Usually I would expect to pay a fee of five percent and that would be good,” he replied.

  I explained to Jacqui, “That means that we would pay them three million dollars for every hundred million dollars insured. If markets. during the next month, fell by say ten percent; they would pay us the loss of ten percent on the hundred million. That would be ten million. If markets rise, they pay us nothing and make a three million dollar profit.”

  “How deep is the market?” I asked my father.

  “I have only some indications at the moment and would need to test prices. I believe though that I could get cover for a billion dollar portfolio for around thirty million dollars. I would hope to be able to go higher, but that may increase the fee.”

  “Where would the alleged investments be?” I inquired.

  “I want to focus on two separate portfolios,” said my father. The first will be Korea. That’s driven by politics. The second is a South East Asia portfolio taking in the Philippines, Indonesia, and Malaysia. They are the most vulnerable.”

  “Are you sure of the timing?” I demanded.

  He smiled sardonically. “We can never be sure of the timing. Markets are not rational. We’ll have to work the rumour mill.”

  “How do we do that?” I asked.

  “By a self fulfilling lie,” he replied.

  “I don’t understand,” said Jacqui.

  “That’s where you two will come in. Charles will call Hong Kong and tackle the local brokers. He will pretend to be a journalist from the Wall Street Journal. We’ll borrow one of their real reporter’s names. He will ask if it is true that Sebo has gone a big bear on the region and gone short of the currencies in anticipation to liquidating his portfolios.”

  Sebo was a legendary fund manager. He would be dealing large. It had been rumoured that he was the cause of markets and currencies falling and rising all over the world as he moved his millions and billions around in a series of highly technical but generally ruthlessly efficient moves. The great thing about starting a rumour about Sebo was that there were a whole group of other operators who followed his every move. Sebo was good. But he won more often than he lost simply because a lot of similar funds imitated his moves. When he moved a billion, others in total moved tens of billions. And that meant that the first guy on the block, namely Sebo, made a fortune. He took the position and others moved the market for him.

  We had perfected that strategy. We would take the position. We would suggest that Sebo had taken it. He would hear the rumours and see the trend in the market. Then he would really take the position. The weight of his money would move the market. The rumour became the reality. The others would follow Sebo. And there we were just one jump ahead of the leader. It was all so simple that it was amazing that nobody had thought of it before.

  If there were a rumour that he was selling and that the herd was behind him, that would cause panic. And if that panic caught on, who
knew how investors would react?

  I nodded. “Do you think the brokers will believe me?”

  “Of course they will. They’ll believe any rumour that makes markets move. All they want is to trade. They couldn’t care less if the market goes up or down. As long as their clients buy and sell, they make money. There is no money to be made in a stable market. And in any case after the rises of recent weeks, they will naturally believe the big funds could decide to sell.”

  He continued, “At the same time Jacqui will call the US. I have a list of names. She will pretend to be from the Economist magazine in London. She will ask the trading desks of the currency dealers if it is true that Korea is unable to meet the scheduled debt arrangements. And she will also add in a rumour about troops massing on the border with North Korea. There’s always fear of unrest in that region. Her approach should be low key, as if she is unsure of the rumours and checking them out.

  “The currency dealers are always looking out for good stories and they spread them like wildfire. It should not be too difficult. I will need to train you both. You have to be word perfect and convincing.”

  Soon we had got everything off pat. Jacqui and I were put through the loops many times. We had to sound green about the way the markets moved. But we had to sound convincing enough to assure the people at the other end that we were real. And more importantly, they had to be convinced that we would print what they said. If they believed the papers would be full of stories that the big funds were selling, they in turn would sell. And when the serious papers came out the general public would sell. And it was only when the popular tabloids ran scare stories about the fall in markets that it became the time to buy.

  My father called Fucquet to see what could be arranged. It was near the end of the day in Geneva, but it would take them all night to sort out a deal of this size. They gaped at the size of the deal we proposed. “We thought you had a small fund,” said Pierre.