One Step to Danger

by John Gubert

  And within two hours we heard that the Libyans would withdraw. Iran would release its prisoners. The threats were over. Peace triumphed from the latest metaphorical sabre rattling.

  The markets started to rally. The energy seemed to have been sapped from the markets. Battered and bruised they stagnated. Then relieved that they had overcome the crisis, they rallied slowly.

  We were exhausted. We watched out of habit. But we did not concentrate. We did not care. We had played our hand. And we had had our run of luck. We were not going to risk any more. It had been nearly forty-eight hours since we last slept. It was ten days since we had first traded.

  “I’m exhausted,” I said. “I can’t think. I need to crash out.”

  “Touch base tomorrow and get some food. Then get some sleep. You both deserve it,” responded my father.

  We killed the phones. Jacqui looked drained. I looked no better.

  “We made it,” I said. “We made it.”

  “What do we do now?”

  “First of all we need to get some sleep. Then we have to sort out the details.”

  We crashed out as we spent our first night as multi-billionaires. I fell asleep wondering what on earth several billion dollars actually looked like. Next day we sorted out the paperwork and arranged the details for the remittance of the profit. The money from the options was available immediately. It was sent through United in Geneva and then disbursed on to a series of shell companies that my parents had been busy forming.

  The money from the foreign exchange deals would only be available at the beginning of the following month. We agreed that Jacqui and I should stay in the Far East until that had been finalised. We also agreed that I should continue to maintain our cover and trade for a new group of hedge funds.

  We put some business United’s way as we reckoned they could have lost half a billion dollars on our option deal. They accepted willingly. They were a large enough organisation to cover that, but it would still make a nasty dent in their balance sheet.

  We dabbled around in the market as it fluctuated up and down as one rumour after another took command. But we were only playing in the odd million and the fun was not there. We at least got the satisfaction that we made money.

  We kept our workdays short and spent our free time getting the maximum out of the city. It is not a place of great variety outside the bars or restaurants. And we avoided the many invitations to dinner. We did not want to make friends. Quite simply we wanted as few people as possible to know who we really were.

  Also, we were conscious that the territory was a place where people talked. We had made millions and billions to their knowledge. And although they had no doubt swallowed the story that we worked for a fund, they would expect us to have a stake. I was therefore concerned, lest we could be a target. And we had no contacts and no means of arming ourselves. We therefore avoided taking risks in the less salubrious areas of the place.

  We went to restaurants in Central. We took time out in the hotel health club. We danced in the different discotheques. And we still went down to Wan Chai although Jacqui never did repeat her dance routine. She was asked to do it on many occasions.

  In the end the day came for the payment of the funds on the foreign exchange. We checked out with my father. They had arrived. We could head off to the USA or Europe.

  Jacqui and I decided that we would head to Europe this time. We decided that Paris would be the ideal spot. At long last, we could go to the theatre and cinema and eat well. And we could protect ourselves there. For the next phase of our plans would be doubly dangerous.

  We knew we had weakened United and my father suddenly announced that he had decided to attack them. “If their share price falls, they are bound to be taken over. We can make money out of that. And I have a scheme to tip their share price over the edge,” he announced triumphantly.

  “They made five forty million dollars profit last year,” he said. “They will have been hit by the Asia crisis in any case and we would have hit them badly as well. There is no way that they would have managed to lay off any decent part of the position they took when they dealt with us. And now I have worked out a plan where they are going to get hit again. And that will play into our hands.”

  “What do you mean? Are we going for another big hit?” I asked.

  “No,” he replied. “At least not yet. This is the skirmish before the next big one. I am going to launch a new fund and it is going to default; and default big time.”

  He had established that United would be willing to advance us half the value of the assets of a new fund. His aim was to put the fund’s money in turn into some worthless companies, mainly in the exploration business. He had a schedule of some companies that fitted that bill in both Asia and the Americas. Our purchases would make their share prices rise. When we stopped buying they would slump and the fund would default. United would call in their loans but the security would all be worthless and impossible to sell.

  “But won’t we lose money in the process?” I queried.

  “No, not a lot,” said my father. “First of all, I will carefully buy us stakes through secret offshore accounts for around fifty million dollars in the target companies before the fund even starts to buy. We’ll put around a hundred million of seed money into the fund and it will buy like there’s no tomorrow. That will really push up the price of the stocks. Once our original stocks have tripled – and they will – we will sell off our stakes and that will recoup our seed capital.”

  “How many companies are you actually thinking of buying for the fund?” I asked.

  “In so far as the fund is concerned, I have so far identified fifteen to twenty stocks to buy. They are all bombed out and most likely all worthless. Normally United would be suspicious. But as they go up there will be rumours of some sort. And as United think that we have the Midas touch, they could well even buy them for their own account. I can’t see them questioning me too much.”

  “But, how will the companies themselves react?” I queried.

  “I have identified ones that are mainly in mining or oil and gas. Fairly unscrupulous people who have large stakes in them also run them. I can’t see them issuing any statements knocking their share prices. But that’s a risk. We may have a black sheep among them. An honest guy may run one of the companies. But that would be a first in that part of those sectors. In a frothy market I could push the fund’s value up to five hundred million. I think the owners and directors of the companies will take advantage of the rise to sell out. So there should be supply at the higher prices.”

  I thought through the scheme. We would put a hundred million into the fund and United would lend us a further fifty million. As we bought, the share prices would rise and they would lend us even more money. And so it would go on. The share prices inflated ever more; and yet the companies were worthless. In the end United would be lending all the money against the overpriced shares in the fund.

  It was a classical pyramid. By the time it came crashing down, United would have lent perhaps two or three hundred million against a portfolio that appeared to be worth five or six hundred million. But once the values fell, they would find the shares impossible to sell. In fact they could even be worthless. For as they sought to sell them, they would force the price even further down. And when the market heard of yet another disaster from United, they would hit their share price. So many incompetent decisions in so short a period of time would never be forgiven.

  My father continued, “United are worth five billion dollars on the market. I plan in time to buy around thirty per cent of them but need to see the price well down before we do that. And then I can put them in play and we make money again! I don’t want to go above thirty per cent or I may have a problem with the regulators. They could bar me, or rather you, or make us bid for the rest. So I’d rather keep this play down to a billion. I’ll use straight cash for this.”

  I interrupted, “Why did you say me?”

  “You are less known
than me. You are a mystery financier. You made a fortune in the Far East through your stake your hedge funds and other investments. And you can play the private bit. You know how. You refuse interviews. Carry on using the Rossi name but Jacqui should revert to her real name. That will give credibility to your wealth as the market will think the Di Maglios are involved.”

  I nodded. Like many of my father’s schemes, it was high risk, hardly legal but brilliant in its simplicity.

  “Will you be needing us for it?” I asked. “No, why don’t you take a breather and enjoy yourselves. We will move over to Switzerland. I want to be closer to the centre of the action rather than having to work nights here in the USA. Keep in touch though for we will need you when we get onto the United Bank heist.”

  I agreed. We decided to move to Paris immediately and Jacqui and I grabbed the opportunity to head over there that night. We decided to book into the George V in Paris, near the Champs Elysees in a road that carries its name. I booked a suite as we planned to stay there for some time. And, as I kept telling myself, money was no longer an issue.

  The day we arrived in Paris, we saw the Di Maglio family contact and got our guns. We followed the earlier precedent and I took one for normal use and another in a leg holster. Jacqui stuck to her usual handbag size.

  But, in the end, Paris was uneventful. We were private and undisturbed. My father was busy designing his new fund and slowly buying in the initial stock to launch the fund.

  We enjoyed Paris. We walked around the shops, sticking often to the Faubourg Saint Honore. We went to the opera. We went to the theatre. We went to films. We wandered around parks, We visited the Louvre. In short we changed our life style. From frenetic financiers, we became indolent culture vultures. From being a fair imitation of ruthless gangsters, we became careless lovers in the early Parisian winter months.

  But we let down our guard and did not notice. The car screeched around the corner of the Rue de La Paix as we walked down it arm in arm. Our reactions were dulled. As I swung around, a club crashed over my head and I fell stunned to the ground. Jacqui screamed somewhere in the distance. There was a yell of pain from a man.

  I heard a scuffle as I slowly drifted back to consciousness. I raised myself to my knees. A brutal boot thudded into my stomach and then again into my face. I crashed down onto the ground as the boot again made contact with my head.

  I grabbed hold of the foot and wrenched it towards me. The man was unbalanced and fell crashing to the ground. I pulled out my gun and blasted two shots into him. I aimed low but was unaware where he was hit.

  I again heard yells and could make out Jacqui’s scream. I looked up and saw two men trying to bundle her into a waiting car. She had somehow opened her shoulder bag and taken out the gun. She fired it into the car. There was a sound of breaking glass and then I saw it flying out of her hand. She gave a sob of pain and then appeared to slump as she received a karate chop to the back of her neck.

  Now she was thrown into the car. As its doors closed and it started moving down the street, I pulled up every ounce of strength and rolled into the road behind it.

  My gun blasted out, catching it low in the tyres. There was a burst as they exploded and shredded beneath the swerving vehicle. The car veered off the road, the two rear wheels grinding their bare metal rims against the hard surface. It came to rest against a bollard, its bonnet dented and petrol spilling out into the street.

  I pulled myself behind a parked car as the bark of an automatic filled the evening air. People around, and there were just a few, threw themselves terrified onto the ground. Glass in the nearby shop windows shattered as they were hit and bullets ricocheted uncomfortably close.

  Despite the beating I had received, I was on full alert now. The adrenalin was pumping through me and I was conscious of the slightest movement in front of me and around me as well.

  The man I had shot earlier crawled towards me, a gun at the ready. But a blast from mine stopped him in his tracks as he fell to the ground and his gun skidded across the pavement. I saw it was a sub-machine gun and twisted myself towards it. I knew I had hardly any bullets left, if any. And I was not wearing my reserve gun. I had left it at the hotel.

  A car came to a sudden halt as it saw this scene, its occupants petrified at the violence they saw. A man at the wheel was blinking in astonishment at the scene in front of him. A woman next to him, her mouth frozen open in a strangled scream.

  Someone ran to the car and dragged out the driver, hurling him across the road in a fury. Another person materialised and pulled his woman passenger by the hair, as she appeared to go into a dead faint at the unexpected brutality. Jacqui was being pulled from the car.

  I saw that there was blood on her face, which was white with shock. Her dress was torn and filthy with grime from the road. She wore only one shoe. The strap of her shoulder bag was dragged round her neck.

  I noted the gunmen were not talking English or French. Their speech was guttural. The language appeared Slavonic. Then I realised they could be Russian. My memory flooded back to the shooting in Geneva. The uncle had mentioned something about a feud. But how had they found us? And what did they want of Jacqui?

  I rolled out from behind the car but knew I could not get a clean shot at her captor. I risked shooting Jacqui rather than him. Again the automatic went into action, one bullet missing me by inches as I dived back for cover. A machine gun blasted several shots in my direction. A window behind me imploded into the street. Someone screamed. There were shouts. Someone started crying hysterically.

  The abducted car drove off; this time under cover from the repeated shots of the automatic. It kept me at bay. This time I did not have an open view of the tyres to try and stop it.

  A motor bike pulled up. I thought it was a policeman but saw it was just a passer by. I went over to him. I threw my revolver down next to the injured man. I knew now it was empty. It could not be traced to me and I did not want to be caught with it. People must have seen me grab the machine gun. I could need witnesses. This looked nasty.

  I went to the motor bike, the machine gun ready. The rider was young and in a state of shock. This was not what you expect when riding down one of the smartest streets in Paris. I grabbed hold of the bike and snarled “off.” I was menacing enough. I knew my head was bleeding. I saw my shirt was covered in blood. My clothes were dishevelled and dusty from the street. But I needed the bike to follow the car.

  He protested for a second before backing off and away at the threat of the gun. He did not know who I was but wasn’t going to take any risks. I jumped onto the powerful bike and roared away after the car.

  I left behind a scene of devastation. One man who may have been dead. Glass all over the place from broken windows. Blood on the pavement. People in shock, some of them were hysterical. Cars riddled with bullet holes. A car crashed into a bollard with its tyres shot away. Petrol spilling over the road from the damaged petrol tank. Somehow there was no fire, but that could still come. Moments later, I spotted the car at the Louvre, going at speed. My bike roared after it. My gun was still in my hand and it made it difficult to control the heavy bike. I was already weakened by my fall and knew I was going to have to act quickly. I had one advantage. The bike moved faster than the car although the traffic at that hour was quite light.

  The car turned right and headed down to the banks of the Seine. It turned up towards Concorde. I followed, gradually reducing the distance between me and the speeding hijacked car. I could not see through the windows but I knew there were three men there and also Jacqui. I did not know if any of them were injured, or just battered and bruised.

  The car turned off the Place de la Concorde and turned up the Champs Elysees. I caught up with it just near the Arc de Triomphe. I was doing around a hundred and twenty kilometres an hour as we skidded together into the circular road that surrounds Paris’ most famous monument.

  The driver noticed me. Whether he recognised me is another matter. If he had I doubt he wou
ld have left me alive. I was too dangerous. He would have told one of his companions to shoot me. As it was they must have thought I was a citizen being brave or stupid. Or alternatively, even a plain clothes policeman.

  Too late, I noticed the car veering towards me and then it swerved sharply into my path. As if in slow motion, I saw the bike soar into the air and crash towards the centre of the road. I soared with it and then lost contact with it. I felt myself flying through the air and seemed to bounce on the hard road before everything went blank.

  SEARCHING FOR JACQUI

  I came to slowly and painfully. I was lying in a bed. There were two policemen in the room. They sat on chairs near the bed, stiffly upright in their uniforms. They had not noticed me come round. I closed my eyes again. I needed time to think.

  I was in a room on my own. The police were not looking worried. That could mean that they thought I was a victim. I wondered what had happened to the gun. It had not been on my shoulder, but loose in my hand. Had it skidded away and been lost? Or perhaps it had not been associated with me.

  I decided that was unlikely. Therefore they knew I had been armed. They must have associated me with the upheaval in the Rue de la Paix. The motorbike alone told them that. They would not have known who I was. I had only worn slacks and a sweater and Jacqui had put my wallet in her bag. They therefore did not know my identity. I was carrying no papers.

  It was best that they did not know who I was. I suspected I was badly enough bruised to make it difficult to identify me. I should play dumb. I could pretend to be an American. If Jacqui’s identity were known, that would associate me with the Di Maglio world. But I had to be careful. I must not involve the police with anything to do with Jacqui. Like it or not, I was going to need help to rescue her. And that help could only come from one person, her father.

  I started to feel my body to see if anything was broken. I could move my toes. I tried my legs. I shifted my back, groaning as if moving in my sleep. Perhaps the police looked at me, but there was no sign of movement from them. My arm hurt but I knew it was in one piece. My shoulder ached. I must have fallen on it. My ribs were painful but that was not surprising given the number of kicks I had been dealt. My head ached but I could turn my neck around. I was able to open and shut my mouth. I was now pretty sure that I was surprisingly enough actually in one piece and without breakage.