Carver sc-5

by Tom Cain

  ‘It wouldn’t be the first time we’ve had to trust in him,’ Grantham replied. ‘A few years ago he asked me — and Dame Judith’s predecessor, Dame Agatha Bewley, come to that — to believe that there was a threat to the life of President Lincoln Roberts from an assassin called Damon Tyzack. The President, you will recall, was making his first visit to this country, giving an open-air speech in Bristol. Both the US Secret Service and the Metropolitan Police dismissed Carver’s concerns out of hand. Luckily, Dame Agatha and I did not. That is why Damon Tyzack’s remains are currently rotting away at the bottom of the Bristol Channel, whereas President Roberts is still alive and well and sitting in the White House. I’m sure he’ll be happy to give Carver a character reference.’

  ‘And you believe Carver’s on the right track now?’ Young asked.

  Grantham did not answer immediately. His reputation was on the line here, just as much as Carver’s. If the plan worked out, they might, if they were very lucky, get some grudging thanks. If it failed, they would certainly be vilified.

  ‘Yes,’ he said. ‘I think he is.’

  ‘In that case,’ said Cameron Young, ‘I can’t see that we have any other option. The Prime Minister needs to turn this situation around fast. Let’s see if Mr Carver can help him do it. You may go ahead with your operation, using whatever resources are required.’

  Young looked at Grantham with a sad half-smile, as though he regretted having to utter the next few words. ‘Although you must understand that, in the event of failure, this conversation never happened. Her Majesty’s government cannot possibly be seen to be associated with any activities that do not meet the strictest standards of legality.’

  ‘Of course,’ said Jack Grantham. ‘I quite understand.’

  62

  Chinatown

  In his private office above the dim sum restaurant, Derek Choi was holding a video-conference with a senior State Security Ministry official in Beijing. Another intelligence officer, a political analyst based at the Chinese embassy in London, was also party to the conversation.

  ‘Today’s events are highly significant,’ said the ministry man. ‘It is clear that we had greatly underestimated the effect of Mr Zorn’s self-fulfilling prophecy. Based on what your source within the Forces of Gaia told us, Comrade Choi, we predicted that the refinery would suffer severe damage, which would swiftly be made public.’

  Choi maintained an impassive expression, though his guts seemed to twist like noodles round chopsticks as he heard the implied criticism of his information.

  ‘It was, of course, impossible to predict that the actions of these amateur saboteurs would have such a remarkable effect,’ the official continued, easing Choi’s tension with every word he spoke. ‘What is the current position of the British government, in your opinion, Comrade Jian?’

  ‘Squatting with their pants down, fertilizing the paddy fields with their shit,’ the analyst sneered, provoking laughter in the other two men. ‘As the British themselves say, they are running around like chickens without heads. The Prime Minister is in a state of shock. He has suffered a catastrophic loss of face, and neither he, nor his ministers, nor their officials, have any idea what to do to regain it.’

  ‘This makes the position of Grantham all the more interesting,’ the official in Beijing observed. ‘We regard him as a worthy opponent, one who does not lose his nerve. And he seems to have foreseen the danger posed by Zorn in a manner that other, more gullible fools did not.’

  ‘In that case,’ Derek Choi observed, ‘will he not be even more keen to use Carver to remove Zorn?’

  ‘That is a reasonable assumption, yes.’

  ‘Should we not therefore do our best to prevent that happening, since the effect of Zorn’s actions will now be even more to our financial profit and political gain than we could ever have imagined?’

  ‘Again, there is merit to that argument. What is your opinion, Jian?’

  ‘I agree with your assessment of Grantham. He is clear-sighted. He sees things as they really are, not how he would like them to be. And he has the courage to act while others are still weeping and wringing their hands. If he believes it would be advantageous to eliminate Zorn he will not hesitate to do so.’

  ‘And you still believe that this will happen tomorrow at Wimbledon?’ the official asked Choi.

  ‘My considered view is that Carver is more likely to attack Zorn close to the tournament site, rather than within the All England Club itself,’ Choi replied. ‘If he were killing by means of stealth, it would be relatively simple to poison Zorn’s food or drink and then be gone before the poison started to take effect. But he has been told that the killing has to be highly visible. This suggests a bomb, perhaps, or a shooting. Of course, Wimbledon is broadcast to more than one hundred and eighty nations, so if Zorn were to die in front of the TV cameras that would certainly provide visibility. But there would also be a high risk of collateral damage from crowds of people being caught by the bomb-blast or an innocent spectator walking into the line of fire. Then he must consider the issues of access and escape. In the panic that would follow such an assassination, the crowd would act unpredictably, posing a danger in itself, and certainly making it difficult to make a swift, un impeded getaway. For all these reasons, I anticipate an attack carried out on the roads leading to or from the tournament. I have already ordered both Carver and Zorn to be placed under observation, and have contingency plans in place should we need to act swiftly. If we do not, then I plan to eliminate Carver while he is watching the tennis.’

  ‘But Comrade Choi, I thought you said that this was not a suitable place for an assassination,’ Jian said.

  ‘For the kind of assassination Carver must carry out, yes, that is quite correct. But we can be more subtle. Let us suppose a group of civilized middle-country persons, anonymous amidst a sea of strangers, and lost in their own conversation, bump into an English barbarian. He is jostled for a few seconds. Perhaps there is a brief flash of anger. But then there are polite apologies, tempers cool, everyone goes on their way. The men from the middle country are soon lost in the crowd. It is as if nothing ever happened. Then, a few minutes later, the Englishman is taken ill. By the time he dies, my men and I have left the tournament. By the time an autopsy reveals that the Englishman’s heart attack was caused by poisoning, all the men but me will have long since left the country. I will of course be above suspicion, for why would a brilliant entrepreneur stoop to the murder of a stranger? And should anyone ask, I will have a dozen witnesses confirming my presence at a business meeting that lasted all day.’

  ‘Very good, Comrade Choi,’ the man from the State Security Ministry said. ‘You will of course send me written details of your plan for examination and comment. But in principle we are agreed. Carver will die tomorrow.’

  63

  Kensington Gardens, London

  They met on the path that runs beside the Long Water in Kensington Gardens, just another two lovers snatching a few furtive moments together at the end of a working day.

  ‘I was so worried about you,’ Alix said. ‘As soon as I saw it all happening on the news, I just knew you were there, and I thought… I’m sorry…’ She rummaged in her handbag for a tissue to wipe away the tears that had caught her by surprise. ‘Dammit,’ she muttered, trying to manage a smile, ‘I was hoping to look pretty for you!’

  With the same delicacy of touch that could be so arousing when they were in bed, but now just made her feel loved and comforted, he gently stroked a tear away from her cheek. ‘You always look pretty — much better than pretty,’ he said. Then he took her in his arms and she rested her head against his chest, hearing the strong, steady heartbeat that reassured her more than any words of his could do.

  Alix sniffed, cleared her throat and, embarrassed by the weakness that she had just displayed, tried to snap back into a steadier, more professional mindset.

  ‘So what really happened?’

  ‘There was a very effective, profession
al, calculated assault on an oil refinery that just happened to cause a ton more collateral damage than the people who planned it expected.’

  ‘And who did plan it?’

  ‘In theory, a group called the Forces of Gaia. In practice, your old friend Celina Novak, calling herself Uschi Kremer, put the idea into their heads.’

  Alix frowned. ‘You said she was working for that guy Razzaq…’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Who works for Zorn… You mean, this was all his idea?’

  ‘Got it in one. This whole thing was basically a financial scam. Zorn sticks a pile of money into the market, placing it all on bets that will pay off if there’s a disaster. Then he gives the market jitters by saying, “The eco-terrorists are coming!” Then they come. Then he cleans up… only in this case he does even better than he ever dreamed of because half the government is taken out along with the refinery.’

  ‘So Azarov was right,’ Alix said. ‘As soon as he saw the news — as it was all happening — he said that Zorn must be behind it.’

  ‘I thought that was over, you and Azarov.’

  ‘As far as I’m concerned it is. But I said I would do one last thing with him. We’re supposed to be going to Wimbledon tomorrow, as Zorn’s guests…’ She stopped and shook her head. ‘I can’t believe it. I have to smile at the guy and act like nothing has happened, when all the time I know what he has done. Anyway, Azarov wanted me to pay close attention to Zorn. He said my woman’s eye might spot something that his male one could not. Why are you smiling?’

  ‘Because I just had exactly the same idea as Azarov,’ he said. ‘There’s a couple of things I need to know. And you could tell me the answers…’

  An hour later, and six miles south-east across London, Carver was in a pub off the Walworth Road with Schultz and his oppo, an ex-lance corporal called Kevin Cripps. There were three pints of London Pride on the table, and whisky chasers for Schultz and Cripps. Carver was carrying out an impromptu mission briefing using Google Earth shots of Wimbledon on his phone screen to set the scene, and an assortment of coasters, pepper pots and cigarette packets to represent elements of the action he was describing.

  ‘Think you can do it?’ he asked them at the end.

  ‘Can you get all the kit by tomorrow morning?’ Schultz replied.

  Carver nodded.

  ‘Even the Krakatoa?’ Cripps sounded sceptical.

  ‘Absolutely.’

  ‘In that case, boss, it’s a piece of piss,’ said Schultz.

  64

  Wentworth

  The last of the reporters had long since left Malachi Zorn’s rented mansion. Now he and Razzaq were left in peace to consider their next moves.

  ‘What are you going to do now that Orwell is dead?’ the Pakistani asked. His religious principles did not permit him to consume alcohol, but he had a fat Cohiba cigar, fresh from Havana, to assist him in his thinking.

  ‘On Friday night, you mean?’

  ‘Yes. That was going to be his finest moment. Who is going to take his place now?’

  Zorn was drinking red wine. He swirled it in the glass, savouring the bouquet as he thought about his reply. ‘Good question. I need to think this through. My first instinct is to go ahead as planned. We just need another way to get the guests in the room.’

  ‘Do we? Do you? Isn’t what you already have enough?’

  ‘Enough is a word I don’t recognize, Ahmad. There’s no such thing as enough.’

  ‘Sometimes there has to be. There are points when the wisest course is to accept that one cannot have everything one wants. Having enough is better than losing it all.’

  ‘What makes you think I will lose anything?’

  ‘It is not so much that I think you will, as that I fear you might. Let us take this from the beginning. You wished to take revenge for the deaths of your parents. Correct?’

  ‘That was one of the motivations, yes,’ Zorn agreed, pouring himself some more wine. ‘Another was… just victory, I guess. I want to win. That’s the American way.’

  ‘Indeed it is…’ Razzaq let out a long stream of aromatic smoke. ‘But Americans should know by now that one day’s victory can be the next day’s defeat.’

  ‘This has nothing to do with defeat,’ Zorn said. ‘There is a class of people that I hate. I want to beat them at their own game. I want to hurt them, to crush them. I want them down on their fat, piggy knees. And since they value money more than anything else, the best way to do this is to take their money, multiply it many times, and then steal it from them so that I am richer than they can ever be. And you’ll be rich, too, Ahmad, don’t forget that.’

  Razzaq laughed. ‘I never forget that! But let us look at the way in which you set about achieving your ends. First, you entice investors to give you enormous sums of money. You create a situation in which they are pleading with you for the chance to hand over hundreds of millions — even billions — of dollars. They are like turkeys begging for Christmas.’

  Now Zorn’s face was split by a schoolboy grin. ‘I know, aren’t they?’

  ‘And of course, Orwell was the perfect man to help you do this. He always had the ability to persuade himself that the best possible course of action was whatever he happened to be doing at the time. He fooled himself first, before he fooled anyone else. Tell me, what did he do with the money you gave him?’

  ‘He gave it right back to me to invest in Zorn Global, of course — his own fee and the charity money!’ Zorn replied gleefully. ‘My bet is he was planning to make a huge profit on all of it, give the charity the original five mill, and keep the rest for himself. I’ve already had messages from his lawyers. Sure as shit they want to know how much money there’ll be for the estate.’

  Razzaq nodded. ‘Without any doubt that is what they want. So, Orwell helped you get the money. Then you found a way of multiplying it many times over. And by complete chance this turned out to be more successful than even you could have imagined. I am assuming that today’s events have returned a much bigger profit because of the deaths of Orwell and the rest.’

  ‘That’s a fair assumption, yes.’

  ‘All right. But it has also caused you a problem which we need to assess. The plan originally called for you to be assassinated prior to the public launch of the fund. Then I would persuade Orwell to host the event in your memory. I say, “persuade” but of course it would have been simple. He would have loved that chance to be the centre of attention.’

  ‘Oh yes, I can see him now, giving them all his big, fat Nicholas Orwell grin…’ Zorn agreed.

  ‘And the investors would all come to the Goldsmiths’ Hall pretending that they were doing it in your memory, but in reality because they wanted to know what was going to happen to their money.’

  ‘Sure… the contracts they signed when they invested their money specified that in the event of my death, they would receive all the money they had invested, plus eighty per cent of any profits. And after Rosconway, they’d all figure that would be eighty per cent of a helluva lot…’

  ‘So they would come to toast your memory and their even greater good fortune. And we’d kill them all.’ Razzaq stubbed the cigar out in the ashtray by his side, punctuating his words with downward jabs as he said, ‘Every… last… one of them.’ He sat back in his chair and went on, ‘But now Orwell himself is dead. So I ask you, how will any of the investors be persuaded to attend?’

  ‘Perhaps you could say that you were going to make the big announcement?’ Zorn suggested.

  ‘Ha! You forget that I know what is going to happen. I am not that foolish a turkey! And that is why I ask you now whether it would not be simpler to cut this whole project short. You already have enough money to last a thousand lifetimes. I assume that you can make sure that your investors never see a penny of it ever again.’

  ‘Of course. Hell, the damn money doesn’t really exist to begin with. There’s no pile of gold, no giant suitcase of cash. It’s just digits, you know, bits of data that get
switched from one server to another. It can vanish into the ether any time.’

  ‘And so can you,’ said Razzaq. ‘So my advice is, do it now. Disappear. Go. Vanish.’

  ‘Well, that’s good advice. Don’t get me wrong, Ahmad, I appreciate your concern, and I can see the sense of it.’

  ‘But…?’

  ‘But I’m not ready to call it quits. This game has a few more twists and turns just yet. We’re only in the third quarter, and there’s still a lot of time on the clock. I want to see how it plays out.’

  Razzaq frowned. ‘So you want to go ahead with our plans? You don’t want me to call Carver off, for example?’

  ‘No, I don’t. I want him to go ahead and carry out the assassination.’ Zorn emptied his glass, put it down, and then said, ‘Wait till I’m dead. I think the game could look a whole lot better then.’

  65

  Wednesday, 29 June

  Putney, London SW15

  It was past 11.00 a.m. before Carver got the call from Grantham. ‘We got everything you asked for. The van’s a white Transit, with “McNulty Brothers Builders” written on the side. It’s parked on the rooftop level of the Putney Exchange multi-storey car park, in the far south-west corner. The door’s unlocked. The keys are in the plastic B amp;Q bag in the passenger-side footwell. So’s that Krakatoa thing you asked for. The rest of the kit’s in the back of the van. Leave your car as near as you can with the keys in the ignition. We’ll have someone waiting to take it away.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Don’t thank me, Carver. You’re still screwed if this doesn’t work.’

  ‘What else is new?’

  Carver hung up and immediately put in a call to Schultz, telling him to meet by the van in exactly one hour’s time. Then he texted Alix: ‘On my way. Keep me posted.’