Quantum Breach

by Powell, Mark

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  had been tasked to look for, started to plan a series of deals for each of them. As instructed, he would approach Al Safad, the larger of the two shipping companies, and recommend they buy a forward option in oil, US$20 million to start, the assumption being that oil prices were set to rise. The second of the two shipping companies, TJ

  Cargo, would also purchase a forward oil option of US$20 million.

  Furthermore, he had also been informed that both companies would be depositing an additional US$50 million into an account just for him to speculate with.

  His bosses at the bank would be happy. Three weeks into his new job and it would appear that he had brought in two clients who would place on deposit US$100 million between them. The deal structures he was to initiate seemed straightforward enough. And it should seem so: for a man with his talents, it was simple stuff. Aziz settled back and started to document the terms against which the various oil contracts would be structured. He had all the time he needed, given Singapore was about to start its weekend, so he would not be bothered by requests from the head offi ce.

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  FOUR

  Monday, September 22, 2008

  The rain was falling hard that Monday morning in Singapore, the raindrops beating against the window in waves as the wind caught it, the thunder rumbling overhead. Ying awoke gently, slowly opening her eyes and yawning lazily. She turned her head and glanced across at a small clock squarely positioned on her side table: it was 6:00 a.m.

  Stretching out her long legs, which almost hung out over the end of her bed, she started to sit up and slide out of her warm sheets, her naked body feeling the damp morning air. She always had the window open at night, and the fl oor was now wet as the rain had been driven in by the strong winds that howled around her tower block.

  Ying shared an HDB fl at on the 18th fl oor with her two elderly parents and grandmother. Her grandmother, Madam Foo, was now a frail 96-year-old. Her quirky nature made Ying laugh. Her father, Harold Lee Hee Jung, was a 60-year-old taxi driver who simply refused to stop working despite the fact that Ying now helped support both her parents and her grandmother fi nancially, as fi lial daughters often do in Asia.

  Harold was passionate about his knowledge of the island and was deeply proud to be Singaporean. He knew his history, specifi cally the Japanese occupation during World War II. His own father, a journalist who had been taken as a prisoner of war, had passed down his knowledge.

  The Japanese had looked upon teachers, journalists and intellectuals as quantum breach 290709.indd 59

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  potential British sympathisers or spies, especially if they were Chinese Singaporeans. Harold loved to talk to the many tourists he collected from the airport and ensured they left with Singapore’s full history.

  Ying’s mother, Patricia Tan Wei Sun, was a part-time English teacher at the local primary school. She loved kids, which led to her yearning for Ying to marry and provide them with grandchildren. Aside from her teaching, her mother loved to cook, believing that only her food was good enough for her family. Pat, as she was known, frowned at the amount of junk food Ying ate. It caused her great concern, thinking she would die young of some form of toxic poisoning. Ying made a point of never bringing home the products of such disdain to her mother.

  Wrappers of the burgers which were purchased on the way home after late nights of working were always thrown away before Ying reached her front door.

  To her parents, Ying was the result of over 20 years of hard saving and sacrifi ce. There had been no big holidays or fancy cars for them.

  Ying’s university education had cost them a small fortune, but they saw it as worth every cent. She made them proud. Pictures of her graduation were framed and festooned on the walls of the fi ve-room apartment.

  Housing Development Board fl ats were normally comfortable but basic with regards to the facilities. With her generous salary, Ying had helped her parents upgrade to a larger government fl at that was closer to the city and had more facilities. She had made the decision one bright Monday morning, and they had sold their old fl at and bought the new one with a mortgage that she had taken out with her bank. She wanted her parents to have a comfortable life; it was a way to repay their sacrifi ce.

  Hull University, the source of Ying’s expensive education, had proved tough for the young Singaporean. It was a completely alien culture to the one she had left. In fact, she had never ventured overseas before. Thailand for the odd vacation was about as far as she had been.

  But using her looks and brains, she soon became popular in university and graduated with honours.

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  As she emerged out of her bedroom dressed in a crisp white blouse and black trousers, her hair neatly tied up, Ying looked at her mother, who was standing over a wok making chow mien, fried noodles, for breakfast.

  ‘Morning, mother,’ Ying said in a soft, respectful tone. ‘Morning, grandmother,’ she followed, gently patting the old lady on the shoulder.

  ‘Morning, girl,’ her mother replied without even looking behind her. She continued to masterfully stir-fry the noodles with a pair of long wooden chopsticks. Ying hated seeing her mother look so tired, always dressed in a simple fl oral dress with her grey hair neatly brushed.

  ‘Father still asleep?’ enquired Ying.

  ‘Yes. You know your father. He was up late again last night.’

  ‘He should stop, mother, I can afford for him to rest. You, too,’ said Ying in a caring yet confi dent tone.

  Her mother simply turned round and gave her a knowing look, one that said, ‘Girl, we are okay, stop your fuss.’ To Ying’s parents, asking them to stop working was tantamount to almost killing them. In all their life, they knew only work and sacrifi ce. They longed for the day Ying would meet a suitable young man, preferably a doctor or even a lawyer, someone of good social standing.

  This type of expected life was not so attractive for Ying herself.

  She was independent and only went out with men when she was in control. Ying had very few boyfriends. She always described herself as a ‘swinging single’, a term which basically meant she went out with as many guys as she wanted without getting attached. The real truth was she had not yet met someone who fulfi lled her demanding criteria. Ying wanted a practical man with intellect and depth of character, solid and sensitive. These were the qualities she most respected.

  Ying arrived as she always did at 7:30 a.m. and sat down at her desk. She had barely settled in when McCabe walked over and sat down beside her. ‘Morning, Ying.’ McCabe paused. ‘You know what you need? A change.’

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  ‘Really, I do,’ Ying replied.

  ‘Yup. You need to be exposed to new products. I mean, you have been stuck on the same boring product types for months. Get yourself out to Dubai for a few weeks. As you said, they need the help. It’s their busy time of year.’

  ‘Really? Wow. I would love that. You have no idea how much that means to me. Thanks so much, boss.’ Ying started to almost bounce up and down with excitement.

  ‘Okay, calm down. I suggest you book a fl ight for tomorrow afternoon, no sense in waiting. If I remember correctly, there is an SIA fl ight at 4:50,’ McCabe informed her as he got up and paced back to his desk.

  Ying then realised she had very little time. Hardly time to pack, she thought, but knowing that staff in the bank were fully expected to leave for another location with very little notice. That was banking: money was money and a social life was a luxury. But she at least wanted to go, so it was no hardship.

  Ying completed
her work early that day. She needed to get home and pack, but more importantly, she wanted to pick up a roast duck at the Crystal Jade restaurant just around the corner from her home.

  Her parents would love that—a treat before she told them she would be away for a few weeks. Her mother would be most distressed to know she was fl ying off, so the duck would calm her down a bit. She loved duck. Actually, she loved any excuse to have her homemade plum sauce, her favourite.

  The enticing aroma of roast duck heralded Ying’s return. Her mother was at the door and hugged her as she always did when Ying reached home.

  ‘Oh my, what have you there, dear?’ her mother said, as if she could not tell. A wry smile on her face gave it away. Her mother also knew that Ying had something to tell them; she only bought food back when she felt guilty.

  As her mother set the table they all sat down to eat the duck. Ying quantum breach 290709.indd 62

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  looked at her parents as her mother masterfully pulled the duck meat off the bone using only a pair of tablespoons. The smell was so lovely. Ying felt happy, happy in the thought she had such great parents. She also felt good that she could now support them. As they ate the duck, Ying could see how happy her mother was. With her hectic work schedule, Ying did not often make it home for dinner these days. She decided to wait until the next morning to break the news. A family dinner like this was too good to upset. Pat, on the other hand, already suspected some news was coming; such were her maternal instincts.

  Ying settled herself back into the luxury of her Business Class window seat. Her long legs stretched out in front of her; this was indeed the only way to travel as she sipped her champagne. Economy was the normal class, but McCabe wanted her to be happy and had approved her travel. Ahead of her was the oasis of wealth, ruled for decades by a family of honour, respect and dignity; a fact that fascinated her.

  As the mile upon mile of rolling sand dunes scorched by the sun started to dissipate, an oasis of blue, gold and silver—represented by triumphs of manmade architecture—punched their way out of the sand skyward, as if to greet her. It excited her to fi nally arrive in Dubai and to know that shopping adventures awaited her in the world’s fi rst shopping resort.

  After the non-eventful fl ight and a good night’s sleep, Ying stepped out of the taxi in Dubai just outside the plush offi ces of Banning Capital Bank, dressed in a smart grey suit with a light blue blouse, perfectly tailored to her athletic fi gure. It was the beginning of a perfect day in the emirate. The temperature was a soaring 38 degrees. She felt refreshed and excited about her fi rst day here, the chance to learn new products and to meet some of her Dubai colleagues face to face.

  As she walked in through the revolving doors with a confi dent stride, she was hit by a waft of cool air. She observed the marble and gold decadence and fresh fl owers which sat upon a glass table in the quantum breach 290709.indd 63

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  lobby. The walls were covered with what looked like (and she assumed was) expensive art. She then noticed a wide, sweeping staircase with an escalator to one side that descended down about 20 steps to what looked like an underground shopping mall. Great, she thought to herself, there’s time to grab some coffee.

  As she stepped off the escalator, almost slipping a little on the polished marble fl oor, she poised herself and headed for a coffeehouse nearby on the left. Her eyes caught a glimpse of a man walking directly past her. His eyes appeared to be scrutinising her from head to toe. Ying could see that he was not an Emirati dressed in his fi nest dish dash, but a Westerner in a grey tailored suit.

  Probably just a frustrated husband with an overactive sex drive who fancied something Asian to look at, she thought to herself as she walked past, switching her attention to the fi ne jewellery shops and designer boutiques. She bought her coffee, looked for a seat, then settled into a comfortable leather armchair and sipped her skinny latte. She glanced down at her watch to check the time: 8:20 a.m. She had half an hour to kill before it was time to head into the offi ce. Nine in the morning was a luxury for her, but there was no point in arriving too early since she had to wait for John to arrive and settle in before guiding her on where they needed the help.

  Ying loved to observe people; she loved to take in the various fashions people wore. Settling down, she started to look at the different people who crossed her line of vision. Most looked like offi ce workers or shop assistants. Then she noticed the man who had walked past her earlier. This time he made a point of winking at her as he confi dently strode past, his boyish face revealing only the slightest of smiles. He looked as if he was in his early to late twenties. Ying loved to try and peg a man’s age. She also took in that he looked fi t and strong. Ying could feel her sixth sense telling her this was not a man of mediocrity; he had a presence about him, an air of extreme confi dence.

  She smiled back, fl attered by the fact he had winked at her and he was just her type: handsome. Ying loved the odd fl irt. Her mother quantum breach 290709.indd 64

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  would not approve of such non-traditional behaviour. She smiled, thinking of her mother wagging a fi nger. She gathered her phone and purse, placed them in her bag, then got up and walked smartly out of the coffeeshop, heading in the opposite direction to her admirer. Not wanting to appear obvious, she tried to resist looking over her shoulder to see if he was looking. But the temptation was too much. So slowly and provocatively she turned her head and glanced over her right shoulder. The mystery man was nowhere to be seen. She found herself feeling almost disappointed. That confi rmed it: he must have been just a fl irting nobody and she should forget she had ever seen him. With that, she turned back and walked off towards the offi ce.

  On entering the Dealing Room, she was escorted by one of the department secretaries, Sophie, a rather chubby yet polite British lady with very poor dress sense. Sophie had secured a role at the bank; her husband was working in Dubai on a building contract and they needed the extra income.

  ‘You can use this desk for the week, dear,’ Sophie explained.

  ‘Thanks,’ Ying replied.

  ‘The pantry and washrooms are on the left, past the glass offi ce. If there’s anything you need, you can fi nd me just over there, dear, okay?’

  Sophie explained, pointing to a desk a few yards away from where Ying would be sitting.

  Ying sat down and powered up the computer on the desk. Each computer in the bank was generic, only requiring a personal password which limited the access rights to the bank’s many systems and applications.

  Might as well get on with it, she thought. As she entered her computer log-on, John arrived, a young man with clean-cut, boy-next-door looks and a fresh complexion.

  ‘Good morning. You must be Ying. I’m John.’ Ying spun around and took in the sight of John reaching out to shake her hand. Her mouth fell open. It was the handsome man who had winked at her only a short while ago down in the shopping mall.

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  ‘It’s you! Oh my God,’ Ying replied somewhat embarrassed.

  With that, John just smiled.

  ‘How did you know it was me, and why did you not say “Hi”?’ Ying was now stumbling for answers.

  ‘Not that many Asian girls around here for one thing. And I thought it would be a laugh, no offence,’ John replied

  ‘Oh, very funny.’ Ying was not amused, thinking, in fact, that he now looked a bit geeky and not so handsome after all.

  ‘So great that you are here to help. It’s hellish busy here.’

  Ying’s eyes were still showing that she was none too impressed by his joke. ‘I’m here to help and learn. I’m specifi cally interested to learn oil and precious metals. So who is best pla
ced to start showing me?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh right. Yes, of course. Well, I can.’ John’s face showed his keenness to help.

  ‘Great. Let’s get on with it then. Time is money, right, John?’ Ying replied with a hint of authority and sarcasm.

  After about half an hour, having logged on to his own computer, getting himself some coffee and chatting to a few guys around him about his previous night out, he fi nally turned his chair towards Ying and started to show her what she had come for.

  Ying quickly worked out that John was only going over the high-level basics of the products, like the description and basic usage, not the complex pricing and risk calculations she loved. She wanted much more detail. She also worked out that John seemed somewhat out of place, almost as if he was new himself to the trading game, but she could not quite place her fi nger on the issue.

  Then, out of the blue, John leant over. ‘Would you like dinner later?

  I can show you the sights.’

  ‘Sure,’ Ying replied. She felt almost fl attered by his sweet invitation, thinking this would be fun. She had never been out with a Western geek before.

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  Harish Aziz jolted as the phone rang on his desk. He picked up the receiver.

  ‘Morning, Aziz here. How can I help you?’ he said just in case it was an external client calling.

  ‘Okay I need you to listen,’ the voice on the other end of the phone commanded. Aziz almost froze. He said nothing as he sat waiting for his next instruction. The voice on the other end of the phone confi rmed that Aziz should trigger the deals he had been informed of a few days earlier. The only change was that the deal size should be increased from US$20 million to US$50 million. He was also requested to calculate an oil price for each company, a price that would be alarmingly high for Al Safad. The other price, for TJ Cargo, was to be made acceptable. Just before the phone went dead, he was also asked to run one last check: he was to confi rm when the bank had last validated the board members of Moon Star Holdings, the Tai Investments SPV. As the phone went dead, he slipped it back into its cradle and started to tap vigorously on his keyboard.