Carver

by Tom Cain

  ‘It does if we’ve got to find him.’

  ‘Which is why I’m saying you should get some help. You’ve got yourself a handy replica Malachi Zorn. He’s proved that he can fool people, including some of Zorn’s investors, into thinking that he’s the real thing. So let him announce that he’s magically survived the attack, and that the launch of Zorn Global is going ahead as planned. Then, when all the people Zorn has stolen from are together in one place, you tell them the truth. That this poor bastard is a bloke called Drinkwater and that the real Zorn is still somewhere out there, with God knows how many of their billions. Then just stand back and see what happens. My guess is they’ll find Zorn soon enough.’

  ‘Well, that’s one way of doing it,’ said Grantham. ‘But you’ve missed an obvious alternative – well, obvious to any normal person, anyway.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Call the police. As you said, that Deirdre Bull woman can tie your old friend Magda Sternberg to the Rosconway attack. And you, Carver, can tie Sternberg to Razzaq. His links to Zorn are easily established, connecting Zorn to Rosconway. Now we have Drinkwater as proof of Zorn’s attempt to evade prosecution – that’s a conspiracy to murder.’

  ‘Not if I refuse to give evidence,’ said Carver. ‘Come on, Grantham, you of all people don’t ever want me anywhere near a witness box.’

  Cameron Young raised an eyebrow and made a mental note to discover what it was that Carver knew that Grantham would never want made public. Grantham himself, however, was undeterred.

  ‘Doesn’t matter,’ he said. ‘There’s still Drinkwater, and even the dimmest juror won’t miss the fact that he’s walking around wearing Zorn’s face. If the police can get Razzaq and/or Sternberg in custody, one of them’s bound to start talking in exchange for a lighter sentence. Meanwhile, get the best forensic accountants the taxpayers’ money can buy, and start them working through the money trail. Let’s try sorting something out the proper, legal way for once.’

  Now Young entered the conversation, easing his way in with a contemplative ‘Hmm’ before starting to speak. ‘I completely sympathize with you, Grantham, and of course you’re right that this is evidently a conspiracy. But take it from a former barrister, conspiracy cases are a nightmare to prosecute. It may be quite clear to us how the whole thing was put together, but that’s a very long way from saying it can be proven beyond reasonable doubt in a court of law. All the evidence so far is either hearsay or circumstantial. There’s no smoking gun, no email from Zorn ordering the attack, let alone a bomb with his DNA or fingerprints on it. He will be able to hire the best lawyers his huge wealth can buy. Meanwhile one of our key witnesses may very well die of cancer before the case even comes to court. A second witness may herself not recover from her wounds, and even if she does, her admitted involvement in a terrible crime would clearly give her a motive to lie about Mr Zorn in exchange for favourable treatment. And a third key witness is a former Royal Marines officer who appears, if you will excuse me, Mr Carver, to have spent many years behaving in a way that does little credit to his former regiment. If I were acting for Mr Zorn in that case, I would be very confident indeed of securing a not guilty verdict.’

  ‘I see,’ said Grantham sullenly. ‘Well, then, we’d better take the Carver option … again.’

  ‘Ah, well, that may also be a problem,’ said Young. ‘This is, I’m sure you will both agree, a very embarrassing situation for a great many influential people. Mr Zorn has, to be blunt, conned his investors. But they don’t know that yet and I’m not sure we want to be the ones to tell them. After all, these are some of the world’s richest men and women. They wouldn’t enjoy looking foolish in public.’

  ‘So what?’ Carver asked. ‘There are millions of people out there who’d be only too happy to see a few rich bastards taken down a peg or two.’

  ‘Possibly,’ Young conceded. ‘But those rich bastards would not appreciate the government that let that happen, would they? And they aren’t Zorn’s only victims. Every one of his trades required a counterparty … or to put it another way, each of his bets required a bookie who took it. So when he made money, someone else lost it. And by someone else I mean either multinational financial institutions – banks, in other words – or London and New York-based hedge funds.’

  ‘Once again, I can hear the cheering crowds,’ said Carver.

  ‘As can I,’ said Young. ‘But I can also see the Chancellor of the Exchequer’s face when he is told that all these institutions have taken their revenge by quitting London, thereby depriving the Exchequer of tens of billions in tax revenues. And I must also think of the Governor of the Bank of England, who is already fighting hard to save the value of the pound without raising interest-rates to the point where they cripple the UK economy. One more straw could easily break the camel’s back. This country has been limping for years. Do you really want to bring it to its knees?’

  Carver shrugged. ‘That’s not my problem.’

  ‘No, but it is mine. It seems to me that if we expose Zorn we will play right into his hands. The end result will be to destroy the market. And that is exactly what he wants.’

  ‘Really? I thought he said today that he was putting his money back into the market.’

  ‘And you believe him? I must say, Mr Carver, I would not expect you to be so naïve. And I have two last considerations. The first is that my boss, the Prime Minister, publicly placed a great deal of faith in Malachi Zorn. If it transpires that he was backing the greatest fraudster of all time that will not, to put it at its absolute mildest, look good. In fact, it could bring the government down. So now we have a ruined economy and a broken Prime Minister. And the cherry on top is that a senior member of the royal family regards Mr Zorn as a personal friend.’

  Grantham shook his head disgustedly. ‘Oh great!’

  ‘Quite so,’ Young agreed, making it plain that he shared Grantham’s frustration with the limitless ability of that family’s members to make life difficult for those who served them. ‘They have met at numerous functions. Mr Zorn has dined at this royal personage’s country home and given generously to certain charities which the personage supports. He has also made certain of his properties around the world available, discreetly, to the personage’s spouse and children … and various extra-marital partners.’

  Grantham frowned. ‘Why didn’t I know that already?’

  ‘Before your time. I’m sure you would have been informed if the issue had ever arisen again. Suffice it to say, for now, that the palace would not be happy to see Mr Zorn’s nefarious activities widely publicized. Which means, Mr Carver, that we will have to alter your plan somewhat.’

  ‘So what do you want?’ Carver asked.

  ‘In public, we must make sure that the show goes on. For the time being at least, Mr Drinkwater will have to maintain the fiction that he is Malachi Zorn. We need to create a believable media narrative that links the attack on Zorn today with yesterday’s events at Rosconway, but without any suggestion that Zorn himself was the perpetrator. As for the Zorn Global launch, it should go ahead, as you suggested, but there will be no public revelations, and the Prime Minister will, I think, be too busy to attend in person. The main aim has to be to keep Zorn’s investors – and the financial markets in general – happy. Meanwhile, with the help of the SIS, among other agencies, we will very discreetly take every possible measure to trace and recover as much of Mr Zorn’s stolen money as possible.’

  ‘But once Zorn knows that the launch is going ahead without him, he’s bound to react,’ Carver said.

  ‘Yes, which is why I don’t want the PM anywhere near tomorrow’s event. And why it will have a very high level of security around it.’

  ‘But then what? You can’t keep going for ever with two Malachi Zorns in the world.’

  Young nodded. ‘I quite agree, Carver. That’s why I’m counting on you to make sure, as soon as humanly possible, that there’s only one of them.’

  82

 
; * * *

  London and Cheapside

  SHORTLY AFTER 8.00 P.M. a brief announcement from the hospital to which Malachi Zorn had been taken revealed that Mr Zorn had made a remarkable escape. Though suffering from shock, concussion and multiple bruises and abrasions, he was alive and could be expected to make a full recovery. Mr Zorn was resting comfortably. Further statements would be made in due course. Until such time, no comment would be made by any of the hospital staff.

  It was now 8.40 p.m. The banner strung up on the back wall of the abandoned warehouse had the ‘Forces of Gaia’ logo spray-painted on it big enough to be read on even the smallest YouTube screen. One of the three masked men in front of the camera had the same imposing bulk as Brynmor Gryffud, but when he spoke his voice was so heavily treated that he could have been Welsh or Watusi for all that anyone listening could tell. The words he had to say, however, were clear enough.

  ‘The Forces of Gaia claim full responsibility for two acts of war against the industrialists, speculators, politicians, armies and multinational conspirators whose actions threaten the survival of Gaia.

  ‘We believe that the planet and all the organisms on it are linked in a single entity. We call this entity Gaia. We believe that it is naturally self-regulating, naturally healthy and naturally beautiful. Only the actions of mankind can possibly threaten it, and so we fight back against the violence of global warming, the violence of environmental pollution, and the violent exploitation of the world’s natural resources for financial profit.

  ‘Our struggle began yesterday at the Rosconway oil refinery. This industrial installation was specifically designed to exploit a precious substance torn from the belly of the earth. Its products pollute and heat the atmosphere. It is therefore a totally legitimate target in our struggle. We regret the loss of life caused by this necessary act of war, but condemn the actions of the government which caused so many unnecessary extra casualties.

  ‘This afternoon, we passed sentence on the man whose provocative, ill-judged remarks provoked that government action, the American speculator Malachi Zorn. His warnings against so-called eco-terrorism were intended solely to inflame public opinion and influence financial markets so that he could profit. Gaia could not allow such obscenity to go unpunished. Accordingly, speculator Zorn was attacked this afternoon. Our only regret is that he somehow managed to survive. Other enemies of the planet will receive less mercy.

  ‘We are the Forces of Gaia. And we will defend the sanctity of this planet to the death.’

  The man stopped speaking. He and the two silent figures on either side of him remained rock still. Then a voice from off-camera said, ‘Cut!’

  The speaker pulled off his black balaclava to reveal the face of SBS Company Sergeant Major Mike ‘Snoopy’ Schultz. ‘What total fucking bollocks,’ he said, shaking his head in disgust. ‘I couldn’t hardly read half of it. What kind of a twat believes shit like that?’

  ‘The kind that bombs oil refineries,’ said Carver, who’d thrown away his balaclava and was scruffing his fingers through his hair.

  ‘The real Forces of bloody Gaia can count themselves lucky I never got to them. They were shot, right?’

  ‘That’s what I heard.’

  ‘Yeah, well I wouldn’t have been that quick about it. Ah, fuck it! At least we got Zorn, eh?’

  ‘Something like that …’

  Schultz looked at Carver. ‘What are you saying, boss? We did get that fucker, didn’t we?’

  Carver said nothing. Schultz looked at him with a mixture of disappointment and mounting anger. ‘Don’t say you were bullshitting me. You were never a bullshitter. Don’t start now. Seriously, boss. Don’t take the piss with me.’

  ‘I’m not taking the piss. It’s just that there were … complications. Things weren’t what they seemed.’

  ‘And you’re not going to tell me any more than that?’

  ‘Not now. Not yet. But I’ll promise you this: Malachi Zorn will get what’s coming to him. You have my word on that.’

  ‘You sound like a fucking politician, boss.’

  Carver felt the sense of betrayal behind Schultz’s insult. ‘I’m anything but that,’ he said. ‘Listen, you and Cripps did a great job with the Krakatoa. You’ll probably get a medal for saving that woman at the refinery. I know how tough it is for you, losing Tyrrell. I know you want payback. But there’s nothing more you can do right now. So return to your unit. Get on with the day job. And take it from me, Malachi Zorn will not get away with what he’s done. All right?’

  Schultz gave a reluctant nod of acceptance. ‘Yeah, fair enough, I s’pose.’

  ‘Good. Then I’ll buy you a beer before you go.’

  Within an hour of being released on Twitter and YouTube, the Forces of Gaia statement had received more than three million hits and been picked up by all the major global news networks and agencies. Among the millions who watched it with interest was Malachi Zorn.

  ‘Very interesting,’ he said to Razzaq. ‘The British government knows who carried out the Rosconway attack. They know that I’ve been using a double. They must have made the connection between us and the Forces of Gaia. But they’re deliberately obscuring it. You know what that means?’

  ‘No, but I think you’re going to tell me.’

  ‘It means they’re not interested in due process. If they had any intention of getting me inside a courtroom they’d be getting all the evidence they could to put me next to those dumb bastards in Wales. But I don’t think they have that evidence. And even if they did, I don’t think they ever want to see me in a witness box. Which can only mean one thing …’

  ‘Which I am able to deduce also,’ said Razzaq.

  ‘Precisely. They want me dead.’

  ‘My conclusion, also.’

  ‘Well, they’re in for a helluva disappointment.’

  Thursday, 30 June

  83

  * * *

  Parkview Hospital

  THE MEDIA WERE informed that Malachi Zorn had rested well overnight. He was not yet well enough to give a full-scale press conference. He would, however, consent to a brief one-on-one interview with an ITN reporter, on condition that the resulting material was made freely available to any news outlet that wanted it. The lucky woman who got the job was sent on her way to what she and her jealous colleagues all considered a potentially career-making encounter, with suggestions for questions ringing in her ears.

  No one thought of asking Zorn, ‘How much are you being paid to do this?’ If they had, they might have caught Michael Abraham Drinkwater enough by surprise that he would have blurted out the truth: ‘One million dollars.’ He had sensed the Brits’ desperation, stuck to his guns, and insisted on receiving the second half of the money Zorn was due to pay him. In the end, Young had been forced to give in. And so Drinkwater had gone back into character again.

  The interview took place in Drinkwater’s room. He spoke from his bed, sitting up, with a pile of pillows behind his back. To add to the drama of the occasion, a bandage had been wound round his head and he was wearing dark glasses to shield him from the glare of the TV lights. There were bruises, cuts and swellings on the left-hand side of his face. They had been put there by a make-up artist.

  ‘When the car was first attacked, it stopped very suddenly and I was thrown forward and hit my face against the seats in front,’ Drinkwater explained, as the interview began, using lines given to him in advance by Cameron Young’s top writers. ‘Guess I should have worn a seat belt, huh?’

  He managed a weak, battered smile. ‘But you know, it might have saved me. I was right on the floor of the car, between the front and rear seats. So I was sheltered from the rest of the attack.’

  ‘Have you seen the statement released last night by the Forces of Gaia, the terrorists who claimed responsibility for the attack on you yesterday and for Tuesday’s atrocity at the Rosconway oil refinery?’

  ‘Uh, no … no I haven’t. But I heard about that. My doc told me about it.’


  ‘Do you have any message for those terrorists?’

  ‘Well, I guess I wish they hadn’t tried to shoot the messenger! And I hope that the police can arrest them, and that justice can take its course. But really I’m not the issue here, and nor are these terrorists. The important thing is that decent, hard-working people died on Tuesday, and they deserve to be remembered. Their sacrifice must be honoured. Their deaths must not be in vain. We need to take the whole issue of energy security much more seriously. I’ve been saying this for a long time, and it’s just terrible, to be honest, to be proved right in this way.’

  The reporter put on her most soulful expression and nodded thoughtfully. ‘So how did it feel when some people suggested that you had been behind the refinery attack?’

  ‘Well, you know, it wasn’t easy hearing that. I lost a very dear friend in Nicholas Orwell at Rosconway. And it was a miracle that I didn’t die yesterday afternoon. You can take it from me, I didn’t order anything. I’m a trader. I make deals. I don’t kill people.’

  ‘Well, speaking of deals, you were planning to launch your Zorn Global fund here in London tomorrow with a gala reception in the City of London. Will that be going ahead now?’

  ‘Absolutely. I’m alive. I’m in one piece. And I will not give the terrorists the satisfaction of beating me. I’ll be there …’ Drinkwater leaned forward conspiratorially. ‘And I’ll tell you what, maybe I can fix you an invitation, too!’

  Cameron Young was watching on a live feed to his office at 10 Downing Street. ‘Cheeky beggar!’ he said, to no one in particular. Still, there was no harm in a little humour. If they got through the next couple of days with the markets steady, Zorn Global’s investors happy, and the real Zorn satisfactorily dealt with, that million dollars would look like a positive bargain.

  Malachi Zorn was watching, too. So far as he was concerned, the information that Drinkwater would be hosting the reception in his place was the best news that he could possibly have been given. He immediately contacted Razzaq.