Having worked in Istanbul for years, for the Foreign Office, before retiring early after an incident in Istanbul, Isabel felt like an outsider when it came to the things those people seemed to be obsessed with.
She headed for her wicker chair in the conservatory. She had an hour before her coffee date with Rose and the handover of Alek to her for the weekend. It had been a big decision to leave him with Rose. One she’d doubted ever since, if she thought about it for more than a minute.
But everything was ready. And Sean had been so definite that it would be good for them both. She deserved three nights of peace. That was what he had said.
And he was right. She pushed the shard of doubt away.
Within twenty-four hours they’d be back to normal. She’d forgive him. He’d talk about the big merger and finally finishing the project that would secure the Institute’s future, their future. And that would be it.
A crunching sounded from the garden, as if someone was walking out there. She turned to the window and took a deep breath.
9
Henry Mowlam turned to the screen on his left. The hum of the office in Whitehall had hardly changed in the past few years. The only noticeable difference was that the screens they were watching at the monitoring stations were thinner and the light was yellower, more natural, it was claimed, though Henry didn’t believe it.
The secure PDF on his screen was the oldest military archive file he had ever accessed. At the top there was a summary by a Royal Engineers Major. Below was a handwritten report in a thin spidery scrawl enlivened by occasional twirls and flourishes. The name at the top was Captain Charles George Gordon.
Henry scrolled down the document.
It was a personal account of the destruction of the Summer Palace of the Xianfeng Emperor of China in Beijing during the Second Opium War in October 1860.
‘On the night of the 20th we were carrying out Lord Elgin’s orders and came upon a remote palace building, which had not been destroyed up to that point due to its location on an island and its small size. I ordered only the porcelain to be removed and the building to be left intact, but one of the Sergeants took it upon himself to break through a trap door and loot an underground room. He arrived back while we were loading up the boats. He was carrying a green jade statue, about the size of an owl. I confiscated it in the name of Barkers & Son, Bankers, whose kin had been tortured and murdered by the Chinese, and whose shipment of opium had been lost on the Pearl River six months before.’
Henry closed the PDF. Barkers & Son were one of the early manifestations of the BXH banking conglomerate. Henry switched to his right-hand screen and studied the report on Lord Bidoner that had recently been emailed to him.
So this was where Bidoner was going to invest the ill-gotten loot he’d escaped with after the Jerusalem incident. It couldn’t be proven that it was an attempt to provoke a war and then profit from the surge in certain shares of companies, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t true.
Henry still seethed at the thought of how much money Bidoner had made. He read the report again. It stated that Lord Bidoner had already built up a shareholding in BXH that should have been notified to the authorities, but hadn’t. And now he was doing more buying through nominee accounts.
What was he up to?
BXH was definitely in trouble, on the blocks for an immediate takeover. If that didn’t happen, the bank could very well be taken over by the US Government. And if that happened Bidoner would lose his investment.
Was there something going on that he didn’t see?
He read the email from Lord Bidoner to the CEO of BXH, which they had intercepted. It requested an inventory of the bank’s artworks. It also stated that Lord Bidoner had an artistic interest in a jade statue that the bank was rumoured to have in its possession since the time of the Second Opium War.
He turned to look at the report from Captain Charles George Gordon. Was Bidoner looking for the statue mentioned in this report? It certainly looked like it.
But why?
10
Isabel went to the back door and looked out, her face close to the window. She could feel the cold leaking through the glass. She moved away. The noise could have been a neighbour’s cat, hunting for mice. Or it could have been an early rising burglar. She checked the back door was locked, rattled the handle. Hopefully whatever it was would go away.
A memory of the thugs who had chased her and Sean from the hotel in Istanbul came back to her.
She put the back door key on the top of the mahogany dresser. The doorbell rang. It was one of those old-fashioned bells that emits a buzz for as long as the person outside wants it to. Whoever was pressing it clearly wanted an answer quickly.
She was at the door in seconds.
Had Sean lost his key?
Through the stained glass front door window she could see a bulky shape. It was Sean! He’d lost his keys. Her heart thumped like an overexcited schoolgirl’s. She swung the door open and froze, her body temperature cooling fast.
It wasn’t Sean. It was a young man with streaky blonde hair and purple skin eruptions, a before specimen from a magazine ad for acne treatment.
As he stretched his hand out to her she felt stupid at having opened the door so quickly. She could easily have checked in the security viewer. She stepped back and got ready to close the door, fast.
Mr Streaky Blonde’s suit was light grey. It had thin lapels and it looked way too tight, bulging in all the wrong places.
‘James Kilfeather, from Gold and Ferry in the City.’ He smiled at her, like a salesman who’d just seen his next bonus appearing in front of him.
The look on her face must have taken him by surprise. He stepped back, his expression changing from friendly to troubled in a second.
‘Is Mr Ryan here?’ He glanced over her shoulder.
Had Sean made an appointment he hadn’t told her about?
‘No, he’s not. I’ll tell him you were looking for him.’ She tried to sound friendly, but all she wanted was for him to go away.
That was when she saw the clipboard. It was one of those big blue plastic ones with a shiny silver clip to keep the papers down. Under the clip there was a sheet with printed boxes, as if he was about to fill something in. He was holding it as if it was his raison d’être.
‘Did Mr Ryan tell you I was coming to do the valuation?’
She stared at him.
‘Valuation?’ The word stuck in her throat, as if it were a piece of bread too big to swallow. She could feel herself getting angry, the muscles in her neck tightening.
‘Mr Ryan rang our office on Wednesday. He was very specific. He asked us to value this property. Are you Mrs Ryan?’ Streaky Blonde was getting peeved, as if it was her fault Sean wasn’t there.
Why would Sean need the house valued?
She felt light-headed. This had to be a practical joke.
‘You’re mistaken. We’re not selling up. I’ll get Sean to call you, sort all this out when he gets back.’
She smiled thinly, closing the door on his reddening face.
She watched his shadow through the stained glass, her pulse drumming. Would he go away? A second later he was gone.
What the hell was Sean up to?
That was when she noticed the silver front door key.
It wasn’t hers, she was sure of it. All her keys were on her key ring with the enamel apple she’d picked up on their last trip to New York, on a visit to BXH’s head office, which even the wives had been invited to.
Was it Sean’s key? She moved it near the pile of mail that had arrived for Sean the day before. Then she pulled her phone from her jeans pocket.
She tapped in his number. Number unavailable. This was getting too weird. She stood in the hall. The house seemed very quiet.
‘Alek,’ she called out. Anxiety exploded inside her. She rushed up the stairs. As she got to the top she saw Alek’s bedroom door was closed.
She pushed it open, fast. Alek was on the bed
, moving a toy soldier up a pillow mountain. His amber locks looked adorable. She slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. Her heart was drumming rapidly. What the hell was happening to her? She wasn’t normally this paranoid.
‘Come on, Alek, let’s get ready. We’re going.’ Alek didn’t budge.
‘Remember,’ she said. ‘You’re going for a sleepover. And Rose is going to take you to that new movie.’
She felt a tug of guilt looking at his upturned face, but when he moved off the bed like a boy possessed, the guilt subsided. The thought of a new movie beat just about anything in Alek’s mind.
‘Pick one toy to bring with you,’ she said, as she left the room. Alek’s hands were full already.
Sean’s weekend Samsonite bag was in a corner of the bedroom. It was empty. She’d already packed hers with most of what she’d need for the weekend.
She threw some of his things into his bag: socks, two shirts, his leather jacket. She was determined to keep to the plan. He wasn’t going to let her down. They had plenty of time before the taxi came.
Just as long as Mr Vaughann didn’t insist he stay at work. And she would conveniently forget about that message George had given her until they were safely on the train. Sean deserved a break too.
They’d hardly had any holidays in two years. Not like some of them at the bank. One of the few financial downturn-induced changes at BXH, as far as Isabel could make out, was that some of the senior managers had been forced to call off their weekday golf outings.
A cruel punishment indeed.
The only other change Isabel could see was all the extra hours Sean had been putting in.
It was time to go. At least without Alek hanging off of her, she’d be able to focus on finding Sean, and getting away to Paris in time.
She stopped, and put her hand to her forehead. Was she crazy thinking their trip would still happen?
11
The dining table in Lord Bidoner’s Fifth Avenue apartment was set for breakfast. The silver coffee pot in the centre of the table was letting out a curl of steam.
Lord Bidoner was dressed in a black kimono, as was Xena, though hers went only to her thigh. He poured coffee into a thin gold-edged cup, as Xena went to answer the doorbell.
The two men who entered, the head of trading and the head of risk at the New York securities division of the Ebony Dragon hedge fund, were both Harvard educated and experienced in the animal world of Wall Street.
‘Come in, the coffee and pastries are both warm,’ said Bidoner.
The two men took coffee and stood near the picture window. They were both quiet and watchful. It wasn’t often that they were summoned to meet the chairman of the fund they worked for at his apartment. It had only happened once before for each of them, when they were being recruited.
‘Sit, gentlemen,’ said Lord Bidoner. He stood with his back to the wall of glass and its million-dollar view. The sun still hadn’t risen, but the buildings around them were starting to come to life.
The two men sat on the edge of the leather sofa, a few feet apart. Xena stood at the far end. Her long legs glistened, but neither man glanced at her.
‘As I told you when I approved your salaries, there will be times when each of you will be asked to do unusual things. This is one of those times.’
Neither man responded.
‘You know our fund has larger goals than simply making a profit.’
The head of trading, who wore a black suit and a blue knotted silk tie, nodded curtly. The other man stared at Lord Bidoner, then spoke.
‘Isn’t profit what our shareholders want?’
‘And we will make a profit from all this,’ said Lord Bidoner. He walked closer to the two men. ‘A serious profit. And we will need it. There are scum out there who threaten us all. There is a change coming and you can be part of it.’
The head of risk, who had spoken, pressed his lips together and nodded.
‘Soon, gentlemen, we will know who will be the new slaves and who will be free in this world. You may think I overstate it, but when you see people lining up everywhere outside banks that have stolen their money, you will know I wasn’t lying.’ Lord Bidoner pointed at the two men, first one then the other.
‘Many things must be destroyed before they can be reborn. And you will have a role in this, if you follow my instructions to the letter. With no deviation. Is that clear?’
The head of risk spoke. ‘What exactly do you want us to do?’
‘You will spend every dime we have on BXH’s shares and options. And then you will start selling it all at a loss, until the price dives, because there is so much of BXH on sale.’
‘We could be ruined in a day, sir,’ said the head of risk.
‘That’s not your problem, gentlemen. Those are your instructions.’
The two men looked at each other. Both were pale under their perma-tans.
‘Are you sure you want to do this, sir? This is a major gamble,’ said the head of risk.
Lord Bidoner walked to where Xena was standing and whispered something in her ear. She went out of the room.
‘Gentlemen, consider this,’ said Lord Bidoner, coming up to the two men. ‘My friend is very strict when it comes to relationships. She was raised differently from us. An eye for an eye is what she believes in.’ He leaned towards the men. ‘It was said in her village that she wore a cloak of darkness after what happened to her family.’
He stepped aside to let her pass him. She was carrying a newspaper.
‘Would you like to see what happened to one of the other bankers I worked with, gentlemen? It was such a shock I kept the article.’
The two men just stared at him. Then the head of risk nodded.
Xena dropped the paper on the glass table. The newspaper was the Times of India. The main article was accompanied by a picture of a stretcher being carried out of an office building. People were milling around and whoever was on the metal stretcher was clearly dead, as they were in a fully zipped up body bag.
The headline read – CASTRATED BANKER DIES.
‘This was a few years ago, but it was a sad day for the man’s family, I can tell you. To die in such a way is dishonourable in India. It implies so much. But I am sure it was a lot more painful for him.’ Lord Bidoner picked up the newspaper and passed it back to Xena. She left the room with it.
‘This man didn’t believe my warnings. I hope that doesn’t happen with you two.’
The two men shook their heads.
‘I want you to understand where I’m coming from. There will be no turning back on my directive and there will be no discussion of what happened in this room after you leave here. Is that clear?’
The head of risk nodded first.
‘Yes, sir. You don’t have to worry. We will carry out your instructions to the letter.’
They walked slowly to the door and exited without saying another word. Lord Bidoner was already on his phone, as the front door of the apartment closed behind them.
Red, he typed into the email. Then he sent it.
12
Rose Suchard was sitting at a back table in the otherwise almost empty In Italy restaurant at the bottom of their street when Isabel and Alek got there.
In Italy was one of those new places with all white wooden tables and chairs. On the long side wall there was a giant map of a futuristic subway system made up of multicoloured dots. The restaurant attracted a young crowd who enjoyed the real Italian coffee, great pasta dishes and the atmosphere. Sean and Isabel went there regularly. It was one of the reasons she loved the area.
A waiter was flirting with Rose when they arrived.
Carlo, his name badge said, turned and smiled at Isabel as she sat down.
‘And for you, signora?’ he asked, as his smile said, you also look fantastic. The black wool sweater and midnight blue jeans she’d put on was her basic outfit these days. It was nice to be complimented, but she really didn’t need it.
‘A late breakfast, maybe
?’
But Isabel wasn’t hungry. She ordered a latte and an orange juice for Alek. He was wiggling on the chair to her right. She took off his jacket.
Once he was settled she turned to Rose.
‘Sean didn’t come home last night,’ she whispered, leaning close to her, so Alek wouldn’t hear.
‘The bastard,’ Rose hissed back. ‘Are you okay?’
‘Not really, I still don’t know where he is.’ She put her hand to her forehead. Rose tutted.
‘If I’m arrested for killing him, don’t be surprised.’ She looked out the window, hoping to see his car going by.
‘I’ll stand by you,’ said Rose. ‘Did you see the news?’ She leaned even closer to Isabel. Alek was caught up with galloping an armoured knight across a corner of the table.
‘What news?’
‘About BXH,’ she whispered. She had an are-you-still-with-us look on her face.
She was scaring Isabel now. ‘You know I’ve sworn off TV in the morning.’
All the endless bad TV news was like an infection. She’d decided to keep it all out until the evening each day, when Sean brought enough of it home for both of them.
‘They were going on about the merger,’ said Rose. ‘Apparently BXH’s share price should be going up, but it’s not, it’s collapsing. You know what Terry said?’ Her voice dropped to a whisper.
Isabel shook her head, slowly.
‘He said if the merger doesn’t happen, BXH will collapse in on itself, like a black hole or something. They’ve been hiding …’ She leaned towards Isabel. Her voice went even lower.
‘Something big, he reckons.’ She glanced around, as if they were in a conspiracy movie.
‘I don’t like the sound of that.’
‘Me neither.’ Rose looked genuinely worried.
‘Sean said if the merger fell through, BXH would still be okay,’ she said.
‘Sure, but where is he?’
She opened her mouth, looked at Alek, closed it again. She felt like cursing Sean and BXH, but she couldn’t, not in front of Alek.
‘You know …’ said Rose. She looked sad. Her mouth opened. Her eyes were brimming. ‘It’s …’
The Manhattan Puzzle Page 3