‘About Monday.’
‘Monday?’
‘Ponděli... Monday... When I shouted at you.’
‘Oh!’ The light came on. ‘Is not that. Is you. You different.’
‘Different?’
‘Ano. You have lose weight?’
I hadn’t really thought of it, but in only five days my clothes were already feeling a little loose on me. I didn’t think anyone would notice.
I patted my belly and smiled at her. ‘Yes. You like?’ She rolled her eyes and handed me the letter. It was from my gambling friend. He pointed out that he was a dealer in non-ferrous scrap metal. Osmium was a little out of his league. But he had an uncle who could help. His uncle would contact me separately.
The uncle’s letter arrived two days later. When I arrived at the office that morning Radka looked at me with one of those ‘another letter came for you and you never get letters and now you’ve had two in two days and I am dying to know what is in it’ looks on her face.
This time she’d put it on my desk: in the middle. If I didn’t know better, I would have sworn that she’d used a bloody ruler to make sure that it was dead centre. It was the focal point of the room. I ripped it open and read:
‘Dear Sir,
‘In Your letter you mentioned, that you have a customer for five kilograms of Osmium. This item is, I would say, not for open communication, no doubt you will understand me. So I sent you a fax asking you not to phone or fax until you have read this letter. For communication in the future (by letter only) I propose to use a code, for instance ROSES.
‘For your information please note following offer
Five kilograms OS 187 minimum 99.40% non-active in crystalform, packed in one container as usual for this item. Price around $ 29.000, - per one gram (your commission is included so no need to raise the price before passing on to the customer).
‘The above ± price is CIF place of delivery buyer’s option all over the world, delivery by diplomatic courier. Origin former USSR.
‘Testing laboratory in buyer’s option PROVIDED laboratory is authorized to test this material, to the satisfaction of seller before final contracting. Expenses of testing to buyers account if material meets to specifications agreed upon in a preliminary agreement, if not testing will be at seller’s expense.
‘Delivery will take place within 72 hours after proof of buyer’s funds has been given to seller’s authorized mandate in Switzerland, and contracts have been signed.
‘Execution of this deal (financial and contractwise) will take place in Switzerland/Lichtenstein.
‘Since I checked my source just a short while ago personally I can assure you the reliability of this source. Proof that the material is available can be given/shown in writing in Switzerland by a first-class ‘Treuhänder’ who is the mandate with full authorization of the owner(s).
‘If you are prepared to follow up my proposition please let me know in order to enable me to supply a full corporate offer giving all specifications and procedures.
‘You will understand that the demand from your side must be serious, because it will bring me a lot of work, even maybe traveling.
Sincerely
R. van Graan.’ And his signature.
I read the letter three times before it all began to sink in. Then the questions went banging around inside my head. What the hell is CIF? How was I going to reconcile the difference of seven thousand dollars per gram? What was my commission? What was I letting myself in for? And what the fuck was a Treuhänder?
I pulled out the calculator. 29,000 x 5,000 = 145,000,000. That was a lot of zeros. A commission of only one percent was worth almost one and a half million dollars!
I had a lot of homework to do, to prevent making a complete arse of myself. It was going to be like assisting at heart bypass surgery with a scalpel and good intentions.
I took a deep breath, calmed myself down, and went through to Bill’s office. Radka stared at me as if she expected some news. I smiled at her noncommittally. Bill was busily pounding a small electric calculator. A thin strip of paper ran from it to the floor, where it curled back into a loose roll. Bill pressed one stubby finger halfway down a list of numbers and looked up over his glasses at me. ‘What?’
‘Every thought of getting a computer?’ I asked.
‘If that’s what you came here to ask me you can fuck right off,’ he replied and looked back down at the sheet.
‘No. That’s not it. What does C.I.F. stand for?’
‘What?’
‘C.I.F.’ I repeated. ‘I just got a letter that says that the price is CIF. Is it a currency?’
‘No you plonker, it means Cost Insurance and Freight. How long have you been doing this now?’
‘Yeah, yeah, all right, I’m very aware of my limitations,’ I replied. And right then I decided to ask Bill for help. He had passed the contact to me, which meant that the deal was mine and there was no need to cut him in. But I knew that I was already way out of my depth and the bottom was dropping away like the continental shelf. I was going to need his help: a lot of it.
‘You remember that contact you gave me about the osmium last week,’ I began, settling into the chair opposite Bill.
‘Yeah. What about it?’ he asked.
‘Well I met that guy Jahangir and he seems keen.’
‘And?’
‘And, five kilograms of the stuff costs almost a hundred and fifty million dollars.’
‘Jesus fucking Christ!’
‘That’s what I said.’
Bill completely forgot about the long row of figures that he had been adding up. But he had been in the game too long to get carried away. He rubbed the fine grey stubble sprouting from his chin, looked at me carefully over the top of his glasses. ‘What’s it used for?’ he asked.
‘That’s the thing. I’ve looked on the Internet and it says there that it’s used for ball point pens and light bulb filaments.’
‘Bollocks!’ It was a question.
‘I know. At that price we’d all be writing with pencils by candlelight.’
Bill managed a sardonic smile. ‘What’s it really used for?’
‘I don’t know. Honest. I’m going to find out though. Got to be something dodgy.’
‘That’d be a good start. This Jahangir geezer, where’s he from?’
‘Not a hundred percent sure, but the accent sounded Iranian.’
Bill continued rubbing at his bristles. ‘You still got those numbers?’
‘Sure.’ I pulled the scrap of paper from my pocket and gave it to him.
‘Leave ‘em with me,’ he said, ‘I’ve got a mate in the Special Task Unit. He’ll be able to tell me who these belong to.’ He wrote the numbers down and returned the paper to me. He looked at me carefully. ‘Why are you cutting me back in?’
‘Because I haven’t a clue what I’m doing. If I go it alone I’m just going to cock the whole thing up.’
‘Not because we’re partners and you think it’s the right thing to do?’
I snorted. ‘You know me better than that. Would you share your lottery winnings with me?’
Bill just smiled. We both knew the answer. ‘How will we split it?’
‘Halfway.’
He nodded. ‘What’s our cut?’
‘Absolutely no idea,’ I replied. ‘I guess that the minimum commission must be one percent. That’s over a million dollars. Ten percent’s almost fifteen.’
‘Let’s not get too excited,’ he said. Not that he had shown the slightest excitement since his initial outburst. ‘This could all be a bloody wind-up and a waste of time. I’ll find out who this Jahangir is first, and we’ll take it from there.’
Bill adjusted his glasses and looked back down at his list of figures. A look of disgust came over him as he realized that he had lost his place. He tore the long paper slip from the machine, crumpled it up and tossed it into the bin. Then he turned back the pages and began again.
‘Let me know when you find
out whose number that is.’ I said. But he was already adding the figures again, his broad finger moving methodically down the column.
Chapter 5
I returned to my office, winked at Radka on the way past. I knew that she was dying to know what was going on, but I was determined to keep up the suspense for as long as possible.
Back behind my desk, I sat for a moment trying to gather my thoughts. I had already consigned all potential glass and watch deals to some dark corner of my mind: forgotten. I stared at the ceiling and tried to work out what the sequence of events needed to be.
Bill would try to trace Jahangir, so there was not much I could do there until I got an answer from him.
Not much point writing to Van Graan until I had something to write about.
I pulled a blank piece of paper from the desk drawer and put it on the desk in front of me. On the top I wrote the word ‘Osmium.’ I drew a line down the centre of the page, separating it into two columns. On top of the left column I wrote ‘Buyer.’ Under that I listed everything that I knew about Jahangir. It wasn’t much. Only one word: Iranian - and a question mark.
I wrote ‘Seller’ at the top of the second column. I couldn’t think of anything to write there, so I crumpled up the paper and threw it in the bin.
I took out another sheet of paper. I was still staring at it some time later when Bill came into my office.
He didn’t often visit me and for a moment he looked around for a chair before sitting on the end of the desk. ‘I got a call back from my contact,’ he said, pushing another barely legible scrap across the desk at me.
I stared at it for a while trying to decipher what he had scrawled. I recognized Jahangir’s landline number at the top. Next to it Bill had written: ‘Iranian Embassy – private line.’ Below that was the mobile number and ‘Cultural Attaché – Iranian Embassy – Hossein Kermani.
I looked up at Bill, ‘Seems genuine then.’
Bill nodded.
My heart began pounding. It seemed that at least we were dealing with somebody who might be able to afford the metal. But what did they want it for? I was sure that Bill was thinking the same, but it didn’t matter to either of us. They could be building a nuclear bomb for all I cared. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘You need to talk to Jahangir, or whatever his name is, and see if we can squeeze some more out of him. Then we need to let your seller know that the deal is on.’
‘How is this all going to work? The mechanics of it, I mean.’
‘There’s something I don’t understand about what you asked me earlier.’ Bill replied. ‘You wanted to know what CIF stood for.’
‘Yes.’
‘Have you got the letter from your bloke in Amsterdam?’
I extracted the letter from my computer bag and handed it to him. He read it through carefully before continuing. ‘I don’t know why he wants to deliver the goods CIF. Cost, Insurance and Freight is only used when the stuff is being sent by sea. There’s only five kilograms and the deal is taking place in Switzerland. There isn’t any need for a boat.’
‘What should it be then?’ I asked.
‘CIP, I suppose. Carriage and Insurance Paid is what they would normally use.’
‘Maybe it’s a misprint?’
‘Maybe.’ Bill began to rub his stubble again. His stubby fingers pressed into his cheeks, massaging them slowly like he was trying to wear the bristles away.
I stood up and re-read the letter over his shoulder. ‘What is a Treuhänder?’ I asked.
‘It’s a trustee, a middleman. Not like we know it though.’
‘How do you mean?’
‘In England a trustee is someone who looks after money on behalf of someone else, but the trustee has control over the money. In Switzerland the trustee is just a front man. He does what the owner of the money, or goods, tells him to do.’
‘So we could be dealing with this Swiss trustee without ever finding out who the real seller was?’
‘Exactly right.’
‘Does it matter?’
‘Not really,’ Bill replied, ‘as long as we trust the trustee, because he’s the geezer who’s going to be giving us our money. You’d better phone Jahangir and set up a meeting so we can get the ball rolling.’
‘Now?’
‘Unless you’ve got something better to do.’ Bill rolled his eyes, went back to his office, left me to make the call.
Chapter 6
The crowd at U Černého Vola looked much the same as it had on my previous visit. I sat down at my usual table and awaited Jahangir’s arrival. He was late.
When he finally appeared, I had just finished my second beer. Martina was about to go off duty and I thought that an afternoon of sweaty sex might take my mind off the osmium and Jahangir’s absence. She had five minutes before the end of her shift; I could see that she was looking forward to a good shagging almost as much as I was looking forward to giving it to her. Then Jahangir walked in.
He looked agitated and kept glancing around the room - scanning the other patrons while he removed his coat and gloves. He walked across to me; cast a furtive glance over his shoulder, sat down.
When he spoke it was in low tones with none of the self-assuredness he had shown before. ‘Have you spoken to anyone about this deal?’ he asked.
‘Only my partner. Is that a problem?’
‘No. But I think it is better that you do not mention it to anyone else.’
‘Apart from the seller?’
He looked at me, trying to work out if I was taking the piss. Of course I was, but didn’t show it. ‘Yes of course; apart from the seller.’
I decided not to push it any further. ‘I have an offer from the seller, but it is a bit more than you said you could pay.’
‘How much?’ Jahangir asked.
‘Twenty-nine.’ I answered.
His cold brown eyes looked at me for a moment before he replied.
Behind him at the other side of the bar, Martina was taking off her apron and glaring at me. I shrugged my shoulders and made a face, ‘sorry.’
Jahangir thought it was meant for him. Very quietly he said, ‘Yes.’
I nearly fell off my seat. ‘Yes?’
‘Yes. Twenty-nine is good. When?’
Poker time again. I summoned all my self-control. I had a desperate urge to blink and I could feel the corners of my eyes stinging. I thought that he must be able to hear my heart beating; I wanted to look down and see if its violent thumping was causing my shirt to move (it felt like it was). But I didn’t blink or look down. I continued to look him straight in the eye and said, ‘Whenever it suits you,’ and realized that I was getting too cocky, ‘after the next ten days of course.’
‘Only after ten days? Why?’
‘There is a lot to organize. I need to get proof of funds from you before we can do anything.’ I said.
Martina was wearing her coat, and ready to leave. She stood, hands on hips, on the other side of the room: directly behind Jahangir. She glared at me, raised an eyebrow. I glanced at her and immediately felt the stirrings of a hard-on. I quickly looked back at Jahangir – that killed the erection.
‘I will give you letters of credit from our bank tomorrow,’ he said.
‘Excellent.’
‘There is something else.’
‘What?’ I was desperate to leave. I knew that if I waited a moment longer that Martina would be gone and with her all chances of an afternoon shag.
‘Are you able to supply uranium?’
‘Uranium?’ My mind was already on other things.
‘Yes. Yellowcake. We need five hundred tons.’
That brought me back, ‘Five hundred tonnes?’
‘Yes.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’ I stood, shook his hand.
‘Call me tomorrow afternoon and I will arrange to deliver the letters.’
I nodded but I wasn’t listening. I was looking for Martina. But she was gone.
I conside
red chasing after her. She couldn’t have gone far, probably hadn’t even reached the tram stop. But that would show desperation and I couldn’t let that happen.
I paid for my beer and walked slowly to Pohořelec to get the tram. I hunched up in my coat against the bitter cold. Despite the weather, there were hordes of tourists about, picking their way gingerly along the icy pavements, making their pilgrimages to the Loreta and other popular sites nearby.
Martina wasn’t at the station. I was the last to board the tram. I sat next to the window; after a short while I had a strong feeling that I was being watched. I surreptitiously looked over the other occupants of the tram using the reflection in the window.
A shabbily dressed man with a large unkempt beard was making his way slowly towards me from the back of the tram. I couldn’t see him clearly, the reflection disappeared every time we crossed an intersection and the buildings no longer provided a backdrop. I lost sight of him for a while; then I felt a presence next to me. He had stopped. Without moving my head, I glanced to my right. He seemed to be facing me. I tensed.
The man put one hand on my shoulder and held out the other in front of me, cupping it, concealing something in the palm of his hand. I looked into the meaty hand and saw a glint of metal. My whole body was like a tightly wound spring. I planned my next move in my mind, imagining myself exploding to my feet, driving my left hand up and across to strike him with the heel of my hand on the base of his nose, spreading it across his face, snapping the cartilage, blinding him with a blast of pain.
Then I realized what the metal object was, and I felt a complete fool. He was a ticket inspector. In Prague they travel incognito, only showing their badges when they want to inspect the ticket of a particular passenger. I pulled my monthly pass from my pocket and showed it to him. He moved on to his next victim. The whole osmium thing was making me jumpy. I laughed at my own paranoia.
Back at home I stripped off the layers of clothing, showered and changed into shorts and a t-shirt. The radiators and double-glazing were so effective that it was easy to forget the freezing weather outside.
I had just curled up on the couch with a book when the doorbellrang. There was no intercom to the front door of the apartment block, so I went to the window and looked out. It was Martina. This time I put my ski jacket on before opening the window. She looked up.‘Ti! Potvora!’ She shouted, pretending to be cross with me. I threw the keys down to her anyway.
Elements of Risk: A Noah Stark Thriller Page 3