The Predator

by Michael Ridpath

  'All right.' She didn't want him to come to her rooms this time. Somewhere more neutral. 'How about we meet at a pub?'

  'OK. Which one?'

  'There's one called the Fort St George. It's by the river. I'd give you directions, but I'm still a little confused where it is myself. But it's a nice place.'

  'Don't worry,' Eric said. 'I'll find it. See you there at seven.'

  'OK.' Megan smiled to herself as she replaced the receiver.

  The early spring sunshine caressed Marcus's tired features as he sat on the bench in St James's Park. He was sure it was the right one, on the Mall side of the lake, by the footbridge, just as Eric had described it. He checked his watch. Five past eleven. Eric had said eleven o'clock.

  He wasn't sure what to expect: whether Eric would meet him, or someone else would. He had considered not showing up at all, but in the end he had decided to go ahead with the rendezvous. He had nothing to lose and he could use any help he could get. He still wasn't sure what he would do once he found Duncan. But find him he must.

  He hadn't slept at all on the flight over. In fact, he hadn't slept well for a couple of nights, since his conversation with Eric back in Vermont. He was tired, and he let his eyes close, lulled by the steady background traffic noise and the sound of ducks fussing on the water in front of him.

  Suddenly he felt the pressure of something placed on his lap. He opened his eyes and saw a cheap black canvas sports bag. He glanced up from left to right. On one side, a couple were sauntering arm-in-arm towards Buckingham Palace. On the other, a man with dark hair creeping over the collar of his leather jacket was walking briskly away. Marcus shouted to him, but the man lengthened his stride. Marcus shrugged. It wasn't Eric, and the messenger didn't matter. What mattered was the bag.

  He unzipped it. Inside were a single sheet of white paper and a dark blue plastic bag. He glanced at the paper. It contained two neatly typed addresses: Honshu Bank's London office, and Duncan Gemmel's home address.

  He felt the plastic bag. It contained something small and heavy. He guessed what it was as he cautiously peered inside, keeping it all the while in the sports bag.

  He was right. A handgun.

  His heart beat rapidly and he zipped up the bag. He stared ahead, trying to decide what to do, oblivious of the tourists and office-workers strolling by.

  There was no choice. He had known what he had to do since he had skied across the lake the day before; he just hadn't been able to admit it to himself. But now, with the means lying there on his lap, he took the decision. He stood up and walked purposefully down the Mall towards Trafalgar Square, gripping the handles of the sports bag tightly.

  7

  'Hey, Chris! Look at the screen! I don't believe it.'

  Chris, jolted out of his reverie by Ollie's urgent cry, looked. On Bloomberg News was an announcement:

  Radaphone in agreed €1.5 billion takeover of Eureka Telecom.

  Chris scanned the details. It looked like a done deal. He dialled Bloomfield Weiss and got through to Mandy Simpson. 'Have you seen the Eureka Telecom news?' he asked.

  'Yes.'

  'What does it mean for the bonds?'

  'Good news for you, Chris. And good news for Bloomfield Weiss too. We've got Radaphone debt paying a twelve per cent coupon.'

  Chris smiled to himself. Radaphone was a good credit: its bonds would normally trade at half that yield. 'Where's your trader making them?'

  'He says he'll bid one-oh-seven. But that's low. They'll go higher than that.'

  'Excellent!' said Chris. 'Thanks, Mandy.'

  'Looks like Ian sold you a good deal after all,' she said.

  Chris thought about her words as he put down the phone. She was right. Ian had known all along that Eureka would be taken over. He had told Lenka when he probably shouldn't. She had bought the bonds when she probably shouldn't. Everything had gone according to plan. Except that neither Lenka nor Ian was alive to see it.

  Ian had been right to be cagey with Chris. Chris had thought it was because Ian had deceived Lenka and was worried about being found out. In fact, Ian had told her the truth, but had been unwilling to admit as much to Chris. He was probably right to be careful. Ian would no doubt have argued that his guess that the takeover would happen was no more than a guess, but what he had done was close to passing on inside information. The fewer people who knew about that, the better.

  For the first time Chris wondered whether he had been too cynical about Ian and Lenka. Perhaps she had meant more to Ian than Chris had given him credit for. After what had happened to them both, he hoped so.

  This was good news for RBK. The price at which they had bought Amalgamated Veterans' position had been fixed the day before. It had just gone up at least fifteen per cent. Chris smiled to himself. Khalid's gain had been Rudy Moss's loss. Carpathian definitely had a future now.

  Chris dialled Duncan's number.

  'Did you see the news about Eureka Telecom?'

  'Yes,' Duncan said. 'You had some of that, didn't you?'

  'We had a lot of it.'

  'Khalid will be ecstatic.'

  'He was very lucky.'

  'Not entirely,' said Duncan. 'He got the market timing right, and he picked the right fund manager. He deserves to make money.'

  'And Rudy Moss deserves to lose it.'

  Duncan laughed.

  'Seriously, thanks, Duncan. RBK really bailed us out.'

  'Don't worry about it. My client's happy. It makes me look good. In fact it makes me look bloody brilliant.' Duncan chuckled. Then his tone became serious. 'Did you talk to Megan?'

  'Yes, I did.'

  'And what did she say?'

  'She thinks we've got the wrong end of the stick. She thinks Eric couldn't possibly have done it.'

  'That's crazy. She went out with him, didn't she? Maybe she's biased. Maybe she still fancies him. Does she?'

  'I think so,' said Chris, with difficulty.

  Duncan picked up the tone in Chris's voice. 'Sore point, obviously. Hang on. If she thinks Eric's innocent, then who does she think killed everyone? Me?'

  Chris didn't say anything.

  'I thought so,' Duncan said. 'Look, I understand why you wanted to talk to her. But we have to do something now. If she can't see that she's wrong about Eric, that's her problem. You've told her everything you can.'

  Chris sighed. 'You're right. We should do something. But, as I said earlier, it's not that simple. Who do we talk to? The cops on Long Island? Or in Prague? Or Paris? The only name I've got is some guy called Karásek in Prague, but he's going to have to do a lot of work to put it all together.'

  'Jesus, Chris, we've got to do something!'

  'I know.' Chris thought. 'What about a lawyer?'

  'A lawyer?'

  'Yes. If we get a good one, he might be able to help us make sure we protect our role in all this. And he'd know the best way round the international legal system. I think that's the safest way to go.'

  'All right,' said Duncan. 'Find one. And let me know what happens.'

  'I will.'

  Chris stared at the receiver as he put it down. Duncan was right, there was no time to lose. They were all at risk as long as Eric was running around unchecked. He picked up the phone and called the Fund's lawyer. She recommended someone who recommended someone else, and within an hour he had an appointment to see a Mr Geoffrey Morris-Jones at his offices in Holborn at nine o'clock the next morning.

  Duncan found it very difficult to concentrate. At 12:05 he grabbed his jacket and left the office. He hurried to a pub round the corner and ordered a pint. It tasted good.

  Duncan felt better than he had in a long time. He had energy and he had focus. He knew what had to be done: Eric had to be stopped. If this could be done within the framework of the law, so much the better, but he wasn't at all sure Chris's plan would work. The police investigation would be slow and cumbersome. Eric would simply hire the best lawyers available and keep quiet. It would take months or years to put him
in jail, if they ever succeeded at all. And in all that time, their own lives would be at risk.

  Then Duncan thought of Lenka. Her death had to be avenged.

  He finished his pint, left the pub and walked fifty yards down the road to a hardware shop. There he bought a large, sharp kitchen knife. If Chris's plan didn't work out, he would be ready.

  Chris, too, was finding it hard to focus on his work. The Eureka Telecom bonds had risen to 109 and Ollie was in a jubilant mood. He and Chris discussed how they were going to invest RBK's extra seven million euros. Chris did his best to share Ollie's good spirits, but couldn't manage it.

  He was worried about seeing the lawyer the next day. He was sure Megan was wrong to put her faith in Eric, but he hated to place her in a potentially dangerous situation without her consent. If Eric ever did find out that they had gone to the police, her life would be in real danger. That thought scared Chris. Perhaps she would be safer if she went back to America. The problem was that Eric seemed to have no trouble leaving dead bodies all round the world: America would be no safer than England. Chris resolved to talk to the lawyer the next day about what steps could be taken to ensure her safety; and his own, for that matter.

  He had to speak to Megan again, to try to get her to see that what he was doing made sense. He stared at the phone for a whole minute, then he called her.

  She sounded subdued when she heard his voice, but at least she would talk to him. He told her about his appointment the next day.

  She was unimpressed. 'I don't know why you're telling me all this. You're wasting your time. You know I think Eric is completely innocent.'

  'I know. And I respect that. But I wanted you to know what I'm doing. And I want to make sure that you're safe, just in case you're wrong.'

  'If you want to keep me safe, don't talk to the police,' said Megan.

  'But we have to do something! The riskiest thing is to sit back and do nothing.'

  'OK. But what if I'm right? What if it's Duncan you should be worried about?'

  'I talked to him again today,' Chris said. 'I really don't think there's any need to worry about him.'

  'Oh, great,' said Megan. 'Well, I'm seeing Eric this evening, and I'll let you know what I think after I've spoken to him.'

  'You what?'

  'I said, I'm meeting Eric.'

  'Where? When?'

  'At the Fort St George. At seven.'

  'You're crazy. Don't do it.' Chris could feel the panic rising in his voice.

  'Look. I'll talk to him about your theory. See what he says. I know him. I'll be able to see if he's telling the truth.'

  'But if you do that, he'll know we're still asking questions. He'll know I'm on to him. It'll put all of us in danger.'

  'Oh, I see. So it's perfectly safe for you to talk to Duncan, but it's dangerous for me to talk to Eric, is it?' Megan's voice was rising.

  'It's not that simple.'

  'Isn't it? Well, I think it is. Anyway, I've already told him you're planning to speak to the police.'

  'You what! Why did you do that?'

  'I didn't say it was him you were suspicious of.'

  'But he'll know! For God's sake, Megan. Don't see him this evening. Please. It's too dangerous. I'm only asking you this because I care about you. I couldn't bear it if you were hurt.'

  There was silence on the line for several seconds. When Megan spoke, her voice was softer. 'I know you mean that, Chris. And I know I've been unfair to you over the last few days. I am sorry about that, I really am. But you're right; it is to do with Eric. I just don't know where I am with him, and it's something I need to sort out. That's why I have to speak to him. Why I'm going to see him this evening.'

  'Megan –'

  'Sorry, Chris,' and she hung up.

  Chris stared at the receiver in disbelief. He looked at his watch. Twenty past five. He could just make it to the Fort St George before seven. He wouldn't have time to go back to the flat and get his car, but if he caught a train from King's Cross, it should work. He had to get to her before she met Eric.

  He dialled Duncan's number.

  'Honshu.'

  'Duncan, bad news. Megan is meeting Eric in a pub in Cambridge this evening. She's going to tell him everything I've discovered. I'm worried about her. I'm going up there right now. Do you want to come?'

  'All right. How are you getting there?'

  'Train from King's Cross. You can get one from Liverpool Street. We'll meet at Cambridge station, and then go to the pub. We should get there before Megan if we move.'

  'OK. I'll call you from my mobile when I know what time my train gets in to Cambridge.'

  Chris hung up, said goodbye to the bewildered Ollie, and headed for the door:

  The Jaguar whispered up the M11 at just under eighty miles per hour, Terry driving, Eric in the back, composed, neat in a dark suit, white shirt and Ferragamo tie. He was feeling good.

  'I think we're going to pull this off, Terry.'

  'I hope so, sir.'

  'All I need to do is convince Megan that she should keep her head down and forget about who killed Lenka. I think she's just about there as it is.'

  'Are you sure you don't want me to deal with the other two? We don't want them going to the cops.'

  'I think we'll leave them to our friend Marcus. He's primed and dangerous. And without them the police will get nowhere.'

  'Don't you think there's a risk he'll rat on you when he gets caught?'

  'No,' said Eric. 'There's no point. He'll think he's killed the man who murdered his brother. And the police will probably believe him, since there'll be no one left to contradict him. He'll have no reason to drag me down with him. Anyway, I'll just deny everything. A good lawyer will protect me, no problem.'

  'So, it's just Megan, then?'

  'Just Megan. Will you wait for me in the parking lot?'

  'I can't do that. I checked the map and it looks like the pub isn't even on a road. We'll have to park on the other side of the river and you can walk over the footbridge.'

  'Whatever. I'm not totally sure I'll be coming back with you this evening,' Eric said.

  'No?'

  Eric tried to ignore the curiosity in Terry's voice. 'We'll just have to see how things progress.'

  'Yes, sir,' Terry replied, as he eased the Jaguar off the motorway and on to the road to Cambridge.

  Chris took the tube to King's Cross direct from Oxford Circus; it was quicker than a taxi during the rush hour. He arrived at the station just in time to jump on the five forty-five, which was due to arrive at Cambridge at six thirty-six. That should just give him time to get a taxi to the Fort St George by seven.

  The train was pulling out of the station when Chris's mobile phone rang. It was Duncan. He had caught a train from Liverpool Street that would reach Cambridge at six forty-four. Chris said he would wait for him on the platform.

  The train sped through the flat Hertfordshire countryside, past Stevenage and Royston, and into the even flatter Cambridgeshire fens. They were only ten minutes from Cambridge when it slowed to a stop. Chris drummed his fingers in frustration. He wasn't psychologically prepared for a delay. It was getting dark outside. The clear sky, now a light blue-grey, was shrinking, blotted out by inky black clouds rushing in from the fens to the west. The train didn't move. Raindrops spattered the carriage window for a few moments, and then what seemed to be a wall of water battered the glass. The whole carriage rocked in the wind.

  Chris stared in frustration at the rain outside. They'd be late. There was no way now that they could reach the pub before Eric and Megan. What would Eric do to her? Chris couldn't stand the thought of him harming her in any way. But if she told him all that Chris had discovered, would Eric have any choice?

  Unless . . . Unless Eric planned to seduce her. Surely, she wouldn't let him do that. Chris didn't know whether it was instinct or jealousy, but he feared she might. At that moment that was a thought almost as horrible for Chris to contemplate.

  Chris's fe
ars were interrupted by an announcement over the train's loudspeaker system that there was a problem at a level crossing just ahead of them, and the train would be moving shortly.

  It didn't.

  8

  Megan was still a quarter of a mile from the Fort St George when the rain hit. She could see the pub standing next to the river, surrounded by the wide spaces of Midsummer Common and Jesus Green. As the rain turned into a torrent, she broke into a run, but she was soaking by the time she made it inside.

  The pub was almost empty. There was no sign of Eric. She checked her watch: she was ten minutes early. She bought herself a pint of bitter and sat in a small bar with a fire glowing in one corner. She sniffed as she pushed the damp hair from her eyes.

  She was nervous about seeing Eric, but she also felt the thrill of doing something foolhardy. She had no idea what she was going to say to him, but she did know what she wanted to learn: whether her future was in any way connected with his. Somehow, she was sure, she would find out that evening.

  She heard the door to the pub slam shut, and a moment later Eric popped his head round the door, water dripping from his hair, his nose and his clothes. She smiled at him. He came over and kissed her on the cheek, bringing with him the cold of the wind and rain outside. They exchanged greetings, and he went off to get himself a pint. A minute later, he was sitting opposite her, next to the fire.

  'Jesus, this weather is awful,' he said, shivering.

  'You get used to it.'

  'Where does that wind come from? The Arctic?'

  'Probably.'

  Eric took a long drink of his beer. 'Can you believe what happened to Ian?' he said.

  'No. It was horrible.'

  'First Lenka, and now him,' Eric shook his head. 'And that knife on your pillow. Things are getting seriously weird.'

  'They are.'

  'I'm worried about you, Megan. And I'm worried about Chris going to the police. I mean, whoever did this might not stop now. Please take care of yourself.'

  Megan gave him a small smile. 'I will,' she said. She sipped her beer nervously. The time had come to ask him. It was something she would have to do if she was ever going to be sure of him. 'Chris thinks that you killed Ian. And Lenka. And Alex, for that matter.'