by Andy McNab
He sat back in the settee and it felt like there was a bit more room between us now, even if our knees were almost touching.
‘You know what, James? I admire and respect you. I really do.’
Like a spring he bounced forward to place his glass back on the table and gently lifted mine from my hands. Maybe he was trying to unnerve me. If so, I didn’t feel he had what was needed within him. Egbers on the other hand …
‘Too sweet? Coffee?’
I shook my head. ‘No, no, thank you.’
He was getting back on track. ‘So, James, the question is, why? Why come down here from the UK and take from us? What is so important that you compound all the problems of stealing – on an island, for the love of God? Is Europe not easier for your line of work? Is it the fresh air down here? The scenery? Or is it just people like us you want to steal from?’
I took a breath, tried to hold it back, but it didn’t work. He wasn’t exactly an admirer of Marcus, so maybe that would help me. Whatever, he already knew the answer. He focused on me and smiled. It felt genuinely warm and even a little curious.
The nerd act wasn’t happening any more anyway, so fuck him, why not?
‘You one-percenters, you take, and you leave the rest of us in the shit. You fuck up our livelihoods, and you don’t care what you leave in your wake. Now you’re preparing for when the world that the likes of you have created goes to rat shit. But you don’t care. It’s going to be okay for you, isn’t it? You lot will be down here chasing birds off your decks while the rest of us suffer – again.’
It wasn’t the brightest thing I’d ever done but I couldn’t help myself. His confidence, the power he exuded, the mere fact he was sitting on a yacht made me think of Mum and Dad, our family, my family. Fuck him, and fuck Egbers.
Parmesh nodded and ran his fingers through his hair. No doubt he had heard all of this before from angry protesters or online attacks. I was sure a lot more than just ‘some people’ didn’t warm to him.
‘James, I admire your passion, I really do, but there are two things out of sync. First, I am not one of the one-percenters. I am one of the nought-point-nought-one-percenters.’
He let the fact sink in for a second before his voice jumped up an octave, as if he had startled himself. ‘Which is crazy, right? I am not the smartest guy you are ever going to meet. I do not even have any technical skills. But what I do have is a very high tolerance for risk. I love it, cannot get enough of it.
‘You see, James, my world is just me diving into the two most risky things out there. Accelerations in technology and the G word … Big G … globalization. But I am good at it. I can keep my mind open to the big picture. That is why I am crazy rich. No skill, just stuff, crazy, right?’
I nodded, not really knowing if that was a good reply or bad, but it didn’t matter. His button was on play.
‘I do not know where it comes from, my head, my heart, maybe my parents. My mother, she was a very strong woman, very much a risk-taker to protect her family. Maybe it is my genes, DNA, whatever. They say it is the mother who provides all the good stuff. Who knows? Do you?’
He waited for some sort of reply, but what would he expect me to say? ‘I’m sorry. I got it wrong – you’re richer than I thought’?
I received a shrug. ‘No problem. Would you also like to know the second thing you have got so wrong about me?’
He gave a beat, but continued once it was clear he wasn’t going to get an answer.
‘Well, you are right, James. There is a big divide between people like me and people like you. And I will tell you what, the problem is getting worse, much worse … but I am not going to make the divide even wider. I am going to fix it. Open minds to the big picture.’
He held up his hand, forefinger extended, as if I was going to interrupt. Like that was ever going to happen.
‘You see, James, very soon the middle class will disappear, and do you know where that will take us? Eighteenth-century France. And you know what happened then, do you not?’
He didn’t wait for me to answer. ‘Tell him, Mr Egbers.’
‘Revolution.’
Parmesh’s smile evaporated. ‘Exactly. And we all know what that means.’ His arms waved about, like he was conducting an invisible orchestra.
‘You see, James, there is no example anywhere in human history where the level of wealth accumulated by so few guys like me has not led to people like you coming out onto the streets with their scythes. That is what you are already doing in your own small way, James.’
Was he trying to justify what he was doing down here? I braved his eyes again. ‘But having your castles down here, you’ll be okay, won’t you? Fuck the rest of us.’
He gave another shrug. ‘Not exactly.’ The dark browns flicked over at Egbers, then back to me. ‘But, James, the difference lies in what we are going to do once we have packed up and moved down here while you guys burn. I am not one of the Marcuses. I am part of the cognitive elite, in the true sense of the phrase.
‘You see, I am always thinking, coming up with ideas – what is the best way to help people on this planet, transform, even amplify their potential? How can the world be a better place for all?’
He paused, waiting for it to sink in. That was no problem for me. The more talking, the fewer problems with Egbers.
He threw a broad smile at Egbers. ‘“Cognitive elite”? Where did that come from? What do you think of “hyperleaders”?’
Mr Egbers was all about the words and not using them.
‘No imagination. Hyperleaders? I think that is already out there. It has a meaning. But you will be able to change it to whatever you want when the time comes.’
8
I didn’t speak, didn’t acknowledge any part of their conversation. It sounded like a mutual love-fest to me and, besides, I might already have said too much. Egbers still looked like he had plans for me.
Parmesh pointed at me again with that little finger. I wasn’t sure if he was just playing with me, knowing he had total control, or if he was one of those crazies who’ve always had the inclination but not the freedom that cash can bring. People with money had power, and that meant they could do virtually anything they wanted. ‘I know what you are thinking. I bet you think I am one of those banker guys, the Marcus kinda guy, who went and screwed everybody over in ’08.’
I didn’t answer, but my face probably said what he needed to know. His kind of confidence only came with people already knowing what they needed to know.
‘I am not, James. I am so not. I could see the crash coming and got out. Like I said, I can see into the future. The Wall Street gig was just to earn my entry fee to Atherton.’
Parmesh wasn’t even bothering now to check if I knew what he was talking about. He knew I had done my due diligence. The celebrities of Silicon Valley live very private lives. Nobody really knows much about them outside the mega-companies they control. Which, of course, is great for the media: they can come up with whatever stories they want and speculate on what hair product or deodorant they wear.
But the one thing they all had in common was the number 94027, the most expensive zip code in the US. The average house in the US cost about $258K, but in 94027 it’s $7 million. Clearly, Atherton is no ordinary small town. It’s about forty-five minutes south of San Francisco, and just twenty from the offices of Facebook, Google, Tesla, and all the other companies that make up the digital, industrial complex. Mega-mansions line nearly every block, with fences and landscaping to foil prying eyes. I knew because I went there – and to Wall Street – to try to work out how I could settle my anger.
I wasn’t going to become an ‘active shooter’, killing as many bankers as I could in a Wall Street cocktail bar or an Atherton Starbucks. I’d fantasized about it for months, been and done the reconnaissance even, but it was only to try to make myself feel better. Deep down I knew it would be counterproductive. It would be just a short-term gain that I might or might not survive. After my five min
utes of glory, what then? What about my family? Who would be paying the bills? So, once I had a grip on my anger I got back to what I was good at: being logical and precise as I worked out how not just to take my anger out on them but get our family’s money back from them.
It had been in Atherton, while carrying out my research on who lived where and how I could access their wealth, that I stumbled upon the Silicon Valley cult that had produced the cognitive elite.
And that was when I’d discovered that New Zealand was where I’d get satisfaction.
Parmesh exhaled slowly as he slumped back into the settee, his face clouded. What did that mean for me? Was it time for Egbers to disappear me? If so, I was going to take a couple of chunks of him with me, for sure.
‘James, you think you know me, but not so. Not by a long shot, my friend. I believe nations should tax wealth. Any system that gives wealth can also benefit from it. I do not see any problem in providing free health care, free education, all that kind of stuff. Like I said, with no more middle class, kids will never have the chance to be better off than their parents. Then all those people out there will be looking to burn us down. Look, your gig is more than just the money for you, James. I get it, I really do. We share the same values. You just do not see that yet.’
Parmesh was being inquisitive and trying to bond rather than leading up to revenge. All good, as far as I was concerned.
‘Really? It’s you, the one-percenters, or the nought-point-nought-one-percenters, whatever you call yourselves, you’re responsible for what I do. I have no shared values with people like you.’
Egbers didn’t like that at all, and he took a stride forward. Parmesh held up a hand to halt his advance. I had no control of what they chose to do with me, no matter what Parmesh said. My experience had always been that once I’d accepted I was in the shit there was almost a de-escalation in the situation, whether on-site, dealing with aggressive contractors who were charging high and working low, or getting shot at by my own side trying to build an FOB. I also knew that the de-escalation wouldn’t last for long. Something else would ramp things up.
Parmesh sat shaking his head. He was either really empathetic to my argument or deserved an Oscar. His face seemed to be saying he felt sorry for me not understanding his point, but that wasn’t where he was going. ‘James, your family, ’08 – a terrible story, a very sad story. How is your family now? Are you a good father?’
‘I try. I’m part of their lives. I support them and my wife – well, ex-wife.’
‘That is good, James, so good to hear. Your mother? Mr Egbers explained to me she needs care.’
He rested a hand on my shoulder to help me dial down. If that was what he wanted, I could do that. ‘She does, but that’s one of the reasons I do what I do.’
He gave my shoulder a squeeze. ‘You are a good son, James. I like that.’
The more of this the better, as far as I was concerned. But I knew there was more than just a friendly talk to come, a pay-off for him confirming that Egbers really had done his checking on me.
‘And what about your sister – Charlotte, no?’
‘She’s doing okay, working part-time, but it’s been hard.’
He smiled and I smiled with him. Always good to mirror the client to keep onside. Something Dad had taught me as a teenager, back when the plan had been that I would eventually take over the firm.
‘But why have you made so much effort to find out about me? Why do you need to know? Why am I here and not in a police cell?’
He tilted his head and smiled some more as he worked out if he was going to answer. His decision was no, or, maybe, not yet. But that was okay. I didn’t mind waiting rather than being thrown overboard by Egbers.
‘So, James, as far as I can see, what you have been up to down here should be thought of as … What would I call it? Let me think …’ His face contorted as he tried to come up with a word. ‘What would you call it, Mr Egbers?’
The answer came so fast there wasn’t enough time for me to turn my head in his direction.
‘Most definitely payback.’
9
‘Exactly, Mr Egbers.’
The way he said it, they must have had the conversation many times. Egbers didn’t sound or look pleased with himself at having the answer on the tip of his tongue. He just radiated more intensity than anyone I’d come across for a long, long time. Well, come to think of it, ever.
Parmesh, on the other hand, was much more animated as he studied my face, smiling, waiting for a reply from me.
‘You could say that.’
He liked that. ‘I do, James, I do. You should feel proud of yourself. I feel proud for you.’ He leant across and slapped my knee, then refilled his glass. ‘James, do you know that I used to give money away?’
I shrugged as he sat back with his drink. ‘That’s good – but it never came my way. Us little guys …’
‘You are right. It rarely gets to where it is needed. But you know what? I had to fight to give it away.’ Parmesh nodded a couple of times – ‘It is true’ – while playing with a little chunk of ice in his mouth. ‘After a billion, I just had to concede defeat, give up the fight. A billion dollars. Most non-profits just do not know how to deal with ten million, let alone a hundred. And then there is the scrutiny and all the due diligence around people like me giving donations. Why did he give it there instead of here? You know Mark?’
I shrugged. There were millions of them.
‘Mark Zuckerberg? You taken anything from him? Come on, you can tell me.’
I shook my head.
‘But you would want to, am I right?’
He was.
‘He gave a hundred million to the New Jersey public-school system – but then was publicly crucified for not consulting the local community first. What? The only consulting they needed to do was how to spend the money on their kids. But no – crucifixion.’
Parmesh’s arms came out to demonstrate the pose, in case I wasn’t up to speed on Christian imagery. ‘Crucified. They resent the fact that money makes money. We make money quicker than we can give it away.
‘We give billions away but the problems out there – it does not even touch the sides. But, hey, it makes us rich guys feel better because we are all too busy congratulating ourselves that we are self-made – or most of us are.’
There was something about his eyes: they looked almost glazed, like he was on something, or that maybe he was just as dangerous as Egbers. Whatever it was, it didn’t stop him talking.
‘That donation thing, it no longer works for me. I am a capitalist, a proud and unapologetic one, and you know what? Compassion is not enough. The Big G? It is out there, for now, and compassion? It cannot buy your kids new shoes. Am I right?’
There was no time for me to work out what my answer was. That play button was still pressed.
‘So, James, I have to be thinking bigger than just feeling good about myself.
‘People like me, James, our existences will not get better until all our fellow citizens feel better. And they are not going to feel better until they actually do better. Would you not agree, James? What do you think?’
I nodded and had to agree, even though it was beginning to sound like he was preaching to me. When that happens there is always a reason. ‘So why are you telling me all this? You wanting to justify yourself? Or wanting to sell something? You pitching to me?’
He liked that and it got a big smile.
‘You know what, James, we really are more alike than you think. I want both of those things to happen because I have a plan for you.’
I nodded. I was willing to listen rather than get a kicking. Besides, who knew what might come of it?
‘You see, James, the problem is that we are never really satisfied with what we have. But it is not just consumerism. It is governments that play on our need for instant gratification of a short-term gain. We get the stuff and we feel good. They drop a tax here, a fuel-price hike is cancelled there,
but it soon fades because it is all short-term gain. Governments are short-term thinkers. It is not their fault, it is that of democracy. Short-term tenures mean short-term fixes.’
He looked at me as he talked, but he seemed to be aiming his words over my shoulder.
‘Try thinking of governments as Mafias – cartels forcing their citizens to surrender large portions of their wealth to pay for not only protection but roads, hospitals, schools, all that stuff. It has worked for quite a while, but it is slowly coming to an end. I see it, the others see it. We see the rise of tribalism.’
He brought his voice back to me, maybe because he had lowered it. ‘But listen, who am I to tell you? You had your share of pain when the norms were broken.’
His eyes never left me, and I was starting to wonder why I was on the receiving end of this lecture. Don’t get me wrong: if this was punishment I was very happy with it.
But Parmesh hadn’t finished. ‘So, the cognitive elite. We are concerned about what will happen and we are prepared for it.’ He paused. ‘But, hey, you know that, do you not?’
‘Yes.’
‘Well, James, the theory is sound. Governments will simply lose authority because they have not addressed inequity. Social media will play its part in making people angry so that they organize themselves, but only to the point that they gather and take action. But then what? Nothing. Nothing.’
Parmesh’s expression had slowly morphed from smiling and confident to borderline zealous. ‘And that is why it is up to people like me, the cognitive elite, to make the world a better place when the time comes. Our privilege needs to be used to serve people.’
He leant a little towards me, a finger pointing to the sky.
‘Because, James, it is not all mud out there. People are creative, hardworking. Hey, in twenty years’ time there will be jobs out there we have not even got names for. We just have to make sure people, like you and your kids, get opportunities to thrive. That is all I am saying.’