by Robert Young
*
The first meeting is in a noisy sandwich bar in midtown. Campbell had expected some sumptuously appointed office in a shimmering high-rise but when he saw who they were meeting he figured it made sense.
The guy was young. Younger than he and Lawson at least and it soon became clear that he was a drone in whatever bank it was he worked for. One who was worried that he might have stepped outside his remit selling Lawson the insurance policy against an arcane and mysterious shell company out of the Caribbean.
Campbell stays quiet for the first few minutes whilst Lawson pays for sandwiches and chatters at the young man whilst he devours his salt beef on rye. They all have one, a classic for this joint as their companion has explained, clearly relishing meeting some real life Brits.
Lawson starts in by skirting around the topic of the contract they’ve struck and the company that the CDS covers and the young guy nods along, amiable enough.
Lawson hands over to Campbell then and suddenly it is his job to talk through the business details like they’re real.
‘Carl is it?’ asks Campbell and the other guy nods as he chews. ‘Carl, you’re probably hearing some of this twice right? What Giles is saying, you know a lot of this already. Can’t hurt to hear it again, get your head around it.’
‘Sure. I mean, it makes sense to me,’ Carl responds and swallows a mouthful, wipes mustard from his lip. ‘All the numbers Giles has run through. And the accounts too.’
‘The accounts?’ Lawson interrupts.
‘Yep. They came through late yesterday.’
Lawson nods and Carl keeps talking but Campbell’s not listening, not hearing all the words because the expression on Lawson’s face is one of deafening shock. Lawson didn’t send the accounts, Carl was not supposed to see them.
Campbell catches sight of Rookes sitting in the corner, sipping coffee, watchful and alert. A thought that’s been bugging Campbell since the two men arrived has resurfaced; that even if he does as he is bid and keeps Horner’s plans on track for him, just until the whole plan executes the following day, this still won’t end well for him. Rookes won’t walk away and Horner’s own instructions will be clear enough. What was it Rookes had said? He hasn’t got religion and decided to turn the other cheek.
Amen to that.
‘The accounts are light on detail, sure.’ Campbell says. ‘But that’s just because the company is young, right?’ and he addresses the question to Lawson as well as Carl. Everyone nods along, keen to convey to each other their deep and impressive business acumen.
’So any rumours you might have heard, you know they’re bullshit,’ says Campbell and takes a huge mouthful from the sandwich. ‘Mm!’ he says and raises and eyebrow.
‘Rumours?’ says Carl.
Lawson is shooting a look at Campbell that rebukes him the slip. Whatever rumours he may have mentioned earlier in the room, don’t repeat it to this guy. That’s how they start.
Campbell shrugs but his mouth is so full he can’t answer. Won’t.
Lawson stares at Campbell a moment longer and then back to Carl.
‘What Dan means is, all rumours are bullshit.’
‘What rumours though?’ Carl says, his teeth still stuck into this one.
Lawson laughs, but it is high-pitched, almost shrill, and it gives him away. ‘None! I mean, there’s none. Not if you’ve heard nothing, there’s nothing to hear. Dan’s saying that there’s always rumours in this market and you don’t pay them any mind. So just…’
Carl looks at Campbell as he works his way though the salt beef and searches for a napkin. Carl’s eyes are interrogating him the whole time and Campbell keeps his expression blank then fixes eye contact and half shrugs, half nods. Like he’s saying, that’s sort of what I meant and it fails perfectly to reassure Carl.
‘Guys, come on. Cut the shit. What goddamn rumours? I need to know this. You are not going to screw me.’
Carl’s previous demeanour of the nervous-but-keen young trader has gone now and there’s anger and anxiety instead, a hard edge. Lawson looks again at Campbell with barely disguised panic on his face at the small but fatal error that Campbell seems to have committed. He cannot fathom why such a basic slip would have been made nor why Campbell has not scrambled to fix it.
‘You aren’t going to get screwed Carl. You just need to hold your nerve,’ says Campbell, his gaze level and unblinking. ‘And ignore the chatter.’
The look lasts a few moments and Carl takes from it what Campbell wants him to. Lawson reads it differently, mostly because he wants to, and he seems to relax as Carl nods and stands.
‘OK guys, I guess we’re done.’
‘Good to meet you,’ smiles Lawson and thrusts out a hand.
Carl shakes it and then turns and shakes Campbell’s hand too. ‘Thank you,’ he says and leaves.
Campbell goes back to the sandwich as he watches Lawson stare at Carl’s back, a fixed smile in place should the other man look back. Campbell wonders if Carl really did take the proper interpretation from his remark about ignoring the chatter but he feels again the firmness of the handshake and the look in Carl’s eye.
‘Jesus Dan, that was close. Rumours? Talking about bloody rumours for God’s sake, way to spook the guy! I thought he was going to run back to his office and cancel the thing for a moment.’
Campbell shrugged a sorry and thought to himself; No, he walked.
Somewhere on the ocean he pictured Hogg, lounging on the sundeck, sipping a cocktail and reflecting on the way that ripples spread out in a pond when a stone is cast.
Campbell’s idea, back when they were expecting to be at Hogg’s terminal for another few hours, had been to sabotage the plan, but the plan had plans of its own. They’d been dragged off into the middle of Lawson’s mess before they could get anywhere and when Hogg had called him at the airport and asked about what to do Campbell had wanted to accept their mere escape as sufficient victory. He’d hoped, against his better judgement and the weight of his experience, that Horner might be prepared to let them walk when he realised he’d succeeded. He felt that Hogg deserved not to have to look over his shoulder too. But he’d misjudged it, and more importantly his own nerve had failed him.
Not so Hogg, it seemed. Lawson’s mention of rumours might have been off the cuff and certainly Carl was alarmed to hear that there might be something in the wind, but Lawson had not brought it up without some cause and Campbell knew now that Hogg had done something. Something small and subtle, but with far reaching implications. He’d understood enough from what the two of them had discussed in the apartment to know that it wouldn’t take much.
Campbell had told him that he expected the CDS issuers to turn their backs if they got wind of the truth about Horner’s fake companies and Hogg had taken that idea and tossed a stone in the pond, sending out ripples.
‘Are we good?’ said Rookes as he appeared at Lawson’s shoulder.
Lawson nodded and stood.
‘All good,’ says Campbell. ‘Carl’s on board.’
SEVENTY TWO
They return to Campbell’s hotel room early and Campbell and Rookes watch Lawson jabbing at his phone. Their second meeting has cancelled and is not responding to Lawson’s determined efforts to speak with him.
Within twenty more minutes word comes through that not only is the meeting cancelled but the CDS as well. The contract has been cancelled by the issuer and at this late stage it is clear that nothing can be retrieved or resurrected.
‘Just let it go Giles. It’s only one contract. The others are all in place,’ says Campbell.
‘This going to be a problem?’ asks Rookes shifting his stiff shoulder and wincing.
‘No,’ Campbell says emphatically. Lawson doesn’t look so sure but he’s not quite as despondent as he was when the news came through.
‘This sort of thing happens under normal circumstances anyway,’ Campbell says. ‘Never mind what we’re trying to pull off. One contract out of how many?�
�
Lawson looks like that argument is convincing enough to latch onto and though he does not answer the question Campbell asks, he does nod. ‘More than we needed actually, more than Michael asked for.’
‘There you are. A couple for contingency. For precisely this.’
‘Yeah. Just worried that… what if he talks? What if one of the others get wind of it and asks why it was pulled?’
‘What? That’s nuts. Market this size and one contract gets pulled? Nobody will notice a thing Giles. It’s one guy closing out a few trades so he can have a tidy set of accounts at the end of the week and ask his boss for a bonus. Nothing more.’
Lawson considers that and lets go his doubts. He smiles and looks relieved that they’ve done what they needed to.
‘OK, so everything’s on course and rosy? Let’s get some drinks. They’re on you Campbell,’ Rookes says and it looks like the wounded shoulder is demanding something medicinal. He can’t have had much time to get the hole in his shoulder patched after Vincent shot him, thinks Campbell. Shame.
Campbell calls down for champagne and whisky and then adds a food order too. Lobster for Lawson and cheeseburgers for he and Rookes.
As the booze does its work, Lawson loosens up and begins to convince himself of the great result they’ve had and the success they will enjoy tomorrow when Horner’s plan is finally completed. Rookes seems to be in less pain from his shoulder and as the evening progresses makes a few calls that result in company. Two women join them. A blonde and a brunette, both statuesque and elegant and the look on Lawson’s face is a picture to behold when they join the party and suggest the need for more champagne.
Campbell makes friendly conversation and finds the two women charming and fun but although neither of them looks remotely like Lisa, he is reminded of her with every smile, every hand on a knee or arm, every playful remark. It is a wound too raw and it is all he can do not to be rude or dismissive.
Rookes intervenes, waving the whisky bottle at them all.
‘Shots!’ he declares and they all gather at the table to drink. He pours and they drink, pours and they drink. There are grimaces and shouts and another round.
The bottle is half empty before Lawson drags the women with him back toward the sofa, protesting that they’ve had enough and need a break. Campbell stays where he is and watches as Lawson initiates an awkward conversation with the women about which of them he’s going to take to bed.
Rookes pushes a glass across the table.
‘You know, I really would enjoy seeing you take that little son of a bitch apart.’
‘What?’
Rookes nods in Lawson’s direction. ‘Since we arrived, you’ve had a look on you like you’re a heartbeat from tearing his throat out. Admirable self control for someone to keep such anger in check.’
Campbell eyeballs Lawson as he smiles and laughs and wraps his arms around the two beautiful women faking their enjoyment.
‘You weren’t outwitted Daniel. So don’t be so hard on yourself. You were just outnumbered. It’s impressive you got this far, but you’re just up against too many.’
Campbell frowns as the glass is pushed closer.
‘Don’t chicken out like that piece of shit,’ Rookes says, nodding at Lawson.
Campbell rolls his eyes like he isn’t going to fall for such a cheap shot, but then looks at Lawson and feels his temper flare and he picks it up and downs it.
‘No more,’ he says.
‘OK,’ Rookes replies. ‘You’ll regret that.’
‘I already do Rookes.’
‘No,’ he says and leans in close. ‘That last one. That was just for you my friend. A special little mixer from Michael Horner for you to enjoy. Because there is only one thing left for you to do now.’
Campbell’s vision is swimming suddenly, his head heavy on his shoulders.
‘Oops!’ He can hear Rookes’ voice as if from an increasing distance. ’Looks like someone can’t handle his liquor.’
The chair seems to shift and rise beneath him and the room suddenly starts to tilt at an odd angle and the floor pitches upward toward him as his swimming vision goes dark.
SEVENTY THREE
Whatever it was Rookes slipped in his drink leaves him with a pounding head, although he'd downed enough of the champagne and whisky to have guaranteed that anyway. Nonetheless he wakes with a thick head and his eyes struggle to adjust to the sunlight in the room.
He sits up and at first cannot remember how the night wound up. Did he drink himself into a stupor? Did he wind up with one of the girls and if so, what damage might that have inflicted on his wallet and his conscience?
He sits and gets his bearings. He's on the sofa and is alone. Empty bottles dot the room and the curtains are open on the sunrise over the city. He’s in yesterday’s clothes, which tells him that perhaps he didn't wind up with either of the girls and then he recalls, sharp and clear, what Rookes did with his drink. He's confused for a moment. Why spike his drink and then leave him unharmed? What would that achieve?
His answer lies in the next room. He stands in the doorway open mouthed and wide eyed. Lawson sits at the foot of the bed, his face grey and waxy and perfectly still. A crusted black line of blood runs from both nostrils and white powder flecks his chest and the dark cotton of his boxer shorts, the only item of clothing he wears.
Behind him across the bed lies the brunette, naked and pale in the morning light. Her eyes are open and her throat is a patchwork of livid bruising; greens and reds and deep dark blues.
She had told them to call her Rochelle, and she had died in a hotel room with strangers that did not know her real name. Campbell stared at Lawson dead on the floor and back at the girl on the bed and understood what Rookes had done to him.
He would be found in this room with drugs and bodies and a file of documents that explained all of the fraudulent trading that will have taken place that day leading to a string of collapsed companies and an imploding bank. The documents will bear his name and the hotel room will be booked and held against his passport and credit card.
Here in a country that dealt with large-scale white-collar crime almost the way it dealt with murders, he would be guilty of both.
Horner could have had him killed by Rookes, could have put a bullet in his head, or something else in his drink than a strong sedative, but he'd wanted revenge. True revenge, where Campbell would feel all the pain and torment that Horner had felt these past years. He would be ruined and locked away in an unforgiving place, cut off from his loved ones and frightened every minute of every day. He would know Horner's pain a thousand times over. Just killing him was no longer enough, not after all that had happened. Horner wanted to destroy him and have him live to know how it felt.
Campbell’s stomach flipped and he ran for the bathroom, vomiting into the toilet and feeling the acid burn his throat and the tears burn his eyes.
So this was rock bottom. He had no options, no hope. He couldn't run, not far anyway. As soon as housekeeping saw this…
He could check out and get his passport but he'd never make a plane in time once the bodies were discovered. He knew nobody in New York that he could call to appeal for help. No one he could hide with.
So what now? Sit and wait? Hope that the truth would set him free? And who would believe his truth?
Wait. He might not know anyone in New York to call, but they didn't need to be in New York.
He dashed back into the main suite again and looked for his phone. With each second now he expected the knock on the door of housekeeping and imagined the horrified scream of the maid as she saw the bodies and the drugs and the frantic man with the bags under his eyes running about the room in a frenzy.
It wasn't on the sofa where he’d slept, wasn't on the table.
Tentatively he went back into the bedroom and tried not to look at Lawson’s haunting face, blood caked and eyes rolled back. What had Rookes done to him? Forced the coke up his nose? Cut it with somethi
ng nasty, or just let Lawson’s own unchecked appetite finish him off?
The girl looked almost beautiful in her repose. Slender and toned, her skin was like alabaster, her blue eyes catching the sunlight from the window, staring off in vain hope. He saw the full smooth curves of her naked body and it felt like a whole new violation, one that she couldn't even fight. He looked away and searched the corners of the room, mouthing a silent apology to her.
Nothing.
Back in the main suite he tried to catch his breath. He prayed that Rookes had at least let the blonde go before he got to work on the other two. There was certainly no sign of her. He hoped too that Rookes was long gone. The chaos he'd wreaked was one thing, but at least Campbell was still breathing and there could be no doubting the man’s pitiless lethality.
If he could only find his phone and make the call he needed to, he might stand a sliver of a chance.
He began to pick his way around the edge of the room and found himself glancing again at the clock on the wall. What time would housekeeping come? Eight a.m.? Nine? He went to the door and looked through the fish-eye lens to an empty corridor and felt a twinge of temptation just to pull the door open and bolt. He looked down at the handle and noticed the cardboard sign hanging from it, reversible and hooked over the handle. Do Not Disturb on one side, Please Clean on the other. He popped open the door and dropped the Do Not Disturb sign into place, double checked it was facing the right way, and then closed and locked the door.
He took two steps back into the room and spotted the phone from this new angle, sitting on the sideboard, tucked behind a champagne bucket.
Excited, he snatched it up and pulled up the number he needed.
It rang and rang.
‘Come on,’ he said. ‘Answer it Caspar.’
Nothing. It rang until it stopped and there was no voicemail facility on the service. He dialled again and listened to the taunting trill of the phone going unanswered and felt his tiny ray of hope blinking out. Tried again. Nothing.
He dropped onto the sofa, distraught. The Do Not Disturb sign might buy him some time, but no matter how much of that he had, he could not figure what kind of exit strategy he might come up with. Horner and Rookes had tied everything up. Lawson was disposable, especially after whatever trouble he’d brought down upon them all in Grand Cayman. He’d got what was coming to him. Campbell would take the fall for them all, guilty of too many things to even hope of getting clear. Caught in a hotel room, surrounded by corpses and drugs and the evidence of a huge financial fraud. Campbell felt nauseous.
As his panic rose, so did the bile in his stomach and he got up and made for the bathroom again. After a moment of trying to control it, he realised it would not be controlled and he began to heave up his stomach into the toilet, retching hard until his throat burned and his eyes stung all over again.
Eventually it eased and he reached up to hit the flush and then sank back down to the polished tile floor and reached for the toilet paper to wipe his chin.
The shower curtain was drawn all the way across the bath, but hanging outside rather than inside it. As he dabbed at his face, he frowned as he looked at it. Such a small detail, but somehow important. Odd, the way that it struck him.
He shifted onto all fours and crawled across the floor to the edge of the bath and grabbed the curtain, pausing a beat before he pulled it back.
The zipping sound of the curtain runners cut through him and the sight of the dead blonde took a long time to register because his brain could not process what he was seeing. He could not seem to understand why she was underneath the water. That didn’t make sense. You couldn’t do that, not without…