Arbitrage

by Colette Kebell

  ‘I don’t know. From the documentation I’ve seen, Dimitra’s name doesn’t come up, but you never know. The fact that someone killed Romanov keeps me awake at night. It is a lot of money, and I’m sure several people want to get their hands on it.’

  ‘I still I cannot explain how he managed to make it disappear without anyone noticing.’

  ‘Romanov was good, not the best, but he knew what he was doing. It would have taken months for the bank to notice, given the number of transactions he created, but it has left traces. You say that Albert’s daughter has got the money?’

  ‘No, Romanov wanted to keep them for himself. But in case of sudden death, if you know what I mean, he sent me a letter with the details on how to retrieve them.’ Amelia explained to Logan the contents of the letter, bank accounts and, after some hesitation, even the latest about Anders.

  ‘Proceed with caution.’

  ‘All right,’ she said embarrassed. She wouldn’t have liked to explain what she was feeling at that moment if it wasn’t necessary.

  ‘OK, be careful. Have you been back to the bank?’

  ‘I want to stay as far away as possible from that place. After the trouble which happened to Romanov, who knows what surprises await me in that den of vipers. Send back the documentation. That should please my brother-in-law, he’s drooled over that bank for years. But not too quickly.’

  Logan thought it over for a few moments. Maybe he ought to give a second look at those documents; he would need all the information possible. In particular about the accounts managed by Robert Price. ‘I’ll start to work on that by Monday, and I will send them back, don’t worry. Let me know how things go with Romanov’s daughter.’

  ‘You can count on it. I’ll talk to you later.’

  After the conversation, Logan returned to his desk between files and containers of documents, the only place where he could really concentrate. It wasn’t always so. Formerly a cheerful person, especially during his university years. He had wanted to be a comedian, on more than one occasion, friends encouraged him to go on stage to tell something funny. He knew he had a great sense of humour, but had never thrown himself into the fray, he had never found the courage of really trying. His parents had made sacrifices to allow him to study, and he always understood how much they had done so to give him an opportunity. Giving up everything for a dream? It wasn’t like him.

  It’s funny how life changes you, he thought, I’m not that different from the honest person I was thirty years ago, nor am I different from these hustlers I’m working with now.

  He picked the documents once again in search of a stratagem that would do the trick.

  He began to leaf through his agenda, and after a few minutes, he stopped on one name in particular. And a phone number. He picked up the phone and dialled it.

  ‘Tim! It’s Ryan Logan, how are you?’

  ‘Ryan? Bloody hell, it’s been years since we’ve been in touch, where have you been?’ said the voice on the other end of the phone.

  ‘A long story. Look, I could use some advice.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. Ryan Logan asking for advice. This is news to me, when we were working for you everyone hung on the words from your lips.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ said Logan, trying to mask the embarrassment in his voice.

  ‘OK, shoot. Although I doubt can … do you remember when we did that thing with the Kenden Insurance accounts…’

  Logan interrupted him. He was not in the mood to dig up the past, albeit with that phone call he knew he didn’t have alternatives. ‘I need a way to make money. A lot of it and fast.’

  Tim Whitley paused. ‘Legally or illegally?’

  ‘It doesn’t matter, whatever works.’

  ‘You are cornered, right? Are you planning a supplementary pension?’ asked the questioner, laughing.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘If you want to make a lot of money, quickly and legally, you have two options: you create your own stock exchange, or you start working in the arbitrage field.’

  ‘I always thought that the story about arbitrages was an urban legend.’

  ‘Not anymore, old boy. Now that’s where you make real money. I’m doing that myself, I pocketed my bonuses from Barclays, and now I’m going to the United States. I’m leaving next week. Look, why don’t you come to London next week before I leave? I could use some money, and I’ll tell you about the new business I’m undertaking. We can help each other.’

  ‘Why not? Shall I find you at this number?’

  ‘Sure, old chap. Jesus Christ, what an honour, working again with the old Logan. Who would have thought?’

  The two lingered to talk at length. Whitley had been a shy young man when he started working for Logan. The company where he was working at the time had gotten into trouble due to insider trading and Logan had been called to clean up the mess. Beckett, Wool & Perry was famous at that time for two things. Making a lot of money and not caring about the law. Whitley, in those days was a rookie, and he was pushed a little bit beyond the customary practices of the company. Logan had been called to put it all to rest. They had become friends after that nasty business, and Logan had seen potential in that skinny guy with a nose too long for his face. Logan solved the problem and took Whitley with him to Sandie as a third-year associate; for half the salary, but he had taught him everything he knew. Or almost. Apparently, his old love for finance was not dead in Whitley, and maybe it was time to repay the debt.

  When he put down the phone, Logan knew he had a chance.

  He poured a glass of cognac, sniffed it for an interminable time, and then emptied it in the sink, opting for Coke. He shouldn’t even have a bottle, he hadn’t touched alcohol in years, and even if this were a special occasion, he wouldn’t slip back into that old habit.

  Then he picked up the phone and dialled another number he had learned by heart.

  ‘Hello, Domino. I was looking for Marcus, I might have something that could solve our problems,’ said Logan, upon hearing the soothing woman’s voice on the other end of the phone.

  ‘Just one second.’ There was a pause, and then the stern voice of Splinter came on the phone.

  ‘Did you find anything?’

  ‘I think so, and if things go as expected, maybe it’s also legal. I mean, besides conning Price. We should take a trip to London as soon as possible.’

  There was a pause on the other end of the phone. ‘The whole team?’

  ‘No, just you and me … and maybe Domino.’ Logan knew she wouldn’t serve much purpose, but Domino was a beautiful woman and to have her around was always lovely. There was some difference in ages between them, which Logan ignored, and waited for the answer.

  ‘I will call you back as soon as we book the trip. How long we will stay in London?’

  ‘One or two days will be enough,’ said Logan.

  The big con was set in motion.

  CHAPTER 24

  ‘Here we are, the house should be the one on the left,’ said Amelia pointing towards an isolated building, painted yellow. They entered the driveway leading to the house and stopped in front of the gate. Anders got out of the car to open it and slowly walked towards the house. The gravel made a noise under the car wheels, which occasionally were losing traction. A dog barked in the distance, probably in some nearby home. It was now dusk, and Amelia rang the doorbell. Amelia felt exhausted due to the long drive, despite having spent the previous night in Leeds.

  ‘I’m Amelia Mortcombe,’ she said trying to recognise some resemblance of the little girl whom she’d met years earlier. They entered an elegant but not luxurious, house. The furniture in the living room was old fashioned, with a large sofa upholstered with a flower-patterned fabric; it resembled an elderly person’s house.

  ‘I remember you, from when we were teenagers,’ said Dimitra picking up a picture from a nearby shelf. ‘Careless me, haven’t introduced myself yet,’ she said turning toward Anders and shaking his hand. ‘Dimitra Ro
manov.’

  ‘My pleasure, I’m Anders Nilsson.’

  She walked toward the fireplace and weighed a framed picture for a while, before giving it to Amelia. ‘Do you remember this one?’

  It was a picture that portrayed them as children in a playground that Amelia couldn’t recall. She lied, ‘Yes, I remember, vaguely.’

  ‘You came because of my dad’s letter, right?’

  ‘Yes. As I said, I received one too.’

  ‘Can I see it? It is difficult to comprehend that these were my father’s last thoughts before he was killed.’

  ****

  ‘They are in the house, the living room is at the front of the building,’ croaked a voice on the radio.

  ‘Roger.’

  ‘Have you positioned the microphone?’ said Margot.

  ‘Wait … Now we should hear something. Kaleb, are you in place?’

  ‘I have a visual of the living room, I’m in a car across the street, about three hundred meters away. I could kill them at any time,’ said the North African stroking the rifle on the passenger seat.

  ‘Roger. Stay where you are.’

  Margot listened attentively to the conversation that was taking place in the building, using a microphone that had been placed on the outside of a window.

  ‘Karl, Aleksey, Ivan, give me your position.’

  ‘Karl. I’m in the front with Taras, near the main door.’

  ‘Aleksey. I’m covering the back of the building, there is only one door to the garden. I have it in sight.’

  ‘Ivan. I’m near the garage, not far from where they parked.’

  ‘Stand by,’ said Kaleb on the microphone, ‘the man is nearing the window. I’ve lost visual on the two women. Wait. I see one of them now, I think they’re still in the lounge.’

  ‘Roger, stand by.’

  ****

  Meanwhile, inside the house, Dimitra was carefully reading the letter written by her father to Amelia. She had reciprocated by showing the one she’d received a few days earlier.

  ‘I can’t believe it. My father was a criminal. Stealing all those millions when he had enough money to live a good life. I do not understand.’ Dimitra handed the two letters to Amelia. She turned them over in her hands for a moment, as if she didn’t know what to do with them, before placing them back in her jacket pocket.

  ‘I think it was the mafia’s money, Dimitra. If it’s any consolation, your father’s last gesture was to take it away from that criminal organisation. He was not a saint, but it’s something you should take into consideration.’

  Anders did not say anything, continuing to walk up and down the room, first near the window, then headed for the living room door, as if he were a caged animal. Amelia followed his movement now and then from the corner of her eye, unable to understand his sudden restlessness.

  ‘It is amazing how all this money,’ continued Dimitra, ‘ten million dollars, are frozen in these accounts. He also left instructions on how to get them back.’

  Her mind began to wander, and although Dimitra had an excellent job on one of the town’s spa houses, she couldn’t help but, even for one moment, fantasise. Every person in this world has had dreams about an unlikely winning of the lottery, but it was the real possibility of changing one’s life that made her tingle. Changing lives. Few people were really able to rationalise that concept.

  ‘It’s blood money, Dimitra,’ repeated Amelia.

  ‘I know, I know. It’s just that for a moment …’

  The phrase was left incomplete. Amelia heard a sharp sound of breaking glass and Dimitra fell down to the floor, hit by a gunshot to the forehead. Amelia remained motionless for a moment, incapable of utterance in the face of the death of this woman. She had fallen to the ground, a patch of blood wafted across the Persian carpet and was absorbed by the fabric. She stood looking at her as if in a trance, and unable to move. It was at that point that the lights went off and a voice roused her from that torpor.

  ‘Get down!’

  Amelia crouched in front of the sofa. She could see in the dimness the unmoving body of Dimitra and almost smell the metallic stench of the blood that wafted across the floor. A bang on the door made her turn her head towards the hallway. Anders, in the twilight, had struck a belly blow to a man who had just entered the house, leaving him sprawled and gasping on the ground, and was preparing to engage with a second. He grabbed what looked like a submachine gun with both hands and gave a headbutt to the second man, making him stagger. Taken by surprise, the stranger slammed violently against the door jamb and Anders struck him with a knee to the ribs, followed by a second hit. The man fell to the ground. For good measure, he kicked the first intruder in the face. Then shut the door again.

  ‘Come here,’ he hissed to Amelia.

  When she approached, she saw him put the gun strap across his shoulder and slipping a pistol into his pocket which he had taken from one of the two killers, along with a couple of magazines.

  ‘Is she dead?’ he asked turning his gaze in the general direction of Dimitra. Amelia did not reply, still intent on watching the two killers lying on the floor.

  ‘Is she dead?’ he repeated.

  ‘Yes, I think so. Anders, she was shot in the head.’

  ‘Stay close to me, there will be others.’ He took her hand and walked towards the kitchen. Amelia started to complain, but Anders had laid his forefinger to his lips. There would be time to explain later. In the darkness of the room, he looked briefly out the window. He couldn’t identify anything, for good night vision he would have to wait at least another ten minutes; time that they didn’t have. Soon, very soon, others would come, probably entering the house from different directions. Time was a luxury they couldn’t afford. He again checked the gun and motioned Amelia to stand behind him. He opened the door, and suddenly he shot several rounds toward the most likely place where someone could have been waiting, a bush on the left side at the bottom of the garden, from where they could have a clear view of the kitchen door. A gasp followed shortly. Good sign thought Anders. Hopefully, there aren’t any others.

  ‘We have to run to the bottom of the garden and then climb over the fence. Keep your head down.’ Amelia nodded, which Anders did not see, and took her by the hand. They began to run at breakneck speed, and when they reached the fence Anders jumped it with a bound, he then aimed the gun in the direction of the building which they had just left. Amelia was intent on climbing the fence when a figure appeared at the kitchen door. Anders for good measure dropped an entire magazine against the pursuer. Amelia was back at his side. They continued to run through the garden and jumped into another and then another one. Finally, they arrived in a small side street which probably led to garages, but they kept running. They had to put as much distance as possible between them and the trackers. They kept on running, zigzagging between buildings. Anders knew it wasn’t so much the distance from pursuers that mattered, but how many corners they could put between them. Changing directions often would have served the purpose. At least for a while. They could hear the dogs barking in the distance and soon after they heard the noise of sirens in the night. It was time to find a means of transport.

  ****

  They arrived near a tree-lined street and saw, not far away, the lights of the city. Anders approached a vehicle parked in a quiet driveway, he looked around for a couple of minutes to make sure nobody was looking and began to pick the car lock. Amelia saw him fumbling with something metallic in his hands that she did not recognise. After that, Anders opened the trunk and began rummaging around until he found a screwdriver. It was an old car, of which she did not recognise the brand in the darkness. Anders motioned her to approach and enter the vehicle.

  ****

  She saw him remove the ignition key cylinder, and then with an abrupt gesture, force the steering wheel, first in one direction and then the other until she felt the steering lock break. Only then did he begin to tinker with the ignition wires.

  Once the car wa
s running, they headed toward the centre.

  ‘If I tell you to bend down, do it immediately and without any objections,’ said Anders.

  ‘OK. If we were going to steal a car, we could have gotten at least a decent one.’

  ‘Those guys are still out there and as far as we know there may be others. Best to keep a low profile.’

  ‘And who would these others be?’

  ‘I haven’t the faintest idea, but if I had to guess, I would say they are hunting for ten million. Romanov was killed for that.’

  Something was wrong, she thought. Romanov had been killed before they found out about the ten million shortfall, surely there was another reason for that death. But the attack a few minutes before was definitely a move to recover the money.

  ‘One thing I haven’t understood. Even though we have two letters, those are not enough to recover the money. Romanov’s letter is clear, there is a hacker somewhere who has the missing piece.’

  Anders did not answer and drove towards Inverness. Going directly to the south would put them in danger again, if they headed in another direction, maybe they would cover their tracks. Unless the pursuers had unlimited resources. In that case, it’d be trouble. He returned to thinking about what Amelia said. ‘Maybe they don’t know that they are missing the third piece in the puzzle.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Think about it, we never spoke aloud. We read Dimitra’s letter, and she did the same with yours, but not aloud. She mentioned taking possession of the money, but we never mentioned the hacker. If anyone was listening, they could have misunderstood the whole story, thinking we had the entire key to getting to the money.’

  ‘Hear us?’ asked Amelia. ‘How?’

  ‘Maybe they kept Dimitra under surveillance; it doesn’t take much to install a microphone, you leave the house unattended for a moment, and they do the job.’

  ‘You seem knowledgeable about these things.’

  ‘I have read many crime fiction books,’ said Anders. Silence fell as they drove towards Inverness. Fatigue was replacing the adrenaline, and Amelia felt she needed to sleep. She leaned her head against the side window, and she fell asleep instantly.