Dead Cat Bounce (10 page)

Jonah had been trying to think of a way to return to the Bunker, or to at least get the iPod back, ever since he was forced to leave the trading floor on Wednesday. He couldn’t ask his father, and he didn’t have the courage to pick up the phone to call the Baron. He had tried to construct an e-mail to Franky, since she’d grown friendlier throughout his time at the desk, but again his courage had failed him. By Friday, he had accepted that the iPod was gone, one part of a dream that was fading as quickly as school was approaching.

Jonah calculated that David wouldn’t be back for at least half an hour and took out a knife from the drawer by the sink. He cut the envelope open at the top and ran the knife down along the side so that he had created a flap. When he pulled the flap back, it revealed first the corner of a paperback book, then the corner of a folded piece of heavy white paper, and finally the rounded corner of an iPod—
his
iPod.

“Yes!” Jonah screamed as he pulled the iPod from its wrapping, the earphones wrapped around the device. He picked it up in all its white, tactile glory and pressed the center button to switch it on. The logo came up, followed by a menu with the word
music
highlighted in blue at the top. He pressed again and scrolled down to the songs section. As he did so the fingers on his other landed on an oddly shaped groove on the back of the device. Jonah turned the iPod over and saw that it was engraved with the Baron’s motto—
MY WORD IS MY BOND
.

Jonah felt tears welling up in his eyes and bit his lip to hold them back. Nobody had ever done something this nice for him—not his classmates at school, not his deserter mother, and definitely not his father, as cold and removed as he was.

Jonah put the iPod down and turned his attention to the book, leaving the folded piece of paper until last. The book said that it was for “Anyone intrigued by the allure of million-dollar deals.”
That would be me
, thought Jonah, a grin spreading across his face.

Next he focused on the folded piece of paper. He picked it up by the crease, and as he did so another piece of paper fell out, face up. It was a check. A check made out to Jonah Lightbody. A check for ten thousand pounds.

Jonah felt his pulse quicken. Bloody hell! What was he supposed to do with that? He didn’t have a bank account. He couldn’t possibly ask his dad to cash it for him.
The iPod and the book were enough, thanks, Mr. Baron
. Money was a different issue. And not only money, but serious money of an amount that twelve-year-olds did not have access to. To the Baron, ten thousand pounds might be loose change, but to a kid? From a stranger?

Perhaps the note would provide an explanation. Jonah opened it. The paper was thick and expensive, and at the top was an unusual embossed coat of arms, made up of a triplane, a trading screen, a bear, and the German Iron Cross. The handwriting was big, bold, and in black ink. It all seemed strangely reminiscent of the training game.

Bloody hell and blimey! The Baron thought he had talent! The Baron thought he had talent!
His father had never said he had talent in anything, but Jonah didn’t let himself think about that for the time being. Instead, he slipped the note and the check into his back pocket and grabbed the iPod. This required a Sympathy Session!

He fixed the earphone buds in his ears and scrolled through the songs until he found “Sympathy for the Devil.” The sound of satanic tom toms filled his head, transporting him back to the trading floor and its thrills. It was the same song the Baron had played at the end of Jonah’s time at Hellcat. He turned the volume up to maximum, closed his eyes, raised his arms in the air, and started to dance. Singing out loud, he felt lost in the music and the memories and the sheer joy of the moment.

The first he knew of his father’s presence in the room was when the iPod was torn from his hands.

“‘My word is
my bond’!” He gave you this, didn’t he?” David shouted. “He gave you this, and he put that song on it.”

“Dad, uh, it’s not what you think,” Jonah said, fear in his voice. He had seen his father cross before, but never angry like this.

“And what is this?” David had seen the book and snatched it up off the table. “Did he give you this too? What else did he give you? What else, Jonah?” he screamed and started coming toward Jonah, his eyes wild, his pupils dilated, the muscles on his neck protruding. “What else, Jonah?”

Jonah backed away until he was up against kitchen cupboards. “Nothing, Dad, nothing,” he lied.

“Don’t lie to me! What else, Jonah?” Now his father was right on top of him.

Jonah dropped to his knees, wanting to cry, but finding something in him that held his tears back. “Nothing,” he lied again. “Nothing. I promise.”

“I told you to forget it. Didn’t I?” David shouted.

“Uh, uh … yes, Dad,” Jonah mumbled.

David took a step backward. “The sooner you go back to school the better. That man is dangerous. You are to have nothing to do with him. Now stand up. I’m returning these to where they come from.”

Jonah stood up, hearing the Baron’s words in his head.
Drizzlers all the way through. Say boo to them and they run a mile
. He wondered if he’d proven that the description applied to him as well.

David pointed to the kitchen stools. “Sit down,” he ordered.

Jonah moved over to a stool, keeping his back away from his father in case the note or the check was visible in his pockets. When he sat down, David put the book and the iPod on the table and continued firmly. “Jonah, this isn’t about you and me. It’s about that man. He’s a bad influence. Do you understand?”

Jonah resisted the urge to cower. “No, Dad, I don’t understand,” he said, his memories of his time in the Bunker spurring him to fight back. “I had a great time at Hellcat until you decided to end it.”

His father glared back at him, the anger rising once more. “Don’t be taken in by it,” he replied. “He really believes in all this Baron stuff, and it’s gone to his head. That man is only interested in himself.”

“Says who, Dad? He told me I was talented. He
praised
me. When was the last time you did that?”

“I, uh …”

“Don’t worry, I remember. I think I was about five years old. It was your birthday. I wanted to make you happy. I made you breakfast in
bed, but as I brought it into the bedroom I dropped the tray. You said ‘well done’ then. ‘Well done for ruining the carpet.’” Jonah’s voice had risen, and he could see from the expression on his father’s face that his words were upsetting him. But now that he’d started, he couldn’t stop. He decided to twist the knife. “You’re jealous, aren’t you? He’s better than you, isn’t he? That’s why you hate him.”

“Jealous! What is there to be jealous of?” David shouted back.

Jonah momentarily wondered whether he’d pushed things too far, but still, he kept going. “One hundred and thirty million dollars in one day?” he chirped.

“How dare you! Like I told you, nobody makes that type of money in that amount of time without being very lucky or cheating. Nobody has that much good fortune. He’ll bring us all down one d—”

Jonah didn’t wait for him to finish. “Is he the reason you’re called Biff? Did he challenge you to a fight, and you were too scared to fight back?”

His father answered far more calmly than Jonah had expected. “Yes, Jonah. He’s the one who gave me that awful nickname. And yes, it’s because I refused to fight him. But no, I wasn’t scared.”

“So what was it? You knew you were going to lose?”

“No,” said David, gaining control of his temper. “I didn’t fight him because I don’t fight.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t fight,” repeated David, crossing his arms. “Simple as that.”

“Why not?” Jonah pressed.

“It’s too complicated to explain.”

“Why is
everything
too complicated to explain?” Jonah implored,
and without waiting for his dad to reply, he added, “Forget it. I get it—why you hate the Baron, why you and Mom divorced, why Mom never wants to speak to me.” His eyes bored into his father’s. “You’re a Drizzler and a coward and a bully.”

David looked on, helpless. “That’s not it, Jonah. You’ve got it all wrong. There’s a lot you don’t understand about me, your mom, my time in Africa, the Baron….” His voice trailed off.

“But you’re not going to tell me about any of that, are you? Not really?” Jonah prodded. “Well, that’s fine by me. Good thing I’m going back to school soon. It’s not as if I like it here anyway.” He ran out of the kitchen and upstairs to his bedroom, slamming the door shut behind him and collapsing on his bed.

Jonah finished the
book the Baron had given him in twenty-four hours. He’d simply gone out on Saturday afternoon and bought a new copy after his dad threw away the original. He read late into Saturday night and through Sunday, keeping the book hidden from his father at all times. The only time he put it down was when he became lost in thought about the differences between the man who’d brought him into the world—a dour, absent man who was a drizzling, bullying coward—and the man who had given him this book, told him he had “talent,” filled his iPod up with music, and sent him ten thousand pounds. As far as Jonah could tell,
this
was the man who had given him life.

Jonah wrote an e-mail to the Baron as soon as he turned the book’s final page. He told him what his father had done. He told him he wanted to be a trader. He told him he wanted to work for him and asked him to set up an online trading account with the ten thousand pounds.

It was time to declare himself a Whistler once and for all.

The Baron responded almost immediately from his Blackberry. His message was one word in capitals: “DONE.”

On Monday, Jonah received another e-mail from the Baron. It had the details of the trading account, the user name, and the password. The account would be in the Baron’s name—that way, nobody would be able to tell it was a kid doing the trades—but it would only be activated once Jonah had been trained. The Baron asked for Jonah’s address at school so that he could send more books and a new iPod. Jonah gave it to him. He trusted him. His word was his bond.

On Monday night, Jonah went back to school and away from the prying eyes of his father.

Four years later, Jonah Lightbody was back at Helsby Cattermole. He was four hundred thousand pounds richer and was—at age sixteen—about to become the youngest trader Helsby Cattermole had ever employed. He was also about to walk into a global financial firestorm.

Part Two

LONDON
ZURICH
NEW YORK
JOHANNESBURG

Jonah walked through
the doors of the Helsby Cattermole building and into the “shark tank” at eight twenty-five
A.M.
He was dressed in a slim-cut, single-breasted black suit, white button-down shirt, black boots, and a silk Hermès tie as classy as any he’d seen the Baron wear. His clothes were all tailor-made and topped off with a pair of solid gold cufflinks, a dollar sign on one cuff and a pound sign on the other. A Breitling Navitimer watch adorned his wrist. He glanced beyond the building’s revolving doors to check that the car valet was giving his antique 1960s Vespa scooter the careful attention it deserved, nodding when he saw the way that he was admiring the original details as he cautiously wheeled it down to the underground garage. Jonah normally only used the Vespa to get around on weekends, but he couldn’t resist driving it to work on this, his first day back.

At the reception desk, he asked for the Baron and gave his own name. The receptionist, a pretty blonde girl called Sophie, according
to her badge, smiled at him and asked whether he had been to Hellcat before.

Jonah smiled back. “I have,” he said. “But it was a long time ago.”

“Let’s have a look,” she replied, tapping his name into the database. She stared at the screen for a moment, raised her eyebrows, and looked back up at Jonah. The photo on the monitor showed a pale-skinned boy with fair, straight hair, cut short so that it was above his collar. His face had the chubbiness of childhood, and his brown eyes were soft and innocent. The person in front of her was touching six feet and broad across the shoulders. His hair had darkened from fair to light brown, and was well below his collar and flopping over his forehead. His skin was tanned, presumably from the summer holidays, and all of that puppy fat had disappeared to reveal sharp cheekbones. The darker hair seemed to have softened his eyes even further, but the innocence had definitely departed.