Dead Cat Bounce (6 page)

Jonah did as he was instructed, mouthing, “I shouldn’t?” and watched as the Baron took a seat next to him in what appeared to have been a specially designed chair, its contours molded to perfectly fit the Baron’s hefty frame.

“Damn right, you shouldn’t,” the Baron answered, laughing heartily. “By ‘Prop desk,’ I mean Proprietary Trading Desk. That’s what the Bunker is. We Whistlers trade Hellcat’s money, not client money. It means we’re allowed to take bigger risks than the other traders.”

Jonah leapt at the mention of bigger risks. “Do you trade derivatives?” he blurted.

“Derivatives. You’re a bit sharp, aren’t you? But yes, we trade
derivatives.” The Baron turned to his troops. “We like derivatives here, don’t we, boys?”

The whole of the Bunker whistled and yelled excitedly in response.

Jonah breathed deeply. “I think I’m a Whistler then,” he said very seriously.

The Baron burst out laughing and punched Jonah on the shoulder. “That’s why I brought you here, sonny. Now watch this. I know you’re going to love it as much as I do.” He motioned toward the double desk with his hand. “You will have noticed that I, unlike my faithful followers, have no screens on my desk.”

Jonah nodded. The Baron grinned mischievously, reached under the desk, and pressed a button. Suddenly the desk partition in front of him began to rise, revealing four screens.

“Yeah!” Jonah cried out. “It’s like on a spaceship!”

“Wait,” said the Baron, his grin growing. “There’s more.”

Now the sides the desk began to rise to reveal four more screens so that each person sitting in the Cockpit had four screens of his own: two in front and two on the side.

“Voilà! Le Cockpit,” said the Baron, pushing the side screens outward slightly so that it was possible to see all four at once, and pressing another button so that they all switched on.

“That is so cool!” exclaimed Jonah. “My dad only has two.”

“Well, your dad doesn’t exactly do the kind of work we do here. None of the Drizzlers do.”

Jonah nodded sagely, suppressing the burgeoning sense that he was somehow betraying his father by being here. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to a screen that was now flashing at least five hundred lights.

“That, sonny,” said the Baron, “is the comms board. The phone is everything here. It’s our link to the markets and clients. To make a call we just hit the buttons on the comms board, and we’re through.”

Jonah remembered his dad had done something similar to retrieve that man Scrotycz’s call.

The lights on the comms board blinked, beckoned, burned—refusing to let go of Jonah’s attention as he tried to take in the other screens in front of him. One came to life with letters and numbers in different colors; another had an e-mail program on it; the last looked like it contained a list of some sort. All needed passwords to get in.

“Are those all computers?” Jonah asked.

“Yes,” said the Baron reverentially.

“And what’s that one?” Jonah pointed at the monitor that showed a colorful jumble of things.

“That’s the Bloomberg terminal. It displays all the prices and market data.”

“I can’t believe you’ve got so many computers,” Jonah marveled, his voice hushed but full of awe.

“Yes. We need them though. The financial markets never sleep, and London, or specifically the part we call the City, is probably the largest international financial center in the world. Trillions of pounds, dollars, euros, yen, you name it, change hands each day within a square mile of where we’re sitting.”

Jonah had no real idea what he was talking about, but the numbers were big. Trillions. That was millions of millions. That was seriously big.

“Okay,” the Baron continued, “so this screen you won’t need to worry about. It shows messages from other traders at Hellcat and other banks.” The Baron pointed to the monitor that Jonah had assumed was used to display e-mail. “This screen on the left is the one you’ll use today as it shows all our trades and trading positions.”

Jonah stared up at the screen, stymied by the sheer awesomeness of the trading floor’s inner workings.

“When a trader makes a trade, he writes out a ticket, which will go to you. You’ll input it into the computer so that it comes up here.” The Baron paused, checking to see that Jonah understood what he was saying.

Jonah nodded.

“Dog and the others will probably tell you that I’m a bit old fashioned—”

“Wouldn’t say it if it weren’t true!” Dog exclaimed, interrupting the Baron.

“Aren’t you supposed to be working?” the Baron rejoined, his voice taking on a harsher tone. “This conversation is between me and young Mr. Lightbody.”

Dog blanched and returned to his work.

“As I was saying, I don’t like it when my traders just enter the trades into their own computers. That’s not really owning a trade, is it?”

Jonah bobbed his head in agreement.

“Absolutely right, sonny. Only pressing a button makes it all a bit unreal, don’t you think?”

Jonah nodded once more. He wasn’t about to disagree with the Baron, given the way he’d just responded to Dog.

“So that’s basically it,” concluded the Baron. “You’ll be helping me out a lot since my trading assistant Jammy is out getting his teeth cleaned.”

“Yeah, right. Getting drunk is more like it,” Franky murmured.

Jonah’s eyes darted back and forth between her and the Baron. He couldn’t tell if the Baron had heard Franky or not, but he didn’t acknowledge the remark.

Instead, he said, “Think of yourself as my eyes and ears. It’s you and me on the front line of battle, and you’re the only one standing between me and enemy gunfire.” The Baron gave Jonah a chance to absorb what he was saying.

Jonah’s heart raced. “So I’m going to do some real work? Sitting next to you?”

“You sure are, boy,” the Baron said in a cowboy-type voice. “I think you and I are going to do great things together.”

“Not today, you’re not,” interjected a deep but familiar voice. Jonah looked up to see that his father had joined them, his clothes more crumpled than they were earlier. “It turns out that Scrotycz’s people and I have to have a last-minute client meeting, so I’m taking you home.”

“There’s no need for that, Biff—”

But David was not to be swayed. “Stay out of this, Baron. I appreciate your taking care of my son, but it’s now time for us to go.” He cocked his head toward the exit and began striding in that direction, his gait as speedy and determined as ever.

Jonah stayed where he was. “Wait, Dad!” he called out. “We haven’t even gotten to the good stuff yet.”

Jonah’s father didn’t turn around.

Jonah looked earnestly at the Baron, silently pleading for his assistance.

“Hmm …” said the Baron. “Difficult times we live in. Very difficult. Why don’t you see whether your father will let you come back tomorrow?”

Jonah felt the disbelief creeping into his expression. “You’d want me back?”

“Of course, sonny. Didn’t I say that we were going to do great things together?”

“The Baron and
his mysterious phone calls, eh?” said Franky the next day, nodding toward a closed door that Jonah now knew led to the Baron’s office. Apparently, he had one area for private matters and the Cockpit for when he wanted to be immersed in the Bunker. He was inside the former now.

“Guess he has a lot of important stuff to deal with,” offered Jonah.

“Hah!” Franky snorted. “Or maybe he’s terrorizing traders at other firms. Do you know how he got his nickname?”

“It’s something to do with a German fighter pilot, isn’t it?” Jonah answered, still in total shock that Jammy was once again out and that the Baron had somehow managed to convince his father to let him come to work a second time.

“That’s right,” said Franky, her eyes wide. “He got the name from a trader at another bank whom he’d shafted with a brilliant trade. When the trader caught sight of his losses, he screamed,
‘There’s blood all over the place! This is what it must have been like facing the Bloody Red Baron in the First World War.’”

“Hahaha,” Jonah chuckled. “Is that really what happened?”

“Yup,” Franky replied, her mood far more cheerful than it had been the day prior. She pointed at the trading screen. It was covered in numbers, most of which were blue. A few red figures stuck out. “You see, a blue number is a gain, but a red number means you’ve lost money.”

Jonah nodded along as Franky continued with her explanation. “That trader’s screen would have been covered in red numbers, covered in blood.” Franky paused for effect. Then she pointed at the model above them. “The original Red Baron—the German—flew a plane like the one up there—a Fokker triplane. Nowadays our Baron always sends a little model of one of those to traders he’s stuffed, to remind them of what he’s done. Sometimes he even sends one just for the hell of it to wind them up.” Her eyes glimmered with the thrill of it all, and she tossed her hair, which she wore looser today.

Jonah felt a rush of pride that he had somehow ended up on the same side as a man who had that kind of nerve. But that sense of satisfaction disappeared as quickly as it came as his thoughts shifted to his father and the weakness implied by his nickname. Jonah took a deep breath. This wasn’t the first time in the last twenty-four hours that he’d thought about how different the two men were.

Franky took Jonah’s silence as her cue to continue. “This job is all about fear and greed. Greed in that everyone is trying to make money; fear in that we’re all scared of losing money. The Baron is the most feared trader in London, and he plays on that fear.”

“Is that why he’s such a good trader?” Jonah wondered aloud.

“That’s part of it. But he’s also very quick to do something when he sees an opportunity. He sees it; he hits it. And when he hits it, he hits it big. He’s got balls, the Baron. Big balls.”

“So you all like him?” Jonah asked, recalling that yesterday’s visit had not been without its tense moments.

“Well,
we
all love him,” said Franky, “but then, we’re on his team.” The weasel-faced man, Dog, had appeared. Franky turned to him. “Isn’t that right, Dog? We all love the Baron.”

“Oh, yes, indeed. The Baron we do love. Totally loyal we are,” said Dog, bowing as he spoke.

Franky cackled. “Don’t mind Dog. He and the Baron have had their share of differences, but he’s still a Bunker Boy through and through, aren’t you, Dog?”

“That’s me!” Dog sang out.

“He’s big into loyalty, the Baron,” Franky continued. “You’ll hear him say, ‘My word is my bond.’ It’s the motto of the City of London. It means honesty, loyalty, and trust, although really it’s about the money. Lots of money. Work with the Baron and you can make more money in a week than some people make in their lifetime. Millions of pounds. Even tens of millions of pounds. That’s
really
why we all love him.”

Jonah was making calculations in his head. He knew a millionaire was a rich person, and these people were more than millionaires—they were very, very rich!

“It’s all about the money, sonny,” said Dog grinning. “Contrary to what the Beatles taught us, money
can
buy you love.” He turned to Franky. “And I’ve got a feeling we’re going to make loads of it
today. The Baron’s on to something, Franky. He’s just rung. Better get the lad sorted out before he gets back.”

Jonah saw them exchange a knowing glance before she turned back to him. “Did you hear that?” she asked, yesterday’s air of superiority having completely disappeared now that the thrill of the chase was upon them. “This could be your lucky day. Let’s run through a few inputting tests. Things are about to get hot!”

Jonah was running through the inputting test for the fourth time when the Baron returned. “Franky! Dog! Schnell! Schnell! Gather the foot soldiers and let us talk gold. It’s killing time!”

Jonah couldn’t help but feel exhilarated to see him again.

Dog shouted, “Cockpit!” and Jonah watched all the Bunker Boys leap out of their seats and head quickly toward him. Dog was there first, and Jonah could see a hungry look in his eyes as he licked his lips in expectation. He looked up at Franky, and she, too, had switched into hunter killer mode. A pale flush was spreading down from her cheekbones to the top of her chest. She took a deep breath in through her nose and breathed out a sigh of pleasure while fingering the necklace around her neck. “Mmm. Gold. My favorite,” she purred.

Once all the Bunker Boys had gathered, the Baron started speaking, quietly and urgently. “Something is rumbling in deepest, darkest Africa. A takeover in the gold sector. I don’t know who, and I don’t know when. But I’ve spoken to the top brass, and we’re clear to go within the hour. Stealth stuff, mind you; we don’t want anybody to see us coming.”

Jonah could sense the heart rates quickening around him and feel the bodies pressing in even closer.

The Baron continued. “Lads, this is a big one. So clear your positions, phone your loved ones, and most of all … think of what you’re going to buy with the bonuses you’ll make!” He paused to let his words sink in and turned to Jonah. “Here’s your chance to shine, sonny.”

Jonah swelled in anticipation. He was in on the action. He was part of the team.

“Yeah. We’ll need breakfast before we get going,” said the Baron, handing him a piece of paper and a pen.

“What?” said Jonah. This wasn’t what they’d talked about him doing.

“Breakfast, mate. A very important job. Take the lads’ orders and ring Amelia on extension 1736, and she’ll bring it up. Can you manage that?” he mocked.

Jonah inhaled deeply. He didn’t want the Baron thinking that he considered himself above the task, but he also hadn’t convinced his dad to come back to his office to be some kind of lackey. “I won’t need those,” he said, indicating the pen and paper. “I have a very good memory.”

The Baron’s eyebrows went up. “Good memory, eh? Are you sure? These people can get quite nasty if they’re not fed properly. You wouldn’t want to get it wrong.”

Jonah stood his ground. If yesterday had taught him anything, it was that backing down wasn’t an option. “I’m sure.”