The market maker (27 page)

"Well, here I am."

"Listen, Nick. I thought Fd come down to London for the day next week. Catch up with a few old pals. I wondered if I could drop in and see you?"

Oh, God. Just what I needed.

"Fine," I said.

"I think I can remem^ber where Dekker's offices are. They haven't moved, have they?"

"I don't work there anymore."

"What?" He sounded shocked.

"Heft. Yesterday."

"Whatever for?"

I groaned inwardly. How could I explain this.

"The City is just not for me. Father."

There was silence. "OK. I see." His voice blew cold down the phone line from Norfolk. "It was a terrific opportunity for you to make something of yourself, Nick."

"It's not a good place. Father. Honestly. I'm better off out of it."

"Well, your mother will be most disappointed," he said. Actually I though she'd be quite pleased.

"I'd still like to see you," I said, almost to my surprise.

"Um, yes, well. Maybe another time. I was hoping to see you in situ, as it were. But if you're not working, then there's not much point, is there?"

"I suppose not."

"Good-bye, then."

"Bye."

I put the phone down. Despite myself, I felt guilty and angry. Guilty that I had disappointed him, angry that he hadn't wanted to see me.

I felt alone.

My thoughts turned back to Dekker. Jamie had said they were doing a Dave on me. I wondered what had happened to Dave. I hadn't had time to get to know him very well, but I had liked what I had seen of him. And now I felt some kindred spirit with him. A fellow ex-Dekker nonperson.

Like me, he had been fired for talking to the press. And like me, he had suspected that Dekker was involved with money laundering. I should talk to him.

I dug out the phone list I had been given when I had joined Dekker. It listed all home numbers, Dave's included. Dekker employees were expected to be able to deal around the clock.

He answered the phone. "Nick! All right, mate. That's a blast from the past. I thought I'd never speak to another Dekker man again."

I explained my situation, and I asked if I could come around and see him.

"Course you can. Come around this afternoon, if you like. It's not like I've got anything to do. Have you got wheels?"

"Only two."

"Motor or push-bike?"

"Push-bike, I'm afraid."

"Well, never mind. Take the tube to They don Bois, and give me a ring from the station. I'll pick you up."

Dave met me in an old Ford Escort. We drove through a succession of well-kept suburban roads to a large modem house at the end of a private road. Two for sale signs guarded the short driveway. He fiddled with a remote control to open the doors of a huge, empty garage, and then drove the Escort into the middle of it.

''Lots of room for this little car, isn't there?" I said.

"Don't/' said Dave. "I had a Porsche 9111 parked just there, and a four-wheel drive just there. And the missus had a little MR2. All gone now."

He led me into the house through a door in the garage. "Have you met my wife, Teresa?"

She was big, like Dave with dyed blond hair and a wide smile. "Hi," she said. "Do you want a cup of tea?"

"Love some."

Dave led me through a couple of miles of corridor to a huge lounge, with picture windows overlooking a large lawn and a swimming pool. Now, Dave was about my age, and this place had cost a bundle.

"Nice place, innit?" he said, following my eyes. "Shame it's not mine."

"Oh, you mean the bank owns it?"

"Worse. Dekker. If I can't meet next month's mortgage payment, which I can't, they'll repossess. I'm desperate to sell it before then."

"Don't you have any savings?"

"All tied up in the employee trusts, aren't they? I can't get hold of them if I'm dismissed for bad faith. So, you could say I'm up shit creek."

"Have you tried to get another job?"

"Yeah. I tried. No chance. I don't know how Ricardo did it, but you'd think I'd robbed the Bank of England, the way they treat me."

"So what are you going to do?"

Teresa came in with two mugs of tea. "Thanks, love," said Dave, taking his. He sipped it and then answered my question. "SeU this place. I've got some old mates from my forex days who'll back me to buy a pub. Then Teresa and I'll run it. Quite honestly, I'm looking forward to it. I've had enough of the City."

"So have I/' said Teresa.

"I know what you mean/' I said.

"So you got the boot too?"

I nodded.

"What happened?"

I told him about Luis and the favela deal. And about my reservations about Dekker, and Isabel's kidnapping. He was shocked.

"She's a nice chick. Bright too. So, they don't know whether she's still alive?"

"No."

"Nor who the kidnappers are?"

"No, again. Kidnapping is an industry in Brazil. This kind of thing happens all the time."

"Like bankers getting topped for their wallets?"

I looked at him sharply. "You told IFR you were suspicious about that. Why? "

"It was no more than that, a suspicion. But a strong one. There are all those numbered accounts at Dekker Trust, supposedly overseen by Eduardo. Ricardo says he knows where all that money comes from, but I'm not convinced he does. And you know Eduardo. He'd happily turn a blind eye."

"OK, so there might be some dodgy money there. But that's not proof, is it?"

"No. But there's talk in the market."

"Talk?"

"Yeah. Everyone knows Chalmet handles dodgy money, and they own twenty-nine percent of Dekker Ward. Now they're beginning to talk about us too. Ricardo doesn't hear that stuff of course, no one would dare to say that kind of thing to his face. But I've heard things down the pub over a few pints."

"And you think it's true? "

"I wasn't sure at first. I ignored it. But I thought it was interesting when that bloke Martin Beldecos started rooting around. He was asking difficult questions, and waiting till he got answers that made sense. Then he was conveniently murdered. And when you got yourself stabbed, it was too much of a coincidence."

"So you talked to someone at DFR?"

"Yeah. Big mistake."

"Why?"

"Because he wrote about 'sources inside Dekker Ward,' didn't he? Then he spoke to me on the phone here. I reckon Eduardo was tapping it somehow. That's how they caught me."

"But why did you talk to him? You knew Ricardo wouldn't like it if he found out."

Dave sipped his tea and glanced at Teresa. "I dunno. It just seemed wrong. A bloke murdered, another guy attacked, everyone wringing their hands, no one asking the right questions. I'd been thinking a lot about it, and it didn't make sense. I'd probably have kept my trap shut, but we'd had a few beers, and I thought, what the hell. It just sort of slipped out. I didn't think it'd blow up in my face like that."

I nodded.

"I went to the police, you know," he said.

"Really?"

"Yeah. After they fired me. I was so pissed off, I wanted to get back at them somehow."

"And what did the police say?"

"It was a complete waste of time."

"Why?"

"Well, a murder in Venezuela is hardly their jurisdiction, is it? And Martin Beldecos was an American citizen technically resident in the Cayman Islands. I mean, it was a total nonstarter."

"What about the money laundering? Weren't they interested in that?"

"They was. Sort of. But Ricardo's clever. You see, most of his activities are not really regulated by anyone."

"Why not?"

"Well, to start with Dekker Ward, the stockbroker, is regulated by the Securities and Futures Authority, not the Bank of England. The SPA is less worried about money laundering. Then Ricardo's biz is all run from Canary Wharf, and the SEA deals mostly with Head Office in the City. Most emerging markets trading is unregulated anyway, it's not like trading on the London Stock Exchange. They keep a close eye on that. Anyway, many of Ricardo's trades are booked through Dekker Trust in the Caymans, which is a legally unrelated company, so it's outside the U.K. authorities'

control."

"I see." Ricardo had woven a compliance web that it was nobody's job to untangle.

"So, they keep a watching brief. As long as money isn't being laundered in London, which it isn't strictly speaking, there's not much more they'll do."

"And what about the police?"

"Not much better. If I can come up with a 'suspicious transaction,' they'll bimg it on a computer somewhere. Apparently they have banks reporting hundreds of dodgy transactions all the time."

I thought all this over. "Last month I came across a fax for Martin Beldecos from the United Bank of Canada. It said that the U.S. DEA is investigating Erancisco Aragao and that they'd traced a payment from him to Dekker Trust. Maybe they'll tie him in with Dekker. He is Ricardo's brother-in-law, after all."

"Erancisco Aragao, eh?" Dave rubbed his chin. "Well,

that would make sense. He sounds very dodgy/' He sighed. "You could try telling them, I suppose, but don't hold your breath." Dave saw my frown. "The best thing to do is to forget it, Nick. Look, when I get my pub, will you come in for a drink?"

"Of course," I said. "If you let me know where it is."

"I'll do that."

I stood up to leave. Dave gave me a lift to the station. As I was getting out of the car, he called to me.

"Nick?"

"Yes."

"Be careful. When Dekker has it in for you, they can turn nasty."

"I will." I smiled grimly, shut the door, and turned into the station.

Despite Dave's skepticism about the DEA, I thought it worth trying them. Now I had left Dekker there was nothing to lose. So, doing my best to ignore the damage it would do to my phone bill, I asked International Directory of Enquiries for the number of United Bank of Canada in the Bahamas, and dialed it. I soon got through to Donald Winters.

"Good morning. It's Nick Elliot here, from Dekker Ward in London. I'm a colleague of Martin Beldecos's."

"Oh, yes. What can I do to help you, Mr. Elliot?"

Luckily, it seemed that Winters hadn't heard about Martin's death.

"You sent a fax to Martin last month mentioning that you had linked a payment to our Caymans affiliate with Francisco Aragao."

"That's right. That was something to do with a lawyer called Tony Hempel, wasn't it?"

"I think so. You said something about Francisco

Aragao being under investigation by the U.S. Drug Enforcement Agency? "

"Yeah. Tm not sure what became of that. We haven't heard anything more from them.''

"Well, I wonder if you could send me details of your contact there?"

Winters paused. "Wait, didn't you send me a fax about that last month?"

"Yes, I did."

"I'm sure I faxed back the details. Didn't you receive them?"

So he had responded after all! And his reply had never made it back to me. Of course it might just have gone missing, but Dekker was efficient about things like that. More likely, someone had intercepted it.

"No, I never got it," I said, "I'm sorry to trouble you again."

"No problem." Winters gave me a name and number. I thanked him and hung up.

I dialed the new number. It was somewhere in the United States, but I wasn't familiar with the city code, so I didn't know exactly where.

The phone was picked up on the first ring. "Donnelly."

"Good morning. This is Nicholas Elliot from Dekker Ward in London. Donald Winters at United Bank of Canada gave me your name."

"Oh, yeah."

"I have some information relating to Francisco Aragao, who I believe you're investigating."

"Shoot."

So I told him about Martin's fax, Martin's death, and my own attack. I could hear the scribbling on the other Une.

"Do you have a copy of this fax?" Donnelly asked.

''No, but you can get the information from Donald Winters if you need it/'

"OK." More scribbling. "Have you reported your suspicions about this Martin Beldecos's murder, or the assault on you?"

"No," I said. "Fm not sure who to talk to about it."

"I understand. Well, thank you very much for the information, Mr. ah, Elliot. Can you give me a number where I can reach you?"

I gave him my home number. But I didn't want him to disappear without telling me what he was going to do.

"Are you going to investigate this?" I asked.

There was a moment's pause on the other end of the phone.

"This may be useful intelligence, Mr. Elliot. We are pursuing a number of investigations at the present time, and this might help us."

"But will you investigate Dekker?" I asked, unable to keep the exasperation from my voice.

"I'm sorry, I can't disclose who or what we're investigating. But thank you for the information, Mr. Elliot, and we know where we can reach you. Now good-bye."

I put down the phone. I was disappointed. I supposed I had hoped that squads of agents would fly out to London immediately to question Ricardo and Ed-uardo. But that obviously wasn't going to happen.

I tried to think of it from the DEA's point of view. They probably had a target in mind. Perhaps it was Francisco Aragao. Presumably they would use any information they could to help them nail that target, but they wouldn't necessarily allow themselves to be sidetracked by suspicions that were, I had to admit, unsubstantiated.

In some ways I felt better though. I had done my '.

duty, I had reported what I knew to the proper au !

thority Maybe now I could forget Dekker. i

But I couldn't forget Isabel. ]

23

I was woken by the sound of glass shattering and wood splintering. I sat up in bed, trying to get my bearings. There was loud banging from the sitting room. I threw myself out of bed and lurched through the door, still wearing only my underpants.

There were three of tiiem, big, hard men dressed in T-shirts and jeans. I threw myself at the nearest one, sending him crashing into a bookshelf.

"Get him!"

Strong hands pulled at my arms. I clung to the man underneath me, trying to force my arm around his throat. He bucked and kicked. The two others broke my grip, and hauled me to my feet. The man I had jumped on staggered upright and kicked me hard in the balls. I cried out and retched. Then there was a blow to my back that just missed my kidney, and a knee came smashing up into my face. My cheek stung and I tasted blood. But it was my groin that still hurt most. I tried to double up, but they wouldn't let me. Then something hard hit me on the side of the head, and all went black.