Chapter Fourteen

Another elevator, the fastest means of transport in an office block. Guests for the function stood next to Savage, he rolled his sleeves down, retrieved his jacket from the bag then slung a pre-knotted tie around his neck just in case. By the time he'd finished he looked as smooth as he always did, apart from a couple of creases in the sleeves.

The pin-stripe next to him snickered and sneered as only the moneyed and entitled can. Savage's skin was still swarthy and tanned from the Middle East, he doubted whether the man could tell if he was white, black, Arab, servant or party-goer.

It must have confused the two brain cells rattling around in his domed head.

'At least you look vaguely human,' the man said.

The woman next to him choked on the pony she'd swallowed and snorted through her teeth. Savage assumed it was a laugh.

He turned to the pair. Looked them up and down, bared his teeth, and snarled.

'More human than you jack-ass.'

When the doors opened he ignored the man's, 'Listen here, you,' and strode towards the maitresse d'. A rather busy woman in sheer silk with two goons by her side. Savage gave them the once over. They did the same with him.

'Invite please,' she said.

He showed her his card and pass, 'I'm not here for the party. My boss Trevor Thomson is inside and we can't reach him on his phone.'

'All phones are switched off in the main room.'

'Then I need to find him. I'll be quick as I can.'

'Sorry sir, we'll send someone to find him for you,' she waved one of the goons over.

Smiles. 'That's great,' he said. A second elevator spat out its guests and they headed for the desk.

'But it'd be better if I found him.' He leaned in, 'Sensitive situation.'

'Sorry sir, as I said—'

'We've got a serious security situation downstairs,' he said, loud enough for the guests behind him to hear. He turned to the queue, 'We're losing millions of these fine peoples' money every minute and you want to waste time on procedure?'

'Millions?' someone said.

'Christ, there goes another gazebo,' another said.

The goon raised a hand to Savage's shoulder.

'Touch me and you'll be out of a job by the end of the day.' The goon scowled. Muscles liked to get their own way.

The maitresse d' stalled, 'Sir, really, I can't.'

'The hat check girl here thinks her clipboard is more important than you,' he said to the audience. 'Well, okay. I'll just wait here while one of these big lumps tries to find a man he doesn't know in a room full of people he doesn't know. I wonder how much money we'll lose in that time? Probably a headline by the end of the day, then our stocks plummet, then these people here lose even more money.'

'Oh can we get on,' shouted a towering silver fox at the back of the queue. 'Just let the man in already.'

'At least somebody serve us an aperitif while we wait for the run on the bank,' that got a chuckle.

The woman gave Savage a look, then stepped aside.

'Thanks. Hey you,' he said to the nearest goon, 'hold this,' and shoved the bag into the man's chest.

In the main room a glass of wine from a tray was the first order of business. Then he strolled.

The room took up half a floor of the tower and held about three hundred people. A few glances his way didn't reveal much. Investors, clients, it was a mixed bag. He saw a MILF eye-balling him, hell MILF was a young-person phrase, she was a vixen nearer his own age. He strolled over and caught her leer with one of his own.

'So, you come here often?' he said.

'Don't you?'

'No, first time. I was in the area. Thought I'd drop by. What's the occasion?'

'No occasion really. Since the bank stopped doing the big end of year event, what with not being able to justify costs for giant igloos, circuses, boat cruises and what-not to the Financial Services Authority the executive started running these smaller less conspicuous events.'

'Ah, I get it, no igloos but plenty of ice and lots to drink.'

'Did you go to that one? No, silly me, course you didn't. It was fantastic. Daniel has such an eye for the extravagant you know?'

'Does he?'

'Now we have to gather like a bunch of proles in a pub. Not that I'm against a hard working man,' she said and squeezed his arm. She liked what she felt.

Forget vixen, the woman was a cougar.

'There's more to you than meets the eye,' she said.

He gave her his best: no really, you are my dream woman grin.

'Talking of Sutherland,' Savage said, 'have you seen him?'

She waved a hand toward the corner of the room. 'Oh, he's around. Now, what do you do for money?' He replayed the line in his head. She knew exactly what she meant.

His smile got a little wider.

'I kill people.'

She laughed. 'Oh, please.'

'No, really. I'm particularly good with firearms, but I have quite the skill with a blade as well.'

She gave him a disbelieving look. 'I can use my hands of course, but it's always emotional up close. Too much of an “Oh my god? What have I done?” hangover. Makes relationships impossible afterwards, you know?'

She wore a kinked, uncertain smile.

'But it's okay,' he said, 'I take beta-blockers to stop the PTSD. Any speeches yet?'

She shook her head.

'Well, no worries, beta-blockers stop boring after-dinner speakers clogging your arteries too.'

'Oh, now you're just being silly.'

'Nah, that would be locking ourselves in a meeting room and necking like teenagers.'

'Don't tempt me,' she said, and groped his arm again.

'Deal.' He made to move off, she grabbed his hand.

'Wait, so what do you do, are you an investor, a banker, what?'

He spread his hands, let go of hers. Opening up felt good.

'I work for the FSA,' he said.

She recoiled. 'Oh,' the smile gone. 'I preferred you when you were a killer.'

*

Thomson hung about the edges of Sutherland's princely court as if he were the royal guard. Sutherland clearly thought of him as the court jester, not openly, but the way he never made eye contact when Thomson spoke said volumes.

Natasja stood behind Sutherland, facing away, acting as gate keeper to two men who wanted to pay homage. Or maybe the way she stood, legs planted shoulder-width apart so you could see her athletic body through the sheer panelled skirt held their interest more.

Savage took another glass of wine from a passing tray. Only to hold. After years in the dry Middle East his tolerance level for alcohol was at an all time low.

He worked his way towards their rear, nodded and smiled at other guests, used his glass to shield his face – until he got close enough to see the self-important expressions on the suck-ups in front of Sutherland.

'Daniel, how do you think the markets will respond to yesterday's assassination?'

'Araminta, my dear,' Sutherland said. 'I think they will respond how they always do, like frightened children.'

'But isn't that going to damage our investments?' a man said. 'Your business?'

'Tarquin,' Sutherland turned to a different man, 'Have you met Araminta? Very big in designer fashion and haute couture. Tarquin is the market leader in far east textiles, amongst other things, you two should talk.'

The two mugged at each other, she handed him a card from a silver handbag, he from his breast pocket. Sutherland turned to the questioner.

'Harvey,' he said, 'You really shouldn't worry yourself. How long have you been with us?'

'Six years Daniel, you know that.'

'Indeed. And have they been profitable years?'

'Very.'

'Despite the biggest crash since the Great Depression?'

'Actually, yes.'

'There's a reason for that.' He had their attention now. 'You see, every conspiracy theorist or financial blow-hard on CNN recognises that the financial legends who know what they're doing sell when the market is high and buy when the market is low, while hedging their bets through funds, currency and commodities. So, no matter what the market does, they win.

'But how many banks and investment houses actually know what they're doing?'

Their expectant faces begged an answer.

'Very few is the truth my friends. In good times they build markets made of hope and speculation, nothing solid, nothing real.

'And that's where booms and bubbles come from. Everyone gets greedy for easy credit, forgets the lessons of the past, and the cycle repeats.

'At Maclays we disrupt the pattern.' He stabbed a finger in the air. 'We acknowledge the past. And whether times are good or bad we only build or buy reliable and profitable markets. That's why we thrive when others struggle for survival.

'We,' he paused for a sip of champagne, 'are market-makers, and our skills, resources and capital are never going to disappear at the first sign of trouble. And where there's money, there's always trouble. But it doesn't matter how many assassinations there are, how many coups in Asia and Africa, how many great depressions, how many world wars...we will endure. We will still be standing when all others fall.

'So leave your money where it is my friends. And enjoy the party.'

'It's just as well you can endure, sir,' Thomson showed Sutherland his phone. A news story on the BBC website. Savage saw the word 'murder' in the headline.

'Here is proof my friends.' He held up the phone. 'Another assassin. Someone tried to kill our illustrious foreign secretary in Burkina Faso today.' He was smiling and realised it. 'I shouldn't make profit at his expense, but he's a good friend. He’ll understand. Check your portfolios – I guarantee the value of what you hold with us will sky-rocket this afternoon. Then see how your other investments have performed.

'Move them or be damned,' he said.

Savage watched Sutherland's exuberant smile switch off when he saw Scott Armstrong amongst the buzzing crowd of hand-shakers and back-slappers. Armstrong held the CEO's gaze.

Then something stirred in Savage. Someone behind him.

'Natasja,' he said, without turning round. ‘You move like a cat.’

'You weren't invited,' her lips almost touched Savage's neck. 'What,' her warm breath caressed his skin, 'are you doing here?'

'I'll show you,' he stepped forward. 'Daniel?' he held out a hand.

Sutherland extended his. 'Hello,' he said politely.

'That was a great speech.'

'Really? How dreadful of me, it wasn't supposed to be a speech.' Sutherland's eyebrows creased. 'Do you have a name? Only your face isn't familiar.'

'John Savage. And you didn't show up at yesterday's meeting.'

A look of recognition. 'I apologise. Matters of the financial state to attend to,' Sutherland said. 'You know how it is. I did send Natasja. I understand you know her from when you were last with us. From the Michael situation.'

Thomson stood to Savage's left. Anger radiated from the man. The clenched fists a total give-away.

'Relax Thomson,' Sutherland said. 'We're just talking. He has every right to be annoyed. He thinks I snubbed him. It never does to make a man feel impotent. Does it, Mr Savage?'

He didn't know whether to smile or punch him.

'Couldn't you have cackled when I introduced myself?' Savage said. 'Preened a white cat perhaps? This charm and charisma thing just confuses me all to hell.'

'Not to worry.' Sutherland smiled. 'My friends,' he gestured to the assembled elite around him. 'I'd like to introduce Mr John Savage.' They nodded acknowledgement or raised glasses.

'John here works for the FSA,' the milky white faces soured.

'Now, now. Be nice. John is working with us for a few weeks to confirm our solid business platform. He's here to weed out any unsavoury goings on, troubled characters, any dubious transactions. You see, Maclays has nothing to hide. We welcome anyone who can test us and make us better. Isn't that right Mr Savage?'

'I guess.'

'He is by the nature of his role, confidential and a man of few words, but,' he held up his open hands, 'let's keep everything transparent shall we? What have you found so far?'

So much easier when someone shot at you.

'Well,' Savage said, 'there are some funds missing—'

'How much?'

'Tens of millions.' There was a gasp.

'Is that much compared to other banks?'

'No. Most banks don't go public with their losses for fear of bad press and scared customers.'

'And what are you doing about it Mr Savage?'

'The money? Well, Thomson here has already found a few missing millions and the people responsible.'

'Well done that man,' Sutherland gestured a hand toward him. 'Our Security Director ladies and gentleman.' A small smattering of applause followed. A smile nearly cracked Thomson's dour features.

'But not all of it,' Savage said. 'I think I've found about half the rest of it,' he looked in Armstrong's direction, Sutherland reacted with a smile.

'That's wonderful,' he said. 'and how long have you been here? A day? You'll have found us buried treasure by the week's end.' The crowd chuckled. A few long-distance gawkers joined in.

'Trouble is Mr Sutherland. You're involved.'

'Ooh, the plot thickens,' Sutherland hammed it up. 'Do tell.'

'There's a certain company siphoning funds from the bank. You introduced them to the business.' He waited for a sword of Damocles to slice through Sutherland's confidence. His smile simply blunted the blade.

'Really. What's the name of the company?'

Armstrong started looking for a way out.

'That's confidential for now,' Savage said. Armstrong relaxed. 'but you did introduce them. At one of these events to be precise.'

Sutherland's smile turned up a few watts. He held his hands out to the crowd, wrists together. 'Well then, you'd better lock me up right now and throw away the key.' The crowd laughed at his pantomime. Then he put a hand on Savage's shoulder and shook his head.

'Mr Savage, look around you. There are hundreds of people here today. There's probably more than one bad egg. It's not like I'm in a position to run a background check while sipping champagne now is it?'

'Well—' Savage felt his cheeks warm.

'You need to buck up your ideas young man, you've started well, but,' he said, clenching one hand into a fist, 'you need to work a little harder than that.'

'Daniel,' Natasja said. 'It's time. Speeches.'

Thomson chuckled away. Savage's cheeks caught fire.

What the hell just happened?

A reconstruction zone in the Middle East prepared you for a lot of things, mainly boredom and violence, not the well versed tongue of a chief executive.

'Sutherland, wait,' all heads turned. 'There's something else.'

The look on the Sutherland's face said hurry up.

'Jessica Price.' Savage waited for recognition. Sutherland didn't give anything away, but Natasja's face darkened.

'The missing journalist?' Sutherland said. 'What of her?'

'I found your name next to her decapitated head just last week. Care to comment?'

His smile faltered, but he recovered. 'She's a financial journalist. I'm the head of a financial institution, how would you say it got there?' Sutherland pointed his head towards a distant podium. 'Duty calls. We'll speak soon Mr Savage.'

Natasja grabbed Sutherland's arm and led him through the crowd.

'My, my, you are flying that kite high today Savage.' Thomson's voice rasped like steel on a vice. The two goons stood behind him. How long had they been there?

'But thanks for bigging me up. Boys, escort Mr Savage out of here. Now.'

They moved in. 'My surveillance?'

Thomson laughed then the goons pushed Savage through the crowd. He resisted the urge to smash a glass and rake it across a face, just about managed it.

At the now quiet front desk Savage heard Sutherland start up on stage. Their conversation had merely been a warm up.

The goons shoved his bag against his chest.

'Good news,' Savage said, 'at least I'll miss the speeches.'

They moved him past the elevator. One of the shaven headed pair said, 'Bad news.' The other opened the fire door. 'Now you walk,' and threw him into the stair well with enough strength to hit the wall.

The door closed to reveal a giant number fifty in light blue lettering. He tried the door on the floor below.

Locked. One way security door.

Looks like he'd skip the run that evening. At least he'd have time to figure out his next move on the way down.

*

Kevorkian's phone was full of messages. He sat back at the kitchen table and read the first one.

I miss you already. How many days until I see you again? Arg!!! XXX

Tayla. He texted back:

Feeling is mutual. Stay busy. The week will fly. X

The next message was from a very different woman.

Another government job has failed. No grandstanding this time. IMMEDIATE PRIORITY. Check the market.

His phone pinged, that must answer tone. He logged into the system, his back-up guess had moved up the board. The project was live.

He read back the details of the guess. He’d presented it to the market some time ago. It was still a good plan.

He grabbed the paper bag with the gardening materials, then pulled out the fertiliser, the last bag he'd need. It always amazed him what destruction you could cause with simple household supplies.

He pulled out the multi-coloured hues of police car decals for the City of London police force and laid them flat on the table.

He stopped and stared into the bedroom, Tayla’s fragrance, her desert warmth, lingered in his apartment. He flicked on the radio, the instant drone of the DJ smothered his thoughts. The opening bars of a familiar riff kicked in.

'Just stay busy,' he said to himself, 'and the week will fly by.'