Greed, page 21
The environment they encountered inside was very similar to that within Will Cantor’s hotel, if not even more opulent. It wasn’t as if all the men were walking around in bespoke suits exactly – Jan couldn’t have told the difference, and in any case some of them were dressed like him and Fitz. The guests here were just different somehow. They moved differently. They behaved differently too, with a naturalness and self-confidence that presumably only the appropriate upbringing – or exceptional success – could bestow. They had pedigree. For Jan they were all simply rich, which meant that according to Kim’s study they should be gloriously happy, although they didn’t all look it.
Some of them might be less well off than others. Jan pictured it this way: if you have a million and are surrounded by poor people, you feel rich; but if you’re surrounded by billionaires, having only a million makes you feel like a total failure. He guessed Kim and Nida probably had a few mathematical formulas up their sleeves to explain it.
On the other hand, these people were all human. However much dosh they had, they could still get sick or catch a fatal disease. They aged, and might be trapped in an unhappy marriage or be hopelessly in love with the wrong person. Did anyone ever consider those possibilities?
Jan was usually very self-assured, but he felt uncomfortable in these surroundings. He reflected on Kim’s words. He’d grown up in a different world to these people. Here, his instincts might prove to be his downfall.
Fitz, on the other hand, was in his element. He immediately strode over to a woman behind a table with a ‘Concierge’ sign on it. She smiled at them, studiously ignoring their appearance.
‘Ms Jeanne Dalli is expecting us,’ Fitz announced.
The woman cast a glance at the screen in front of her and pointed to the right-hand side of the lobby, where tables of some dark, exotic-looking wood and curving armchairs upholstered in blue velvet stood between marble columns.
Before the concierge could say ‘Your table is over there,’ Jan had spotted the woman whose photos he’d seen online.
‘Not fair’ was the first phrase that occurred to him. His mind went back to the conversations of the past few hours. An accident of birth had placed a silver spoon in the mouth of this creature. She looked like a model from the pages of a magazine. He knew she was incredibly intelligent and successful. She had probably already earned many times over his total expected lifetime income. She worked with one of the richest men in the world and rubbed shoulders with the others. It was not fair.
She was wearing a suit consisting of a brightly coloured jacket and a tight skirt cut just above the knee. He was nearly knocked sideways by Jeanne Dalli’s gorgeous smile when she greeted them. Thank you, cruel world!
No sooner had they sat down than one of the waiters in a white jacket and black bowtie hurried over to their table. Jeanne ordered still water, Fitzroy Peel tea and the kid – introducing him, Fitz had simply said, ‘This is Jan’ – a coffee.
‘Fitzroy Peel,’ she said to the lanky Brit with the shaved head. The only thing he had in common with the ageing diplomat of the previous evening, aside from self-assurance bordering on arrogance, was his height. ‘I met a man called Ambrose Peel last night. A British diplomat. You—’
‘My father,’ Peel said, interrupting her. ‘I should’ve guessed he’d be here. Did he behave himself?’ he asked facetiously.
‘Like a true gentleman,’ Jeanne replied, surprised that Pell should lay bare a family conflict quite so blithely, but Peel’s tone of voice suggested he didn’t wish to discuss the matter any further. ‘But you wanted to talk to me about Will.’ She glanced at her small and very expensive watch, adding, ‘I can give you ten minutes before I need to leave for the summit.’
‘That’s fine,’ Peel said. ‘To cut to the chase: I knew Will from our studies and from our first jobs together at Goldman Sachs. We saw each other occasionally after that, the last time being about nine months ago. Last night our young friend Jan here witnessed Herbert Thompson, Will Cantor and the driver of their limousine being burned alive in their car by a hit squad after their car crashed. Before he died, Will apparently mentioned my name and yours. That’s how Jan managed to trace me to a bar. The hit squad attacked us there and then tried again later at Will’s hotel, where Jan and I had been searching for clues. All we found, however, were a few notes that didn’t help us much. That was the short version.’
Are you pulling my leg? Am I really supposed to believe this story? Her facial expression must have betrayed her thoughts.
‘I wouldn’t have believed a word I’m saying either,’ Peel said. A restless depth to his eyes, the little dimples around his mouth: very much his father’s son.
‘I told you all I have to say over the phone,’ Jeanne said hesitantly. ‘I couldn’t recall anything else about my conversations with Will. He did initially ask me about the Kelly criterion, but Kelly really isn’t compatible with modern economic theory. He was written off back in the sixties.’
‘That’s strange,’ Fitzroy said. ‘I use Kelly every day with great success to count poker and blackjack cards. You mean I’m earning my living with a theory that economic science says doesn’t work?’
Jeanne gave an involuntary and bitter laugh. ‘You sound like Will sometimes did. I can tell you were friends.’
‘Great minds think alike,’ Fitzroy said nostalgically. He shrugged. ‘But my job is to earn money, not challenge economic theories.’
‘That was clearly the task Will had set himself. He apparently read a great deal on the subject, uncovered scientific papers by some mathematician or physicist or other, and raised various abstruse ideas with me. One of the Bernoullis was apparently wrong …’
‘Family of major eighteenth-century mathematicians and physicists,’ Peel whispered to the German kid. He was clearly capable of following their conversation in English. ‘Which particular Bernoulli,’ he asked Jeanne, ‘and on what subject?’
‘Daniel,’ she said. ‘On expected utility, one of the pillars of micro-economic theory. According to Will, or to the papers he cited, our calculations have been faulty for almost four hundred years. As I said, I thought it was just a clumsy attempt at flirting with me.’
‘It may well have been that too. Getting on with women wasn’t Will’s greatest talent. You don’t know anything about his acquaintance with Thompson?’
She shook her head, but her thoughts drifted to the manuscript in Ted’s safe. She intended to remain wary of this stranger for now.
Peel laid out several sheets of paper in front of her. Diagrams with text. It looked like a simple village. Wheat, a woman.
‘Can you make sense of these?’
‘What are they?’
‘Will’s notes,’ Peel said, ‘edited by me.’
Jeanne skim-read the first page. Picture four farmers. Her cheeks grew hot. She’d read about farmers a few hours earlier on a scribbled sheet of paper in Ted’s suite.
‘Do you have the original?’ she asked, barely managing to stay calm.
Peel hesitated before producing another sheet of paper from his inside pocket. White writing on a grey shaded background. There was a little drawing in the top corner.
‘This is the imprint of the original, which must have been written on the sheet above it,’ Peel said.
Jeanne immediately recognized the sketch of the little balls. She took a sip of water to buy herself some time. ‘Thanks,’ she said, pushing the sheet aside. ‘Why don’t you give me a quick précis of this funny little story?’
51
Maya leaned against the outside wall of the technical lab, closed her eyes and tried to wish her headache away. In vain. She dug a cigarette out of her handbag, offered one to Jörn, who declined, and lit hers. That was better.
Her phone rang in the bottom of her bag. Headquarters.
‘Paritta.’
‘We’ve received a call from The Estate hotel. They think they’ve seen the two men you’re hunting.’
Maya immediately stood to attention. Because of Thompson’s importance, they’d forwarded the wanted notice to all the summit hotels. You never knew.
‘At The Estate?’ That super-luxury place? Unlikely. ‘When?’
‘A few minutes ago.’
‘And where are they now?’
‘At the hotel.’
‘At the hotel? What are they doing?’
‘Drinking coffee.’
‘What?! I’m on my way.’
52
El was able to follow the conversation via his earphone, albeit with quite a lot of static. Footage from a CCTV camera was relayed to the screen of his smartphone. Judging by the angle, the camera must be somewhere near him on the lobby mezzanine. Peel was telling a story about farmers and their fields to the woman whose name the client hadn’t told him. As Peel talked, he pointed to a number of diagrams he’d spread out on the table in front of him.
El had selected a position on the mezzanine from which he needed to crane his neck to see the table in real life rather than simply on his phone. If he sat where he was, the group down below wouldn’t be able to see him.
His eyes once more drifted away from the screen briefly in search of the camera. Nowadays the things were so tiny it was hard to spot them if they’d been installed with a modicum of skill. He hadn’t mounted them himself; his client had provided him with a live stream and the accompanying sound via his mobile. He had no idea how they’d done it. A tiny bug under the table? Maybe they’d hacked the lady’s phone, although El couldn’t see it anywhere. The sound quality was too good for a hacked mobile in a handbag.
The woman studied the papers again.
His client’s tinny-sounding voice asked, ‘What’s that?’
‘I can’t see,’ El said. ‘Can we zoom in?’
‘Not close enough.’
The woman laid the documents back on the table and looked across at Fitzroy Peel. ‘So?’ she asked. ‘What comes next?’
‘We’ve weighed up all the possibilities,’ Fitz said after he’d finished relating the farmers’ fable, ‘but we still can’t figure it out.’
‘Nor can I,’ Jeanne said, checking her watch. The meeting had lasted longer than scheduled. ‘I wouldn’t know how to go about it either.’
She had a hunch, though, and it was getting stronger and stronger. She’d not felt this uneasy since she was small.
‘I have to go,’ she said, wrangling with her conscience. For years her job had forced her to make quick, tough decisions, but this was a whole different kettle of fish. The potential consequences …
No, she couldn’t afford to look round right now. She was losing her cool and she hated it. Keep calm!
Mitch and two of his men were watching to see if she touched her ears or her nose. She took another sip of water.
Disappointed, Fitzroy tucked the sheets outlining the farmers’ fable back in his pocket. How had he ever thought this woman or this stupid fable might help them? It was nothing but a wild goose chase. He blamed it on last night’s crazy events and lack of sleep. It was over. He would return to his hotel, shower, sleep, call the police – in whatever order – and await subsequent developments. He’d done all he could for Will, and sooner or later the police would realize that Jan was innocent too.
What was wrong with the kid? Jan’s face was as ashen as the sheets of paper the three of them had been poring over. His eyes roamed wildly around the room until they locked on to Fitzroy’s face with the desperation of a drowning man.
‘Don’t look up,’ he breathed. ‘One of the men from the Golden Bar and Will’s hotel is standing at the back of the lobby. He’s watching us.’
Fitzroy was sitting with his back to the lobby and thus, if Jan was right, to one of the hitmen.
Ignore the elephant in the room. Don’t look round at the man who almost murdered you.
Fitzroy summoned all his powers of self-control to repress his desire to run.
Jeanne picked up on their peculiar behaviour. ‘What is it?’ she asked, as she prepared to take her leave of them, her body half turned away.
Fitzroy stood up and whispered to her, ‘Don’t do anything that’ll attract attention. Jan says one of Will’s murderers is here.’
He could tell from the stiffness of her body language that she too was struggling not to look.
‘Who?’ she said. ‘Where is he?’
Jan had also got to his feet.
‘Where?’ Fitzroy asked him.
‘Next to the last column, right at the back,’ he whispered.
53
Jeanne’s head was about to burst from the mixture of sounds in the lobby – people talking, suitcases being rolled along the floor, phones ringing, the clatter of crockery and the rustle of clothing and newspapers. Her body felt numb. The kid was imagining things, surely?
‘How did he find us?’ Jan asked. The panic in his voice made his English falter even more. ‘How did he know we were here?’ He stared at Jeanne. ‘Who knew about our meeting?’
Jeanne bit back her indignation. ‘You cannot be serious!’ she hissed.
‘I don’t believe this is an accident,’ Jan said. ‘Did you tell anyone we were meeting here?’
‘That’s an absurd allegation,’ she said frostily as her mind whirred. Who had she told? Ted and Mitch. She’d never seen the man before. He wasn’t a member of Ted’s security detail. ‘I’ve never seen that guy in my life before.’
‘That’s not what I asked,’ Jan said. ‘I had only one question.’
‘OK, everyone stay calm,’ Peel said. ‘I’m going to check him out.’
He turned round and moved his head back and forth as if searching for a waiter. When one spotted him, Peel beckoned discreetly with his hand and the man hurried over to them.
‘The bill, please,’ Peel said.
The man walked away again.
Peel turned back to Jeanne.
‘Jan’s right,’ he told her. Beads of sweat were gathering on his brow. ‘I recognize him all right. He tried twice to kill us last night, but we were able to shake him off. How come he’s back on our trail?’
We were able to shake him off.
She wrestled with herself for a second. ‘I told Ted Holden about your suspicion,’ she confessed, ‘and his head of security, Mitch McConnell, too. Herbert Thompson was his adviser and a close acquaintance after all, and Will Cantor was his employee.’
‘Anyone else?’
Jeanne objected to Jan’s tone of voice. Like an inquisitor. She’d had enough. ‘No,’ she snapped.
‘Then there are only two possibilities,’ Peel suggested. ‘The first is coincidence, but that’s highly unlikely. The second is that someone informed the hit squad, and that can only have been you, Ted Holden or his head of security.’
‘Are you mad? This has nothing to do with me! This has nothing to do with us.’
If only she didn’t have that nagging doubt at the back of her mind. On the other hand, Thompson had advised Ted, and Will had worked for him. Maybe they gave him the manuscript or sent it to him.
One of her phones rang in her bag.
It was Ted. ‘We need to get going,’ he announced. ‘I’m down in the car park already. Are you coming?’
She glanced at Fitzroy and Jan and out of the corner of her eye at the killer. Next she looked for Mitch and the other two. They were nowhere in sight. She sat down again and put her hand to her shoe.
‘You go ahead,’ she said. ‘I’ve broken a strap on one of my shoes. I’ll have to go back to my room and change it. My whole outfit too, of course, so it matches the shoes, you know how it is … I’ll take a taxi there.’
‘OK, fine. How was your conversation?’ he asked.
‘A waste of time.’
‘I thought it would be. I’ll see you later then.’
‘What are they doing?’ El heard his client say via his earpiece.
‘Saying goodbye, shaking hands. The woman’s leaving.’
‘Which way?’
‘Towards the lifts, I think.’
‘And the other two?’
‘Standing around, waiting.’
‘What are they talking about?’
‘I’m listening to your stream,’ said El, ‘and I can’t hear a thing. They must be too far away from the mike, and there’s too much background noise.’
‘Where’s the woman now?’
‘Just getting into the lift.’
El could see on his phone display that Wutte and Peel were still hovering next to their table. Finally the waiter came back and handed them the bill. Peel exchanged a few words with him and settled up. El could see his lips move but all he heard were the sounds of the lobby – the rattle of cups and the hum of conversation.
‘OK,’ the client said. ‘You’ve got them covered then?’
The waiter walked away, but this time over to the reception desk rather than back to the restaurant at the other end of the lobby. The Samaritan and the gambler sat down again, watching the waiter in silence.
‘They’re not leaving yet,’ El reported, ‘but we’re ready for them when they do.’
‘No change to the instructions, but don’t try anything in the hotel. Is that clear?’ the client said. ‘Wait till they’re outside when they’re a good distance away.’
‘Copy that,’ El said.
‘No more mistakes or you’ll suffer the consequences. Let me know when it’s done.’
El clenched his jaw. Or you’ll suffer the consequences. The man was threatening him, but if he thought he could scare El, he could think again. All he’d done was make him angry.
Downstairs, Wutte and Peel were sitting there as if they were just regular guests waiting for another coffee, looking around mutely as though they were bored.
Jack’s muted voice in El’s ear: ‘Five hotel staff coming my way. One looks like a manager, the others like security.’
‘And they’re heading straight for you?’ El asked in alarm.
