The Financial Terrorist Read online

  “He wants nothing. He may want help laundering stuff in the future. He’ll make a lot from the scam and he has more money than he really needs. I guess you owe him a favour, but there is nothing in his mind at the moment.”

  Charles knew that sounded unlikely, but he accepted the explanation and asked, “When will the papers be ready?”

  “I’ll have finished them off for my side tomorrow. All will be ready for the sale. I’m using one of the big investment banks over here. You can advise yourself, we can’t. You chose a law firm for the deal. Let’s aim for a preliminary announcement next week.”

  “In that case I’ll have to talk to the Bank of England. I’ll have to bring in the board and especially the Honourable James. He’ll have to come with me to the Bank of England. Why don’t I call a special board meeting for Thursday? That way we can talk to the officials on Friday. But you’ll have to cover several states. How will you do that?”

  “We’ll go in on Friday. We’ll talk to them all and also the Fed and others here in New York. PAF’s bosses are our people. They’ll do what we want and when we want it.”

  “OK. I’ll round up the lawyers and start the paperwork on this side. You can be at the meeting on a video link. I doubt you want to come back here to see me dragoon the nobility into line.”

  “I like it when they suck up to you, especially as they hate your guts. But I can watch it on TV. The atmosphere is not as cold that way.”

  Giovanni and Charles often joked. Indeed, Charles was closer to him than any of his own people, although he knew that Giovanni’s first loyalty would always be to his father-in-law.

  Charles then called his own father. He was working on creating the phoney investments to sell to PAF’s unsuspecting clients. Jacqui was getting him all the information he needed. He was also looking to find some shares to ramp, just as they had in the old days.

  “With five million suckers out there,” Jack Ryder said, “We need to hit it big time. I reckon we can easily sell five billion of investments; after all, that’s an average of a thousand dollars per client and that’s peanuts if they have a half decent sales force. I would expect to start by putting about two billion of phoney investments into them and three billion of genuine ones. Many of the genuine ones we’ll trade and ramp up, even before PAF’s clients get them, and that should let us skim off around another billion or so for our own purposes. That’s my latest calculation. So you may be able to up your take on the investment side to three billion.

  By the way, I am also working with Stephens on some real slick stuff that will allow us to milk the bank. His deals are so complicated that I have a hard time coming to grips with them. Technically he’s good. Personality wise, he even makes your father-in-law appear likeable.”

  Charles sounded nervous. “Don’t touch anything you feel you don’t understand. Don’t trust him. Give him no discretion.”

  “I’d worked that one out. You didn’t need to tell me. Oh, and by the way, Giovanni called and he gave me the names of some of the companies we can use. They have some special purpose Panamanian ones that are just ideal. This thing is really exciting.”

  “OK, let me leave that to you. Tell me how to do it but keep it simple. Find ways to get us to lend to them as well. But don’t forget I have already some targets to lend to and have placed every Lord or Lady we could find on their boards. We mustn’t overplay our hand or it will look too suspicious. But if you can get some of those new fangled investments going with Stephens, you know the ones that are really loans but don’t appear to be loans. Then we can blame him for those as well when he takes the fall, and I want that to be sooner rather than later. He deserves to drop.”

  It was well after six when Jacqui appeared. “Aren’t you ready? We have dinner with that City Guild. You know that charity do. Sir Brian is hosting our table, so we can expect some great yarns about hunting, shooting and fishing.”

  She kissed him. “Don’t look so pissed off. It’s for charity. You are doing your socialist bit and redistributing some of your ill-gotten gains.”

  Charles got up, straightened his tie and headed out. Maria was in her office and waved at him. “See you tomorrow,” she called. “Enjoy yourself with the cream of the City intelligentsia. Those men have more dollars than brain cells!”

  The car was waiting and they got into the back. Jacqui looked cool and elegant in a black cocktail dress. Her hair was pulled back and up. A plain gold choker, a gold watch, her wedding ring and single diamond engagement ring with matching earrings were tasteful additions to the simplicity of her outfit. She would turn heads and knew it as she smiled happily.

  Charles could not match her for style, but was dressed in a hand tailored dark suit. It was perhaps a bit too fashionably cut for the conservative taste of the City. The average age of the gathering tonight was likely to be over fifty, a good twenty years more than either Jacqui or him. They would be greeted with the usual mixture of condescension and jealousy. How dare they be billionaires at their age? And there were doubts about their origins. That petulant outburst of Wendy Dale before her death was typical of the snobbery of some of the old class in the City.

  They found Sir Brian quite easily in the crowd. Or, rather, they heard his booming voice and moved towards it in the bar. He was a small man with a substantial girth, half-hidden by a well-cut, double-breasted suit. He was on his third or fourth gin by the look of things, he was flushed and there was a thin sheen of perspiration on his face. He was of the old school, who abhorred the drunken antics of the ‘Essex traders’, as he called the foreign exchange boys. He believed his background meant he was immune to such behaviour. His view was that breeding meant you remained a gentleman even if drunk.

  Jacqui looked at him with distaste. “It’s going to be a bum pinching evening before the night is out. Keep me away from that revolting man, I’ll hit him one day. I’d better not in such public place, though.”

  “Charles, Jacqui,” Sir Brian brayed. “Come over and let me introduce you to some of the chums who’ll be at our table tonight. This is Sebastian and Tara. They’re in tin. This is Roderick. He’s in sugar. And you know the memsahib. She’s into my money.” That was capped with a great guffaw, not only from the speaker but also from his sycophantic entourage.

  Jacqui greeted his wifely apparition politely. She met the stares of the men with indifference, shook hands as appropriate. They accepted glasses of champagne, which was almost undrinkable. The waiters carefully covered the label with a white napkin. Its sweet and cloying taste indicated that this was no genuine champagne.

  Jacqui pulled Charles aside. “Let’s drift away. It’ll be hard enough when we are on the same table. This lot are even denser than his usual crowd. They give hooray Henries a bad name. The one in sugar has his shirt sticking out of his flies and nobody seems to have noticed it, perhaps it’s his normal way of dressing. Have you smelt his wife? I don’t know when she bought that outfit. Either it’s been in store or she’s wearing mothballs instead of pearls.”

  They half turned and noticed Sir Piers Rupert-Jones from Associated. He was walking in with his wife, she was an attractive woman in her fifties. They had met before. She was pleasant. Charles whispered to Jacqui, “Let’s talk to him. I want to see his reaction.”

  They walked over, “Sir Piers, Lady Rupert-Jones. How nice to see you again. How are you? Is business booming with you as well? We’re having a whale of a time.”

  “Oh hello, Rossi,” he said in a somewhat dismissive voice. “Mrs Rossi. How are you?”

  “Very well, thanks,” Jacqui replied. “Have you a table here?”

  “No, we’re joining some pals from my school, Eton. Where did you go to school, Rossi?”

  This was a classic put down. He had asked the question many times before, usually waiting till there were more people around. His wife looked embarrassed.

  “England. Jacqui was educated in America and Switzerland. I was at Oxford. Jacqui was at Vas
seur. You didn’t go to university did you? I thought that you came straight into your father’s firm at sixteen?”

  He reddened at these comments. He never realised that Charles and Jacqui were indifferent to his bluster and buffoonery, as indeed they were to all of his, happily declining, band of compatriots in the City.

  Jacqui said, “I was sorry to hear about your employee being killed yesterday. I heard it on the news. He was in drugs or something, wasn’t he?”

  Sir Piers reddened, “No, he was not, Mrs Rossi. We do not know the cause of the tragedy. We believe it may have been an affair of the heart.”

  It was lucky that, at that point, he gave them a curt nod and turned away. Charles had just stopped himself smiling at that unfortunate turn of phrase. He knew where Maria would have placed her stiletto.

  “He knows nothing. They don’t know of the connection. The Dale woman spoke the truth. His man was acting on his own,” Charles whispered to Jacqui. She nodded.

  The dinner wended its weary way through indifferent food in palatial surroundings. The wine was served in generous portions and in all varieties. Indifferent red followed acidic white, to be capped by a sweet dessert wine. That, in turn, left space for port or brandy, or both. Charles and Jacqui left most of theirs untouched, although others drank plentifully. One suspected, for most, it would be a toss up between suffering the pain of an inevitable hangover against the relief of being anaesthetised against the boredom of the self congratulatory speeches that would presage the end of the interminable evening.

  As they drove back, Charles turned to Jacqui, “Why do we have to go to such things?” As she started to reply, he said, “OK, I know we have to make believe we are part of that system. I only wish we could do it by proxy. Anyway, I’m tired. I need to get some sleep.”

  “And you have things to do tonight, don’t you?” she whispered into his ear. And, at the same time, gave it a surreptitious lick, laughing as she felt him shiver at the touch of her tongue.

  The next day was quite normal. Charles had more discussions with both Giovanni and his father. He arranged lawyers for the deal, and then he organised a board meeting for Thursday evening. The Hon. James shuffled into his office and queried the need for the meeting. “It is important,” Charles said. “I am honour bound not to say anything till Thursday.”

  The Hon. James looked at him with disbelief. He was undoubtedly thinking that honour and the Rossi family were strange bedfellows, but Charles let it slide. Life was too short and he would take a fall in time.

  Maria came to him, “The police have found the body in Kilburn. They believe it’s a simple break-in that went wrong. Dunkillin’s in a state of shock, as are a lot of the girls. I might go and have a little cry with them. It could look good.”

  Charles went to Dunkillin and commiserated. He was genuinely upset. Charles queried if he knew her well. The old boy started to look a bit woeful. He then let it all out. It appeared the prim Miss Dale had a very close relationship with him. He wasn’t worried about her, he was petrified that he could be implicated in a scandal. Charles looked suitably surprised.

  “Perhaps you should go to the police and see that they treat everything with discretion,” he suggested.

  Dunkillin looked horrified at the idea. “I don’t think so. Please don’t say anything. “

  “You didn’t see her this week. You weren’t round her place were you?”

  He was now petrified. “No. Of course, I wasn’t. I’ve never been there. She would come to my flat in Sloane Square. We were very discreet. She was so lovely. She had a wonderful figure, such a sweet face, lovely blond hair and a wonderful personality.”

  Charles’ impression of Wendy was of a plump wench with a gloomy appearance and bleached blonde hair. She hadn’t exactly seemed warm and cuddly during their one and only encounter of any substance. Still, he said nothing.

  Maria was with Jacqui when he returned and told them of the discussion. “The dirty old man,” exclaimed Maria. “And I thought she was an old maid. You have to watch the quiet ones. We could have sold her to your dad, Jacqui, if we had known.”

  “Hey,” said Charles mockingly, “Stop speaking like that. We need a bit of decorum. Have you no feeling or do you have to continue to stick your knife in?”

  They were both giggling and Charles saw this was going to develop badly. “Now, let’s put on the old mournful look. Maria, check out any other gossip. Go over Dunkillin’s office tonight for pictures or anything we can use, if we ever need to pressure him into something.”

  The next morning, Maria intercepted them as they walked into the office. “Come with the super sleuth and prepare yourself for a horrible sight.”

  She closed the office door and pushed down the engaged light. Then she opened her briefcase. She took out some photos. They were awful. Wendy was in the nude on a white rug in all her splendour, Wendy wearing a frilly short night-dress, and Wendy in a whole load of other poses, mainly nude or wearing strange underwear of the type available in cheap sex shops.

  “Oh, that’s really sad,” said Jacqui. “The poor man’s a weirdo.”

  “That may be. But they could come in use later. Did you find anything else?”

  “No. I checked Sir Brian’s office and the Honourable James’. They had nothing of interest. I had hoped that they might all be going hammer and tongs with her. That would have given us leverage on them all.”

  “That’s not necessary,” said Charles, “I already have a bit on the Honourable James and plenty on Sir Brian.”

  “Hey, come on and spill the beans. You never mentioned that before,” cried Jacqui.

  “I never thought it would interest you. Sir Brian frequents a strip bar down in Soho. He’s known as the kinky knight. As for the Honourable James, I have nothing on him directly but a load of filth on his son. The boy’s a total pervert and goes on sex holidays to Amsterdam. The Honourable James couldn’t afford to have that published.”

  “I can’t believe it,” gasped Jacqui. “I mean it’s not that they look normal. It’s just they look so boring. Who would have thought that sex could play a part in any of their lives?”

  “Don’t be too dismissive. I think the Honourable James is straight. His wife’s OK. It’s just his son who’s awful. Dunkillin has a bit on the side. That’s hardly rare. It’s only Sir Brian who’s a bit strange. And with a wife like his, can you blame him?”

  “You’re right,” said Maria. “I mean the poor man’s married to a human gorilla. God, the bitch’s ugly as sin, she has a better beard than many a man I’ve seen.”

  This debate on the wives of the old brigade continued for some time. In the end Charles called a halt, “I have to work and we have the board meeting to rubber stamp all that we have agreed. Then, tomorrow, we go to the Bank of England to get their blessing. On Saturday we want to announce that it’s a marriage, made in heaven.”

  And, indeed, that is exactly how it all came about. The board meeting didn’t last long. Charles timed it well enough for that. Evening boards are never popular, and, in any event, he made no attempt to allow anyone a drink. So the token great and the good were feeling fairly deprived. Worried that their immune systems would let them down without a top up, they agreed all that they were asked and then headed off to some happy hour in their clubs.

  The meeting with the Bank of England also went well. They didn’t actually say anything. They were agreeable though. There is one thing with the Central Bank in London, they are definitely not bureaucrats. And they enjoy the challenge of being the boss man in international banks. It all sounded good, and there was no cause for them to disagree with the words of enthusiasm from the Honourable James and Sir Brian. Charles kept in the background. The others were good enough at waffling about things they did not understand without any help from him.

  The phrases tripped off their tongues. They would do a thorough check with help from the auditors. The lawyers were top notch. The synergies were stron
g. There was empathy between the boards. They used every platitude in the book. They knew nothing of PAF, and even defined the ten-minute board meeting on the subject as one where they had long, detailed and fruitful debate about the deal.

  These were though not the only things they did. Maria, Jacqui and Charles were in all that weekend as well with their advisors. Then they announced the merger to the world.

  In every state where PAF had offices, they would have to meet the regulators during the following two weeks. They had to get their approval but it was clear that was going to be easy. Di Maglio out of the banking system was like manna from heaven for those in charge. IBE was reputable, even if there was something dubious about its youthful owners.

  Maria would keep track of events in London. She would be in contact with Charles at all times. That was nothing unusual. Maria was good at monitoring the bank and had done so before. She knew instinctively the smell of a problem even when she could not fully understand it. They had no qualms about being away.

  Although they were in the bank all weekend, they never did manage to get time to check out the board table again. They were too busy organising things for the merger. Then they went through the phoney investments they were creating with Charles’ father. They monitored the deals that Stephens had done, they looked over the companies to which they would lend and lose money, and they checked and re-checked the routes that the money they embezzled from IBE would take before it turned up at its different end destinations. Their plans were definitely complex. The good thing was that they would be difficult for any auditor or regulator to understand. And that made it easier to run their scams.

  Jack Ryder was optimistic, “I think we’ll make much more than you planned. I’ve run through some of the sums on the trades I’m setting up with Stephens. I think we’ll end up clearing between two and three billion on them. I have thought of another few wrinkles to several of the deals. The great thing is that they are fail-proof.”

  By the time Sunday night came, they had everything ready. Charles and Jacqui relished the idea of being in the US. Jacqui snuggled up to him. “We can have some fun as well as working. It shouldn’t be hard chatting up the local regulators, especially when they are overjoyed at the idea of my father getting out of their hair.”