‘Coltan.’
‘And that is…?’
A year earlier, Carver would not have had the first idea how to answer that question. Now his response was automatic. ‘A mix of two minerals: columbite and tantalite. They’re refined to produce niobium and tantalum respectively. Very useful metals: got a lot of industrial applications.’
‘You sound very knowledgeable.’
‘Getting there.’
‘And it is doing well for you, I imagine.’
‘Shares up fifty per cent in the past six months.’
‘So the dividends will be generous this year?’
‘Very.’
‘And yet,’ Shafik repeated, ‘you will still accept the job that I am about to offer you.’
The blond man reappeared, followed by a hotel employee carrying a tray laden with bottles, cutlery and plates of food. Carver took his beer and had a sip before he replied, ‘I doubt that very much. And you don’t need me, anyway. You’ve obviously got people who can handle wet work.’
Shafik gave a dismissive shrug. ‘At a low level, yes, but they have their limits. You, on the other hand, have quite a reputation in certain circles.’
‘What circles would those be?’ said Carver, cutting himself a slice of bread.
‘Ones in which men of great wealth and power continue to seek ways to exercise their influence at the highest level.’
‘Ah, those men,’ Carver said. He placed some goat’s cheese on the bread, took a large bite, and in-between chews said, ‘Yeah, they used to like what I did.’
‘Quite so. And of course, I knew Quentin Trench quite well: we had a shared professional interest in special forces operations.’ Shafik sighed. ‘I wonder what happened to him…’
Carver thought about the storm-whipped night in the English Channel when he had last seen Trench. ‘Yes, I wonder,’ he said, swallowing the last of his bread. He looked Shafik in the eye. ‘But this reputation I have, and your friendship with dear old Trench, didn’t stop you jerking me around. What was that crap at the restaurant all about?’
‘I wanted to see how you responded under pressure. You did very well. You reacted immediately to what was happening. You were resourceful, efficient, ruthless, even merciless… And that is why you will say yes to my offer. For whereas my people evidently did not kill Miss Sternberg, you did, in fact, leave a dead body lying in a rubbish bin barely two hundred metres from here. The local police are at present unaware of its presence. My men can ensure that they never will be. The moment I give them the signal, they will do what is required to make all trace of your crime disappear…’
The longer this conversation went on, the less Carver liked it. ‘Crime?’ he said.
‘Of course… how else would you describe an unprovoked attack on a man who had not harmed you in any way — who did not even know you were there?’
Carver did not respond.
‘Your silence speaks volumes. You committed a murder, and you will be found guilty of the charge if it ever comes to court. Your victim’s name was Eriksen, by the way; he has, or rather had, a wife and a young daughter. I am sure that when they appear in court, they will touch the hearts of everyone who sets eyes on them.’
For a second, Carver was ashamed at what he had done. He was also unnerved by the ease with which Shafik had played him… was still playing him.
‘You have every reason to want Eriksen’s body to disappear, and none at all to encourage me to do my civic duty and report both the dead man and you to the police. The clothes line is still there. There will be small fragments of your skin on the cord. You will be found guilty, count on it. And you will spend many years in prison. Do I make myself clear?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I will assume that you will accept my offer…’
7
Shafik pressed a speed-dial number and spoke: ‘Remove Eriksen. But do not dispose of him. Not yet.’
Carver had no intention of taking Shafik’s job, whatever it was. On the other hand, leaving now would entail either killing or at the very least disabling the other three people in the garden. It was doable, but it would only complicate the situation still further, and he didn’t need the aggravation. ‘So who’s the target?’ he said.
Shafik relaxed, sitting back in his chair, confident that, for now at any rate, he had got what he wanted. ‘His name is Malachi Zorn. He is an American, based on Long Island, New York.’
‘And what’s his problem?’
‘He costs other people a great deal of money. My clients are usually competitors, but they are united in the conviction that their businesses-’
‘Their banks?’
‘Yes.’
Carver gave an exasperated sigh. ‘Unbelievable. You want me to stop bankers losing money. I never thought I’d stoop that low.’
Ginger laughed. Shafik looked at her sharply, then allowed himself a smile. ‘Very good, Mr Carver, but this is not just about bankers. Malachi Zorn makes a great deal of his money placing very large bets against corporations. He takes short positions or uses derivative instruments that capitalize on falling asset prices and even total collapse. The very act of taking these positions taints his targets. Perfectly good, well-run, solvent companies can be destroyed. And all these companies have shareholders, the majority of whom are funds run for the benefit of ordinary citizens: investing for their future, for their pensions. They are the ones who get hurt by a man like Zorn.’
Carver had been eating olives while Shafik made his speech in defence of shareholder capitalism. ‘And there was I thinking this had something to do with senior executives getting nervous that their bonuses might be a zero or two short this year,’ he said when it was over.
Ginger laughed. ‘I hadn’t realized that you were such a cynic, Sam.’
‘Huh… no matter how hard I try to be cynical, the truth is almost always far worse.’
Shafik gave a contemptuous snort. ‘Grow up, Carver. The only way all the little guys make a small amount of money is if the big guys make lots of it. That is how the system works. Anything else is just… communism.’
‘But why do you want Zorn removed now?’ Carver asked. ‘It sounds like he’s been operating for quite a while. Why the sudden desire to stop him?’
‘Because…’ Ginger began. Then she stopped herself and looked at Shafik. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.’
‘Not at all… go ahead.’
‘Up until now Zorn has always worked alone,’ Ginger continued. ‘That’s been the source of his mystique: one man, betting his own money against the system.’
‘Or a spoilt playboy playing his selfish games at other people’s expense,’ Shafik snapped.
Ginger flicked her eyes up at the heavens in mock exasperation. ‘You’ll have to excuse my boss, Sam. He takes our work very personally sometimes.’
‘I don’t give a damn about your boss,’ Carver replied. ‘Tell me about Zorn. What’s changed?’
‘He’s getting partners for the first time in his career: serious investors. He’s using their money to start a fund: Zorn Global. Very private, very exclusive, but also very well-financed. He’ll have tens of billions of dollars behind him, all provided by ultra-high-net-worth individuals. No institutions at all.’
‘So he’ll have more leverage, and be able to do more damage, as they would see it, to your clients?’
‘You have got it in one, Mr Carver,’ said Shafik.
‘Well, you’re right about one thing. I’d certainly have turned down the job.’
‘But…?’
