Bad Intentions Read online

  Morrison simply nodded; long years of experience had taught him to accept the word of his clients. Privately he was not so sure this would be as simple as the Chairman liked to suppose, but for now he would keep his feelings to himself.

  The Daimler drew up outside the front gates of the Bank at seven minutes to ten. Outside the two great bronze doors was the discreet sign: 'No admittance, except on business'. The party climbed out of the cars, and went through the doors. To either side of them were the doormen, dressed in the distinctive livery of the Bank: red waistcoats, pink tailcoats and top hats. They explained their business at the desk, and were told that Mr Donaldson would meet them in the first-floor committee room usually reserved for audiences with the Deputy Governor. A doorman escorted them through the magnificent marbled lobby, and led them up one flight of stairs.

  A marble fireplace and the clock above it dominated the room. The windows looked out on to the garden court below, and down the centre of the room was a long wooden table. The Chairman sat down, and the rest took their cues from him, seating themselves around the table. It was still three minutes to ten, and they were the first to arrive.

  Julian Symonds entered the room at one minute to ten. He was accompanied by the Swiss ambassador, Dieter Helms, a tall, elegant man wearing a well-cut double-breasted suit, with horn-rimmed glasses covering his eyes. Two assistants from his bank followed Symonds into the room, plus a legal adviser. Symonds and Morrison were already well-acquainted, and the two men shook hands. Symonds introduced Helms, first to Morrison and then to the Chairman, who welcomed him with a firm handshake and a broad smile. Symonds's eyes were scanning anxiously around the room. There was no sign of Tara and Jack and he had not heard from them since yesterday morning. Once again, he was starting to wonder where they were.

  It was ten o'clock, and the chimes of St Paul's could be heard from several streets away. With the precise timing on which he prided himself, Donaldson entered the room. He was flanked by two members of his staff, experts in financial regulation and take-over law, there to advise him on any decisions that might have to be made this morning.

  He walked through he room, shaking hands with each person in turn. They greeted him warmly and with a hint of deference; people, Donaldson had noted, were still impressed by the dignity and tradition of the Bank, even if much of it was a fiction these days. He sat down at the head of the table, and indicated, simply through the inflection of his eyebrows, that the meeting was called to order. Along the length of the table, the rest of the party also sat, the Kizog and Ocher camps taking up opposite sides, facing each other, for the first time since the bid began, over four feet of fine oak. Donaldson cleared his throat. 'I believe there are certain matters you wished to raise this morning, Mr Symonds.'

  'Indeed there are,' replied Symonds calmly. 'We believe there are serious irregularities in the way Kizog conducts its business and in the way it is financing this bid. Once these matters are fully explained, I feel sure the Bank will agree that the bid should be immediately suspended, and inquiries should begin into Kizog's activities.'

  'We are most happy to hear you out, Mr Symonds,' responded Donaldson. 'Please explain your concerns.'

  Symonds glanced across the table. The expressions there struck him as strangely confident and serene; there were no signs of nerves in their eyes. Two possibilities, he decided; either they have no idea how much Tara and Jack have discovered; or they are aware, and know something I don't. He could feel a trace of moisture on his brow as he realised the second possibility was the more likely explanation.

  'If you will forgive me, Deputy Governor,' Symonds explained. 'I am waiting for two more people with a role to play in these events to arrive. Perhaps we could wait just a few more minutes before we begin.'

  'If you wish,' replied Donaldson crisply.

  A tense silence fell over the room. To his side Symonds could see the clock on the wall. It was already seven minutes past ten. He had posted a man at the door to keep watch for Tara and Jack, and instructed him to make sure they arrived in the committee room the instant they showed up at the Bank. He had told his office to put any calls he received from them straight through to this room. If there were any problems, he could be contacted on his mobile. But there was still no sign of them.

  Where are they? he wondered, with growing apprehension.

  Across the room, Symonds could hear the slow tapping of the Chairman's fingernails against the wooden table-top. 'May I remind you, Deputy Governor, that this bid closes at twelve,' he said. 'Anxious though I am to hear and defend myself against these allegations, time is pressing.'

  'I understand your concerns, Sir Kurt,' replied Donaldson. 'You may be sure the Bank has no desire to interfere in these matters.'

  'Without evidence and explanation, there is no basis in law or precedent for holding up this take-over,' said Morrison. 'Indeed, were there to be any delay we would have to consider our legal position.'

  He left the words hanging in the air. The threat was clear enough, Symonds decided; Morrison was telling the Deputy Governor the Bank could be sued at any moment. He glanced across at Donaldson, and could tell from the frown upon his face that the Deputy Governor was not pleased.

  'If you wish us to consider this matter, Mr Symonds,' said Donaldson. 'I suggest you proceed immediately.'

  Symonds reddened visibly. 'A few more moments, sir,' he said, summoning every inner reserve of humility he had.

  The Chairman glanced upwards. 'I must insist we start immediately,' he said acidly. 'I do hope Mr Symonds has not gathered us here unnecessarily. That would be very embarrassing.'

  TWENTY-EIGHT

  He heard only the sound of a gasp, and the crash of a body falling against the concrete. After that, silence; an eerie stillness, whilst ·he waited to feel the cold steel of the gun against his skull, and the impact of the bullet as it shattered through his mind. Blackness still engulfed him, and his shirt was clinging to his skin, drenched in the sweat running off his back.

  Jack waited in the darkness, his body unable to move, his mind unable to think. He could feel Tara's hand clutching him, jabbing at his wrist. She is checking that I am still alive, he thought. And then, with painful and uncomprehending slowness, the truth slithered through the scrambled nerve endings cluttering his mind.

  Both of us are still alive.

  With difficulty, he disentangled his hand from Tara's clutches. She seemed reluctant to let him go. Reaching for his blindfold, he struggled with the knots. His hands were numb, and it took several minutes to untangle the cloth that he had bound so tightly around his face.

  The lights were still dim, but seemed harsh after the darkness he had escaped. Jack rubbed his eyes, adjusting his vision to the glow of the damp neon. He could see nothing in front of him, apart from the silent, inert row of cars. He looked first to his right. At Tara. She too was struggling to untie the knots on her blindfold.

  Still kneeling, Jack slowly and nervously turned his head. His eyes fixed first on Shane. The man was lying about three yards away, slumped on the ground, his head pressing hard against the concrete floor, blood trickling from a wound in the back of his skull. Jack listened carefully. He could just hear the drip of the blood against the concrete. Apart from that, silence. He could detect no sign that the man was breathing.

  Jack's gaze moved on. He looked up at Fuller. She was standing with her arms stretched out before her, her posture motionless, her expression disinterested; in the grip of her hands he could see a gun.

  The weapon was still directed at Shane's dead body.

  Fuller took two steps forward, and shoved her flat shoes into the body, kicking Shane over. His head rolled into the pool of blood, streaking his blond hair with crimson. Fuller knelt down, picked up his wrist, and held it in her hand. 'Dead,' she said calmly.

  Tara had shaken free her blindfold. She laid it to her side, stood up, and walked across to Jack, holding him by the hand and helping him to his feet. She turned to face Full
er. 'You shot him?' she said.

  To Jack her voice sounded fractured and hoarse, as though she was suffering from a bad cold. Fuller met her gaze and nodded. 'You got my e-mail,' she said.

  Jack's mind was still shattered by the emotions of the last few minutes, and he was having trouble thinking straight, but he could recall the message he had received just before they had escaped arrest together; it had puzzled him for the past few days, yet he had assumed that it was just a way of making it easier for Kizog to destroy them. 'Who are you working for?' he asked.

  Fuller reflected on the question for a moment, as if she were having trouble deciding how much to tell them. 'You have assumed that everyone at Kizog is on the same side?' she asked.

  'So far, yes,' replied Jack.

  'Probably incorrect,' said Fuller. 'Think about who benefits if you make your meeting.'

  Jack was about to speak, but Fuller stopped him. 'There is no time to talk,' she said. 'It is almost ten, and you have to hurry. Do what you have to do.'

  Jack collected the bags, still on the ground where they had left them, took Tara by the arm, and together they ran up the concrete steps, emerging blinking into the sunlight on the street. His head was still spinning, and Jack could feel the dampness of the sweat on his forehead. Never mind why she did it, he thought to himself. We are still here. Alive. And we still have time.

  Fuller slipped quietly away. Jack could see her walk down the street, a slow saunter in her step, looking to all the world like a woman who was heading out for some Friday morning shopping.

  He hailed a cab, asking the driver to take them first to St Pancras station, and then on to the Bank of England. Five minutes later, the cab pulled up in the forecourt of the station. Jack left Tara in the taxi whilst he walked inside the building. He went straight to the left-luggage lockers, placed one of his two bags inside a compartment, fed in some coins, and locked up. Slipping the key into his back pocket, he walked back to the cab. He told the driver to head for the Bank. As fast as possible.

  Tara and Jack completed the ride in silence. Both of them, Jack suspected, were too bewildered by everything that had happened to speak yet. Never mind, he decided. There would be time to make sense of it later.

  The cab pulled up outside the Bank at seventeen minutes past ten. Jack climbed out and paid the driver. Tara, carrying their sports bag, followed him on to the street. At once a young man in a suit and carrying a mobile phone rushed up to them. 'Thank Christ you're here,' he said. 'We were starting to worry about whether you would make it.'

  He led them inside the foyer of the building. The footmen, plumed in their red and pink finery, looked distastefully at the jeans and sweatshirts of the couple walking in, and Jack could tell from the expressions on their faces that they were about to eject them. Brushing past the footmen, their new companion walked straight to the desk. 'Late arrivals for the meeting in the Deputy Governor's office,' he barked. 'We're almost out of time. It's very urgent.'

  The man behind the desk issued three visitors' passes, and, scooping them up, the suit flashed them at the guards, took hold of Tara’s arm and led them towards the stairs. 'This way,' he said.

  Along the strip of corridor, Jack tried to slow his pace, breathing deeply, trying to compose himself for the minutes ahead.

  Inside the meeting room, a silence was still hanging in the air. Symonds had refused to begin until his party was complete, and the Deputy Governor had given him until ten-thirty. After that, he had warned, the matter would be regarded as closed. The Chairman, meanwhile, was sitting back with the complacent air of a man with better things to do with his time. As each minute ticked slowly away, Symonds noticed that his expression became more and more peaceful.

  The door swung open. Into the committee room the suit ushered Jack and Tara. Immediately all the eyes around the room swivelled towards them, following every inflection of their muscles as they walked down the length of the table, stopping next to Symonds, calmly pulling out a chair each and sitting down.

  Jack noticed the Chairman first. The pupils of his eyes were suddenly wider; he tracked their movements through the room with a mixture of fear, surprise and disgust. The tapping of his fingernails on the table-top had suddenly ceased, and his shoulders appeared to have slumped. Jack looked straight through him. 'Sorry to keep you waiting, Sir Kurt,' he said sharply. 'We were held up for a few minutes.'

  Symonds cleared his throat, glancing over their scruffy clothes, and his nose twitched slightly as he noticed the sweat still soaking through Jack's shirt. 'Deputy Governor,' he began. 'Allow me to introduce Mr Jack Borrodin and Miss Tara Ling.'

  Jack glanced up the table at the man upon whose mercy he would throw himself. His expression was hard to read: part puzzled, part angry, part intrigued. This is it, Jack told himself.

  Donaldson was aware of who these two young people were. He knew the names, and he knew what they were accused of, and he was far from sure they should be in the Deputy Governor's meeting room. 'Correct me if l am wrong,' he said carefully. 'But these two people have arrest warrants issued against them.'

  Jack interrupted. 'All we ask is that you listen to what we have to say. If we do not convince you of our innocence then we are happy for you to turn us over to the authorities.'

  To his side Jack could hear a palm slapping on the table-top. 'This is an outrage!' said Morrison, his tone filled with professional anger. 'I do not think we can be expected to hear any claims made by known fugitives.'

  At the end of the table the Swiss ambassador raised a hand. Looking directly at Donaldson, he spoke slowly and clearly. 'My government would consider it a great courtesy if you would listen to what these people have to say.'

  Jack looked again towards the Deputy Governor. He seemed deep in thought, and he was whispering something to one of his two advisers. 'Please go ahead,' he said. 'We will hear you out.' Tara stood up. From the sports bag Jack had dumped on the floor she pulled out the five copies of the document they had prepared. With a winning smile she placed one neatly in front of the Deputy Governor. Walking around the room, she gave one to Morrison, one to the Chairman, one to the ambassador, and one to Symonds. Completing the circuit she sat back down next to Jack.

  The moment was due, Jack reflected. In the next few minutes their fate would be decided. He scanned the room, trying to penetrate the minds of the men reading the document laid out before them. His eyes rested first on Donaldson. The Deputy Governor was concentrating hard on the few sheets of paper, racing through the words. A frown was playing across his forehead. Further down the table, Jack noticed, the Chairman was gripping the sheets between his hands, his face reddening as he scrolled through the pages; whether it was the result of anger or embarrassment, Jack could not tell. Finer was leaning over his shoulder reading at the same time; his eyes betrayed a certain glee, a sense of anticipation that Jack found puzzling. He glanced across at Morrison. His expression was clear enough; he looked like a man about to surrender to a funk.

  Jack tapped Symonds on the arm. 'A word,' he said.

  Symonds looked across at Donaldson. 'Will you excuse us for a moment, Deputy Governor?'

  Donaldson waved a hand that seemed to signify he did not mind where they were right now. Jack stood up and walked towards the door. Symonds followed, shutting the door behind them, and the two men were alone in the corridor. 'We have the evidence,' started Jack. 'But not here.'

  'Where?' asked Symonds anxiously.

  'When I know that the options have been bought in our name, and transport arranged, then you get the papers.'

  'Impossible,' started Symonds. 'The bid closes at twelve.'

  'All I need is a fax guaranteeing the account has been set up and the options bought,' Jack replied. 'It'll only take a few minutes. Make the call now.'

  Symonds took the mobile phone from his pocket and began dialling. Connected instantly, he whispered the instructions to his assistant back at the bank. 'Done,' he said. Together they walked back into the room and sat
down. Jack leant across to Tara. 'OK,' he whispered. 'We're rich.'

  He looked up around the room. Donaldson was nearing the end of the document, and as he finished the last page he sat back in his chair, a thoughtful expression on his face. 'Do we have any proof?' he asked.

  'We can prove every word,' said Tara.

  'But you don't have it here,' said Donaldson.

  Symonds looked up. 'I believe we can have all the documentary evidence you need within an hour,' he said. 'Your staff can then examine it, and then form your own judgement on how solid our allegations are.'

  Across the table Jack could see Morrison and the Chairman whispering to one another. 'I must protest,' said Morrison. 'To start with, Kizog entirely rejects all the arguments contained in this document. Secondly, all of these claims would be matters for the criminal courts. They will have to be dealt with in due course. But until guilt or innocence is proven the Bank has no business holding up the bid. That should proceed. In stopping it the Bank would be acting beyond its powers and could certainly expect legal challenge.'

  A thin smile had returned to the Chairman's lips. Still manoeuvring, thought Jack. Still hoping to escape, perhaps. Or simply unaware of the calamity that was about to overcome him. Denial or optimism? It was hard to tell.

  Donaldson had consulted with his legal expert, and returned his gaze to the table. He directed his remarks at Symonds. 'I think Mr Morrison may be right,' he said. 'Serious though these matters may be, they pertain to breaches of the criminal law, not to breaches of the take-over code. I fear if we acted we might be ruled to be acting outside of our jurisdiction.'