There was a pause. Elleck scrabbled in the box of Havanas for a cigar: ‘Well — er — sure — I — er — can you hang on?’
‘Yes.’
Elleck put the receiver down, cut the end of the cigar, and put the cigar in his mouth; he pulled out his gold Dupont and lit it slowly; all the time he was thinking hard. ‘Hallo, Claude?’
‘Yes, I am here.’
‘I’ll have to check how much we have actually bought so far.’
‘You haven’t bought it yet?’ he sounded incredulous.
‘Oh, no — sure, we must have bought some — as you know — I’m not doing it directly myself. We didn’t want to draw attention, right?’
‘That’s what we agreed.’
‘But I just don’t know how much we have — got to be careful buying in a bull market — I think this is only a temporary bull—’
‘Bull?’
‘Oh — it’s a — er — trade expression — a rising market.’
‘Okay.’
‘My personal view is that the gold price could drop as quickly as it has risen — and we don’t want to get stuck having paid top dollar.’
‘I see.’ The Viscomte didn’t sound at all convinced. ‘Then it is not our purchasing which is causing this rise?’
‘Good lord no, Claude; if we’d banged ours in all at once, it might have pushed the price up ten dollars or so — but our sort of money could never create a bull like this.’
‘Now if the price — does not — er drop — you are going to have to pay this new price for our gold?’
‘If it steadies out at this new level, then yes, we will have to; but if it steadies, then it will not affect our plan — because our plan will still push it up. But first we must see if it steadies. I am certain it won’t. It must drop. A lot of punters are going to start selling. You’ll see, Claude, it all will start changing at the beginning of the week.’
‘We only have until next Friday — is that going to be time enough?’
‘I’m not a clairvoyant, Claude — we’ll just have to wait and see what happens and play it by ear.’
‘Why didn’t you buy the moment you saw it rising?’
‘Firstly, we agreed we had to keep this whole thing quiet. We didn’t want anyone tumbling what we were doing — and that means buying in small amounts here, there, a bit in Tokyo, a bit in Toronto, a bit in Amsterdam; buying through different dealers, some Krugerrands from here, bars from there. A bit of this and a bit of that. Opening bank accounts in Switzerland, Liechtenstein, and perhaps elsewhere. A thousand million isn’t much in gold terms, Claude, but it’s one heck of a lot of money to have to spend in a hurry without anybody noticing.’
‘I understand.’
‘Secondly, there isn’t anyone in the world who could have predicted this price rise. It’s unbelievable, illogical.’
‘A word of warning, Monty,’ said the Viscomte. ‘My friend Jimmy thinks you may be behind this, and he does not like to be double-crossed.’
‘What are you saying?’ Elleck’s voice rose several octaves.
‘Jimmy Culundis thinks you may have something to do with this rise; he is not going to be pleased to find our syndicate has missed out on it.’
‘I can’t help what your nasty little Greek poofter thinks — he’ll have to sit on his little greased bottom and wait for the results.’
‘I’m just warning you, as a friend,’ said Lasserre.
Elleck suddenly realized that the tone of Lasserre’s voice had become chilling. ‘What exactly are you warning me?’
‘I am warning you as a friend,’ said Lasserre, ‘that is all. I understand the world of money, of commodities. Jimmy Culundis has a more — how do you say — simple outlook on business. He provides a service and he gets paid for it. He does understand that you cannot buy gold today because it may go down tomorrow. He is a man with much power and he is a very ruthless man indeed. I am warning you my friend, that if he feels — how you say — that he is going to get screwed — in a way that he does not consider pleasant — he is a man who will get revenge.’
‘Do I understand exactly what you are saying, Claude?’
‘I think so, my friend. Have a good weekend.’ Lasserre hung up.
Elleck sat and stared at the humming receiver, then he replaced it on the hook. He tapped a button on his Reuter terminal. Gold had risen yet another $4. Thank God, he thought, that it was the weekend. Perhaps the investment world would come to its senses over the next couple of days. He sincerely hoped so. For the first time since his days in Auschwitz he felt scared — very scared.
25
Baenhaker looked at his watch: it was two minutes to five, Friday afternoon. He rubbed his eyes, and stacked up the last of the pile of micro-fiches that had been developed and printed from the hundreds of photographs he had taken on Wednesday night, in the Globalex offices.
He wasn’t pleased that he’d killed the security guard, but it didn’t bother him; as far as he was concerned, he had had no option. The man had crept up on him while he was working on the computer, trying to get an account list printout, and in their ensuing struggle, had made it clear that he recognized him: ‘ ’Ere,’ he had said, ‘you were ’ere this morning — came to see Mr Rocq.’
He dialled Ephraim’s number in Tel Aviv. It was answered after less than half a ring. ‘Hallo.’
‘This is Marvin here.’ Marvin was the code Baenhaker was assigned to identify himself by.
‘Hallo Marvin.’
‘I have some information, but not everything. Lasserre is a client of Globalex — both a personal client and corporate. The total account is some £25 million sterling; it is fairly widely spread over a range of commodities — mainly soft, but some metals.’ Baenhaker was pleased he had now grasped the difference, and hoped Ephraim was impressed. He paused and then went on. ‘I don’t know why Elleck went to dinner, but it may have something to do with a syndicate that has been formed between Lasserre, Jimmy Culundis and Sir Monty Elleck, which is called, as far as I can ascertain, Goldilocks.’
‘Goldilocks? Isn’t that a children’s story?’
‘Yes — the name is obviously supposed to be humorous. This syndicate is buying £1,000 million worth of gold. They are doing it very discreetly, and are using a broker within Globalex to buy the gold in small quantities — a few bars at a time in a large number of different markets, and through a variety of dealers, banks and brokerage houses.’ Baenhaker stopped for a moment. ‘That’s about all I know, sir.’
There was a long silence down the phone. Then Ephraim spoke: ‘You have done well, Marvin, very well. Do you know the identity of the broker?’
‘Yes, I do. Alex Rocq.’
There was another long silence. ‘I’d like you to keep a close eye on Rocq and Elleck — understand?’ said Ephraim.
‘Yes, Sir,’ he said.
‘Good,’ said Ephraim. ‘Then I’ll wait to hear from you. Time is of the essence.’
‘I understand, Sir. Goodbye.’
Baenhaker hung up the phone, and then sat back in his seat. He rubbed his eyes again, stretched his arms, then laid his head right back. Ephraim had, by the words ‘close eye’ instructed him to put Rocq and Elleck under 24-hour surveillance. There were three surveillance teams available to him. He would put them all onto Elleck. Rocq, he decided, he would watch himself.
When he came up from the basement, the building was empty, apart from the Italian cleaning woman hoovering an office. He walked out of the front door, into the balmy evening heat. The Friday evening exodus out of the City had begun, and he watched the cars in the jam down Lower Thames Street with envy. They were going to their summer weekends, to their cottages and mansions, to their wives, girlfriends, lovers, boyfriends — companionship. Tonight was an evening for Pimms in the countryside, for sitting at a table with a beautiful girl and a bottle of wine, and a candle flickering.