He waited a full ten minutes, just to make sure Rocq had not left anything behind in the car, and then he slipped up the fire escape staircase of the concrete building. The Porsche was in the same bay as the previous evening, and he was pleased to notice all the other bays around it were also taken, which meant it was unlikely he would be interrupted with his work.
He slid, with his large briefcase, down between the Porsche and the car next to it, a blue Ford Cortina. He opened the briefcase, and pulled out a slim metal cylinder with a fixing plate at either end, a small drill, a screwdriver and two screws; then he eased himself under the bottom of the Porsche, directly below the driver’s seat.
Half an hour later, the explosive charge was firmly in position, Baenhaker slid further back underneath the car and then proceeded to wire the time-fuse into the car’s electrical circuit, so that when the ignition was switched on, the countdown on the fuse would start. Eisenbar-Goldschmidt used this same car park for many of their vehicles; he would not have been popular if the Porsche had blown up in here and damaged any of their cars. Yesterday, it had taken Rocq forty-five seconds from the time of starting his engine to the time he left the car-park entrance; he did not want Rocq to get too far away, because he wanted to be able to witness the explosion with his own eyes, make sure that Rocq was dead, so that he could report positively himself to Ephraim. There had been no other cars leaving at the same time yesterday. He decided he should make a contingency allowance for a delay in case there were some today. He set the dial to two minutes, ran a final check over the fixings and the wirings, and then eased himself out from under the car. It was 9.45 a.m. He didn’t want to take his eyes off the car today — just in case the extraordinary should happen and someone should steal it, or in case Rocq left early. He did not want to miss the fireworks for anything. He found himself a safe position on the stairwell, from where he could clearly see the Porsche and could hear anyone coming either up or down, and then settled down to pass the day in his lonely, dreary watch-post.
Elleck, who had not slept a wink, had left a message summoning Rocq, who had also not slept a wink, up to his office the moment he arrived.
‘Where the hell were you last night?’ said Elleck, half shouting. ‘I tried to get you all through the night! Don’t you ever go to bed?’
‘I didn’t know it was a Globalex rule that I have to sleep in my own bed.’
‘You were with a girl?’
‘Might have been; might have been with a boy.’ Rocq felt belligerent. It was none of Elleck’s damned business, he felt.
‘In future, if you’re sleeping around, you bloody well leave me the number you’re going to be at. This company operates around the clock; if you want to work for it, you have got to be on call round the clock also. Understand?’
Rocq didn’t answer; he didn’t agree, and he was too tired for a fight; he stared at Elleck in silence for some moments, and then spoke. ‘That arms dealer who was shot yesterday — Culundis — is that the Culundis of your syndicate?’
‘Yes — and not just him: Viscomte Lasserre, the other partner in it has been killed in a bloody aircrash — yesterday — no — the night before. Both of them dead — and not one damned piece of paper signed. We’re on the hook — that is, Globalex is on the hook for £1,000 million. Did you see what happened to gold during the night?’ Elleck was shrieking, almost hysterical.
‘I saw this morning. It’s dropped $30.’
‘That is a £25 million loss to this company,’ said Elleck. ‘Twenty-five million!’
‘Do you want me to unload everything?’
‘I wanted you to last night — when it had only dropped $5 — we could have got out with a two million loss — that would have been tolerable. But 25 million — I don’t know about that. Has that $30 come off as a reaction to the sharp rise — or is there some heavy selling going on? That’s what I have to find out. I don’t know if this coup is going to go ahead or not — if the coup goes ahead, then gold’s going to go back up, for sure. But if it doesn’t come off, gold is going to go down — it’s way higher than it should be right now. I’m going to make some telephone calls — you better go back to your office — and be ready to unload any moment I tell you — don’t leave the office without telling me.’
‘I presume, Sir Monty — that the same commission arrangement stands?’
‘What?’ said Elleck, looking apoplectic. ‘That commission rate I agreed on was based on our making a massive profit out of this deal — that has changed now — we’re trying to save our necks — how do you have the nerve to come in here and talk about commissions?’
‘It’s not my neck that’s on the hook on this gold, Sir Monty, it’s Globalex — which means yours. My neck is on the hook on this coffee — I’ve got the best part of a million pounds to find: 480,000 for you, and 512,000 for Barbiero-Ruche.’
‘So — you should have paid us last Monday. But we haven’t pressed you for the money.’
‘I know; but we did make a deal.’
‘You want your commission, or you want to see Globalex go down the toilet?’
‘I want my commission and I don’t want Globalex to go down the toilet.’
‘Well I’m afraid, Alex, the situation has changed; you are not getting any damned commission.’
‘In that case, Sir Monty, you’d better book a course of guitar lessons while you’ve still got the cash.’
‘Guitar lessons? Are you cracking up?’
‘No, Sir Monty; if gold drops any further, either you pay me the commission in full, today, for the buying and the selling, or else you are going to have to take up busking. I’m not selling one bar for you until that commission is in my bank; and if gold keeps dropping at the rate it is, by the time you manage to find out the thirty-seven different companies, banks and brokers where I’ve bought all that gold from, you’re going to discover it’s far too damned late.’
‘Get out of my office,’ bellowed Elleck.
Rocq got out, and went back downstairs. He was seething with fury, but he knew he had no option in what he had said. If Globalex did go bust and he was shown as owing the company money, the creditors would come after him for every penny. He had lost everything once before, when the stockbroking firm he worked for had gone to the wall. He wasn’t going to lose everything again: this time he was looking after Number One first.
By midday, gold had dropped to $635; over $70 had been wiped off its price since yesterday evening; there was an international panic on to get out of the stuff. By half past twelve, a further $30 had been wiped off the value. Rocq’s intercom buzzed: it was Elleck. ‘The £992,000 has just been transferred into your bank account; you can call the bank yourself and check. Now please unload our position,’ he said, meekly as a lamb.
‘Thank you,’ said Rocq. He rang his bank. The money was there. He smiled to himself, a smile of relief. Then he stopped smiling: he didn’t have much to smile about yet. Not unless he thought it would be amusing to be the richest man in the graveyard.
Twenty minutes later, Rocq buzzed Elleck: ‘No one wants to buy gold right now, Sir Monty; the best price I can get anywhere on a five-bar lot is—’ he paused, ‘five hundred and ninety-four dollars.’
There was a long silence. ‘That would cost more money than I have,’ said Elleck curtly. ‘Don’t do anything; we’ll have to wait for an upturn.’