‘I understand,’ said Chris. ‘The markets are never quiet.’
‘Never,’ said Zizka, shaking his head.
‘You manage money for a number of colleges, I believe?’
‘That’s right,’ Zizka said. ‘I used to be an economics professor at Melville College in Ohio. They were very disappointed by the attitude of the firms advising them on their endowment fund. Conflicts of interest, poor performance, lack of personal attention. So I offered to manage their money for them. I had a good couple of years, I have many contacts in the academic world, and now I advise on the funds of five more similar institutions.
‘And you do that from here?’ Chris said, glancing round the office.
Zizka smiled. ‘Oh, I don’t trade myself any more. I did to start with, but now I find it’s not necessary. I parcel the money out to others to do that, such as yourself. I take the major strategic decisions. I find if you get those right, the returns take care of themselves. What I can never seem to get enough of, even here, is peace and quiet to read and think.’
There was something in that, Chris thought. He realized he was in danger of underestimating Dr Zizka.
‘And presumably that was why you invested in Carpathian. It seemed the right strategic decision?’
‘Partly.’
‘Partly?’
‘Partly that. Mostly Lenka.’
‘You’ve known her for a long time?’
‘Yes. When I started in this business, I got involved in the high-yield bond market. That was when I was still buying individual securities myself. I dealt with all the big brokers, including Bloomfield Weiss. While the others seemed happy to sell me any deal as long as it was one of theirs, Lenka only sold me bonds that worked. Although I was only a small client, she looked after me. I ended up giving her all my business. The returns were good, and she never abused my trust. We got on welclass="underline" my parents were from a small town outside of Prague, you know. So, when she told me she was setting up Carpathian, I thought, why not support her? She deserves it. And so far it’s worked out fine. The problem is that some of the trustees keep asking questions about it. It sort of sticks out on our list of investments.’
Zizka paused, and took off his little spectacles. ‘I was shocked to hear what happened to her. A terrible thing.’ He shook his head and rubbed his eyes. Then he looked up at Chris. ‘But now she’s gone, it seems the right time to get out, given all the other factors. I’m sure you understand.’
Chris did understand. But he couldn’t allow himself to agree. ‘Do you still think the strategic argument makes sense? That as the Central European economies become integrated with Europe there will be opportunities for making money?’
‘Yes, I do, but...’ Zizka shrugged.
Chris launched into his spiel on the opportunities in Central Europe, his view of the economic prospects there, the track record of the fund since inception, how the current market jitters provided a chance to make more money. Zizka listened politely, but Chris could see he wasn’t getting anywhere. Zizka had invested to support Lenka. Now Lenka was gone, there was no reason for him to stay involved. His mind had been made up.
The minutes were ticking away. His half hour was nearly up. Chris stood up to go.
‘Thank you for listening to me, Dr Zizka.’
‘It’s the least I could do,’ he said. ‘You were Lenka’s partner, after all.’
‘I was.’ Chris shook Zizka’s hand. A decent man. A fair man. A far cry from Rudy Moss. ‘You know, I feel like I still am her partner. That she’s still there, looking over my shoulder. Carpathian is still her firm. She trusted me and I won’t let her down.’
Zizka’s eyes flicked over Chris, examining him closely. ‘I’m sure.’
‘Will you reconsider?’ Chris asked. ‘If not for me, then for her?’
Zizka hesitated. He looked as if he was about to say something, but then he walked over to the door and opened it.
‘Goodbye,’ he said. ‘And good luck.’
Chris arrived back at his hotel depressed. Zizka hadn’t actually said he still wanted to withdraw his money. But he hadn’t said he had changed his mind, either. Chris called Ollie at home. It was nearly midnight his time but Ollie was happy to talk. The market was weaker; prices were down. A miraculous bid for Eureka Telecom had not materialized. Ollie was enthusiastic, though. He thought that the latest news about the Slovakian economy was encouraging, and that investors hadn’t picked up on it yet. Chris’s first instinct was to tell Ollie to wait until he returned. But Ollie was convincing, and with Lenka gone Chris would have to start trusting him soon. So why not now? He told Ollie to buy Slovakian bonds in the morning. Ollie didn’t ask about Melville, so Chris didn’t tell him.
Chris put down the phone and looked around his sterile hotel room. He couldn’t face moping the evening away in there, so he changed out of his suit, grabbed his wallet and headed out into the street. He was hungry. He made his way up the East Side, looking for his old haunts. He found a place that he, Duncan and Ian used to go to on Seventy-First Street and Second Avenue, and spent a pleasant hour drinking a couple of beers, devouring a chunky cheeseburger and remembering the good times of that summer in New York ten years before.
He wished that he had somehow got to know Megan better back then. In retrospect, all that time he had spent with Tamara was a total waste. Of course, it could never have happened, he would never have been able to prise her away from Eric. But it was a nice thought. He would see her again soon. That was a nice thought too.
He wandered back haphazardly and finally found himself on the cross street near his hotel. It was cold in New York in March and it began to rain. The temperature could only just have been above freezing and the cold hard drops of water bit into his face. He was glad he had been sent on the second training programme of the year: spending five months in the dark and cold and rain would not have been nearly so much fun. Now, it was hard to imagine the sweltering heat and humidity of the New York he had experienced. The rain intensified. He stared down at the sidewalk and quickened his pace, hands deep in his coat pockets, eager now to get back to the warmth of his hotel, only a block away.
Suddenly, a sharp jolt against his back propelled him into a doorway. He lost his balance and crashed into a metal door. As he tried to turn, he felt cold steel on his cheek. The flat of the blade of a knife pressed his face against the door. He tried to move his head to get a look at his attacker but the knife cut into his cheek. He did catch a glimpse of a black scarf, moustache, dark glasses and woollen hat, with long dark hair curling out beneath its rim. The man was a few inches shorter than him, but he was strong and determined.
‘Stay still,’ hissed a hoarse voice. ‘And listen.’
Chris’s cheek stung. He could feel blood trickling down to his jaw. He kept still.
‘I’m gonna tell you this once,’ whispered the voice in a good imitation of Marlon Brando. ‘You’re not gonna ask any more questions. You’re gonna get on the next plane home. You’re gonna forget all about Lenka. Got that?’
‘Yes,’ Chris said, through clenched teeth.
‘You sure, now?’
‘I’m sure.’
‘OK. I’ll be watching you.’ Then the knife lifted from Chris’s skin and he felt a blow to his ribs that doubled him up. He gasped for breath and turned to see a figure running off. He looked around him. He caught the eye of a woman who had watched the whole thing open mouthed from the other side of the street. She ducked and hurried off in the opposite direction. There were no other witnesses.
Chris picked himself up off the pavement and felt his cheek, which was bleeding quite badly. He set off at a jog to the entrance of the hotel.