Piers Venmore-Rowland - Latent Hazard

A few hours later his living nightmare started, when he was dragged from his bed and taken to the godforsaken police station.

Rafi lurched back to the present. From the memories he had managed to piece together, he concluded that Jameel, his boss, with some persons unknown in Luxembourg were involved in something highly illegal and could even be linked to the terrorist attack. Callum must have found proof of what was going on.

But why did they want him out of circulation? If Jameel was involved and something sinister was going on with the two companies, what were they up to? But why was he a danger to them, and why hadn’t they killed him, as they’d done with Callum? Perhaps two deaths close to home would raise too many questions, and setting him up as the bad guy achieved the desired effect?

Rafi’s head ached from the lack of sleep. The absence of edible food and the limited intake of fluids were also taking their toll. The physical side was unpleasant but didn’t overly concern him. It was the mental fatigue that worried him. Without a brain he wouldn’t get out of there, he told himself.

His thoughts changed tack. How long would it have taken for the evidence to be fabricated against him and the bombing to be planned and carried out…? His conclusion was that the bombing had already been scheduled and it had simply been a convenience to link him to it.

So, how was Jameel, a finance heavyweight, involved? He was a big picture man: fine print and micro-management were not his strengths. Therefore, he had to be working with, or for someone.

Next question, mused Rafi. How were Jameel and Prima Terra linked with the terrorist plot? It had to be something to do with the City of London – one of the three great financial capitals of the world. His thoughts drifted back to the research that Callum and he had been working on… The clandestine nominee names and the two companies in which Prima Terra and others were large investors. Might they have thought he was on to them and close to unravelling what they were planning?

But in practical terms, he had two obstacles to overcome. First, he had to convince his interrogators that the evidence against him was contrived. Then second, he had to get them to believe that he was on their side and could potentially unlock the larger terrorist plot…

‘I’ve got it!’ It came to him, out of the blue. What he needed was someone they trusted who could do the persuading for him. Someone who would want to look carefully at the two companies and who would be willing to investigate what Jameel and Prima Terra were really doing. However, in the eyes of his interrogators he was guilty and he knew they wouldn’t be prepared to listen to a word he said as long as he insisted on protesting his innocence. Corporate finance was a blank in their book. Who might they listen to? His mind ached…

It needed to be one of them! Yes, of course that might work. He needed a police officer who could put his case to them. Furthermore, he needed someone who was familiar with the workings of the City and understood corporate finance. His mind raced. Ideally it would need to be someone from the Corporate or Economic Fraud Squad at the City of London police force. Would they be prepared to help him? Bloody hell, it was going to be a tall order. The bomber he was accused of being linked to had killed three – or was it four? – City policemen. He would be seriously unpopular, but it was on their turf and they might be interested in his story if they thought it would hasten the arrest of those who had masterminded the bombing.

Rafi thought through the practicalities… He needed to get someone from City of London police to visit him. He could give them the location of the memory stick, but it would be unwise to tell MI5 as they might then block the police’s involvement.

There was a problem, though. He probably only had twelve hours left before it all became too much for him to handle coherently. In particular, the lack of sleep and water were taking their toll. As he wondered how best to get things moving, the cell door swung open.

In the interrogation room, Rafi faced his two least favourite people. He had lost track of time and felt desperately tired. He guessed that he hadn’t slept for over twenty four hours.

Andy started the talking. ‘We passed your laptop to our boffins. They’ve found nothing to do with your two companies.’

Thank goodness he hadn’t copied the files from Callum’s USB memory stick, thought Rafi.

‘Very suspicious if you ask me,’ said Mike. ‘So where is the information Callum and you put together on the two companies?’

Rafi’s stomach tensed up; he would have to play things very carefully. The information on Callum’s USB stick might just be his passport out of there.

‘It’s rather complicated,’ said Rafi.

Andy looked down his nose at him. ‘Proceed. Do we look thick?’

Rafi allowed himself an inward grin. He hesitated – time for a bit of financial gobbledygook.

‘Oi! Wake up and get your arse in gear!’ shouted Mike as if every second was urgent. ‘You’re here to talk to us, not to daydream.’

Rafi drew breath and started: ‘Do you understand what I mean by butterfly positions in the forward financial futures markets, when a leveraged investor is speculating on a break out of a trading range, precipitated by new information coming into the market?’ He stopped.

The two interrogators looked at each other, dumbfounded. It was bullshit, but not total bullshit.

‘OK, I’ll go through it slowly. In the futures markets you have two positions: calls when you’re a buyer and puts when you’re a seller of the market. With a call position, you make a profit if the market rises more than is anticipated and in a put contract you make a profit if the market falls by more than is anticipated. OK so far?’ Rafi carried on before they had had the opportunity to respond. ‘Leveraged derivatives are when you’ve borrowed money to finance your positions in the market, thereby making your profits bigger. Do you follow me?’

‘Er… Could you perhaps speak English?’ said Andy.

‘Where do these butterflies come in?’ asked Mike in a bemused manner.

‘They’re a type of trade where you mix call and put contracts together. It’s the information flows that make the derivatives market appealing in highly volatile times.’

The two interrogators obviously didn’t have a clue what Rafi was talking about. Their faces showed that as much as they wished to follow his line of thought, it wasn’t their area of expertise.

‘Perhaps we should have a break whilst you check out what I’ve said?’

Mike scowled. They chatted between themselves for a couple of minutes. Apparently they’d had enough trouble understanding what an equity was, let alone a futures product.

‘By the way,’ said Rafi. ‘I have a USB memory stick with the data on it, which should back up my assertions.’

‘You what?’ exploded Mike. ‘You are a sodding awful piece of work! Why the hell didn’t you tell us earlier? ’

‘Where is it?’ demanded Andy.

Rafi remained silent.

‘You devious little bastard,’ said Mike. ‘Back to your cell while we decide what to do with you.’

Rafi was bundled back to his cell. He lay on the bed hoping that they’d make a decision relatively quickly.

The bolts on the cell door clunked loudly and the door swung open. There, standing in the doorway, was his bete noir.

‘They want you back, now!’ the guard said ominously. ‘Come on,’ he barked.

Rafi struggled to sit up, but his back had seized up as a result of the blows he’d received from the man who had brought his food. He rolled on to his side, slid off the bed and on to his knees. Yes, he could stand up now, he thought, as he straightened his legs.