Michael Ridpath - Free To Trade

'Tie his hands,' shouted Rob.

I looked for something to bind him, and grabbed at the electric lead sticking out of the computer that lay cracked on the floor. I yanked it out and tried to wrap it round Hamilton's hands.

It was difficult. Even with two of us, Hamilton was wriggling and thrashing, and we couldn't keep his wrists in one place long enough to tie them.

'Keep still!' I shouted.

Hamilton took no notice, and somehow managed to kick Rob hard in the ribs.

I took the flex and wrapped it round his neck, pulling his head back.

'Keep still, I said!'

He bucked and nearly threw me off his shoulders. I pulled back on the flex hard. Anger rushed through me. Here was the bastard who had betrayed me, deceived me, who had cheated, lied and killed. He would have murdered Cathy as well if he had had the chance. In fact, he might already have succeeded.

I gritted my teeth and pulled harder. The blood rushed in my ears. The body underneath me stopped moving. I half heard Rob shouting my name.

Then I felt strong hands grab the flex and pull it away from me. Other hands picked me up off Hamilton. I looked down at him. His head flopped to the ground, and he took huge wheezing gulps of air. Spittle dripped down from his open mouth. His face was bright red.

I slumped back into a chair, the anger draining out of me. A small voice of common sense told me I was glad I hadn't killed him. A policeman was kneeling over him, and another had his arms firmly on my shoulders. Two more were watching, one talking urgently into his radio. My mind cleared. Cathy! I leapt to my desk and rang Denny. He put me on a speakerphone with Chief Inspector Deane.

In a few seconds I told them what had happened. Deane had some questions.

I didn't answer them. I needed to know about Cathy. 'Did the FBI get Waigel?' I said. 'And had he made the phone call to the hit-man? Can you find out right now?'

'All right,' he said. He left me on the speakerphone. I could hear muffled radio conversation, but I couldn't make out the words. Two of the policemen handcuffed Hamilton and bundled him out of the trading room, still wheezing. I was glad he was out of my sight.

A very long minute later, Deane's voice came back on the phone. 'They've got Waigel,' he said.

'Had he made a phone call?' I said, my hopes raised.

'He was just putting the phone down when they entered his office.' Deane's voice was grim. 'He won't say who he was calling, but from the way he is acting, the FBI men there think it must be the hit-man.'

Oh God. I had blown it. Oh Cathy, Cathy, Cathy!

'Mr Murray?' It was Deane's voice, insistent. 'We need to know where she is.'

'Right. I'll find out.'

I hit the cancel button and called Cash.

'Y'allo.'

'Cash. It's all going wrong. Waigel has put a hit-man on to Cathy. Do you know where she is?'

'What's up? I thought you were going over to Denny's this afternoon. What happened?'

'Look, I have no time to talk. Just tell me where Cathy is, will you?'

'OK, OK. I've got her itinerary here. Let me see.' Come on. I willed him to hurry up. 'Here it is. She has a meeting at nine o'clock at Arab American Investment. That's at 520 Madison Avenue. She's staying at the Intercon. Knowing her, she's probably walking there right now.'

'Thanks. Talk to you later.'

I hung up, and got back to Deane. I told him what Cash had told me. 'Right,' he said. 'It's ten to two our time, that's ten to nine in New York. She should be almost there. I'll get the FBI on to it.'

I put down the phone. I sat hunched at my desk staring at the screens. I didn't take in any of the green figures and letters in front of my eyes. I was looking at a New York street, searching for Cathy.

The clock ticked loudly. The police radios behind me crackled. I was in my usual position, sitting at my desk, waiting for the phone to ring. But this time it wasn't paper money at stake. It was Cathy's life.

How could I have been so stupid? Why had I taken the risk? This wasn't some damn trade. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

The phone flashed. I picked it up. Down a fuzzy line, I heard the sound of traffic.

'Paul! It's Cathy.' I could hardly hear her voice, it was an urgent whisper. But she was alive! So far.

'Yes?'

'I'm scared. There's a man following me, I'm sure of it. He's followed me all the way up from the hotel.'

'What's he doing now?'

'He's leaning against the wall of a church, reading his paper, acting as if he hasn't seen me.'

'Is it crowded?'

'Yes. I'm right off Fifth Avenue. There are people everywhere.'

'Good. Now, where are you exactly?'

'I'm in a phone booth on Fifty-Third Street, just by the entrance to the subway station.'

'Hold on.' I turned and gave this information to the policeman behind me, who relayed it into his radio.

'Now, Cathy, just stay where you are. The police will be with you in a few minutes. Stay on the phone.'

'Who is he? What's he doing?' asked Cathy, sounding really scared.

'Waigel put him on to you. But don't worry, there's nothing he can do in a crowded street.' I tried to make myself sound as confident as possible, and I hoped I was right, but I really didn't know.

We stayed on the phone, too tense to talk, waiting. The bustle of Fifty-Third Street crackled down the phone lines: the noise of traffic, snatches of conversation from passers-by.

I watched the second hand crawl round the clock above me. Where had the police got to? Images of a gridlocked midtown Manhattan flashed before me. It could take ten minutes to go three blocks in the rush hour.

I started. Where was Cathy? I couldn't hear her. 'Cathy?'

'Yes, Paul, I'm here.'

Relief.

'Has the man moved?'

'No, he's still over by the church.'

'Good. Tell me if he does move, won't you?'

'All right.' A pause. 'Paul, I'm scared.' Cathy's voice sounded very small, very far away.

'Don't worry, it won't be long now.'

Then I heard them. The wail of sirens, getting louder.

'Oh my God!' she said. 'He's crossing the road. He's coming right towards me.'

'Drop the phone and run!' I shouted. 'Run!'

I heard the clatter of the phone banging against the booth. Then a crack and the sound of splintering plastic.

Half a second's silence.

Then screams. Women shrieking, men yelling, the sirens getting louder. A shout: 'She's been hit!' Another 'She's bleeding!' The sirens getting very loud. Large police voices ordering people to move back, make way.

'Cathy!' I shouted. 'Cathy!'

Then her voice. Cathy's sweet voice. Strained, sobbing, but still her voice. 'Paul?'

'Are you OK?'

'Yes. A woman's been hit, but I'm OK. I'm OK.'

I watched the screen in front of me with satisfaction. There had been a brisk rally in the treasury market during the morning; it was now a point and a half up on the day. Hamilton, as usual, had positioned the portfolio perfectly. We were going to make some money. I had heard rumours of a big new issue for the World Bank, due out in the afternoon, and I wanted to make sure I got a piece of it. With the positive sentiment in the eurobond market, it would fly.

I looked up at the clock. Twenty past twelve already! It seemed only an hour or so since seven thirty, when I had arrived back at my desk for my first full day's trading since I had been sacked. It had felt good. Jeff was nominally in charge in Hamilton's absence, but he had made it clear that he would allow me quite a lot of latitude. I was confident I wouldn't misplace his trust.

I was due to meet Denny, Cash and Cathy at Bill Bentley's at twelve thirty. Denny had offered to buy us all lunch. I grabbed my jacket and headed for the lifts. As I got out of the lift at the ground floor, I saw Rob waiting for someone. I ignored him and walked across the foyer to the revolving entrance doors.