Питер Джеймс - Billionaire

‘You have the right man,’ said Ephraim.

‘I was assigned once to follow him when he came to England — for a suspected meeting with Hassan of Jordan during Hassan’s official visit here — but it turned out to be Jimmy Mancham, the ex-president of the Seychelles. It was shortly before that bungled coup in the Seychelles in 1981 with Mad Mike Hoare.’

‘Right. Culundis and Lasserre are good friends — no doubt Culundis gets much of his hardware from Lasserre. On Monday evening they had dinner together at Lasserre’s chateau in Bordeaux and were joined by a Jewish gentleman, Sir Monty Elleck. Elleck is chairman and chief executive of a company called Globalex — a very large, privately-owned City of London commodity broking firm. It has branches in several cities around the world. I need to know very badly why they had dinner together, and what their connection is.’

‘Are Lasserre and Culundis clients of Globalex?’

‘That’s one of the things you’ll have to find out. Brokerage is a very private business. But it is important to establish whether they are clients. What I am particularly interested in finding out is whether there is any current connection between these men and a country situated within the United Arab Emirates — although it is independent — called Umm Al Amnah. We know there have in the past been dealings between Jimmy Culundis and Amnah. His company is known to have supplied the armaments to Amnah in the past, and I received a report from the CIA/MI6 World Airport Surveillance that Culundis flew in his private DC-8 into Orly airport on Sunday, directly from Tunquit — Amnah’s only airport.’

‘The English are very private when they talk about money,’ said Baenhaker. ‘Getting information may be extremely difficult.’

‘Globalex is a Jewish firm. The Chairman, Sir Monty Elleck, is an ardent Zionist and has given Israel many millions of pounds over the years; remember that.’

‘Could be helpful. How quickly do you want this information?’

‘Friday.’

‘What? It’s Wednesday now.’

‘I know. There is very little time. You can do whatever you want to get this information — anything at all you do will have our full support. Do you understand?’

‘I understand.’

‘Then please telephone me on Friday evening; I shall be in my office until eight o’clock your time.’

‘Yes, Sir. Goodbye.’

Baenhaker hung up. and then sat back in his chair. He looked at his watch. It was five past nine, Wednesday. He buzzed on the intercom up to Eisenbar-Goldschmidt’s research department, and asked for all the information they had on Globalex to be brought down to him, then he sat back to think. Globalex was Jewish, so, as a Jew himself, people might be fairly open with him. But he knew British financial institutions: in time, over a hundred alcoholic lunches, you could pry anything you wanted from pretty well anyone — except the Jews. Many of them did not drink, and of those who did, most drank little. They respected the privacy of their clients far more than the British did. But even if there were gentiles in Globalex, willing to drink and then confide all, it would take time, and he did not have time.

To have any chance of getting information legitimately, he needed a lure. The only lure he could think of was money. To a large brokerage house he knew it would require a lot of money to make them interested in talking to him, and an even greater amount still for them to start wooing him for it. But the promise of money could get him in through the door, into the lion’s den, and with no suspicion.

When the report arrived he scanned down first to find Globalex’s daily trading figures: their average weekly turnover in commodity value was a shade over £75 million. He did a quick sum in his head: their brokerage income would have been around £50,000 per week. He was going to have to talk big to impress these fellows; very big. He looked up Globalex in the phone book, lifted the receiver and dialled the telephone number.

‘Good morning, Globalex’, said a bright voice.

‘Good morning. We are interested in opening an account with Globalex to invest funds for us.’

‘Metals or soft commodities?’ said the voice.

Baenhaker paused, flustered; he wasn’t sure what soft commodities were. ‘Er — metals,’ he said, boldly.

‘One moment, I’ll put you through to metals reception.’

There were two sharp burrs, then another female voice: ‘Globalex Metals.’

‘Good morning. My company is interested in opening an account with Globalex to invest funds for us in metals.’

‘Would you like to make an appointment to come and see us — or would you like someone to come and see you?’

‘I’d like to come to you.’

‘Certainly, sir. When would be convenient?’

‘Would this morning be possible?’

‘I think so, I’ll just check for you.’ There was a short pause. ‘Would eleven o’clock be convenient?’

‘Fine, thank you.’

‘What name is it, please?’

‘David Bernstein, of Eisenbar-Goldschmidt.’

‘Very good, Mr Bernstein, we will look forward to seeing you at eleven o’clock.’

Baenhaker replaced the receiver and looked down at his battered clothes: he was wearing an open-neck shirt, slacks and cream lace-up canvas shoes. Not the stuff of which investment managers, to which status he had now elevated himself, were made.

He buzzed on the intercom to the investment manager, Gary Volendam, to ask him to come down.

One hour and a quarter later, Baenhaker was standing in Austin Reed’s, in a lightweight navy double-breasted suit that could have been made to measure for him. He added a white shirt, conservative blue-and-white polka dot tie and black slip-on loafers with small gold chains across the insteps. He left, feeling decidedly New York preppie.

For some minutes, as he walked, he looked decidedly strange, for every other step, he scraped either the sole or the side of one shoe or the other along the pavement. He was in fact trying to scuff them so that by the time he arrived at Globalex they wouldn’t look too new.

He arrived at the front door of 88 Mincing Lane at exactly eleven o’clock. ‘Good morning, Sir, may I help you?’

The burly figure of Sergeant Major Bantry, in his full Globalex dress regalia, blocked Baenhaker’s path.

‘I have an appointment with the metals section of Globalex at eleven o’clock,’ said Baenhaker.

Bantry ran his eyes, like stiff pointed fingers, down the full length of Baenhaker’s body; they stopped on his shoes. ‘Can’t be much,’ thought Bantry to himself, ‘if he can’t even afford a tin of shoe polish. ‘Very good, Sir,’ he said, standing aside. ‘Nice day, could be rain later.’

‘Yes,’ said Baenhaker, ‘I’m sure.’

‘Reception is straight down there, Sir.’

‘Thank you,’ said Baenhaker, entering the building.

‘I got it, I got it, I got it!’ Gary Slivitz yelled out excitedly.

‘For chrissake, shut up,’ said Rocq, ‘I’ve got the most blistering hangover, and I’m fed up hearing you shout every five minutes “I’ve got it, I’ve got it, I’ve got it.”’

‘Well, I have this time — look — look!’ He excitedly held the Rubik’s cube under Rocq’s nose. The whites were all together on one face, the greens all together on another face. He turned it over to show Rocq the oranges were all together, as were the yellows. But then Slivitz noticed there was one red cube in the blue section, and one blue one in the red section. ‘Oh, shit,’ he said.

‘Haven’t you got any work to do?’ said Rocq.

‘Look, Rocky — did you ever see it so close?’

‘Slivitz, why don’t you get yourself up to date? Rubik’s cubes went out with the ark.’