Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

Isabel perched on the very edge of Humberto’s small sofa, poised at any moment to leap off and go for his throat. Humberto sat uncomfortably opposite us.

‘Well?’ Isabel’s eyes were alight.

‘OK, I know this deal was your idea all along. And we had given you the mandate. We’ll reimburse all your expenses.’

‘I don’t care about the expenses, it’s the deal I want!’ cried Isabel.

‘I know. If it was up to me, I would have gone ahead with you.’

‘Don’t give me that bullshit. It was up to you!’

Humberto winced. ‘Not exactly.’

‘So who has a problem with us? The Mayor? The Governor? We know them well. We’ve done a lot for them over the last few years.’

‘No, not them.’

‘Who then?’

‘The World Development Fund.’

‘Jack Langton?’ Isabel paused. This obviously made more sense to her. ‘What’s his problem?’ she said, in a quieter tone.

Humberto relaxed a touch. ‘I don’t know. He said that if the World Development Fund were to guarantee the deal, then Dekker Ward couldn’t be the lead-manager.’

‘Why couldn’t we? Did he say?’

Humberto shrugged. ‘He said it was policy. Something to do with the WDF’s global funding strategy. He says they are worried about the monopoly Dekker Ward has in leading bond issues in Latin America. They think it would be a good idea to have a choice of several sources of funds, and the best way of doing that is to insist on another lead-manager.’

‘But why Bloomfield Weiss?’

‘Apparently, they are the biggest lead-manager of the WDF’s global deals. And, besides, no one else was willing to take the deal from you. Which sort of underlines Jack Langton’s point, don’t you think?’

‘No, Humberto, I don’t think! No one else took the deal because it would be completely unethical to do so when we had done all the work. Bloomfield Weiss were the only firm dirty enough to try.’

‘Look, Isabel, I fought for you. I pushed hard. But Jack wouldn’t move. And you know we can’t possibly do this deal without the WDF guarantee.’

Isabel stood up. ‘Humberto, I’m disappointed in you,’ she said, her voice quivering.

‘There’s one other thing Jack said that I didn’t understand,’ said Humberto.

Isabel waited.

‘Apparently the WDF have information that Dekker Ward has a relationship with some of the narco-traffickers that control the favelas. That makes it difficult for them to use you, they say.’

Isabel turned on her heel and stormed out of the room.

I was a bit slow following her. I was just about to nod and smile at Humberto when I realized that this would be inappropriate, so I gave him a sort of stiff little bow instead, and rushed off to catch up with her.

Our taxi fought its way back towards our hotel.

‘Bad news,’ I said.

Isabel put her head in her hands. ‘Very bad news. I can’t believe it!’

‘But they did ask us to be co-lead-manager.’

Isabel shook her head. ‘That’s an insult. We’d never go into a deal Bloomfield Weiss took from us. Ricardo will be furious. Once Bloomfield Weiss show the market they can steal a deal from under our noses, everyone will be doing it.’

‘Can we talk to the World Development Fund?’

‘There’s no point. Bloomfield Weiss will have more influence with them than we have.’ She stared glumly out of the window.

‘If I ask you something, will you promise not to kill me?’

‘No,’ she said, ‘I’ll promise no such thing.’ But she looked at me curiously.

I went ahead anyway. ‘Aren’t they right? I mean, isn’t it better for the World Development Fund to have a choice of investment banks to lead their deals in Latin America?’

‘Don’t worry, I won’t kill you,’ said Isabel, with a small smile. ‘Yes they’re absolutely right. And, in fact, I’m surprised this hasn’t happened before now. We couldn’t dominate this market for ever. Nevertheless this is a bad day for us. If only it had been anyone else but Bloomfield Weiss!’

‘There’s something else I don’t understand,’ I said. ‘What was that at the end about how Dekker deals with narco-traffickers in Rio?’

Isabel snorted. ‘That’s rubbish. I know about all Dekker’s Brazilian business and, believe me, we don’t go anywhere near drug dealers.’

I thought about Martin Beldecos’s fax and Francisco Aragão, who according to United Bank of Canada was a Brazilian money-launderer. But I decided not to contradict her just then.

I joined Isabel in her room as she rang Ricardo. I had never seen her so tense. She explained what had happened, and answered some questions concisely. Then there were some monosyllabic yesses and nos, and she hung up. She sat on the chair by the desk in her room, and rubbed her face in her hands.

‘I take it he wasn’t pleased,’ I said.

She looked up. ‘I’ve never heard him so angry.’

‘What’s he going to do?’

She frowned. ‘He’s getting on a plane down here tonight. He’ll be in Rio tomorrow morning. He says he’ll sort everything out.’

‘Oh.’

‘Not exactly a vote of confidence, is it?’ Isabel muttered. ‘But I can’t blame him.’

‘How can he sort this out?’

‘I’ve no idea. We’ll just have to see.’

Isabel and I waited for Ricardo in the lobby. Isabel had checked whether his plane had landed on time. It had. We waited in silence, Isabel clearly nervous. I didn’t feel quite so bad — after all, I was so inexperienced that I could hardly be held to blame. But I felt for Isabel, and every now and then I gave her a smile of encouragement, which she seemed to be grateful for.

It felt odd, sitting in this smart hotel, five thousand files from the School of Russian Studies, waiting for a bollocking. It was cool in the lobby, and it was the cool that made it feel exclusive. Outside it was hot, sticky and noisy. Outside was where ordinary tourists and ordinary cariocas fought their way through the fumes, noise and heat of the city. Outside was also where people were attacked with knives. Inside was where the people with money sat, safe and dry in their suits in the cool.

A car drew up, and the tall slim figure of Ricardo stepped out. He didn’t look at all as if he had spent the night on a plane. His tie was neatly knotted over a crisp white shirt, and his suit looked as if it was on its first day out from the tailor’s. A doorman brought in his two cases, a small overnight bag and a large briefcase.

Isabel and I stood up nervously.

Ricardo saw us and smiled. ‘How are you, Nick?’

‘OK. A bit sore. A bit shaken.’

‘I bet. You were very lucky, I hear.’

‘Yes, I was. Although it was bad luck to be attacked in the first place.’

Ricardo shook his head. ‘First, Martin in Caracas, and now you here. Travel really is getting dangerous, these days.’ Then he moved over to the reception desk. ‘Just wait here a minute while I check in,’ he said. We did as we were told.

He spent a moment filling in forms, and then he returned. ‘Let’s get a cup of coffee, shall we?’

Breakfast was almost over, but they let us have a table with some coffee. Ricardo took his jacket off, sat back in his chair and sighed. He closed his eyes and stretched. Then he leaned forward and looked Isabel in the eye.

‘OK. First thing. I want you to know that I was very impressed with your work on the Favela Bairro deal. It’s just the sort of creative work that we want to do at Dekker.’

‘Thank you,’ whispered Isabel, surprised and relieved.

‘We’ve lost the deal because of those arseholes at the World Development Fund. I don’t know if there’s anything you could have done to prevent that. In any case, it’s too late to worry about it now. But I do not like the way Bloomfield Weiss stole the deal from us. They have to know that I, personally, will not let them get away with it.’