Майкл Ридпат - The Marketmaker

I cursed myself. Getting Bloomfield Weiss to take over Dekker had seemed like a just piece of revenge for all that Ricardo and Eduardo had done to me and others. It had been sweet at first, but now that it could lead to Isabel’s death, it tasted rotten.

I didn’t really blame Stahl. He had behaved just as I would have expected him to. There was no reason for me to believe that Bloomfield Weiss would be any more human than Dekker.

I dialled Luís. It took several attempts to get through Rio’s overloaded exchange, but finally I heard the ringing tone. Luís picked up the phone immediately.

‘Nick?’ His voice was breathless, full of hope.

I shattered it. ‘Stahl won’t change his mind. Bloomfield Weiss are going ahead with the deal.’

Luís snapped. ‘No!’ His voice cracked. There was silence as he pulled himself together. ‘Couldn’t you persuade him? Does the man have no feelings? Perhaps I should talk to him.’

‘There’s no point, Luís. He’s not going to change his mind.’

‘I’ll call him,’ said Luís. ‘I’ll tell him.’

So I let him go and try his luck with Stahl, knowing there was no chance it would work.

I slept little that night. I got up at about two and called Luís. I wasn’t surprised to hear that he had had no luck with Stahl. Our last hope would be if he could persuade the kidnappers that there was no point in killing Isabel; that they should accept money instead. Luís was optimistic, I wasn’t. Eduardo didn’t need money. Eduardo hated me. He probably hated Isabel too.

The next day, Thursday, was a long one. My room felt like a cell. I couldn’t leave it, except to wash and eat as quickly as possible. I avoided Jamie and Kate as much as I could, gulping down my meals and disappearing back up there.

But at least now I knew Isabel was still alive, and while she was alive there was still hope. There was a chance the kidnappers would spare her. Maybe they would switch back to the ransom demand as Nelson had suggested.

I couldn’t just stew in my room doing nothing, letting the minutes tick away, waiting for Luís to try to persuade Zico to let Isabel live. Anyway, it wasn’t Zico who needed persuading, it was Eduardo.

That was it! I couldn’t talk to Eduardo, but I might just get somewhere with Ricardo.

I rushed downstairs, picked up the phone and dialled his number.

‘Dekker.’

It was strange to hear that voice again. Crisp and in control.

‘It’s Nick Elliot.’

Silence for a moment. Then, ‘Yes, Nick, what can I do for you?’ The voice was cold but polite.

‘I want to talk to you.’

‘I’m listening.’

‘No, not on the phone. In person. I’ll meet you on one of the benches outside Corney and Barrow.’ I looked at my watch. It was a quarter to two. ‘At three o’clock.’

A pause. ‘OK,’ said Ricardo, and the phone clicked.

I asked Kate to drive me to the station. We passed the brief journey in silence. Kate didn’t ask what was on my mind, and I didn’t tell her. A train journey and a taxi-ride later, and I was at Canary Wharf. It was ten past three when I reached the benches outside Corney and Barrow. Ricardo was there, waiting.

I sat next to him. It was a warm day. He was jacketless, with his shirt cuffs rolled up. He was staring at the rusty old boat that was permanently moored in the dock. The odd burst of laughter came from the open doors of Corney and Barrow, where determined lunch-time drinkers lingered on into the afternoon. Above and behind us rose the Canary Wharf tower itself, proud and white in the afternoon sunlight.

‘What do you want? I’m busy,’ Ricardo said, without looking at me.

‘Isabel’s still alive.’ I watched him closely as I said this. I thought I saw something flicker in him, a slight widening of his eyes, a stiffening of his posture, but then it was gone. He sat there impassively, staring ahead. ‘But, then, you know that, don’t you?’

‘I didn’t know that,’ he answered. ‘I’m glad to hear it.’

‘And you also know that Bloomfield Weiss is in discussions with Lord Kerton about taking over Dekker Ward.’

This time Ricardo said nothing.

I continued, ‘Isabel’s father has received a message from the kidnappers that unless Bloomfield Weiss call off their bid by Friday, she will die.’

Still no response. I pressed on regardless.

‘I want you, and Eduardo, to know that I’ve spoken to Sidney Stahl, to ask him to stop the takeover. He didn’t listen to me.’ I could feel the desperation welling up inside me. ‘Ricardo, I can’t stop this takeover! You have to believe me!’

He turned to face me. The cool blue eyes looked me up and down, judging me.

At last he spoke. ‘Why are you telling me this?’

‘Because you organized the kidnapping!’ I said. ‘Or if you didn’t, Eduardo did, which amounts to the same thing. And I don’t want you to kill her.’ I was pleading now, begging. But I didn’t know what else to do.

Ricardo looked right through me, his face stone cold. ‘You have betrayed me. You are trying to sell my company to my biggest rival. And now you come up with some cock-and-bull story about how I arranged the kidnap of one of my own people. I want Isabel to live as much as you do. More, probably. I know nothing about the kidnap, Nick. So I can’t help you. Now, I must get back to work.’

He stood up and walked quickly back across the square towards the Tower.

‘Well, at least talk to Eduardo about it,’ I said, walking beside him. He ignored me. ‘Eduardo’s got to know what’s going on. Talk to him!’

‘Leave me alone, Nick,’ Ricardo said, glancing at me coldly.

I stopped and watched him as he reached the varnished entrance to the tower complex.

‘Ricardo!’ I shouted. ‘You can’t let her die! You can’t!’

My voice echoed off the squat blocks of offices around me, bouncing off Ricardo’s back as he disappeared inside the huge building.

I made my slow way back to Dockenbush Farm. Tube, train, and then a walk from the station. It was six o’clock by the time I arrived back there.

All the way my mind wrestled with my meeting with Ricardo. He had been convincing about his ignorance of Isabel’s kidnap. But then Ricardo was convincing. Always. There was a chance that Eduardo had arranged the kidnap without Ricardo’s knowledge. Perhaps Ricardo would talk to him now. Persuade him not to have Isabel killed. Perhaps tell him to release her.

I was clutching at straws.

That evening, I spent ten minutes wolfing down my supper, and mumbled something about more problems with my thesis to Jamie. Then I went back upstairs to stare into space.

Both Luís and I were confident that Zico would call him at midnight Brazil time, which was four a.m. in England. There was no chance of sleep before then.

At about eleven, Kate knocked on my door. ‘I just came to say goodnight. I’m off to bed now.’

‘Goodnight.’

She sat on the bed. ‘What is it, Nick? What’s up?’

‘Nothing.’

‘Of course there is. It’s not just about the takeover, is it? It’s more than that.’

I blurted it out. ‘Unless I can work out some way of stopping Bloomfield Weiss from taking over Dekker in the next five hours, Isabel will die.’

‘But I thought—’

‘That she was dead? Well, the good news is that she isn’t. The bad news is that she soon will be,’ I muttered bitterly.

‘But why would the kidnappers care about whether Dekker gets taken over?’

I told her my theories about Ricardo and Eduardo.

She listened in shock. ‘I can’t believe it!’

‘Can you think of any other explanation?’

Kate frowned, and shook her head. ‘So what are you going to do?’