NATHANIEL IN JUDGEMENT

 

      Money attracts malefactors like flowers attract bees: we like to lead prosperous lives, and rich customers provide the best pickings. The rich have the same hopes and expectations as other people, in a world where love, hatred, envy and jealousy all claim kinship with greed and revenge, but they can afford to bid a lot higher. Some of my best customers move in the realms of high finance - and high finance numbers are invariably big, and sometimes very big indeed.

   Recently I was asked to resolve an interesting triangular business dispute. A man called me one evening, speaking with a transatlantic twang. He identified himself as Simon, mentioned a mutual acquaintance, and asked me to meet him for a drink in a pub close to the City. He gave no reason for wanting to meet me, but said I might find it 'well worth my while'. Well, I am always curious, and veiled promises, coupled with pubs close to the City, are always tempting. So I accepted the rendez-vous, and called the mutual acquaintance.

    'Nice one, Nathaniel.'  I could sense the voice at the other end of the line shaping up towards a commission. 'He's a director at Global Commercial.'

   Bits of gossip started to take shape in my mind. Global Commercial is one of these mega-multinationals,with businesses in pretty well every industry you can think of, and outposts all over the world. Group sales run into many billions of pounds, dollars and euros, and Global Commercial boardroom decisions are reputed to make and unmake decsions at the highest levels of world government. But gossip had also started whispering about internal dissensions. Seemingly North American and Continental directors had begun taking a view that Lord Strangeways, Global Commercial's chairman, ruled the group too much in Britain's favour. The North Americans apparently wanted to move group headquarters to New York, whilst a Continental minority preferred Brussels.

   Word had it that Strangeways was deftly playing dissenters off against each other. But my acquaintance hazarded a guess that events had begun moving towards a crunch time.

   'Strangeways is a stubborn old bastard, and they probably want him out of the way.'

   My mind moved into overtime. Company chairmen are generally high profile figures, and high profile figures always come dear. But chairmen of mega-multinationals are beyond trophies. I thought seven figures, possibly eight. I sensed that my acquaintance was mulling over proportionate percentages.

   Well, to cut matters short, I met Simon. Very smooth, very suave, very tricksy. We shared Cuba Libres out on the pub balcony: the day was fine and sunny, with not too many people around.

   'I guess you know why I wanted to meet with you.' Simon smiled slightly. He looked like a shark: he was dressed in the finest Savile Row grey, with a handmade Jermyn Street shirt and matching grey silk tie. He had big teeth, and expressionless eyes.

   I smiled back, shark smile for shark smile. 'You're going for a deletion?'

   Simon's eyes narrowed, and he was silent for a moment. Then he nodded.

   I sipped thoughtfully at my Cuba Libre. "It's going to be pricey. Very pricey, even.' I was watching him out of the corner of my eye, trying to gauge just how pricey his budget might accomodate.

   However his eyes were already gleaming. It was plain he regarded a deal as already in the bag, with only terms to be settled, and judged himself well on the home straight, with a winning post in sight. 'A big one?'

   'Got to be.' I pursed my lips. 'Maybe more. I imagine a big one would buy you a stroke, with the old buffer collapsing.'

   The shark eyes hardened. 'People can recover from strokes.'

   I smiled my silky smile.'You want him him totalled.'

   Simon's lips narrowed into a thin, hard line. I knew I was offering just what he wanted, but I could also see that he was growing mean. 'One and a half?'

   I made a face.

   'Two?'

   I pretended to think for a minute, and then made a show of assenting reluctantly. Of course I would have been happy with one big one on its own, and one and a half would have been generous. But one must never open one's book.

   The American took a deep breath. 'I'll have to scout around for the wind.'

   I gave him a fierce look, and he twitched; I like to provide potential customers with free samples of my powers. 'Make it cash, preferably Swiss fives.'

   He nodded. I like Swiss five thousand franc notes: they come in very handy at around two thousand sterling, or three thousand dollars or euros, apiece.

  I smiled again, this time without malice. 'Just think who'll be the next chairman.'

   That clinched it - I knew that it would. Hungry men are all the same: they see food on the table and they start to slaver. So we moved on to specifics. Meeting chairmen of mega-multinationals face to face can be hard to arrange. But fortunately I have an alter ego, Nathaniel the business writer. I pen the odd column from time to time, when malefactoring grows dull, and I like to think that my prose is percipient and succinct. My judgements are good, and my predictions are accurate - or at least as accurate as one might expect when markets are sliding around all over the place. A stockbroker acquaintance asked for investment advice a couple of weeks ago, and I found that very flattering. He paid for it too.

   Simon suggested setting up an interview for me to profile Strangeways. I asked about glasses, but he was dismissive. 'He does wear them, but he likes to take them off when he's making a point, waves them at you, and looks magisterial.' His mouth crinkled, as though he had bit on a lemon.

   So that was that. Simon said that he would make all the necessary arrangements, and I left matters in his capable hands.He also promised a hundred thousand up front, to be paid in Swiss five thousand franc notes. I like Swiss banknotes, five thousand francs is roughly two thousand sterling or three thousand dollars or euros. The notes come in handy when you want to keep your wallet reasonably slim.

   I then went home to run some research on Global Commercial, to provide me with an interview framework. I do not believe in chopping a target the moment I walk through an office door: I consider precipitation crude, and it can sometimes trigger suspicions. I like my assignments to evolve naturally.

   Then a bombshell exploded. Well, it was really more surprise than bombshell, but I was taken pretty much unawares. A man called, with an invitation to Frankfurt.

   'I have arranged for you to collect a ticket tomorrow morning from the Lufthansa desk at Heathrow, first class of course. I hope you can make it.'

   'Business?' I hazarded, though I already knew the answer.

   'We will talk in the restaurant at Rhein-Main, it is not far from my office.'

   'A big hit?' It was the nearest I dared come to the suspicion forming in my mind, because we were talking on an open line, and telephones can sometimes have ears.

   The voice laughed harshly. 'Perhaps you can say so.'

   I hung up, and promptly checked out all my pictures of Global Commercial's continental directors.

   I recognised the man in the Frankfurt airport restaurant as Hans-Gunter Heimann, Global Commercial director, and chairman of any number of big Eurobusinesses, immediately. He looked pretty much like another shark, but dressed in black rather than grey. Maybe a wolf. He was certainly greedier than Simon.

   'You will know why we are here?'

   I nodded. I was not sure that I knew, but I certainly suspected.

   'The future lies in Europe.' The man's voice was harsh. He wore gold-rimmed glasses, but I could sense they were merely cosmetic - he had a weak jawline and shifty eyes. Fancy frames cannot infuse a man with backbone, and I judged him a Goebbels clone.

   I eyed him speculatively.'What about the Americans?'

   'Simon too.'

   My eyes widened in surprise. 'Both of them?'

   'The future is here in Europe.' Heimann's tone was flat and decisive.

   'Big job.'

   'You have met Simon, he has made you a price. You can double it.'

   Now I was impressed. Heimann had good intelligence, the very best, and I was on my way to a really nice chateau in France, possibly a premier cru in the Gironde, or else a nice big spread in Kentucky, with a stable of top notch stallions - I like to ride, and pride myself a good judge of horseflesh.

   'How soon?'

   'As soon as you can.' Heimann raised his hand, and a a man stood up at a table not far away. He was carrying a briefcase, and the case looked to be well stuffed. Heiman gestured at it with his hand. 'Here is a downpayment.'

   I smiled happily as I took it, for I do like men who pay up front.

   Half an hour later I was on my way back to London, with a case stuffed with crisp new five hundred euro notes in the luggage rack above my head, planning strategy as I flew. I reckoned that I could take Simon out when he met me to settle up. I would collect cash in hand, and have a big surprise for a shark. I liked the thought, for I always find sharks to be good deep sea fishing, even when they pay me well. Malefactors like biting hands that feed them.

   Simon called me the following day. 'The interview is in the bag, friend. You're all set to go.'

   I licked my lips. I also like action.

   Lord Strangeways' office was on the top floor of a City skyscraper, with a spectacular view. The room was big enough for a throneroom - perhaps it was, in a manner of speaking. The decor was impressive: a nice Mondrian, a lively Chagall, and a Picasso, comfortable chairs, and a couple of interesting sculptures. More like an expensive penthouse flat than somewhere to work, thought the fittings included a couple of big screens showing market prices from around the world, and I noticed a computer terminal on a rather functional table. Strangeways himself looked fit and tanned, a man in his late fifties with the air of supreme confidence that comes only to those who have thousands of employees at their beck and call.

   He waved me into a chair, and I watched him carefully. A serpent needs to gauge the right moment to strike. But he saved me the trouble.

   'My spies tell me Simon and Hans-Gunter have been talking to you.'

   I swallowed. I was momentarily taken aback: everyone in Global Commercial seemed to be watching everyone else. The thought was unnerving, and disturbing as well, for it rather threatened to cut the ground from under my feet.

   "Don't worry.' He waved my fears away. 'They're both out of their depths.'

   I waited.

   'I think they're floundering.'

   I began to laugh internally. I seemed to be in a poker game, with rivals bidding up the ante. "You mean...?' I let my voice trail away.

   'Drowning is usually fatal.' Strangeways beamed at me. Nice smile, plenty of teeth. But I could see that he was another shark.

   However my strategy now lay at my feet in ruins, and I had fears for my rewards as well. 'They've made commitments,' I said, rather faster than I would have cared.

   'No problem.' Strangeways got to his feet and walked towards me. 'The business will cover those, and a bit more besides, providing they tidy away nicely.'

   Then the unexpected happened. He was half way across his carpet, moving purposefully, when he suddenly stopped, and his tan turned a blotchy red and white. I was on my feet straight away, but it was too late. He coughed a couple of times, and choked, and fell in a heap. I reached him and put him on his back, but I could see that he was all but finished. He did manage a wry grin at the very end, and a few husky words. 'It's the luck of the draw'. But then he was gone.

   The company doctor arrived, and murmured something about a 'massive embolism', whilst I tried to look suitably subdued. But of course my mind was racing. I called Simon that night, but he already knew, and sounded over the moon. We arranged to meet, and he came with a big black attache case.

   I blew him away the moment I had the case in my hand. It seemed to me the only reasonable outcome, and the only way to guarantee Heimann's money into the bargain. I do like to think of myself as a European, and I do believe the future lies in Europe. But I also hope Global Commercial finds a better leader than a Goebbels clone.