Geneva Connection, The (20 page)

He walked right past the Henderson Wright tower on his way to the FCA’s headquarters. He still missed his time there and would never forgive John Kent and CBC for forcing him out. He smiled as he thought about how they’d come to regret making an enemy of him once he was in his new role. He’d do everything possible to use his new position to give CBC a good kicking and he wouldn’t be satisfied until Kent was ruined.

When Wright arrived at the regulator’s office building, he was shown to a large meeting room on the twenty-second floor, where he faced a panel interview. The chief executive of the FCA led the meeting. Check. Wright had already decided if the position wasn’t sufficiently senior to warrant the CEO handling the discussion, then it wouldn’t be the right role for him. It was his test to see how senior the position really was.

The panel had the usual questions, all of which Wright had anticipated, and to which he gave eloquent, if verbose, answers. It was clear from the start they wanted him as much as he wanted the job. He had a number of questions of his own, mostly to enable him to confirm the power of the position: Would he be allowed to recruit his own team? Would he have complete unrestricted access to the resources of the FCA? Would he be able to select any firm for investigation, no matter its size or connections? Would he be the public face of this important new division? The answer was the same in all cases—yes.

They offered him the job, and Wright grabbed it with both hands. He couldn’t wait to get started.

Chapter 29

F
OR
T
HE
N
EXT
C
OUPLE
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W
EEKS
, Kent tried his best to get back to business as usual, but the DVD kept playing on his mind. Whoever sent it knew he’d been about to file a suspicious report with the NCA and had the video delivered just in time to stop him in his tracks. Ever since that moment, he’d been cautious about any discussion in his office. There was no doubt they were listening and monitoring his every move, whoever they were.

He immersed himself in new deals and meetings, but nothing could distract him completely. At night, he struggled to sleep and during the day, he had no energy or appetite. Sarah had commented on his weight loss. Even Tara had telephoned her to say that he was not his usual self and to ask if he was all right.

Behind all the tension was Kent’s loss of control and a need to know who he was dealing with. Who the hell was Baumgart, really? And who did he represent? Kent decided to go and face Baumgart and to have it out with him. Even though that would be risky, he couldn’t go on like this, not knowing what or whom he was up against.

“Tara, could you get hold of Dieter Baumgart and arrange for me to meet with him over the next few days?” he shouted through his open office door.

“Sure. What shall I tell him the meeting is about when I call?” replied Tara.

“Just tell him it’s a regular catch-up session. Tell him I want to update him on the progress of their investments and what deals we have in the pipeline. Nothing unusual.” Kent tried to make it all sound perfectly normal as the hidden microphones would be recording everything.
Christ! I feel like I’m going mad. Maybe I am?

A few minutes later, Tara walked into his office. “Mr. Baumgart is actually going to be in London for a couple of meetings next week and has suggested you meet him at his hotel one evening while he’s over here. Is that okay with you?”

“That’s fine. Can you sort out the travel arrangements? I won’t need to stay down there. I’ll catch a late train home.”

I don’t want to spend any more time with that man than I have to
, he thought
.

Kent caught the six thirty p.m. train from Peterborough to London the following week. The high-speed train arrived at King’s Cross station fifty minutes later. He was early for his eight o’clock dinner appointment with Baumgart, so he walked the thirty minutes or so it took to reach the Langham Hotel at the southern end of Portland Place. Besides, it helped to calm his nerves and gave him time to think.

How should he play the meeting? He didn’t know if he could trust Baumgart at all. The truth was he knew very little about the man.
He must know something.

Kent arrived first at the hotel’s restaurant, at a couple of minutes before eight. A condescending maître d’ showed him to the table in a small alcove just off the main dining room. The table was visible from the main dining area, but was private enough to hold a discreet conversation. Sitting with his back to the window, he could watch the room and see when Baumgart arrived. His heart rate was rapid, and his palms were sticky. He dried them on his suit trousers. The last thing he wanted was to appear nervous in front of Baumgart when they shook hands. That would ring alarm bells. How would he be able to explain such out-of-character behavior without giving away what he knew?

Scanning the room for anyone who might be watching him, Kent played with the cutlery. The restaurant was almost full, and most of the suited diners appeared to be deep in conversation. But the two men sat at the table in the opposite corner of the room appeared to be looking over at him. They averted their eyes as he looked directly back at them.
Are they watching me?

The waiter came to take a drink order and Kent ordered mineral water; best to keep a clear head for the difficult meeting to come. He skimmed the menu, but he had no appetite; eating tonight would be purely for show.
This isn’t a social meeting. It’s not even a business meeting
, he thought.

What could he expect from this dinner with Baumgart? Would he just come out and admit he’s a criminal?
What happens then?
Kent was no longer sure this was a great idea. Where would this lead, and did he really want to know everything?

He glanced at his watch; ten past eight and still no sign of them.
Maybe they’re not coming
. Just as he was about to call Tara to check he had the right place and time, he heard, “John, very good to see you. So sorry to have kept you waiting.” Baumgart and his sidekick, Kulpman, were making their way over to the table.

Baumgart beckoned over the waiter, ordered a large glass of Riesling and started to read the menu.
He looks relaxed
, Kent thought
. What’s his game?

Baumgart made small talk as they waited for their food order. Though Kent joined in, he was boiling inside.
When’s he going to drop the bloody façade?
he thought.
Stop fucking about. We all know why we’re here.

“So, John, what would you like to discuss?” Baumgart said as he scraped his fork on the last morsel of food on his plate.

Kent had hardly touched his meal. He pushed his plate aside and stared at the Swiss giant. Should he just come out with it? If Baumgart was going to play games, then maybe he’d have to be direct with him. What could he say, though?
“I know all about the DVD, and I know you or your people were behind Anton’s death?”

“Current progress on our portfolio and the deals that are coming through over the next couple of months,” said Kent. He couldn’t bring himself to do it. The whole thing had the potential to go horribly wrong and spin out of control. Instead, he ran through the performance of the main companies in the investment portfolio.

Baumgart was his usual self, praising the great work being done by CBC and Kent in particular. “Our investors are very pleased with your performance and would be delighted to make more capital available should you need it.”

Kent looked down. “I think we’re comfortable for the time being but, of course, I’ll let you know if we can deploy more capital.” That would never happen. If Kent had his way, he’d hand it all back tonight and call it quits.

“There’s always plenty of money available for the right deals.”

“Have you picked up any new investors recently, Dieter?” Kent said in the hopes of prompting a reaction from him.

“No. All of our capital still comes from the three families. Nothing’s changed. Now, are we going to have a coffee? I know I will.”

Incredible!
Baumgart was still claiming Tritona’s money came from the three founding families. What about Andreas Kvarnback? What about the fake passport? What about the bloody DVD?

Kent stared at the tablecloth. Was it possible Baumgart wasn’t involved? He had to be. Nothing else made sense.

“We were horrified to learn about your partner being killed in that road accident,” Baumgart said, breaking into Kent’s thoughts.

Kent bolted upright. How could Baumgart casually drop this into the conversation?
You bastards killed him. I bet you were horrified.

“We read about it in the newspapers. It must have been a shock to you all,” continued Baumgart.

Kent felt his cheeks heating up. “Yes. It was a shock, all right.” He wanted to shout out that it couldn’t have been a surprise to Tritona. He wanted to tell Baumgart to stop fucking about with his silly games. He wanted to know more about the DVD taken in the room Tritona had so carefully arranged for them. He wanted to grill Baumgart on the people behind his Swiss firm. Was it mafia money? It had to be. How long had he been on their payroll? How many other people had he been party to blackmailing and murdering? He wanted Baumgart to simply stop the pretense and tell him the truth, but something stopped him from blurting this all out.

As the coffees came and went, Kent remained in a daze, nodding politely as Baumgart continued to talk.

“Next time I’d like you to bring that delightful young lady, Tara, with you,” Baumgart said as they walked to the hotel foyer at the end of the meal. Kent wondered whether that was Baumgart’s way of saying he knew about the DVD?

While he was revolted by the thought, Kent shook hands with Baumgart and then jumped into one of the waiting taxis in front of the hotel. As the cab made its way along Euston road, he ran over the evening in his mind. Could Baumgart actually be innocent in all this? Was that credible? He leaned forward and cupped his head in his hands. Who was pulling the strings? Who sent the DVD? Who killed Anton? He sighed.
I’ve learned nothing tonight. Nothing.

Kent caught the ten thirty train from Kings Cross. His carriage was half empty. There were a few people who looked as though they’d been down for the theater or dinner, but nobody rowdy or drunk. It was too early for the late night revelers to be making their way home. As the train pulled out, two men in business suits looked in Kent’s direction from the other side of the aisle three rows away. He looked at them, trying not to make it obvious. They were not the same men from the restaurant, although they were dressed in similar suits
.
He glanced away when they looked directly back at him. They appeared to be discussing him. Kent felt his stomach tightening.
Am I being followed? Are these the people behind Tritona?

The train stopped at Stevenage, but the two men stayed on. Kent thought of moving to another carriage to see what the two suits would do, but decided it was safer to stay put. At least there were other people in this carriage.
Surely they wouldn’t attack me with witnesses around? But how am I going to get back to my car?
The men were staring at him now and making no effort to hide it. Kent looked away, thinking it best not to let them know he’d spotted them.

He left the train at Peterborough. A few people got off at the same time and made their way across the tracks via the pedestrian footbridge. He started walking to his car in the station car park then noticed the two men were only forty yards behind him leaving the station building.
They’re definitely following me. Shit!

There was no one else in the parking area, and it was not well lit. Kent did not look around, but could hear the footsteps of the two men getting closer. He increased his pace a little, as imperceptibly as he could, then took his car keys out of his briefcase so he’d be ready to open the BMW without stopping. He could sense they were close now.