The market maker (10 page)

Since then I've won them fifteen bond mandates in BrazU/'

"Not bad/'

"I must sound terrible," Isabel said. "I'm not really a radical feminist. I'm just proud. And stubborn."

"And you like to annoy your father?"

For a moment I thought I had gone loo far. "I love him," said Isabel defensively.

"I know that. I could see that when you were with him. And he adores you. Maybe that's why you rub each other the wrong way."

Isabel smiled. "That's exactly why. My poor father. Somehow he has no control over us. He must wish we were ladies of leisure like all his friends' daughters. Could you believe it when he offered me a job in the bank? 'I'm sure we could find you something,' he said. I mean, I know Horizonte is one of the most successful investment barJ

Actually, I was jealous of Isabel for her father. He was a banker, yet unlike my father, this did not seem to automatically exclude all interest in other things. I was sure Luis could speak knowledgeably about a wide range of topics that would leave my father looking blank and uninterested.

At Isabel's suggestion I ordered a fish I had never heard of and that neither she nor the waiter could translate.

"You've seen my father," she said. "What about your parents?"

"I don't see them much," I said. "My father was in finance too."

"Well then/' she said. "You know what it's like/'

"I'm afraid my father's a very different kind of man from yours/' I said. "Or at least he seems that way to me."

" What do you mean? "

"Well, he worked for an old British stockbroker. Much like Dekker Ward used to be, I would imagine. He had lunches with his friends, gave his customers good tips, and then when his firm was bought out by the Americans in 1986, he retired to a small village in Norfolk. You know, on the east coast."

"I've been there," said Isabel. "It's cold."

"It certainly is." I smiled. "He spends all day in his garden or reading the paper. I think at first he tried investing his retirement money on the markets, but he lost most of it, so he stopped. I've never found it easy to talk to him, and I suppose I've given up now."

"What does he think about you joining Dekker Ward?"

"I don't know. I haven't told him."

"You haven't told him!"

"No. Awful, isn't it? He always wanted me to go into the City, and I always refused. I can't face telling him that I've finally succumbed. I'll tell him next week. Or the week after."

We were silent for a moment. I watched Isabel expertly parting the white flesh of her fish from the bone, biting her lower lip in concentration. Her skin glowed in the candlelight.

Then she said, "Nick, I'm sorry about being a little cold with you earlier. It wasn't very fair of me. And it has nothing to do with you. Nothing. It's just I've got myself in trouble with men at Dekker before, and I don't want to let it happen again."

"I understand." I thought of what Jamie had told me

about her and Eduardo. How could this woman possibly have had anything to do with him?

''Your friend Jamie, for example/'

"Oh, yes?"

"Yes. He kept on trying to ask me out. He made a pass at me twice."

"Oh, that's nothing," I said, laughing. "He was just flirting. He's very happily married. You've nothing to fear from him."

"I don't know about that. I'm Brazilian. I know all about flirting. I can tell when a guy is just having fun, and when he really means it. And believe me, your friend Jamie really means it."

I looked at her sharply. She must be mistaken. "No. He always used to chat up women. He just wants to make sure he can still do it, that's all."

"Nick, I think he wants to do more than just chat them up."

I shook my head. "I'm sure you're wrong."

"OK. He's your friend. You know him best. I'm just glad I'm not his wife."

Despite my protests, Isabel had planted some seeds of doubt. I hadn't been able to understand what Jamie had against Isabel when he had warned me about her. Had he tried his luck and been rejected? It did fit. But Jamie was a good friend, and so was Kate, and I just didn't want to think that there was any infidelity there. If that meant I had to bury my head in the sand, so be it.

Isabel put her hand on mine. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have told you that. It's just that after Marcelo, and um..." She broke off. "After Marcelo, I'm not very impressed with unfaithful men. I probably judged Jamie too quickly. Please forgive me."

That wasn't difficult. "I forgive you."

And so our conversation eased gently ahead.

Sometime after midnight, we spUled out of the res j

taurant and headed for the sea, only a couple of blocks '

away We crossed the road, pushed our way through j

the throng of people along the pathway, and headed j

down to the water itself. The beach was floodlit, and a ; game of foot volleyball was in full swing. The skills

of the players amazed me, raUy after rally of three :

touches, with head, chest, or feet. i

We walked all the way down to tiie water, watching \ the foam beat rhythmicaUy onto the sand, the flecks of ' salt water picked out brilliant white by the floodlights. We took off our shoes and padded along the strip of wet sand at the water's edge, letting the strongest, most adventurous waves wash over our toes. On one side was | the dark sea, on the otiier the life and lights of Ipanema. ! We didn't speak. The beauty of tiie night hung around , us. I wanted to walk forever with Isabel along that

beach. i

We were approaching \hefavela I had seen timibling down into the sea the day before, a mass of pinpricks of individual electric Ughts. It was quieter and darker at i this end of the beach. j

Suddenly we were surrounded by figures, small, thin, and Uthe. I don't know where they came from. \ There were four of them, I think. Instinctively, I tried to ; move in front of Isabel, but I was stopped by a long thin ; knife, an inch from my chest.

I glanced at Isabel. She was standing stock still. "Don't move!" she said, in a voice of surprising calm- ; ness. "Give them what they want."

A kid of about fourteen waved his blade in front of ;

me, and said sometiiing in Portuguese. ;

"OK, OK," I said. Slowly, I reached into my trouser ]

pocket and produced some notes. It was a healthy bundle. Fortunately I had left my wallet at the hotel, with my passport, as Isabel had suggested.

The kid snatched the money. Isabel was carrying a cheap shoulder bag, and she slowly handed that over.

I began to relax. They'd got their money. Now they'd let us go.

The kid in front of me tucked the notes into his pocket, keeping his eyes on me all the time. He didn't move, just stood there. He was half my age, much smaller than I, but he had a krufe, and he certairUy knew how to use it.

I sought his brown eyes with mine, but they flicked away. Then his thin shoulders tensed. I knew what he was going to do. I started to turn, but I was too late. The knife flashed, and I felt a hot piercing pain in my chest. Isabel screamed. My hands flew to the hilt of the knife. The kid tried to pull it out, but I clung on to it, determined not to let the blade leave my body. My chest was on fire. It hurt to breathe, but I kept trying, short gasps, each one agony. My legs buckled underneath me, and I sank to the ground, pulling the knife and the kid with me. He yanked a couple of times, and then gave up, letting me slip down to the sand.

"Nick! Nick..." Isabel's voice faded into darkness.

8

I had my own room in the hospital. Isabel had made sure of that. She had secured a well-qualified doctor who had pronounced that the knife wound, although deep, wasn't dangerous. It had missed my heart but nicked my lung. There had been some internal bleeding, but this had been minimized because the knife had not been withdrawn. The lung itself had not been badly damaged, and would heal quickly. He had stitched me up carefully, so the scarring would be m^inimal. Rio doctors were, apparently, experts with a needle and thread. I had woken up with a tube down my throat, which they soon took away, but my breathing was still painful. The doctor wanted to keep me in hospital for a couple of days to make sure no infection took hold, and to give me time to recover from the shock of the attack.

I needed it. There was a steady, dull, persistent pain in my chest, but that wasn't the problem. I felt weak and my brain was fuzzy. My body was telling me to lie stiU.

Isabel was in and out all the time. I got the impression she was organizing everything in the background. A plainclothes policeman came to see me. Isabel translated. She had obviously already given him all the

information she could, and there was nothing I could add. She said that the police were particularly tough on locals who attacked foreigners; it was bad for the tourist trade. Someone would suffer for this crime. Whether it would necessarily be the kids who had committed it might never be known. The Rio police's justice was arbitrary.

Ricardo called me on Sunday evening to wish me well. He said I was lucky to be in Isabel's hands. I agreed with him.

They let me out of hospital at lunchtime on Monday, on the condition that I spent the afternoon at the hotel. I was beginning to feel much stronger. Isabel suggested I stay at the hotel on Tuesday and fly home that evening, but I asked her if I could join her at the Ministry of Finance. The deal was nearly finalized, and since I had come all this way, I wanted to see it through. Or so I told her. More than that, I had enjoyed having Isabel around, and I wanted to prolong the experience as long as possible.

We were supposed to be meeting Humberto Alves at nine-thirty on Tuesday morning, and we arrived ten minutes early. By eleven he still hadn't seen us. Isabel was becoming agitated.

"A half hour late is OK. It's normal. But an hour and a half? I don't know. Something's wrong."

And it was.

Eventually Humberto called us into his office. He bade us sit down and began to pace up and down. He fussed over me, which was fair enough, but he took much longer than necessary.

"Humberto. What's wrong?" said Isabel in the end in frustration.

He ran his hand through the remnants of his hair and glanced at Isabel nervously. "We've decided to appoint

Blooinfield Weiss as lead manager of the favela deal. We've asked them to invite you in to the deal as a co-lead manager, and they've agreed."

"You've what?" shouted Isabel, leaping to her feet.

Humberto edged aroimd behind his desk and glanced down at its sparkling top. "We've asked Bloomfield Weiss to lead manage the deal."

Isabel shouted at him in ^ stream of Portuguese. He tried to ariswer, but it was no good. Eventually he sighed. He glanced at me. "OK," he said in EngUsh. "You deserve an explanation."

Isabel perched on the 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 guaran- ; tee 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. Some- i thing to do with the WDF's global funding strategy. He I says they are worried about the monopoly Dekker | Ward has in leading bond issues in Latin America. They I think it would be a good idea to have a choice of several j sources of funds, and the best way of doing that is to in- \ sist 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 i willing to take the deal from you. Which sort of under- i lines Jack Langton's point, don't you think? " ]

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

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

Isabel stood up. "Humberto, I'm disappointed in j you," she said, her voice quavering. i

"There's one other thing Jack said that I didn't | understand," said Humberto. i

Isabel waited.

"Apparently the WDF has information that Dekker ! Ward has a relationship with some of the narco- j traffickers that control the favelas. That makes it diffi- '' cult for them to use you, they say." ;

Isabel turned on her heel and stormed out of the room, i

I was a bit slow following her. I was just about to nod \ and smile at Humberto when I realized that this would i

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 toward 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 shows the market it can steal a deal from under our noses, everyone wiU be doing it."