Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) (12 page)

'You mustn't touch him. He's their son.'

'Sorry . . . I didn't mean to,' I said. 'I just got carried away.'

'Beautiful, isn't he!' said Tess. 'He died two years ago, but they never talk about him.'

'What was his name?'

'Sean. He was twenty four. '

I turned around and observed the Slimcops on the patio. They seemed lonely, sitting there in front of their luxurious home.

'He must have been born when they were fairly old,' I said.

Tess had sat down on the lawn and was weeding out yellow dandelions and putting them in a neat bunch. 'Are there any other children?'

'No, he was the only one. Don't say anything,' she said, turning towards Leila, who was coming towards us.

'You seem to enjoy art Jack,' Leila said, putting her hand on Tess' shoulder. Tess presented the bunch of dandelions with a curtsy. We laughed.

'I've tried to paint, but I'm not very good. Mum used to take me to galleries. She liked Constable,' I said, pointing in the direction of the churchyard. 'Saw his tombstone. I didn't know that he lived here.'

'Hampstead used to be full of artists and writers, but bankers and brokers have moved in. It's now too expensive.'

'You're pretty good,' I said shyly, glancing at the sculptures. Leila smiled cautiously. She was obviously used to flattery, unsure whether it was genuine.

'Come let's go and eat. Do you like vegetarian food, Jack?'

*   *   *

I was no vegetarian, but I enjoyed the pitta bread, olives, hummus, mixed salad and cold pasta with green, red and yellow peppers. I could see that Tom and Tess hated the food and just nibbled the pitta. After supper, Stan took me to his study, which was at the end of the house. We walked along a wide hallway with walls made of thick reinforced glass, through which you could see the garden and the lights of London in the distance. The study had a wide window overlooking the garden, a bookshelf on one wall, an assortment of photographs and a charcoal etching of a blackbird on the other. Stan sat down behind a clear, clean, modern glass desk. On it were his laptop, several files stacked neatly on top of each other and a picture of him, Leila and Sean.

Stan clicked the laptop and glanced at the
Reuters
and
Bloomberg
sites. Gold and gold shares were up again. I was glad that I hadn't sold.

'We're doing well aren't we?' Stan said without any emotion in his voice. 'When are you going to take profits?'

'Not sure. I think I'll let my profits run.'

'I've learnt from experience that it's better to get out of gold shares when they're rising,' said Stan. 'They're volatile. When the market turns, their prices fall fast.'

'Have you started to sell?'

'I'm not greedy, so I've begun to take profits. I sold a few shares yesterday and I will sell some more next week. If I were you, I would do the same.'

'I'm expecting the gold price to go up a lot more. According to James Manson's book, it's natural for people to take profits. But the market can outsmart them. Gold and gold shares could go up a lot further than people think.'

'James Manson, the actor! I met him when I was a broker. A gentleman. Used to telex orders from all over the world. Well I never. I thought that his book was out of print.'

'I bought it in the Hampstead Community Centre,' I said. 'Why did you become interested in gold?'

'Something was happening. Moscow Narodsky was selling millions of ounces, but the gold price wasn't falling. In normal circumstances the price would have slumped,' said Stan. 'Then I met you. You showed me that there were enough buyers willing to buy the Russian gold. If the bank stopped selling, the price would rise.'

As soon as he mentioned Moscow Narodsky, I became nervous and wanted to leave.

'I think I better go now,' I said with a lame excuse. 'I have to take my dog for a walk.'

Stan was studying my reaction closely. I bit my lip, hoping that I hadn't given myself away. It was too late. I could see that he thought I was involved in some way.

'What do you know about Moscow Narodsky?' asked Stan.

'Nothing,' I lied, trying to bolt for the door. 'Thanks for today. I'll go and say goodbye to Leila and the children.'

Stan grabbed my arm. Despite his age he was pretty strong.

'When I talked about Moscow Narodsky at the broker last week, you ran out,' he said. 'You took my newspaper didn't you?'

'Don't remember . . . I wanted to read about the cricket match.'

'You're a bad liar, boy. Better tell the truth,' said Stan, opening the middle drawer of his desk and pulling out a plastic folder with newspaper clippings. He took them out and put them on the desk. They were all about Moscow Narodsky. Stan went to the door and closed it. He then slowly flicked through the clippings.

'Why do you have all those articles about Moscow Narodsky?' I asked, trying to calm down.

'Russia is one of the world's biggest gold producers. The country has some big gold mines and refineries that melt the gold into bars. Moscow Narodsky is one of the Russian banks that stores the bars. It sells them on the London and Zurich gold markets.'

Stan picked out a few articles and laid them on the desk. They were about the murders of Boris Yapolovitch and the journalist, Marcia Mirikover. There was another article, which I hadn't read before. Paul Zibler, manager of Moscow Narodsky's Zurich branch, had had an accident. He was walking in the Alps and had fallen down a ravine. The Swiss police were investigating. I freaked.

'Coincidental, isn't it,' said Stan, reading and glancing at my reaction. I was trying to be as relaxed as possible, but I was shaking.

'Did you meet any of these people? Yapolovitch? Mirikover?' asked Stan softly.

I was silent. Stan half laughed to himself: 'Of course! Let me guess where you come in.'

He pushed an article in front of me and I felt his eyes on me as I read: 'Police are still looking for a youth who could be an important witness. He reported the Yapolovitch murder and then disappeared.'

'Now if I were the witness, what would I do?' Stan asked rhetorically without expecting me to answer. 'I could give myself up, but then I could be putting myself in danger. On the other hand I could run away and hope that all this will blow over.'

'What would you do if you were the witness, Jack?'

'I'm not sure. Do you think that Swiss banker was murdered as well?' I asked in a feeble attempt to change the subject. Stan laughed grimly.

'The Russian mafia is sending out a clear message. Accidents will happen to anyone who messes with them. Now if I were the witness, I would try and work out if they could convict these people. To do that the British and Swiss police would need co-operation from the Russian authorities. They would have to extradite the gangsters. Do you think that would happen Jack?'

'How should I know?'

'No chance. Perhaps it is a good idea that the witness should leave London. Let the storm blow over. Allow time to take its course and memories fade.'

He neatly collected all the clippings, put them in the folder and back into his drawer. The sharp shrewd look was replaced by a soft kindly smile. I knew I could trust him. He put his hand on my shoulder and we walked to the living room. Leila was playing scrabble with the twins. They were on a cream oblong sofa in the large living room with its wall of windows overlooking the illuminated garden. Numerous paintings and etchings were on its walls. There were a variety of smallish black and copper sculptures in the corners. Persian carpets covered the wooden floors.

'You guys had better start packing. Your grandpa is coming tomorrow,' Leila said as she shut the scrabble board while Tess counted the scores.

'I'm first, you second, Leila. Tom, last,' said Tess proudly.

'Too good for me, Tess. Tom you should read more. It will help your spelling,' said Leila.

'Would you like Jack to go on holiday with you?' asked Stan.

'Great!' shouted Tom. Tess nodded her head eagerly.

Both Leila and I were taken by surprise.

'Go to Scotland with Ivor Ensworth. Isn't it up to him?' asked Leila.

'We'll persuade him,' said Stan.

'Can I take my dog with me?' I asked.

'We'll see,' said Leila.

For the first time since Dad died I was really happy. I had been welcomed into a family. Would soon meet a guy who knew Fred, the man who unwittingly had changed my life.

10 -
THE LOCH

A few days later I was on my way to Scotland with Ivor Ensworth, Tom and Tess. Before we left, Leila took me shopping. She bought me some jeans, shirts, shoes, a jacket and the first suit that fitted me. A hairdresser gave me a spiky gel haircut. I looked in a shop mirror and seemed a bit older, maybe a bit taller.

Only one thing made me sad. I had to leave Jazz with Martha. Ivor didn't want to take the dog on the overnight journey from London.

We arrived in Scotland early in the morning and Ivor hired a car. About an hour later we were in our stone grey cottage in Crieff, a small Scottish town about twenty miles north of Perth.

Ivor was in his late seventies. He was medium height and stocky and had white hair and a red face. After years of prospecting and heavy work, his arms were thick. His hands were rough and his nails were broken from all the digging and sampling of minerals in the African outback.

During the train journey, I asked him about Fred Carrender.

'He's quite a lot younger than me, but we're good friends. Used to meet him sometimes when we were prospecting,' said Ivor. 'It can get lonely out there. Got to know him quite well. Told me that he had almost drowned.'

'He was sailing with my father.'

'Yes, Stan told me that Fred knew your Dad. They were caught in a storm off the east coast of Africa. The boat capsized and they clung on to the side of the boat. It was a battle to keep afloat.'

'Fred said that your Dad kept him going for almost twenty four hours. Had a great sense of humour. Told jokes and stories. They were terrified of sharks, but the hull was so slippery, they couldn't climb on. A fishing boat rescued them early the next morning.'

'Dad told me that they were in Mombasa.'

'You must go to Kenya sometime. Fascinating place. Fred's quite an adventurer, but he's never gone sailing again. When I first met him, he was broke. Then he struck it lucky. Discovered a rich diamond deposit in the Congo. From then onwards he never looked back.'

'It's because of Fred that I'm here,' I said.

'Stan told me that he gave your Dad OilFinder and MineDeep shares. Fred's a good guy. Always helps friends who help him.'

'Certainly did me a good turn,' I said.

'Carrender managed the diamond mine in the Congo for a time, but was soon bored,' Ivor went on. 'He's like me. Prospecting's our life. For months at a time, we leave our families and wander in south, west and east Africa, looking for diamonds, precious and base metals. I was going through a rough patch when I met him and he gave me luck.'

'How much luck?'

'We struck gold and found platinum and copper deposits in Namibia, southern Africa. Sold our claims to the Namibian government and South African mining companies.'

'I must go and see Fred sometime,' I said. 'Maybe I can repay him.'

'He won't want anything. He'll be just chuffed to see you. Come to South Africa. He's in Johannesburg. We'll both go and visit him,' laughed Ivor.

'I guess I also got lucky.'

'I heard about your dealings, young man. Win today, lose tomorrow. The trick is to know how to keep it.'

Ivor then told me a bit about himself. Some years previously, when Stan Slimcop was a wealthy broker, he had backed one of Ivor's prospecting ventures. That venture failed, but Stan never complained and continued to finance Ivor. By the time Ivor struck gold, Stan was bankrupt and struggling to make a living in South Africa. Leila was selling her sculptures and paintings to keep them going. Stan's stake in Ivor's mine put him on the path to recovery and they became fast friends.

*   *   *

The next week was great. The cottage was close to a big Victorian hotel called the Crieff Hydro. The twins and I went horse riding. We played tennis, cycled and swam in the indoor pool of the hotel. Early one morning, Ivor and I went for a long walk up a mountain.

'You go on,' said Ivor puffing. 'I need a rest.'

I walked through a wood to the top. It was a warm day and midges bit me, but when I finally reached the peak, I had a wonderful feeling of freedom. I could see the town below and in the distance the Scottish Highlands. I wondered what it was like to be Rob Roy, the outlaw, who fought against English aristocrats hundreds of years ago. He managed to beat the system.

Ivor and the kids went to visit relatives the next day. So I decided to cycle out of Crieff and visit a castle nearby. I cycled on the main road keeping well to the left as it was quite busy. Back in London I would have fretted that the Russian mafia were chasing me. Here I felt safe and a long way from it all. The road was winding with steep hills. I raced downhill and then puffed my way to the top of the next one before relaxing as I sped downhill again. I passed a farm and in the distance saw a small loch next to a wood. After cycling for about eleven miles, I felt hot and sweaty. So I turned onto a dirt track and peddled to the lake to see if it was clean enough for a swim. A stream flowed into the loch and then continued on its way through the wood. The light blue sky reflected on the loch's clear water. I took off the bag hanging on my back, stood behind some trees and changed into my trunks. Then I waded in and began to swim in the icy water towards the continuation of the stream on the other side. As I swam closer, I heard someone shouting. The voice came from some thick reeds about twenty metres from the edge of the lake. I swam closer but found that the water had become thick with lilies and reeds.

'Hi there, my ankle's stuck. Can you help me?'

It was a woman's voice, but I still couldn't see her.