Market Forces Part 51

Hamilton's soft features resolved on the screen. 'Ah. Chris. There you are.'

'Yeah.' Still the vague sense of something out of place. He'd had almost no dealings with the junior partner since he joined Shorn. Some of the Central American stuff he'd inherited from Makin brushed up against Hamilton's accounts, but-- 'What can I do for you, Philip?'

'Well, Chris.' The junior partner's tone was silky. 'It's more a case of what I can do for you, I think. You've no doubt heard about the Langley crisis.'

'Yeah. Mike t--' He just stopped himself. 'I was just talking to Mike about it. Archive material, they reckon. Suggests the Cambodia stuff might not be included.'

'That's correct.' Hamilton nodded. His chins folded. 'In fact, we just got confirmation. Good news for everybody. Louise will probably forward it down to you shortly. But, ah, it seems there is one covert operation that will crop up, and unfortunately it has your name on it.

I'm talking about the action you took against Hernan Echevarria's security forces in MedelEn.'

Now the sense of wrongness was quick and jagged. Like the floor cracking apart under him.

He covered it with drawl. 'Yeah. So?'

'Well, I think under the circ.u.mstances, and given recent developments with the Echevarria regime, the best thing would probably be if you were removed from the NAME account, at least for the time being.'

Chris sat up. 'You can't f.u.c.king do that.'

'I beg your pardon?'

'What developments are you talking about, Philip? Last I heard, theEchevarria regime was a corpse walking.'

'Ah, yes.' Hamilton fingered his jowls. 'This also is new. Perhaps you'd better come along to the briefing this afternoon. I'd invited Mike, and a.s.sumed he could pa.s.s on detail to you later. But, yes, perhaps it's better if you're there. Main conference, two o'clock.'

Chris stared at him. 'Right. I'll be there.'

'Marvellous.' Hamilton beamed and cut the link. His face inked out, still smiling.

337Chris tried Lopez again. Still nothing. He windowed up an indesp site he had the keys to and checked the Langley data. Nothing solid.

The whistleblower's face grinned out of an employee file thumbprint that was five years stale. He looked young and happy, and blissfully unaware of what his just-acquired job was going to do to him a few years down the road.

Because they're going to f.u.c.king crucify you, son, Chris told the thumbprint silently. They're going to take you apart for this.

The datadown chimed. Audio call from Mike. He grabbed it.

'Talk to me, Mike. What's going on.'

'I don't know, Chris. I wish I did. Sally says the order still went through, but it's been diverted to some surface shipping contractor out of Southampton. Standard cross-Atlantic rate, she's getting a cashback bonus for the difference in cost.'

'Surface?'

'I know, I know. I don't get it either. It's not like Barranco can wander into Barranquilla docks and just sign for it.'

'That's--' He stopped. Abruptly, the spinning chaos of the last ten minutes locked to a halt in his head. He saw the sense.

'Mike, I'll call you back.'

'Wait, you--'

He snapped the line across, sat staring at the datadown for a full thirty seconds while the sudden weight in his guts settled. Has to be, he knew. f.u.c.king has to be. He felt physically sick with the knowledge.

He placed another call to Lopez, got the busy signal and fired an override down the connection. There was a brief electronic squabble on the line, as Shorn's intrusion software fought with the Panama City net, then Lopez came through, still talking to someone else in furious Spanish.

' -de puta, me tienen media hora esperando--'

'Joaquin, listen to me.'

'Chris? Como has podido ' The Americas agent stopped as his language caught up with the change of call. 'Listen, Chris, what are you f.u.c.king playing at over there?'

'I don't know, Joaquin, I don't know. This s.h.i.t only just landed on me, and I don't know what it is. Talk to me, man. I'm blind here. Tell mewhat's going on.'

'What's going on,' said Lopez, rage spurting from every syllable, 'is that you've sold me just like your f.u.c.king amigo Bryant. Arena challenge, Chris. That mean anything to you. I just got the word. Shorn approved tender, I got some f.u.c.king favela-born sicario calling me out for a half per cent fee reduction. He's twenty years old, Chris. Priority challenge, two weeks' notice. Shorn-f.u.c.king-approved, man.'

338'Alright, listen.' Chris felt the sudden clarity of drive time set in, the suspended icy seconds of adrenalin injection. 'Joaquin, listen to me carefully. That's not me. The tender, it's not authorised by me. I'm going to fix it for you, it's dead on the datadown. I promise you. You'll never have to fight. Meantime '

'Yeah, you say that. You said--'

'Joaquin, f.u.c.king listen to me. I got you out of Bogoti in one piece, didn't I? I told you, I look after my people. Now, I don't have much time. I need you to get onto Barranco.'

'You want me to f.u.c.king zvork for you while--'

'f.u.c.king listen, I said.' Whatever was in his voice must have got through. Lopez went quiet. 'This is life or death, Joaquin. You get onto Barranco, and you tell him to stay away from that delivery beach next week. Tell him the rest of the arms aren't coming, and most likely there'll be an army death squad waiting for him instead. Tell him I'm under fire as much as he is, and it'll take me time to sort it out. He's got to fall back to safe ground, and stay there until he hears from me. Have you got that?'

'Yeah.' Lopez was suddenly calm, as if the same adrenalin shiver had crept down the line and touched him with its time-warping cold. 'Got it. You're in the arena too, huh?'

'Yeah, looks that way.' There was a finality about the way his own words sounded in his ears. 'I'll get back to you as soon as I can.'

'Chris.'

He held off the disconnect. 'Yeah. Still here.'

'Chris, listen to me. You going into the arena, you stab low, man.

Stab low, where they won't see it coming. And when you pull it out, you twist that f.u.c.ker. Quadruples the wound. You got that?'

Chris nodded distantly. 'I got it, Joaquin. Thanks.'

'Hey, I'll be praying for you, man.'

Philip Hamilton cut a surprisingly impressive figure in presentation.

Somehow the softness of the man disappeared, became confident bulk and the resonance base for a rich baritone voice that gave his words a longevity way beyond the moment of their utterance. His evidence was compelling, it was set up that way, but more powerful was the echo of what he said in the minds of his listeners. Chris looked round the table and saw heads nodding, Mike Bryant's included.

'Thus we convert,' Hamilton declared vibrantly, 'the uncertainty ofchange, the certainty of post-land-reform unrest, and the probable budget deficit of the cla.s.sic revolutionary regime, at a stroke, into a return to the profitable status quo we have enjoyed in the NAME for the last twenty years. It seems to me, ladies and gentlemen, that there is 339really no question or choice here, only a course of action that common sense and market return dictate. Thank you.'

Applause rippled politely round the table. Murmured comments.

Hamilton inclined his head and stood back a couple of steps. Louise Hewitt stood up.

'I think that's pretty clear, thank you, Philip, but if there are any questions, perhaps we could have them now?'

'Yes.' Jack Notley raised a hand with completely superfluous deference.

Every exec in the room shut up on the instant, and pinned their gaze on the grizzled senior partner. Louise Hewitt folded herself back into her chair, and Philip Hamilton moved to take up the s.p.a.ce she had left him. It was, Chris thought bitterly, ch.o.r.eographed tightly enough to be a Sat.u.r.duy Night Special dance act.

'Yes, Jack.'

'The Americans,' said Notley with heavy emphasis that earned a sprinkling of laughter. The old man's nationalist eccentricity was well known in the division. 'We know from Mike here's painstaking research that Echevarria junior has, shall we say, a predilection for our transatlantic cousins and they are, unfortunately, far closer to him, both geographically and culturally, than are we. I appreciate, Phil, that you're factoring in Calders RapCap with the liaison work, and obviously, Martin Meldreck, well he believes in a free market about as much as Ronald Reagan did.' More laughter, louder this time. 'So the secondary contractors he brings in will be exclusively US firms. That much is clear. My question is, will this be enough? Will it hold off Conrad Rimshaw at Lloyd Paul, for example? Or the Saunders Group, or Gray Capital Solutions, or Moriarty Mills & Silver? Francisco Echevarria has had close dealings with all these gentlemen, or at least their Miami officers, at one time or another. Can we be confident he will not bring them into play as soon as a budget review fails to please him?'

Hear f.u.c.king hear, sleeted through Chris. Glad someone in th# bunch of f.u.c.king sycophants spotted it.

Hamilton cleared his throat.

'That's a fair concern, Jack. I think it's indicative that the firms you've just named, with the exception of the Saunders Group, are all fast, hungry players from the New York corner. Sure, they'll all bear watching.

But the point with Calders is that they have the US state department's ear. That's long-term relationship - in the case of Senator Barlow, we're talking fifteen years, and there are others with ties almost as old. And of course, as you say, the secondary contractors Calders RapCap's people will bring in should have their own lobby network in place. If we combine all that pull with the influence we have on our own340Foreign Office here in London, I feel sure we're in a position to repel any prospective boarders.'

He got the laughter too. He beamed round the table.

'Any more questions?'

'Yeah, I've got a question for you.' Chris climbed to his feet, trembling slightly. He stared at Hamilton. 'I'm curious as to why the luck you're throwing away a guaranteed regime change, with a leader who is guaranteed one hundred per cent proof against US involvement of any kind - in favour of this. f.u.c.king. Carve up.'

Sudden slither of shock around the table. Gasps, shuffling, the shaking of wiser heads. At his side, Mike Bryant was looking up at him in disbelief.

'Ah. Chris.' Hamilton smiled briefly, like a comic to his audience just before the straight man gets it. 'Now before you go and get Mike's baseball bat, could I just point out that we're trying for a non-violent model here.'

A couple of sn.i.g.g.e.rs, but battened down. Officially, no one below partner level was supposed to know what had really happened to Hernan Echevarria. Nick Makin would have talked, Chris knew, he would have made sure word got out, but just how far they could all go along with Hamilton's indiscretion was unclear. Once again, gazes sought Jack Notley for his reaction, but the senior partner's features could have been pale granite.

'You stupid luck,' said Chris clearly, and the silence that followed it was absolute. 'Do you really think Vicente Barranco is going to be stopped by some p.i.s.sant c.o.kehead dressed up in his old man's uniform?

Do you really think he'll just go away ?'

He saw Louise Hewitt on her way to getting up. Saw Jack Notley lay a hand on her arm and shake his head almost imperceptibly. Philip Hamilton spotted the exchange as well, and his mouth contracted to almost a.n.a.l proportions.

'Might I remind you, Mr Faulkner, that you are talking to a partner.

If you can't show the proper respect in this meeting, I will have you removed. Do you understand me?'

Chris's eyes widened slightly, and an unpleasant smile floated onto his face.

'Try it,' he said softly.

'Chris.' Notley's voice cracked across the room. 'If you have anything to contribute, I'd like you to contribute it now, and then sit.down. Thisis a policy meeting, not the Royal Shakespeare Company.'

Chris nodded. 'Alright.' He looked round the room. 'This is for the record. I know Vicente Barranco, and I'm telling you, if you try to f.u.c.k him over like this, he'll fade back into the highlands like he has before 341.

Land he'll take the disenfranchised of the NAME with him by the thousand. And then, some day, maybe five years down the road, maybe next year, he'll be back. He'll be back, and he'll do what we were going to ask him to do in the first place, and when he's sitting in the Bogotfi parliament chamber, and Echevarria junior is facing a firing squad somewhere for crimes against humanity, we'll find ourselves on the wrong f.u.c.king side. He'll go to someone else, maybe Nakamura, maybe the Germans, and he will cut us out. No GDP percentage, no enterprise zone licences, no arms trade, no supply side contracts, no commodities angle, nothing. We'll just have a roomful of angry Americans, and nothing to feed them with.'

More silence, glances up and down the table in search of where this was going. Chris jerked his chin at Hamilton and sat down.

Hamilton looked at Notley. The senior partner shrugged. Hamilton cleared his throat.

'Well, Chris. Thank you for that, ah, academic insight. Of course, I appreciate you taking the time to come and give your view on an account you're no longer working on, but let me just say, I think we can handle one disgruntled marquista and indeed there are already initiatives in place--'

Chris grinned like a skull.

'He won't be there, Hamilton. I already called Lopez, told him to steer Barranco well clear of the beach. When the Cobain doesn't show up, and junior's pet thugs do, either they'll find nothing, or better yet Barranco'll catch them in an ambush and slaughter them. After that, he'll fade like a f.u.c.king ghost.'

The room erupted before he finished. Uproar from the gathered ranks of execs, half of them on their feet, pointing and shouting, not all wholly opposed to Chris, it seemed, Hamilton yelling across the m&le of voices, something about jCucking professional misconduct, Notley bellowing for order. The door burst open and security rushed the room, wielding non lethal weaponry. Louise Hewitt went to stop them, hands and voice raised to make herself understood above the noise.

In the midst of it all, Mike turned to Chris, face distorted with shock and anger. 'Are you f.u.c.king insane?' he hissed.

It took ten minutes to clear the conference room, and even then security weren't happy about leaving the partners with Chris. They'd heard their own set of rumours about the Echevarria incident.

'It'll be fine,' said Notley. 'Really, Hermione. I appreciate your diligence, but we're all colleagues here. Just tempers flaring, that's all.

A bit of misplaced road rage. Just keep a couple of your people outsidethe door, that'll be fine.'

342He ushered the guard captain out and closed the doors, then turned back to the table. In the places they had occupied when the room was filled, Chris, Mike, Louise Hewitt and Philip Hamilton sat staring at their respective patches of polished wood. Notley came back to the head of the table and stood looking at them.

'Right,' he said grimly. 'Let's sort this out, shall we?'

Louise Hewitt made an impatient gesture. 'I don't see anything to sort out, Jack. Faulkner's just admitted to gross professional misconduct-'

'Yeah, that's--'

'Chris, you will shut up,' roared Notley. 'You are not a partner, nor will you ever be if you cannot behave in a civilised fashion. Do as you're told and be f.u.c.king quiet.'

'Louise is right, Jack.' Hamilton's voice was soft and calm, at odds with the rage he'd shown earlier. He was back on comfortable ground.

'Warning Barranco has endangered a delicate piece of policy restructuring.

At a minimum, it's cost us a possible bargaining chip with Echevarria. At worst, it's given succour to a terrorist who could provide us with insurgency problems for the next decade.'

'He was a freedom fighter last week,' muttered Chris.

Louise Hewitt turned a look of distilled contempt on him. 'Let me ask you a question, Chris,' she said lightly. 'Would it be fair to say that you've become political where the NAME is concerned? That you've been contaminated by local issues?'

Chris looked at Notley. 'Am I allowed to answer that?'

'Yes. But you'll keep your tone civil, and show some respect, is that understood? This isn't some bas.e.m.e.nt fight club in the zones.'

'Yes, I understand that.' Chris jabbed a finger at Hamilton. 'What I don't understand is our junior partner's system of communication.

Until this morning, I had no idea either that I had been relieved of duty on the NAME account, or that we were reversing our established client relationship.'