Carver - By Tom Cain Page 0,29

debentures cost roughly half the price for the same period.) They were the only Wimbledon seats that were legally transferable, and could be sold at any price the market would bear. With each seat came perks: a dedicated entrance to the show courts, private bars, restaurants and so on. If Zorn had these tickets, Carver had to have them, too. He phoned a ticket agency.

‘We can do you a debenture ticket. When do you need it?’ the man from the agency asked.

‘Monday, Wednesday and Friday.’

There was a soft whistle. ‘Blimey, that’ll cost you. I mean, the best price we’ve got for the men’s semis on Friday is, hang on … $6,758. In pounds that’s—’

‘Don’t bother, I’ll take it,’ said Carver. ‘And I’ll take the other two days. And I want Number One and Number Two Courts as well, all three days.’

Now the whistle became a chuckle as the agency man worked out what he was about to sell. ‘You planning to be in three places at once?’

‘I’m planning to be wherever I need to be.’

‘Fair enough, but there’s a problem, yeah? They don’t do debentures for Number Two Court. So there ain’t no tickets on sale for that.’

‘Yes, there are.’

‘No, there’s not. See, that’s not legal.’

‘I’m sure it’s not,’ said Carver. ‘But if I’m willing to pay the same price for Number Two Court tickets as for Centre Court ones, I reckon someone will want to sell me them. I’ll pay cash, if necessary. So, can you help me?’

‘Well, obviously, selling you them tickets is a criminal offence, as such …’ There was a pause and Carver could sense the battle between greed and fear going on in the man’s mind. Eventually, as he thought it would, greed won.

‘I’ll see what I can do.’

It would take Carver most of Saturday night to finish his planning. But first he wanted to know more about the business his target was in. His financial affairs were handled through a private bank in Geneva. It placed customer service at the very top of its priorities. So when Carver called his personal manager, Timo Koenig, and asked him if he could spare an hour or so for a drink, the fact that this was a Saturday evening did not deter Koenig – openly at least – from saying yes.

‘Great, meet me at seven in the bar of the Beau Rivage,’ said Carver.

The Beau Rivage was an old-fashioned grand hotel on the banks of Lake Geneva. It had been quite a while since Carver had visited it. The last time, also, he’d had a meeting with a bank manager, and he’d been with Alix. Things hadn’t worked out too well for them that night. Carver saw no need to tell Koenig about it … let alone how much worse they’d worked out for the banker.

16

* * *

Hôtel Beau Rivage, Geneva

CARVER BOUGHT THE drinks. A beer for himself and a martini for Koenig, a well-preserved fifty-year-old, kept trim by tennis and skiing, whose idea of casual weekend attire consisted of immaculately pressed jeans, a Ralph Lauren polo shirt, and a cotton jumper so crisp and clean that that it appeared to have only just been unwrapped from the store tissue paper. Carver had not shaved all day, and he’d seen no reason to change before he went out. He felt like a vagabond by comparison, but that didn’t bother him in the slightest. ‘What do you know about a man called Malachi Zorn?’ he asked.

‘Not a great deal,’ said Koenig. ‘I have never had any reason to do business with him. But he made his fortune shorting Lehman’s, no?’

‘You tell me. How does a guy like this work? For example, you say he shorted Lehman’s. I know that means he bet against them. But how?’

‘Mm … good martini,’ said Koenig, savouring his drink before answering the question: ‘CDSs … sorry, credit default swaps …’

‘Which are what, exactly?’ Carver asked.

‘A credit default swap is a way that an investor can make money out of someone else’s loss. You might say it is an insurance policy taken out on something you do not necessarily own.’

Less than a minute into the conversation, and already Carver felt like he’d walked into an alternative universe. ‘That sounds like me taking out insurance on your car. Why would I want to do that?’

Koenig smiled, as though what he was describing was the most normal thing on earth. ‘Well, you might decide that was a good investment if you knew that I was a