few questions? Really?”
“Well…”
“And I’m here to take care of them. Why do you think you pay me so much?” A laugh to soothe the rawest nerve. “Here’s what you’re going to do. Ignore the reporter. Forget about what you saw on the telly about Bangkok. Dreadful things happen. None of our concern.” He paused, excited now. “Why don’t you buy yourself something nice? A new Gulfstream. I know just the designer who can really trick it out for you. Or maybe a yacht like the one you bought your nephew. Better yet, why not the Hope fucking diamond? God knows you can bloody well afford all of them. Now listen, I’ve got a bank to run. Be well. Beatrice and I send love.” Pronounced Bay-ah-treee-chay because his wife was Italian. “Ciao, bella.”
Lester put down the phone, sighed with feigned exhaustion.
A finger snap later, his secretary came back. “London Li, Financial Times. Again.”
“Where did she get my direct number?” he muttered, then once again the soul of politeness. “Tell her again that I am otherwise occupied but that she should feel free to contact Debbie Whatshername in investor relations who’d absolutely adore helping her.”
“Yes, sir.”
Lester placed his hands on his hips, his face set in a scowl. Journos: hated ’em. In fact, at the moment Lester hated pretty much everyone who wasn’t family or a close friend. Nadya Sukarno wasn’t the only one rattled. He’d had calls from Kuala Lumpur and Malaysia, and from his boss, Sir Ian, asking if there was anything to be worried about. And all of it because of a minuscule bonus that a hired hand in Geneva had pocketed for himself. Greedy little peckerhead. Lester wished he could have pushed Paul Malloy off that cliff in Switzerland himself.
He turned, running a hand over his hair, and caught sight of himself in the mirror. White shirt. Navy-blue tie. Charcoal suit. A fighter pilot’s posture. A man in charge. He liked this uniform a helluva lot better than an orange one with a number stenciled on the back.
He slid his phone from his pocket—what time was it in Italy, anyway?—placed a call, speaking Italian. “Luca, old man, we need to act. I’m worried about Nadya.”
“Is he with you?”
Lester kept his eyes to the floor. “Yes, he’s here in my office.”
“Do as I told you.”
“You’re sure…reporters, messy business.”
“Nothing else to be done. And this time tell him to keep things manageable. None of this savage nonsense. Nice and neat.”
“Understood.”
“I know you’re worried, Hadrian. In a few days, this will be behind us. The world will have more important things to think about.”
“Cheers to that.”
Luca Borgia lowered his voice. “Did you put the shorts on?”
“A hundred mil in our joint account. Mostly index funds. Dow, DAX, Hang Seng, Nikkei. All the big ones. I’m guessing markets will tank five to seven percent Monday morning before bouncing back.”
“Is this considered insider trading? Wouldn’t want to do anything illegal.”
“Just admirable foresight. Something like it was bound to happen sometime.”
“Exactly my thoughts, Hadrian. Anyhow, I will see you and Bea soon enough. Give her a kiss from me. And remember, tell him it must appear to be an accident. Like our friend, Malloy. He’s a commando, for goodness’ sake. It shouldn’t be too hard.”
“I will and I will.”
“Prato—”
“Luca, stop. Remember, I’m just in it for the money.”
Lester hung up. Forcing a smile, he poked his head out of the office. “Darling, get me that journo on the line…London Li. I’m going to make her day.”
A minute later, Lester’s phone rang. He swooped in to answer. “Ms. Li, Hadrian Lester. What a pleasure. Tell you what. Why don’t we meet and have a chat? I understand you have some questions about a few of the sovereign wealth funds we’ve brought to market…No, not here. I can’t spend every hour of the day cooped up in this velvet birdcage. How about Tanjong market? My schedule opened up unexpectedly. We can talk as we stroll, maybe grab a bite. On me…or does that count as bribery? How does four o’clock sound? Perfect. Cheers.”
Lester dropped the phone in the cradle. When he turned, the smile was gone from his face. He strode across his palatial office and looked at the man seated by the window. “Well, well, Mr. Kruger,” he said. “Looks like you’re back in business. The boss is none too happy with how things went in Bangkok. Asked me to tell you not to muck it up this time. ‘None of this savage nonsense’ were