The Janson Directive - By Robert Ludlum Page 0,95

fortune. The gentleman thinking, perhaps, of acquiring the apartment adjoining his in Kensington; or buying that place in the country he and his family had been renting for so long. Almost unable to believe his luck. You just never knew about these things, did you? An invitation, reluctantly accepted - the scion was disreputable, but with a family name that still opened doors - had led to a laughably easy stack of money.

And then that game, that last crucial game, when suddenly the Russian didn't seem drunk at all and grasped the cue stick with the serene mastery of a concert violinist holding his bow. And watching dreams of free money dissolve into a reality of ruin.

"But Paul, this bloke I played with - you'll never guess who he was. Guy Baskerton, QC." Baskerton was a prominent lawyer, a queen's counselor, who had chaired a commission on the arts set up by Whitehall. A rather self-important man, with a thin, David Niven mustache, and that distinctly knowing look common to the more oblivious men of his class, he would have been an irresistible target for Berman.

"I'm beginning to get the picture," Janson said, sounding more relaxed than he felt. He had to ask Berrnan for a big favor; it would not do to hector. It would not do to appear desperate, either, or Berman would press his advantage, converting debt to credit. "Let me guess. He's a member of the Athenaeum admissions committee."

"Even better. He's club president!" Berman pronounced club like "cloob."

"And so he finds himself into you for a hundred-thousand-pound debt of honor, which he can't possibly make good on," Janson said, trying to make Berman's long story shorter. "But that's OK, because you magnanimously insist on forgiving the debt. Now he's so grateful, he doesn't know what to do. Then the next day, you happen to be seated next to him at Sheekey ... " As he spoke, Janson's eyes scanned the fellow guests and serving staff for any signs of potential menace.

"Grigori no go Sheekey. No eat fish. Only drink like fish! It was Ivy. Can you believe such coincidence!"

"Oh, I'll bet it was a coincidence. It's not like you bribed the maitre d'at the Ivy to make sure you were at the next banquette. Any more than you'd pressured your titled friend to make sure that the QC came to his house party in the first place."

Berman raised his hands, touching his wrists together. "You got me, copper!" He grinned widely, because he liked his machinations to be appreciated, and Janson was someone capable of doing so.

"So, Grigori," Janson said, trying to match his levity, "I come to you with an interesting problem. One that will, I think, intrigue you."

The Russian looked at him, brightly expectant. "Grigori is all ears," he said, lifting a forkful of chicken and morels to his mouth.

Janson sketched out what had happened: the sixteen million dollars that had been deposited in a Cayman Islands account without the account holder's knowledge, yet validated by electronic signatures that should have been accessible to him alone. A clever strike. Yet could it also be a clue? Was there a chance that, in the cascade of transfer digits, someone had left digital fingerprints that might be uncovered?

As Janson spoke, Berman appeared to be wholly occupied by his food, and his occasional interjections were culinary in nature: the risotto was the world's greatest, and the treacle tart simply the best, you try it, you see. How unfair that people were so rude about English cooking!

Yet however desultory his conversation, Janson could see Berman's mind whirring.

Finally the moneyman put down his fork. "What Grigori know about money laundering?" he said with a look of affronted innocence. Then he grinned: "What Grigori not know about money laundering? Ha! What I know could fill British Library. You Americans think you know - nothing is what you know. Americans live in big house, but termites eat at foundations. As we say in Moscow: situation desperate, but not serious. You know how much dirty money moves in and out of America every year? Maybe three hundred billion. Bigger than GDP of most countries. Bank wire transactions, yes? And how you find this? Know how much moves in and out of American banks every day?"

"I expect you'll tell me."

"Two trillion dollars. Pretty soon you're talking real money!" Berman slapped the table in merriment. "All bank wire transaction. Where you hide grain of sand so nobody find? On beach. Ten years ago, you