1

  Had the foul mouthed vagabond parrot, crapping on his terrace the third day running, let off abusing, and told the banker, as he read his morning paper, that the deeds in his horoscope would lead to both uncounted wealth and the loss of his soul, he would have cast macadamia nuts at it, instead of peppering it with rubber bands.

  The banker already had a lot going for him, having back-stabbed his way to the very top of one of the world’s largest banks, but what he truly craved was wealth, personal wealth, something far greater than the multi-million dollar annual package making him the world’s highest paid employee. He desired money for money’s sake, and the forewarning that what waited for him at his office was a plan leading to torture and murder would not have changed anything.

  Deciding to investigate pellet guns to settle his feud with the bird, the banker had left for his office, smugly watching his face in reflective surfaces on the short walk there. He had seen what the world could see – confidence, ease, success, wealth, ambition... He had failed to see what the world also failed to spot; something at the back of the front, something indefinable, and something that, if ever seen, would have been hard to give a name to – evil in waiting.

  It was Monday, 7 December 1998, and Carl Snyder, CEO of Citizenbank, in his top floor office, was feeling good. The large glass window behind him let the pale mid-morning light of an overcast New York day into the room. He had been told it was bad Feng Shui, that one must face windows for luck, but Carl Snyder did not believe in Feng Shui. Come to think of it, as he thought of it, he did not believe in much else either.

  Feng Shui? He’d had his back to that window all the years he had been CEO, and things had only kept getting better and better. What the fuck did the Chinese know anyway?

  Carl Snyder was forty-five years old, short and overweight, with dark hair, thinning and greying. He did not care. Citizenbank was one of the world’s top three banks, a gigantic presence across the planet, and he ran the whole thing.

  There were two other people in his office, sitting across from him. The older one, Bob Kerry, exactly fifty now, was a career man at Citizenbank. A tall, thin, pleasant man, he was Senior Vice President in charge of worldwide credit card operations. He had risen through the ranks, slowly but steadily, and had now reached the top, his top. Snyder had promoted him to his present position, and for all practical purposes he was now the number two man. Snyder knew that Kerry, already out of his depth at his present level, had no ambition to replace him - Kerry was no threat.

  The other visitor was Chad Durbin, an obscure junior manager in the Credit Cards Department.

  Snyder studied him. Tall, blond, blue eyed, good looking and reasonably athletically built, he saw that Chad was a true all-American - and smart too. The twenty-five year old had hatched the plot under consideration.

  It was an audacious and truly dangerous idea, fraught with serious legal implications, but it had the look of a genuine money-spinner - provided, of course, a way was found to move it along.

  “You happy in your job?” asked Snyder.

  “Sure thing. I already run credit card promotions,” replied Chad.

  “Is that a big job?”

  “Big enough at twenty-five, Mr. Snyder.”

  Snyder had done far better at that age. “Who do you report to?”

  “John Ridley.”

  “Oh. What’s his position?”

  “Credit card manager, New York district.”

  “Um. Pay you well?”

  “The usual. According to grade. Liveable money.”

  “You busy?”

  “It’s a fairly demanding job. Lots of driving about and long hours.”

  “Girlfriend?”

  “Nothing serious.”

  “You really believe we can charge without getting customers to sign up? Forced subscription?”

  “Depends, Mr. Snyder, on how it’s worked.”

  Snyder’s mobile phone rang shrilly, vibrating madly on his desk. “Carl Snyder here,” said he, in a pompous manner. He heard the caller out, his eyes vacant, and without another word switched his phone off. “Forced subscription,” he mused. “That’s a new one if ever there was a new one to screw dumbfucks.” Kerry and he exchanged glances, laughing. “I’m going to think it over, get legal advice and sound out some shareholders. Fortunately, the ones I want to meet are here in New York, and I’ll probably have lunch with them next week. We’ll meet again, if I think there’s a chance to move forward. In the meantime, keep it under wraps; no one but us three.”

  When alone, Snyder delayed his restart, sitting back in his chair and gazing out of the window. The buildings around Citizenbank were as tall as it, and there was nothing to call a view. A glass encased building confronted him across the road, staring at which he found very conducive to thought. Sometimes, when reclining in his chair, he followed the clouds or an occasional bird, also good for thinking. He deliberated hard on the scheme Chad Durbin had proposed. How could one collect a useless charge? At the meeting, Durbin had proposed that Citizenbank begin charging customers unsubscribed. Snyder had been appalled at the suggestion.

  But Carl Snyder was a man in a hurry to make big money for himself, and desperately keen to find a way.

  The very next morning, haunted by the thought that maybe there was something in Chad’s outrageous proposal, Snyder summoned the head of the law firm representing Citizenbank in the USA and Europe.

  On being told of the scheme, the lawyer, Larry Cohen, instantly blurted out his objection. “No way! No way to do it in America, Carl. You’ll get hit very hard by a class action. It’s positively fraudulent.” He rattled off relevant sections under federal and state laws.

  “I like the idea, Larry. I want to find a way to work it,” insisted Snyder.

  “If you have to, Carl, keep it out of America. That’s my advice, as lawyer and friend. Do it somewhere else, where you won’t face any risk, or at most low risk.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “Where could that be?” wondered Snyder. “Europe?” he enquired hopefully.

  “No, not Europe, not Japan, and no first world country, Carl. Leave them out. They’re very tough about these things. Do it, if you must, somewhere else, where, if you get busted, laws can be manipulated to keep you safe.”

  “That gives us Africa, Larry. Nigeria, Chad, Ghana, and yes, I suppose there is Mongolia if we talk global, huh?” sneered Snyder. “But they don’t have money, do they?”

  Cohen ignored the attitude. Citizenbank was by far his biggest account. “Why don’t you work it in Persian Gulf countries? Lots of money in the Middle East, and American corporations get away with anything there. I was visiting last month.”

  “We can’t get sued there?”

  “What sued?” Cohen laughed. “Maybe by some individuals trying their luck, who we’ll shove so deep into jail we won’t need locks to keep them in. I don’t know what ground your entire scheme covers, but any trouble will be small shit because class actions are not entertained. We have set up offices in the area, as London has appointed us for Citizenbank work there. We have a smart Arab in Dubai, and you can meet him and take his advice. He’ll be able to guide you. And don’t worry, Carl, about legal issues, as the region belongs to us, America I mean. Place is run by a sheikh, you know, and you can do just about whatever you want. Dictatorship, Carl, the nature of the beast - pay the sheikh off and do your thing.”

  Snyder saw hope. “The good guy you have, Larry, in the Persian Gulf; I want to meet him. Get him across immediately.”

  “No problem. I’ll fix it for next month.”

  Snyder snorted. “Larry, what’s this shit about next month? Nothing doing next month. I want him here tomorrow.” He had decided to be unreasonable.

  “Are you serious, Carl?” spluttered Cohen. “Why, travelling time alone is over twenty-four hours.”

  “No, it’s not. Let him fly Concorde. Tomorrow. He should be able to be here by tomorrow evening. You’re both invited to dinner at my place.”

  “What about seats? Maybe there are no seats?”

  “Don’t talk crap, Larry,” said Snyder condescendingly. “I run America’s largest financial institution. Screw that. I run one of the largest corporations on the face of the earth, period. Don’t fuck with me about tickets and seats. Talk to my secretary; she’ll fix it.”

  The Arab lawyer did not fly Concorde, but still made it to New York in a little over three days after the summons.

  They were four, that Saturday evening - Snyder, Kerry, Cohen and the Arab lawyer - in Snyder’s penthouse, nursing drinks, looking out over New York. A light snow drifted on the breeze.

  “So you think it can be done?” queried Snyder.

  “Yes, sir,” said the Middle East law specialist, Mohamed Eida, a very fat, short and completely bald Palestinian in an oversized rumpled beige suit, under which he wore a full sleeved polo-necked sweater. He looked greasy, and had a fawning attitude. “Yes, Mr. Snyder. No problem at all. Americans and Jews can do whatever they want.”

  “You must give us a written legal opinion saying so. Clearly saying so,” said Snyder.

  “We can’t do that,” interrupted Cohen. Then, under Snyder’s unrelenting gaze, he remembered that Citizenbank was his company’s most valuable client, squirmed and said, “Or can we give one from Dubai, Mohamed?”

  Despite his greasy unappetising appearance and his poor dress sense, Mohamed Eida was a smart, quick thinking man. “No, no, our opinion will not matter; it can’t help you,” he lied swiftly. He knew that Cohen would get him to write the legal opinion on the obviously fraudulent scheme Citizenbank was cooking up, which the bankers had explained as a scheme to which they wanted to forcibly subscribe everyone. He had not been born yesterday. He had no plan to write a legal opinion, giving them the green light and safety, and having the sky falling on his own unprotected Palestinian head when the shit hit the ceiling - or something like that.

  Snyder stood up, showing his exasperation. “So why the fuck am I talking with you guys?” he asked belligerently.

  “In the legal sense we would be okay, I mean,” said Mohamed Eida hastily. He was the chief Arab lawyer in Cohen & Partners, and Citizenbank was his key personal account. The bank was in constant litigation, throughout the Middle East, against its customers, and there was so much work that the law firm had little time to devote to any other client. Mohamed Eida sometimes had half a dozen cases in a single court session, was always victorious, and made easy money in the process. It was simple and financially rewarding work. “We can draft out an opinion, Mr. Snyder, one that will stand up in court, but for the region it won’t work if we write it, as Cohen is an American law firm. If your scheme is challenged in court, judgement will not be helped by our legal opinion.”

  “Why?” demanded Snyder, now pacing the room. “Why is Citizenbank represented by you guys? Why has London appointed people who have no value?” He turned to the squirming Cohen. “Cohen is our law firm - and your legal opinion cannot stand where you represent us? What’s wrong with your gang?”

  “Mr. Snyder,” said Mohamed Eida, “Cohen is an American law firm, and the average Arab hates America. It’s the Palestinian-Israeli thing, you know, the problem of injustice to Palestine after the creation of…”

  Snyder cut him short. “We’ve heard that crap before. Tell us why your being an American firm is an issue.”

  “You see,” said Mohamed Eida, disappointed and irritated, “Arab courts will be negatively influenced if an American bank is supported by the opinion of an American law firm to run a scam.”

  “What do you mean scam?” Snyder whirled on the Palestinian.

  “He meant scheme,” intervened Cohen hastily.

  “Yes, Mr. Snyder, I meant scheme,” said Mohamed Eida, pronouncing scheme in a way that would create reasonable doubt about the accuracy of what Snyder had first heard.

  Snyder cursed under his breath. “It still means Cohen cannot assist us in the product launch, doesn’t it?”

  “Not quite. We should be able to arrange what you require. I was not briefed before travel. Let me think.” Mohamed Eida made a show of closing his eyes and thinking hard.

  The room was silent, as both lawyers pretended to think. “What we can do is quite simple, and will work for Citizenbank,” continued Mohamed Eida, after a suitable length of time, but soon enough, though, for fear of Snyder’s ire. “We can arrange a written legal opinion from the biggest and best local law firm in Dubai. That will be the most effective method, and should cover your bank against liability.”

  “Will it stand up in court?”

  “Of course, but in reverse, Mr. Snyder; rubbish in the west, but in the courts of Arabia, a document of great worth. Sure, it must be from a big, well known law firm.” Mohamed Eida had the bill in mind - vengeance would be his.

  “Will you be able to arrange it?”

  “No problem.”

  “But you’ll have to explain everything to them, won’t you?”

  “No, no, not at all.” Mohamed Eida made a dismissive gesture. “I’m a big lawyer in my own area. I’ll draft out something, and those idiots will put it on a letterhead and sign the damn thing. All they want is payment, UAE locals. Money is everything. They have no brains anyway, and they’ll never understand if I word it right. Don’t worry.”

  “And when can it be done?”

  “Whenever you say. It’ll take me one day at most.”

  Snyder unwound. He had organised no dinner at home - in fact he had given his domestic help the evening off, to guard against the possibility of eavesdropping - and so he walked them over to a really nice, very expensive restaurant a block away. It was a brilliant dinner, and Mohamed Eida got his chance to sneak a little propaganda in for his fellow Palestinians, at which they shook their heads in fake sympathy, exchanging sly winks he failed to catch.

  Walking away from the restaurant, having bundled the lawyers off in taxis, Snyder said, “I’m meeting the shareholders early next week, maybe Tuesday. I expect approval, so you’d better start planning.”

  “I’ll ask Cohen to get moving on the legal opinion right away,” said Kerry. “They work through our weekend in Dubai. Arabia, you know.”

  “Dubai’s nice. Haven’t been for some time, though in my previous position I passed through quite frequently. But no, Bob, don’t create any paper from New York. Let Citizenbank Arabia organise documentation related to this project, and sort it out at an appropriate time. Let’s stay out of the picture, right?”

  “Right.” Kerry was relieved. He, too, wanted to stay as far from the epicentre as he possibly could.

  “Anyone in mind to place in the region? Specifically, I mean, to handle the deal?” asked Snyder.

  “I’d say Chad Durbin, don’t you think? After all, it is his plan.”

  “I like that guy,” said Snyder, nodding. “He’s a bit young though, isn’t he? But it does have the advantage of not having to include yet another head with a potentially wagging tongue. Tighter group - and it’ll mean less people to share the benefit, the cash.”

  “That’s right,” agreed Kerry. “But Chad may be the right choice in any case, as he thought it up and will be best placed to think it through on the ground.”

  Snyder nodded agreement. “Make him volunteer.”

  “We could simply depute.”

  “No, Bob, make him volunteer. It’s better that way, as it creates desperation to succeed.”

  “I’ll work on it,” said Kerry. “He was probably hoping we could do it here, but let’s see what he thinks of moving out.”

  “And up,” said Snyder.