None of them noticed the woman in the boulangerie who had been looking out through the shop window. She was a suspicious woman to begin with, and the country was still on alert. It was always on alert. Why would four men be sitting in a car so long? Especially men like that? She had made the call on her cell phone, and she was still watching when the police car pulled up, no lights, no sirens, blocking the rented Renault, and two policemen got out, and the men in the Renault saw them and got out and ran.

Research

RESEARCH

It was bound to be an awkward conversation, but Majid knew it was inevitable. Stavro had been stopping by periodically to see how their short selling of Bouvier Lait had been going. The stock price had not dipped, it was still mildly up, and that was the first tack Majid took with him. The truth could wait. “I’m afraid you’re making a losing bet,” he said. “I don’t see any sign of weakness. You can cash out your position now with a moderate loss, and that is my recommendation.”

Stavro, as usual, was a man of few words. “I thought I’d made myself clear. Increase my short position. Keep borrowing and selling.”

“The firms we’re borrowing from are getting nervous. If the share price goes any higher, there will be a margin call.”

“So be it. I have enough cash in my account to cover. It’s my cash, my risk, my order. I don’t even understand why we’re having this discussion.”

Ron was watching the discussion from his customary chair along the side wall of Majid’s office. He was holding himself back, which wasn’t easy, especially when Stavro started playing the “I’m the boss” card again. But he knew the tide would have to turn soon. He wondered how Majid would handle it.

“Actually . . .” Majid said.

Ah, thought Ron, here it comes.

“There is another problem.”

“Oh?” said Stavro. “What kind of problem?”

“There was an inquiry concerning one of the channels we’ve been using to make your trades.”

“An inquiry?”

“It concerned the Bouvier Lait short sales . . .”

Stavro waited.

“. . .and also the Sahel Hydrocarbon transactions.”

Stavro, stone-faced, asked, “What kind of inquiry?”

“It was looking for a possible connection.”

“Who made this inquiry?”

“Someone working with American authorities.”

“American? Not Swiss?”

“No.”

Stavro held for a moment in his seat, the guest chair facing Majid’s desk. His right thumb and forefinger touched his lower lip, for him a display of wild emotion. “I told you to make these trades anonymously.”

“We did. The trail didn’t come to you, it came to us.”

“But to you presumably means to one of your clients. How many clients do you have?”

“Many.”

“How many?”