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The lobby of Henry's hotel was scattered with the usual collection of people waiting to check out (always a long process in Kushtia), people hoping to check in (usually even longer) and people waiting for a meeting with somebody staying in the hotel. Those that had got tired of the wait sat at low tables ranged along one side of the lobby and tried to attract the attention of one of the waitresses who could, on occasion, be persuaded to fetch coffee.
As he was about to emerge from the lift, Henry thanked his luck that a row of potted palms broke the view of the lifts from the lobby. He was about to leave the lift when he saw, across the lobby, someone he knew. Unveiled, the woman was obviously a westerner. The thin lips, high cheek bones and scraped back mousey brown hair were instantly recognisable. It was Esther Baskin, senior investigator with the United Kingdom Financial Services Authority. Henry immediately suspected that Baskin's appearance meant trouble. She would hardly be in Kushtia for a holiday. She must be after him, just as Ellie had suggested.
Henry stayed where he was in the lift, letting the lift doors slide shut in front of him, closing finally as he saw Esther getting to her feet.
Across the lobby of the hotel sitting in a booth that hid her partly from view and taking advantage of the veil that hid her face, Ellie had watched the tableau unfold. Henry's ashen face told her at once that the woman at the desk was one that he was hoping to avoid. Another complication, Ellie thought.
The lift arrived at the basement. Henry could imagine the conversation that Ms Baskin would be having at the reception desk.... “Mr Clegg, I'm not sure.” ... the producing of a $20 bill .... “Ah, now you come to mention it.” ...the surreptitious slipping away of the $20 bill to avoid the notice of the hotel manager.. “Oh yes, no he will be at the bank.” “The bank you say.” ... “Yes, of course. You will find him there. His office is on ......” henry thought for a moment. With luck he could duck out of the building up the car park ramp and pick up a taxi on the main road. He wasn't for the life of him sure where he was going but it was the best he could thing of. As he got to the top of the car park ramp he saw Esther Baskin climb into a cab. He flagged down another and sent it off in the opposite direction. He needed time to think. He told the driver to drop him in the Square of the Revolution. At least there he could submerge himself in the throng of Kushtian office workers, trudging from the bus station to the various office buildings dotted around the centre of town.
A small stall with a few stools alongside it offered the opportunity of breakfast. Henry took a coffee and a small sticky cake, paid the stall holder and perched himself on a stool. The square was packed; a solid river of people walked purposefully by him.
A voice hailed him from the far side of the river of commuters. “Hey, Mr Clegg! That's lucky. Can we have a word? I hear the FSA has come looking for you. You'll want to tell your side of the story.”
It was Dana Harris, the reporter. Henry most certainly did not want to tell his side of the story or any side of the story. What he wanted was for the story to go away. Dana was trying to push her way through the crowd of commuters. Henry took his opportunity to slide around the back of the coffee stall. He slipped away down a nearby alley way. As he ducked into a carpet seller's shop, he heard Dana calling after him. Fortunately she didn't think to come inside.
As Dana stood in the street outside, trying to decide where Henry had gone, she saw a woman in a chanoosh gesturing at her. She pointed down an alleyway to one side of the building. Dana, acknowledging the woman's directions with thanks, slipped past her and into the dark alley. The woman in the chanoosh followed her.
It took Henry some time to disentangle himself from the carpet seller. The owner of the shop was unused to tourists actually arriving in his shop unbidden. He had taken a lot of convincing than usual that no, Clegg did not want a rug, a carpet, a wall hanging or indeed any other form of woven textile product. Eventually Henry managed to push his way back out onto the street. Fortunately Dana seemed no longer to be around.
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In the office of Kerren Kerrish, Esther Baskin was having little success in her discussions. Her rather abrupt, forthright manner had irritated the Kushtian banker almost at once. Anch watched their discussions. She wanted to tell Kerrish about her suspicions but wanted more evidence first. Natalya, hiding in Anch's household had seen Henry's involved with the slavers but even so Anch still found it hard to believe that he was one of them. She had hoped that the English regulator's enquiries might help her to prove or disprove her suspicions about her boss but the way that Baskin was conducting herself didn't seem likely to gain any cooperation from Mr Kerrish.
“I don't see why you are finding it so difficult to help me, Mr Kerrish,” she said acidly. “I would have thought that it was in the interests of the bank to avoid any involvement with corrupt and dishonest practices.”
“I bow to the experience of the British FSA in that field Ms Baskin,” Kerrish responded with as much grace as he could muster. “Your recent triumphs in the regulation of the British banking industry are the envy of the world of finance. Fortunately we have found that our own practices are less likely to lead to fiscal instability.”
“I had not realised that the Kushtian banking system had solved the world's financial problems.” Baskin found it difficult not to rise to Kerrish's remarks. “You must tell me the secret.”
“We cannot claim to have saved the world. That is the province of your Mr Brown, I think. We do however , have one small principle that we apply – we try not to lend money to people without the means or the possibility of paying it back.” Kerren Kerrish sat back enjoying the pained look on the face of Ellen Baskin. He was disappointed. She was a pleasing looking woman, a little thin and pinched looking perhaps but her thin waist rather emphasised her breasts which in other circumstances he would have found too small for his taste. Nevertheless he would normally have been prepared to entertain her in his cubicon but he now felt that it would be a dispiriting experience. “Let me emphasise, Ms Baskin, Henry Clegg enjoys the bank's utmost confidence. Since his arrival here our business banking division has significantly improved but the size and, I may say,” Kerrish allowed himself a smug glance at Esther, “ the quality of its loan book. Our own governance and regulatory mechanisms are perfectly adequate. I really don't think the bank has anything to contribute to your enquiries. Thank you, Ms Baskin. Now if you'll excuse me. Miss Ancharya, please show Ms Baskin out.”
Kerrish got to his feet. Esther had little choice but to go. “Please let me know if you learn anything about his whereabouts,” she said, with little hope of any further assistance, and joined Anch in the walk to the office door.
“Shame,” Kerrish thought to himself watching her as she left, “nice arse.”
“I beg your pardon?” Esther turned around, furious. Kerrish's thoughts had been involuntarily voiced. She scowled at Kerrish and quickened her step. Kerrish didn't mind, it just improved the view as far as he was concerned.
As she and Anch left Kerrish's office, Esther spoke directly to Anch for the first time. “Do you have any idea where I might find Henry Clegg?” she asked. “I really do think it would be best if I managed to talk to him.”
Anch wasn't sure whether she should help Esther or not. Mr Kerrish had seemed very unimpressed by the English woman but Anch was anxious to help her friend Natalya. In the end she decided that at least she should point Esther in the right direction.
In the lobby of the bank, Anch stopped Esther as she was about to leave. “I think I may be able to help you,” she said.
Esther paused, surprised by Anch's tone after her hostile meeting with Kerrish's. “Well thank you, I'd be grateful for any suggestion. I really don't have much to go on apart from the hotel and the bank here. And, well, Mr Kerrish, didn't seem keen to assist.”
“You could try the household of the Kalinin's son, Koreni Kallanis” Anch said. “His wife, Victoria, is involved in a business that the bank is funding. Mr Henry is supervising the bank's involvement.”
“The wife of the Kalinin's son? I can see that might be politically sensitive for Mr Kerrish,” Esther acknowledged. “I shall try to see what I can find out there.”
“But, please be careful,” Anch urged concerned that she might be driving Esther into Henry's clutches rather than helping bring him to justice, “perhaps you should get help from the police or the Ministry of the Interior.”
Esther thought for a moment but then shook her head. “No,” she said, “I'd rather try to find him first. I really don't have anything I could say to the police about Mr Clegg's activities here and if Mr Kerrish isn't concerned about them from the bank's viewpoint then its difficult for me to involve them. Don't worry I'm sure I don't have anything to worry about from Mr Henry Clegg.”
Not far from Anch and Esther, a chanoosh clad woman sat reading a Kushtian financial paper. She looked up as Esther left the building. “You're right, she thought to herself, “you don't have anything to worry about from Henry.” Ellie got to her feet and followed Esther into the street.
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Henry spent the day moving from place to place around the centre of Kolin watching out at every turn for his pursuers. As Henry thought about his problem he realised that he had an instant solution available. Where better to hide out than in his client's household. He was sure that Victoria or Lauren would be able to provide some accommodation.
It was getting towards dusk as he reached the drive leading up to the Kalinin's residence. He parked the car and headed towards the door. As he got level with a gnarled tree a woman's voice hissed at him. “Over here,” the woman called in a husky, accented, voice. “Quickly.”
Henry reacted by turning towards the voice. A torch was shone for a moment in his face blinding him to his surroundings. “You bastard!” the voice snarled. “All right, put your hands up!”
Henry was unclear as to what he might have done that had attracted so much venom but he felt he ought to do as he'd been told. He was standing with his hands raised when suddenly a quiet thump was followed by the light going out and a scrabbling sound. Blinking in the darkness and still blinded by the brightness of the torch, Henry stood still for a moment but nothing more happened. The woman didn't speak again, there were no more instructions. As Henry's night vision recovered he peered towards where the voice had come from but there was no sign of anybody. He decided to make himself scarce while he still had the opportunity and carried on towards the house.
© Freddie Clegg 2009
All rights reserved. Not to be reproduced or reposted without permission.
All characters fictitious
E-mail: freddie_clegg@yahoo.com
Web Group: http://groups.yahoo.com/group/freddies_tales/
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