Forty 2 Days (The Billionaire Banker) (21 page)

I shake my head.  ‘I’m not playing your game.’

‘
Fine, I will choose.  The head of the IMF has been displaying a little less obedience than usual.  I choose him.  Tell me what kind of disgrace you would like to see come upon his unsuspecting head.’

‘
Nothing.’

‘
In that case let him be accused of rape.  Not just any rape but the rape of a maid in a hotel room.  Let her be of Asian descent.  Thai would be too common.  Would you be happy with Burmese?’

I say nothing.  Simply stare at him.  

‘
Now which newspaper do you choose to disgrace him?’

He is serious.  He is actually going to ruin the career and life of an innocent man to make a point.  I shake my head.  ‘I’m not going to be part of this.’

‘
What about the
Guardian
?  Perhaps you’d like more than one newspaper to run the story?  And a television channel?  BBC?  Or all of them?’

And suddenly my brain kicks in.  He is bluffing.  ‘The BBC.  I want the story to be run by the BBC,’ I say.  Surely he cannot have influence in the British Broadcasting Corporation!

But he smiles confidently.  ‘Done.’  

I shouldn’t have spoken.  Now he knows he has me.  

‘
When the story breaks tomorrow you will understand the extent of my reach.  I will do the same to my son.  Here are the pictures that will grace the world media if you refuse to be reasonable.’

I realize that he has been holding an envelope all this time.  He takes two steps towards me and throws it on the coffee table and it slides towards across and stops in front of me.  He is so close now I notice his eyes.  Eyes are usually called the windows of the soul, but in his case the windows are closed, or there is no soul to look out of them.  There is not even a pencil of light from the empty interior.  

I grasp the envelope with unsteady fingers.  Photographs of me.  With my hair tousled, my lips parted, my legs wide open.  The photographs are clear and graphic.  I look at them.  The photos of that night when I taunted Blake into hurting me are so horrible I cannot go on.  They do not reflect what really happened. They look like rape of the worst kind.  I do not need to get to the end.  I put them carefully back into the envelope and slide them back along the table top.  My face is not flaming with embarrassment; it is numb with shock.  

‘
No, keep them for your album,’ he says.

Like a puppet I pull them back towards me.

‘
There are videotapes too of you and…other women.  I’m afraid my son was rather indiscriminate when you left him the last time.  They will be released a few days later on the Internet as supporting evidence.  My son will become a common criminal.  A sexual predator.’

I need to think.  I am blank.  My foe is too great.  ‘What happens if I agree?’

‘
You get to choose a leafy English suburb or if you prefer even another country.  Perhaps you’d like to live in the sun.’  I shake my head. ‘No, well you get to choose.  Somewhere like Weybridge, perhaps?’

‘
What will happen to Blake?’

‘
Absolutely nothing.  He will mourn for you…for a while, then he will marry Victoria and have a family, and life will be good again.’

‘
What if he comes looking for me?’

‘
He won’t know where to look.  You will be fitted with a totally new identity.  You’ll have to give up your friends, of course.  But you will make new ones, better ones.’

‘
Why are you going to so much trouble to keep me away from him?’

Something flashes in his eyes.  So quickly it is almost as if in my numbed state I have imagined it.  But it makes my skin go cold.  It is not as simple as he makes it out to be.  There is more.  Much more.

I clasp my freezing cold hands together.  For a moment neither of us speaks.

‘
There is another thing you must consider.  
My father was a banker, I am a banker, and my son will be a banker. ‘

‘
What do you mean?’

‘
May I see my grandson?’

I understand immediately and the fear of before is nothing compared to this.  Oh God!  He is referring to what he did to his son.  He is implying that that is what Blake will do to Sorab.

‘
Blake will never do that to his son.’

‘
It is our way.  If you choose to live in our world, then you must abide by our rules.’  

I don’t want this man anywhere near my baby.  ‘He is asleep,’ I push through frozen lips.

‘
I will not wake him up.  Just a quick peek,’ he says with a sick, lizard smile.

Outmaneuvered I begin to walk stiffly towards the door.  He follows me into Sorab’s room.  Protectively, I stand next to the crib.  He stops a foot away from the crib and nods as if satisfied.  Of what I do not know and do not ask.  He turns away and I follow him, weak with relief, to the front door.

 ‘
Look out for the newspapers tomorrow morning.  I will be in touch later in the day.’  He opens the door.

‘
Mr. Barrington?’

He turns slightly towards me.  ‘Yes?’

‘
Who is Cronus?’

He turns fully towards me, and smiles.  At that moment the strangest thing happens.  Into those dead eyes climbs something.  The most inquisitive look that you ever saw, an interest more avidly probing than you could ever have thought possible in those leaden eyes.  It is as if it is no longer even the same man.  A cold claw grips my insides.

‘
When you do your little Internet searches find the shrouded one under the name of El,’ he says and opening the door exits the apartment.

I
do not walk, I run to my laptop to type El into Google’s search engine.
El, I learn, is a deity dating back to Phoenician times.  He is meant to be the father of mankind and all creatures. He is the gray-bearded ancient one, full of wisdom.  The bull is symbolic to him.  El is distinguished from all the other gods as being the supreme god, or, in a monotheistic sense, ‘God’.  

Through the ages he is listed at the head of many pantheons.  He is the Father God among the Canaanites. In Hebrew text El becomes a generic name for any god, including Baal, Moloch, and Yahweh.  Finally late in the text I come across the reference to Cronus.  

Apparently it was the custom of the ancients during great crisis for the ruler of a city or nation to avert common ruin by sacrificing the most beloved of their children to the avenging demons; and those who are thus given up are sacrificed with mystic rites, arrayed in royal apparel and sacrificed on an altar. Those that follow this path are called the sons of El.

El the articles points out is the root word for elite.

I type in El and Cronus and learn that el cronus is a sex toy for men.

I type in Saturn and El and I find out that El is another name for Saturn.  And Saturn is interchangeable with Cronus.

I sit back.  To avert common ruin these men give the most beloved of their children as a sacrifice to their great god El.  Did it mean what I thought it meant?  That Blake’s father would willingly sacrifice his son in exchange for more power?  

I hear someone at the door and quickly click out of the pages I am on. I go to the door warily, but it is only Blake.

‘
Hi,’ he says.  He looks normal.

‘
Hi.’

‘
Everything all right?’

‘
Great.’

I walk up to him and kiss him. His kiss belies his casual attitude.  It is the kiss of a man who is drinking sweet water from a fountain before a long journey into the desert.  My hands entwine in his hair.  I want the kiss to go on and on but my brain will not allow me to.  Now that I have proof that walls have eyes and ears I cannot be myself.  I withdraw my tongue slowly, work my hands down to his chest and give him a slight push.

He looks down at me, his eyes darkened and wild.

‘
Can we go out for dinner tonight?’ I ask, forcing a smile.

‘
Sure.  Where would you like to go?’

‘
That Indian place you took me to last year.  I forget its name.  The one named after the thieves’ market.’

‘
Ah, Chor Bizzare.’

‘
That’s the one.’

‘
We’ll drop Sorab off at Billie’s.’

‘
Shall we call Mrs. Dooley instead?’

‘
No,’ I snap, and then quickly smile to take away the sting.  ‘Billie was just complaining that she never gets to see Sorab anymore.’

‘
OK.’

‘
Hey, I’ve always been curious.  When you get your reports from your spies what do they tell you?’

‘
Just a list of your movements.’

‘
Have you received your report for today?’

‘
Yes, as I was on my way home.’

‘
What did it say?’

‘
Why?’

‘
Just want to know how it works.’

‘
OK.  Today you stayed indoors until 3:50pm when you took Sorab out in the pram to the coffee shop around the corner.  You had a cake and coffee and were back by 5:00 pm.’

I try hard to keep my face neutral.  I never left the house!  

Then it hits me.  A look-alike lures the spy away and the father enters the building and comes to see me.  When the father leaves the look-alive re-enters the building.  Now I know.  Now I know.  Blake cannot protect me, or himself, from his father.  

His father has outsmarted him.

“
We are the tools and vassals of rich men behind the scenes. We are the jumping jacks, they pull the strings and we dance.  Our talents, our possibilities and our lives are all the property of other men. We are intellectual prostitutes."

—
John Swinton, Head of Editorial Staff, New York Times,

at a banquet thrown in his honour, 1880

B
lake’s father is true to his evil.  
The Independent
and the
Guardian
are the first to report that the CEO of the International Monetary Fund, Sebastian Straus Khan, has been implicated in a scandal.  A Burmese maid working at a hotel in New York has accused him of rape.  He has been apprehended at the airport.  The BBC runs the story at lunchtime.  By evening every TV channel is running the story.  There appears to be no investigation.  Simply a story that is repeated almost word for word by all the different news feeds.  Each one gleefully convinced of his crime.

That night when Blake comes home, I have painted my face and dressed in the sexiest outfit Fleur sent.  The tight pink leather pants that Billie said, made my bum look all trapped and ripe and in need of rescuing, and a little top that leaves my shoulders and back bare.

His eyes light up.  ‘Wow, what’s the occasion?’ he breathes against my ear.

‘
We’re not spending the night here,’ I tell him.  ‘I’ve booked us into The Ritz.’

He smiles slowly.  He has no idea.  Inside I am dying.  It is our last night together, a night I will never forget.  We have dinner, I taste nothing, and then we go upstairs.  There is champagne waiting in a silver bucket.  I did not order it.  Compliments of the house.  I don’t drink.  I don’t want anything to be fuzzy.  I want to remember every last detail.

That night I am insatiable.  

Again and again we make love until he says to me, ‘Go to sleep, Lana, I don’t want you falling ill on me again.’  Even then I reach down and take his big, beautiful penis in my mouth and mumble, ‘Use me for your pleasure.  You have paid for this.’

And he looks deep into my eyes and says, ‘Consider the debt paid in full.’  The irony stabs me in the heart.  He has no idea.

When morning arrives, I pull him close and whisper, ‘I love you.  I’ll always love you.’

And when he is leaving, he says, his voice husky with emotion, ‘I’ll miss you terribly until I see you again…tonight.’

And I almost break down.  He will never see me again.  Tears blur my eyes.

‘
Hey,’ he calls very softly.  ‘Nothing can keep us apart.’

A sob breaks through.  He does not understand.  

When he is dressed and leaving, I hold on tight.  He looks at me with strong, sure eyes.  ‘Nothing can keep us apart,’ he says again.  And then the door closes behind him and I sink to the ground.  I cry as if I will break apart.  When I am all cried out on the floor of The Ritz hotel, I rise numb, but ready.  This is for him and Sorab.  This will keep them both safe.  I get into the lift, between my legs sore and the tips of my breasts singing from being sucked and bitten all night.  Tom is waiting in the lobby for me.  My thick coat is folded over his arm.

‘
Mr. Barrington had me get this from the apartment for you.  It’s a cold morning.’

Again I am struck by how carefully and thoroughly Blake’s mind works.  Always he is one step ahead.  Except for the most important thing of all.  I take off my light coat and get into the coat Tom has brought for me.  I turn my head and notice a man looking at me.  Our eyes meet.  He does not drop his.  I look away.  The world has changed for me.  A few months back I would have assumed that he found me attractive; now I am not certain if he has not been paid to watch me.

Outside an icy wind hits me.  I am glad for the coat.

In the car I stare out of the window.  I am actually in a state of shock.  The thought of leaving Blake is so painful I refuse to think about it.  It is almost as if I am on autopilot.  There is an accident ahead and Tom takes the longer route through South Kensington.  We pass an old church.  The door is ajar and I jerk forward.  

‘
Stop the car, Tom.’

Tom brings the car to a stop by the side of the road.