The Vets (Stephen Leather Thrillers) (77 page)

Perman nodded and scribbled on his notepad.

“I’d recommend seeing the analysts, too. They’re going to want to know what effect this is likely to have on the share price, short and long term.”

“Good thinking,” said Fielding. “Charlie, can you organise that? Get one of your boys in corporate finance to talk to them as soon as possible. If the small investors sell, maybe we can persuade the institutions to buy.”

“Will do,” said Devlin.

A telephone rang just behind Fielding and he turned round in his chair and picked up the receiver. It was his secretary, telling him that the Banking Commissioner was on the line.

“Put him on, Faith,” Fielding said, slumping back in his chair. His head was throbbing worse than ever, and it felt as if the stitches were cutting into his skin. As he listened to the voice at the other end of the line, his face went grey and he closed his eyes. The men around the table could tell it was bad news even before Fielding replaced the receiver and addressed them.

“Gentlemen, I’m afraid I have to tell you that there will be no support from the Banking Commissioner. The Governor has ruled out using the exchange fund to support the bank.”

There was a chorus of dismay from around the table, and the sound of hands being slapped against the wood. “That can’t be right,” said one director. Another sat with his head in his hands.

“There’s no need for me to tell you that this puts a totally different complexion on the situation,” said Fielding. “Without government support we will be unlikely to find anyone willing to lend us cash to see us over the next few days.”

“Did they say why?” asked Devlin.

Fielding shook his aching head. “No, but reading between the lines, I think the Chinese government has vetoed it. Ever since they won the airport fiasco they’ve been dying to flex their political muscles again. I think they want us to go to the wall to prove a point. It’s up to us to prove them wrong. Ideas, gentlemen?”

Fielding looked at a wall of blank faces. He raised his eyebrows but the action caused him to flinch with pain. “Gentlemen?” he repeated.

It was Devlin who spoke first. “I can go to the Hongkong and Shanghai and Standard Chartered and see if they’ll help us without a government guarantee. I don’t hold out much hope, though.”

“A rights issue?” said one of the directors.

“With the share price in free fall?” said Devlin scornfully.

“What about asking one of the Seven Sisters for help? Or the Cathay Bank?” said another director.

“You think the Chinese would bail out a gweilo bank?” asked Fielding. “I’d have thought they would take great pleasure in seeing us go under. Especially as most of the depositors who take their funds from our accounts will be putting them straight back into the Bank of China.”

The telephone rang and Fielding turned to answer it. It was his secretary again. Fielding nodded as he spoke to her and replaced the receiver.

“Gentlemen, it appears I have visitors. Charles, please chair the meeting in my absence.” Fielding eased himself out of his chair and walked slowly to the door of the boardroom, his shoulders sagging as if he carried the weight of the world on them.

Neil Coleman could think of a million things he’d rather be doing than standing in front of the headquarters of the Kowloon and Canton Bank in full riot gear, but he hadn’t been given the choice. Every constable and officer had been called in for duty and assigned to one or other of the bank’s branches. It didn’t matter in the least to his superiors that the previous day Coleman had been chasing a Mercedes loaded with the bank’s gold and had almost been blown up by a Chinese gunboat. The priority now was to make sure that a lid was kept on the volatile Chinese population until the banking system had been stabilised by whatever means necessary. Coleman knew that the Chinese had every reason not to trust the colony’s British administrators. The last time the Banking Commissioner had said there was no need to panic was at the time of the BCCI scandal in 1991, and thousands of Hong Kong investors had lost their savings by taking the administration at its word. And they remembered, too, the way the Stock Exchange had shut its doors for four days during the worldwide stock market crash in 1987, leaving local investors locked into a falling market while the rest of the world sold shares as if there were no tomorrow. It was eight o’clock in the morning and the queue of anxious investors wound twice around the base of the building and for several hundred yards down Queen’s Road. There were 200 men in riot gear, with four expatriate inspectors and a superintendent. Two water-cannons were standing by and there were five dark blue minibuses containing men with the force’s latest acquisitions – electronic riot shields which could deliver more than 50,000 volts of electricity. All the men had been issued with 120,000 volt stun guns and there were more than a dozen constables standing close to the superintendent with CS gas grenades.

Like the rest of the men, Coleman was wearing black overalls and a crash helmet with a protective visor and thick rubber boots. His gun was holstered on his side, a thin link chain connecting its butt to the belt. He was soaked with sweat and unable to wipe his brow.

Coleman had been told to write a full report on Sunday’s off-duty activities, and he’d had to do more than a little creative writing. There had been no way he could explain why he had been hanging around outside William Fielding’s house on raceday, or why he had followed Chung and Fielding to the depository. He’d been economical with the truth and said that he’d been driving by the depository when he’d seen a Mercedes leave, and that it was the car and its darkened windows which had sparked his interest. His report said that he’d waited outside the depository for just half an hour before he called it in and went off in pursuit of the Mercedes and the Toyota. Nobody had so far queried his description of Sunday’s events and if everything worked out he’d end up a hero with a Commissioner’s commendation.

He’d assumed that CID would want him to help with their investigation into the robbery, but two Chinese detectives had brusquely told him that he’d be interviewed in due course and that his statement was all they needed at present. He’d only been in bed for five hours when he was ordered to report to Wan Chai police station where he’d been issued with riot gear. When Coleman had been pursuing the Mercedes through the New Territories he’d had no idea that he was involved in something that could lead to major riots and violence in the city. The Chinese seemed to be reacting to the robbery with far more emotion than they had responded to the killings in Tiananmen Square. Then there had been marches, slogans politely shouted and token hunger strikes, but there had been no riots, no petrol bombs, no attacks on police and buildings. When it came down to it, the Chinese cared more about hard cash than democracy, Coleman thought, hefting his long riot baton in his hands.

A young Chinese man standing in line was talking earnestly to an old woman with an empty shopping bag. He was shaking his head but eventually he nodded and she handed over a bunch of yellow notes and he allowed her to take his place in the queue. The price for a spot near the front had now grown to 8,000 HK dollars.

The superintendent came over and stood by Coleman’s shoulder. “I’ve just heard that the government has ruled out a rescue,” he said out of the corner of his mouth. “We’re bringing more men in. These people are going to erupt when they find out.”

Faith was standing by her desk, a worried expression on her face. “William, there are three representatives from the Cathay Bank.” She nodded over to the reception area and Fielding looked over to see three men sitting with straight backs and placid faces. She gave him three simple business cards. Each had the logo of the Cathay Bank, one of the most powerful Chinese financial institutions. All three men held the position of director. Fielding went over and introduced himself. They stood up as they saw him coming and each politely shook hands with him. The man in the middle of the trio was the oldest, a short man in a Mao-style black suit, the style simple but the workmanship first class, as if a Savile Row tailor had been commissioned to stitch the material. On the left was a good-looking Chinese man in his mid-thirties who wore a made-to-measure pinstripe suit and carried a slim black briefcase. He spoke perfect English with a mid-American accent and he introduced his two companions to Fielding. The man on the right of the group was mainland Chinese, wearing an ill-fitting grey suit and a white shirt with a worn collar. One of his front teeth was gold and it glinted as he smiled and bowed his head.

The man with the American accent did most of the talking, but it was clear he was deferring to the two older men. He explained that they had come to offer their support during the Kowloon and Canton Bank’s period of uncertainty. Fielding asked if they wished to address the whole board but he was told that this was a personal offer and they wished to speak only with him.

Fielding showed them into his office while Faith arranged three high-backed chairs in front of Fielding’s desk. Faith offered the men refreshments but they all shook their heads. She closed the door quietly behind her as Fielding took his seat. He linked the fingers of his well-manicured hands across his blotter and looked at his three visitors expectantly. The man with the American accent looked to his left and to his right and received almost imperceptible nods from both his companions.

“Mr Fielding, we are here to make you an offer which will maintain the integrity of the Kowloon and Canton Bank, and which will ensure there is no slump in confidence in the territory’s ability to function as a world financial centre. The Cathay Bank is prepared to make a substantial injection of cash into the bank, within the hour, and we will announce that we are prepared to honour all the bank’s commitments. Your customers will be able, if they wish, to use their cards at our ATMs and withdraw cash from our branches with their cheques and passbooks. Once such an arrangement becomes public, the panic will be over. The people will know that you have the resources of one of the biggest banking groups in the world behind you.”

Fielding said nothing, but his interlinked fingers tightened on the blotter. He knew that so far he had heard only half of the deal the visitors had in mind.

The spokesman looked to the men on either side of him to check that he had their approval to continue. Again, the slight inclinations of the heads were barely noticeable. “In return the Kowloon and Canton Bank will become a member of the Cathay Bank Group.”

Fielding smiled and shook his head. He fingered his wedding ring as he phrased his thoughts. “I am of course most grateful for your interest in our short-term problems,” he said, choosing his words carefully. “But I can assure you the problems are short term. We hope to have lines of credit in place before our branches open for business. I can assure you, this will all blow over.”

“I think you are mistaken,” said the spokesman. “The Banking Commissioner has decided it would be unwise to use the exchange fund for such a purpose.”

“How do you know that?” snapped Fielding.

“It is known,” said the man with an easy smile. “We also know that help will not be forthcoming from the British banks. Nor will any of the American banks intervene.”

“There are other options,” said Fielding.

“I think you will find that any Hong Kong parties who were thinking about making a takeover bid for the bank’s stock have now reconsidered their position,” the man said, his dark brown eyes fixed on Fielding’s. “When the stock market commences trading, your share price will collapse, causing you further liquidity problems. We offer you a way to save the situation. It is your only solution, I am afraid.”

Fielding put up his hands, palms outwards, and shook his head vigorously. “No, it is out of the question,” he said. “Even if I were to agree, even if the board were to accept your proposal, then it would have to go before the shareholders. And I am certain they would refuse to allow the bank to be taken over by the Cathay Bank.”

The man in the Mao suit whispered into the younger man’s ear and he nodded. “What we propose, Mr Fielding, is that the Cathay Bank will make a reasonable offer for the shares, or at least for a controlling percentage, based on its net assets rather than the share price. That would guarantee that the shareholders receive a fair price, certainly a much better price than they will be able to obtain in the market if you open for business the way things are. We would intend to keep the bank’s listing on the Stock Exchange here, and to go for parallel listings in Tokyo and London. The shares will become more marketable as a result, and shareholders will have the option of selling to us or in the market if they are unhappy with them as an investment. No one will put a gun to their heads.”

“The bank has always been independent,” protested Fielding.

“By independent, you mean out of China’s control,” said the spokesman, coldly. “You have been perfectly willing, some might say eager, to sell your independence to a European group.”

“That may be,” said Fielding, “but there can be no question of the board recommending a takeover by the Cathay Bank.”

“If you personally were to recommend it, I think you would have no problem persuading the rest of the directors,” said the spokesman. “And the shareholders, like your customers, are so panic-stricken that they will clutch at any straw. I might add, Mr Fielding, that we do not anticipate any objections from the Banking Commissioner. In fact, we expect our initiative, and your acceptance of it, to be warmly welcomed by the Hong Kong administration.”