A Calculated Risk by Katherine Neville (most difficult books to read txt) 📕

more cash than at any other time of year—money I’d be losing if I couldn’t get inside the system to grab it. But on Christmas Eve the test system would be shut down. It was through the test system that all brand-new programs like mine got put into the production environment—where the cash was handled. I had to get in that door before it closed.

But on Wednesday, the day before Christmas Eve—though Tavish had broken into the security system by now—he still hadn’t cracked the test key code, the little program that decoded all the wires flooding in, that unlocked the bank’s cash clearings so we could deposit them in accounts.

Furthermore, I could hardly open up thirty thousand brand-new bank accounts, all with zero balances. It would look more than suspicious.

So I chewed my nails and went crazy, watching the dozen clocks beyond my glass wall, which showed the time ticking away for countries all over the world, as it was for me.

By Thursday morning—the day before Christmas—Tavish still had not cracked the codes. Pavel was already off, “avoiding the madness of the city,” so when the phone rang, I answered it myself.

“Darlink,” said Lelia’s muffled voice, “this is the subject of grave urgence! Such unhappiness I am having—you must come now, today.”

“Slow down, Lelia. Come where? I thought you were in Europe.”

“Da. I am in Europe—but now I am here, in my bedchamber.”

I’d forgot that in times of crisis, Lelia could only conjugate one verb tense.

“We’ll take this step-by-step,” I told her. “You were in Europe, but now you’ve come home. Where are Georgian and Tor? Is there someone there who can translate for me?”

“No, bozemoi, I am so fatiguée! Zhorzhione, she has gone to Europe instead—but Zoltan, he will not do the speaking with me. They are both very fâchés avec moi.”

“Why are they both angry with you?” I said, alarmed. “Why has Georgian gone to Europe in your place? Why didn’t Tor phone me himself, if there’s a problem?”

“There is no phone where he is being,” Lelia assured me. Even in prison, they had telephones—where could he be?

“He’s not where you are?” I asked.

“Là? Mais non! Je suis dans ma chambre!”

“I don’t mean in your bedroom—I meant in New York.”

“He is near, but it is not possible for him to be speaking with you. He want that you come here to New York—tout de suite—today. I send you a ticket at l’aéroport—tu vas venir? Je m’explique when you are arriving.”

“When will you explique, Lelia?” I demanded. “I’m busy here—I can’t go flying to New York during year-end closing! You tell Tor, if he wants to talk, he can phone me himself—I’ve had it with these little intrigues of his, and frankly I’m amazed he’d put you up to this.”

“Tu me crèves le coeur!” cried Leila. “You are not having the trustingness in me! You come here—I make all the little explains when you arrive.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said with more than a little irritation, “I’ll leave a message on Tor’s answering service. If it’s that important, he can call me back and explain it in English.”

“You do not understand my anglais,” Lelia moaned.

I’d had about enough of these games. I kissed her over the phone and hung up.

But my other line was flashing, and when I picked it up, I forgot about Lelia for the moment. The last thing I’d expected was a call from Peter-Paul Karp—Tavish’s old boss and Pearl’s current one. He was inviting me to lunch.

The prospect of spending an hour or more with Karp was like a penance. I decided to accept—if only to learn what he had on what I loosely referred to as his mind.

We met at the restaurant of his choice: the Coût que Coût—which means “cost what it may” in French. I knew it well—it was the sort of place where the waiters, in timeless French tradition, saunter past your table at least once every two or three hours, to see if you’re interested in eating yet. Karp arrived, fifteen minutes late, and made a point of schmoozing with the entire staff—including the chef, who came out from the back—before arriving at the table where I was waiting.

He refused to get right to the subject of our meeting. First he dawdled over the menu and wine list until I nearly screamed; when at last we’d ordered, he gave me a greasy smile.

“I’ve just returned from a visit to my homeland—Germany,” he informed me. “I heard you were being considered for an assignment there, yourself.”

“I know—thanks for the recommendation,” I told him. He brushed it aside.

“It’s a wonderful place, Banks. You shouldn’t have been so hasty to throw away that opportunity. Of course, it’s different for me—I speak the language fluently—and my family, of course, goes back for over a thousand years.…”

“Really? What a coincidence,” I told him. “So does mine! We just can’t remember who they are.”

I got the glare I expected, but at least it dragged him back to the subject.

“I asked you here to warn you, Banks,” he informed me, leaning on his elbow. “Just a friendly word from one colleague to another. The trouble you’ve made is hard to express—waves through the whole banking system. Last week I get a call from Willingly—he says it’s very urgent. I go to see him. He says: ‘Banks is not playing the game.’ You know what game I mean? It is the game of men in business. Being that I’m German, I understand how women are different from us. You understand?”

“What’s your point?” I asked, feeling I could skip this little course in biology.

“You know, he’s very close to Lawrence—your boss, Willingly. Lawrence has even proposed him for membership in the Vagabond Club! Perhaps he’ll be installed this very month.”

“What should I do—burst into tears? It’s certainly not my cup of tea. But Kiwi’s happy, Lawrence is happy—everybody’s happy.”

“Everybody but me,” he told me glumly. “I’ve told you all this, because now you owe me something.”

“Let’s get something