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

Then he remembered that the American banks had likely been closed for the Christian holidays. He’d just have to retransmit the thing, and hope there would be no penalties for being late with the mortgage payment.

He sat down again to send the wire. It was unlikely the money would be posted for another forty-eight hours now, he thought. At nine in the morning, Saudi time, it was seven P.M. yesterday—in San Francisco. The Bank of the World had already been closed four hours.

THE AUCTION

Gold is a wonderful thing! Whoever possesses it is master of everything he desires. With gold one can even get souls into heaven.

—Christopher Columbus

When I came into the office on Monday morning, Pearl was sitting on my desk with her legs crossed, looking out at the dazzling turquoise bay, the slim, silvery bridge sliding off into the distance.

“Well, well, well,” she said slyly as I dropped my things and went around the desk to go though the mail. “Ten-thirty’s a bit tardy even for you, isn’t it? You were not at home this weekend—I called.”

“Isn’t that dress a bit low cut—‘even for you’?” I asked. “Or are you trying a new approach to career advancement?”

“If anyone’s broken new trails this weekend, it seems to be you.” She laughed. “Romance improves the complexion, sweetheart, and you look as though you’ve just had the seven-day makeover at La Costa!”

“I find this conversation totally inappropriate to the setting in which we find ourselves,” I told her as I slashed open an envelope.

“I’ll bet. What setting was more appropriate? Satin sheets? Body oils? Hot tubs?”

“I spent the weekend deep in meditation,” I assured her.

“Of course he is totally gorgeous,” Pearl ran on. “And here I was, giving you advice about how to while away your hours in New York! But Tavish tells me you did make a trip to the data center the other night when you left us. Those programs were up and running just fine this morning. I suppose you were just too preoccupied to phone and let us know.”

“Would you like to hear what I really did this weekend?” I asked, going over to shut the door. “You ought to—since the news may affect your entire career.”

“What career?” Pearl said bitterly. “After your little tête-à-tête with Karp last week, my career has descended into the twilight of the toilet. My darling boss seems to think it’s all wrapped up—that you’ll find me another job on an instant’s notice, and I’ll waltz away from the bank without a blink.”

“It is, I have, and you will,” I told her, taking a seat across from where she perched on my desk. “It’s no joke, Pearl. Besides, we’re all leaving the bank sooner or later. It’s simply a question of when.”

“Right. ‘Is there life beyond banking?’ and all that,” she said. “But I’m not quite ready to break camp yet. What are you—my career counselor or something?”

“I made a deal this weekend—with Tor, as a matter of fact. It turns out his side of the wager is a bit more complex than I thought.”

“I’ll bet,” said Pearl, smiling slyly.

“To make it short and sweet,” I cut in, “he has the perfect job for you: something that calls for someone with just your skills.”

“I’ll show him my skills if he shows me his,” she said with a grin. When she saw I wasn’t biting, she added, “Just what skills did you have in mind?”

“Two things. The first is foreign exchange. You know as much about that, I believe, as anyone in the business.”

“And the second?” asked Pearl.

“Spending money,” I told her.

It was strange. I’d known Tor for twelve years—known him as well as anyone could know a man like that. But after one weekend together, I realized I didn’t really know him at all.

Like me, he kept a part of himself secret—contained—veiled from the curiosity of others, just like that womblike office of his so many years ago. What was he hiding? His passion, he’d called it. But I knew by that, that he didn’t mean simply making love.

Something had changed—not only between us, but within us—in the three days Tor and I spent on that island. It felt as if we’d been whirled together in a cyclotron, rearranging our molecules, so we each contained a share of each other’s being. You didn’t have to get to know someone when you’d already become part of them. But there was this unbearable craving for the other half. Wasn’t that how Plato had defined love? The longing of the soul for its missing part, which it had lost somewhere in the primordial mists of time.

This feeling made it pretty tough to get back to work.

I was gazing out at the bay, trying to sort through these strange emotions, when Peter-Paul Karp came strolling into my office.

“Banks—you’re staring through the window! Has something happened to you?” he said in surprise.

“Not to me. But something has happened,” I told him, pulling myself together and rearranging the things on my desk. All I needed was to have my mind get mushier than Karp’s.

“You know that problem of yours we discussed the other day?” I asked. “I think I’ve got the solution.”

“Not really!” he said, pulling up a chair.

“I’ve recommended Pearl for the Forex seminar—the Foreign Exchange Traders’ Consortium,” I told him. “It’s held every spring—it goes on for three months. You’d have to give her a leave of absence to attend it, and pay her way.”

“A leave of absence,” he said. “That means the bank would have to give her a job when she returns—but not necessarily in my department, right?”

“Right. The symposium begins next Sunday in New York.” I pushed the papers across the desk for him to sign.

“Banks, I’ll get this paperwork going at once,” he said, scribbling his name across the approval forms. “And my warmest thanks. I think Willingly’s completely wrong in everything he’s said about you.”

Though I longed to learn exactly what that