Bloodland: A Novel by Alan Glynn Read Free Book Online Page B

you?’
    Rundle laughs at this and sits down. ‘Well, if I could look half as good as you do, Jimmy, and I mean now , let alone when I’m eighty-two, I’d be a happy man.’
    This is bullshit, of course, palaver, but on one level he actually means it. Vaughan is extraordinary for his age, his steely blue eyes displaying an undimmed and ferocious intelligence. As chairman of private equity firm the Oberon Capital Group – as well as sitting member of the Council on Foreign Relations and the Trilateral Commission – Vaughan is something of an éminence grise around these parts.
    A waiter appears at Rundle’s side. ‘Your usual, sir?’
    Rundle nods.
    A gimlet. For his sins.
    He looks at Vaughan. ‘How’s Meredith?’
    Vaughan waves a hand over the table. ‘She’s … well .’
    Meredith is Vaughan’s umpteenth wife. They got married about four years ago, and she’s at least forty-five years his junior. Which maybe explains a lot.
    She’s even younger than Rundle’s own wife.
    ‘And Eve?’
    ‘She’s good. She’s in England at the moment, Oxford. Checking up on Daisy.’
    Vaughan smiles.
    Wives, daughters, whatever.
    ‘Listen,’ he says, leaning forward, getting down to business, ‘this thing with the Chinese?’
    Rundle nods.
    ‘It isn’t going to go away, Clark. I mean, let’s say our friend the colonel turns down their offer, yeah? Let’s say we pull that off. It just means they’ll come back with a bigger offer. That’s the kicker in all of this, it isn’t about money.’ Vaughan makes a puffing sound and throws his hands up. ‘It’s like we have to learn a whole new language.’
    Rundle is all too aware of this, but hearing Vaughan articulate it, hearing him sound even vaguely defeatist – that’s a little unnerving.
    ‘Yeah,’ he says, ‘or maybe we have to re learn a language we once knew, but have forgotten.’
    Vaughan looks at him for a moment. Then he reaches over and pats him on the arm. ‘Oh lord, Clark,’ he says. ‘That’s a bit subtle, even for me.’ He laughs. ‘Or … or what’s that other word … inscrutable?’
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t –’
    ‘Gentlemen.’
    They both look up.
    It’s Don Ribcoff. He has arrived at the table in what seems like a frantic rush. He sits down, nods at Vaughan, but then faces Rundle.
    ‘Forgive me, Clark,’ he says, ‘I wouldn’t normally barge in on you like this, but I thought it’d be better not to talk over the phone.’
    Rundle nods, wondering what this is about – the urgency, the not talking on the phone. Especially the not talking on the phone. But also thinking who’d be a better judge of something like that than the CEO of Gideon Global?
    He turns to Vaughan. ‘I didn’t mention it to you, Jimmy, but I spoke to Don earlier and asked him to join us.’
    ‘Of course, of course,’ Vaughan says, and makes an inclusive gesture with his hand. ‘Don, what are you drinking?’
    Ribcoff bites his lip. ‘Er, water, please.’
    Vaughan raises a finger and a waiter seems to materialise out of thin air. Instructions are given, two chilled 330 ml bottles of Veen, one velvet, one effervescent. Almost immediately a second waiter appears with the gimlet and as the drink is being transferred from the tray to the table Rundle takes a moment to study Don Ribcoff.
    He seems uncharacteristically ruffled. Still only in his mid-thirties, Ribcoff is a hugely capable young man, good-looking, fit, and incredibly focused when it comes to his business. He also provides an invaluable service to people like Rundle, Vaughan and many others. The privatisation of the security and intelligence industries has been nothing short of revolutionary and the Don Ribcoffs of this world, who have spearheaded that revolution, are men to be cherished and nurtured.
    Which is why it’s disturbing to see him like this.
    As soon as the waiter withdraws, Rundle reaches for his gimlet.
    Gin and lime juice.
    Who could ask for anything more?
    He takes a sip.
    And