The Perfect Soldier by Graham Hurley Read Free Book Online Page B

behalf of a syndicate of Names. Names were the folk who put up their capital in return for a share of the profits. In a good year, they could make a great deal of money. In a bad year, there might be losses. In a very bad year, they might be wiped out completely.
    Molly nodded, following his explanation. To her shame, she’d never fully understood the way it worked.
    ‘So who makes the decision about the risks?’ she asked.
    ‘Giles does.’ He paused. ‘Did.’
    ‘Did?’
    ‘Yes.’ He nodded. ‘He ceased writing business at the end of last week. I understand the technical term is suspended.’
    Molly blinked, taking in the news, beginning to fathom the true depths of Giles’s private nightmare. However hard he’d tried to disguise it, she’d always known that he was a fiercely competitive man. It occasionally showed in little things: the parents’ race at James’s school, his regatta days in the dinghy. Fouling up at work, getting himself suspended, would have crucified him.
    ‘So what happened?’ she asked. ‘What does “suspended” mean?’
    Patrick was sipping his tea again. Her question prompted a frown.
    ‘Giles was investing his own money, your money, as well as relying on the syndicate’s Names. Lots of underwriters do it. It’s common practice.’
    Molly nodded. This much, at least, she knew.
    ‘Eighty-four,’ she said. ‘That summer we decided to send James away to school. His exam results were so awful at the comprehensive. You probably remember.’
    ‘I do. Vividly.’
    ‘Giles said we’d need a bit extra. Cash, I mean. Lloyd’s seemed the obvious place.’
    ‘It was. And he did well, too. In fact for most of the eighties, he did extremely well. Do you want the figures?’
    Molly shook her head. The figures were academic. What had mattered infinitely more was what the money had bought. James’s school hadn’t been cheap. Far from it. She hesitated a moment, remembering how quickly she’d taken this new wealth of theirs for granted. The holidays abroad. The workshop extension on the cottage. The extra couple of acres for the horses, and later, the sheep.
    ‘So what happened?’ she asked. ‘Where did we go wrong?’
    Patrick drained the cup, returning it to the tray. The details, he said, were complex but Giles had written a lot of reinsurance. That meant taking part of someone else’s risk in return for a share of their premium. Technically, this practice was known as ‘Excess of Loss’ insurance, and it had become a Lloyd’s speciality. Lots of underwriters had done it during the eighties and the returns could be enormous.
    ‘So what went wrong?’ Molly asked again.
    ‘More or less everything. Oil rigs going up in flames. Lockerbie. Hurricanes. Earthquakes. You name it. Huge losses. Huge claims. But the really nasty surprise was pollution,in America especially, and that’s where Giles and one or two others came unstuck. He gave me a copy of the cutting. Here …’
    Patrick opened a drawer and slid out a file, passing a folded newspaper cutting across the desk. The cutting came from
The New York Times
. A grainy photograph showed a sprawl of low factory buildings behind a tall, chain-link fence. A placard wired to the fence read ‘DANGER: TOXINS’. Underneath was a two-column story about a New Jersey armaments factory specialising in the production of something called ‘A/D Munitions’.
    Molly glanced up.
    ‘What does “A/D” mean?’
    ‘Area denial. It’s military jargon for keeping the opposition where you want them. Instead of high explosives, these people were contracted to fill artillery shells with various chemicals. The place is closed now. It seems they’ve been having leaks for years.’
    ‘But what’s that got to do with Giles?’
    ‘His syndicate reinsured a slice of the risk.’ He paused. ‘Quite a big slice, as it happens.’
    ‘And they’re claiming?’ Molly tapped the cutting. ‘These people are claiming?’
    ‘They have no choice. The