MBA Read online

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  The call-back he wanted from Andrews came through at lunchtime.

  ‘The video’s down. Of course there will be clips circulating whoever knows where, but the main site is down.’

  On the screen Ben clicked back to where the video had been, to be greeted by the comforting message that the content was temporarily unavailable.

  ‘Where was the server?’

  ‘In Germany. Nothing exotic. Of course, they can’t help with any useful information about who uploaded the video there. On this occasion that might even be true. But one of our Frankfurt attorneys will visit them again tomorrow and call them daily until Friday. We want to dissuade them from getting any clever ideas.’

  ‘I owe you,’ said Ben.

  ‘You do. You particularly owe us for the flurry of work you created last week with your Gettysburg address to the tower contractors. You have no clue of the grave legal risks you created.’

  ‘I guess not. And you want to be paid for it.’

  ‘We will be paid for it, Mr Stillman. I think I am just confirming that it will not prove difficult for us to be paid for it?’

  ‘If you keep the video down, I reckon the chances of that are good.’ No doubt when the invoice came to be presented it would not lack for zeros, but by then Ben would have moved on.

  Good news deserved to be shared so Ben told Gyro right away. He promised a final round-up shortly before four o’clock, when Gyro would be at the airport waiting to take off back to Heathrow.

  ---

  By mid-afternoon there was mixed news from the tower. ‘You’d best listen for yourself. To be honest, it’s hard to describe.’ Tom, Rakesh and Ben were standing by the tower, with the lift back to normal – other than a problem with the announcements which Rakesh was trying to explain.

  As they approached the lift a faint, continuous murmuring sprang into full clarity as the lift doors slid back with a swish. The announcer was the same actress but her speech repertoire had changed. She was also unable to stop. ‘The announcement is beginning. The announcement is continuing. The announcement is ending. There is no announcement. There is no announcement. When there is an announcement, we will make an announcement …’

  ‘What the fuck?’

  ‘Pretty much our sentiments, Mr Stillman. Unfortunately, in the course of the pranksters messing about, they’ve done something weird to the circuit boards. To be honest, the guys in Bangalore have never seen anything like it.’

  ‘Well, shut the woman up completely.’

  ‘That’s more complicated than we thought.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘We’ve tested and re-tested it. Since this morning’s attack, the only way to shut off the announcements completely is to cut off power to the whole of the lift.’

  ‘You’re joking.’

  ‘Regretfully, sir, I am not.’ Rakesh’s gloom attracted Tom’s nodding agreement.

  ‘Well, come up with something! We’re paying for solutions, not problems.’ The conversation had taken Ben beyond edgy; suddenly he recalled Gyro’s question about being defeated by lift announcements.

  ---

  Haddrill matter-of-factly summarised the situation. There had been some fingerprints on the wooden fist. Whether they matched the national database they would know by the end of tomorrow. Realistically, that was unlikely; a more likely question would be whether the college wanted to fingerprint staff and students. Ben said with relief that that question could await Gyro’s return the next morning.

  The boathouse had drawn a blank (it was empty), Haddrill continued. Other lines of inquiry would be pursued but, in the meantime, the chief inspector ran through some enhancements to the security plan for Thursday which struck Ben as entirely sensible – practical without overreaction.

  Greg’s version of the story, when he caught up with Ben, went in a different direction. ‘Frank’s hut. It’s empty.’

  ‘I heard. That’s good!’ Ben replied. ‘The more good news the better.’

  ‘No, it’s bad – very bad. It’s not that there was nothing suspicious in it, there was nothing at all in it.’

  ‘Greg, I find that comforting. If Frank is planning to surprise us all on Thursday, he will find it hard to do with nothing at all.’

  ‘You’re not thinking straight.’

  ‘I might grant you that. It’s been a day from hell.’

  ‘Don’t you see? What you talked to Frank about it on Saturday, it tipped him off. He hid everything on Sunday. That means he’s got another hide-out.’

  ‘For both of our sakes, Greg, give it a rest. We’ve raised your suspicions and the police have listened to them. End of story.’

  ‘I’m asking for sniffer dogs. If there were explosives in the shed, we can find out tomorrow.’

  ‘N – O – no. Forget it. Don’t think and drive, just drive. Dianne must need taking somewhere. Take the rest of the day off! It’s an order!’

  The two men eyed each other unsympathetically. Ben watched incredulously as Greg reached into his jacket for a box of incense sticks, lit one and planted it in the ground. The scent of jasmine eddied this way and that between them, as if unable to make up its mind whom to trust.

  Greg exhaled. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Stillman. I should be more understanding. It’s been quite a day.’

  ‘Thank you, Greg. You do a thorough job, and I appreciate it.’

  ‘Thank you, sir. It’s only right for you to sleep on things. I can wait. I’ll wait till the morning before I contact the police.’ He held his hand up to stop Ben from speaking. ‘You’re in a state, Mr Stillman, I can see that. I don’t need to do anything before the morning – there will still be time for them to test the boathouse. I’ll secure it overnight so no-one can get in. But try to stop me in the morning, sir, and it will be a different story.’

  ‘Why’s that? Because the dean will be back?’

  ‘Frank put you in your job, Mr Stillman. You knew him from before. You’ve popped up out of the blue, able to start right away, just before the opening – how coincidental is that? If Frank hasn’t been meddling with explosives in his hut, he hasn’t got anything to worry about. Neither have you. None of us have. We’ll know tomorrow. But if you stop me tomorrow – well, you see how it would look.’

  ---

  The day had been getting on top of Ben, and now he surrendered. He hadn’t had a cigarette in years but wanted one badly. He went out without telling Vanessa where he was going, because he did not know. Suddenly he remembered there was a cigarette machine in the college bar, where he bought a pint of lager to get the necessary change. He downed it and bought another.

  How likely were the police to bring in sniffer dogs on the say so of a boy-band member of the Hitler Youth? And even if they did, so the fuck what? They would find no explosives and Ben would be out of Hampton in another four days – and not back any time soon, if he had any say in the matter.

  On the bar was a flyer for Luscious, some local singer, advertising a gig. Ben adopted it as a beer-mat. Waterdrops dribbling from his glass made her psychedelically-coloured hair run wild, spilling like snakes from a basket. The effect matched Ben’s mood. Luscious? Oh yes, according to the file, Gyro had engaged Luscious to sing at the tower opening and then during drinks before the dinner. Gyro – flying back from Hong Kong – airborne half an hour ago … Shit, shit, shit.

  Now he was done for. Ben had missed the final update call which he had promised to make, leaving the dean 14 airborne hours to stew on Ben’s failure as he flew back. And he had completely forgotten that the maintenance shift finished at three. So now he would have to strike camp and move from Gyro’s office into the broom cupboard: the one he had sworn not to check into on his way to the insane asylum.

  His phone rang again. The voice of a friend, soft, concerned. The voice of a woman. ‘We just got out of class. I heard it was a crazy day and won
dered how you were.’

  Ben rolled up his left shirt-sleeve to refresh his memory. On a day when so much had gone wrong, he really, really, really did not need to screw this up as well. ‘Connie!’

  ‘Join me for dinner? I hear there’s turkey rissoles on the college menu tonight.’

  He would have loved to, he replied. Turkey rissoles would be the sanest, friendliest things he had encountered all day. But he couldn’t. He had to move office, and he had to stay up half the night writing the 20-page report for Gyro on readiness for Thursday which he had planned to do during the day. And then, he omitted to add, he planned to get semi-smashed; he’d leave just enough grey cells standing to get himself up in the morning. But tomorrow night, or maybe Wednesday, would be great. Talk tomorrow, they agreed.

  TUESDAY 19 JUNE (MORNING)

  Seagulls can be caught by wrapping food round a stone and throwing it in the air. The gull swallows the bait while still on the wing, gulps down the stone with it, and the weight causes it to crash. Obviously this is a technique for use over land rather than at sea.

  JOHN WISEMAN 4

  In an exchange of emails Greg had confirmed to Ben that setting off from Hampton at five would have them at Heathrow in time for six. He omitted to say that by then he would be already be halfway there, alone. Greg smiled at Ben’s agitated phone call at ten minutes past five but what made Greg smack his lips was the text he sent back to Ben: ‘New instructions – dean’s office at 7.30am’. New instructions! – that felt good. And it was true, even if the instructions that Greg was passing on came from a source Ben was not expecting.

  Result! Amelia Henderson had promised action to bug Frank’s house. That was gratifying progress but would take 24 hours. That could be too late; the big day would be here in 48 hours and it was getting bigger. Greg knew his duty: be proactive and take no chances. So this morning he would bring down two seagulls. It was time to stop wondering what Frank was hiding. He was a clear and present threat to Thursday and needed his neck wringing now. Ben was not such an obvious threat, but why take chances? Plucked out of nowhere by Frank, suddenly at the hub of everything, Ben was doing exactly what a Frank plant would do – keeping his nose clean. So let him flutter his wings for a while longer, before being grounded with severe indigestion.

  On the journey back Greg needed less than half an hour to do what he needed, which faced him with a dilemma of pleasures. Should he lurk around the dean’s office to monitor Ben’s reactions to the wounds which he would shortly receive, in case Ben gave something away? Or in case the wounds needed extra salt? Alternatively, should he wait at the boathouse for the police to show up? A reasonable bet was that the explosives experts would take a while to come.

  ---

  Concerned by the switch with the car, Ben intended to be first to the dean’s office, two bound copies of his readiness report in his briefcase. He was not. The dean’s chair was already occupied by a woman. The last time that had happened had not been a good omen.

  The chair swung from side to side, propelled by slim, tanned calves bred on the latest running machines and salon treatments. Steepled fingers graced with two platinum rings and a yellow stone waited in impatience. A low cleavage revealed rolling sand dunes awaiting a storm. High heels in mango yellow matched a very short skirt in the same colour. Dianne Peach-Gyro had called the meeting, which began when Gyro arrived five minutes late.

  ‘Why do I waste my time? Why do I waste my time? What a shambles, the pair of you. Neither of you returned my calls yesterday.’ The trail of nail varnish in the air indicated Gyro and Ben in turn, but Dianne was not waiting for answers.

  ‘While you have been making panda bear eyes at Communist fat cats who intend to have the college for dinner, this idiot wasted my time by provoking a delegation of the sisterhood to call on me threatening a strike. By going on bended knee I have held that off until next week. I thought we might want to do that so that the Prime Minister can come here this Thursday to announce the most important breakthrough in Hampton’s miserable history.’

  ‘Darling, congratulations!’ exclaimed Gyro.

  ‘Thank you. I wanted to tell you yesterday but that plan needed one of you to be sufficiently bothered to return my call. The announcement will be for eight million pounds of investment in this college, as the first step in a one-hundred and twenty million national investment programme in British business schools to bring management skills in the NHS up to world-class standards.

  ‘The fact that on Thursday a range of business leaders of the highest international distinction will be here to mark the opening of the tower will provide, in the Prime Minister’s view, an excellent symbol of what achieving “world-class” in Britain means. I agree.’

  Gyro rushed forward and pecked his wife on the cheek. ‘Darling, I’m speechless.’

  ‘That makes a pleasant change. Of course there are details to be sorted. I assume that is what we are paying Ben for, if he can spare any time between incidents of gender warfare.’

  ‘Of course he can, darling. But how did you pull it off?’

  ‘On your travels you won’t have had time to notice, darling, but our little island changed its prime minister a year ago. Right away I saw that the new one needed to put a stamp of his own on how to modernise the NHS. The choice and markets agenda was old hat; the gap for something new was wide open.’

  Dianne shrugged. ‘The jig-saw pieces were staring us in the face. Hampton trains NHS managers. Better managers means a better service for patients and investing in the skills of our workforce. Spice it up to be world-class – I’m afraid I traded shamelessly on your reputation, will you forgive me? – stir for twelve months and now Ed Lens is gagging to hear from Ben as we speak. Indeed he and I were waiting for a good part of yesterday. Never mind: the concept and the headline figures are agreed, as is the pertinence of launching this Thursday. All that’s left is dotting i’s and crossing a few t’s.’

  Gyro looked at Ben sharply. ‘Ben will be on to it right away. He might be able to manage a little punctuation.’ Ben could see Gyro pondering how to retrieve the initiative. ‘Talk to Ed, Ben, and prepare an options paper for Dianne and me to consider this evening.’

  ‘My thoughts exactly, darling.’

  Ben struggled to have something to offer, remembering the fundamental problem about the Prime Minister coming on Thursday which Gyro had left ringing in his ears. He coughed. ‘We have to keep in mind the pre-eminence on Thursday of the Pinnacle family.’

  Gyro had his arm round his wife, as if they were posing for a photograph. They might as well have spoken in unison, although it was Dianne who said the words. She agreed with Ben, but quite dismissively. ‘Of course, that goes without saying. That’s why you’re here – to come up with win-win solutions. A win for Junior and a win for the Prime Minister.’

  ‘Exactly,’ Gyro confirmed. ‘I hope, Ben, you are not going to disappoint us any further.’

  ‘I very much hope not,’ Ben replied. He produced a copy of his report. ‘I’ve been sitting on the contractors’ necks. We’ve got really good progress on the tower, including the lift –’

  ‘Don’t push me, Ben,’ Gyro scowled, tossing Ben’s report onto his desk. ‘Who caused Thursday’s fiasco? You. Which caused yesterday’s global abomination – a child could work out that much. Yet you kept me in the dark! What were you thinking?’

  ‘I’m really sorry. It was a mistake.’

  ‘I’m hoping you weren’t a mistake. Get on to Ed Lens right away. And one other thing: get hold of Dr Jones. I want to see him in here at nine sharp.’

  ‘My mistakes were not Frank’s fault.’

  Gyro rolled his eyeballs. ‘Since he recommended you, let’s say the jury’s out on that one. No, another complaint from the MBA students is a step too far, and getting up to no good in the boathouse is the final straw. Greg has briefed me fully and I’ve spoken to Haddrill already. I said I w
ant the specialists in. I want the boathouse and its surrounds swept for explosives by lunchtime.’ Gyro turned back to his wife. ‘The Prime Minister! I knew it all along. No-one else could pull it off for Thursday, but I knew you would.’

  ‘That’s kind of you, darling. All I did was notice the opportunity. The person who pushed all the buttons was Mark Topley. He’s been just the sweetest. Having him as our MP and Minister for Health was such a stroke of luck. But you must be desperate for some breakfast. I asked Annette to make your mother’s home-made waffles.’

  ---

  At lunchtime Connie pulled up outside Frank’s house, a five-minute drive or a decent walk from the main college buildings. There were six modest semi-detacheds in three pairs, each with small front and back gardens.

  Sometimes the larger part of being responsible was not forgetting. Connie had not forgotten her conversation with Vanish on Saturday, especially the threat to the school – and to herself as a governor – if there turned out to be a large, imminently payable, under-the-counter loan. She had persuaded herself that the allegation was probably a self-serving fantasy. Nevertheless, some things could be checked. The obvious first check was with Roger Sling, the college’s bank manager. Ben had been due to meet Sling on Monday but that meeting would now be on Thursday. So be it.

  Connie had worked out that there was another check that she could make today, now that Gyro was back from Hong Kong – had he returned with any money? Not only Vanish, but Frank as well, had talked about the number of Gyro’s recent visits to the Far East, with nothing to show for them so far. So on Monday night she had emailed Gyro chattily welcoming him back to the UK, saying she was enjoying her first few days as a governor (it could not hurt to remind him) and hoping that he was landing with fabulous sacks of money to the college’s benefit.

  She hadn’t expected to hear anything back straight away – she was too unimportant – but he had got back quickly with a cordial voice message. She had picked it up at mid-morning break. At that point she emailed Frank, asking if they could meet at lunchtime, or any other time that day – she would skip class if need be. Ten minutes ago he had emailed back, ‘Definitely – lunch?’