Chapter 1
November 16, 2003
He felt an eerie, ghost like wisp flit across his thoughts. Did the small second hand actually stop; no, he baulked, but still, for the briefest of moments, the aura of existence shielding his life force shrank at the sudden prospect of imminent death as if the last granules of his being dribbled from the hourglass of life.
Coinciding with the flash of impending doom that skated across his mind, the chill of boney fingers walked an involuntary shiver down the length of his spine. He pushed upright off of elbows ground unmercifully into solid wood and straightened from the slouching posture his upper body adopted as it relaxed. His head swung up and around as he looked over the brightly lit room.
A hastened gulp of air helped the moment pass before a furious shake of his head centred him back into reality. Past scrunched brows, he turned his attention back to the shiny time piece strapped to his wrist. The finely carved metal hands moved at an annoying pace.
Frank Kursen's tired eyes followed the smaller second hand, the tight clench of his jaw and the set of his brow purported the blame on the inanimate object for the late hour that found him still seated in his office on this particular day.
He shifted his head off of folded hands and elbows long past complaining of the soreness derived from supporting such weight on the unforgiving and highly expensive lacquered desk top. As if taunting, the image reflected in the face of the watch scowled back at him while the small hands of the time piece persistently ticked off the seconds of his life. Time gone forever, never to be reclaimed.
The Senior Fund Manager blew out a long breath then hunched back over the desktop as he again regarded the expensive Swiss masterpiece; the watch an honour of loyalty and hard work. The expensive piece presented as a reward for 15 years of dedicated service. And a pot load of money that I made for this company, Frank reminded himself of his worth.
Bored eyes turned back to the jewelled time piece. Small inlaid diamonds twinkled in the light of the desk lamp as he rotated his wrist catching the rainbow of colours. For the umpteen time he eyed the subtle nuances of superb Swiss craftsmanship then focused again on the inlaid jewels and finally his gaze returned to the obstinate second hand as it lazily swept around the face of the watch counting off the each small passage of time adding up to minutes. The scar left by the sudden flash of immortality still fresh in the back corners of his thoughts.
The evening appointment was late. Frank sighed and leaned back in the chair. Unseeing eyes stared blankly at the door on the opposite his desk. The relaxed state allowed his mind to drift. About this time each evening a chilled glass of some decades old scotch filled his hand while he spent time enjoying the private confines of the private men’s club. A task more suited to his mindset than at him seated at his desk in the late evening hours awaiting a client. For a second the walls of his office disappeared while his mind strayed to the club, a comfortable chair and, maybe tonight for a change, a glass of aged brandy mixed blended with a fine Cuban cigar surrounded by the select companions the rewards of private membership offered.
The club and its exclusiveness had been his habit for the past many years. The belonging to such an establishment very restricted and highly sought after. After all, a valued membership at the Free Republic broadcast to the world that the member stood amongst the top financial and powerfully active people in the country.
Not to mention the guarded privacy his fellow members enjoyed along with the special privileges the club made available. Once there, the world was your oyster, and more.
In order to qualify for consideration by the exclusive club, Frank had to be personally nominated by a standing member before being subjected to a lengthy screening process. During the early stages he and his career were vetted and permitted limited liberties before an arduous internship that lasted years until the day he became accepted and anointed a full time membership.
To Frank, the wait had been worth it. The club’s privileges, both legal and some more adept to the grey area of the law, were far beyond even what he could have hoped and tonight he relished the thought of taking advantage of the clubs exclusive itinerary once again.
With planned foresight he had called his wife and using the excuse of a late night at the office faked disappointment in not being able to return to his palatial estate this evening but instead he would stay in the city and sleep at the club.
Reality brought him back to the present. The second hand on the watch continued its slow, mocking pace, his impatience growing. The client had requested to meet with Frank and Frank only but wouldn’t commit to an earlier appointment.
Frank had no choice but to agree. The client was an important man in his own right. A Sudanese national with close ties to the current Sudanese government and an enterprising, international industrialist who owned a very impressive portfolio, a combination that fit well with that of Frank’s firm. The board members running the firm insisted Frank make every effort to acquire the man’s business.
As head of the foreign division within the Canadian Banking giant, Frank over saw the majority of international clients and business. The Canadian banking industry was cut throat at this level, all the major banks fighting each other tooth and nail for the foreign investments flowing into the country.
On the plus side, this meant another feather in his cap. The honour solidified by the client personally requesting Frank handle the investment. An opening on the banks board of directors was now vacant along with the title of CFO and rumoured to be filled soon. Frank’s name had been tossed around as a possible candidate.
A smile replaced the annoyance as the memory was relived. Perhaps the second hand on the cursed watch could be ignored; he did have the rest of his life to enjoy evenings at the club, maybe even arriving there one day very soon as a bank director. At least now he wouldn’t be completely lying to his wife, he chuckled…he actually was working late.
*****
“A Mr. Suleyman Obi to see you, Mr. Kursen.” The intercom to his office woke to life. His secretary Sheila, who had so graciously agreed to stay late, rang again and then her voice carried through the system announcing the arrival of the Sudanese businessman.
In all the years Sheila had worked for him was she ever anything but professional and although she was a little older than he preferred, there was something about her legs he just loved. I’ll have to take her out for supper one of these evenings and maybe a little raise in pay so she can buy some nice outfits, he thought before acknowledging a reply.
“Please show Mr. Obi in, Miss Vond.” He replied then removed his finger from the button and stood to straighten his tie as he prepared to meet the late guest. The heavy oak door eased open and Sheila Vond stepped aside motioning the Sudanese businessman to enter. Frank hesitated at the sight. Being an aficionado of finely woven silks, the cut of suit the Sudanese wore would undoubtably out price Frank’s very expensive attire attire by huge leaps.
The scowling and blaming of the taunting second hand on his watch immediately forgotten as a smile bent Frank’s lips upward. The cut of his suit, unbelievable, Frank admitted as his astute vision combed the threads of the man’s attire. A finer suit couldn’t be bought at the Bay or off the shelf at those small semi custom tailors but real class couldn’t be purchased ready made.
A rush of encouragement he hadn’t felt in a while flooded his body as he calculated the source of wealth standing in the office doorway. Years of sizing up clients raced through Frank’s mind. The slight built, very dark skinned man waited. Narrowed eyes told volumes on the Sudanese national.
The smile grew. This man may radiate money now but he hadn’t for long. The exquisite suit, the over the top priced leather briefcase, even the smartly trimmed facial hair bespoke of a more recent wealth. The smile beamed. The past memory of wasted seconds and begrudging thoughts now forgotten. Acquiring the right to manage this mans fortune will be easy, Frank thought to himself.
As his mind worked, Frank Kursen stepped around his desk and extended a hand to greet Suleyman Obi. His face a bright beacon of welcome. Yes, indeed, a rather large feather in his cap, Frank beamed inward as his left hand covered the two hands locked in greeting. His touch conveying an intimate message that Frank would be the best friend this man ever needed. Over the clients shoulder he looked at his secretary.
“That will be all for this evening, Sheila. Why don’t you call it a night?” He dismissed her then turned his attention back to the visitor.
“How very nice to meet you Mr. Suleyman.” Frank said releasing the man’s hand and directing him to a chair in front of the imposing mahogany desk. He waited for the man to take a seat and find a spot to set his briefcase beside the chair. “A drink perhaps before we get started?” He asked as he stood by his desk.
“Yes. An aged scotch if you happen to have one.” The Sudanese said with a knowing smile.
Pouring a drink for himself, also, the banker returned to his desk placing the expensive whiskey down in front of his guest.
“Merci.” The businessman offered, as he tasted his drink. “Thank you for seeing me at this late hour Mr. Kursen.” The Sudanese drawled in a thickly accented English.
“Frank. Call me Frank, Mr. Obi.” The banker replied. “Your time is valuable and our bank prides itself in going the extra mile for our customers, so no problem what so ever.”
“Now. How can I help you?” Frank oozed with charm. Charm learned with countless years in the banking industry and honed with repeated frequency.
The Sudanese businessman lifted the offered glass to his lips, sipped the aged whiskey, swished the amber liquid in his mouth letting the flavour escape and warm the back of his throat before setting the glass on the desk. Obi Suleyman locked eyes with the banker, the smile lighting the Sudanese’s face melted to a cold, threatening mask.
“Frank, I am very sorry to disappoint you after you’ve shown me nothing but courtesy but it is not bank business I am here for. Well, let me rephrase that. I am not here to conduct business beneficial to your board directors anyway.” Suleyman’s words monotone, each syllable scraped free of emotions.
“What I would like from you are security passwords,” the Sudanese continued, “inside information that would allow me access this institutions secure servers. That is all. We can be quick and this transition won’t keep you away from your vaunted club much longer.” The look of danger peering from the man’s eyes belied the dangerous smile exposing yellowed teeth.
November 16, 2003
He felt an eerie, ghost like wisp flit across his thoughts. Did the small second hand actually stop; no, he baulked, but still, for the briefest of moments, the aura of existence shielding his life force shrank at the sudden prospect of imminent death as if the last granules of his being dribbled from the hourglass of life.
Coinciding with the flash of impending doom that skated across his mind, the chill of boney fingers walked an involuntary shiver down the length of his spine. He pushed upright off of elbows ground unmercifully into solid wood and straightened from the slouching posture his upper body adopted as it relaxed. His head swung up and around as he looked over the brightly lit room.
A hastened gulp of air helped the moment pass before a furious shake of his head centred him back into reality. Past scrunched brows, he turned his attention back to the shiny time piece strapped to his wrist. The finely carved metal hands moved at an annoying pace.
Frank Kursen's tired eyes followed the smaller second hand, the tight clench of his jaw and the set of his brow purported the blame on the inanimate object for the late hour that found him still seated in his office on this particular day.
He shifted his head off of folded hands and elbows long past complaining of the soreness derived from supporting such weight on the unforgiving and highly expensive lacquered desk top. As if taunting, the image reflected in the face of the watch scowled back at him while the small hands of the time piece persistently ticked off the seconds of his life. Time gone forever, never to be reclaimed.
The Senior Fund Manager blew out a long breath then hunched back over the desktop as he again regarded the expensive Swiss masterpiece; the watch an honour of loyalty and hard work. The expensive piece presented as a reward for 15 years of dedicated service. And a pot load of money that I made for this company, Frank reminded himself of his worth.
Bored eyes turned back to the jewelled time piece. Small inlaid diamonds twinkled in the light of the desk lamp as he rotated his wrist catching the rainbow of colours. For the umpteen time he eyed the subtle nuances of superb Swiss craftsmanship then focused again on the inlaid jewels and finally his gaze returned to the obstinate second hand as it lazily swept around the face of the watch counting off the each small passage of time adding up to minutes. The scar left by the sudden flash of immortality still fresh in the back corners of his thoughts.
The evening appointment was late. Frank sighed and leaned back in the chair. Unseeing eyes stared blankly at the door on the opposite his desk. The relaxed state allowed his mind to drift. About this time each evening a chilled glass of some decades old scotch filled his hand while he spent time enjoying the private confines of the private men’s club. A task more suited to his mindset than at him seated at his desk in the late evening hours awaiting a client. For a second the walls of his office disappeared while his mind strayed to the club, a comfortable chair and, maybe tonight for a change, a glass of aged brandy mixed blended with a fine Cuban cigar surrounded by the select companions the rewards of private membership offered.
The club and its exclusiveness had been his habit for the past many years. The belonging to such an establishment very restricted and highly sought after. After all, a valued membership at the Free Republic broadcast to the world that the member stood amongst the top financial and powerfully active people in the country.
Not to mention the guarded privacy his fellow members enjoyed along with the special privileges the club made available. Once there, the world was your oyster, and more.
In order to qualify for consideration by the exclusive club, Frank had to be personally nominated by a standing member before being subjected to a lengthy screening process. During the early stages he and his career were vetted and permitted limited liberties before an arduous internship that lasted years until the day he became accepted and anointed a full time membership.
To Frank, the wait had been worth it. The club’s privileges, both legal and some more adept to the grey area of the law, were far beyond even what he could have hoped and tonight he relished the thought of taking advantage of the clubs exclusive itinerary once again.
With planned foresight he had called his wife and using the excuse of a late night at the office faked disappointment in not being able to return to his palatial estate this evening but instead he would stay in the city and sleep at the club.
Reality brought him back to the present. The second hand on the watch continued its slow, mocking pace, his impatience growing. The client had requested to meet with Frank and Frank only but wouldn’t commit to an earlier appointment.
Frank had no choice but to agree. The client was an important man in his own right. A Sudanese national with close ties to the current Sudanese government and an enterprising, international industrialist who owned a very impressive portfolio, a combination that fit well with that of Frank’s firm. The board members running the firm insisted Frank make every effort to acquire the man’s business.
As head of the foreign division within the Canadian Banking giant, Frank over saw the majority of international clients and business. The Canadian banking industry was cut throat at this level, all the major banks fighting each other tooth and nail for the foreign investments flowing into the country.
On the plus side, this meant another feather in his cap. The honour solidified by the client personally requesting Frank handle the investment. An opening on the banks board of directors was now vacant along with the title of CFO and rumoured to be filled soon. Frank’s name had been tossed around as a possible candidate.
A smile replaced the annoyance as the memory was relived. Perhaps the second hand on the cursed watch could be ignored; he did have the rest of his life to enjoy evenings at the club, maybe even arriving there one day very soon as a bank director. At least now he wouldn’t be completely lying to his wife, he chuckled…he actually was working late.
*****
“A Mr. Suleyman Obi to see you, Mr. Kursen.” The intercom to his office woke to life. His secretary Sheila, who had so graciously agreed to stay late, rang again and then her voice carried through the system announcing the arrival of the Sudanese businessman.
In all the years Sheila had worked for him was she ever anything but professional and although she was a little older than he preferred, there was something about her legs he just loved. I’ll have to take her out for supper one of these evenings and maybe a little raise in pay so she can buy some nice outfits, he thought before acknowledging a reply.
“Please show Mr. Obi in, Miss Vond.” He replied then removed his finger from the button and stood to straighten his tie as he prepared to meet the late guest. The heavy oak door eased open and Sheila Vond stepped aside motioning the Sudanese businessman to enter. Frank hesitated at the sight. Being an aficionado of finely woven silks, the cut of suit the Sudanese wore would undoubtably out price Frank’s very expensive attire attire by huge leaps.
The scowling and blaming of the taunting second hand on his watch immediately forgotten as a smile bent Frank’s lips upward. The cut of his suit, unbelievable, Frank admitted as his astute vision combed the threads of the man’s attire. A finer suit couldn’t be bought at the Bay or off the shelf at those small semi custom tailors but real class couldn’t be purchased ready made.
A rush of encouragement he hadn’t felt in a while flooded his body as he calculated the source of wealth standing in the office doorway. Years of sizing up clients raced through Frank’s mind. The slight built, very dark skinned man waited. Narrowed eyes told volumes on the Sudanese national.
The smile grew. This man may radiate money now but he hadn’t for long. The exquisite suit, the over the top priced leather briefcase, even the smartly trimmed facial hair bespoke of a more recent wealth. The smile beamed. The past memory of wasted seconds and begrudging thoughts now forgotten. Acquiring the right to manage this mans fortune will be easy, Frank thought to himself.
As his mind worked, Frank Kursen stepped around his desk and extended a hand to greet Suleyman Obi. His face a bright beacon of welcome. Yes, indeed, a rather large feather in his cap, Frank beamed inward as his left hand covered the two hands locked in greeting. His touch conveying an intimate message that Frank would be the best friend this man ever needed. Over the clients shoulder he looked at his secretary.
“That will be all for this evening, Sheila. Why don’t you call it a night?” He dismissed her then turned his attention back to the visitor.
“How very nice to meet you Mr. Suleyman.” Frank said releasing the man’s hand and directing him to a chair in front of the imposing mahogany desk. He waited for the man to take a seat and find a spot to set his briefcase beside the chair. “A drink perhaps before we get started?” He asked as he stood by his desk.
“Yes. An aged scotch if you happen to have one.” The Sudanese said with a knowing smile.
Pouring a drink for himself, also, the banker returned to his desk placing the expensive whiskey down in front of his guest.
“Merci.” The businessman offered, as he tasted his drink. “Thank you for seeing me at this late hour Mr. Kursen.” The Sudanese drawled in a thickly accented English.
“Frank. Call me Frank, Mr. Obi.” The banker replied. “Your time is valuable and our bank prides itself in going the extra mile for our customers, so no problem what so ever.”
“Now. How can I help you?” Frank oozed with charm. Charm learned with countless years in the banking industry and honed with repeated frequency.
The Sudanese businessman lifted the offered glass to his lips, sipped the aged whiskey, swished the amber liquid in his mouth letting the flavour escape and warm the back of his throat before setting the glass on the desk. Obi Suleyman locked eyes with the banker, the smile lighting the Sudanese’s face melted to a cold, threatening mask.
“Frank, I am very sorry to disappoint you after you’ve shown me nothing but courtesy but it is not bank business I am here for. Well, let me rephrase that. I am not here to conduct business beneficial to your board directors anyway.” Suleyman’s words monotone, each syllable scraped free of emotions.
“What I would like from you are security passwords,” the Sudanese continued, “inside information that would allow me access this institutions secure servers. That is all. We can be quick and this transition won’t keep you away from your vaunted club much longer.” The look of danger peering from the man’s eyes belied the dangerous smile exposing yellowed teeth.