Trader Jack -The Story of Jack Miner (The Story of Jack Miner Series) by Neil Behrmann Page A
Authors: Neil Behrmann
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over the Thames. He was Boris Yapolovitch, chief executive of Moscow Narodsky, a Russian bank. It had collapsed with estimated losses of at least £4 billion. I read further and shivered. The story continued that a witness had reported the hanging, but had disappeared. The police were searching for a boy who was about sixteen or seventeen. They were investigating whether Yapolovitch had committed suicide.
Moscow Narodsky was one of Russia's biggest banks, the article said. It lent money to Russian companies producing oil, gold, nickel, platinum, aluminium and other resources. Yapolovitch, a leading Russian banker, was well known in financial and business circles. He was married with three children and had houses and flats in Moscow, London, Paris and New York. He owned a football club in Moscow.
I began to panic, held Jazz's lead tightly and ran across several roads, dodging between cars. I wasn't looking properly and we were lucky that we weren't knocked over. I tried to think logically and calm down. Had to make a decision. I could go back to the police and give them more details, but they would find that my finger prints and DNA matched those on the rope. I could be a murder suspect. If they let me go, I would be in the newspapers and the killers, who were probably Russian, would try and get me. Baton, the liquidator, would find me and take the 10K from the brokers. Better to hide on Hampstead Heath for a few days, collect my money at Wardle and leave London. I felt my cap and realised that the murderers saw me wearing it, when I was running away from them. So I took it off and threw it in a dustbin.
We headed back towards the Heath and reached a station called Gospel Oak. Nearby was a large red brick wall. It surrounded a swimming pool and a long queue of mainly parents and kids were waiting to get in. There was no way I wanted to be with people in my mood. So I did my best to avoid them. We walked around the wall, following the path that led to the cafeteria that I had seen in the morning.
A little later we came across a pond where dogs were barking and swimming. Jazz ran in, chasing after another dog's stick. Both of them were swimming towards the deep water. Some swans were nearby, but I was so involved in my problems that I didn't notice what was going on.
'That swan is going for your dog,' shrieked a woman. 'It will drown him.'
I looked up and saw the large white bird swim rapidly towards Jazz. The swan was on him, pushing him down with its wing. Jazz was a strong swimmer but he couldn't escape. There was only one thing I could do. I threw off my jacket, waded in and swam towards them. The swan was on top of Jazz. If it pushed him under water, the dog would drown.
I grabbed some sticks in the water and threw them at the swan. Missed. At last I reached the bird, but by now Jazz was under. Keeping my face away from the vicious beak, I touched a wing. The bird was startled and withdrew from me. It then took off and flew across the pond to the other side. Thankfully the other swans kept their distance. Jazz was underwater. I couldn't see him because it was muddy, but I felt for his body, found his hind legs and pulled him up. Then I put my arm around his neck, lifesaver style, and swam back to shore. By then a big crowd had gathered. I shook Jazz, but he didn't stir. Then I hugged the dog, feeling helpless.
'Jazz, Jazz. Come on boy, come on!'
I shook and pumped him. Jazz my friend, my only friend. What would I do if he died?
6 - FISHING FOR GOLD
I'm sitting on the sofa in a large room. A beam of sunlight filled with tiny particles, crosses the room. It comes through a dirty window and reaches a dusty bookcase. Books. Lots of books. Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Melanie Klein. Nearby, 'The Criminal Mind', 'Dangerous Severe Personality Disorder'.
The psychiatrist opens the door and walks in. He's about fifty with owl shaped glasses. He's short with a fat tummy. Floppy, black hair. Dandruff on navy blue
Moscow Narodsky was one of Russia's biggest banks, the article said. It lent money to Russian companies producing oil, gold, nickel, platinum, aluminium and other resources. Yapolovitch, a leading Russian banker, was well known in financial and business circles. He was married with three children and had houses and flats in Moscow, London, Paris and New York. He owned a football club in Moscow.
I began to panic, held Jazz's lead tightly and ran across several roads, dodging between cars. I wasn't looking properly and we were lucky that we weren't knocked over. I tried to think logically and calm down. Had to make a decision. I could go back to the police and give them more details, but they would find that my finger prints and DNA matched those on the rope. I could be a murder suspect. If they let me go, I would be in the newspapers and the killers, who were probably Russian, would try and get me. Baton, the liquidator, would find me and take the 10K from the brokers. Better to hide on Hampstead Heath for a few days, collect my money at Wardle and leave London. I felt my cap and realised that the murderers saw me wearing it, when I was running away from them. So I took it off and threw it in a dustbin.
We headed back towards the Heath and reached a station called Gospel Oak. Nearby was a large red brick wall. It surrounded a swimming pool and a long queue of mainly parents and kids were waiting to get in. There was no way I wanted to be with people in my mood. So I did my best to avoid them. We walked around the wall, following the path that led to the cafeteria that I had seen in the morning.
A little later we came across a pond where dogs were barking and swimming. Jazz ran in, chasing after another dog's stick. Both of them were swimming towards the deep water. Some swans were nearby, but I was so involved in my problems that I didn't notice what was going on.
'That swan is going for your dog,' shrieked a woman. 'It will drown him.'
I looked up and saw the large white bird swim rapidly towards Jazz. The swan was on him, pushing him down with its wing. Jazz was a strong swimmer but he couldn't escape. There was only one thing I could do. I threw off my jacket, waded in and swam towards them. The swan was on top of Jazz. If it pushed him under water, the dog would drown.
I grabbed some sticks in the water and threw them at the swan. Missed. At last I reached the bird, but by now Jazz was under. Keeping my face away from the vicious beak, I touched a wing. The bird was startled and withdrew from me. It then took off and flew across the pond to the other side. Thankfully the other swans kept their distance. Jazz was underwater. I couldn't see him because it was muddy, but I felt for his body, found his hind legs and pulled him up. Then I put my arm around his neck, lifesaver style, and swam back to shore. By then a big crowd had gathered. I shook Jazz, but he didn't stir. Then I hugged the dog, feeling helpless.
'Jazz, Jazz. Come on boy, come on!'
I shook and pumped him. Jazz my friend, my only friend. What would I do if he died?
6 - FISHING FOR GOLD
I'm sitting on the sofa in a large room. A beam of sunlight filled with tiny particles, crosses the room. It comes through a dirty window and reaches a dusty bookcase. Books. Lots of books. Sigmund Freud, Carl Jung, Melanie Klein. Nearby, 'The Criminal Mind', 'Dangerous Severe Personality Disorder'.
The psychiatrist opens the door and walks in. He's about fifty with owl shaped glasses. He's short with a fat tummy. Floppy, black hair. Dandruff on navy blue
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