Chapter 2 Chapter One

Sarah is twenty-seven years old.Jensen, despite his higher standard of living, was not without all the trappings of a normal life.She is a top forex trader in the City of London.She lives with her younger brother and her boyfriend in a spacious apartment in Chelsea.She is very beautiful.Beauty, love and money, she has it all, but she also has fears.Her life so carefully woven is vulnerable, and just as her childhood in New Orleans ended on a sunny afternoon with the death of her parents, so her new life might end, and in an instant, Like gleaming steel against skin.That sense of dread haunted her forever.It is buried deep, buried in distortions and denials and lies, but it will never go away.It casts its shadow over everything she does, from the brisk adventures of sitting at a trading desk taking multi-billion-pound ventures, to her casual, very casual romances, and now her boyfriend Eddie. The sense of security, the whiskey down and the hearty laugh, and the unbridled enjoyment of life right now.This vulnerability is a strength in itself.It gave her a rich life and made her live comfortably.It also gives her an edge.As long as she can hold on to the contradictory elements of her character and keep them from breaking apart, she is safe.

Sometimes she wondered if anyone had doubted or seen the full picture of her truth.never had.Two of her closest friends, Jacob and Masami Matsumoto, might have seen some shadows, seen blurred outlines, but they never talked about it, and rarely went beyond the image Sara had made for the world. She smiled happily and got rid of her contemplation.She turned to face the ticker, picked up the phone, made a quick trade, and cleared the position.The transaction took thirty seconds and the profit was half a million pounds. Money yells across phone lines, its source fading away in a maze of electronic transfers.EFT transfers money, conceals it, breaks it up into small, manageable amounts, and withdraws and re-stores it elsewhere, completely erasing its context.Antonio.Fieri never takes risks.Because of this, he was able to rise to the top of the Mafia, almost reaching the pinnacle of power, without ever being prosecuted, let alone jailed.

He was fifty-seven years old, short in stature, and covered in flesh.His face was almost flat except for his stubby nose and unusually thick lips.His hair was thinning, and he had to go to the barber every month to have his natural gray hair dyed black.His small round dark brown eyes are always alert, but most of the time, brighten with humor and a genuine ooze of professional satisfaction. He's the chief financial officer of the Mafia.He laundered money for the Mafia, specialized in drug trafficking black money, used it for investment, and conceived of new, relatively clean ways to make money.He was not above violence, and he used it as easily as he was clean in the financial markets.He was very fond of the pure business of making money out of money, and of all his plans of action, this latest one was unmatched.

He put the receiver back in place, his fat fingers leaving sticky fingerprints on the plastic.He calculated the profit in his mind, and a satisfied smile appeared on his face.Seven million dollars in three hours.It was a no-brainer and very clean.Much cleaner than blackmail, blackmail, drugs or murder.Just say a few words on the phone, type a few numbers on the screen, and scribble a few times on a piece of paper.And also very quickly.The whole process only takes a few seconds, and the money after the transaction is galloping around the world. Fieri imagined dollars, sterling, deutsche marks and yen drifting in from space, and grinned in a grinning face that resembled the slit masks people wear at Halloween parties. .Worth 400 million U.S. dollars, he thought to himself: If these banknotes are connected end to end, how far can they extend?Could a ten-dollar bill stretch from Rome to New York?He laughed, slowly left his seat, and wobbled towards the refrigerator in the corner of the office.In ten months, he made a huge profit of 400 million US dollars.He poured a glass of champagne and toasted the easy money.

If Fieri knew where his path of banknotes led, that glass of champagne would turn to bitter bile in his mouth. On the sweaty trading floor of a commercial bank in the City, a young currency trader puts down his phone and resists the urge to cheer.Another $3 million was added to that numbered account.A quarter of it belongs to him.He snickered to himself. Spending so much money surreptitiously was a problem. Another crack cocaine case.Fifty kilograms of drugs were concealed in the soles of a container of wooden-style high-heeled shoes from Italy.Royal Customs and MI6 jointly intercepted the drugs and traced them to a warehouse in a trading area in the Midlands of East Anglia.Both the truck driver and the joint team have been arrested and brought to justice.The trafficked drugs have been seized and will soon be reduced to ashes.Interrogation of the drug traffickers is ongoing.Commissioner of the Royal Customs Office Fiona.Duncan was giving a detailed report on the phone, James from MI6.Bartrop listened impassively.

This interception of drugs is only a temporary victory.The drugs flowing into this country will continue to flourish, and the link that was just destroyed will be replaced in no time.More durable results would be achieved if the drug ring was attacked and dismantled at its source, which is one of Bartrop's major priorities.MI6 currently plays a very important international role in this field, cooperating with the FBI, the US Drug Enforcement Administration and the customs of the United Kingdom and the United States. A considerable amount of illegal drugs flowing into the UK is controlled by a cabal of South American drug lords and their European proxy mafia.James.The pressure on Bartrop's shoulders is great. He must send someone to infiltrate the drug gang and its network to cut off the flow of drugs to the UK.He suspects that the recently seized drugs are the work of Colombian drug gangs and the mafia.It is possible, though unlikely, to prove this by interrogating drug traffickers.Bartrop knew full well that they would almost certainly be dead silent.

Sentence is inevitable, so in order to get a reduced sentence, they may name a series of big and small drug dealers who make up the next drug chain, but if his instinct is correct, he will never reveal the source of the drugs, because doing so They will be killed immediately. The firing squads of the Mafia and Colombian drug cartels not only single out members of rival gangs, but also mercilessly kill those within their own ranks who threaten the integrity of the organization.Being respected by Colombian drug lords is dubious praise, but Antonio.Fieri, on the other hand, prided himself on being as cruel and cunning as his South American counterparts.

Bartrop first heard of Antonio.Fieri's existence began ten years ago, when he was MI6 station chief in Rome.At that time, Fieri was suspected of being a deputy in the Sicilian Mafia. It is rumored that he secretly bribed national and local politicians to ensure that the construction contracts with sufficient oil and water were handed over to companies under the control of the Mafia.This is just suspicion, no conclusive evidence has ever been found.Fieri was always one step ahead of the ministries that kept tabs on him. Bartrop kept a close eye on Fieri as he rose through the ranks of what MI6 staff called the company and informed outsiders called friends.Now he is the director of the anti-drug crime department, and according to the report of the intelligence department, Fieri is one of the main leaders of the mafia drug trafficking operation.If Bartrop could allow himself to be as simple as chasing a single goal, it would be Fieri.

Bartrop got up from his desk and walked to the office window, looking out at the dirty water of the Thames flowing by.Two tugboats sailed towards each other.Bartrop watched as the people on deck waved to each other.The scene is like watching a silent movie.He could imagine the sound and smell of the river, but nothing but images could penetrate the thick glass of the office window.The glass windows are soundproofed and specially ordered from the Ministry of Defense. Bartrop squinted at the sparkle on the sunlit river.It's a sunny day in June.He stood motionless in front of the window, with his palms on the glass, staring out of the window.

His lean figure was reflected against the sunlit glass, his energy draining the fat from his bones.His well-made black suit made him look even more bony.He has the physique of a boy in his twenties, but his face reveals the truth of a man in his forties.His skin was tan from heavy smoking, and deep lines stretched out from the corners of his eyes and mouth. His face was vivid, intelligent, and expressive.But it can also be very grim and unfathomable at times.He is a masterful actor, perhaps by virtue of his inherent duality.His combination of cool thinking and almost computer-like analysis has created a brilliant brain and made him rise in the company.Some thought he would one day be head of state.

He was widely respected, though he was vilified by some as perhaps a little too bright.He heard these accusations and just laughed them off with contempt.He tries to avoid introspection as much as possible at any time. He turned away from the window and returned to his desk, rang the buzzer, summoned his secretary, Moira, and told her to call the Deputy Chief of Narcotics and Crime.A few minutes later, Miles.Forshaw came in and took a seat opposite Bartrop.Bartrop briefed him about the cocaine seizure and said he suspected the trafficking was part of Fieri's operation. We'll have to find another way to capture Fieri.Cast a wide net If we can't find a connection between drugs and Fieri, we have to find its weak link elsewhere.Forshaw was about to speak when Bartrop quickly raised his hand, I knew it.We are already doing this, but I need to allocate more resources for this.He stopped and lit a cigarette.Now it was Forshaw's turn to speak. Received some information last night.He scratched his chin, and spoke slowly and carefully.This tone, which always annoyed the eloquent Bartrop, was a report from Italy.You know that banker we've been investigating, GiuseppeCalvadoro, right?Bartrop nodded.Well, we eavesdropped on some very interesting snippets of the call.Sent some gardeners up there yesterday to replace the dead plants.They bugged his office and phone for half a day and retrieved the bugs before the next security check. Bartrop smiled.Calvadoro is a pillar of Milan's high society, famous, highly respected, and almost never suspected. It is very suitable for him to be the agent of the mafia leader.Bartrop had no evidence that Calvadoro had Mafia clients, but whoever his clients were, they clearly had some secrets worth guarding against.A security company checks Calvadoro's plush offices on Via Tratti twice a day for bugs, even mail, in case the bugs are hidden in the sponge lining of a large brown envelope among.Forshaw continued to report. Anyway, Calvadoro not only made, but also received some interesting calls.The first call was made by an unidentified individual.He just told Calvadoro to buy dollars and sell pounds.A total of 600 million U.S. dollars, divided into accounts of 25 million U.S. dollars each for operation.Calvadoro then called three brokers in London, instructing each of them to buy and sell $200 million, and told them to spread out their trades using their usual accounts, each worth $25 million. Bartrop took a deep breath in his seat, anticipating the crucial words.Forshaw's body was slightly bowed forward, his back was still straight, and Rome Station Master Moreau thought he had recognized the voice of the anonymous caller.At this point he paused, to enhance the effect, he thought the man was Fieri.One of Bartrop's eyebrows was raised upwards, an elegant expression of interest that Forshaw had copied many times, but never quite. I'm having that voice verified.But what is interesting is that no matter who this gentleman is, his purpose is obviously to conceal the scale of his transaction.It's possible he was managing money for twenty-four different accounts, but I doubt it.More likely, this is a suspicious transaction.In the foreign exchange market, $600 million will attract attention, but $25 million will not.Transaction records showed only a series of $25 million purchases and sales with no apparent connection between them. Bartrop let out a sigh of relief. When did this happen? There was a smile on Forshaw's face when, as you guessed it, it happened half an hour before the Bank of England announced it was cutting interest rates by one percentage point. So some of our central banks leaked the news, maybe it came from the old lady? It seems so.Forshaw propped his chin on his hand, with a pensive expression, then Antonio.Fieri might be the insider trader we're looking for, right? The two looked at each other and smiled.Bartrop's eyes dimmed.He sat silently for a moment, then looked at Forshaw. It would be almost inconceivable that someone had leaked the news, and that the source of the leak was inside the old woman.Sensitive news like lowering interest rates is only known to a few people at the top.I have known President Barrington for many years.He may be a fool, but he will never be a criminal. The intercom in Moira's office buzzed.Bartrop's disembodied voice filled the room, Please, Moira, get me the Governor of the Bank of England. The Governor is now leaving for his monthly meeting with the Chancellor.As soon as he reached the vaulted passage, the secretary caught up with him.President, I'm glad I caught up with you.She said aloud out of breath, there is a James.Bartrop, please listen to the phone.He said it was urgent. Anthony.Barrington paused for a moment, frowned when he heard the name Bartrop, then turned around reluctantly, and walked back to the office with steady steps.No official at the Bank of England is in a hurry.The Old Lady of Needlework Street is an oasis of elegance amidst the hustle and bustle and perpetual movement of the City.It is disrespectful to hurry down the aisle.Leave that to the American investment bankers in those glass and marble high rises. Barrington closed the office door casually, sat down at the desk, and waited for the secretary to connect the phone