Darke Mission Read Free Page A

“Fathead, I mean Toby, told me it was important.”
    He seemed confident enough, thought JJ. Only twenty-four years old, thick dark hair, about 5ft 9in tall, slim and dressed in that Eurotrash manner that tends to irk American investment bankers. Yves-Jacques’s English was excellent even though his French accent came barrelling through. He looked a bit like a thin version of Henri Leconte, the legendary French tennis player.
    â€œTell me Yves-Jacques, have you ever heard of the Norman Tebbit test?” asked JJ stoically.
    â€œNo.”
    â€œOK,” said JJ not offering any explanation. “Let’s say we’re at Murrayfield and Scotland are playing France in a match that matters in the Six Nations Championship. You and I are sitting together and you’re surrounded by patriotic Scots, singing ‘Flower of Scotland’ and generally abusing the French, albeit in the friendliest possible way. France scores a match winning try. Do you leap off your seat like a demented Breton screaming ‘vive la France’, or, mindful of your surroundings, do you clap politely and commiserate with the downfallen Scots – which in case you had forgotten includes your boss seated next to you who determines your bonus, even your continued employment?”
    The young French man studied JJ’s face for clues as to how he should answer. JJ was impassive, neither his eyes nor his facial expressions gave anything away. He had no tells, as poker professionals would call it, the Scotsman’s early training took care of all that.
    Devoid of hints, Yves-Jacques blurted out, “I would leap off my seat like a demented Breton, though strictly speaking I’m from Paris, so I guess I would leap like a demented Parisien.”
    JJ waited for a few seconds before responding, making Yves-Jacques a little edgy but not for so long as to make him too uncomfortable. Finally “Good,” said JJ. “You and I are going to get on fine. Now let’s go through the game tree and see if we need to change the firm’s portfolio or not.”
    With that, JJ and Yves-Jacques moved to the round, wooden meeting table in JJ’s office and both men put their minds to the probabilities and improbabilities of the Greek drama. For the next two hours this modern Auld Alliance between the Scot and Frenchman worked away together, calculations, dynamic model simulations, brainstorming and finally a decision tree that they both thought was the most probable outturn for Greece. There was to be a vote in the Greek Parliament in two weeks covering further austerity cuts, the bailout terms and the need for more time to meet the financial targets set out by the EU and the IMF. On the lenders side the main protagonist was Chancellor Merkel of Germany. In the midst of the Greek unravelling in 2012, Greek protesters often hoisted flags with either a Swastika or Merkel’s face with a Hitlerian moustache on it. She wasn’t popular down Athens way. The Greeks needed tough love and none of the indigenous politicians were fully up for it. JJ and Yves-Jacques concluded, with a subjective 70% probability, that the Greek government could not afford to deviate from the fiscal hair shirt path set out by the EU, i.e. Germany, and the IMF. The decision was to hold the Greek bonds for now.
    After that, JJ had had enough for the day. There was nothing much else going on in the markets, at least as far as MAM was concerned. He could do the New York call from home and H.R. had postponed the meeting regarding the leaver till tomorrow. Feeling tired after all that thinking, he decided to leave his car at the office and take a taxi home. His son, Cyrus, didn’t have any after school clubs as it was school holidays, so maybe they could have a
Mario Kart
challenge. Once Cyrus had passed the age of six, JJ rarely let him win easily at games, electronic, athletic or otherwise. He wasn’t cruel about it but Cyrus was a