Darke Mission Read Online Free PDF Page B

pounds at a time to move sterling’s price significantly during European and American hours. In early New Zealand time, however, small trades of five or ten million would be impactful. In addition, often traders would leave stop-loss orders with their counterparts in Wellington or Sydney just in case an unexpected event flared up over a weekend. These orders set a pre-determined price whereby either electronically or manually a trader was taken out of a position if the price was hit. The difficulty from the aspect of currency management was that these stop-losses tended to be stacked. If, for example, a trader had bought 100 million of pounds versus the dollar at 1.5420, ‘cable in a Spaniard’ in FX lingo, but placed a stop-loss at 1.5390, the loss if hit would be under £200,000, not great but manageable. Problems tended to arise when there was a thin market (low liquidity) with stop orders placed close to each other. In this circumstance, the stop could be activated several big figures below where it should be. If the trader was taken out at 1.4900 instead of 1.5390, the loss would be £3,500,000 not £200,000. In the early hours of the Monday following Dr. Kelly’s death, Marcus Whyte had given Toby the heads up about early price action and volume in cable, saving MAM several million pounds.
    The standing order was when Marcus Whyte called you listened. Toby wasn’t just listening, he was on the move, jacket in one hand, mobile phone in the other as Marcus outlined the problem to him. Now he was standing in Berkeley Street, hailing a cab with his jacket hand and kind of tumbling in a non-Olympic way into the back seats. His phone was still glued to his left ear. “Markham Square,” Toby responded when the cabbie asked him their destination. A few minutes later Toby and Marcus ended their chat and Toby sent a text message to JJ. He knew he’d still be up though it was 11pm and he wanted to give him a little bit of notice that he was on his way. Toby was glad that he’d had his Wagyu beef at Nobu. This was going to be a long night and JJ usually only had relatively healthy fayre in situ or those lightweight snacks that Cyrus liked. Toby was only five minutes away now from JJ’s house. He would try to compose himself, pop a tic-tac or six in his mouth and do his best to recount all the key elements of Marcus’s news. Friggin’ Popadopadopolases Toby thought, not the best pleased with the way the night was developing. ‘Beware of Greeks bearing gifts’ the old saying goes. Well for him, JJ and the rest of MAM it was beware of Greek interest bearing bonds. Friggin’ Popadopadopolases.
    JJ was waiting at the front door for Toby.
    â€œSorry for the text and the late hour JJ but we’re in a bind.”
    â€œNo problem, Toby, come on in.” JJ was in his night time casual gear, polo shirt, cargo pants, no socks, and comfy leather slippers that could have passed for casual loafers. Toby’s shirt still only had a nodding acquaintance with his pants. JJ wondered if he slept in it.
    â€œHey Toby,” called Cyrus. He had heard his dad’s colleague come in and JJ had told his son that game night was over and that he’d be up for a while. Cyrus didn’t mind, he was already pulverising his dad at virtual ten pin bowling.
    â€œHi Cyrus. How’s it going? Still playing that tin whistle?” responded Toby.
    â€œIt’s a flute, plank!” Cyrus retorted. He and Toby often had a sharp exchange of banter. Both of them enjoyed it.
    â€œGiven that you’re here at 11.30pm at night Toby, does this mean you’ve done serious damage to my piggy bank?” Cyrus asked. He wasn’t that bothered about money but he was mature enough to realise that that opinion was held predominantly by people who had plenty of it.
    â€œWell, I haven’t but there’s a bunch of Greek fucks who might want to rob you and then sell you back