Page 57 of Savage Reckoning

“There’s a coded comms system. I log in, and any requests that have been registered pop up. If I’m able to take the job on I reply, name a price, and they agree. It’s all anonymous, but the money is deposited in my account, and off I go.”

“Your bank account?

“Yes. In Switzerland. Better for international payments, different currencies, and tax systems, that sort of thing. And private.”

“You have it all figured out, don’t you, Frankie?”

The boy shrugs. “It’s good to be careful. There are some villains about.”

“You don’t say. Tell me more about this network. How do you join it?”

“Buyers pay a fee to get access.”

“Who do they pay it to?”

“I don’t know. I was invited to join the suppliers list. I have no contact with the clients apart from through the network.”

“What about the other suppliers?”

“I never have any contact with them, except if someone outbids me.”

“Outbids you?”

He nods. “Offers to do whatever for a lower price.” He tips up his tearstained chin and somehow manages a haughty expression. “I’m not cheap.”

“So, what do you charge for the inside track on an auction? What’s the going rate for industrial espionage these days?”

“I charge a minimum ten grand. More, depending on the value of the proposed purchase. I think five percent seems fair.” He delivers his price list with a straight face.

“So, on average, how much are you making, selling secrets?” Tony wants to know.

“Most months I clear half a million.”

“Pounds?” Gabe clarifies.

“No. US dollars. They’re a better international currency. Stirling fluctuates too much, and I don’t trust euros, not since Brexit.”

For a few moments, we’re all speechless. I rally first.

“What do you do with the money?” I ask him. “Apart from treating yourself to posh trainers and designer shirts?”

Frankie shrugs. “I keep it. In case.”

“You mean, it’s all in your Swiss bank account? A rainy day fund?”

Frankie nods. “I don’t need much to live on…”

“How much do you have squirrelled away in Switzerland?” Tony asks.

“Last time I looked, it was about fifteen million, but I’ve done some more jobs since then. Maybe seventeen by now. I left my phone behind when I climbed out the window so I can’t check.”

Tony lets out a low whistle. “Seventeen million dollars in the bank, and you live in a grotty eleventh-floor flat in fucking Manchester? What’s wrong with a nice tropical island somewhere?”

Frankie appears genuinely puzzled. “I like Manchester.”

Gabe shakes his head in disbelief. “So, tell me, Frankie, who paid you to hack into Ethan Savage’s phone?”

“I told you. I never know who the client is.”

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