In the meantime in an exclusive restaurant in the West End of London, Dawson was dining. His companion was a balding grey haired man in his mid fifties with a pau nch that butted up to the table and a quietly spoken American accent. So quiet that menace seemed to exude from him every time he spoke; it made Dawson's spine tingle.
“The trouble is, it looked at first as if our threats had worked and we had persuaded them to stop the float,' said Dawson. “Now I hear that somehow that decision got reversed and t hey are full speed ahead. I hear that there could possibly be a date for the IPO fixed sometime this week; it depends on the markets apparently. In addition they have employed a security firm to provide personal protection for Bell and Lever.
“What about the brother? That is the really important project, we have to get to him.”
“We thought Martin Lever would lead us to him, but from what we are overhearing I don't think he knows where he is at the moment. What do we do now?”
“You have to get hold of the brother!”
“To complicate things my boss has detected that I have a project going on that he knows nothing about. I have denied it of course but we both know I am lying. Depends on how concerned he is whether he follows it up.”
“Ridley, you mean? He's just a pen pusher. You should be able to handle him. In the meantime we may have to go to the next stage. I will consult with my colleagues across the pond, as you Brits say, and let you know.”