Dollar Down (23 page)

"We don't know enough about the derivatives to try to
trade against them. Anyway, it isn't my call," said the man from
SEC.

The Fed was out of foreign reserves and its IMF special
drawing rights were depleted. That meant the U.S. was also out
of the picture. Japan was hidebound. The rest of the world was
either skittish or selling dollars.

I figured that even if we were all that was left, maybe
we were enough. Eternal dreamer.

"Our man Hall just caught on," McNulty said. "He hurt
my ear when he smashed the bug."

Our trading had been too neat, too regular. He must
have figured someone was monitoring him, and then checked
his briefcase.

Without a better idea of what the limits of the game
were, Taiwan's central bank did not want to continue buying
dollars. Burroughs made a strong plea to the bank's governor
to stay in the game. The governor held a quick consultation
with the president and extended his regrets.

We heard Burroughs's muttering over the speaker
phone for several seconds. I couldn't make out what he was
saying. It was probably just as well. Might have hurt Marie's
sensibilities. Finally, he said something we all understood. "I
don't know about you, but I think I'm ready for a few
boilermakers."

No one answered. It had been a long shot all the way,
but understanding that didn't make defeat feel better. We
stood around Bizet's terminals and watched Bloomberg report
another downturn of the dollar—twelve percent from
yesterday's opening. It looked like thirteen percent was going
to be a cakewalk. Then they would be free to tweak the market
as they liked to hit the derivative's pay off square on the
head.

That factor raised an interesting question.

"We still have three hours," I said.

Burroughs chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. "I
hope we get to meet some day, Sanchez. As I said, you are
distinct entertainment."

"How much capability does China have in high
finance?"

"Outside Hong Kong, not so much. They're all
communists."

"What about inside Hong Kong? Could people there
have engineered this?"

I had asked Burroughs, but David answered.

"Beijing doesn't trust Hong Kong. It is a special
territory that is not particularly happy with the prospect of
tighter mainland authority. Beijing might try to hire someone
from Hong Kong to develop the financial details, but there'd be
suspicions."

"If they are just hiring expertise, they would go to the
best in the world wouldn't they? Is Hong Kong in the top
tier?"

"Some people would put them there," said Burroughs.
"Along with Singapore, London and New York."

I looked at Bizet. "What about Winchell? Could they
engineer this?"

"Winchell is in Singapore, London, New York and
more," he said. "If you are going to coordinate a global mission
like this, no one could direct it better than the firm."

"Now, how about Tom Hall? Do you think he has the
technical skill to handle the transactions without
guidance?"

"That's not impossible, but it's a good bet that he
doesn't," said Burroughs. "I know both finance and tech about
as well as anyone, but that's unusual. It's also why I'm not
working for wages. Hall is."

"Let's assume Hall can't handle it on his own. In that
case there is no reason to tell him what the target range is. He
probably doesn't even know. Let's also assume Winchell is
directing the action. The question, then, is from where."

Burroughs grunted. "There's been a lot of action over
in Paris."

Bizet nodded. "But not from the Winchell office
obviously. It would have to be from a safe house."

"I believe I know where one might be."

"You're just going to saunter in and say, 'The gig's up
folks. Go home'?" Burroughs' laugh was anything but
amused.

For an arrogant genius, I thought Burroughs was an
okay guy, but his chuckle was beginning to get irritating.
"Something like that."

If I could get there at all, that is. I tried to convince
Pascal to drive me to Oddsson's house. That was the last place
we saw him go. If Winchell was coordinating this, Gatineau
would also be there.

Pascal declined. "It's over Irish. We lost. I don't do
pro bono
, remember."

"You can ride with me, Mick." Marie said.

"On your motorcycle?"

"It's all I have."

"You're both fools, but take my car." Bizet rang a maid
and asked her to bring the keys.

"We'll take the car then," Marie said.

"I know the way, I'd better go alone."

"Then I'll follow you. You can't stop me from doing
that."

No time to argue. I took the keys and we left.

Only two and a half hours remained now. Before we
left, I checked Bloomberg. The dollar was down by 12.5 per
cent.

With Marie's help, we made good time through the city.
Part of that route was one Oddsson had taken when he drove
me from Sabine's town home to the scene of her death. My
memory of her became intensely vivid. Even if the house was
the center of operation and even if we got there on time, I
wasn't sure I would be able to do anything to rescue the dollar.
Regardless, I wanted to see Oddsson about the "visceral"
aspects of the puzzle. There were still things that didn't fit my
sense of logic, so my hypothesis might be wrong.

I hoped it was.

Even though the financial situation looked hopeless as
we left Paris and headed toward Oddsson's suburban estate, I
felt more at peace than I had at any time since I arrived. I
couldn't guess what I would find there, but at least I was
headed toward some sort of conclusion. Getting out of the city
was also having a calming effect.

It was 4:07 p.m. when I stopped about a hundred yards
from the house.

"Stay in the car. If anything happens or I'm not back by
five, drive away."

Marie nodded.

Burroughs' words and his chuckle sounded in my head.
I walked to the door with my best saunter. I wondered what
Bogart would say.

"The game's up, Oddsson."

I ran through the line a couple of times in my mind and
pressed the intercom button.

No voice replied, but after a few moments Alexandra
came to the door. She looked stern. "What is it Mick?"

Her marble façade was back, but I had seen her
warmth and physical passion. Despite myself, I felt a clutch of
desire just looking at her.

"Is Geir in?"

"I don't think this is a good time. Actually, it isn't a
good idea at any time. I'm grateful for what you did. You helped
me through a difficult period, but I don't think we should see
each other again. I'm sorry."

She must have sensed that clutch. My face contradicted
my lower half with a thin smile.

"I believe I know who killed Sabine."

She didn't gasp or go pale, but her breath caught
almost—but not quite—imperceptibly.

"I know a lot of things. By now, you must know about
the listening device in Tom Hall's office? That was me, or
rather my partner, who installed it. The car that followed you
and Geir back here from the Ledoyen restaurant after you met
Gatineau? I was in it. Like I say, I know a lot now, but most
important to me, I'm almost certain I know who killed
Sabine."

"I think you had better let our friend come inside." As
always, Oddsson's voice was smooth and mellow.

Alexandra stepped back and held the door open. I
walked into quite a gathering. Cervantes was there, along with
two other men. One was shorter than me, but half again as
wide, particularly in the shoulders. The other, a Chinese, was a
Goliath, about six-six, raw-boned and sinewy.

If I had known what I would be walking into, I might
have stayed away. I had expected to barge in on Oddsson and
Alexandra talking on the phone with Tom Hall.

"I'm afraid you've come at an inconvenient time,
Sanchez. I'm engaged in a bit of business that I must get back to.
It won't be more than an hour. Please make yourself
comfortable. Would you like coffee, wine? Alexandra would
you—"

"Nothing, thanks." The Chinese Goliath had eased
himself between me and the door. "I'm not sure about waiting
though." I glanced at him.

Oddsson smiled. "No, stay a while. I insist. I am
interested in your hypothesis regarding Sabine, although I
hardly think there is any question about her death. Even the
police have come to accept that Trevor killed her."

"There's not much question at all. Not in my mind. My
conclusion, however, is different."

Oddsson lost the smile. "Later then. You'll excuse
me."

As he was walking away, I raised my voice and said,
"Say 'hi' to Tom Hall for me. Ask him if he got his wallet
back."

Oddsson whirled around, but before he could speak
something distracted him. "Cervantes!" He pointed above the
entry door.

I looked. A nine-inch LCD monitor fed from a
surveillance camera outside was showing Marie peeking in a
window.

"Bring her inside," Oddsson said.

I didn't like that. Another "guest" could make everyone
nervous. Goliath blocked my exit, while Broad Shoulders went
outside to invite Marie in.

"I told you to stay in the car," I said, when he pulled her
inside with one hand clamped on her wrist.

She ignored me.

"Get your hands off her."

He snarled and shoved her toward me. I tensed, but
stood silently. If you can't protect the lady, keep your mouth
shut.

Cervantes still had his pistol. He held it so I could see
down the barrel. "Search him."

Broad Shoulders patted me down and found the gun
that I had grabbed to shoot at his boss.

"That belongs to your friend," I said.

We could sit this out and wait for the strike time to
pass. When that happened, I would no longer be a threat. I
wished I had some of Oddsson's wine after all. It might have
helped.

Probably not though. These weren't lads who would be
fun to drink with. I suspected the last time Cervantes smiled
was when he was pulling the legs off June bugs as a boy.

I'd said I knew who killed Sabine. I did, but I couldn't
prove it to any degree that would impress a court. When
Oddsson came back, I could just tell everyone and be on my
way with Marie.

Well, that seemed as likely an outcome as anything else.
Why hurt us if we couldn't hurt them?

For Oddsson's part, he might want to make certain we
couldn't hurt him. As for Cervantes... I looked into his eyes. He
didn't care if I wasn't a threat. He wanted revenge. Probably on
Marie and me both.

"Sit down," he said.

Decision time.

Goliath was about four feet behind me. For him, that
was left jab distance. Cervantes was six feet directly in front of
me. Broad Shoulders was just to my left, so was Marie. I
decided it was best to sit down like the man said. We'd talk our
way through this.

That was the plan anyway.

Time began to slow when Marie stumbled forward. I
don't know what causes that phenomenon of mind and body
that occurs when a person faces peril. It might simply be a case
of chemical changes putting the body in a heightened sense of
alert. Perhaps, though, when an unexpected danger unfolds,
the mind plays it out faster than it can actually occur, giving the
body extra time to react.

When Cervantes told us to sit, Broad Shoulders shoved
Marie toward a sofa. She swung her arm against him. He fired
the gun.

The world changed. I seized Broad Shoulder's gun hand,
pushed it down, and snapped the ridge of my right hand into
his trachea.

Broad Shoulders dropped the pistol, clutched his
shattered windpipe and pitched to the floor.

Marie was still moving forward when Cervantes
shifted his aim. She was small and not seen as a threat. He was
focused on me.

Marie veered toward Cervantes. She grabbed his gun
arm in both hands and drove against it.

Before Cervantes could shove Marie away, I sprang
forward and hooked my fist into his temple. His knees were
giving way as I struck again, swinging the heel of my hand into
the crown of his head. I heard a crack.

At the same instant Goliath's fist slammed into the
back of my head. I fell, still conscious, but stunned.

He dropped onto me with his knees on the backs of my
thighs and one hand on the back of my neck. With his free fist,
he pounded my rib cage. All I could do was tense against the
blows.

Everyone underestimated Marie, even after they'd
seen her in action.

Marie shot Goliath in the hip, not the meaty part, but in
the joint. He screamed and slashed his arm into her. She
dropped the gun and it skittered across the floor.

Goliath pushed off my back and stood on his good leg.
He lunged at Marie, but awkwardly.

She might have gotten away completely if Goliath's
reach had been shorter. He grabbed her shirt.

She kicked at his wounded hip.

He howled, but still wrapped his other hand around
her throat.

I staggered to my feet, feeling like my back and right
lung had been pierced by branding irons. I lurched toward
Goliath, hit his side and wrapped my right arm around his
neck.

Goliath twisted as we fell so that my left shoulder hit
the floor.

I managed to keep the pressure on his neck, but I
didn't have the leverage I needed to bear down. He arched his
back against me and twisted his shoulder into my chest. If he
did that once more he would break the hold and have the
advantage of leverage.

Goliath had another plan. He found the corner of my
eye with his thumb. I felt it slipping between the orb and the
socket, but then I heard a shot, and then another.

Goliath screamed and rolled off me.

One more shot sounded.

Broad Shoulders was sitting against the sofa. His back
arched spasmodically each time he tried to draw breath
through his collapsed windpipe. He gestured toward Marie's
pistol and pointed to the side of his head.