Drummer In the Dark (32 page)

48

Thursday

T
HE HEAD OF THE Senate Appropriations Committee was not large, yet he rolled from side to side as though his limited physical bulk were weighted with political muscle. Trailing behind was his chief of staff, which in itself was an indication of the importance the senator gave this meeting. He dropped into his chair and motioned his visitors toward the seats opposite him. “You’ve got ten minutes.”

“Appreciate the time, John.” The lawyer at Valerie’s side was a desiccated veteran of Washington power brokering. Polk Hindlestiff had sat on three presidential cabinets, lawyered two heads of state through courtroom crises, and advised more high-level campaigns than even he could recall. “I mean that.”

“The request coming from your office is the only reason we’re here at all.” Staring at Valerie as he said it. Letting her know just how far down the totem pole she sat.

To punctuate the ticking clock, his secretary poked her head through the door and said, “You are expected at Treasury in a half hour, Senator.”

“Don’t I just know it.” Ire coated his features like a layer of putty. “All right. Let’s hear what’s so all-fired important I’ve had to rearrange my afternoon.”

Hindlestiff settled back, his job done for the moment. Having him make this and four other appointments had cost Valerie sixty-five thousand dollars. But it was the only way to meet privately with the heads of both parties and the top committee chairmen, all in one day. Not to mention the fact that merely by hiring such a heavy hitter, Valerie Lawry was declaring this a major league issue.

“Thank you very much for seeing us, Senator. The matter I bring before you today is one of vital importance.”

“It always is.”

“Hear her out, John,” the lawyer murmured.

“Last night the House forwarded the omnibus appropriations bill to the Conference Committee.”

“It’s about time.”

“Yes, sir. But the problem is, they also inserted a last-minute rider that will add immensely to the corporate tax burden and undermine our national sovereignty.”

“Remarkable feat to manage, shooting those two birds with one stone.” But the senator was listening now. He was a conservative of the old school and nothing pushed his buttons harder than taxation and threats to America’s regal status. As Valerie well knew.

She outlined the basics of the Hutchings Amendment, then concluded, “What makes this amendment so alarming is that parallel measures are being put forward by other governments. We need to act swiftly if we are going to keep these maniacs from giving control of our financial institutions to other nations. This is a killer issue, Senator. If this gets out of committee it is going to cost your party seats in the next election.”

I
T WAS THE first conference Valerie had ever chaired within her company’s boardroom. Just standing and surveying the people awaiting her green light was a rush that left her almost panting. “I assume everyone knows each other.”

There were a few wary nods across the table. The two assembled crews were more accustomed to battling than cooperating. Conservatives to her left, liberals to her right. Four administrations were represented, five presidential races fought with these people in key positions. Her own crew clustered at the table’s far end, agog at the power and history on display. “As you know, one of the problems we face is that support for the amendment comes from both sides of the aisle. Unfortunately, several players have also threatened to turn renegade if their parties take a contrary stand. So on this particular occasion we are expecting you ladies and gentlemen to bury the hatchet and work together.”

The first two chairs, one to either side, were occupied by people known in Valerie’s circle as policy wonks. Retired lawmakers, now prestigious talking heads. To them she said, “You will use every connection you have to address this issue in public. Explain in the soberest possible terms how this proposal robs America of its heritage.”

“A threatening precedent,” the liberal intoned.

“Precedent, schmecedent,” the conservative barked. “They’re aiming to nuke our banking industry.”

“Enough,” Valerie said. The next two opposing chairs were taken by outside campaign experts. These were her gutter fighters, authorities on designing negative campaigns. “You gentlemen don’t have much time. We need to see this amendment become a threat to Middle America.”

“Down and dirty,” the liberal agreed. “Show how this will kill people in Colorado Springs.”

The conservative bristled. The Colorado flatlands were among his most prized territories. “We can have something ready for release by tomorrow. Maybe a photo of an ox goring people through the streets of Boston.”

“Just so long as it’s in time for the six o’clock news.” Valerie nodded to the next pair, think-tank personalities with national followings from both sides of the arena. “We need editorials and air time explaining why this will be bad for the American economy, how it’s going to cost jobs. We need to make this something more than just an arcane argument about Wall Street. This has got to be turned into something that hits farmers. Makes things harder for small businesses. Threatens workers’ abilities to obtain full benefits.”

“I got you.” The conservative was male and white and pompous. “Five percent of the population understands what the currency market is about, one percent cares. But everybody understands tax increases. Everybody understands interest rate hikes.”

The liberal was black and female and a porcupine who found offense in a sneeze. “Thank you oh so much for such a clear explanation of the painfully obvious.”

“All of you have just one task here,” Valerie continued. “Make it impossible for them to slip this one by. Go out there and frighten people to death.”

49

Thursday

K
AY TRILLING OPENED the Hutchings’ apartment door that night with the news, “It’s started. AIM’s chief hired gun has spent the afternoon declaring our amendment a free-fire zone. I shudder to think what kind of chits they called in to arrange meetings with the heads of both parties, the appropriations chiefs of both houses, and the senior party whips, all in one afternoon.”

Wynn followed her inside, nodded to Carter, and returned what he assumed was a wave from Graham parked by the fireplace. Then Esther called to him from the adjoining room. When he walked over, she handed him the phone and said, “Talk some sense to her, please.”

Wynn took a good look at Esther, but saw nothing save weary tension. No anger, no bitter resentment of his presence. He lifted the phone and said, “Who is this?”

“Who do you think?” Jackie was armed for serious battle. “Look, I know this isn’t much to somebody living in a Merritt Island mansion. But this place is all I have. Do you hear what I’m saying? I’m not letting a worm like Hayek push me out of my own house!”

“I don’t blame you.”

“Wynn,” Esther complained.

“You don’t?”

“No. And I don’t have a mansion.”

“This is not what you need to be telling her,” Esther complained.

“If you feel like you’ve got to stay, then do it. Just be careful, okay?”

“This is getting to you too, isn’t it.”

“In a very big way.”

Esther huffed, “You’re as bad as Graham.”

“I take that,” Wynn said, “as the greatest compliment I’ve heard in a very long while.”

Jackie said, “Are you all right?”

“As long as I’m moving. When I slow down I sort of worry about choking on the dust. You?”

“Hanging in there.”

“I talked to a priest this morning. Father Libretto worked with my sister.”

“He was the guy you tried to connect with at Sant’Egidio.”

“That’s right. This afternoon I called and asked him to have one of his people check on you. Just give you a friend there in the vicinity. I hope that’s okay.” When he received only silence in return, Wynn asked, “When are you coming up?”

“Soon as I corner this lead I’m chasing.”

The words had to be said, regardless of how close Esther was standing. “I miss you, Jackie. And I think about you a lot.”

A different woman emerged from the other end of the line. “I wish I could be sure you’re more than just another sad ballad in the making.”

“That’s not why I’m here, Jackie.”

In reply, Jackie hung up the phone so quietly he heard nothing until the line clicked dead.

Esther was there waiting for him. “I owe you an apology.”

“You don’t owe me anything.” He rubbed at his face, seeking to erase the fatigue and the rush of memories. Succeeding at neither. “Every word you spoke in Dianne’s final days was the unvarnished truth.”

Esther moved a step closer, wanting to be sure who it was she inspected. “Do you think people ever really change?”

“Probably not alone, and maybe not of my own will. But yes. I do think change can happen.”

Esther closed the space between them. Slipped her arm through his own. And as together they walked back into the other room, she said softly, “Friend.”

A
S SOON AS she hung up the phone, Jackie fired up her computer, as much to escape from what she had just said to Wynn as to make the daily check. The day had scalded her so badly, she now feared another burn from anything and everything, including the evening breeze. She was almost disappointed to arrive at the Trastevere site and find another request for a direct link. And angered by the cryptic message:
Anything?

Jackie typed back,
If there was, why should I tell you? Seeing as how you haven’t given me a thing but bad dreams.

The screen showed nothing for a long time, and then the empty message frame reappeared. Jackie was tempted to log off, give him a little of his own medicine. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it.
I might be able to obtain an access code to one of the Tsunami Group computers
.

This time the reply was instantaneous.
If you do, don’t use it. They catch you and your life won’t be worth last year’s computer virus
.

Great news.
What are you saying?

It will be time for us to meet. Again. Any idea when you might take delivery?

None
. Eric had been mired in anguish when she appeared with Shane’s letter. Too worried about what was coming now to find any comfort in his possible deliverance.

Same time tomorrow, then.

Wait
. Determined to get something more from this guy than cryptic threats. Ready to demand and threaten if necessary.
You’re bound to know something. Tell me about Tsunami
.

He seemed to have already resigned himself to the necessity, for the response came without delay.
Signs point toward a carefully orchestrated attack on American currency and financial system
.

“Wow.”
By Hayek?

But the guy was already gone.

T
HE OMEN, though vague, was too important to sit on. Jackie called Esther, repeated the information, then endured further warnings and worries. But as she was hanging up, a thought touched the recesses of her weary mind. Not a concept so much as a recollection. Jackie remembered an elderly professor she had admired at Gainesville telling tales to heighten the power of his lessons. Speaking as one who had lived through similar events, making dry theories come vividly to life. But she could not remember more than the image of the professor standing before the class, speaking in calm tones that resounded through her brain again now.

She left her apartment, went downstairs, turned on the garage lights, and began rummaging through the boxes stacked against the back wall. Her textbooks from Gainesville were naturally on the bottom. By the time she had found the box and peeled off the tape, she was sneezing from the dust. Memories and familiar aches assaulted her as she searched.

Then she heard the footsteps.

She rose to her feet and held her breath. The gravel drive scrunched beneath a light, swift tread. Her heartbeat rammed into overdrive as she dropped the book in her hands and stumbled over the open boxes. She fumbled along the side wall, clanking through rusty gardener’s tools and coming up with a hoe. Jackie took a two-handed clench and fought down terror.

A voice called through the open door, “Ms. Havilland?”

“Who wants to know?”

“My name is Reverend Healey. May I come in?”

“Who sent you?”

A bespectacled man whose graying hair did not match his unlined features emerged into the light. “Does the name Father Libretto mean anything to you?”

She dropped the weapon. Found it necessary to grip the wall for support. “Yes.”

“Are you all right?”

“You scared me.”

He took another step inside. “Father Libretto was contacted by someone in Washington named Wynn Bryant. He said you might be in danger.” He took in the pile of books, the discarded hoe, her shaking form. “It looks like they were right.”

Jackie leaned against the wall. “I’m not leaving my home.”

“I can understand that.” He walked forward, offered her a card. “But if you need anything, feel free to call. My church is about a half mile from here.”

She could not bring the words into focus. “You’re not a priest?”

“Lutheran. Sant’Egidio is an ecumenical movement. It is open to all believers. The head of the German group is also a Lutheran and a friend of mine. Which is one reason they have as many problems as they do with the bishops in Rome.”

“Thanks for stopping by.” She waved an arm over the pile of textbooks. “I’m a little busy right now.”

“Yes, so I see.” As he turned to leave, he said, “Do you belong to a local church?”

She had to laugh. “No.”

“You’d be welcome to join us. The company of believers is a vital part of the walk.” He stepped into the darkness. “That and knowing when to ask for help.”

50

Friday

B
URKE MET THORSON Fines in the First Florida parking lot, where the wind blew a constant sullen breath. Fines wore the expression of one with grievances against everything he saw. “Meeting out here isn’t going to preserve your masquerade. The chairman’s done some checking. He’s found out you answer to Hayek.”

“This was bound to happen.” So long as information about the bank’s new owner was not verified from Liechtenstein, the Fed had no official basis upon which to act. And Hayek needed only one more week. “Now tell me the real problem.”

“Your man Anker is spending too much time away from the market to be any good as a senior trader.”

Burke gripped the steering wheel and twisted it back and forth. The leather squeaked and shuddered. Just as Colin Ready should be doing. “I’ll have a word with him.”

“He’s stashed a pair of geeks in the back room. They’ve brought in a mountain of electronic gear. He slips out every chance he gets to watch them play with their toys. This is no way to run an overcrowded trading room that’s drowning in cash.”

But Colin Ready continued to elude them, Burke wanted to shout. The man had firewalls on his firewalls. Time was running out, and Hayek refused to snuff him out unless they brought in hard evidence. Which they did not have. No wonder Anker was obsessing.

Thorson wasn’t finished. “This overcrowding is the pits. We got some new desks, but the traders are still falling all over each other. There aren’t enough screens or phones or lines for orders, nothing.”

“It won’t be for much longer.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Burke examined the other man. His features bore a strange mixture of flush and white splotches, the tension clearly moving toward the cracking point. “It’s a different world,” Burke observed. “Handling three billion and change.”

“I need answers,” Thorson snapped. “Not theory.”

So did he and Anker. That morning, Hayek had summoned Burke out to the manor and explained what he had planned. Burke had sat and listened as the pieces fell into place, then spoke the only word that had come to mind. Brilliant. It was a meager expression of the awe he felt, but for the moment it had to do. And the need to discover the Brazilian investors’ mole was now beyond critical.

“Answers,” Burke agreed. “We’re moving the entire team out.”

“When?”

“They’ll be gone Monday, just as soon as the current line of transactions has cleared.”

Fines was not expecting such a response. Which was no surprise, given how his former bosses had blocked his every move. He still had a lot of arguing left inside him. “Where to?”

“An upstairs room at the Hayek Group.”

“I thought you said we were supposed to stay totally separate.”

“They will. Believe me. This place is completely sealed off.”

“What about our trading positions?”

“For the rest of today, I want your team to switch everything to dollars. Do it as quietly as you can. Talk to your new guys. They’ll have a list of confidential brokers who value the business enough not to spread the word around.”

Thorson spoke very carefully. “You want me to put all this money into going long on dollars.”

“Every dime.”

He did a swift calculation. “Working at current margins, we could do, say, thirty billion in dollar derivatives.”

“Fine.”

“But the dollar’s already overvalued.”

“Hayek has decided it is going to rise.”

“And you want me to do it quietly.”

“If you can, place the entire amount without your name ever being known by the market,” Burke agreed. “And while you’re at it, clear out your Interbank lines.”

“But I’ve been spending every minute I can spare talking up our operation and extending our Interbank credit limits.”

Burke smiled. “Trust me.”

“You’re taking away my cash?”

His cash. The man was definitely hooked. “Just the opposite. Monday you’ll be getting more.”

“How much?”

Burke wished he could savor this moment and gloat over the power at hand. “Five billion dollars.”

Thorson Fines blanched. “If you take away those guys, I won’t have the manpower to handle that much fresh money.”

“You will,” Burke replied, “if you invest the entire amount through the Interbank.”

Fines chewed on that. The Interbank was designed specifically to handle huge bundles of cash, and on the quiet. Bank to bank. Confidential, discreet, never touching the trading room floors. “All right. I’m listening.”

“The funds you currently hold are to be managed by the group moving into the Hayek trading room. But they will remain on your books and be traded under your bank’s name. Tell that to your men. Their bonus situation remains the same. As does yours.”

“And the new funds?”

“Clear the Interbank accounts. Try to open as many new lines as possible. We’re looking for maximum leverage. We need the lines in place by Tuesday at the latest.”

“The Forex convention is this weekend,” Thorson pointed out.

“It would be best if you and your team skipped this year.” The annual foreign exchange convention was a clannish gathering of senior traders and those marked as up-and-comers. “Just to make sure nothing gets out.”

Burke could actually see the man’s mind racing through this new input. Coming up with the assessment at trading-floor speed. “You’ve got access to confidential data, don’t you. You’re going to use the Interbank lines to leverage the five big ones into a hundred, and make a killing on one huge bet.”

The man was almost too smart. “Be ready to move when you get the word.”

H
AYEK WAITED UNTIL the afternoon sun was roasting holes in his Persian carpets to summon the senior traders. He watched a pair of hummingbirds beat tiny thunder as they drank from the highest point of the central fountain. Events were unfolding at a pace so precise he felt able to halt the birds’ wings and peer at them between beats.

Hayek made appropriate noises as he ushered the traders into the conference area and offered beverages. He pretended not to notice the week’s strain, the old sweat, the market’s aging effect on their features. Hayek settled himself into his chair at the head of the table and inquired, “How is the market?”

Alex, the senior spot trader, waited until the others had made their reports to say, “The dollar’s on the rise. We’ve done all the checking we can. Somebody’s buying big numbers. We’ve been holding back, trying to find the reason.”

Hayek nodded slowly, as though the information was both valued and new. “I want us to clear our holdings and go heavy into the dollar.”

There was a long silence. A unified expelling of breath as the adrenaline took hold. The derivatives man finally said, “Sell
all
our holdings?”

“Do it smoothly,” Hayek replied. “No panic. Run this on through Monday and Tuesday. But strip away everything that holds us to anything other than a long-dollar position.”

Alex was the only trader to voice what should have been the obvious. “In other words, you want us to
follow
the market.”

“In this instance, I feel it is a justifiable move.”

“No chance the market’s first step was taken by our little brothers over at First Florida, is there?”

“A justifiable concern. But not the case, I assure you.” Hayek smiled false approval and hastened on, “By necessity, you will need to miss the Forex convention this weekend. We can’t afford for word of our actions to get out. In order to make up for this, I have rented a private Caribbean island for you and your guests the week after next. All expenses paid.”

One of the traders asked, “You’re telling us we’re looking at an active bull market?”

Another trader asserted, “The dollar’s already at record highs, right across the board.”

“Which means we can catch the market off guard.” Hayek knew he had to sell them if they were to sell the others. “Call the brokers you know will pass the word on. Tell them you’ve caught wind of something big.”

“So we use our mouths to talk the market up even higher.” Once again, it was Alex who caught the drift. “Then next week we’re going to sell off.”

Hayek rose to his feet very slowly, giving himself time to hide his sudden rage. He met the group with yet another smile. “Be ready to move fast. On my command.”