Masquerade (49 page)

Asher swore, “You wily old bastard, you don't have Alzheimer's!”

“Not so old.” He grinned. “Had you fooled, didn't I?”

“Why?” Sarah asked. “If you were working for Hughes you wouldn't have told us anything about—”

She stopped and listened. Asher swung around, pistol in hand, eyes searching. There were footsteps.

Four men and a woman emerged like shadows from the doorways around the large rear entrance hall. Each had to be well over sixty, and all carried weapons as if they knew exactly how to use them—the butler, three men in summer trousers and shirts, and a woman wearing a dress, a pocketbook over her arm.

“Compadres,”
O'Keefe greeted them. Their weapons were trained on Asher and Sarah. “Looks like the tables have turned.” His hand rose to take Sarah's Walther from his neck.

She shoved deeper. “Not friendly, Jack. Back off.”

His throat constricted. His hand slowly lowered.

“Drop them,” Asher told the five newcomers.

But their weapons remained on Asher and Sarah. They looked at O'Keefe.

“I think not,” the legendary spymaster said.

It was a standoff.

“Perhaps we could help one another,” Sarah suggested.

“Ah, a compromise! We're peaceable, aren't we,
compadres
?”

“Then tell us what's going to happen tomorrow that's so damn important to Hughes Bremner and Sterling-O'Keefe.”

Jack's lips twitched. “Hughes's private operation? Well, perhaps I could be of help there. What do you offer in return?”

“How about an improvement in my mood?” Sarah said. “Make it good, because you might say my mood's a real killer.”

From her peripheral vision, she took in the tableau the eight of them formed. Her Walther pinning Red Jack O'Keefe to one wall. Asher standing with his back to them, rotating his pistol to keep the outside five from closing in. All this among fine antiques, irreplaceable art, and a beautifully restored medieval château. There was irony in this somewhere.

There was also irony in Red Jack O'Keefe's sad sigh as his
face sagged. “Actually, Sarah, I know regrettably little. I've been fishing around trying to find out, just as you have. I'd hoped you might lead me to some answers, which, fortunately for you, put me in a position to help you out from time to time.”

He paused, waiting for her appreciation.

“We both thank you, Jack. Now tell us what you learned.”

“Alas, I know the vague outline, but none of the details.”

“We'll take the vague outline.”

“Very well, but compromise works two ways. I really must insist you give me some room to use my vocal cords.”

Sarah glanced around at Asher. His back was to her as he watched O'Keefe's five
compadres
. He gave a faint nod.

She lowered her Walther to Jack's heart.

“Much better.” He made a show of painful swallowing. “Sadly, all we could dig up about tomorrow is that Hughes is involved in a large currency transaction with some financial bean counter, and he's using Sterling-O'Keefe to finance it without bothering to tell his old friends on the secret board.”

Sarah raised her brows, excited. “Of course! A currency transaction. That's where Levine's money'll come from!”

“Don't know about Levine, but the deal's hush-hush and apparently quite dicey. Kit Crowther—he's the bean counter—has sold francs short about $10 billion U.S. and bought the U.S. dollar, which is very strong right now. He's also bought over $1 billion U.S. in French stocks and various other surefire investments. With Sterling-O'Keefe's credit, he's maintained these positions on margins so thin that if the franc moves the wrong way Sterling-O'Keefe could do more than take a bath. It could drown.”

“What's the wrong way?” Asher asked over his shoulder.

“Up,” Jack said.

Sarah remembered writing an in-depth article about an international financial wizard. “If the franc goes up, Bremner has to spend more to deliver the francs he's sold short. If it stays the same, nothing happens. But if the franc drops, he repays his debt in francs with fewer dollars and makes a profit.” Her eyes flashed. “Levine expects millions for his lab. That could translate into a billion or more for Bremner, which means he's betting
the franc's going down a hell of a long way. And he's betting it happens tomorrow.”

O'Keefe nodded. “That's how we figured it, too. But it looks like a dangerously large gamble to us, and—”

“And Hughes Bremner doesn't gamble,” Sarah said. “He's a man who trusts nothing to chance.” Her mind raced. “How much value would the franc have to lose to make him a billion or two?”

“A bit of a whopper, I'm afraid.” O'Keefe paused for effect. Then, “Twenty percent.”

“Twenty percent!” She was shocked, and stared at O'Keefe. “My God, that would rock financial markets around the world! The damage in France and the rest of Europe alone could be devastating!”

Asher half turned. “Devastating how, Sarah? Why?”

“France is Europe's second-largest economy,” she explained. “Such a huge devaluation in the franc would mean France was tubing the European Exchange Rate Mechanism, and the other countries' exchange rates would swing wide and maybe wild. The costs companies use for their cross-border business would be distorted, and European business could end in financial chaos!”

Jack nodded in somber agreement. “To stay competitive, other European nations would have to pull out of the ERM and devalue, too. That would hit the United States and Japan hard. Europe needs exchange-rate stability if it wants maximum benefits from the free movement of goods, labor, and capital. Europeans would likely retreat into protectionism, and the single market they've worked so long and hard for would be destroyed—”

“Doesn't Bremner realize all this?” Asher said.

“Hughes doesn't give a damn.” Jack's eyes were hard. “In '92, George Soros made the biggest financial killing in history when he bet Britain would have to devalue. Hughes has a big ego, has to be tops in everything. He's going to double Soros.”

“Who's George Soros?” Asher asked.

“ ‘The Man Who Broke the Bank of England,' ” Sarah remembered, “and walked away with $1 billion.”

“A billion dollars?” Asher's back was suddenly very straight. “Are you saying Hughes Bremner expects to make at least
$2 billion
and maybe take Europe down at the same time?”

O'Keefe nodded. “That's exactly what we're saying, my boy. If Hughes wasn't keeping his transactions so very, very secret, he'd be known as ‘The Man Who Broke the Bank of France
and
Beat Currency King George Soros' . . . if he pulls it off.”

“But how,” Sarah said, frustrated,
“does
he expect to pull it off? A plunge like that would never happen on a specific day without advance warning. Bremner's got to
know
something! What haven't you told us, Jack? Anything!”

O'Keefe shook his head. “Not a thing, I'm afraid, Sarah. Except the grandiose name he put on the operation: G
RANDEUR
, for God's sake. Histrionic as—”

“Levine!” Sarah cried. “That's it!”

Suddenly it all made sense: The elite clientele at Je Suis Chez Moi. The daily “treatments.” The tycoon on the health spa table whose actions were contributing to the unrest among workers for the “glory” of France:
La Grandeur
. The announcement on Friday from the Banque de France that interest rates were once again raised. The demonstrations, strikes, increasing unemployment, higher taxes, bigger deficit, massive layoffs . . . all under the leadership of the new Prime Minister who was a “client” at Je Suis Chez Moi.

Excited, Sarah swung around to face Asher. “Bremner's going to
make
the franc fall. That's the operation. And it's brilliant!”

“How?” Asher turned to stare at her.

O'Keefe spoke behind Sarah. “Yes, you can tell us all, Sarah. But you'll have to wait just a moment.
Compadres
!”

Sarah stiffened. In their excitement, they had forgotten the delicate balance of power in the room. With Sarah's pistol no longer against his heart, O'Keefe's colleagues had spread out behind both Sarah and Asher. They were caught!

“Put your weapons on the floor,” Red Jack O'Keefe ordered. “Gently, please.”

Chapter 57

4:58
P.M
.

Jack O'Keefe nodded. “George.”

The muscular “butler” with the heavy shoulders picked up Sarah's and Asher's weapons. He backed away holding both in one meaty hand, while his other held a Smith & Wesson steady on them.

Sarah's eyes narrowed. “You've been stalling, Jack—keeping us here for Bremner.”

O'Keefe sighed. “Hughes called and asked a favor. He knew you were coming here, and he wanted you kept busy until his people arrived. I couldn't refuse, and they'll appear soon. We won't really be able to hold them off, so we need to trust each other and talk fast.” He nodded again to the butler. “Give them their guns back, George, and everyone put your pistols away.” He smiled his most charming smile. “Sorry about this, but I didn't want to mention the arrival of Hughes's people while you had deadly weapons in your hands, eh?”

“Who's coming for us, and what's their plan?” Asher demanded.

“Gordon Taite and some others. I don't know how many or exactly how they expect to do it. Did you know Gordon hates you, Sarah?”

“I did get that impression.”

“He's a dangerous man. I wouldn't want to be in your spot.”

“You're comforting, Jack.”

The butler, George, said, “I think we can keep watch better from the tower, Chief.”

“So we can. And we can all use a drink. Good for the cardiovascular system, you know.”

O'Keefe led them to a stone stairway that rose inside the château's tower. As they climbed, O'Keefe explained that after he'd bombed Je Suis Chez Moi, Bremner's people had moved the entire spa to a backup location in the Eighteenth Arrondisement.

“The fire started moments after the building was empty. I have no idea how.”

“But we know why,” Sarah said. “They wanted nothing left for the police to find.”

“Yes, and by 6:00
A.M.
the spa was open again at its new location.” O'Keefe pushed through a heavy wood door into a luxurious den. “Do come in.”

Ten black-and-white photos of the celebrated spymaster with various U.S. Presidents decorated one wall. Mementos adorned the room—a gold perfume bottle from Macedonia, framed beadwork from Lapland, a beer stein from East Germany, a ship's clock from Portugal.

As O'Keefe wiped the white makeup from his face, he quickly introduced his colleagues. All were retired, but intelligence work was still as integral to their systems as veins and tendons. When he'd summoned them to help discover what Hughes Bremner was up to, they'd joined eagerly.

George went to the bar to get drinks, and the others took up posts at the high tower windows. Asher walked from window to window, watching and listening. O'Keefe and Sarah sat. George passed around beaded glasses of good Chimay ale.

Jack took a long drink. “All right, Sarah, what about Allan Levine and tomorrow?”

She drank, leaned toward him, intense. “He's developed a new form of mind control that works on specific parts of the brain. He told me he's discovered the chemicals that cause specific personality traits, and he's developed drugs to perform mental makeovers, attitude adjustments, whatever. He calls it
neural sculpting. He says he can get any idiosyncratic change he wants. Or Bremner wants. Compliance, suggestion, the works.”

Jack pursed his lips. “Sounds like a black program we had at Langley years ago—MK-U
LTRA
. The public got wind of it and came after our hide. We had to tube it permanently.”

“It
is
MK-U
LTRA
. New and improved. It was never terminated, it went underground. Bremner set Levine up to continue and develop a far more advanced and more dangerous MK-U
LTRA
, then brought it to Je Suis Chez Moi. The only difference is, the new MK-U
LTRA
is completely successful. Levine can actually reprogram individuals to do whatever he wants.”

“Or Bremner wants,” Asher reminded them from a window.

“Especially Bremner,” Sarah agreed. “I'm certain now he brought Levine over here specifically for G
RANDEUR
. Which means he's been planning tomorrow's bombshell for at least two years.”

“But why are you so sure Levine and MK-U
LTRA
are involved?”

“You gave me the clue, Jack,” Sarah told him. “While I was at the spa, one of the clients used a particular phrase, and later so did Levine.
La Grandeur
. It refers to the good old days of the mighty French empire.”

“And a favorite idea of the right wing,” O'Keefe said. “But no politician in his or her right mind would—”

“No, but how about a politician without a mind? At least a mind of his or her own?” Sarah watched them all. “While I was observing Je Suis Chez Moi, I recognized a man who was leaving—Vincent Vauban, the Prime Minister. When I mentioned his name, Levine said, ‘Hughes and the good Prime Minister will soon give us our permanent funding. A fully equipped laboratory where I'll continue to push the envelope of modern science.' ”

She hunched over. “Bremner has to be using the spa and MK-U
LTRA
to program certain government, business, and civic leaders. And the first thing he had those people do was create economic upheaval in France to legitimize devaluing the franc.”

O'Keefe stood. “The governor of the Banque de France and the Minister of Finance are also clients at the spa.”