Reckless (38 page)
Authors: Andrew Gross
“I hope you find ’em, Ty.”
“Who?”
“The one you’re looking for.”
Hauck didn’t know if she was talking about April’s murderer or maybe someone else.
She got up. “You know, it’s not like me to leave with something corny like this…” There was a wistful twinkle in her clear blue eyes. “But I guess I was always hoping, inside, when you went to someplace like London, it might have been with me.”
She brushed past him and he reached for her arm.
She stood there for a second in his grasp.
“Regarding April, I haven’t told you everything. There’s one more thing…”
“I’m sorry, Ty.” Annie pulled free. “But I don’t want to know.”
T
he e-mail flashed on Naomi’s laptop when she logged on at six the next morning. It was a short, three-line response, and she stared at it in her oversize Princeton tee. She read it twice, just to make sure.
It changed everything.
She waited as long as she could, showered, her heart racing. Then she punched in the number on her speed dial. “Ty…”
“Hey.” He sounded groggy.
“I figured you’d be jet lagged. You okay?”
“I’m okay,” he said. He cleared his throat. “Didn’t sleep much. I’ve been up since three. Just something personal. What’s going on?”
“I got something back from Bern.” Her voice shook with excitement. She told him about the response. From the assistant consul general at the embassy there. “A private jet, registered to a Dubai aviation company, landed in Geneva at seven twenty-one A.M. June twenty-fifth. Hassani passed through immigration there half an hour later. That’s the day before Thibault’s lift ticket was dated, Ty.”
“Geneva’s not Gstaad, Naomi.”
“Geneva’s the closest airport to Gstaad for someone clearing immigration. It’s only a two-hour drive away. I checked. Hassani was there, Ty!”
She had tried desperately to fit it all together ever since she had received the reply. It was clear now something important had taken place there. A conspiracy mapped out, put in motion months later by the largest stock fund in the world dumping U.S. securities. Two investment managers secretly paid off to conceal massive losses at their teetering banks, then killed, setting in motion a terrible slide in the already reeling financial sector. Stocks sent plummeting. Banks going under.
The walls tumbling down.
Now she had to get her people involved. Hassani was in New York. This might be their only chance to get him. The FBI, the Justice Department…What she had to do now was figure out who she could trust.
“Who have you told about this, Naomi?”
“No one,” she replied. “Just you. But I can’t keep it that way any longer. Hassani’s in New York. He’s there for the Reynolds Reid annual meeting. I’m not certain for just how long. I know Geneva’s not Gstaad, but we can prove he was in the area at the same time as Thibault and al-Bashir. We have the transcript of him on the phone setting the plan in motion. The flow of cash from one of his firms to pay off James Donovan. The three of them were behind a plot to take down the economy of the United States, Ty. Marty al-Bashir basically admitted that much.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I don’t know. I’m going to jog on it first. There’s a lot at stake. Not to mention my career if I blow this up. I was thinking…” Something al-Bashir had said had occurred to her. About how it wasn’t terrorism but something much, much larger. “What if there were more than three? What if there were others involved? Who were there. What if this Gstaad Gang had a few more paying members?”
“I’ve thought that too,” Hauck said back. “And I’m already on it, Naomi.”
H
e was getting ready to leave when his cell rang. Steve Chrisafoulis.
“I want you to see something, Ty,” the Greenwich detective said. “Are you near a computer?”
“Can be,” Hauck said back, throwing his car keys on the counter and heading to his desk.
“We had an ID come back. One of Sonny Merced’s buddies in Iraq. They knew each other in the Hundred-and-first over there. I told you we were checking that out. He also worked as an armed security consultant with GTM, the security firm that told Merced to get lost. Talon’s firm.”
“Yeah.” Hauck turned on his computer. “I remember, Steve.”
He logged on to his e-mail account. He saw the message flashing. He clicked it open and then the attachment.
A photo came on the screen.
A man in fatigues, leaning on an armored vehicle. From his GTM days. Muscular, ripped. In a gray army T-shirt, brandishing an M4 rifle. His hair short, wiry, pulled back in a stubby ponytail.
Jack “Red” O’Toole.
“I’m on it, Steve…”
“He did two yearlong stints with GTM after his military tours of duty were over. I spoke to his field boss. Known as a real cowboy over there. Quick on the trigger. I think it’s our guy, Ty. I asked who his main clients were over there. Just on a whim. You’re never gonna believe what he came back with.”
“I’m listening, Steve…”
Hauck stared intensely at the photo. The muscular physique. The short ponytail. The connection to Merced.
But it was something else that made Hauck’s blood come to a boil.
It was what was on his neck. A kind of tattoo. A claw, it looked like, maybe a lion or a panther. Just as the photos Evan Glassman had snapped from the second-floor window had shown.
The person who had killed his family.
Jack “Red” O’Toole.
“Nice work, Steve.”
S
he did jog on it.
Close to five miles. On the path along the Potomac. Until the answer came to her. Stopping, hands on hips, breathing heavily, she knew she’d be taking a huge risk. To go out of channels this way.
Yet it was something she had to do. To let this situation pass, to possibly lose Hassani, was not an option now. Eight innocent people had died. Not to mention the global economic collapse that he had precipitated. Or the fact that al-Bashir’s son’s face still resonated in her.
Corny as it was, she found herself staring at the Lincoln Memorial.
This was her job.
She took out her cell and put in the call. She had only been with him privately that one time. She requested ten minutes—alone. That morning, if possible. And to keep the call confidential.
Ninety minutes later Naomi walked into the office of the treasury secretary of the United States.
She had gone through the list of anyone she could talk to, anyone who could take action, someone she could trust. Thomas Keaton was the one name that came to mind.
His secretary walked her in, opening the large, paneled doors just as she had once before, revealing the spacious room, the polished mahogany desk and gleaming conference table. The bright seal of the United States staring up at her from the carpet. The un-obstructed view of the Washington Monument.
I hope you know what you’re doing, Naomi…
From his desk, Thomas Keaton stood up. He motioned for her to take a seat in a large leather chair that suddenly seemed way too big for her.
“Agent Blum,” he said. “You asked for a private meeting. You realize how unorthodox this is…”
Naomi sat down, her heart pounding like a jackhammer. “I realize that, sir.”
“I assume by private, you didn’t mean Mitch.” Mitch Hastings, the department’s chief counsel, was seated on the couch nearby.
“No, of course,” Naomi said. She nodded to the lawyer. “How are you, sir?”
Hastings gave her a tight smile, adjusting his glasses.
She removed a large file from her satchel and placed it on her lap. “I’m sure you both have important matters to attend to. I won’t take up much time.”
The secretary sat back down. “If by ‘important matters’ you mean the world markets being in free fall, California’s largest bank having collapsed, the world wondering which iconic investment house is going to go under next, the president’s going on the air today to tell the public to have faith in the markets…yes”—he glanced at Hastings—“the day
is
a bit full. The last time you were here you made some pretty lurid innuendos. I asked you to come back with proof. Have you found that proof, Agent Blum?”
“Yes, sir.” Naomi nodded. “I think I have. I’m sorry, but I didn’t feel comfortable taking this through normal channels. When I was here last I mentioned a Saudi investment manager named Mashhur al-Bashir, who I suspected had precipitated a global sell-off in stocks as part of a plot to destabilize the U.S. economy. I think you’re aware that two days ago we attempted to take him into custody?”
“I
am
aware of that, Agent Blum.” The treasury secretary’s face soured. “This al-Bashir was a respected figure in the financial world. To date, it’s just been reported he and his family are somehow missing. I instructed you to keep this under the radar, not create a public incident. What the hell happened on that?”
“I don’t know. I’m sorry.” Naomi shifted uncomfortably. “But before it occurred, Mr. al-Bashir confirmed to me he had, in fact, been part of a conspiracy just as I mapped out, along with Hassan ibn Hassani. As you may recall, the original evidence of this surfaced from a transcript of a monitored phone conversation between Mr. Hassani and al-Bashir, which I was trying to tie to the two traders whose deaths sent Wertheimer Grant and Beeston Holloway into insolvency through an intermediary, Dieter Thibault.”
The treasury secretary leaned forward. “And were you able to make that connection, Agent Blum?”
Naomi opened her file. “I’ve been able to show a trail of money between Thibault and one of Mr. Hassani’s corporate entities, a real estate development firm in Dubai, Ascot Capital, that was used to advance a significant amount of money to James Donovan of Beeston Holloway, who we are now pretty certain did not kill himself, but in fact was murdered, sir.”
Keaton’s gaze grew somber. “I’m still waiting for you to take this somewhere, Agent Blum.”
“Yes, sir. I’m fairly certain Mr. Hassani, Mr. al-Bashir, and Thibault developed this plot to collapse the financial markets in June of last year. We found evidence that all three men were in Gstaad, Switzerland, on the same day, June twenty-sixth.”
“Gstaad?”
“Hassani’s private jet landed at the Geneva airport the day before. Geneva is the closest international airport, at which he would have had to land. He took off to London two days later. I believe they discussed this at a restaurant there named Christina’s, on the mountain. I’m in the process of trying to nail down their whereabouts, the hotels they might have stayed at as well as the restaurant where this meeting took place.”
“Proving they were there at the same time doesn’t exactly tie them to this plot, does it, agent?”
“No, you’re right.” Naomi nodded. “It doesn’t. What does is that Dieter Thibault was actually the assumed identity for an ex-Serbian-paramilitary officer who was implicated in a mass murder in Bosnia during the war. He’s been directly linked to the murders of Glassman and Donovan. Tying him to Hassani through the money that went to bribe Donovan, and then tying Hassani to al-Bashir through the monitored transcript and the sell-off of global stocks, is enough in my eyes to warrant a full investigation, Mr. Secretary. But it gets more urgent. That’s not in itself why I’m here.”
Thomas Keaton motioned for her to continue.
Naomi took a deep breath. “Hassani is currently in the United States. He’s attending a board meeting at Reynolds Reid tied to their annual meeting. It’s clear he orchestrated a major international conspiracy that resulted in the collapse of U.S. banks—and contributed to a worldwide panic that cost billions in lost net worth and personal hardships.”
Hastings cut in from the couch. “Hassani and al-Bashir didn’t bring down these banks, Agent Blum. Are you forgetting a few minor issues such as the subprime mortgage collapse, the housing meltdown, CDOs, the rating agencies’ lack of governance…?”
“No, sir, you’re right, but they clearly hastened it. It’s just as much of an attack against the United States as if they flew a plane directly into the Capitol dome.
“Not to mention,” Naomi said, looking back at Keaton, “at least eight innocent people presumably killed between here and the UK.”
Keaton’s face grew stonelike.
“I can’t put everything together. I can’t put together why this was done or ultimately who benefited from what took place. There may even be others involved I haven’t identified yet. But there was a plot, sir, make no mistake. A plot to destabilize the U.S. economy by taking advantage of weaknesses in the financial system. Hassani should be detained—today. He should be made to provide answers about his activities in this plot. If he was carrying a bomb you would have no problem picking up the phone to the FBI immediately. This is no less a bomb, and it caused more damage than any device they could have detonated. I wish I didn’t have to come to you on this, sir.”
“And the reason,” Keaton asked, “you’re not proceeding through normal channels is…?”
“You mentioned London, Mr. Secretary. You know what happened there. Somehow someone beat us to both Thibault and al-Bashir before we could take them in. Two days earlier, Thibault had been killed in Serbia. It was made to look like a retribution killing for his offenses in the war. But no one knew about that, sir. And no one knew he was back in his home village.
“I don’t know who it is,” she continued. “Hassani, I assume, covering his tracks. But only a handful of people knew we had placed Thibault and Hassani together. In light of this I couldn’t take the chance of what I had on Hassani finding its way into the wrong hands. I felt I had to go directly to you with this, sir. I hope you understand.”
Thomas Keaton’s jaw grew taut and he glanced toward Mitch Hastings with a sobering stare. The lawyer eyed him back with an equally concerned expression.
“Very serious stuff,” he said, turning back to Naomi. “You were absolutely right to bring this to me, Agent Blum.”