The Inner Sanctum (12 page)

"It's all right." But David's tone was measured. He wanted Finnerty to understand that he was irritated at not being called from Nevada yesterday.

"How's Wall Street?" Finnerty took David's hand and gripped it tightly.

David withdrew his hand quickly. He hated the way the guy always tried to tear fingers off when he shook hands, as if it was some kind of macho game to see if he could bring pain to your face. "I've told you before, Jack, what I do isn't considered Wall Street. As a portfolio manager I buy what Wall Street sells."

Finnerty tilted his head to one side and smiled his I-don't-give- a-crap- and-didn't-really- expect-an- answer smile. "Buy side, sell side, who the hell cares? It's all money, and money is Wall Street to me." Finnerty hesitated. "I don't have time to worry about Manhattan smoke and mirrors. I build military equipment for the United States government." He set his jaw. "And I do a damn good job of it."

"The stock market thinks otherwise," David replied coolly, unimpressed with Finnerty's bluster. "The stock was at twenty-five when I persuaded my people at Sagamore to buy the new issue from GEA. Now it's down to twenty-one and a half as of this morning. You told me this was a sure thing, and so did that damn godfather you sent me to."

The pressure had to be eating Mitchell's guts out for him to cut to the chase so quickly, Finnerty surmised. "You know it's been a tough time for the defense industry, what with all the budget slicing and the end of the cold war."

David sensed a certain sadness in Finnerty's tone at the mention of the cold war's demise, but he wasn't interested in reminiscing with an ex-Marine about outfoxing the Soviet Union. "What happened in the desert yesterday, Jack?"

"Let's take a walk, Mitchell. It's never a good idea to speak about these things in an unsecured place. The walls have ears." Finnerty's fear of listening devices bordered on paranoia.

"You mean you don't have your entire farm swept by the CIA every day?" David asked. He was trying not to control his impatience, but it was becoming more difficult by the minute.

"Enough, Mitchell." The sudden edge in Finnerty's voice zipped through David like an electric shock. It was a tone he had never before heard from Finnerty, a tone laced with warning.

"Fine." David's stomach churned but he managed to maintain a calm demeanor.

Outside the large front door the two men turned right, then walked slowly over the neatly manicured grass toward the stable. "How did it go in the desert yesterday?" David could wait no longer.

They stopped beneath a huge oak tree. Finnerty turned toward David. His face was grim. "Mitchell, the landing went fine. But the catapult takeoff . . ." Finnerty paused a beat and looked down. ". . . was perfect." He was suddenly grinning, obviously enjoying the fact that he had toyed with the younger man's emotions. "The entire flight couldn't have gone any better if we'd scripted it. And the billion dollars from Sagamore was a key factor in the A-100's success. GEA couldn't have done it without that friendly up-front money to help build the prototypes." Finnerty put a hand on David's shoulder. "I'm sure you took some heat from your people as the stock went down, but rest assured, Sagamore is ultimately going to reap a huge profit from this transaction."

"The test flight was successful." David whispered the words as if he couldn't believe them. As if the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders after two and a half years.

"Yes."

"Really?" he asked again, still unconvinced.

"Yes. What's amazing is that in this day and age of leaks and moles we've been able to keep this project secret for two and a half years. The black program stayed black. It gives me faith. If someone had leaked information about the A-100, GEA's stock price would have bounced around."

David barely heard Finnerty's voice. Insufferable stress had turned to euphoria in the time it took to flip a light switch. But there was still one thing that bothered him. "Why didn't you call me from Nevada yesterday? You said you would."

Finnerty began walking toward the stable again. He had called the others immediately, but Mitchell would never know that. "I couldn't find a secure phone." It was a lame excuse, but it was something for Mitchell to hang on to.

"But I asked you to--"

"What difference does it make?" Finnerty cut David off abruptly. "You know now."

They reached the stable and stopped at the paddock gate. Finnerty checked the area to make certain none of the grooms were within earshot. "The plane easily fulfilled all prototype specifications. We can begin production immediately." He dropped his arms from his chest for a moment. "A hundred and fifty planes a year for the next seven years. Over a thousand in all, not to mention the maintenance agreement." Finnerty's voice was hushed. "When details of the contract become public, the investment community will go ballistic. The A-100 means an extra twenty to twenty-five billion dollars of revenue a year for GEA. Maybe more."

David nodded but said nothing. He was furious that Finnerty had put him through an extra day of agony. The bit about the lack of a secure phone line was bullshit and they both knew it.

"GEA's stock will skyrocket," Finnerty observed.

"The stock should be pushing a hundred dollars a share very quickly, based on my projections of GEA's incremental cash flow attributable to the A-100 project," David agreed. The price would now certainly blow past the fifty-dollar number Art Mohler had been so worried about. David raised an eyebrow. "It's going to make all those GEA stock options you and your management friends gave yourselves six months ago extremely valuable." He watched for Finnerty's reaction.

"That's none of your concern." Finnerty's eyes narrowed. "Don't forget, Mitchell, you've got your own personal GEA options too. The ones I was able to siphon off for you and put in a street name. If the stock goes to even fifty bucks a share, you're going to be worth ten million dollars more than you are right now. This will have been a very nice deal for you personally." A slight breeze blew dust up from the paddock, and Finnerty turned his head for a moment. "I've always wondered how the senior people at Sagamore would react if they knew one of the conditions you imposed on me, before you would consider investing in GEA, was that you personally receive options to buy stock." Finnerty crossed his arms over his chest again. "Of course, no one will ever know about that little detail"--Finnerty glanced at Mitchell ominously--"except me."

David cleared his throat nervously. He had negotiated the options as an insurance policy, as his own bonus for taking this huge risk on behalf of Sagamore.

"I bet they'd also like to know about the million dollars you took out of that Sagamore holding company two and half years ago as influence money for your godfather downtown," Finnerty continued. It was time to start hammering David Mitchell, time to start making him realize that he'd fallen into a maze, one from which there was no escape. "I'm sure you used some creative bookkeeping to account for the payment." This was why Finnerty hadn't called from Nevada, why he had requested the face-to- face instead. So that he could begin to tighten the screws. Mitchell had to realize that he had unwittingly become their pawn. "What did you call the payment to the man downtown, Mitchell, a loan to a supplier?"

David swallowed hard. Loan to supplier. That was exactly what he had called the payment. Finnerty's accuracy was eerie.

"You're going to use profits from your GEA options to repay the money you took out of the Sagamore holding company, aren't you?"

David almost nodded, then caught himself.

"Because after all, you'll still have a ton of cash from the options even after you personally repay the money. And you'll have your job." Finnerty pressed his arms tightly against his chest. "The FBI would probably like to know about all this too."

"Why the hostility, Jack?" David asked, his voice low.

"I don't need you commenting about options my management team and I vote ourselves."

"I was just making an observation."

Finnerty didn't give a rat's ass if Mitchell cared about the options. This conversation wasn't about that at all. It was about an intricate initiation process. Just as in the Marines, you broke them down, then rebuilt them the way you wanted them. "Don't forget, Mitchell, I brought you into this game, and I can kick you out anytime I want. And I can make things very difficult for you."

David suddenly felt his blood burn. "And I couldn't do the same for you?" This was a bad idea, but he didn't want Finnerty thinking he could be manipulated so easily. "You give me away and my godfather downtown gets his too. The FBI would trace the payment from the holding company straight to him. I doubt he'd like you very much for that."

Finnerty smiled faintly. Mitchell was a strong one. Which was why they liked him. "You really think the FBI would find him at the end of that trail?"

David missed the implication. "I bet I could make enough noise to have production of the A-100 put on hold indefinitely. That would screw up your plans, wouldn't it, Jack? It might even push GEA into bankruptcy. GEA needed the A-100 to survive. Isn't that what you told me at the beginning of all this?"

Finnerty said nothing.

"Can you imagine if I really went to the FBI?" David kept going. "Christ, there would be investigations everywhere, from the White House to Capitol Hill. It would tear the entire secrecy veil off the black budget. There wouldn't be any way to keep a lid on it at that point. The press would devour the story. It would be bigger than Watergate and OJ combined. The country would be glued to the tube watching the hearings. I can see it now, Jack. I can see you sitting behind one of those hearing-room tables, facing a couple of rows of senators, sweating your ass off." David had suddenly realized that the ordeal wasn't over just because the A-100 had passed from prototype into production. It was just beginning, and it would follow him for the rest of his life.

"Be careful of what you think you know, David," Finnerty murmured quietly.

It was the first time David could remember Finnerty's addressing him by his first name, and he recoiled slightly in surprise.

"Things aren't always as they appear."

"What the hell does that mean, Jack?"

Finnerty pointed a finger at the younger man. "Figure it out for yourself. Despite this conversation, I think you're a savvy individual. But remember, there are a lot of savvy people in the world. Savvy people who've been around a lot longer than you."

David studied the intensity in the older man's eyes, trying to understand. Then the stretch limousine rolling up Finnerty's long driveway caught David's eye. "Expecting someone?" He motioned toward the vehicle.

Finnerty shook his head. "No, it's for you. I didn't want you to have to take a train all the way back to Baltimore."

"Mighty considerate of you."

"You're welcome," Finnerty said dryly, as they began walking back to the house.

The limousine pulled around the circle before the house and stopped in front of the stone walkway leading to the main door.

"Remember, Mitchell, you've got another two-million- dollar payment to make. A million when the contract was signed. Two million when full production started. That was the final deal. Production has started, and you need to make that second payment to your godfather, as you like to call him."

"I'll make the payment. Don't worry."

A small man hopped out of the driver's side and rushed to the back door to open it as the two men neared the limousine.

"Just wanted to make sure you . . ." Finnerty hesitated for a moment as he saw the driver. ". . . to make sure you were on the ball."

"Oh, yeah." David had noticed the strange look Finnerty had given the driver. "I'm on the ball." He slid into the backseat without shaking hands.

Minutes later the limousine turned left out of Finnerty's driveway and began heading away from the farm. What the hell had Finnerty meant by that comment about things not always being as they appeared? David glanced at the rearview mirror and into the eyes of the driver. "Got anything to drink in here?"

"Everything's in the cabinet under the television." The driver turned partially on the bench front seat and spoke loudly through the open partition.

"Thanks." David quickly filled a highball glass half full of scotch and ice, then took a long swallow. Normally he didn't care for scotch, but today it tasted good.

Farms flashed by outside the tinted glass as he reclined into the leather seat and took another swallow. How had Finnerty found him two and a half years ago? The question had always nagged at David, but he had never asked Finnerty, assuming there wouldn't be a straight answer.

"Where are we going?" The driver turned again on the seat.

"Baltimore," David answered listlessly.

"Are you another Sagamore person?"

"Excuse me?" David's eyes flashed back to the rearview mirror.

"I'm sorry, I thought maybe you were with the same firm as the other guy."

"What other guy?"

"A guy I gave a ride to late last night--early this morning, actually."

David leaned forward on the seat. "Do you remember his name?" He tried to ask the question casually, as if he weren't really interested in the answer.