by Stephen Frey
Jack Finnerty’s fifteen-acre farm lay in the middle of this moneyed expanse. At one time his six-bedroom colonial had been a guest house on the huge Auchincloss estate, which now bounded Finnerty’s farm on three sides. Four years ago, Finnerty had purchased the property to mark his election as president of General Engineering & Aerospace, the huge defense conglomerate headquartered in the Washington suburb of Falls Church.
Through brilliant afternoon sunshine pouring down from a cloudless blue sky, David Mitchell eyed the Finnerty stable, blue and white racing colors flying from the weather vane. The stable was two hundred yards away from the house, across neatly manicured lawns. He shook his head. This place seemed almost surreal, it was so beautiful. But would he really want to deal with the snobbery and false pretenses of this life? He laughed. Who the hell was he kidding? It was exactly what he wanted, why he was willing to take these huge risks. This was financial security. All he had ever wanted.
David’s expression turned sour. God, the waiting was killing him. The test flight was supposed to have taken place yesterday and Finnerty was to have called from Nevada to relay the good news. News that the A-100 was a monstrous success, and that it would only be a matter of time before GEA’s stock price lifted off into nosebleed territory. Only a matter of time before David could walk into Art Mohler’s office and drop a newspaper story concerning the A-100 and its powerful effect on GEA right down on Mohler’s antique desk.
But Finnerty hadn’t called from Nevada. Instead his secretary had called, inviting David to Finnerty’s home for a face-to-face meeting. That couldn’t be a good sign, could it? A face-to-face instead of a simple phone call. Maybe the test flight hadn’t gone so well after all. Suddenly a tidal wave of doubt rushed over him.
“Good afternoon, Mitchell.” Finnerty moved into the room from the study, arms crossed tightly over his chest.
It occurred to David that he had rarely seen Finnerty without his arms crossed. “Hello, Jack.” He always addressed Finnerty by his first name even though Finnerty always used David’s last. David assumed Finnerty’s use of last names in conversation—even when addressing close associates—was a habit with its roots buried in his military days.
“Sorry to keep you waiting.” Finnerty spoke in a precise, nasal voice tinged with the hint of a New England accent. He was a fair-skinned man with short red hair reflecting his Irish ancestry via Boston. A former Marine made good in the corporate world, he spoke in rapid bursts, supremely confident of his observations and analysis.
“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 certain
ly 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.
“Uh, yeah. His name was Mohler. What a workaholic. It was three in the morning and he was going back to the office.”
David didn’t hear the last few words. As far as he knew, Mohler had never met Jack Finnerty. Mohler had accompanied David on a due-diligence trip when Sagamore was originally considering the GEA investment two and a half years ago, but Finnerty hadn’t attended any of the meetings that day. Mohler was certainly concerned about the GEA investment now, and might have contacted Finnerty on his own to ask questions about the company’s financial stability. And it would be typical of a corporate executive, even the president, to respond to that call. After all, Sagamore had a $1 billion investment in GEA—a 30 percent ownership stake. But why would Mohler meet Finnerty at the farm? GEA headquarters was much closer to Baltimore. And why would they meet at three in the morning?
“Where in Baltimore are you going, sir?”
Finnerty had given the driver such an odd look, as if he had wanted to pull the man aside to say something, then thought better of it. He must have recognized the guy and worried that this might happen.
“Sir!”
“What?”
“Where exactly are you going?”
David hesitated, trying to remember. “The Stouffer Hotel, downtown Baltimore.”
“Thanks.”
Things were not always as they appeared. David tipped the glass nearly upside down, finished the scotch in one gulp, and poured another drink.
Elizabeth Gilman rose from her seat at the head table and moved gracefully toward the podium to the din of a standing ovation from the thousand guests crammed into the Stouffer Hotel’s main ballroom. The Governor’s Round Table—a group of the state’s most prominent corporate executives, political leaders, and philanthropists—had just selected her as Maryland’s woman of the year.