by David Capps
“That’s why I’m here,” Ken said.
“The bonds look old,” Jake noted.
Ken picked one up and held it to the light. “Is there a room we could use to examine the bonds?”
“Sure, right in here.” The officer led them across the hall to a small office.
“This could take a while,” Ken said. “We’ll let you know what we find.”
The officer seemed put off, but turned and left. Ken pulled a jeweler’s loop from his pocket and began to examine the bond in detail. Twenty minutes later he had looked at all ten bonds.
“Well, what do you think?” Jake asked.
Ken took a quick look around the room, checking for a listening device or camera. “Okay, here’s the deal. I’ve seen some of these bonds before. The story is that when the Japanese army was invading China in the run-up to World War II, wealthy families were being murdered and their possessions were plundered by the Japanese Army—Gold, jewels, artwork, anything of value. Many of the families in China had their gold shipped to the Federal Reserve Bank in New York for safe-keeping. After the war, wealthy Japanese families did the same thing. The bank issued gold bearer bonds as a receipt for the gold. The bearer bonds could be redeemed by anyone possessing the bond, supposedly, no questions asked.”
“Okay, so what’s the problem?” Jake asked.
“Take a look right here.”
Jake looked at the bond closely. “The word annual is misspelled.”
“Right, and over here…”
“That isn’t even a real word. This is a fake.”
Ken held the bond up to the light. “And this do-hicky?”
“It’s a watermark,” Jake said.
“Yes, it is. The watermark and the paper are authentic.”
“That doesn’t make any sense. You’d think if someone went to the trouble of using authentic paper and creating the watermark, they would have spelled the words correctly.”
“You’re looking at one of the darker sides of our country’s history,” Ken said quietly. “The bearer bonds are authentic, issued by the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, on the date specified. The bank officials created the bonds with the mistakes in them, thinking the foreigners wouldn’t notice, and they didn’t. Decades later, when the bonds were presented, the bank officials simply claimed the bonds were forgeries, and refused to return the gold.”
“And because of the mistakes in the text of the bond, no one can prove the bonds are real,” Jake said.
“Precisely,” Ken replied. “In addition, the signatures on the bonds are fictitious, no one by those names ever worked for the Federal Reserve.”
“So you’re telling me the Federal Reserve Bank intentionally swindled these people out of ten tons of gold?”
“Nope,” Ken replied. “I’m saying the bank swindled them out of twenty-two thousand tons of gold.”
“What?” Jake said. “You can’t be serious.”
“I am serious. At today’s prices, I make that 844.8 billion dollars.”
“And nobody was charged and prosecuted?”
“No real proof,” Ken said. “The Secret Service audited the bank’s records, which indicated 218 tons of gold had been received from Asian families, all of which had been redeemed by the families after the war. The bank claimed that no gold bearer bonds have ever been issued by a Federal Reserve System bank.”
“But here they are—ten of them. You said they’re authentic.”
“I know they are—but I can’t prove it. The Secret Service has been following various gold bearer bonds for decades. Everyone who examines the bonds comes to the same conclusion you did−that the bonds are fake.”
“I don’t understand,” Jake said. “We have ten bearer bonds that are real, but were made to look like fakes. Are there fake bonds that look real?”
“Of course there are.”
“So how do you tell them apart?”
“Sometimes, you can’t. We divide counterfeit financial specimens into three tiers. The quality of tier 1 specimens is so good that you can’t tell them from the real thing. With tier 2, an expert can tell the difference, and tier 3, with a few simple tests, the cashier at your local grocery store can tell the difference.”
“This sounds like we’re talking about currency instead of bonds,” Jake said.
“Counterfeiting isn’t just about currency. It involves every form of financial instrument, from a five dollar bill to stocks and bonds, mortgages and derivatives. If it involves money, it’s being counterfeited.”
Jake picked up one of the gold bearer bonds. “The bank told you no Federal Reserve Bank has ever issued a gold bearer bond?”
“That’s what they said. It’s actually a clever defense. Under federal law, only the US Treasury Department can issue bonds such as these. The Federal Reserve System has no legal authority to issue bonds. They buy US Treasury Bonds, which are debt instruments. That’s how the federal government borrows money—we print and issue the bonds, and the Federal Reserve buys them. We get the money, and the bank gets the debt instrument, which is added to the National Debt.”
“Then why would anyone attempt to counterfeit something that doesn’t exist?”
“They wouldn’t,” Ken replied. “That’s one of the things that lead me to believe the gold bearer bonds are real.”
“Okay, I’m going to have to think about that for a while. What are we going to do about the two Chinese nationals in custody? If we determine that the bonds are real, they’re guilty of not declaring financial instruments, or if we determine the bonds are counterfeit, they’re guilty of possession of counterfeit financial instruments. So which charge is it going to be?”
Ken smiled. “Since you’re a newbie to this dance, just watch and see what happens.”
They walked back across the hall to where the two men were being held. The Customs officer was waiting for them. So was another man.
“This is Mr. Wong,” the Customs officer said. “He is from the Chinese Embassy.”
Mr. Wong showed Jake and Ken his identification. “Mr. Zhang and Mr. Li actually have diplomatic immunity.”
“They didn’t have diplomatic passports,” Ken responded.
“A simple oversight,” Mr. Wong said. “We apologize for any inconvenience. They will also need the documents back, which you now have in your possession. Those documents are the property of the People’s Republic of China. Your cooperation is appreciated.”
Jake slowly handed the briefcase across the table. As he did so, the watch was exposed from under his shirt sleeve. Mr. Zhang looked at the watch and nudged Mr. Li with his elbow. Mr. Li extended his left hand across the table and glanced down at his own watch. Jake followed his gaze. Li wore a watch identical to the one Jake received from Daniel Jacobson.
Thinking quickly, Jake said, “Please inform your people that the man you came to see has passed away.”
Both men bowed slightly as they took possession of the briefcase.
* * *
Jake and Ken sat in an airport coffee shop, waiting for their 3:00 p.m. flight back to Washington, D.C. They sat at a small black metal patio table with uncomfortable black metal chairs.
“You want to tell me what that fuss was all about?” Ken asked.
“My first lead in a murder case,” Jake replied. “And it’s international money laundering.” He took his cell phone out and called his boss.
“Briggs.”
“Daniel Jacobson, vehicular homicide from this morning. We have a possible connection to New York and a definite connection to China. International connection makes it FBI jurisdiction. I want this case.”
“Pending approval from Dr. Rosen allowing you to return to duty, I can do that.”
“I also need high level electronic surveillance on the two businessmen from China I came here to see. You have their passports and cell phone numbers in the system. I also need ears inside the Federal Reserve Bank of New York, specifically at the International Funds Transfer Desk.”
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“You know we’re not going to get a warrant for that.”
“I need you to find a way. This is something critical.”
“Solid lead or hunch?”
Jake looked down at the watch. “Somewhere in between.”
“Okay, I’ll see what I can do.”
Jake put his cell phone away.
“So you want to clue me in to what’s going on?” Ken asked.
Jake brought him up to speed on the death of the bank VP.
“And your sympathetic approach regarding the death of Daniel Jacobson?”
Jake held his arm out exposing the watch. “The vic from this morning wanted me to have this.”
Ken examined the watch closely. “What is it?”
“I don’t know at this point, but both of the Chinese nationals in custody were wearing identical watches.”
“Ya mind?” Ken asked holding out his hand. Jake took the watch off and handed it to him. Ken pulled his jeweler’s loop from his pocket and examined the watch in detail.
“Interesting, especially the holographic bird.” Ken handed the watch back to Jake.
“Yeah, looks like some strange type of eagle.”
“Not an eagle, it’s a mystical bird, not a real one.”
“Mystical?”
“It’s a Phoenix, from ancient Egypt. Supposedly lives for 500 years, builds a nest and sets it on fire. The old bird burns up in the funeral pyre nest and a new bird rises from the ashes.”
“I understand that’s how Phoenix, Arizona got its name.”
“Yep, it is. So the gold bearer bonds…”
“Are connected to the murder,” Jake finished. “And something tells me these gold bonds were going to be honored by Daniel Jacobson.”
“And somebody at the bank didn’t want that to happen?”
“Maybe, maybe not,” Jake said. “Either way, I’m thinking Jacobson was on his way to us as a whistleblower…”
“And boom! No more Jacobson.”
“Yeah, but somebody still needs that money transferred.”
“Okay,” Ken said. “We know how—the gold bearer bonds—we just don’t know who.”
“But we do know where.”
“The Federal Reserve Bank of New York.”
CHAPTER 2
That evening, Peter Steinmetz sat in his private office at home and studied the diagrams and results from the first test of the solar weapon. The Coronal Mass Ejection, or CME, had been generated as expected, but the targeting was off. Just a matter of adjusting the timing, he reminded himself. The next test was thirty-six hours away, and everything was proceeding as planned.
At 54, he considered his current position of trust and authority as a mere stepping stone to something much more powerful and rewarding: a position among the top six people in the emerging global elite who would dominate and control the planet. Peter’s family had been international bankers for generations and during that time had quietly accumulated nearly a trillion dollars in assets: primarily gold, commercial property, artwork and diamonds. Peter’s father, Emil, was President of the Federal Reserve Bank of Chicago and had encouraged him to follow a career path outside of banking and finance.
“It’s time for this family to diversify its powerbase,” his father had said on many occasions. Peter was the first, and so far the only one, to take his father’s advice.
He had become quite adept at hiding the disdain he held for the common people around him. With a naturally charismatic personality, he had learned early on in his childhood how to manipulate and influence inferior beings. They all lacked the sense of power and decisive action that he possessed, allowing their minds to be influenced and corrupted by emotions and concern for others−a weakness he never experienced. That strength of internal power and certainty had driven his upward motion throughout the military quickly and cleanly, avoiding the emotional traps and destructive alliances that had damaged so many otherwise promising contenders. Now he stood alone, unchallenged by others he had left in the wake of his superiority. In thirty-four and a half short days his ascendancy into world authority would be complete.
* * *
When Jake entered Briggs’ office at precisely 8:00 a.m. the next morning, Briggs’ desk was its usual mess with papers and files littering the surface. Jake’s anxiety level had been rising all morning. What if Dr. Rosen didn’t approve me for duty? What then? He looked at Briggs’ face to see if he could tell which way the decision had gone. Briggs didn’t seem unduly concerned.
“Am I good to go?” Jake asked tentatively.
“You are. But you’re on a short leash. Weekly check-in with Dr. Rosen. Anything looks off to her, and you’re back on the bench, or I guess couch, in this case.”
“What about the intel on what’s going on inside the Federal Reserve Bank office?”
Just then, the intercom beeped. “They’re here,” Briggs’ secretary said.
“Show them in.”
Jake turned and watched as a pudgy older man and a young petite woman with blonde hair enter Briggs’ office. She was cute and Jake smiled at her. She didn’t return the smile. Instead she just glanced at him and turned her gaze to Briggs.
“This is NSA Deputy Director Ellington and NSA Agent Badger.” Briggs gestured to Jake. “Special Agent Jake Hunter.”
Jake didn’t like where this was headed. “I told you I didn’t want any more partners.”
“You want the intel,” Briggs said. “This is the only way you get it.”
“I think you will find Agent Badger more than capable,” Ellington said. “The level of intel you requested can be shared only internally, within the NSA. She will have access, you will not. She will decide exactly what gets shared with you and what doesn’t.”
“That’s not acceptable to me,” Jake replied.
“That’s fine,” Ellington said. The two of them turned and headed toward the door. Jake recognized the posturing; he had used the same tactic many times with suspects. This was the style of the one-time offer: If you didn’t stop them and take the terms, you were screwed.
“Wait,” Jake said softly. Ellington and Badger slowly turned around. “What are the other terms?” This is where I find out how bad I’m going to be treated.
“She answers to me, not to you,” Ellington said. “You step out of line and she’s gone, along with the rest of the intel you want.”
“What else?”
Ellington paused, apparently thinking of what else he wanted to impose on Jake. “That’ll do. The simpler things are, the better they work.” Ellington turned toward Agent Badger. “Any problems, call me. Be careful, and Honi, be nice for a change.” She glared back at him. Ellington turned and left.
* * *
Jake checked out a Bureau car for the day. He and Honi headed over to the Metro Police first precinct station.
“I didn’t want a partner either,” Honi said.
Jake glanced over at her. “Don’t you usually have one?”
She shook her head. “I have my own section now, so no partner.”
Obviously the internal structure of the NSA is different from the FBI, Jake realized. It would take me another decade to become a head of section.
“But you had a partner before?” Jake asked.
“Yep. Not a satisfactory experience.”
“I can relate. What was the problem?”
She looked over at him. “Attitude. For some reason men can’t have an equal partnership with women. They think they need to be in charge.”
“The senior partner is usually in charge, so what’s the problem with that?”
“Age doesn’t always equate to experience and ability, or intelligence for that matter,” Honi said. “In my experience teams with equal members are more efficient than leaders and followers. It doubles the effectiveness if partners are equals.”
“Well, we’re not really partners, so I don’t see how it would matter.”
She turned her head away from him and looked out the sid
e window.
* * *
Their badges and IDs quickly got them to Detective Traeger’s desk in the large open homicide squad room.
“Anything new on Jacobson?” Jake asked.
Kurt Traeger couldn’t take his eyes off Agent Badger. “Who’s this?”
“Agent Badger, NSA,” Jake replied. “She’s working this case with me.”
She shook Traeger’s hand and returned his smile.
“Why this case?”
“We’ve got connections to possible international money laundering and to China, so we may be able to help with motive or suspects on your vehicular homicide.”
Traeger nodded. “Any help will be appreciated. By the way, initial tox screen on Jacobson came back negative. So if your guy was delusional, it wasn’t because of drugs.”
“I had hoped for a simple explanation. Looks like things are more complex.”
“As usual. The ME’s about to start the autopsy. I’ve got to be there. You two are invited if you want to come.”
Jake glanced at Honi. She seemed uninterested. “We have some other things we need to follow up on. Can you get me a copy of the Medical Examiner’s Report?”
“Sure.”
* * *
Jake and Honi returned to their car.
“You drove all the way over here to get the results of a tox screen and request an ME’s report?” Honi asked.
“Yeah.”
“It’s a waste of time and resources. You could have accomplished that with a thirty-second phone call.”
“It’s my investigation,” Jake said firmly. “We’re doing it my way.”
“It’s still a waste of my valuable time, and a waste of my agency as a resource.”
I knew this wasn’t going to work, he thought.
“Do we have ears inside the Federal Reserve Bank office yet?”
She still looked angry, but she seemed to be settling down.
“Since yesterday, when we received the request from Briggs. I turned the speaker on for the phone that sets on the International Funds Transfer Desk. It acts as a microphone. We’re recording everything. It’s all sound activated and time stamped.”