“I know Fort Pierce.”
“Sure you do. I was fourteen the year we finally crawled out of Vietnam. Spent my teenage years watching my hometown grow tumors. Fourteen head shops. Six Harley depots. Meth houses. Bars with bullet holes in the front doors. By the time I got out of college, I was just looking for a way to get even. Graham found me, pointed me in the right direction, told me which legs to bite.”
Wynn squinted through the smoke of grilling meat, listened to the kids laugh and play tag with the dog, and watched Carter’s wife talk over the fence with a neighbor. He knew there would never be a better time than this to unload. “The years before I was able to sell my business, Grant ran for Congress. Toughest race of his career. Only one he ever lost. Cost a ton of money. Sybel was campaign treasurer. Ended up she’d personally underwritten some of the debt.”
“Oh, man.”
Wynn nodded, seeing nothing but smoke and sunshine. “I set up an offshore account in Bermuda. We’d licensed a Taiwanese company to use our technology, and my share of the take never found its way home.”
“Far as I recall, this is a totally illegal act you’re describing to me.”
“I used the funds to buy futures options on the company that was buying us out. Jackson Taylor’s old company.”
Carter was no longer tending the meat. “It just gets worse and worse.”
“Made a bundle. Had the bank write Sybel a check. Never mentioned it was me, but she knew, and knew enough never to talk about it.”
Carter glanced down, started sliding the burgers onto plates. “The account was in your name, is that what you’re telling me?”
“Do I look that dumb? But somewhere there are bound to be records showing my signature on something.” He waited for Carter to call the kids over, then said, “If you guys want me to resign, I’ll do it tomorrow.”
CARTER HAD TAKEN over the guest room for his home office, claiming it was the only way he could watch his kids grow. He found Kay at Esther’s and had Wynn repeat his tale over the speakerphone.
Kay was silent a long time. “There had to be something.”
“There usually is,” Carter agreed.
“Grant had something he figured would tie you in a knot, so he appointed you like Sybel wanted. I never did like that man.”
“There’s something more.” Wynn related the meeting he’d had in the hospital lobby.
“You went to see Nabil?” Kay sounded genuinely pleased. “He didn’t mention that to me.”
“The point is, the Feds left themselves the perfect out. If the press makes a big noise with this, the FBI will basically be obliged to open an investigation.”
“Do you want out?”
“Not if I can still do some good here.”
“Carter, what’s your take on the situation?”
“I’m clear out of answers at this end, but my gut tells me we ought to stay with what we have.”
“I’ll think on it and let you know tomorrow.” Kay sounded very weary. “A little clarity would be sweet just now. Very sweet indeed.”
55
Sunday
JACKIE SPENT THE entire weekend searching through her textbooks, waiting for Eric’s phone call, and picking at the scabs of old memories. She found nothing but futility and frustration on all counts. Eric neither called nor answered his phone. She drove by his development twice each day, walked the street, but saw only drawn curtains and a barking dog from two doors down. Each time she left a little more worried.
Her Saturday highlight was shopping for Millicent, her somewhat lunatic landlady. Jackie then had tea in the big house’s moldy kitchen, drinking from a cup she hoped was stained with age and not encrusted dirt. The old woman made a little more sense than usual. She worried over Jackie back there with the moonbeams and the man in black, which Jackie assumed was a reference to the pastor’s nighttime visit. Jackie gave the woman only half an ear while the rest of her brain replayed all the dusty textbooks she had perused. She finally returned home, weary from wishing she knew what she sought.
Sunday morning she paused in her research long enough to attend the Lutheran church. Dressed in her most conservative clothes, Jackie joined the crowd, sat through the service, and marveled at her actions. The people and the sermon and the singing and the way she was greeted afterward were all very welcoming. A small sliver of sanity inserted into her day.
When she returned home it was to find a terse message on her answering machine from Eric. “I got your messages and don’t call me again. I don’t know if they’re listening and I don’t want to know. I’m still searching. I’ll be in touch.”
Jackie entered her kitchen alcove and went through the motions of fixing her lunch. She ate with an old textbook for company, wishing the niceness could have lasted a little longer.
A hint returned that evening, when Wynn called to report, “I’ve had a very strange day.”
“Tell me about it.”
“I’d rather not. At least, not until we’re together. Is that all right?”
She set aside the textbook, used a dishtowel to rub the dust from her hands, and walked out onto the tiny balcony. The evening sky was full of semitropical display. “Sure.”
“How’s your shoulder?”
“Better. And my leg. The stitches come out this week.”
“Jackie, late Friday I got hit on by a guy from the Fed. He said Hayek was buying dollars with both fists.”
She could almost hear her brain grinding into an unaccustomed gear. “Interesting.”
“But that makes a mockery of your news, right? I mean, he wouldn’t be digging himself in deeper if he thought the market was going to tank.”
“Not necessarily. Hayek might try to set up a feeding frenzy. Imagine a thousand currency piranhas attacking the dollar and devouring it whole. The effect would be an economic H-bomb, demolishing every U.S. market—stocks, bonds, commodities, the works.”
“But the Fed guy says he’s buying.”
“Just listen for a second, okay? Let’s assume what we’ve heard is right and Hayek is going to play on a weakening trend. They’ll want to be the first with unexpected news. It’d be something of a devastating nature, with a particular impact on derivatives.”
“Some seriously bad news.”
“Like an accounting scandal at Treasury. Or an industry bellwether declaring record losses for the quarter, so big it drags down the whole board. Something that has the foreign investors fleeing for a more profitable market.”
“That could happen?”
“Sure. A foreign pullout sparked the crash of ’29. No reason why it couldn’t happen again. You know what the market calls foreign investors? Nervous money. They jump at shadows. A massive loss by one of their key investment accounts could have them bailing out in droves.” She was talking faster now, her glances scattering green lightning around the treetops. “It would be a perfect setup. Currency traders move the markets every chance they get. This is highly unethical in, say, stocks or bonds. If he’s caught at it, a trader can lose his license and in some cases go to jail. But in the currency market it’s business as usual. Forex traders don’t analyze trends and try to anticipate where the market is headed. This isn’t a straight-ahead game, as the traders say. When they can, they create upheaval. Being the first with major news would mean they could position themselves for a huge push. If they’re big enough, their goal would be not just to ride the market but to demolish it. Turn a slight downward trend into a full-fledged rout.”
“You’re telling me,” Wynn said, clearly struggling to keep up, “Hayek could be buying dollars to heighten the market’s swing?”
“See, you’re learning. Say word gets out about Hayek and his dollar buys. Something this big is bound to be known. Hayek is a major force in the Forex markets. He’s won time and time again, which means the other players watch him. They hear Hayek is moving in and buying dollars. Others would crowd in, gambling that Hayek is betting right. The market goes ballistic. Peo
ple scramble all over the globe. The central banks call around, trying to find a reason for this. Nobody knows for certain, but rumors abound. And still the dollar keeps climbing. Okay so far?”
“You’re telling me Hayek would do this just before the big news comes out, right?”
“Exactly.” But even as she said the words, the niggling sense of a lost signal pushed her back inside. Jackie stood looking down at the pile of textbooks. What was she missing here?
Wynn said, “Which means we don’t have more than a few days to find out what’s going on.”
“Less.” She paced the apartment’s tight confines, her brain shrieking. Where was Eric? “In this game, a few days are one step away from eternity.”
56
Monday
AT TEN-THIRTY THE next morning, Wynn entered the Dirksen Senate Office Building and walked down to the meeting room. Eyes followed him constantly, but no one approached. He nodded to several people and did his best to pretend all was well.
Turning the final corner, he found Carter standing with Kay. As soon as he came into view, Kay spun around and walked away. Wynn’s own tread turned glutinous, dreading the news that Carter waited to deliver—that he was on his way out, a liability they could no longer afford.
He did his best to feign ignorance by saying, “I’m getting the pariah treatment around here this morning. I assume that means something’s happened.”
“The House leader came out vehemently opposed to the amendment. Stated he was in favor of striking the entire appropriations bill if we tried to push it through as is.”
“Not good,” Wynn said, resigned to his fate and his farewell.
“He declared it would be better to let the government shut down for a while than watch this amendment grind our economy to a halt.” Carter squinted as Kay had, like the place smoldered with the stench of a deal gone bad. “You know what that means?”
“I suppose—”
“Kay doesn’t like doing this, but right now she’s all out of options. You’re going to have to play the sacrificial lamb. Let the press claw you apart.”
Wynn tried to fit his mind around this news. “You want me to stay?”
“What, you thought Kay left me out here to swing the ax?” Carter grinned hugely. “You really want to stay around that bad?”
“Absolutely. If you’ll let me.”
“You’re all right, you know that?” Carter motioned toward the meeting room. “Come on, let’s go watch the fireworks.”
But before they could reach the entrance, their way was blocked by a trio wielding tape recorders and press badges. The portly male struck Wynn as vaguely familiar. But it was the more angular of the two women who said, “Gail Treats with the Washington Post, Congressman Bryant. Could you spare us a minute?”
Carter started in with, “We’re just about to—”
“It’s all right,” Wynn said. “There’s time for one question.”
“Thank you. The senior congressman within your own party has had some pretty harsh things to say about your so-called Hutchings Amendment. Do you have any comment?”
“Our economy is in serious trouble,” Wynn replied, weaving together points from the files. “We just don’t know it yet. Hedge funds and the derivative traders in our major banks are getting away with financial mayhem. Today our system’s governing bodies operate according to what I call the New Orleans Theory of Finance: Let the good times roll.”
“What about—”
“The past several administrations have been real friends to the status quo. This bunch is no different. The Treasury and the Fed have both taken revolving-door policies to Wall Street. They come in, they club around, then they return to the domain of big bucks and fast living. This has resulted in an accident waiting to happen. The excesses of these huge equity funds need to be reined in. That is what our amendment proposes to do. No wonder they’re rolling out the big guns against us.” Wynn turned away. “That’s all the time I have.”
The portly man called out in an aggressive English accent, “Would you care to comment on the accusations that you are guilty of insider trading?”
Wynn had no choice but to turn back. “I know you from somewhere.” Then he remembered. “Sure. The British embassy reception for the new ambassador.”
“Excellent memory, Congressman. The question is, how selective is it?”
“The ambassador’s aide warned me about you. She didn’t mention you were a paid stooge.”
The reporter swelled like a ripe plum. “I resent—”
“I don’t know exactly what information you have, but I can assure you any such accusations are totally without merit.” He switched his attention to the Post reporter. “The important thing is, something good is turning into something bad. The people who have profited from putting our economy at risk will do anything and everything, including slurring my good name through planted accusations like this, to halt this vital legislation.”
When he was through the door and inside the committee room, Wynn cast Carter a sidelong glance. His aide was smiling again. “What’s the matter?”
“Nothing. Not a single solitary thing.”
“I just gave them what you fed me.”
“Not just.” Carter waited for Wynn to take his seat, then leaned over and said, “For a second there I could’ve sworn I was listening to a real pro.”
57
Monday
THERE WAS AN osmosis quality required for top Washington lobbyists, an ability to read the political winds and react accordingly. Any lobbyist who waited until results were official was doomed to banishment and life in the wastelands beyond the Beltway. Valerie walked into her office that morning and instantly scented the change. People she had seldom spoken with were coming up, searching her out, trying to attach their careers to her ascending star. Two of the four senior partners made a point of stopping by the downstairs chamber that had become her team’s ops center. Supposedly they just happened by, as though they made the light-years journey between floors every day.
Two hours later she climbed the stairs and found her boss and the firm’s incumbent chairman huddled in the doorway to the boardroom. It was a perfect place for Valerie to declare, “We’ve completed our straw poll of committee members.”
Both of them grinned, discerning the news before she spoke. “Home run for the home team.”
“That’s the way it looks to us.”
“Come on in here,” the incumbent said. He gestured toward one of the suede-and-chrome chairs. “Try this on for a ride.”
“I’ve been in here before, thank you very much.”
“Not as a partner, you haven’t.” He patted the seat back and said to her former boss, “Is that corner suite ready?”
“Her name’s not on the door yet, but I doubt she’ll mind.”
Valerie slid into the seat, sighing ecstatically. “Nice.” It wasn’t her own firm, but there were advantages to having company along for the ride. Especially at a moment like this. “Very nice indeed.”
They took the two chairs to either side. “So the holdouts have come through.”
“They’ve said as much.” She gave the chair a little swivel. “We’re ahead by one vote for certain, possibly as many as three.”
“Val.” The incumbent leaned forward. “Given the situation, we’d like you to bury the personal stuff on Bryant.”
She halted in midswing. “What?”
“The senior partner is weighing in on this pretty heavily.” Her former boss was apologetic but firm. “He sees his chance of a top-level appointment going right down the drain if this is ever traced back to us.”
“Which it would be,” the incumbent intoned. “There is only one place this could have come from, that’s what they’ll say.”
She saw it then. The careful maneuvering, the friendly probes. Setting her up so she revealed the situation before they struck. Being handled by pros. “I suppose I have no say in this matter.”
“You said it
yourself, Val. This thing is won.” He used his most soothing tone. Stroking out any hard feelings. “Something like this you can just tuck away, save it for the next time you get Wynn Bryant in your sights.”
But this was personal, she wanted to shout. She wanted to watch Wynn Bryant bleed. She’d already planned to record his resignation off C-Span, toast his departure for weeks to come. “I’ve already put out a couple of leads.”
The two men exchanged a swift glance. The incumbent said evenly, “Don’t feed them any more. We’ll just have to hope they don’t come up with enough meat to carry it forward.”
“The half-life on something this big must be a thousand years,” her former boss agreed. “And the old man won’t be around here to stop you next time.”
58
Monday
AT SEVEN THAT evening, traders finally began straggling off the Hayek Group’s trading floor. Eric was among the first to leave. The swelling to his forehead and lip had gone down over the weekend, and the traders were now too busy to rib him any further. The common wisdom was that he had struck a doorpost hurtling from a forbidden bedroom. Eric said almost nothing, kept to himself, and avoided Colin. Which granted Colin the excuse not to confront his pal with what he knew. And worse, what he suspected.
Around ten, the paper shrapnel cleared and the senior traders left the pit. Colin was still in his cubicle, a lonely circle of light in the midst of a dark fluorescent night. He remained because he could feel the storm gathering, and because he had nowhere else to go. At home, Lisa’s absence felt too much like personal deprogramming. The best of everything had been lost along with her, every day’s clarity erased. He had tried to rewrite his memories of the whole affair as just another warped and twisted mind game imposed by a merciless reality. But it did not help. Nothing did.
Alex swung around the corner with the ease of a man too tired to care whether or not he was welcome. He slumped into the visitor’s chair and announced, “If Hayek is right, we’re going to clear six months’ profit off this battle. If he’s wrong, they’ll sweep me out with tomorrow’s garbage.”
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