Fatal Exchange (Fatal Series Book 1)

by Russell Blake

  “That’s an interesting hypothetical. I suppose our stance would reasonably be that by attempting to counterfeit our currency, they would have declared war on us, or at the very least be guilty of terrorism and criminal conduct.” The Ambassador was careful in his wording; he didn’t know where this was going, and didn’t want to step over any lines.

  “The U.S. would take the identical stance, and would of course assist China in any way we could to rectify the situation in a non-disruptive manner agreeable to China.” The U.S. diplomat admired the Washington Monument in the near distance with a cautious nod. Eventually the Chinese Ambassador would have to say something.

  “Is there a danger you are attempting to warn us about?” The Chinese Ambassador had to ask the question. Had to.

  “Hypothetically, if it was a questionable regime like Myanmar counterfeiting U.S. dollars and preparing to release them into the world markets, how would China respond, or better yet, how would they expect the U.S. to respond?” Now there was a question. The trap was sprung; the Ambassador had to answer.

  “That would be a very difficult situation for China, as we are fundamentally opposed to Western military intervention in our region, but of course we also couldn’t condone that behavior.” The waffling began.

  “So in that instance, you wouldn’t consider it an act of war or terrorism, but if it was South Korea you would? Interesting.” He wanted to nail him, make him say it.

  “That’s not my position. I am simply saying it would put China in a very awkward position.”

  “Just as the South Korean scenario would put the U.S. in a very awkward position. But we would also recognize that our ally, in a volatile strategic region, had stepped over an important line, and would do whatever was necessary to rectify the situation.”

  “I think I am not so good at hypotheticals,” the Chinese said. Suddenly his English was deteriorating.

  “Nonsense. You’re a brilliant diplomat. We’re just examining two sides of the same coin, and considering whether there’s a double standard, or if both of our countries would behave similarly,” the U.S. diplomat said.

  “I prefer to stay in the world of actuals, my friend.”

  “Perhaps China should ask what they would do in both of those situations. We know what we would do. It’s an interesting exercise, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, perhaps China should ask those questions. I wonder if asking our assets in Myanmar would be productive?” The Chinese was probing. What had those stupid peasants been up to, and what could China do to short-circuit it before it caused a major problem?

  “My feeling is that unless China was prepared to deal with the problem directly, it might be in its best interests to consider the hypothetical confidentially.” Translation: Stay out of this.

  “Even though we share borders and some common interests, we cannot know everything all our neighbors are involved in.” In other words, we know nothing about this. “We would naturally be most relieved if any hypothetical simply resolved itself.” Ahhh. There it was. If the U.S. could “resolve the problem” quietly and without creating a situation, China would be relieved.

  “We would adopt the same view with respect to South Korea. They are valued and trusted allies, but if they embarked on a universally condemnable course of action we would be most relieved if any situation was resolved quietly.” The U.S. diplomat had made his point and could rest assured the lines would be burning between the embassy and Beijing following their get-together. That way, if there was any fallout or damage control to do, China had received advance warning and understood the U.S. wasn’t acting aggressively.

  Both men enjoyed the view and had a second cup of coffee in silence.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Finance Minister was awakened by a phone call at 5:30 a.m.. He groped for the handset, nearly knocking it over in the process.

  “Hello,” he muttered groggily.

  “We have a disaster. A car will pick you up in fifteen minutes. The currency facility was destroyed an hour ago.” It was the Defense Minister.

  “How? Who did this? No one knew about it.” The minister was trying to understand what had taken place.

  “We don’t know. We’re still trying to figure it out. I have a helicopter waiting to take us there so we can view the damage first hand. Fifteen minutes.”

  The minister shook his head. His hands were shaking and he felt surreal. This wasn’t possible. The plant destroyed? It was inside Myanmar, on a relatively remote area of coastline, well hidden from prying eyes. It was inconceivable anyone could have reached it and caused the kind of damage the defense minister was describing.

  He dialed Gordon’s number while he pulled on his uniform. The receptionist told him Gordon was unavailable. When he pressed, she indicated he wasn’t in today. He hung up. Tried his cell phone, got voicemail.

  “Gordon, we have a serious, serious problem. I’ve just been advised that our plant has been destroyed. I need information, and we need to sell all the options, now. Call me as soon as you can.”

  The car pulled up and the minister went out into the rain, the humidity and heat already unbearable.

  Chapter 35

  The sun reflected off the sidewalk, making the street shimmer from the heat waves. The afternoon rush hour had been underway for fifty minutes, although Tess’s street didn’t see many vehicles.

  The two Asians were back, across from her loft at the little coffee shop. Morning and afternoon had come and gone and the two men were getting bored, the taller one popping Percodan like Tic-Tacs. His mouth still felt like he’d been kicked in the jaw. The pain pills were making him sleepy, and he was having difficulty staying sharp as the day wound down. He wondered if they had somehow missed the girl.

  They had time, but the constant throbbing from his tongue wasn’t doing anything for his mood or his focus, and he’d had enough fruit juice to last a lifetime.

  They might as well have rented the table they occupied.

  The smaller man was smoking his thirty-second cigarette of the day with apparent gusto, occasionally rubbing his shoulder when a twinge of pain seared through the muscle. It was a filthy habit, the taller man thought—although he enjoyed a smoke himself, now and then. But two or three packs a day. That was really just too much.

  Finally, a bicyclist approached, riding slowly up to the loft.

  They had discussed it, and agreed they’d wait until she got settled in and then jimmy the lock, dealing with her inside, at their leisure.

  Tess locked her bike to the pole, and then took her helmet off, shook out her hair, and stretched. She wanted to make sure anyone watching would see her. She didn’t dare go into the house, in case they’d broken in and were waiting for her. She was pretty sure they hadn’t, but that could be a mistake that cost her life.

  She got a call on her cell, as planned, and answered. Duff’s voice emanated from the speaker.

  “Time to get going,” he advised.

  Tess pretended to have an animated discussion, shaking her head, looking at her watch. She walked down the street, still apparently talking, and the two men stood, slowly, and followed at a distance as she made her way toward the waterfront.

  Duff’s voice cut into her phony soliloquy. “I just spotted them. They started walking down the street on the opposite side of you. Behind you a hundred yards. Let me call you back. I want to give the crew the heads up.”

  “Okay, Duff. Let’s stick with the plan. Make sure it’s only the two of them, okay?”

  “You got it. So far it is. I’ve got someone at the shop and he’s hanging to see if anyone scrambles from there. That would be the only other place they’d be watching. We’ll know for sure in five minutes.”

  “Call me back soon, please? This is nerve racking.”

  Tess continued chatting into the phone even after Duff disconnected and walked at a moderate pace toward the river, checking her watch occasionally.

  She made it one block, then two, and then her phone vibrated a
gain.

  “No one at the watch shop, and the boys are ready for action. The bad guys are about seventy-five yards behind you; they crossed the street a minute ago. Good luck, Tess.”

  “Yeah. Thanks. Catch you soon.”

  Tess walked up one more block and then paused at the mouth of an alley. She looked at her watch again, pretended to look up the block as though waiting for someone, and then ducked into the small side street.

  ~ ~ ~

  The Asians were stumped. They hadn’t noticed the man on the bike a block behind them talking into a wireless headset.

  They watched as Tess approached an alley in an ominous-looking deserted area—abandoned warehouse territory. She appeared to be scouting the street for somebody and when she didn’t see them, abruptly disappeared from view.

  Now they had a problem. They had no idea where the alley led; for all they knew, it fed out to another street and she was already gone.

  The smaller man rapidly went over their alternatives and the taller agreed they had to go in after her.

  Their cell rang. A singsong voice barked a short instruction in Burmese.

  “Terminate the mission. Now. Get to the airport, fly to Canada, then return home immediately.”

  The shorter man informed his partner, and the two exchanged toxic glances. It was frustrating to have their mission abruptly ended so close to their goal. But sometimes that’s how the ball bounced, and they knew to follow instructions without hesitation. Survival often depended upon it.

  They made their way back up the street, retracing their steps until they hit a main artery, where they hailed a cab and disappeared.

  ~ ~ ~

  One of the toughs standing with Tess got a call from Duff, who told him the Asians had spent a few moments at the mouth of the alley, answered a phone call, and then abandoned their pursuit and hightailed it out of the area. Everyone was puzzled—it had been a perfect plan.

  They waited until it became obvious there wasn’t going to be any confrontation that day, and then dispersed, with several of the group accompanying Tess back to her place, just in case. There was no evidence of surveillance. It was just plain weird.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tess opened the door to her loft. She didn’t know what had happened, what had tipped the Asians off—but that wasn’t Rufi’s fault, and he’d still want to collect his fee. She called Duff, and they agreed to get together tomorrow and she’d deliver the rest of the cash. Rufi had earned his commission, even if the end had been a non-event.

  Tess didn’t feel comfortable staying at her place. It was always possible the Asians would return, and she supposed she might never know with complete certainty that she was in the clear. Just as she didn’t know what had spooked them or why they’d suddenly aborted their hunt, she also didn’t know whether hers was a temporary reprieve or whether she’d always have to be watching over her shoulder. She didn’t want to think about that right now. Staying with Ron made her feel safe, and that was as far forward as she was prepared to plan for the moment.

  She finished stuffing her backpack, locked her deadbolts, and exited the building.

  ~ ~ ~

  Gordon’s attorney came into the holding cell and sat down at a small table. Ten minutes later, Gordon was escorted in by two hard-looking uniformed officers. The attorney sighed and looked hard at Gordon, who was still wearing his suit while he waited to be formally charged.

  “They’re dead serious about hitting you with treason, Gordon.” No ‘hello,’ no ‘how are you holding up’—just the bad news, right out of the gate.

  “That’s absurd. They have no basis. They’re dreaming.”

  “Well, speaking with the Attorney General it seems like they have a basis. Their position is that you’ve conspired with a foreign power to subvert the U.S. financial system by counterfeiting and distributing fake currency, and further did so knowing the foreign power was using classified data to do it. They have your phone records and are also looking at charging you with conspiracy to commit murder, as you apparently were the last caller to speak to a certain currency dealer, who was murdered shortly thereafter.” The attorney didn’t look upbeat.

  “Look, they can claim all they want, but they couldn’t have any proof. It’s all conjecture.”

  “They have numerous calls to the foreign ministry of Myanmar, Gordon.”

  “So what? I haven't ever accepted or managed any money that came directly from Myanmar.” Technically true; Gordon was conveniently overlooking several of his large hedge fund investors based suspiciously close to the Myanmar government's financial sphere of influence.

  “And they have recordings of some very damaging phone calls wherein you discuss the plot with a co-conspirator.”

  “Nonsense. I know you can spin those calls any way you want, maybe get them tossed out based on illegality—they aren’t allowed to just record conversations, are they?” Gordon asked.

  “Since the Patriot Act everything has changed, Gordon. I don’t think I’ll be able to get them tossed, but then again I haven’t heard them. Oh, and they have a witness who will testify against you.” The attorney had sallow cheeks, and looked ill.

  “Walter. That stupid prick. He’s a pathological liar and a paranoid, probably completely delusional and willing to say anything, blame anyone, to save his own skin.”

  “You seem to know him well, Gordon.”

  “He’s a client. We all make mistakes. So how much is it going to cost to get me out of here?”

  “There’s no bail. You’re viewed as a flight risk. I’m working some back channels to change that, but for now you’ll just have to be patient.” The attorney regarded Gordon with a frown. “I’ll need a one million dollar retainer to represent you, Gordon. You’ll need to authorize your office to have the funds transferred. There may be a problem though, as your personal accounts have been frozen.”

  “Wha—? But they can’t do that. What happened to innocent until proven guilty? We have to do something.”

  “Again, I’m working the issue. But if I were you, I’d be thinking about selling the townhouse to raise capital. I’ll float you for a while but I won’t work for free. I’m sorry for how this is turning out, but my hands are tied. If you want to sell the house let me know, and I’ll draft some documents for you to sign to give me power of attorney in the matter. I think that may be your best bet. Think about it.”

  Gordon drew in a harsh breath. “Are you kidding me? That’s the best you can do? Sell my house? What is this, Screw Gordon Day? Get me out of here. Now. I have to trade accounts, do some damage control, and I need to be able to communicate. Do something, goddammit!” Gordon was turning red, anger and frustration building.

  “Gordon, you don’t get it yet, do you? They’ve got you. And they’re not going to let you go. They aren’t even offering a deal—I fished for one and they aren’t interested. They’re talking about the death penalty. This is real, and your life is at stake. Sell the house, get me money, or you’ll be dealing with a public defender.” The attorney stood, walked to the door, and knocked twice. A guard opened it. The attorney turned around.

  “Call me and let me know what you want to do.”

  And then the door slammed behind him, a bolt slid into place, and he was gone, leaving Gordon alone with his thoughts.

  ~ ~ ~

  Tess and Ron spent four days together at his apartment, but as the imminent threat receded with time, it became obvious there was no reason for them to share the same space.

  They both felt a connection and an interest, but the timing wasn’t right, and they were both mature enough to recognize it.

  She’d been reluctant to go back to her loft, and had asked Simon to arrange for a hotel to stay at under the name of the firm—she didn’t want to be listed in her own name just in case anyone was still looking for her. Simon had been happy to accommodate her.

  Tess had already grown restless in Ron’s apartment and needed to get out and ride, to feel the wind in her face an
d the energy of the streets. Even if she wasn’t going to return to her work at Red Cap she’d conditioned herself to require motion and exertion in order to maintain a balance in her life. It wasn’t complicated: the rush of endorphins from the multi-hour workouts made her feel good, and the sense of movement and boundless freedom gave her hope and joy.

  She spent a lot of her time alone, although she got together with Duff and a few of the girls from Red Cap. She also met Ron for lunch and dinner, and the more she was around him, the more she realized how unique and self-possessed he was. She was used to dating boys in the process of trying to become men, whereas Ron was already solidified, sure of his destiny and his course.

  There was an appeal in that for her, especially now she’d lost everyone she’d valued. Her life had been changed through the resultant upheaval, and for better or worse, she felt the decisions she’d been avoiding for years weighing heavily on her mind.

  She felt like she was in the eye of the hurricane, the calm in the storm, and as hours turned into days and her wheels ate up the pavement, she realized her period of naïve denial was at an end.

  So now what?

  That was, as always, the question.

  Chapter 36

  The Finance Minister was taken into custody two days after the destruction of the plant and held in a rural military facility, where political prisoners spent their days ruminating on the error of their ways.

  He’d known from the beginning that he was engaged in a high-risk proposition and that failure, while a remote possibility, would carry a high cost. He wasn’t kidding himself that his years serving the Republic would count for anything. He’d committed the ultimate crime: he’d failed.

  They had lost the billion dollars’ worth of equipment and knowledge, and seen another two billion evaporate from the market action. That was a significant percentage of a year’s gross national product, in a country relying on mercy from others to feed its population. It was a body blow for the economy and for the very future of the regime.