“Questionable ethics aside, it’s not technically illegal yet. However, I agree. Unless they plan on selling any accumulated assets quickly, there’s no reason to do it.”
“That’s not even considering the mess they’d be in if they lost money. Ben, you know as well as I do that there aren’t any guarantees in this business. If Drake and his CEO cronies lose depositors’ money, they’ll have to replace the lost funds from company coffers. Not a great way in impress investors, and you can be damn sure banking clients don’t want their money invested in anything as risky as oil futures or derivatives.”
“Which is why I called you. There has been some seriously strange stuff going on over the past few days. What it means, I have no idea, but I thought you’d want to know about it.”
“I definitely do. Thanks for the update.”
Ben had been out to lunch, and as he navigated the crowded sidewalks in Boston’s financial district, the gleaming steel edifice of Aldrich Securities headquarters loomed in front of him. “Hey, I have to go, but let me know if you guys learn anything else about those letters.”
“Will do.”
Ben slid the phone back into his suit jacket, his mind racing as he tried to make sense of his current assignment. He didn’t know what Spencer Drake was up to, but as long as the paychecks kept rolling in, he would follow orders.
Thirty stories above the sparkling glass door that Ben had just walked through, Tom Becker summarized the phone call. A list containing two names was on Ben’s file. If any phone conversations involving Parker Chase or Erika Carr were intercepted, Becker was to hand deliver a summary of the call to Mr. Drake immediately.
Like a good soldier, Becker dashed upstairs and found Drake in his office, engaged in a heated discussion via teleconference. Without a word, he laid the summary on Drake’s desk and departed.
“Gentlemen,” Spencer Drake cajoled, his voice smooth as silk, “I understand this is an unconventional method. Before you write it off, I suggest you have a look at my track record. Have I steered you wrong before?”
“No, Spencer, we can’t say you have.”
“So there’s no reason to think I’d start now.”
Drake picked up the report and scanned the first few lines. His eyes nearly flew from his head. “I must apologize, but something has come up. Perhaps we can continue our discussion this afternoon?”
“We’ll be here.”
Drake stabbed the phone, cutting off his counterparts. The trio of CEOs had been hesitant to follow his lead when he’d first broached the subject of proprietary trading, but they seemed to have come along over the past twenty-four hours, as he’d known they would. However, that discussion would have to wait.
An agreement had been struck with the hired gun to eliminate Mr. Flood, though the arrangement had been open-ended. It seemed that Ben Flood needed to be dealt with in a timelier manner.
Once again, the assassin’s phone number was in his hands. After several rings, the call was connected. Soft breathing, but no words.
“Hello?”
“What do you want, Mr. Drake?”
The man’s total neutrality was unsettling.
“I need to know when I might expect completion on our latest contract.”
“The job will be finished when I am able to do so.”
The guy sounded like a damn machine.
“Would it be possible to accelerate the timeline? Something has come up, and I’d prefer that this be completed as soon as possible.”
The silence stretched on for so long that Drake thought they’d been disconnected. Just as he was about to repeat himself, the man responded.
“For this inconvenience, the fee will be doubled. Payable immediately.”
Another million dollars was outrageous, but he didn’t argue. “Agreed. I’ll deposit the balance in your account today.”
“Don’t forget.”
The connection was severed. He stared at the phone in his hand like it was a live grenade. With any luck, that would be the last time he had to talk to that lunatic, and today would be the last day Benjamin Flood worked at Aldrich Securities.
Chapter 26
By the time Ben Flood left his office, the moon was full overhead. Ever since this new assignment had come down from the CEO, Ben and his counterparts hadn’t been able to get away until after dark, no small feat in late May. At this hour, few people were on the streets near Aldrich Securities headquarters, most having either made it home for the night or found their way to a local bar. It was toward the latter option which Ben was headed, where he had a date planned with an enticing young lady he’d met recently.
The only problem he had was a paucity of cash. Lunch had cleaned him out, and with the legendary temperament of Boston cab drivers when a fare tried to use their credit card, he’d rather avoid the hassle. He thought there was an ATM several blocks ahead, near his favorite coffee shop. The daytime crowds had disappeared, so much so that Ben’s footsteps echoed off the skyscrapers all around him. Two men walked past, headed in the other direction. The only other person on the street was an elderly man walking behind him, his cane tapping out a staccato beat on the sidewalk as the old guy marched onward, face hidden beneath a fedora.
It was kind of nice to be all alone in the middle of so much humanity.
Ahead, the darkened windows of his local java joint reflected a solitary streetlight. The massive buildings on either side kept out the moonlight, rendering his surroundings a thick shade of gray, each alley and doorway a subtle outline in the dark.
The keypad beeped as Ben entered his security code, whirred for a few seconds, and then spit out a handful of twenties.
While he waited for his money, the sharp, short taps of the old man’s cane continued behind him. The noise stopped abruptly, but Ben didn’t realize the old guy was right behind him until he felt the cold steel of a gun barrel against the back of his skull.
Frozen with shock, Ben’s hesitation cost him his life.
He never heard the shot, but neither did anyone else. Not a single person was within two blocks when the suppressed pistol fired a round into Ben’s brain, the bullet exiting through his forehead to spray blood all over the bank machine.
When police reviewed the machine’s camera, they would be at a loss to explain why the elderly man who carried a cane had shot the young banker. After he pulled the trigger, the old man shuffled away, not even bothering to take the money.
Chapter 27
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
Three hundred miles south of where Benjamin Flood’s corpse lay cooling, two men sat in a parked car, eyes glued on the building in front of them.
Tonight, they planned to break inside, specifically into the office of Associate Professor of History Dr. Erika Carr. Their supervisor had instructed them to retrieve three letters from the office, each one a single sheet of paper that was several hundred years old. They didn’t know why the letters were important, nor did they care. Both men worked in the security industry, and both had served in the military under Captain Thomas Becker.
After each was dishonorably discharged for different reasons, employment prospects had been bleak until Captain Becker had contacted each man separately with a unique job offer. Becker had found work in corporate security, and he was in need of a few men with a talent for acquiring information. It just so happened that these two had been trained by the government in that specific field. They may not have been the most trustworthy or honorable men, but they could crack a locked safe in short order.
Five years and several dozen “liberation” operations later, the two men sitting outside Dr. Carr’s office had become Aldrich Securities’ go-to option for white collar espionage. Intelligent and articulate, a large reason for their success was that these two men didn’t look like criminals. Tonight each was dressed as a professor, sporting rumpled slacks and mismatched blazers. Thick glasses completed the outfit, and no one gave them a second glance when they walked inside.
&n
bsp; Dr. Carr’s cell phone had been tapped for several days now, and they knew she was out to dinner in Old City with her boyfriend. The pair of thieves ambled slowly down the hallway, pausing only briefly outside Dr. Carr’s door. Shielded by his companion, one fraudulent academic used a set of lock picks to open the door lock in ten seconds, and they slipped inside, unseen.
Careful not to disturb anything, one stood watch while the other searched the office for three letters written by Paul Revere. He spied a small safe near her desk, and a grin spread across his face. The man relished a challenge.
Five minutes later, the electronic coding mechanism he carried discovered the combination. The keypad chirped softly, and a faint whirring noise told him the deadbolts had retracted. Inside the safe was a small stack of cash, maybe five grand, and several sheets of paper in protective sleeves. The top three pieces all bore the signature of one P. Revere.
He gently pulled the documents from the safe and slipped them in a folder. One glance at his partner confirmed they were still in the clear. Back in the hallway, the door locked behind them, they moved at a languid pace toward the parking lot. Several minutes later the pair sat in silence, headed to the airport, where a private plane waited to ferry them back to Boston.
Chapter 28
Boston, Massachusetts
A full moon sat high in the evening sky above Aldrich Securities headquarters. Yellow light bathed the city in a midsummer evening glow, most denizens of the storied town asleep. Inside a gleaming skyscraper, Spencer Drake dismissed his security chief with a wave, eyes glued to the letters on his desk.
They had been taken from Erika Carr’s office less than three hours ago and were now in front of him, a first hand, detailed account of the spy who had discovered their plot to destroy America. Drake had never heard mention of Revere’s presence during the formation of their forefathers’ plan, though the silversmith wasn’t nearly as well known then as he was today. Fortunately, for whatever reason, the documents had remained undelivered for two hundred years.
Spencer punched a code into his videoconferencing system, and a flat-screen monitor slid noiselessly from inside his desk. A secure connection was established with Nigel Stirling, who had been waiting for the call ever since Drake informed him of their successful evening mission in Philadelphia.
Nigel dispensed with any formalities. “What do they say?”
Drake read the text from each letter verbatim. Stirling’s face was a stone mask as he listened, one finger tapping slowly on his own desk. After Drake was finished, Nigel finally spoke.
“Where were these letters located?”
“We liberated them from a professor’s office in Philadelphia, but originally they were found scattered throughout Boston.”
“Do we have any idea how she learned of their existence?”
“No, I’m afraid not. If it weren’t for the intercepted phone call between her boyfriend and my employee, we would not have known about them.”
Nigel’s eyes turned on him with a laser focus. “What is the status of your employee?”
“It wasn’t cheap, but the process has been accelerated. As soon as I hear anything, I’ll pass it along.”
“Suddenly his elimination has taken on some importance, wouldn’t you agree? Right now, the professor and her companion could conceivably uncover our existence with the aid of Mr. Flood.”
The old man must be kidding.
“Surely you don’t think they would be able to follow the trail from these three letters to my office? That’s over two centuries of activity, and all they have, excuse me, all they had, were these letters.”
“The connections exist, if only one knows where to look. You know that as well as I.” Nigel was right, but the odds had to be astronomical. It would be like looking for a sunken ship in the ocean without having any idea where it went down. “Simply because their chances are small is no reason to take unnecessary risk. I would advise you to ensure Mr. Flood meets with an untimely end posthaste.”
“Agreed. I’ve also taken the liberty of accessing Parker Chase’s cell phone along with Erika Carr’s. With any luck, Flood’s murder should derail their inquiries.”
“We cannot afford any missteps now. I see that the price of oil is continuing to rise, even as we speak. This bodes well for our operation.”
“It closed at just over eighty dollars per barrel. That’s up twenty percent in the past week.”
“And how are your efforts proceeding with convincing your colleagues to engage in proprietary trading?”
“I don’t have to convince them anymore. All I do is remind them how much money I’ve made while they hesitated, and they dive in headfirst. If they invest their clients’ billions, and at the rate they normally spend, we could be seeing record prices in days, especially once others in the market see the action and follow suit.”
A vengeful tint filled Nigel’s eyes. “You realize what this means, Spencer? That we will finally fulfill our obligation to king and country, putting the wretched Americans in their place.”
The thought warmed Drake’s heart.
“And with that in mind, I suggest that you eliminate any and all threats to our success. Two hundred years of work cannot be undone by a meddlesome teacher.”
Drake had considered the idea himself. “I would have to agree. For the right price, I’m certain our man will handle it.”
“Tell him to make sure those two are never heard from again.”
Chapter 29
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
A red sun was beginning to crest the horizon on a warm summer morning. Even at this hour, traffic was heavy, every main artery in and out of Philadelphia clogged. Fortunately for Erika, her apartment was less than two miles from Penn’s campus, and she went against traffic the whole way. Ten minutes after she last heard Parker snoring in bed, she pulled into her office parking lot.
Last night had been wonderful, an entire evening spent watching movies and eating takeout on her couch with Parker. Not a single moment had been devoted to studying centuries-old writing, a welcome respite from the daily grind that had consumed her since they discovered the letters. Reinvigorated, her batteries recharged for another run at uncovering the evolution of Revere’s discovery.
Keys in hand, her mind was already on the hunt when she pushed the thick wooden office door open. The lights clicked on, her feet moving to the coffee machine of their own accord. She was a creature of habit, and Dr. Erika Carr began every day with the same routine. Coffee on, computer fired up, get to work.
With a steaming cup on her desk, she knelt in front of her office safe, fingers tapping out the code.
Erika’s heart stopped.
Revere’s letters were gone.
She fell to her knees, scraping soft skin across threadbare carpet. This wasn’t possible. She’d put them away yesterday, just like she did every day when she left.
A quick inventory confirmed her fears. The letters were nowhere to be found.
Erika searched again, refusing to accept the truth. She had several thousand in cash stashed in the safe that hadn’t been touched. Her passport and birth certificate were in the fireproof box, but that was it.
She didn’t move until the dull ache in her knees turned to razor sharp pains shooting up each leg. A teary sigh escaped her lips as she stood, her entire body numb.
This wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. She and Parker had worked so hard, had found the priceless artifacts on their own, and now they were gone.
Right now she wanted to cry, wanted to curl up in a ball and scream, but that wouldn’t solve anything. Instead, she decided to take a page out of Parker’s book and get angry. He always said that harnessing his anger was what helped him, focusing the energy to help achieve his goal.
Well, right now she was pissed off to the point she could run through a brick wall.
Parker’s voice was thick with sleep when he answered her call. “Tell me you’re playing hooky today.”
“Parker.”
That was all it took, and he knew it was serious.
“Are you all right?”
“They’re gone.”
“What? What’s gone?”
“The letters. All three of them are gone.”
Silence filled the phone. “It appears Paul Revere was right.”
She related the story of her discovery, of both her office and the safe being locked, letters missing but the money left behind.
“So whoever took it knew what they were looking for. This isn’t good.”
“Of course it’s not good. No one will ever know what we found. I have pictures of the letters, but that won’t mean anything.”
“No, Erika, I mean this isn’t good for us. Think about it. Someone knows what we found. Other than Ben, who did we tell? I sure didn’t say anything.”
“Neither did I. None of my colleagues knew about it.”
“So that means that either Ben spilled the beans, or we’re being spied on.”
She flashed back to several months ago, to the discovery that her office, the same one from which Revere’s letters had been stolen, was under surveillance by an unknown group. Listening devices had been on her desk phone, her computer, and even on her coat.
Her chest tightened as she spoke.
“How could that be? Why would anyone care about these letters enough to steal them?”
Ever the analytical one, Parker asked, “How much would those be worth on the open market? Would people pay for them?”
“Well, they were signed by Paul Revere and written to Alexander Hamilton, so yes, collectors would be interested. But the type of people who would want those letters aren’t going to burgle my office to get them. My guess is they’d bring around ten thousand at auction, maybe a little more.”
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