“You can call me Mr. Smith. Please get on with it.”
“Yes, of course. Mr. Smith, I’m not calling about our recent arrangement, as I trust you will complete the agreement in due time.”
“Then what are you bothering me about, Spencer?”
“I would like to engage your services again.”
Well, this was a pleasant surprise. Michael had assumed Drake was growing impatient and checking up on him. If Spencer wanted to give Michael more of his money, he’d be happy to take it.
“Who would you like me to meet?”
“It’s actually two people. They are currently in Philadelphia.”
“I trust this is your private line? The one in your office that is checked daily?”
“Of course, Mr. Smith.”
“Then please continue.”
Drake described a man and a woman, the latter a professor in Philadelphia. Michael noted their names and occupations, mentally cataloguing other relevant details.
Before Drake had finished, Michael was calculating how much it would cost.
“Mr. Drake, I accept your proposal. The fee is ten million, payable immediately.”
Drake didn’t even flinch. “Agreed.”
“Send it to this account.”
Michael read a long string of digits written from the slip of paper he held.
“I’ll deposit the money immediately.”
“I will contact you upon completion of the agreement. And as I’m sure you’re interested to know, our last arrangement was completed this evening.”
Michael clicked off and walked outside, hand covered by his shirtsleeve when he closed the door. He’d wiped the entire room down as well. No sense in leaving any prints behind for the police, no matter how remote the chance they’d find his room.
Tonight, he would rest on the train. Tomorrow, he’d learn about his new assignments, Parker Chase and Erika Carr.
Chapter 31
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania
After an hour of calls, Parker finally learned what had happened to Ben.
“Thank you, and I’m terribly sorry for your loss.”
He hung up, leaving Ben’s sister sobbing on the other end.
“The cops don’t know what to make of this. Ben was at an ATM, and surveillance footage shows an old man walk up behind him and shoot him point-blank in the head. Ben never saw it coming.”
“An old man? How do they know that? Did they see his face?”
Questions started to tumble out of Erika’s mouth.
“It was dark outside and there weren’t any streetlights around, so they didn’t get a look at his face. The shooter was wearing a fedora and scarf, and was using a cane. It’s the summer, but you know how old people are always cold. Apparently the guy just shuffled off after he shot him. And get this; he didn’t even take the money lying on the ground.”
“He left it there? That doesn’t make any sense. If he was mugging him, he’d at least take his wallet. And weren’t there any witnesses, someone who heard the shot?”
“That’s the thing. There was no one else around at that time of night. It’s the business district, and everyone had gone home after work. His sister isn’t sure, but she thought she overheard one of the cops say it looked like the gun had a suppressor attached. That would explain why no one heard the shot.”
Erika had fallen into her desk chair, the laptop in front of her now showing a black screen.
“Erika, I don’t think there’s any question this is related. Ben’s sister said it was a safe part of the city. There shouldn’t have been any muggers around there.”
“This can’t be happening again,” Erika mumbled, her head shaking back and forth. “Do you think it’s the same people who were after us before?”
She was referring to the group of men who’d murdered Parker’s uncle earlier that year. Joseph Chase, Parker’s uncle, had been a world-renowned scholar when he worked with Erika at Penn. After the murder, Parker had unwittingly stumbled into the groups path, and both he and Erika had nearly been killed.
“No way. Nick killed that guy and all his men. There’s no one left to come after us.”
“Maybe we should call him. Nick has access to every database on the planet.”
For the first time, Parker considered the idea. Nicholas Dean was a CIA field agent based in Philadelphia, less than five miles away. At the time Parker’s uncle was murdered, Nick had been investigating some missing plastic explosive. The men who had stolen the explosives were the same men who had murdered his uncle, and eventually Nick had run across Parker and Erika, usually while they were running for their lives. If it weren’t for him, they’d be dead.
“I hate to say it, but you’re right. We’re in way over our heads. Again.”
Parker still had Nick’s number in his phone.
“While I call him, why don’t you follow up on that guy we found on Aldrich’s board? The more we know, the more likely Nick will be able to help us.”
He dialed Nick’s number, moving into the bedroom to give Erika some quiet. The call was answered immediately.
“Dean.”
The gruff voice was good to hear.
“Nick, it’s Parker Chase.”
“Parker? This is a surprise. You in trouble or something? Because I’m not going to stick my neck out if you did something stupid.”
“No, Nick, it’s nothing like that. Well, actually it is.”
“I knew it. What did you get yourself into this time? And the short version if you can manage it. I’m kind of busy.”
“Erika’s office was just robbed, one of my friends was murdered tonight, and it all started after we found three letters Paul Revere wrote about a plot to destroy the American economy.”
That did the trick.
“Hold on a second.” Parker heard a door slam shut. “Did you say Paul Revere?”
“Yes. They were letters Revere wrote to Alexander Hamilton while he was spying on King George.”
“Only you, Chase.” Nick let out a heavy sigh. “Start at the beginning, and tell me everything.”
Ten minutes later, Nick was up to speed.
“You two have to be the most interesting people I’ve ever met in my life. You couldn’t make this stuff up. First of all, are you in any immediate danger?”
“I don’t think so. We came back to Erika’s place, and I’m fairly certain we weren’t followed. I have a gun here with plenty of ammunition.”
“Glad to hear you’re not totally helpless. Do you have anywhere else you can go, maybe a hotel or a friend’s place?”
“A hotel would work.”
“Do it, and don’t tell anyone where you’re going. I’d also get a new cell phone. You have no idea how easily those calls are intercepted. We do it every day.”
“I’ll do that tonight. Do you think you can find out what happened to my friend?”
“I have a contact in our Boston field office. He should be able to dig up the report. While I’m at it, give me the name of that banker again. You never know what we might have on him.”
Parker recited Spencer Drake’s name and company.
“I’ll get on this right now. And listen, Parker, you guys better not do anything stupid like get yourselves killed. Go hide somewhere until you hear from me. I’ll send you an e-mail. You still have the same account?”
“Yes.”
“Keep your head down and your eyes open. If you get in trouble, go to the cops. They’re better equipped to handle this than you two.”
“Thanks, Nick. I really appreciate it.”
“No problem. You guys did save my life.”
He hung up, hope swelling through his chest. Nicholas Dean was one tough agent, and it felt good to have him on their side.
He walked into the main room and found Erika hunched over the computer.
“Nick’s going to look into Ben’s death and get back to me.”
“Good. He still owes us one. We did save his life, after all.”
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“He also said we should get out of here, get a hotel for the night while he checks things out.”
She finally looked up at him. “What do you think?”
“I think Nick Dean knows what he’s talking about. It wouldn’t hurt to lay low for a bit.”
Erika didn’t put up a fight. “If you think so. But before we leave, come over here and look at what I found.”
He leaned over her shoulder, the lingering scent of her perfume pleasant in the air.
“Henry Fox wasn’t the only British ambassador associated with Aldrich Bank, which is what it was known as in the nineteenth century. After Fox left the board, a new guy named Richard Lyons joined.”
On the screen a biography popped up. Erika continued. “Richard Lyons was also the British Ambassador to the United States during the Civil War.”
This was getting stranger by the minute.
“What is it with these British people and Aldrich Bank? I’m starting to doubt that this is a coincidence.”
Erika rubbed one red eye as she listened. “I’d have to agree with you. I logged onto my university account, which allows me to access Penn’s archives. Every single piece of paper the history department possesses has been digitized so I can access them without having to physically be at the school. We also have reciprocal agreements with institutions around the world, so I have literally billions of records at my disposal.”
She pulled up yet another web page as she spoke. “I did a search on this guy Lyons, and found some interesting material from an archive in London.”
Several handwritten letters popped onto her screen. “Now, it appears that these are of questionable provenance.” She glanced at him with skepticism.
Parker fired back. “I know what provenance means. You’re saying no one can guarantee where it came from or, in this case, it’s authenticity.”
“Not bad, football boy.”
“I did more than just play football at school. Even managed to take a few tests.”
“Anyway, there have been a bunch of papers written discrediting these letters.”
She seemed to have skipped the explanation.
“That’s great, but what do they say? I can’t read those scribbles.”
“I’m getting there. These are all letters that bear the signature of Richard Lyons, dated when he was in America serving as the British ambassador.” She abruptly stopped and turned to face him. “How much do you know about the Civil War?”
“Enough. Would you please get on with it?”
“No, this is important. I’ll give you the short version.” Parker rolled his eyes to no effect. Erika went on. “Around 1860, right before the first Southern states seceded, industrial economies across the globe depended heavily on textiles derived from cotton. This included Britain and France, the two largest economies at the time. And guess who had the best cotton?”
“America.”
“Correct. As I’m sure you’re aware, the vast majority of cotton grown in America was grown in Southern states, which had the climate for it. What’s in these letters that grabbed my attention deals with cotton, particularly how American cotton affected the world’s industrial markets.”
“What did Richard Lyons write that is so interesting?” Parker asked.
“It’s right here.” The writing was in the middle of the page, a tiny mass of scribbles.
“Read it to me, please. I can’t see it.”
“It’s addressed to someone named Stirling, no first name listed.”
Dear Mr. Stirling,
I have recently spoken with Mr. Davis, a leader amongst the Southern contingent. While he is a capable military leader, he lacks the sophistication necessary to properly understand and evaluate commerce on a global level.
In America there exists a concept known as “King Cotton.” Certain Americans, specifically those in the southern regions, believe this crop to be a panacea that will provide nourishment like manna from the heavens in times of need. Unfortunately, the notion is pure fallacy. It was but a simple matter to convince Mr. Davis of what he already believes, which is that their beloved crop will sustain them throughout a costly war.
Mr. Davis does not realize that neither we nor the damned French require his cotton to continue our industry. I have personally seen textiles produced from Egyptian cotton, which is readily available, that are comparable to those produced with the American version.
This is relevant as I predict the Southern states, which have taken to calling themselves the Confederacy, will be subjected to a naval blockade of their ports during the coming conflict. Alas, this new Confederacy has no navy to speak of, and as such, will be unable to export their beloved cotton to any country. Contracts for the delivery of cotton from Egypt are already in place. My dear friend, I believe that our time is finally at hand.
Truly yrs,
R. Lyons, Viscount
The implications were clear.
“It sounds like the British ambassador was actively encouraging the South to secede from the Union.”
“Well done, Mr. Chase. If it weren’t for the fact that these letters have been discredited, British and American relations might be quite strained right now.”
“How do you know they’re fakes?”
“Richard Lyons himself denied ever writing them, claiming that a member of his staff had forged the letters on his personal stationary. The man was hung for his crimes.”
He wasn’t buying it just yet. “I’ll bet you a dollar the guy who was strung up denied the whole thing.”
Erika confirmed it. “If you were going to be killed, wouldn’t you do anything to save your neck? The man who was responsible had been Lyon’s servant for years. I doubt Lyons would allow him to be killed without cause.”
“You can’t be serious. Do you really think a powerful man wouldn’t throw his subordinate under the bus to save his own skin?”
She opened her mouth to argue, but said nothing.
Parker pressed his point. “Or are you just going to believe what you’ve read, go with the prevailing theory? Five hundred years ago most people thought the world was flat.”
Erika had the look of a stunned prizefighter. “But if that’s true, then …” Red nails ran through her silky blonde hair.
“Then we just found another piece of evidence connecting Aldrich Securities to Revere’s letters.”
He had to give her credit. It couldn’t be easy to dismiss a widely accepted theory on the letter, but she was trying.
“If what you say is true,” Erika continued, “then the British government, or at least a faction of it, was actively encouraging Civil War in the United States.”
As she sat and pondered the implications, Parker’s phone buzzed. He looked down and found his inbox overflowing with e-mails. He also remembered it was time to ditch the phone.
“Pack whatever you need for the next few days. We have to get out of here and into a hotel. Bring a few changes of clothes, your money and your computer. Take the battery out of your phone and leave it here.”
As she moved to comply, he glanced over the messages beeping for his attention.
His eyebrows touched as he read, the lines on his forehead growing deeper.
“What’s wrong?” Erika asked. “Did Nick send you anything?”
“No, it’s not that. I’ve received twenty-five e-mails in the past few hours relating to the rising price of oil.”
“So? You’re in the financial business. That stuff matters to you.”
“Yes, but listen to this. A barrel of oil is going for a hundred ten dollars. That’s up twenty percent in the past twenty-four hours. Do you have any idea how crazy that is?”
“I don’t buy barrels of oil.”
“Very funny. Trust me, it’s a big deal. On top that, OPEC hasn’t said a thing about it.”
She shoved her computer into a shoulder bag. “I take it that’s unusual as well? Parker, I don’t know anything about oil. Tell me in plain English.”
“OPEC should at least give an indication, even if it’s off the record, that they’re going to address the issue. Like we discussed before, it doesn’t benefit them if the price of oil goes up too quickly.”
“Because if oil is too expensive, people won’t buy it. I know.”
“Which is why I would expect them to at least hint at an increase in production. Those sheiks aren’t stupid. They know how to make money.”
Erika headed to the bedroom, talking over her shoulder. “And you think this is somehow related to what we found?”
That was where he was struggling. Their theories were nice, but they were just that. Speculation that strung together events over the past two centuries. There was no proof, nothing concrete he could point to as solid evidence.
“I don’t know.” He followed her to the bedroom and began repacking his travel bag.
“We can’t prove anything right now,” Parker declared. “For all we know, this could be a horrible set of coincidences. Revere could have been mistaken, Ben could just have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, and OPEC might be greedy. The one thing that sticks with me is Aldrich Securities. What they’re doing makes no sense whatsoever.” Her weary face turned back toward him. Weary, but beautiful.
“So you think we have nothing.”
“No, I’m not saying that. What might be happening, and what makes sense if you look at this like a criminal, is that Aldrich Securities is manipulating the market for profit.”
“In English, please.”
Parker laid it out for her. “Spencer Drake could be using his client’s money to earn profits for his bank. He won’t have access to depositors’ funds much longer, as the proprietary trading we talked about is going to be illegal. While he does, though, he may be buying oil futures at this incredible rate to drive the price up. Once it gets high enough, whatever number that is, he’ll sell all the futures he bought at a lower price and turn a profit. How it relates to Revere’s letters or Ben’s death, I have no idea.”
Her duffel bag zipped shut. “Then I guess we’ll have to keep moving forward. You talk to your friends, see if you can figure out what Drake may be up to, and I’ll see if there are any other links between Aldrich Securities and Richard Lyons, the British instigator.”
The Crowns Vengeance Page 15