by Sam Waite
None of us had gotten much sleep last night. There were a lot of red eyes and droopy expressions in the room. I wondered how Oddsson and Alexandra had done in that regard. Probably just fine.
We had a three-way relay set up in Bizet's office, which was equipped with Bloomberg terminals set up to track dollar trends in real time. McNulty was getting voice transmissions from Hall and calling them in to Bizet's phone, which was set on speaker mode. Bizet then transferred the instructions to Burroughs, who explained to Taiwan's central bank governor how he should intervene. It was a clumsy arrangement, but we didn't have to beat a real-time trader. If, as we suspected, Hall was manipulating the computer system to accumulate trading orders and time their closing to tweak the market, then all we had to do was counter his moves to tweak it the other way.
It was going well. Tom Hall was getting orders directly through computer transmissions, but he was confirming them by phone, just in case someone had made an errant keystroke or noise or other glitch in the network had caused a data error. Those things can happen.
Phone lines were vulnerable too, but they used a code. There was no way for them to know that we had broken it.
Before the start of trade in London, China announced that it was abandoning the dollar as its primary reserve currency and would replace it with a basket led by the euro. By mid-morning, the dollar had fallen five percent from its previous opening price, undermined by bad news and heavy selling. If its rate of decline continued into the afternoon, it would easily close below the thirteen percent minimum target. At 10:45 a.m., the Taiwanese announced they were buying and made their first swap—one point three five billion euros for dollars. The decline of the dollar stalled. There was a swap about every fifteen minutes, and by noon the scale had escalated to nearly five billion euros per transaction.
Taiwan's central bank governor was on the call and said he didn't want to commit any more money. He sounded nervous.
Burroughs tried to convince him to anticipate Hall's actions and take the lead. It would be more effective to make Hall follow. He refused. That would be speculation, not defensive action.
"But Hall might see the pattern and get wise," Burroughs said.
"The Bank of China does not speculate," the governor said. "Period."
At 1:20 p.m. the dollar was holding at about eleven percent of yesterday's reference rate. It looked good for our side.
McNulty said he was hearing some desperation in Jim Hall's language.
Burroughs called his SEC pal and asked them to urge the Fed to sell everything it could for dollars. Too late. The U.S. had already effectively depleted its foreign currency reserve and was asking Japan for help.
The Bank of Japan intervened marginally. Japan's prime minister said he was working to try to reach an understanding with the Bank of Japan and the Ministry of Finance for more aggressive measures.
Good luck, I thought. The bank and the ministry had been at loggerheads since they were founded.
For its part, all the Fed had left was gold, about one hundred sixty million troy ounces. That was another two hundred billion or so at current rates. A quick sell off wouldn't work. It would only drive down the price. When the gold was gone, America's Federal Reserve would be as broke as the Bank of England on Black Wednesday in 1992, when George Soros and fellow raiders made a bear run on the pound. That episode forced Britain to leave the European Exchange Rate Mechanism.
If America's Federal Reserve went broke, the upheaval would be global.
"Tell them to sell the gold now," Burroughs advised.
"That's not likely," said his SEC friend.
"Tomorrow will be too late," said Burroughs. "If China's derivatives pay off, dollars will start doing impersonations of Weimar marks. This is only the beginning."
"We don't know enough about the derivatives to try to trade against them. Anyway, it isn't my call," said the man from SEC.
The Fed was out of foreign reserves and its IMF special drawing rights were depleted. That meant the U.S. was also out of the picture. Japan was hidebound. The rest of the world was either skittish or selling dollars.
I figured that even if we were all that was left, maybe we were enough. Eternal dreamer.
"Our man Hall just caught on," McNulty said. "He hurt my ear when he smashed the bug."
Our trading had been too neat, too regular. He must have figured someone was monitoring him, and then checked his briefcase.
Without a better idea of what the limits of the game were, Taiwan's central bank did not want to continue buying dollars. Burroughs made a strong plea to the bank's governor to stay in the game. The governor held a quick consultation with the president and extended his regrets.
We heard Burroughs's muttering over the speaker phone for several seconds. I couldn't make out what he was saying. It was probably just as well. Might have hurt Marie's sensibilities. Finally, he said something we all understood. "I don't know about you, but I think I'm ready for a few boilermakers."
No one answered. It had been a long shot all the way, but understanding that didn't make defeat feel better. We stood around Bizet's terminals and watched Bloomberg report another downturn of the dollar—twelve percent from yesterday's opening. It looked like thirteen percent was going to be a cakewalk. Then they would be free to tweak the market as they liked to hit the derivative's pay off square on the head.
That factor raised an interesting question.
"We still have three hours," I said.
Burroughs chuckled, but it wasn't a happy sound. "I hope we get to meet some day, Sanchez. As I said, you are distinct entertainment."
"How much capability does China have in high finance?"
"Outside Hong Kong, not so much. They're all communists."
"What about inside Hong Kong? Could people there have engineered this?"
I had asked Burroughs, but David answered.
"Beijing doesn't trust Hong Kong. It is a special territory that is not particularly happy with the prospect of tighter mainland authority. Beijing might try to hire someone from Hong Kong to develop the financial details, but there'd be suspicions."
"If they are just hiring expertise, they would go to the best in the world wouldn't they? Is Hong Kong in the top tier?"
"Some people would put them there," said Burroughs. "Along with Singapore, London and New York."
I looked at Bizet. "What about Winchell? Could they engineer this?"
"Winchell is in Singapore, London, New York and more," he said. "If you are going to coordinate a global mission like this, no one could direct it better than the firm."
"Now, how about Tom Hall? Do you think he has the technical skill to handle the transactions without guidance?"
"That's not impossible, but it's a good bet that he doesn't," said Burroughs. "I know both finance and tech about as well as anyone, but that's unusual. It's also why I'm not working for wages. Hall is."
"Let's assume Hall can't handle it on his own. In that case there is no reason to tell him what the target range is. He probably doesn't even know. Let's also assume Winchell is directing the action. The question, then, is from where."
Burroughs grunted. "There's been a lot of action over in Paris."
Bizet nodded. "But not from the Winchell office obviously. It would have to be from a safe house."
"I believe I know where one might be."
Chapter 32
"You're just going to saunter in and say, 'The gig's up folks. Go home'?" Burroughs' laugh was anything but amused.
For an arrogant genius, I thought Burroughs was an okay guy, but his chuckle was beginning to get irritating. "Something like that."
If I could get there at all, that is. I tried to convince Pascal to drive me to Oddsson's house. That was the last place we saw him go. If Winchell was coordinating this, Gatineau would also be there.
Pascal declined. "It's over Irish. We lost. I don't do pro bono, remember."
"You can ride with me, Mick." Marie said.
&
nbsp; "On your motorcycle?"
"It's all I have."
"You're both fools, but take my car." Bizet rang a maid and asked her to bring the keys.
"We'll take the car then," Marie said.
"I know the way, I'd better go alone."
"Then I'll follow you. You can't stop me from doing that."
No time to argue. I took the keys and we left.
Only two and a half hours remained now. Before we left, I checked Bloomberg. The dollar was down by 12.5 per cent.
With Marie's help, we made good time through the city. Part of that route was one Oddsson had taken when he drove me from Sabine's town home to the scene of her death. My memory of her became intensely vivid. Even if the house was the center of operation and even if we got there on time, I wasn't sure I would be able to do anything to rescue the dollar. Regardless, I wanted to see Oddsson about the "visceral" aspects of the puzzle. There were still things that didn't fit my sense of logic, so my hypothesis might be wrong.
I hoped it was.
Even though the financial situation looked hopeless as we left Paris and headed toward Oddsson's suburban estate, I felt more at peace than I had at any time since I arrived. I couldn't guess what I would find there, but at least I was headed toward some sort of conclusion. Getting out of the city was also having a calming effect.
It was 4:07 p.m. when I stopped about a hundred yards from the house.
"Stay in the car. If anything happens or I'm not back by five, drive away."
Marie nodded.
Burroughs' words and his chuckle sounded in my head. I walked to the door with my best saunter. I wondered what Bogart would say.
"The game's up, Oddsson."
I ran through the line a couple of times in my mind and pressed the intercom button.
No voice replied, but after a few moments Alexandra came to the door. She looked stern. "What is it Mick?"
Her marble façade was back, but I had seen her warmth and physical passion. Despite myself, I felt a clutch of desire just looking at her.
"Is Geir in?"
"I don't think this is a good time. Actually, it isn't a good idea at any time. I'm grateful for what you did. You helped me through a difficult period, but I don't think we should see each other again. I'm sorry."
She must have sensed that clutch. My face contradicted my lower half with a thin smile.
"I believe I know who killed Sabine."
She didn't gasp or go pale, but her breath caught almost—but not quite—imperceptibly.
"I know a lot of things. By now, you must know about the listening device in Tom Hall's office? That was me, or rather my partner, who installed it. The car that followed you and Geir back here from the Ledoyen restaurant after you met Gatineau? I was in it. Like I say, I know a lot now, but most important to me, I'm almost certain I know who killed Sabine."
"I think you had better let our friend come inside." As always, Oddsson's voice was smooth and mellow.
Alexandra stepped back and held the door open. I walked into quite a gathering. Cervantes was there, along with two other men. One was shorter than me, but half again as wide, particularly in the shoulders. The other, a Chinese, was a Goliath, about six-six, raw-boned and sinewy.
If I had known what I would be walking into, I might have stayed away. I had expected to barge in on Oddsson and Alexandra talking on the phone with Tom Hall.
"I'm afraid you've come at an inconvenient time, Sanchez. I'm engaged in a bit of business that I must get back to. It won't be more than an hour. Please make yourself comfortable. Would you like coffee, wine? Alexandra would you—"
"Nothing, thanks." The Chinese Goliath had eased himself between me and the door. "I'm not sure about waiting though." I glanced at him.
Oddsson smiled. "No, stay a while. I insist. I am interested in your hypothesis regarding Sabine, although I hardly think there is any question about her death. Even the police have come to accept that Trevor killed her."
"There's not much question at all. Not in my mind. My conclusion, however, is different."
Oddsson lost the smile. "Later then. You'll excuse me."
As he was walking away, I raised my voice and said, "Say 'hi' to Tom Hall for me. Ask him if he got his wallet back."
Oddsson whirled around, but before he could speak something distracted him. "Cervantes!" He pointed above the entry door.
I looked. A nine-inch LCD monitor fed from a surveillance camera outside was showing Marie peeking in a window.
"Bring her inside," Oddsson said.
I didn't like that. Another "guest" could make everyone nervous. Goliath blocked my exit, while Broad Shoulders went outside to invite Marie in.
"I told you to stay in the car," I said, when he pulled her inside with one hand clamped on her wrist.
She ignored me.
"Get your hands off her."
He snarled and shoved her toward me. I tensed, but stood silently. If you can't protect the lady, keep your mouth shut.
Cervantes still had his pistol. He held it so I could see down the barrel. "Search him."
Broad Shoulders patted me down and found the gun that I had grabbed to shoot at his boss.
"That belongs to your friend," I said.
We could sit this out and wait for the strike time to pass. When that happened, I would no longer be a threat. I wished I had some of Oddsson's wine after all. It might have helped.
Probably not though. These weren't lads who would be fun to drink with. I suspected the last time Cervantes smiled was when he was pulling the legs off June bugs as a boy.
I'd said I knew who killed Sabine. I did, but I couldn't prove it to any degree that would impress a court. When Oddsson came back, I could just tell everyone and be on my way with Marie.
Well, that seemed as likely an outcome as anything else. Why hurt us if we couldn't hurt them?
For Oddsson's part, he might want to make certain we couldn't hurt him. As for Cervantes... I looked into his eyes. He didn't care if I wasn't a threat. He wanted revenge. Probably on Marie and me both.
"Sit down," he said.
Decision time.
Goliath was about four feet behind me. For him, that was left jab distance. Cervantes was six feet directly in front of me. Broad Shoulders was just to my left, so was Marie. I decided it was best to sit down like the man said. We'd talk our way through this.
That was the plan anyway.
Chapter 33
Time began to slow when Marie stumbled forward. I don't know what causes that phenomenon of mind and body that occurs when a person faces peril. It might simply be a case of chemical changes putting the body in a heightened sense of alert. Perhaps, though, when an unexpected danger unfolds, the mind plays it out faster than it can actually occur, giving the body extra time to react.
When Cervantes told us to sit, Broad Shoulders shoved Marie toward a sofa. She swung her arm against him. He fired the gun.
The world changed. I seized Broad Shoulder's gun hand, pushed it down, and snapped the ridge of my right hand into his trachea.
Broad Shoulders dropped the pistol, clutched his shattered windpipe and pitched to the floor.
Marie was still moving forward when Cervantes shifted his aim. She was small and not seen as a threat. He was focused on me.
Marie veered toward Cervantes. She grabbed his gun arm in both hands and drove against it.
Before Cervantes could shove Marie away, I sprang forward and hooked my fist into his temple. His knees were giving way as I struck again, swinging the heel of my hand into the crown of his head. I heard a crack.
At the same instant Goliath's fist slammed into the back of my head. I fell, still conscious, but stunned.
He dropped onto me with his knees on the backs of my thighs and one hand on the back of my neck. With his free fist, he pounded my rib cage. All I could do was tense against the blows.
Everyone underestimated Marie, even after they'd seen her in action.
Marie sh
ot Goliath in the hip, not the meaty part, but in the joint. He screamed and slashed his arm into her. She dropped the gun and it skittered across the floor.
Goliath pushed off my back and stood on his good leg. He lunged at Marie, but awkwardly.
She might have gotten away completely if Goliath's reach had been shorter. He grabbed her shirt.
She kicked at his wounded hip.
He howled, but still wrapped his other hand around her throat.
I staggered to my feet, feeling like my back and right lung had been pierced by branding irons. I lurched toward Goliath, hit his side and wrapped my right arm around his neck.
Goliath twisted as we fell so that my left shoulder hit the floor.
I managed to keep the pressure on his neck, but I didn't have the leverage I needed to bear down. He arched his back against me and twisted his shoulder into my chest. If he did that once more he would break the hold and have the advantage of leverage.
Goliath had another plan. He found the corner of my eye with his thumb. I felt it slipping between the orb and the socket, but then I heard a shot, and then another.
Goliath screamed and rolled off me.
One more shot sounded.
Broad Shoulders was sitting against the sofa. His back arched spasmodically each time he tried to draw breath through his collapsed windpipe. He gestured toward Marie's pistol and pointed to the side of his head.
Sorry. If we did it, it would be murder without benefit of self-defense. If we let you hold the gun, you might first seek revenge.
I looked away from his eyes, but they had already seared their images into my memory. The faint sound of a footfall came from the stairway. It was Oddsson. He saw what had happened and scurried back up the stairs.
I knelt beside Broad Shoulders and said what I knew of last rites as he lost consciousness. Why I cared, I can't say. I wasn't a priest or even a believer, but somewhere in my being still dwelled the boy who was a Catholic.