The Money Trail

by J. C. Fields

  By noon, all three banks were found to be insolvent after a surprise stress test.

  Plus, during the audit by the Federal Reserve agents, a direct connection to a state-run bank in Russia was discovered, resulting in all three banks losing their charters to operate in the United States.

  By 5 p.m., The Bank of America accepted receivership of all three bank operations, thus protecting consumer deposits and other assets.

  ***

  At ten minutes after 7 in the evening, Paris time, Sergey Brutka noted a change in activities at the now-closed office of Dmitri Orlov. Previously alerted by Kruger, he sat watching from a park bench across the Seine as a formally dressed Orlov arrived in his private car. It skidded to a halt in front of the office and a hurried Orlov practically ran inside. A grim-faced assistant jumped into the driver seat and drove the car away. As more frantic individuals reported back to work at Orlov’s office building, Brutka smiled and dialed a number on his cell phone.

  His call was answered immediately. “Kruger.”

  “It has started.”

  “How so?”

  “Orlov was to be at a reception tonight for the new Russian ambassador to France. He just arrived and practically ran inside. I could hear the tires screech as the car stopped and I’m on the other side of the Seine.”

  “Get something to eat and keep me posted. In another five hours, he won’t have three banks in the U.S.”

  “Awwwhhh…”

  “Yeah, I know, I’m feeling bad about his situation.”

  “As you Americans say, you will get over it.”

  “You’re right. I already have.”

  Both men chuckled as Brutka ended the call. He leaned back on the bench, crossed his arms over his chest and watched as more lights appeared in windows throughout Orlov’s office building.

  ***

  Kruger stepped outside the Advanced Capital Bank building to accept the call from Brutka. After the brief conversation ended, he pressed the digits for a telephone number only he and one other individual knew. It was answered immediately.

  “Is it working?”

  “So far. I’m concerned this will blow back on you, JR.”

  “How many years have we been doing this, Sean?”

  “Okay, just being paranoid.”

  “Don’t be. Alexia is as good as I am. We complement each other. I’m better at some things, she is better at others. Relax. It’s handled.”

  “Brutka just called. Orlov is going crazy in Paris.”

  “He should. We aren’t done yet.”

  “Should I ask?”

  “Nope. Better to be curious.”

  ***

  Dmitri Orlov held one cell phone with his right hand and another in his left, alternating his attention between the two. Events at two of his banks were being relayed to him in real-time by senior vice presidents, the presidents of each bank being too involved with federal authorities to take his phone call.

  Since arriving at his office, his chair was unused. He paced as he listened to the descriptions of events unfolding thirty-eight hundred miles across the Atlantic. One of his assistants opened his door and leaned in, not speaking until recognized.

  Orlov turned to him and lowered the phone in his left hand. He practically shouted, “What?”

  “Sir, you have a call.” The young man, normally dressed in a suit and tie, wore jeans and a sweater. He pointed to Orlov’s desk phone.

  “Who is it?”

  “Moscow.”

  All color drained from the older man’s face. He ended the calls on the cell phones without explanation as he approached his desk. Picking up the receiver, he answered, “Da.”

  Not wishing to be on the receiving end of Orlov’s wrath, the young assistant quietly closed the door and went back to his desk.

  A one-sided conversation with Moscow proceeded to occur. The responses from the Paris side were few, only a yes or a no. When the call concluded, Orlov replaced the handset back in its cradle, sat down behind his desk, placed his elbows on his desk and supported his head with his hands.

  Boris Volkov opened the office door, saw Orlov off the phone and walked silently up to the desk. His presence was not immediately acknowledged. Two dozen seconds later, without lifting his head, Orlov said, “How much do you know?”

  “My plane landed two hours ago. I just got here.”

  “Then you have not heard?”

  “No.”

  “The Americans, in an illegal act of financial terrorism, have forced a stress test on my banks in Washington and New York. All three have failed the test and will be formally seized later.

  “How…”

  “It does not matter how,” Orlov snapped. “They have done it. Where is Popov?”

  “I do not know.”

  A red-faced Orlov looked up at the large man.

  “What do you mean you do not know?”

  “We know the Americans must have him in custody, but we cannot locate where he is being held.”

  Staring at Volkov, the older man did not immediately reply. Taking a deep breath, he stood and turned toward the window behind him. With his hands behind his back he asked another question. “Where is Peter Yanovich? Has he been released yet?”

  Volkov hesitated, knowing the news he brought about the attorney would further agitate the man staring out his office window.

  Turning to look at Volkov, Orlov demanded, “Well, has he?” He immediately returned to staring out the window.

  “Not at this time.”

  Bowing his head and shaking it slowly, the older man did not respond immediately. Finally, Orlov turned to stare at his Chief of Security. “Why not? Did I not arrange for bail to be paid?”

  “Yes, you did. However, he was charged as an accessory to the murders of the attorney and reporter. He is being held without bail.”

  “How can that be. He was only supposed to take the reporter’s purse.”

  “Yes,” Volkov nodded. “But the fool did not throw away the shoes he wore. The FBI found residual traces of chemicals comprising A-232 on them when they searched his home.”

  Shaking his head, the older man sighed. “He needs to keep his mouth shut. Can he do that?”

  “I doubt it. He is more interested in his own self-preservation.”

  Blinking rapidly, Orlov’s nostrils flared as his cheeks grew crimson. After several deep breaths, he relaxed a little. “Have you heard from the Frenchman?”

  Volkov shook his head.

  “You told me he was the best.”

  He received a shrug as an answer.

  Taking a deep breath, Orlov glared at the larger man. “I will assume he failed because the meddling FBI agent is at my bank in Arlington.”

  With a nod, Volkov responded. “He has not communicated with me since he forced the two women off the road, so I would agree. But he cannot be traced back to you, sir.”

  “He doesn’t have to be. Whether he is in custody or dead, Kruger will know I sent him.” Orlov raised his eyebrows and tilted his head to the side. “Yes, it makes sense now.”

  “What does?”

  “The closing of my banks. This is his way of telling me he knows. While I was merely protecting my business interests, the attack on his wife made it personal for him. I underestimated this FBI man. He does not scare easily. I will not make that mistake again. What about that hacker in Mexico City?”

  “What about her?”

  “Can she help us?”

  Volkov shook his head. “She has gone silent.”

  Orlov turned again to stare out the window. “Back to Yanovich. Do you think he will talk?”

  “Definitely.”

  “Can someone get to him where he is being held?”

  “For the right amount of money, yes.”

  “See to it.”

  With a slight bow and a single nod, Volkov left the office.

  ***

  Brutka watched as the large Russian emerged from the office entrance fifteen minutes a
fter arriving. He spoke briefly to a man the same size, who nodded and hurried toward a light-colored Peugeot parked a block down the street. Volkov raised a cell phone to his ear and kept it there for several minutes until the car stopped in front of him on the street. After disappearing inside, the French coupe sped away.

  Glancing back at the office windows of Orlov building, he saw the shadow of a man in a window on the third floor. With a slight grin, he stood, turned and disappeared into the darkness of the Paris night.

  ***

  President Roy Griffin read the briefing notes placed in front of him by his National Security Adviser. “Should I ask how the banks failed the stress test?”

  “I wouldn’t.” Joseph replied.

  The president smiled. “Better to not know?”

  “Probably.”

  Griffin leaned back in his desk chair and pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand.

  “Is Sean prepared for the blowback on this?”

  “The team is, yes.”

  “How are Stephanie and Mia?”

  “Stephanie is doing good and Mia will recover fully.”

  Nodding, Griffin returned his attention to the report. When he finished, he closed the briefing binder and handed it back to his advisor. “Joseph, we need to know who, if anyone, in this government has been compromised like Robert Burns Sr. was during the early 2000s.”

  “Sean and his team are working on it.”

  Standing, Griffin started pacing in front of the Resolute Desk. Joseph remained seated on one of the sofas in front of the desk. He did not interrupt the man’s thought process. After several minutes, the president stopped and looked at his friend.

  “Now that we know about Orlov, we can do something about him. What keeps me up at night is how many other individuals like Orlov are out there trying to undermine our country?”

  Joseph didn’t answer immediately. He stared at the president and blinked several times. “With all the activity around Orlov recently, I had not thought of that. We know the Russians do not put…” He paused for a second. “I hate clichés, but it fits—all their eggs in one basket. They will have other operations planned or currently working.”

  “How do we find out?”

  Joseph stood. “Don’t know at the moment, but we’d better figure it out.”

  Chapter 35

  Arlington, VA

  Rolling over, Ryan Clark’s hand reached over and fell on an empty side of the bed. His eyes snapped open and glanced at the digital alarm clock on Tracy’s side of the bed. 1:51 a.m. Where was she? Swinging his legs over the side, he stood and listened. The apartment was eerily silent. Concern crept into the back of his mind as he walked out of the bedroom toward the second room he and Tracy used as an office. A blueish light flickered on the wall visible from the hallway.

  He leaned against the doorway jam and saw his fiancée illuminated by the light from a laptop computer screen. Her back to the door, he could see she wore her normal sleepwear, a thin cotton camisole with string straps and a pair of nylon running shorts.

  “What’s the matter, Tracy, can’t sleep?”

  She shot a quick glance back at him, a wide smile on her face. “I can finally read all of Keira Pennington’s notes.”

  She returned to staring at the laptop’s screen.

  His mind shifted from thoughts of removing the camisole to the ramifications of knowing what the dead reporter may have been working on. He walked up behind her and placed his hands on her shoulders. Her right hand rose to cover his left hand. Glancing at the screen he saw the Word documents from the flash drives found at Keira’s home.

  “What happened? How?”

  “I woke at midnight with a thought. I remembered something an older reporter I worked with on my first job as a journalist showed me. It was a code for taking notes. I never used it. and quite frankly, forgot about it. But something jogged my memory this morning.”

  She removed her hand from his and pointed at the screen. “These notes indicate she had all the evidence she needed to start writing. Jolene Sanders would be providing documents independently collaborating her story. She would have published in the next day or so.”

  “Did her editor know what she was working on?”

  “Apparently, but he wouldn’t allow her to publish without a second source. Jolene was the secondary source.”

  “Should I talk to the editor?”

  She shook her head. “He won’t tell you anything.”

  “Why?”

  Tracy turned and stared at Clark. “Trust me, he just won’t.”

  Clark nodded, realizing his mistake. “What was the premise of her story?”

  “Apparently, she was able to identify three members of the Bryant administration who were compromised by Dmitri Orlov.”

  “Who?”

  “Vice President Pittman, Jane Friedman, Secretary of Education and…” She hesitated, “Carl Wood, President Bryant’s Chief of Staff.”

  Clark gave a low whistle as Tracy scrolled through the document currently on the screen. He leaned against the desk and stared at a spot on the opposite wall. “Were all three represented by Rothenburg and Sandifer at one time?”

  Looking up at him, Tracy shook her head. “Don’t know. It would make sense, considering Jolene was supplying Keira with documents backing up her investigation.”

  “Tracy, do a Google search on Freidman. We need to know who recommended her to President Bryant.”

  Atkins’ fingers flew over the keyboard and half a minute later, she looked up. “She and Pittman went to the same university and graduated in the same class. It’s not conclusive, but I know how you and Sean feel about a coincidence.”

  “There is no such thing as a coincidence, only connections. My bet is he suggested her to Bryant. What about Carl Wood?”

  Several silent minutes passed before she said, “Nothing shows up with a cursory search, but I can look into it if you want.”

  “Hmmmm…” He studied the spot on the wall again. “At least it’s a start.” Smiling, he took her hand. “Let’s get back to bed. Tomorrow might be a long day.”

  As they returned to their bedroom, thoughts of removing her camisole made him smile.

  ***

  “Mr. President.” Kruger found it strange addressing Roy Griffin in this manner, but he could not bring himself to call him Roy. “We have been able to identify three individuals, one deceased, whom we believe are compromised by Dmitri Orlov.”

  Griffin sat at the small desk in his private office located off the Oval Office. Kruger leaned forward on the edge of one of the cushioned arm chairs as he handed the president an iPad. Gibbs occupied an identical chair next to Kruger. Joseph leaned against the closed door.

  Scanning the list, Griffin looked up at Kruger. “Pittman, we suspected. I’m a little surprised about Jane Freidman’s name.” He paused, frowned and looked up at Kruger. “Carl Wood? How do you know?”

  “We don’t. All we have are Keira Pennington’s notes.”

  “I thought they were in an unreadable shorthand.”

  “Ryan Clark’s fiancée figured it out.”

  The president smiled. “I always liked Tracy Adkins.” He stopped and frowned. “She’s not going to write about this is she?”

  Kruger shook his head. “Not until you give her the okay, then she’ll expose the entire plot using the Washington Post.”

  “Thought she worked for the New York Times?”

  Grinning, Kruger shook his head. “Not since she and Clark became engaged.”

  “Ahh.” He nodded slowly, an index finger on his lips. “What about Jane Friedman?”

  “Clark was able to establish she and Pittman knew each other in college. After reviewing video tape of her confirmation hearings, it was confirmed Pittman suggested her to President Bryant for the position.”

  “What about Carl Wood?”

  “I called Kyle Sandifer and asked if he ever had either Friedman or Wood as a client. He confirmed he had
represented both of them. Several years ago, he helped Wood clear up an embarrassing sexual harassment charge without it leaking to the media.”

  “How embarrassing?”

  “Career ending.”

  Griffin nodded and handed the tablet back to Kruger. “What should I do about them?”

  “Above my pay grade, sir.”

  “Sean, we’re old friends. There’s a reason I asked you to head up this investigation. I trust your judgment.”

  “Pittman is no longer a problem. Jane Friedman can be isolated and kept out of the loop. Carl Wood may be another issue. He’s your Chief of Staff and very involved with the day-to-day operations around here.”

  “I can’t trust him.”

  “No, sir, you can’t. But you can isolate him.”

  Griffin stared out the office window, took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “He offered his resignation after I was sworn in, but I didn’t accept it.”

  No one spoke.

  Looking up at Joseph, Griffin said, “Can you keep sensitive matters away from Carl for now?”

  Joseph nodded once.

  “Very well, I don’t agree with it, but I will keep him on for a few more days.”

  Chapter 36

  Washington, D.C.

  “Ah, Mr. President?”

  President Roy Griffin sat at the Resolute Desk reviewing his agenda for the day. The time was 7:30 a.m. and the White House was coming alive after a quiet night. He looked up. “Yes, Carl.”

  “Joseph gave me your agenda today. I understood that was to be my responsibility.”