Читать книгу Manhattan Voyagers - Thomas Boone's Quealy - Страница 15

Claire Poole entered the Bull & Bear Tavern accompanied by a comely, hollow-cheeked woman who had long, silky black hair and lustrous violet eyes. She appeared to be Eurasian or Middle-Eastern and was wearing a jewel-toned pantsuit. The leather bag she carried was bulky and appeared to function as a purse-briefcase combination. Several pens were clipped to the pocket of her blouse and on her wrist she had a bulky steel watch with many dials. She didn’t display a wedding ring or jewelry of any kind.

Claire rubbed the Bull’s hoof for luck and her companion did the same after she explained the custom to her. They paused in the entry of the barroom, checked out the crowd, and then Claire told a waiter they wanted to sit in the adjoining dining room. He led them to a table with a commanding view of the oval bar. She gazed up at the TV monitors which read:

IT ALL COMES DOWN TO THE CASH FLOW!

Claire agreed wholeheartedly with Hilda’s message and picked up the wine list. Ten minutes later, after the waiter brought each of them a glass of Burgundy, Frank Mills showed up. Seeing them, he came over to their table.

“Evening, Frank.”

“Hey, Claire.”

“Grab a seat.”

“Thanks.”

“Frank Mills, this is Roksaneh Astar Dabababad.”

“Pleased to meet you Miss Dababa … eh …”

“You can call me Roxy, Frank, it’ll be easier.”

He appeared relieved. “Thanks, Roxy, I’ll gladly do that.”

“My father was born in India and my mother is from Iraq. That accounts for my tongue-twister of a name.”

“Do you speak Hindi or Arabic?”

“Both.”

“I’m impressed. Unfortunately, I don’t speak a word of anything.”

The server promptly came by for his drink order.

“Bring me a vodka martini with three olives.”

“Right away, Frank.”

“This is my first visit to the Bull & Bear,” Roxy said, glancing around the tavern, “it seems to be a pleasant place.”

He took in the barroom with a proprietary glint in his eyes. “Yes, it is. I’ve been coming here since 1954. At that time nobody lived this far downtown, the area was strictly banks, brokerages, and insurance companies. Come 6:00 P.M., they pulled the sidewalks up like in a small town. Restaurants had to cover their nut off the lunch crowd. On the weekends it was a veritable ghost town.”

“That’s certainly not the case today.”

“No, the Financial District is now the fastest growing residential neighborhood in New York City.”

“There seems to be new construction everywhere you look.”

“That’s true, what with the Freedom Tower and the Fulton Street Transit Center going up, not to mention all the condos and conversions.”

“I take it, Frank, you were here at the time of the 9/11 attack on the World Trade Center.”

He nodded. “Yes and I’ll never forget the day. It was a lovely morning, not a cloud in the sky, and I was coming out of my doctor’s building on Broadway just as the first Tower collapsed. The sidewalks trembled and a black cloud quickly enveloped the whole area; I thought I’d die from suffocation. Inches of ash and soot covered everything, including my lungs. They rushed me to Bellevue. I had a dry, hacking cough for almost a year.”

“Many were killed.”

“The official toll is 2,752 at this site, excluding those who died at the Pentagon and in Pennsylvania.”

“So sad.”

“It also doesn’t include the fetuses of the 300 to 400 pregnant women who died in the attack.”

“That’s tragic.”

“In the hospital there was an injured fireman from Ground Zero in the next bed to me. He told me the fire got so hot due to the burning aviation fuel that the people who fled to the roofs were forced to jump. Apparently many of the women jumped in groups while holding hands.”

“Those poor people.”

He nodded. “Yeah; you leave the house in the morning thinking it’s going to be just another routine day at the office, Roxy, and a couple of hours later you’re cowering on a ledge 110 floors above the street.”

“And where were you, Claire?” she asked.

“I remained in my building until the all-clear signal was given. As I walked past Foley Square on my way uptown, I saw hundreds of medical personnel in white coats who were staged there, waiting to go down and treat survivors. Of course, there weren’t many survivors, but nobody knew it at the time.”

“Horrible.”

His martini was delivered. “It is indeed, Roxy, so let’s change the subject. Tell me about yourself.”

“Well, Frank, I’m originally from Chicago but I’ve been posted overseas the past ten years.”

“Do you work at the SEC too?”

She shot a glance at Claire who dropped her chin ever so slightly.

“No, Frank, I’m with the Central Intelligence Agency.”

His eyes widened. “You’re a spook!”

“That’s an old Cold War term, Frank, intelligence is more about data collection and analysis today.”

“What about the drone attacks in Pakistan, the secret jails, the renditions, the water-boarding, and the targeted assassinations?”

“I didn’t say our work was all data collection and analysis.”

“No, Roxy, you just implied it,” he said, “it was spookspeak.”

“Don’t bully her,” Claire warned, “or you’ll be paying for your own dinner tonight.”

He held up both palms in a conciliatory mode. “Mea culpa.”

“Drink your martini, Frank, it’ll make you mellow.”

He took a big sip of the silver bullet. “Ah, I needed a jolt, it’s been another one of those long, dull days.”

Roxy revolved the stem of her wine glass with her long fingers. “I have a feeling your day is about to get a lot more interesting.”

“I can’t wait.”

Claire picked up the menu. “Shall we order first?”

“I’m starved,” Roxy said, “they didn’t serve anything on the shuttle up from Washington and I only ate a Hershey bar for lunch.”

He smiled. “I’ve often munched on one of Claire’s sweet treats for my lunch. The woman is a walking candy store; I’m surprised she has any teeth left in her head.”

A server took their orders for salads, entrees and another round of drinks.

“So what’s up, ladies?” he asked when they were alone again.

Claire buttered a piece of Irish soda bread. “A new type of bad guy has arrived on the New York scene.”

“You’ve got my attention.”

“As you are aware, Frank, the SEC has been investigating stock market fraud since 1934. The crimes are wide-ranging: embezzlements of investor funds by unscrupulous brokers and financial advisors, insider-trading, short-selling abuses, Ponzi schemes, companies deliberately misstating their financial reports, price gouging on commissions, the churning of retail customer accounts, to name a few. The list of wrongdoing is a long one and new scams pop up all the time.”

He nodded. “The SEC took a lot of heat on the Madoff situation but your agency does a decent job, given your limited resources.”

“We try our best.”

At that juncture the salads were served.

She continued after the waiter left. “Thanks to Roxy and her colleagues at the CIA, an old scam with a new wrinkle has been uncovered. Only this time, it’s not just about the money, Frank, the bad guys also have a political agenda.”

“Hmm.”

“Roxy, tell Frank what’s happening on at your end.”

She put down her fork. “Our agents in Pakistan are focusing on the major terror groups and where they get their funding. The prevailing thinking at Langley is that if this flow of funds can be interdicted, then the level of violence will be significantly reduced.”

“It seems logical.”

“Lately, however, the flow of funds to these groups has increased noticeably and they are becoming better armed as a result. Our troop casualties in Afghanistan are on the rise again.”

“Where’s the new money coming from?”

“From the good old USA.”

“Arab-American sympathizers?”

“No, it’s more complicated. An informant tells us a spying operation is being aimed at investment banks here in New York. The goal is to obtain confidential data on pending corporate mergers and takeovers.”

He scratched his head. “I’ve never heard of anything like that before.”

Claire nodded. “We’ve never seen the likes of it either.”

“Who is doing the actual spying for them, Roxy?”

“Great question, Frank, but we don’t have an answer.”

“I’m guessing it’s an American firm that is plugged into the Wall Street community and knows where to get their mitts on sensitive stuff.”

“They might be bribing analysts and bankers,” Claire offered.

“Yes, or else they’re stealing it.”

“Help me out here, guys,” Roxy said, “I never went to business school, I majored in Islamic Studies at the University of Chicago. How exactly are the terrorists making their profits and, more importantly, how much money could they be making off this scam?”

The entrees were served and Claire ordered a bottle of the red house wine for the table. “Ok, Roxy, the typical corporate acquisition deal works as follows. When company A wants to acquire company B, they must offer the shareholders of company B a premium price for their stock to induce them to go along with the deal. The premium paid is generally 20% - 40% over and above what the stock of company B is currently selling for on the stock exchange.”

“I see.”

“In cases where two or more companies are competing with each other to take over company B, the premium paid can go to 60% or much higher.”

“Hmm.”

“Recently, for example, Dell Computer and Hewlett-Packard got into a heated bidding war over a company named 3PAR. The eventual premium paid by HP, the winning bidder, exceeded 300%.”

“Wow!”

“Yes. If you had possessed confidential info on that deal, Roxy, you could’ve bought the stock of 3PAR at a relatively cheap price in the open market before the deal went public and made a killing when you sold it later on.”

“But it takes money to make money, Claire, wouldn’t they have to purchase millions of dollars in stock in order to make a large profit?”

“No,” Frank interjected, “they don’t even have to buy the stock of company B at all; they could purchase ‘call options’ instead at a fraction of the share price.”

“What’s a call option?”

“A call option is a financial contract between two parties in the market -- a buyer and a seller. In exchange for the payment of a fee to the seller, a call option gives the buyer the right, but not the obligation, to buy a set number of shares of a company’s stock from the seller at a certain date in the future at a fixed price.”

“Hmm.”

“If the price of the stock later rises substantially in value, as it would if the company became the target in a takeover, then the option is said to be in the money and the buyer can exercise it and make the large profit.”

“I see.”

“With options, Roxy, you get a much bigger bang for your buck. That is financial leverage, a way to multiply your gains without having to put any significant cash down to buy the stock upfront.”

“Nice.”

“And your downside risk is also limited. If the acquisition deal doesn’t go through for some reason and the stock price of the target drops like a rock, the maximum you can lose is the relatively small fee you paid for the option.”

“That’s even better.”

“The terrorists might also use derivatives or engage in risk arbitrage. They can sell the stock of company A short and …”

“Frank, I don’t think Roxy needs to be aware of all the possible twists and turns,” Claire interjected, “it’d only confuse her.”

“Right.”

“Suffice it to say, Roxy, there are a number of ways for a sophisticated investor to make many millions of dollars on just a single takeover deal without ever having to put much cash down.”

“So the terrorists could be making a fortune.”

Claire nodded. “Possibly hundreds of millions or more. It all depends on how much sensitive info on pending deals they can get their hands on.”

She finished off her wine. “That kind of money buys a lot of roadside bombs and grenade launchers.”

“Yes, Roxy, it sure does.”

“I get the picture, Claire, possessing knowledge is the same as having money in the bank. It’s practically a sure thing.”

“It is, Roxy, and that’s why people are willing to risk going to jail in order to obtain it.”

She sat back. “I can understand the temptation; a person could retire in style from doing just one deal.”

“But human nature being what it is, Roxy, they rarely stop at just a single deal. Greed leads to their eventual arrest and downfall.”

He placed his napkin on the table. “I’ve got to say I’m impressed at the ingenuity of the terrorists. On 9/11 they hijacked our own planes and used them to attack us; now they’re hijacking our capitalist system and using it to attack us.”

“Yes, Frank, it’s as if they are mocking our culture.”

“The Devil must be given his due, Claire.”

“I wouldn’t go that far.”

He looked from one woman to the other. “Why do you come to an ancient fossil like me for help on this case?”

Roxy poured herself more wine. “A bit player in this scam happens to be a patron of the Bull & Bear.”

“Hmm.”

“And you are friendlier with him than most.”

“Me?” He tried to imagine who that could be but drew a blank. “What’s your plan?”

She sighed. “This is where it gets a little sketchy, Frank, I can’t give you a road map. All I can suggest is you get closer to this person than you already are; pump him for information about his job without arousing his suspicions; become his confidante; use him to figure a way for us to move up the chain of command to the major figures in the conspiracy.”

“I see.”

“We’ve got to get a key player to turn State’s Evidence, a co-conspirator who will furnish us with enough hard evidence to make a terrorism charge stick.”

He smiled. “For a gal who never went to business school, Roxy, you’re asking a lot from a guy who never went to spy school.”

“I realize it’s not going to be easy. You’ll have to wing it, Frank, and we’re also going to need some luck.”

“Is it going to be dangerous?”

She took a few seconds to answer. “Probably not.”

“Probably?”

“The Americans, we believe, are in it solely for monetary gain, however, the bunch in the Middle East is ideological. For them, the money is merely the means to political and religious ends.”

“Praise Allah!”

“Yes.”

“So we’re talking radical Islam, Roxy, very fearsome people.”

She dipped her head. “Fanatical, irrational people you can’t reason with and who are willing to die for their cause.”

“Hmm.”

“Death is a gift for some Muslims, Frank, because martyrdom has its own special rewards in the Afterlife.”

“Like 72 vestal virgins waiting for you up in Heaven when you get there.”

“Exactly. It is a chauvinistic mantra but going instantly to Heaven is very appealing to uneducated young men with no money, no prospects, and nothing to lose.”

“I suppose.”

“And there are other benefits as well. Suicide bombers are honored in their villages. The families they leave behind also profit greatly from their sacrifice; they are looked up to in the village, they receive cash and privileges, the kids get to go to the best schools, and the widows remarry more senior members in the cause and move up socially.”

“So it’s a win-win situation for both the living and the dead.”

She nodded. “Which explains why there is no shortage of volunteers willing to strap on explosives and blow themselves up in crowded places.”

“Don’t worry, Roxy, I’m not chickening out. I just wanted to get the lay of the land.”

“As I said, your part in this should be fairly safe, Frank, it’s only when we move up the chain does it become really dangerous.”

He shrugged. “Up or down the chain, Roxy, it makes no difference to me. My wife is dead, I’ve no family to live for, and nobody much cares.”

Claire pressed his arm. “That’s not true, Frank, you’ve got friends who care about you.”

“It’s true enough.” He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “I’ve been bored stiff for years, ladies, a bit of derring-do is exactly what the doctor ordered.”

“Ok, Frank, if you’re sure.”

“Tell me, Roxy, how soon do I begin this assignment?”

“Tonight, Frank, this very minute.”

His breathing quickened. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’m ready; you only have to steer me in the right direction.”

She averted her razor-sharp gaze towards the section of the bar where a man was perusing a newspaper and munching on Buffalo wings.

He twisted sideways in his seat to view the object of her attention without being unduly obvious about it.

“That’s him.”

“Carl Pizzi?”

“Yes.”

“You’re way off base, Roxy, Carl’s a … a skirt-chasing, bullshit artist and totally Mets-crazy, a true creature of the nose bleed section of the stadium bleachers. In addition, he’s not the brightest bulb in the room; he talks with his hands.”

“That may well be true, Frank, but he’s all we’ve got to start with.”

“How did you get your crosshairs set on Carl?”

“The informant who tipped us to the stock scam also alerted us to a parcel which was being sent by the terrorist group to a P.O. Box at the Church Street postal substation here in New York. We watched the box and Pizzi showed up to retrieve it.”

“What was in the package?”

“We X-rayed the parcel so we’re sure it wasn’t a bomb or radioactive. Beyond that, we are at a loss, our people couldn’t open it due to the way it was taped.”

“Where did Carl deliver the parcel?”

Roxy grimaced. “Unfortunately, we lost track of him on the streets near the World Trade Center site. It seems there was a large demonstration taking place that day over a new mosque to be built nearby and the tour-bus hordes were larger than usual.”

“Oh.”

“Yes, very regrettable.”

“I trust your agents will do a better job keeping track of me.”

“The agent detail has been expanded, Frank, it won’t happen again.”

“Who rented the P.O. Box?”

“The name and address on the application proved to be bogus.”

He sighed. “Anything else?”

She shook her head. “That’s all, which, admittedly, isn’t much.”

“Ok, I’ll give it my best shot.” He slid his chair away from the table.

Claire wagged a warning finger at him. “Play it safe, Dick Tracy, no heroics; sniff the ground and report back to mother.”

He scoffed. “I can deal with the likes of Carl, he’s no problem.”

“Just remember, Frank, it’s not the snake you see that bites you.”

*