Dollar Down (17 page)

"What's wrong?"

"Out of habit, I wrote in Sabine's office address for the
sender. I need another label."

The deliveryman handed her one. While she filled it
out, he dumped foam pellets into the box with the vial and
sealed it.

Alexandra handed me the label. "Check it, please."

I couldn't read much French, but I recognized Sabine's
home address. "Label's good." I handed it back to her, picked
up the box and thumped it again. "Package is good. We're on
our way." It would arrive Monday, and the strike day was
Wednesday. Not that there was any apparent connection, but it
was the last day I had to work on the case. I called my Houston
friend and asked him to let me know when he got it.

Now for the important stuff. My stomach rumbled as I
went to the kitchen to help fix lunch.

"Are you going to talk to Geir about meeting Gatineau
and Ruiz?" Alexandra said, as she sipped an amber-tinged
Chardonnay.

"I'd like to, but I'd have to explain how I know he met
them."

"And how was that? A little bird told you or a
dangerous friend." Alexandra's smile was almost, but not quite,
playful. That was a new look that I hoped to see again.

"I don't speak pigeon."

"Does that mean you are having Geir followed?"

"No, of course not. I subcontracted some of the work to
a local investigator, but he didn't even know what Oddsson
looked like. By the way, I got another recording this morning.
Would you mind listening to one of them?" She said OK and
took the hint to stop talking about Oddsson.

While Alexandra was busy with the recorder, I called
Gavizon to see if he had found anything else on Cervantes.

"I couldn't get anything, nothing at all. Don't ask me
again about Cervantes. I'm out of this."

"What happened?"

"My contact in Maduro's office has gone missing. If
Cervantes and his thugs decided to grab her, then she could
lead them to me."

"Maybe it was something else."

"Maybe not
. Adios
, Mick."

The list was getting longer. Of people I'd contacted in
regard to Trevor's case, Sabine had been killed, David had been
threatened. Alexandra and Gavizon were afraid with just cause,
and Gavizon's source was missing. There were times I
regretted abandoning the Catholic faith, especially the
catharsis of the confessional. I had need for absolution just
now, with no one to turn to but myself, an unforgiving
apostate.

I called Burroughs. "Have you found out anything more
on who's making the bets against the dollar?"

"Only more questions. The money flow seems back to
normal. There were no heavy bets against the dollar over the
past twenty-four plus some odd hours."

"So..."

"The play is in place. You know what would be a great
help?"

"A weekend in Monaco." Burroughs ignored me.

"I need a detailed description of the instrument that's
being used to short the dollar. I haven't been able to get
it."

"Mumby might be a good person to ask."

"From what I've found out about the guy, he could
create an instrument like that, but I have no reason to suspect
that he actually did. That's why you're important here, Sanchez.
How are you going to get that information out of him?"

"I didn't say I was going to."

"You don't have to say it, just let me know what you
find out. By the way, did you figure out why you were
connecting China Petroleum to the forex business?"

"I hadn't until just now." The left and right
hemispheres of my brain must have decided to start
communicating with each other. A thought came up without
my trying to evoke one. "What would happen if the dollar fell
as much as Trevor's figures predicted?"

"Anyone betting the right way becomes incredibly
wealthy."

"I mean big picture. Would it hurt the American
economy?"

Burroughs hummed into the phone for several seconds.
"Exchange rates go up, and they go down. If the dollar lost
thirteen percent of its value against the yen and euro that fast,
then imports would become very expensive and exports would
get cheap. Because of an effect called the 'J curve', the trade
deficit would mushroom. Imports would suddenly cost a lot
more and the U.S. would not be able to reduce them
immediately. It would take a while for exports to ramp up, but
in time, exports would increase because of their cheap price.
Eventually, stronger exports would cause the dollar to start
rising and the cycle repeats."

"No earthshaking consequence?"

"There would be turbulence in the forex market
obviously, but as for the general economy, the only noise
would be from John Q. Public. He'd end up paying more for
Armani suits. Oil would get a lot cheaper for Europe and Japan,
since it is priced in dollars. That would give their companies
some advantage over Americans and help offset the advantage
of a weak dollar in foreign trade. It might cause oil prices to go
up some, since the U.S. would be bidding against stronger
currencies, but the dollar exchange rate is not a major driver of
petroleum prices."

"Nothing debilitating to the general economy
then?"

"A large percentage of international trade is priced in
dollars, so the U.S. can pay its bills in its own currency. Other
countries often have to buy dollars to settle up. So in that sense,
it doesn't matter much to Americans what the exchange rate is.
Where are you going with this?"

"Just now, I had an idea that China Petroleum might be
connected with the forex deals in order to hurt America's
Pacific fleet. Exchange rates wouldn't do that though would
they?"

"You worry me, Sanchez. There is some kind of big
time thing going down, and I don't understand exactly what it
is. Don't go wiggy on us. We might need your help."

"Talk to you later." Before I hung up, I heard Burroughs
say something about someone not being the brightest bulb in
the box. Whatever that meant.

My flash of inspiration connecting a weak dollar with a
weak Pacific fleet didn't seem bright at all. "Exchange rates go
up, and they go down," Burroughs had said. In other words "So
what." Dollars more per ton of bunker fuel was not going to
curtail the U.S. navy. Even so, I wasn't ready to abandon the
motive just yet.

I called McNulty and told him Burroughs wanted a
copy of the financial instrument and why he needed it. Could
he persuade Mumby to provide details?

"How much persuading?"

"Whatever it takes."

"I don't think we have enough money to bribe the
lad."

"Try intimidation. If that doesn't work, knock him out.
Break his arm. Break both arms."

"I could get into trouble for that."

"You'd be saving the free world."

"Hardly. I'd be saving the almighty dollar."

"Same thing."

"No, it ain't."

"You're right. How about for an extra five
thousand?"

"Euros or USD?"

"Pounds."

"Crack, snap and pop, Sanchez."

I was pretty sure McNulty understood I wasn't serious
about the broken arms. Nevertheless, I wondered briefly
whether Mumby's company paid private medical for its
employees.

I checked with Alexandra to see how she was doing
with the recordings. The one for Ruiz had hardly anything on it,
and his colleague's had nothing interesting. While I listened
with Alexandra, McNulty called back.

"That was quick."

"I won't be able to get the information you wanted, at
least not from Mumby."

"What happened."

"He had an auto accident this morning. It was
fatal."

A sliver of fear knifed through my spine. I felt exposed
to a powerful malevolence that I could sense but could not see.
It was close, watching.

"Are you still there, Mick?"

"Just thinking. Why Mumby? Why now?"

"Speed is often a factor, careless driving, maybe he was
texting." McNulty's voice whispered with cynicism.

"I talked to someone today who has been tracking the
forex market. He's an expert with the means and knowledge to
monitor money flows. He said investments directed toward our
known strike date dropped off sharply about a day ago."

"And Mumby had probably been the prime mover of
that cash."

"Right, the investments had been placed. Whoever was
making them no longer needed Mumby."

"Tom Hall, the man in LIFFE, might be interested in
that observation. It was a dicey piece of work, lot of
surveillance at his house, but I got a bug inside. For naught. He
hasn't been home. I can pick him up outside his office. Might be
able to scare something out of him. Ask him what he thinks
about Mumby's fate."

"Hall might be a core insider?"

"I can try to find that out."

"You mean
we
can find out. I'll be there. Don't
do anything on your own. It's too dangerous."

"Being born is dangerous. This might be your Chinese
connection. Legend says those who buried Genghis Kahn were
killed so they couldn't reveal the location of the grave. Then the
soldiers who killed them were slain."

"Kahn was a Mongol."

"Who conquered Peking and got Sino-fied. Be careful
Mick. Someone out there might think you know too
much."

"We'd better move." I wasn't sure anyone besides
Oddsson knew I was here, but if someone had been looking for
me, I would have been easy to find.

"Why? Where?" Alexandra said.

I told her about Mumby and the contact in Maduro's
office. As she listened, the birthmark on her cheekbone
darkened. It was an emotional reaction that either I hadn't
noticed before or it had not occurred.

"You're afraid?" Fear, maybe was what it took to alter
the hue of her nearly invisible flaw.

"For now, let's just say cautious. We can move to a
hotel. It's only for a few days."

Alexandra closed her eyes. "Then what? What do I do
after you leave?"

Reverse punch to the midsection. I felt the force of that
question deep and hard. The truth was, I hadn't thought about
it. Things had happened in ways that I couldn't have
anticipated. Still, I should have had an answer. Alexandra
opened her eyes as I stammered for time. "Once the strike date
passes, I think it will all be over."

"
Fini?
" There was a hard cast to her eyes.

This time the punch landed below the belt. What was
fini
? The threat? The fear? Us? Her darkened birthmark
was fading and the warm persona that had emerged over the
last few days was reverting to the marble goddess. I opened a
space in my mind for Grandmas Sanchez and Fitzgerald to
show up. I needed their advice. They came, but all they had to
offer was condolence.

"We need to survive until then." We packed light. I
considered whether to take Sabine's car, call a taxi or walk to
the nearest bus stop or train terminal. Sabine's car could be
identified and followed. It could also be an escape vehicle, if we
needed one. I decided to take the car and watch for a tail. After
leaving the apartment, I drove through a maze of narrow
streets, some scarcely wide enough for two cars to pass. No
one followed that I could see, but if there was a "they" out
there hunting us, they might be using more than one car.

I doubled back, found a main thoroughfare and made
an illegal turn around a boulevard at an intersection. Once I
was satisfied we were clear, I got a room in a three-star hotel
on the fringe of the Opera district. It was tucked away, but had
multiple escape routes and was a quick sprint from two
subway entrances.

I had been focused on driving and watching for
followers, so Alexandra and I had not spoken since we left
Sabine's. The pressure of healthy paranoia is easy enough to
handle with sardonic wit. The problem was I couldn't be sure
paranoia, healthy or otherwise was the primary problem.

What to say? Nothing. As she looked out a window of
the hotel, I ran my fingers along the back of her neck to her
shoulders. Too tight.

"Lie down."

I sensed the release of tension in her shallow sigh as I
pressed my thumbs into the center of her trapezoid muscles. I
moved my hands slowly along the top of her shoulder blades,
and then down along their interior and bottom edges. I located
the eighth vertebra, placed my thumbs on either side and
pressed. I continued lower, working deep into the
tsubo
pressure points that induce sleep. When I pressed just
above her hip bone, her sigh was deep and long.

She pushed up and reached for the buttons of her
blouse. Instinctively, she knew clothing inhibited the flow of
ki
.

I lifted her hip, unfastened her trousers and pulled
them off. Her body lacked athletic tone, but still had the pliant
firmness of youth. With only a wisp of nylon at her hips she lay
still in surrender.

As I kneaded the back of her thigh I sensed her
entering a dreamy limbo in the shadows of consciousness. It
was a state that opened a visceral communication between
receiver and giver that transcended the intellect. Alexandra
was capable of trust, but I believed it was only because she felt
in control, even when she submitted, whether to my thumbs or
to silk scarves. "
Fini?
" That question echoed in my
memory.

I would never understand the marble goddess who
could become warm but still remain untouchable, by me or
probably anyone else. I realized I knew why.

She laughed convincingly, but she never giggled. The
child at the core of her being had not survived the
transformation to adulthood. What a stunning force she would
be with just a touch of playful mischief.

What had become of the little girl? I wasn't likely to
find out, but I wondered what person or event had left a hollow
in her soul.

I tucked Alexandra under the sheet, undressed and lay
beside her. She draped her leg and arm across me and slept—in
trust, but not in innocence.