Drummer In the Dark (41 page)

74

Wednesday

H
AYEK’S DRIVER WAS busy polishing the Bentley when Burke drove up. The circular drive was shaded by cedars planted to form a sentinel line down the crushed-seashell lane. Morning’s light spilled through the high cedars and formed a complex pattern on Hayek’s lawn. Hayek’s realm was as perfect and orderly as ever. Only Burke was no longer fooled.

The muscled young man who opened the door showed him straight into the breakfast room with its polarized view of the paddocks and the fields beyond. At his approach, Hayek looked up from his
Journal
and said merely, “Another coffee for my guest, Samuel. And a fresh cup for myself.” He waved Burke into the wrought-iron chair next to his and said, “Have you seen the day’s top story? Apparently those imbeciles in Brussels are going ahead with a European army. Led by the French, no less. Who have gloriously illustrated their fighting ability in two World Wars.”

Burke remained standing. “Our Interbank lines have been chopped off. The markets have shut down. Our news items have been denounced. The Feds are flying inspectors down from Washington.”

Hayek seemed not to have heard. He frowned and searched the empty doorway, then lifted the little silver bell and shook it vigorously. When no one appeared, his scowl deepened. “That young man is history.”

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“All this is over. You’re leaving the United States.”

Hayek looked at him for the first time. “And if I am?”

“Take me with you.”

The smile came and went so swiftly Burke could only take it for silent assent. But before he could respond, a voice from behind them said, “Afraid it’s too late for travel plans, gentlemen.”

Burke turned and confronted the senior spot trader. Alex was flanked by two swarthy men, still in their gray blazers. He could only gape.

Hayek, however, responded more coolly. “It was you all along. Of course.”

“Always wanted to run my own fund,” Alex replied. “The Brazilians and their new Russian partners have got to park that money with somebody. Why not me?”

He motioned the two goons forward. “I’m pretty certain they’ll get their job right this time.”

EPILOGUE

W
YNN DID NOT realize he was holding Jackie’s hand until the memorial service was drawing to a close. The Melbourne park was so full and the wind so strong the words spoken by Sybel’s daughter were almost lost by the time they reached him. But he had no interest in moving closer. Surrounding him there at the back of the crowd was a second group of mourners. They were poorly dressed and seared by winds far fiercer than those rushing through the gathering. But these were Sybel’s people, and Wynn found comfort in standing among them to say his own farewells. Along the park’s far side, others unpacked a memorial feast for those Sybel had considered her special clan.

As people began drifting away, he felt Jackie’s eyes on him. He said, “It all began right here.”

She smiled so gently he could feel the comfort in his bones. “You need to make peace, Wynn.” When he did not move, she added, “Your sister would want this.”

He stared over her head up to where Grant stood surrounded by the better-dressed flock. “I’ll do it when the cameras aren’t watching. Besides, we need to be going.”

They drove to the prison in silence. Wynn glanced over from time to time but could read nothing from Jackie’s expression. Only when they turned off the Beeline Expressway and pulled into the prison parking lot did she say, “Do you mind if I watch from out here?”

He scanned the almost empty lot. Atop the chain-link fence, the razor wire danced and shivered in the wind, the sunlight glinting along its surface like sudden bolts of current. “Not at all.”

She started to reach for him, then redirected her hands to tightly clasp her chest. “Thank you, Wynn.”

The warden was there in the gatehouse and greeted him with, “An honor to meet you, Congressman. You’re all signed in, and the people are already assembled, so let’s move ahead, shall we?”

Wynn followed the warden down the path and into the concrete hall. All the tables had been pushed to the sides, save one down the center where a group of four people sat. In front of them was a lone man in a small plastic chair. He tossed nervous glances at Wynn and the warden, then returned his gaze to the assembled four.

“Shane Turner, you have been called before this exceptional meeting of the parole board. At the express request of Congressman Bryant, we are granting you a conditional release based on good behavior.”

Wynn studied him as he would a new opponent, and saw a too-handsome man in prison blues who could not believe his own ears. The spokesperson went on, “You will spend the next ninety days in a halfway house, then be placed on strict probation for the next three years. You must find gainful employment outside the financial arena. You must report to your parole officer on a weekly basis.” A pause, then, “Do you have any questions?”

T
HE WHITE HOUSE meeting was arranged by Polk Hindlestiff, professional kingmaker. His chair in the hallway outside the Oval Office was intentionally distanced from the AIM officials and the lobbyists who had hired him. His attitude, spoken and silent both, showed them a snobbish disdain. The two senior Wall Street bankers who headed up their little group glowered and bit off tight words of protest. Valerie did not need to approach them to know what was being said. After all, they had paid Hindlestiff forty-five thousand dollars, and all he had done was make a couple of calls. But apparently forty-five thousand dollars was not enough to purchase the old man’s respect.

Valerie paced as far down the hall as the Secret Service agents allowed, then turned and stalked back. Finding herself along on this little jaunt only deepened her wounds. She hated how she had been not just thwarted but vanquished. Being this close to the flame branded her with everything she had almost grasped.

The Secret Service agents alerted them by stiffening to sudden attention. The President came striding down the long hallway, leading an entourage made up of his chief of staff and three more agents. He acknowledged the man who had brought them together with, “I didn’t know you were in on this, Polk.”

“Only marginally, Mr. President.”

The man’s almost apologetic tone once again provoked the bankers. Valerie’s boss stepped forward before the pair could demolish the moment even further. “Mr. President, we are extremely grateful for this moment of your time.”

“A moment is all you’ve got.”

“Yessir.” Clearly this was as close to the Oval Office as they were going to come. “We have prepared documents that will show clearly what a terrible mistake it would be to sign this legislation into law.”

“I don’t need to see your papers to tell you how I read this,” the President replied. “You folks have showed up here today because you want to hand me a live grenade. And I’m here to tell you that I’m not accepting it.” He waited long enough to be assured he had finally silenced them, then added, “Now that this is taken care of, Frank here will offer you a bone. I advise you to take it and run. Good day to you.”

When the President had disappeared around the corner, his chief of staff opened his arms in grim welcome. “Why don’t we step into my office.”

He did not seat himself, however. Instead he leaned against his desk, crossed his arms, and said, “The President is going to sign this legislation, and that’s all there is to it.” One upraised hand was sufficient to silence the bankers’ objections. “You’ve had your word with the President, now you’ve got ninety seconds with me. You want to rant, that’s your choice. Or you can listen up and hear how things stand.”

When he was certain they were going to keep their protests leashed, he nodded. “Fine. This appropriations bill is a crucial piece of legislation, and several of the riders attached to it are vital components of this administration’s goals. Not to mention the fact that Hayek has made your entire industry out to be an enemy of this entire nation.”

“If you’ll just give us a second, sir, we can explain—”

“Don’t even start. The nation is not in any mood to listen, so neither are we.” When they had subsided once more, he continued, “Now then. If your lot can be on its best behavior for a year or so, next term you can pressure your allies in Congress to back a repeal. The President gives you his word he won’t stand in your way. You’ll have a level playing field. But you’ll be acting under the spotlight of international attention.”

He indicated the meeting was over by pushing himself off the desk. As they began filing out, the chief of staff patted the top fund manager’s shoulder, a recognition of his campaign funding potential. “Just make sure you back all the right horses between now and when Congress reconvenes. We’ll make this happen. You can count on it.”

W
YNN HEARD THE PRISON GATE clang behind him and took a free breath. He walked to the car to find Jackie cutting the connection on her cellphone. He asked through the open window, “Anything wrong?”

“Colin’s been offered a job with some group that does internet monitoring for the fibbies.” Jackie’s face had grown pinched during Wynn’s time inside. “He wanted my advice.”

Wynn climbed into the car. “It’s done. Shane is to be released on parole.” When she did not turn from watching the sunlight and shadows dance upon the windshield, Wynn asked, “Do you regret doing this?”

“Maybe a little.” Her reply was a sigh, not of fear but release. “Could we leave here, please?”

Wynn drove them back to the Beeline, hesitated only a moment, then pointed the car eastward. Toward Merritt Island, the ocean, and home. A rising wind turned the marsh grasses and palmetto stands into silver blades, framing lakes the color of hammered tin. Clouds raced one another across the blue horizon, and not even the packed highway could overtake the perfume of storm and sea.

Jackie continued her silent perusal of the clouds and the light. Wynn’s nerve held until they approached the toll booths. After he paid, he pulled over to the side of the highway and asked, “Where exactly are we headed, Jackie?”

She slid across until she was more in his seat than her own, as though she had been waiting all along for him to make this exact move. “I guess sometimes the only way forward is by finding space for the impossible.”

Wynn nodded slowly, glad she could put words to concepts that remained for him only half formed. Jackie seemed pleased with his silent assent, for she wrapped one arm around him and used the other to finger-trace the hair off his forehead. “Do you know a place that rents sailboats?”

“Down on the coast, sure.”

She kissed him then. Just a brushing of lips, the moment too full for anything more. But she must have felt the current too, for she shivered slightly in his arms. “I think it’s time you had your first lesson in how to ride the wind.”

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

As anyone familiar with the Forex trading world will appreciate, the majority of my contacts spoke with me on the condition of strict anonymity. But I must thank them nonetheless. It was both heartening and frightening to discover quite a number of traders and investment banking executives who not only shared my concerns, but could clothe them in the reality of today’s international derivatives market. I must thank the executives of Bank of America’s investment banking division who helped by teaching, by making connections, and by shepherding me through their trading floors. Also I am most grateful to the traders on the newly computerized LIFFE exchange in London, who took time from incredibly hectic trading days to help a novice learn which questions needed asking.

Robin and Darryll Bolduc are both former Forex traders with major banks. Robin now operates a Forex fund of her own, and Darryll has recently begun law studies. They spent three days walking me through the murky labyrinth of Forex trading, helping to name the specters. In researching every book, one source always proves particularly invaluable. Robin and Darryll patiently supplied the answers I was desperate to find.

Timothy Canova, Assistant Professor of Law at the University of New Mexico, was my first source on linking the new banking situation to the arena of legislation and law. Conducting good interviews requires knowing what questions to ask. His expertise prepared me to approach time-starved officials on Capitol Hill and sufficiently impress them with my background knowledge for them to walk me through the halls of power.

Congressman Joseph Pitts and Congressman Dave Weldon were most kind to aid me in my work. Heartfelt thanks must also go out to their incredibly capable staff, most especially Stuart Burns, Stephen Piepgrass, Bill Wichterman, Brian Chase, Jimmy Broughton, and J. B. Kump.

Not surprisingly, all but one of the K Street lobbyists with whom I spoke did not want to be identified. Nonetheless, I was amazed at how open and aboveboard they were about their tactics. Tim Powers, principal at Podesta, is a most erudite political strategist, and the time I spent with him was a fascinating tutelage in Machiavellian tactics. I must also offer heartfelt thanks to Douglas Domenech, Director of Government Affairs at NCHE, and Mike Ferris, Director of HSLDA. Retired Justice Daniel J. Monaco also took patient care to walk me through the process of dismantling existing laws through amendments to priority legislation.

Some people are much harder to thank than others, usually because they have affected me so deeply. Ziki Zaki is one such individual. A lady of many accomplishments, Mrs. Zaki has done everything from running the Egyptian operations of an American mainframe computer company to operating one of Cairo’s leading art galleries. Nonetheless she took the time to open her home and her life to me, shepherding me about Cairo and unlocking a thousand doors. All the while I was taught from her store of wisdom, as she tried to show me the city through an Egyptian’s eyes. Many of the recollections found within these pages are in fact her own. To her, her husband, Hussein, and her daughter, Magda, I offer my humble thanks.

Sameh Mina has been a friend for more than twenty years. He is one of those most subtle of men, who teaches most clearly through example. His friendship remains a godsend.

In the very early days of my business career, while working in Africa more than twenty years ago, I was fortunate enough to be befriended by the Middle East director of a major British bank. Cyril Price took a naive young American under his wing, and in so doing saved my professional hide a dozen times and more. Since then, he and his wife, Nancy, have become two of my very closest friends. I remain indebted to them both, as ever.

Two other people whose memories of Cairo provided a background to scenes are Dr. Mohammed A. Allam, the American University vice president, and Dr. Tim Sullivan, university provost. Their frank discussions and very deep insights proved both beneficial to my work and personally very enriching. It was an honor to meet both these fine gentlemen.

Dalia Mabrouk is Public Relations Specialist at the American University of Cairo. She managed to share a remarkable enthusiasm for the region and its heritage. Professor Nazli Shabik is an Egyptian born in America, who returned to Egypt at the tender age of fourteen. She now teaches English and composition at the American University, and was most kind in sharing her early experiences of Egypt; it was these valuable lessons which helped to shape the world Sybel knew.

David Ballard is Press Attaché at the United States Embassy in Cairo and kindly took time the day before his U.S. departure to walk me through the compound’s structure and explain how a visiting freshman congressman might expect to be treated.

To my newfound friends with Saint Egidio, I can only hope that you find this book to be a worthy effort.

The more I work with Doubleday and Waterbrook, the longer grows the list of those to whom I am truly indebted. Profound thanks must first go to my editor and friend, Eric Major. I also wish to thank Steve Rubin, Michael Palgon, Elizabeth Walter, Harold Grabau, and Dan Rich. I stop here only because to continue would lessen the importance that must be given to the above names, and the innumerable ways they have helped and taught and directed. Thanks also to the outside editor who is becoming a fast friend as well as valuable teacher, Judy Kern.

Finally, my lasting gratitude goes to my wife, Isabella. Her wisdom and influence can be found on every page, both of this book and of my life. She is a true partner.