Authors: Carey Green
The Last Hedge (35 page)
The duct had been fully completed. though the exterior facing the wall was not. She could not tell how far the duct extended. Based on the strength emitted, the duct probably extended the full length of the wall, and down into the area from which the sound emitted. She got down from the chair, reached into her backpack, and began to set up the device.
It consisted of three separate pieces: a propulsion device, a detonator, and the explosive itself. She had practiced this one hundred times. She readied the device and prepared herself for what she was about to do. She was only going to get once chance, and she needed to do it right.
They had tied Dylan to a chair, using a piece of plastic tubing. He squirmed uncomfortably. The bind was tight, but he believed that he could break it, if the opportunity arose. He was waiting for the time to present itself, and then he would pounce. Highland stood barking into a silent walkie-talkie.
“Someone is down, and Gary won’t pick up his radio. That means she’s loose in the building.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” McGarity snarled.
“Then it’s time to go.”
The geek at the computer suddenly chimed in. “We need ten more minutes to unwind the trades.”
“We don’t have ten minutes. You’ve got five.” The geek’s face went white as he turned back to the screen.
A phone suddenly began to ring loudly. McGarity looked around the room. “Whose phone is that?” Dylan ignored the question as he started to speak.
“Is this where I die? Here?”
“Do you have a preference?”
“W.C. Fields preferred Philadelphia.”
“You’re a funny man, even in death. But look on the bright side. You wanted your friend back: Now, you will be united in death. You’ll enter through the pearly gates together.”
“Thanks, I was hoping maybe we could see a Yankee game.”
“The national pastime,” McGarity said. “God bless America.” The phone was still ringing, as McGarity looked around the room.
“Whose damn phone is that!” Highland looked at Dylan, and began to walk towards him. Dylan had on a light windbreaker, with a pocket inside for rainy days. Highland felt Dylan’s breast pocket and removed the phone. He identified the number and turned back towards McGarity.
“Who is it?” McGarity asked.
“It’s Remmerling.”
McGarity was taken aback. “She’s calling
him
, from
inside
the building?”
“Yes. And there’s a text message too.”
“What does it say?” Highland turned towards McGarity with a quizzical look on his face.
“It says, ‘DUCK!’”
The explosion arrived with a deafening thud, and shots rang out quickly across the building. Dylan broke free from his bindings and dived towards the geek. He pushed him from the computer, frantically typing as his eyes began to well up. In the cloud of tear gas and smoke, their poor aim had been his only saving grace. By the time the FBI had stormed the building, no one was left standing, including Dylan.
The hospital room was private. It was nearing the end of visitor’s hours. Conroy and Vanessa strode down the antiseptic hallways bathed in neon light. Neither of them liked hospitals. Finally, they came to a room at the end of the hallway, Room 319. Besides the two beds in the room was a wall occupied with flowers. “Get well” cards plastered the door. The door to his room was open, and Dylan was sitting up in bed when they arrived. He greeted them happily when they walked through the door.
“You have guests,” Vanessa said.
“Hey,” Dylan shouted. “I was wondering when you would come.”
“We do have jobs, you know.”
“You call that work?” Dylan asked. He was fully upright in a hospital gown. One could see that his shoulder was heavily bandaged.
“Hey, there’s someone else you might know here.” Dylan gestured towards the next bed. Binky was sleeping in the next bed over.
“Wow, I didn’t know Binky was here.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “We figured, if you’re going to be in the hospital, you might as well be with friends.”
“How’s he doing?”
“Not too bad. He’s still pretty weak. He lost a lot of weight. And they roughed him up pretty good. But he’s going to be fine.”
“And how are you feeling?” Conroy asked.
“Okay,” Dylan said. “My shoulder still hurts pretty bad, but it could have been worse. The doctor told me that one inch over, and….” Dylan then made a downward gesture with his hand. “Well, it would have been over.”
“Well, Vanessa said, “let’s just be glad either the tear gas worked, or that they were lousy shots.”
“What about Highland?”
“They arrested him. They were able to prove that the whole scam about you and Stewart monitoring the trades was a scam to get access to your trading system. Once it was on our network, Highland was able to download one final copy. That’s what he tried to use.”
“I see.” Dylan paused and rolled his eyes upwards towards the ceiling.
Conroy leaned over towards Dylan. “I still don’t understand how you knew it was Shaffer Capital.”
“Well, it was simple. The trades coming out of the other two firms were completely cancelling each other out. In other words, perfectly hedged. Highland needed a copy of my trading system, but he figured I would eventually discover the scam. Those two firms were boiler rooms, so it looked real.”
“They were decoys. We know that.”
“But how did you get the names? We had to get a warrant to speak to the Exchange.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “Certain things I can’t tell, but can only thank my good friend over here. Once I had the names, I recognized the sequence of the order amounts: a perfect Fibonacci sequence. He knew that I would recognize it if it was out there.”
“Trust me. I won’t forget what he did,” Conroy said.
“And neither will I,” Vanessa said as she sat on the bed next to Dylan.
“Any plans once you’re recovered?”
“Besides, having a beer. No, not really. Maybe Hawaii for a couple of weeks, the south of France … to figure out what to do with myself. Then, after that, well, I guess I’ll need to find a job.”
“So, when are you joining the FBI?”
“I don’t know,” Dylan said with a laugh. “I’ll call you when the hospital releases me.”
“You have my number.”
“Yeah,” Dylan said. “I think I do.”
Conroy glanced at both of them and smiled.
THE END
Carey Keith Green is a novelist originally from California. He lives in New York and works on Wall Street. This is his second novel.
