The Samurai Strategy

by Thomas Hoover

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Guess Tam's Shinto _kami _were on our side, since we made it throughNarita Airport with no hassles; or maybe being dead keeps you offanybody's hit list. Now that MlTI was determined not to release ournames until they located our remains, we looked to be in limbo as faras Matsuo Noda and Dai Nippon were concerned. Given the fact thechopper had been demolished and then burned down to metal, nobody knewanything. Yet.

  The scenario Tam laid out on the 747 flying back, while we drank a lotof airline cognac in the upstairs lounge, was destined to be yetanother first in the annals of American finance, one way or the other.If we bungled it--and lived to face the consequences--would we end uplike those grim-faced executives you see being hustled into the federalcourthouse downtown, flanked by G-men in cheap trench coats? Later,eyeing the network cameras, we'd have to smile bravely and declare thatAmerican justice, in which we had full confidence, would surelyvindicate us after all the facts, etc.

  To go with her play meant we were headed either for the history booksor jail, or both. But we would definitely need

  Henderson and his "Georgia Mafia." My questions were actually prettysimple: (1) Could it be done, and if so, (2) how and how fast?

  We got back Monday, the day before New Year's, and the first person Icalled after Amy was Henderson, casually mentioning that somethingpotentially very disrupting to the Street was in the works.

  "Bill, fasten your seat belt. Bumpy weather ahead."

  That captured his attention in a flash. What in hell, he inquired, wasI talking about?

  "We need to get together, tonight." I continued.

  "Where?"

  "How about your place? Matter of fact, there's a real question justnow, at least in Japan, concerning whether Tam and I are actuallyalive."

  "Walton, what in God's name is going on?"

  "In the fullness of time, friend, all things will be known. Now we seeas through a glass darkly . . . well, actually we're seeing through thesmudgy windows of the Plaza, suite three twenty-five, where we'represently holed up. But we've got to stay low profile for a few moredays."

  "Whatever you say," he replied, still puzzled. "Then how about droppingby here tonight for a quick one, and then afterward we can all moseyover to Mortimer's on Lex for a quick bite?"

  "Okay. As long as we go late. I want to miss the happy-hour crowd."

  This did not please him, but he agreed. My suspicions were he wanted touse the occasion to reconnoiter the glittery, jet-set ladies at thebar. Henderson, whose style and drawl undoubtedly distinguished himfrom the B-school competition there like a white-maned palomino in aherd of draft horses (investment drones who wore a beeper on their beltand used "bottom-line" as a verb), surely found the place a fertilehunting ground. Mortimer's was custom-made for his idiosyncratic style.

  About nine that evening Tam and I slipped out of the Plaza's Fifty-ninth Street entrance and headed up Fifth Avenue toward Bill's. He washeadquartered in one of those solid, granite-faced buildings near theMetropolitan that are constructed like small fortresses--presumably soNew York's upper one tenth of one percent can repel the long-fearedassault of the homeless hordes at their feet. In the lobby, Hendersonvouched for us over the TV intercom, after which we were given a visualsearch by the doorman, his uniform a hybrid of Gilbert & Sullivan andcrypto-Nazi, and shown the elevator.

  A quick doorbell punch and the man from Georgia greeted us, Scotch inhand. His little pied-a-terre was about three thousand square feet ofknee-deep carpets, Old Masters (I loved the Cezanne and the Braque),and masculine leather furniture. A padded wet bar, complete with mirrorand a bank of computer monitors--for convenient stock action--stretchedacross one side of the living room, while the sliding glass doorsopposite faced onto a balcony that seemed suspended in midair overCentral Park. While Tam, with her designer's eye, was complimenting himpolitely on the understated elegance of his Italian wallpaper, Frenchart, and English furniture, I tried not to remember all those earlyyears back in New Haven when his idea of decor was a feed-storecalendar featuring a bluetick hound.

  Although the balcony doors were open, the living room still had theacrid ambience of a three-day-old ashtray. He poured us a drink from ahalf-gallon of Glenfiddich on the bar, gestured us toward the couch,and offered Havana cigars from a humidifier. I took him up on it, outof olfactory self-defense.

  "So tell me, ladies and gents, what's the latest?" He settled himselfin the leather armchair and plopped his boots onto an antique ottoman."How're the Jap assault forces doing these days? They gonna take overthe Pentagon next?"

  "Not that we've heard." I was twisting my Havana against the match."Though it might reduce procurement costs on toilet seats and ashtraysif they did."

  Henderson sipped at his drink, then his tone heavied up. "Who are wekidding, friends. My considered reading of the situation is your boyson Third Avenue are unstoppable. They can do whatever they damn wellplease from here on out."

  "That's not necessarily in everybody's best interest, Bill." I strolledover to look down at the park. "Got any new thoughts?"

  "Can't say as I do. Our IBM play didn't get to first base; Noda saw uscoming a mile away. Thank God I didn't get in deep enough to get hurt."He leaned back. "What makes it so damned frustrating is the market'stickled as a pig in shit. Ain't nobody too interested in dissuadingyour friends from buying up everything in sight. Street's never seenanything like this kind of bucks before. It's a whole new ball gamedowntown."

  "That's right, Bill," I mused aloud. "The question is, whose ball gameis it?" Tam still hadn't said anything.

  "Damned good question. What happens when foreigners start owning yourtangible assets? The answer, friend, is they end up owning _you_."

  "Henderson, all that could be about to change."

  "Says who?" He leaned back. "Looks to me like Noda's going all theway."

  "Bill, let's talk one of those hypothetical scenarios you like so much.What if Dai Nippon suddenly had a change of plans? Switched totally?And instead of buying, they started selling?"

  That pulled him up short. He even set down his glass. "Come again?"

  "Call it a hypothetical proposition. I'm asking what would happen onthe Street if Dai Nippon decided, unannounced, to make a significantalteration in its portfolio? All of a sudden started divesting?Massively."

  "When'd this happen!" He squinted. "How much action we looking at?"

  I didn't want to say it for fear he might need CPR for his heart.Finally Tam set down her drink and answered him. "All of it."

  "Christ." He went pale. "What's that add up to, total?"

  "We figure it'd run to several hundred billion," I answered.

  He sat there in confusion. "Over what kind of time period?"

  "That's part of the reason we wanted to see you. If, strictly as ahypothesis, they were to do something like that, as fast as possible,how long would it take? Just throw your hat at the number, wild guess."

  "Time, you mean?"

  "Exactly."

  "Well, let's look at it a second here. I'd guesstimate that all theexchanges together--Big Board, American, Merc, CBOT, NASDAQ, Pacific,the rest--probably have a dollar volume upwards of . . . how manybillions a day? Say twenty billion, easy, maybe more, the way volume'sclimbing. But that figure's purely hypothetical. If Dai Nippon dumpedall those securities on the table at once, the value of their portfoliowould go to hell."

  I glanced at Tam.

  "That's how we see it too," she said. And nothing more.

  "What are you two suggesting?" He was visibly rattled. "Noda'd neverpull anything that crazy."

  "Bill, with all due respect, let's proceed one step at a time here withthis hypothesis," I went on. "Assuming, just for purposes ofdiscussion, he did decide to do something like that, unload everything,what's the fastest way?"

  "Hell, I'd have to think."

  "Come on, man. Financial derring-do is your special trade," I pressedhim. "What if DNI's mainframe was used to set up a global tradingnetwor
k? Began dumping worldwide?"

  "Well, that'd probably be the quickest approach." He was slowly comingawake. "Jesus Christ! It's not Noda we're talking about." He looked atme, then at Tam. "It's you. You're going to try and . . ."

  "Possibly."

  "Then we sure as hell are talking theory, 'cause you'd never be able todo anything like that without Noda's gettin' wind of it."

  "Henderson, as usual you're not listening. Plausibility is not thetopic under discussion. Right now we're looking at the impact."

  "Well, you'd damned well better start with some plausibility." Hesettled back. "Say you could get around Noda. The next problem is, theminute word hits the Street DNI's dumping, all hell's liable to breakloose. It'd be front page. And first thing you know, the market's goingto be headed the wrong way. If you've got a heavy block of shares youwant to divest, you damn well do it on the QT, 'cause its price canstart to nosedive. Folks tend to figure you know something they don't.The Street's about ninety percent psychology and ten percent reality .. . if that much."

  "Just concentrate on the technical part, Henderson."

  "Well, friends, any way you cut it, we're talking what I'd call a verydubious proposition. Those Jap institutions would lose their shirt ifDNI dumped all at once." He exhaled quietly. "You start rollingbillions and billions in Japanese money, how you plan on keeping thething from blowing sky-high? You'd have Nips climbing all over your assin ten minutes flat, you tried something like that."

  "Henderson, relax. What if we did it anonymously? Like I said. Used theDNI mainframe, funneled orders through accounts everywhere, dummyaccounts in banks all over the place? Wouldn't that give us some elbowroom?"

  "Maybe, maybe. If you played it right. I'd guess a few wise guyanalysts would probably sniff something in the wind, but nobody'd havea handle on the real action, at least not for a while. Things mightstay cool temporarily."

  "Are you saying that, in theory, the market side is doable, at leastinitially?" Tam pressed him.

  "I'm just guessing it's vaguely conceivable." He got up to freshen hisdrink. "Be that as it may, though, the real problem is the Japaneseend. I'd guess the shit's going to be all over the fan in Tokyo theminute you start selling. Those pension funds are not going to rollover and let you wreck their portfolio."

  "Bill"--I spoke up--"they're not going to be able to stop us. Count onit. DNI holds the stock as trustee. Noda's rules. Ironclad power ofattorney."

  "So?"

  "So," I said very carefully, "we are going to take over Dai Nippon."

  "What the hell are you talking about!"

  We told him. The Rambo part.

  "Jeezus!" He stared at the two of us. "What you're proposing is a majorfelony. I could get accessory and five years for just listening tothis."

  "Who's going to file charges?"

  "How about Mr. Matsuo Noda for starters?"

  "Bill, we just happen to have a little leverage with Mr. Noda-san atthe moment. The minute he finds out we're still alive--"

  "You'd damned well better, or you could be looking at a long interludeof pastoral delights up at the Danbury country club." He was stilldumbstruck. Finally he grinned. "After parole, though, you couldprobably sell your memoirs to Newsweek for a couple of million and landa guest slot on Carson."

  There was a long pause as silence filled the room, broken only by thedistant sound of a siren from the street below. For a minute I had theparanoid fantasy it was the first wave of the police SWAT team headingdowntown to shoot it out with us.

  Finally Bill turned back and fixed me with a questioning look. "Are youreally serious about this asshole idea?"

  "It's not without appeal."

  "Walton, you dumb fuck, do this and you'll never work in this townagain."

  "I'm well aware of that."

  "Nobody'd hire you to fight a dog summons, let alone a takeover." Billturned to Tam. "Talk sense to this man."

  "It was my idea."

  "You're both crazy." He walked over to the bar and poured some moreScotch into his glass. "But what the hell. I've seen enough to knowwe'd damned sure better start taking this country back into our ownhands one way or another."

  "So you'll help?" She was watching him like a hawk.

  "Well, now, what's life for, gentle lady"--he grinned--"except to kickass now and again. Somebody's got to throw a monkey wrench into Noda'soperation. If you think you can do it, then count me in. If nothingelse, maybe we can cause a few waves down on the Potomac."

  What am I hearing? I found myself wondering. Dr. William J. Henderson,capitalism's pillar of sober reappraisal, entertaining a scenariostraight from a CIA handbook?

  Of course, Bill still hadn't heard the second half of the play.

  "Fine, we could use your help on the setup." I glanced at the row ofCRT screens behind the bar. "First there's the matter of gettingcontrol of DNI's supercomputer, and then we'll need somebody withtrading experience. Is there any chance you could bring in one of yourboys to oversee that end?"

  "How do you figure on running it?"

  "I'd guess our best shot is to stay off-exchange as much as possible.Use Jeffries, third-market outfits like that. And also keep the moneyoffshore, international, with a lot of separate bank connections tohandle the transfers. Maybe also float some of the interim liquidity inovernight paper to cover our tracks, just so we can generally keep thelid on everything as long as we can."

  "Then it so happens one of my boys might just fill our bill. That's histhing. He operates freelance now, but he's good. Damned good. Troubleis, he knows it, and he don't come cheap anymore."

  "I think we can cover a few consulting fees. Can he keep his mouthshut?"

  "If he couldn't, we'd both probably be in jail by now." He drained hisglass. "Though remember, you'll be moving a lot of bucks, and there arefolks who keep track of such things. But I know a few smokescreensthat'll hold the SEC and that crowd at arm's length for a little." Helooked at me for a second, his face turning quizzical. "What was thatyou said just now? About parking the money overnight? What are yougoing to do with it after that?"

  "You're getting ahead of things," Tam replied calmly.

  "Bill, why don't we head on over to Mortimer's?" I looked out at thepark one last time. "You may need a stiff drink for the rest of this."

  "Jesus, I'm dealing with maniacs." He got up and headed for his coat."Let's move it."