The Warning

by Davis Bunn

  “Mr. Korda.” One of the skeptical young men leaned forward. “Are you saying that we cannot learn from our mistakes? Couldn’t it be possible to ensure that the next economic downturn would not be so severe?”

  “In theory, certainly. In reality, no.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Because of human nature. Because of greed.” He was losing them. He could see it in their faces. Mention a moral code and their minds went on autopilot. “There is a passage in the Bible that goes, ‘O foolish people, without understanding, who have eyes and see not, and who have ears and hear not.’”

  He glanced around the table, saw no indication that anyone recognized the passage, and with a mental shrug returned to the central theme. “It is fairly easy to recognize that our financial system is out of kilter. Too many of the people in charge of our banks have completely lost touch with the world beyond Wall Street. They live to trade, not to serve their customers. They are after fast bucks and quick profits. Banks accept trading risks that would have been utterly unthinkable just twenty years ago.

  “People look at the Great Depression as though it caught the world by surprise. Well, it did, and it didn’t. I’ve done some reading about that time, and I’ve found that people were worried about the dangers five years before the crash actually arrived.

  “What concerns me now, as it concerns others, is how many things we have in common with that period. Two of these factors have been in the press recently, the air of frantic speculation and the overly high prices of stocks. But there are other parallels that greatly concern me. I want to mention just three of them here, the three that frighten me the most.

  “Back in the twenties, banks could trade nationwide. They operated in as many states as they wanted. That meant when they began going under in nineteen-thirty, their bankruptcies had a national effect. So in the thirties Congress passed a series of laws restricting banks to operation in just one state. Banks have been fighting to have these laws rolled back ever since.

  “In the late eighties, the banks finally pulled the last remaining teeth from these laws, and now we are faced with a growing national banking network all over again.

  “Second, until the depression, banks could print their own money. Supposedly this was backed up by the banks’ gold reserves. But these reserves were not effectively monitored. Banks used these same reserves to back wild speculations in the markets. The result was, banks printed money backed by their good name, nothing more. When the market dropped, the banks’ assets were wiped out, and their money was worth nothing.

  “Banks today do not print money, but they do print paper credits. They print them, and they trade in them. The difference between today’s paper and yesterday’s money is only one of magnitude.

  “Paper money is a promissory note. It is a freely exchangeable slip saying that when presented to the bank, the bank will produce gold or U.S. currency to cover that amount. Today’s bank papers are promissory notes as well, only they’re a hundred million times larger.

  “Once again, these credit papers are used like currency to buy and sell businesses, support governments, cover mortgages, and run local communities. Once again, this paper is backed on nothing more than the bank’s good name.

  “And third, the twenties saw a huge upsurge in the amount of foreign capital flowing into the American stock and bond markets. Germany was still in ruins after the First World War, as was much of the rest of Europe. Foreign capital flowed into the only market that was booming—America. That was very nervous capital and was controlled by just a handful of huge foreign investors. When they felt the market had peaked, they pulled their money out. All at once, there was an unexpected drain with cataclysmic results. How do I know that this had such a terribly destabilizing effect? Because records show that this occurred on the Friday before Black Monday—October 26, 1929.

  “Today, the Japanese market remains in severe recession. Their stock market is down forty percent from its level of just three years ago. Our interest rates are nine times higher than theirs.

  “Today, Europe’s economy is in turmoil. Germany and France are experiencing their highest levels of unemployment in fifty years. Their stock and bond markets are stagnant.

  “Because of these and other factors, the level of foreign investment in the U.S. markets has never been higher. Once again, this is very nervous money. There is an extremely tense finger on the trigger. This gun is aimed directly at the heart of our own financial system.”

  Thad was a bitter man. Thursday morning he stared out the Dayton restaurant window as the lunch crowd began to arrive. The sunlight seemed to mock him and his anger.

  “Something the matter with your food, hon?”

  “What?” Thad swung back around and focused first on the waitress and then on his untouched plate. “Uh, no, I’m just not hungry.”

  “You’re going to have to do better than that.” She showed a weary smile. “Take a plate like that back into the kitchen, we’ll both have to answer to the cook.”

  “Just bring me a coffee.” He turned back to the window.

  The two guards remained as silent as they had been all week. He did not mind in the least. For three days they had tracked Buddy Korda, always one step behind the man’s erratic course. Plans seemed to change by the hour, leaving them utterly unable to set another trap.

  Not only that, but Thad’s blood was brought to a boil by the morning’s papers.

  The day before, according to several articles, a bulletin had flashed over the financial wires. One paper said it had originated in London, another Rome. Reuters and AP both covered it, however. The report stated that the Japanese were not going to bid on the next treasury bond offering.

  Just as he had suggested to Larry Fleiss.

  The response had been explosive. Bond prices had dipped by 18 percent in the space of an hour. Then a second rumor had surfaced. Because of the yen’s weakness the Japanese were pulling out of stocks as well. The New York exchanges went into a paroxysm of selling, shedding one hundred ten points in fifteen minutes.

  The effect was so shattering that the Japanese finance minister had been raised from his bed so that he could issue a personal denial.

  The finance minister’s statement had resulted in just as powerful an effect, only in the opposite direction. Bond and stock prices had soared, with the Dow closing 212 points above the previous day.

  Thad ground his teeth in silent fury. Larry’s jovial call earlier that morning had only poured salt in his wounds. The man had congratulated him on a great idea and crowed over the profits made by going in both directions and in both markets. Thad had forced himself to sound easy and amiable, but inside he burned with wrath over having missed the action. His idea, Larry’s glory. All because of Korda botching their well-laid plans and then running across the country like a fox.

  Well, this time they wouldn’t fail.

  When the cell phone chimed, he had it up and at his ear before the first ring had ended. “Dorsett.”

  It was Wesley Hadden, the kid on Korda’s trail. He sounded terse, frightened. “They’re giving a talk tonight at the Clarks-town community center.”

  “Great.” Thad made swift notes. “Good work.”

  “They don’t have hotel reservations yet.” He almost bit off the words.

  Either that or they were keeping it secret. No surprise, after the other night’s fiasco. “If you hear something, call us back.”

  “This is the last time I need to report, right?”

  “Probably.” The kid’s tone was unsettling. “What’s the matter?”

  A moment’s hesitation, then, “I’ve been listening to Mr. Korda speak.”

  “Don’t let it get to you.”

  “This is a lot . . .” The kid stopped, breathed hard, then demanded sharply, “Exactly how much longer do I need to hang around?”

  “A day, maybe two. I’ll let you know. In the meantime, stay on his case.” Thad switched off the phone to find the two g
uards watching him impassively. “Tonight’s talk is in Clarkstown. You know people there?”

  “We can find them.”

  “Just a question of knowing where to look,” the second agreed.

  “Okay. Hire some muscle. Just make sure they can’t be traced back to us. Can you do that?”

  “No problem.” Toneless, terse, not the least surprised.

  “After the other night, they’ll be watching for us at the hotel. So we’ll make our move when he arrives for the talk. Make it look like a mugging.”

  “There’ll be others around,” one guard pointed out.

  “So hit them too. I don’t care.”

  The two hulks exchanged glances. “How hard?”

  “Hard as you want. I don’t just want him stopped. I want him running scared. Or I don’t want him running at all.”

  They had learned to give Buddy a little time to rest and recuperate after a public meeting, especially the press conferences. Today, however, he scarcely had time to lie down before there was a knock on his door.

  When he stood up Buddy felt like he walked into an unspoken message, as though it had been draped around his bed and he walked straight into it.

  Buddy opened the door for Clarke. Beside him stood the young man who had attached himself to their group back in Pennsylvania. Wesley Hadden was employed by Valenti Bank, which explained the young man’s nervous air; anyone working for the bank but associated with Buddy ran the risk of losing his job. Wesley had proved to be a great help to Clarke on several occasions, traveling ahead while Clarke himself remained at Buddy’s side.

  “There’s a problem,” Clarke announced.

  Buddy nodded. He knew.

  “Tonight’s meeting was supposed to be in a community hall, but an electrical fire broke out last night. I’ve just come from there. It smells like burned cork.” Clarke studied his friend. “You don’t look the least bit surprised. Did somebody already tell you about this?”

  Buddy started to deny it, began to correct himself, and then realized it didn’t matter. “Take the car and get back on the interstate. Go to the next exit. Get off and stop at the first church you see. A pastor will be out front. Ask him if we can hold the meeting there.”

  “Get on . . .” Clarke stepped back through the doorway. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes,” he said. “Yes, I am.”

  Clarke exchanged a glance with Wesley, who was staring at Buddy in openmouthed bafflement. Clarke said slowly, “If you’re absolutely certain, I guess we’d better be going.”

  “Take the contact numbers with you,” Buddy said. “There isn’t much time.”

  –|| THIRTY–FOUR ||–

  The breathless call came just as Thad Dorsett was checking into the Clarkstown hotel. He moved away from the reception desk as soon as he recognized the voice. “What’s the matter?”

  The kid tracking Korda reported, “They’ve changed the venue.”

  Thad felt awash in an icy fury. “You mean you got it wrong.”

  “I mean they changed it. There was a fire at the community hall last night.” Wesley’s voice was more than agitated. The guy sounded like he was approaching the edge. “If you don’t believe me, go check it out yourself. I don’t care.”

  “Calm down,” Thad snapped, signaling to the guards.

  “You calm down. I’ve had enough of this. I’m out, you hear me?”

  “Sure, sure. Take it easy.” Dorsett turned away from curious gazes cast his way. “Where are they holding the talk?”

  “This whole thing is crazy. The guy hasn’t done anything wrong. Why are you bugging him anyway?”

  Thad felt another chance slipping through his fingers. “I’ll discuss philosophy with you another time. Right now just tell me where the talk is going to be held.”

  There was a moment’s silence before Wesley sullenly replied, “I don’t know.”

  “You mean they’re keeping it secret.” He exchanged glances with the cold-eyed guards. Bad news.

  “I mean, I don’t know. Nobody does. Mr. Korda’s told us to drive into town, stop at the first church we see, ask if we can hold it there.”

  “That doesn’t make any sense.” Now it was Mr. Korda. Now it was us headed into town. “Run that one by me again.”

  The kid did as he was told. “This is my last call. I can’t stand this.”

  “You mean they suspect you?”

  “I mean I don’t know what’s right anymore. It seemed so simple when I started. But now . . .” He cupped the phone, said something muffled, then came back on the line with, “I see Clarke signaling me.” Another moment of raspy breathing and then, “I quit. That’s all. I’m a banker, not a spy.”

  Thad punched off the phone, turned to the pair of guards, and said, “You’re not going to believe this.”

  “Are you sure we’re doing the right thing?”

  “What, doing as Buddy said?” Clarke laughed and shook his head. “All I can say for certain is, when he spoke there in the hotel room, it was not just Buddy’s authority that I heard.”

  Wesley Hadden was a slender young man with a preference for suspenders and overloud silk ties. He settled his tortoiseshell-rimmed glasses more firmly upon his nose, every gesture tinged with the same nervous air that pitched his voice somewhere near a whine. “But it doesn’t make sense! I mean, we’re three hours from what’s supposed to be our biggest meeting yet, chasing all over creation following orders that sounded, well . . .”

  “Crazy,” Clarke agreed. “Totally crazy.”

  “So how can you trust him?”

  “I’m not trusting Buddy. I’m trusting God, and trusting that Buddy got it right.”

  “Got what right?” Wesley spun his head around. “Wasn’t that an exit?”

  “Where?”

  “Back there! That side road behind us.”

  Clarke squinted into the rearview mirror. “I don’t see anything.”

  Wesley spun in his seat. “I’m positive it was an exit.” He slumped back around. “So now we’re even more lost than before.”

  “Wait, there’s another exit up ahead.”

  “So what? Mr. Korda said take the first exit.” Wesley shook his head. “What difference does it make? I don’t believe any of it anyway.”

  “Okay, here we go. No big deal. We’ll just swing around and get back on the interstate going the other way.” But then Clarke squinted through the windshield, and slowed the car.

  “What’s the matter?”

  “Right up ahead, see that?”

  “It’s a church, so what?”

  “So there’s a pastor standing out there in front.”

  “Where?”

  “Right there. By the notice board.”

  “But Mr. Korda said the first exit! We’re on the wrong side of town!”

  “Come on, it won’t take a moment to see if this is the right one after all.” Clarke glanced at the young man seated next to him. “Is everything all right?”

  “All right?” Wesley wiped at the sweat beading his forehead. “We’re off riding around Clarkstown on instructions that don’t make any sense at all, and you ask me if everything is all right?”

  “Have faith,” Clarke said mildly, inspecting the young man more closely. Something was definitely wrong there. “In times like these, we can only find answers with the help of faith.”

  After his talk, Buddy stood listening to the pastor continue to radiate excitement over the unexpected meeting. “I had just heard that our evening speaker was canceled. Hard to argue with laryngitis. I had decided to stretch my legs while my assistant started calling around.” He laughed. “I have to tell you, when your friends pulled up, I thought it was a hoax. It was only the night before last that I heard about you for the first time. A group of pastors from the area had been invited to a friend’s to watch your video.”

  Buddy listened with one ear, still drained from the evening’s meeting. Despite the lack of notice, the hall had been filled to overflowing. The me
etings so often were these days. Buddy shook the hands of the last to depart and noticed that Clarke and Wesley were standing in the corner, trying to gain his attention. Buddy waved them over.

  “I can’t tell you how moved I was by the video,” the pastor went on. “So moved I almost doubted it myself the next day. You know how it is, being swept up one moment, then caught by doubt the next. But tonight, my goodness, I have never felt such an affirming flame before.”

  The pastor offered Buddy his hand. “It has been an honor, Mr. Korda. And I mean that sincerely.”

  “Thank you.” He wondered why Clarke was still holding back. Then he noticed that Wesley’s face was streaked with tears.

  “I will see to it personally that tapes of tonight’s talk are passed throughout our city. You can rest assured of that.” He gave Clarke and Wesley a friendly nod and moved off.

  Clarke waited until they were alone to announce, “Wesley has something to tell you.”

  “I’m a spy,” he blurted out. “Valenti headquarters sent me to track your movements and report them.”

  Buddy found himself waiting for some internal reaction, but all he felt was tired. “I see.”

  Clarke demanded, “Report to whom?”

  “A guy named Dorsett. Thad Dorsett.”

  “That name sounds familiar,” Clarke said.

  “He was head of our local branch,” Buddy offered.

  “In Aiden?” Clarke stared at him. “Your boss?”

  Buddy nodded and said to the young man, “Thank you for telling us.”

  “They promised me a promotion if I helped.” The young man seemed broken by his confession. “I didn’t know, I didn’t realize.”

  Clarke’s eyes widened. “The girls, the ones who came to my room.”

  “That was part of this,” the young man confirmed. “They wanted to find some way to discredit you.”

  “I understand.” Buddy felt more worried about the young man than he was about himself. “All is forgiven.”

  “Not by me,” Wesley groaned. “I can’t believe I’ve tried to hurt you. I’ve listened to your talk four times now, and all I hear is somebody trying to help others. You’re not getting anything out of this at all.”