“What kind of profit are we talking about?”
“Well, the partners’ve got to put up some dough, but it’s something relatively minimal. The way it works, when it’s really sleazy, is guaranteed money up front. That’s the suspicion about Dandridge right now, that’s where some of the lawsuits are headed, and it’s why people think he’s being so secretive. He could have put up a million bucks and gotten a deal where his share of the SPE guarantees him ten million-no matter what the SPE’s profits are. In exchange, he arranges the sweetheart deal for EGenco to rebuild the Middle East for billions and billions. That kind of shit goes on all the time.”
“Now let’s say the partners also want the SPE to be profitable, over and above that guarantee. What kind of money could we be talking about for a midsize oil exploration company?”
“If oil prices go up? Huge. Let’s say EGenco says, ‘You put up a million bucks each to be a partner.’ The Saudis generate about eight million barrels of oil per day. Three years ago the price of oil was twenty bucks a barrel. Now it’s sixty-two, sixty-three, or some unbelievable thing. So their gross has gone up from about a hundred and sixty million a day to around five hundred a day.”
“Five hundred million dollars a day?”
“Hey, it’s why it’s nice to be a Saudi royal. You pick up a nice chunk of change from that.”
“Three years ago it was almost a third of what it is now,” Justin said. “That was around the time of Dandridge’s big secret energy conference.”
“You got it.”
Justin shook his head in amazement. “How about a medium-sized American company?”
“Well, if EGenco puts these guys in a midsize company that’s working, that’s a success, that kind of company can generate about a hundred thousand barrels per day.”
“Which they’re selling for sixty-plus dollars a barrel.”
“Yup. Comes out to six million dollars a day. Of course, that’s not profit. EGenco takes their percentage, there’s operating costs. .”
“You know what, Roger? It’s still a shitload of money left over.”
“No question about that.”
“And one more thing: give me a simple rule of thumb about how to manipulate oil prices.”
“It’s actually pretty easy. Especially if you’re someone like Dandridge where everyone would expect him to manipulate downward to benefit the administration and make himself look good politically.”
“Well, explain it to me both ways, up and down.”
“There’s just one way, Jay. Once you have production in place, there are only two components: volume and price. The more volume, the lower the price. It’s just simple supply and demand. Less volume, the more people have to pay. And vice versa.”
“And the way you alter the volume?”
“You lower the number of producers and producing sources. If you want to be really paranoid, you can say we blew up Iraqi oil wells in the various Gulf wars so the Saudis got a bigger share of production.”
“How about declaring oil-producing land off-limits to drillers?”
“You mean American land? Sure. Anything that limits production is going to raise prices. You know, you’re starting to scare me, Jay. This doesn’t sound so hypothetical.”
“Do me a favor, Roger. Call my folks and tell them I’m okay. Tell them I’ll call them as soon as I can.”
“Want me to wish ’em a Merry Christmas for you?”
“I’ll do that myself, thanks.”
“Did I give you what you need?”
“You gave me exactly what I need. I’ll make it up to you.”
And when he hung up, he knew he had it. Not every detail. Not every piece of the puzzle. But the overall scheme. It was crystal clear. He had it cold.
And then he began to write. He no longer cared about his missing computer and the lost information. He remembered the last two lists he’d scrawled into the floor of his prison cell and quickly jotted them down on his pad. The first list was Dandridge and the various ways he was connected to the pieces of the puzzle.
DANDRIDGE
Midas
EGenco
Cooke
Anderson
Stuller
Ingles
Mishari
The next list was one where he’d split all the names into two categories-people and companies.
Cooke Midas Anderson EGenco Stuller Ingles Mishari
Cooke was a victim. The others were survivors. The others formed the core group. So he rewrote the list, eliminating Cooke’s name. He stared at what he’d written, realized that Dandridge was missing. He was the link to everything and everyone else and he belonged in this grouping. So he quickly scrawled the name at the bottom.
Anderson Midas StullerEGencoIngles Mishari Dandridge
He didn’t have to stare at it for long before it came to him. Before it hit him like a sledgehammer on the back of the head. He turned to a new page. He wanted this clean and clear. And he rewrote the names in the left-hand column so it read:
Mishari
Ingles
Dandridge
Anderson
Stuller
Shaking his head, he underlined the first letters of each name on the list, first just one line, then two, then three. Each time he drew a line, he slashed down harder and more furiously with his pen.
Mishari
Ingles
Dandridge
Anderson
Stuller
There it was. In angrily underlined black and white.
“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.
Who was Midas? That question was answered.
What was Midas? He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one, too, now.
A hundred thousand barrels of oil per day. Over sixty dollars per barrel.
Over six million dollars a day.
Follow the money, his father had said.
Follow the goddamn money, Justin thought. Everything else is a mirage.
But the money gets you there every time.
32
He was just missing a couple of pieces of the puzzle. And by the time Bruno Pecozzi showed up in the late afternoon, he was certain he would have one of them.
Gary Jenkins arrived back at Justin’s house around 3 P.M. with a sullen-looking blonde girl in tow. She was lugging a large leather case. When she took off her coat, Justin saw she was wearing the usual uniform of fifteen-year-old girls everywhere: jeans that were cut way too low on her hips, a tight shirt that didn’t cover her midriff, platform shoes that looked like refugees from the ’80s, and a lit cigarette hanging out of the corner of her lips.
“You’re my artist?” Justin asked.
“So what is this, some kind of deal where I draw you naked?”
“I’m the chief of police of East End Harbor,” Justin said. “I’m asking you to help me solve a serious crime.”
She sounded almost disappointed. “Yeah, that’s what Gary said.”
“Officer Jenkins,” Gary said sternly.
“Yeah, whatever,” the girl said.
“Will you help me?” Justin said. “It’s important.”
“I liked it better when I thought you were gonna be naked,” the girl said.
“I don’t blame you,” Justin said. “What’s your name?”
“Darla,” the girl told him.
“So you gonna help me, Darla?”
She turned to Gary. “Did you tell him what I want?”
“How could I tell him? I’ve been with you, haven’t I? Don’t worry about it.”
Darla turned back to Justin. “A year’s membership at the Museum of Modern Art. In New York.”
“That’s what you want?” Justin asked, surprised.
“For a whole year.”
“I’ll make it two years,” Justin said. “If you can draw what I need.”
“Whatever it is, I can draw it,” the girl said. “So let’s get goin’. I don’t, like, have all day.”
While J
ustin stayed with Darla, he sent Gary off on one more errand, handing him a credit card and giving him instructions. Gary was back in an hour with a brand-new laptop computer.
By that time Darla had gotten it right.
No, Justin thought, more than right. Perfect.
“Remember me when you’re hanging in MOMA,” he said. “I’m your first patron.”
“Whatever,” she said. “Can I go now?”
A few minutes after she’d gone, the doorbell rang. It was Bruno.
It was a strange moment for Justin. He didn’t particularly like Bruno Pecozzi. He was not immune to his charm or his easygoing, entertaining manner, but he understood that the man was a killer. Your basic sociopath. Justin had always expected that, one day, he’d have to arrest the man, and he had to admit that up until now, he would have said that would be a day he looked forward to. But there was a good chance this man had saved his life. Certainly, he’d saved his sanity. And there was one other thing: he needed Bruno now. He needed something done and he didn’t have the strength to do it himself. Arresting Bruno was the last thing on Justin’s mind now. He had something quite different he wanted to discuss with the strong-arm hood turned movie consultant. Something much more in keeping with Bruno’s particular talents. Justin was about to cross a line and he didn’t really care. He had crossed this line before. So he stuck out his hand, and when Bruno took it, Justin simply said, “Thank you.”
Bruno didn’t say a word, just shrugged. Finally, as they stood in the living room, Bruno said, “You got a beer?”
Justin brought him one and they sat down.
“How?” Justin said, sipping from his own bottle of Sam Adams. “How the hell did you do it?”
“You know, Jay, people in my profession, we’re like magicians. We don’t like to give away our secrets. Makes it look less impressive, you know?”
“Bruno,” Justin said, “it’s gonna be pretty hard for me to not be impressed. You got through maybe the most secretive government installation we have.”
“Without goin’ into too much detail, you gotta keep in mind what my business associates specialize in. Remember I told you I was good at judgin’ when people were afraid?”
“I remember.”
“Yeah, well, I’m not too bad either when it comes to pickin’ people who are. . how shall I say. . greedy.”
“Corrupt?”
“That’s another way of puttin’ it, sure.”
“I’m still not following.”
“All right. I use this lawyer, she’s good people, Shirley Greene. She’s saved my bacon a coupla times.”
“She represents the guy who contacted me down there.”
“She represents a lotta those guys. It’s what she does, you know? She’s one of those liberal do-gooders. You know, I told her, I don’t approve. I mean, all those Arab fucks, who knows what the fuck they’re doin’ to our country, but hey, she helped me out enough times, who am I to say no when she needs a favor.”
“What kind of favor did she need?”
“She couldn’t talk to her clients. It’s the way things work now. They got ’em in a place like that, there ain’t too much you can do. So she asked if I could help.”
“And you could.”
“Jay, here’s the thing. You got a basic honest point of view. You can’t help it, it’s just who you are, the way you was raised. Me, I see things a different way. And the way I see it, wherever there’s any kinda hierarchy. . good word, right?. . there’s gonna be somebody who’s gettin’ shafted. Someone’s makin’ more money than someone else, someone’s not gettin’ the promotion he thought he should get, someone’s not gettin’ the girl he thinks he deserves, you know what I mean?”
“Yeah. I know what you mean.”
“So it’s usually not too hard to find someone who’s pissed off. Who’ll do you a little favor in exchange for somethin’ he wants. And you’d be surprised how what people want is usually money.”
“But Gitmo?”
“Hey, it’s prison guards, right? If there’s one thing, I know, it’s prison guards. Don’t matter who they work for, it’s still a shitty job and they all could use a favor. So it’s just a matter of findin’ out what they want. After Shirley came to me, way before you were there, it took me a couple of months but I found somebody. In fact, I found two somebodies. So she had a pipeline, could get word to her clients, get some information down there, get some back. Shirley’s the one suspected that’s where they took you. After that, it wasn’t so hard. I already had the connection. I called your father, told him what I knew-”
“You and my father?” When Bruno nodded, Justin said, “I have to say, I’d like to have heard those conversations.”
“He’d already spoken to your girlfriend and he was pretty sharp. He’s a businessman, you know what I mean? He knows how to cut to the bottom of things. I enjoyed dealin’ with him.”
“I’ll be sure to tell him.”
“Well, you should thank him, too, ’cause once he decided I was givin’ him the legit story, he called your lady pal up in Boston and they put some serious pressure on.”
“Yeah, Wanda, I know. What kind of pressure?”
“Don’t know exactly. A congressman, a senator, between the two of them they got some access. All I know is, your Feebie friend called me and said things were lookin’ good.”
“Jesus. Now Wanda’s calling you?”
“Makes you believe in the Big Guy upstairs, don’t it?”
Justin rubbed his fingers across his dry lips. “Wanda said things were looking good? What did that mean?”
“I was hopin’ it meant she had the connections to, you know, monitor the situation. And give you some protection. Which is what happened. She’s got some juice, that girl.”
“I guess she does.”
“You owe her, buddy.”
“Yeah. And I guess she’ll be making me pay her back for quite a while.”
“So, anyway, once someone with juice knew what the story was, I knew they couldn’t do nothin’ too bad to you, and I figured that knowledge might come in handy while you were incarcerated.”
“It did.”
“Good. That pleases me.” Bruno was finished with his second beer by then. He seemed to suck the liquid out of the bottle in one big gulp. “So is this just a pleasant sit-around and thank-you kind of a thing, or you got somethin’ else to discuss with me?”
“I have something else to discuss with you.”
“So let’s hear it.”
Justin nodded. Held up his hand to say it would just be a moment, went to the phone, and dialed the Riverhead police station. When he was put through to his contact, he said, “I’m calling for Wanda Chinkle again. How are those prints coming?”
“You fuckin’ guys,” the officer on the other end of the phone said. “You sent me a bunch of jacks to get prints off of? You know how fuckin’ hard it is to get prints off jacks?”
“Do you have anything?”
“We’re workin’ on it. Maybe some partials. But we don’t have a match yet, if that’s what you’re askin’.”
“How about the other thing?”
“The paper cup? Yeah, we got that. I was just gonna fax the info to you but you called when I was getting up.”
“If you can fax it now, I’d really appreciate it.”
“No problem.”
“And how about the jacks?”
“Hey, I know with you Feds everything’s a fuckin’ emergency. I said we’re workin’ on it. If I get somethin’ soon, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks a lot.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go stand by your fax machine. I’ll send the stuff in a minute.”
Justin hung up, told Bruno to wait one more minute. It took less than that for his fax machine to start humming. A piece of paper came through. Justin stared at the information on it, then handed it to Bruno.
“I’d like to hire you to use your particular skill sets,” he said to the big man. “Normally,
I’d do this myself, but I don’t think I have the strength.”
“‘Lieutenant Colonel Warren Grimble,’” Bruno said, reading from the faxed piece of paper. “‘Military Intelligence.’”
“I need some information from him,” Justin said.
“Uh-huh. You meet this guy while you were vacationin’ down south just now?”
“That’s where I met him.”
“What do you need to know?”
“In early November, a day or two before the bombing at Harper’s Restaurant, an Air Force captain, Hutchinson Cooke, flew someone out of Guantanamo Bay, and flew him to the East End airport. I’m pretty sure that person was a prisoner there. I want to know who it was.”
“Okay.” Bruno scanned the faxed piece of paper. “This Grimble’s home address?”
“And his military base in Louisiana.”
“I don’t suppose you got anything to show me what he looks like?”
“As a matter of fact,” Justin said, and went to his desk and got Bruno the sketch that Darla had drawn. “It’s an exact likeness,” he said. “As good as a photograph.”
“So, Jay, I’m more than happy to be a nice guy sometimes, but I’m still a businessman and usually I’m compensated for this kind of work.”
“Name the price.”
“I like dealin’ with you Westwoods,” Bruno said. “There’s no bullshit.”
He told Justin the price and Justin didn’t hesitate. He just nodded and said, “Done.”
“I got a couple of questions for you,” Bruno said. “Bein’ the thorough professional that I am.”
“Go ahead.”
“You want this guy. . Grimble. . to know the. . how shall I put it. . the subtext of our conversation? I been hangin’ around the screenwriter of the movie. I like that word, ‘subtext.’”
“Do you mean, do I want him to know that the question’s coming from me?”
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