The Dryden Note
Page 23
“For what I hope will be a shorter time.”
“McQuade, let’s skip the close dancing. Your boss—and you, probably—tried to
kill…”
“Have you interested the police in that idea, Professor?”
“McQuade, I cannot imagine how you look at yourself in the mirror. How can…” “Wait, Professor, wait, wait. “We have an idea that may appeal to you.” “But not ready to transfer shares?”
“No, but…”
“What, then?”
“A way to end this controversy once and for all.”
“What?”
“A settlement. No admission of any debt. Just a way to smooth and end our
relationship.”
Sloan hesitated. “How much?”
“A million dollars.”
“You jest!”
“Never. Not about a million dollars.”
“When?”
“As soon as we can draw the papers—say two days. Thursday.”
“Strings?”
“You’ll have to read the documents, but no—she surrenders her rights, she takes
home a million dollars.”
“This is ridiculous, but I suppose I have to put the question to her.”
“When can I know?”
“Same schedule you’ve had me on—when I’m ready.”
Chapter 43
The strain was still in evidence. Sloan sat alone on the couch.
“A million? Back where we started, but it’s something.”
Sloan frowned.
“It’s not what we hoped for, but it’s found money as far as the Morgan family is
concerned.”
“It’s a defeat we don’t have to accept.”
“What do you..?”
“I want to persevere.”
“Is there a time limit on accepting the offer?”
“No. I left McQuade dangling.”
“Isn’t that dangerous? What if..?”
“We’re weakened, but Mangrum wants the matter closed. If I sense the door is
closing, we can decide then.”
Celia moved to his side. “OK. I’m in.”
He reached for her, but she stood.
“Got to pack. I have a morning flight to Quito and not a thing organized yet.” He nodded. “Call me when you get back?”
“Of course.”
July 28, Washington.
The Task Force investigators who attended this meeting were of lesser rank than
those of Harding’s July 19 meeting, but Harding was not concerned.
The FBI agent began. “No relationships that even hint of criminality. He’s
occasionally in the company of people whose activities we question, but no, nothing.” CIA was next. “Nothing foreign. ICP doesn’t discriminate among regimes. It does
business with anyone with the cash. And since it doesn’t deal in anything that has any
strategic significance, we don’t have a handle on him.”
The IRS was third. “Nothing from us. The Service has audited him from time to
time, but found nothing. A careful man with his taxes.”
Harding faced the man from Treasury. “And?”
“Maybe. He has an amazing number of banking arrangements and brokerage
accounts around the world. He worked in the Company’s international operations for a
number of years and has maintained many of the arrangements that developed out of
those times. We have no details.”
Harding rose, followed by his guests. “Thank you gentlemen. All but Treasury may
leave.”
Merrill Jackson sat back down.
“I’m not impressed with ‘no details’, Merrill. Press this area. I need know
everything.”
“Mr. McIntyre has explained to me that…”
“That you should do whatever I ask?” Harding interrupted.
“Uh—OK.”
“Thank you, Merrill. Quick as you can.”
August 2, Washington.
Five days later Jackson called Harding.
“We have one item of possible interest.”
“Go!”
“There is a brokerage account at a bank—ICB—at St. Helier…”
“St. Helier?”
“The Channel Islands. There is an account for Brushwell, Ltd., a UK corporation, the
principals of which are a Mr. I. Desmond and a Mr. W. Mangrum.”
“Ah!”
“The account is now dormant, but…”
“Get on with it!”
“Until recently, the account was short 27,932,200 shares of International Construction
Products.”
“Courier everything to me immediately!”
“Congressman Harding, Tom.”
Sloan’s reply was cautious. “Good afternoon, Congressman.”
“Tom, I called to hear how the study’s going.”
“Well. Woody is submitting reports. I’m compiling and writing. We’ll make the
deadline.”
“Good.”
“Thanks for the…”
“I had another reason for calling.”
Sloan waited.
“Regarding Miss Morgan.”
Sloan didn’t respond.
“It’s a monstrous injustice. I’ve wanted to drop the matter, but I can’t just let it go.”
He paused. “I may have something for you.”
“What?”
“Using the forces at my disposal relative to the CPS Task Force, I have researched
Walter’s life rather closely. Crime, unfortunate international connections, taxes.” “And?”
“Nothing.” He paused again. “But a review of a large number of bank accounts and
brokerage accounts has found something.”
“Joe Earl, I’ve had all of your intrigues I need. If you know something that would
interest me, tell me.”
Harding controlled himself, then described the shorting records that had been found. “That’s a black mark against Mangrum, but why would that interest me?” “It could be a lever to extract Miss Morgan’s stock.”
“Blackmail?”
“A harsh term, Professor.”
“But accurate. Why don’t you use it yourself”
“Two reasons: my use of the Task Force assets in this way might be criticized and I
have nothing against Mangrum personally—he’s been my ally. That not withstanding,
you know my interests lie with the Morgans.”
Sloan didn’t reply.
“So, you don’t want the details?”
“I do not.”
“You’re just an agent in this matter, Professor. Are you sure you have the right to
deny your principal this weapon?”
Sloan hung up.
Chapter 44
August 3, Atlanta.
Sloan was happy to hear her voice. “Tonight?” “8:00. I’ll ask Mother to entertain Cynthia.”
When the remains of dinner had been settled, Celia and Sloan sat side by side on the couch, but Sloan soon stretched his body lengthwise and maneuvered his head in her lap.
“Been one of those days?”
“Been two of those weeks.”
“Tell me.”
He sighed. “I’ll review.” He began counting on his fingers. “Harding has abandoned us—except maybe not.”
“I beg your pardon.”
“In a minute.”
“OK.”
“Two, given Walter’s repudiation, your position in the eyes of attorneys who might take the case is diminished.”
“How bad.”
“Utterly, I’m afraid. My last hope was a Seattle firm. My contact agreed to read my materials, but was frank in wondering about the firm’s interest.”
“OK.” “Three, we have no money to pay lawyers in advance. Four, the note is a fake— a good fake, according to Joe Earl—but
it might fail an examination.”
“And I don’t know about the justification for using it.”
“Yes, there’s that.” He paused. “And five, Harding is pressing me to get back to the study.” He paused. “But there is one possible plus.”
“We’re due.”
Sloan described the report from Harding.
“He’s proposing you blackmail Mangrum?”
“Yes, but not my style.”
Celia bent over Sloan’s head and kissed. “Why don’t we just take the million, get married, and forget all this?”
“I accept your proposal,” he said, laughing, “but let me have a few more days.”
Her reply was lost in another kiss.
August 4, Atlanta.
Bea peered at Sloan over the top of her Ben Franklins. “11:00, Tom, and you look
like you’ll have to die to feel better.”
“Sleepless night.”
Sloan gulped a third cup of coffee, then set out to walk the University’s campus.
An hour later, he was sitting on the edge of Bea’s desk. “Harding has a way to blackmail Mangrum. He wants me to use it to get Celia her stock.”
“Why doesn’t he use it?”
Sloan explained.
“And you won’t use it?”
“No.”
“What would happen if it became public knowledge?”
“Mangrum would be crucified—employment terminated, retirement benefits in question, no outside directorships.”
“So, why not use it to get him fired and hope the new CEO is easier to deal with.”
Sloan didn’t respond.
“There’s no downside, is there? A new man couldn’t be any worse.”
Sloan leaned over Bea Ames’ desk and consummated one of her wildest dreams.
Sloan called Harding. Joe Earl was once again immediately available. “I’d like to see the materials.
“Monica will FAX them immediately.”
Only the paragraph prepared by the State Department was of interest: 1. Of the 17 bank accounts and 11 brokerage accounts in the name of Walter M. Mangrum (SSN 304-45-8872) examined, only the account of Brushwell, Ltd., a UK corporation, held at India-Ceylon Bank (ICB) in St. Helier, Island of Jersey, Channel Islands, with principals Ian R. F. Desmond, a British citizen engaged in investment management (Desmond, Ltd.), with offices in London, UK, and Paris, France, and Walter Mangrum, an American citizen employed by International Construction Products, Inc., with office and residence in Atlanta, Georgia, USA, proved to be of interest. Commencing July 2, 1999, the account sold short 27,932,200 shares of International Construction Products, Inc. The short position was closed by a purchase of 20,200 shares of ICP on July 13, 1999. The mean sale price of the shares was 40 1/8 (40.125); the mean purchase price of the shares was 37 7/8 (37.875). Gross revenue from the transactions was $62,847,450.
Sloan shook his head, re-read the paragraph, and shook his head again. Harding was waiting for the call. “Astonishing.”
“Yes.”
“You guarantee its source?”
“I do.”
“How can I describe the source?” “’Governmental sources’ for now.” “It’s not much.”
“It’s what we have for now.” “Cole, from WSPP-TV, and Gloria Barnes, from CNN, will be here tomorrow at
9:00,” Bea yelled.
“Good.”
“Cole said he could come right now.”
“No, I still have some thinking to do.”
“And you don’t want anyone else?”
“These two came before. They deserve whatever news I’m about to give.”
“You’re Walter Mangrum’s secretary?” the man on the telephone said. “Yes. How can I help you?”
“I’m Doug Jeffers. A producer at WSPPTV.”
“Yes.”
“One of our reporters has been said to meet with Tom Sloan. I wonder if there’s a
new development in the Morgan’s woman’s demand for your stock?”
“I know nothing about…”
“How about Walter. Is he there?”
“Mr. Mangrum doesn’t talk with the media. You may wish to call Ms. Bricker, who
is our media…”
Evonne pulled the buzzing handset from her ear. Evonne described the call. “Then he hung up on me.” “Thank you.”
“Walter, what can it mean?”
He smiled. “It’s nothing.” He paused. “But find Seamus for me.”
“Gone back to Brasilia,” the FAD receptionist reported. “Have him contact Mr. Mangrum as soon as he can.” Hanrahan returned the call an hour later. “Why, Walter? Because this assignment was still outstanding.”
“Get back here. I thought I was finished with our academic friend, but I was wrong.” Mangrum explained. “He’s got to be stopped.”
“I’m in. How much?”
“It’s a one day job. You could…”
“You’d chisel your own mother, Walter,” Hanrahan said, chuckling. “Let me find another five hundred thousand in my account when I arrive.”
“As soon as you can.”
Chapter 45
August 5, Atlanta.
Sloan sat at the head of the conference table, with Cole and Barnes on either side.
“First of all, you’re here because I appreciate how you handled our earlier association.” The reporters nodded.
Sloan summarized the report of Mangrum’s shorting and then handed each of them a
copy.
“Attribution?” Barnes said.
“I can’t say.”
“Much as we’d like to cooperate, Professor, it’s useless without knowing its source.” Sloan paused. “I can tell you it’s an official finding of a governmental investigative
unit.”
“Federal?”
“Yes.”
“But, again, no specific attribution?”
“No.”
“Best we can do is what we did with your other story,” Cole said. “‘According to
Professor Thomas Sloan, a governmental agency has acquired information
regarding…and so forth and so forth.”
“Go. And thanks.”
WSPP-TV reported the news at 5:00, 5:30, and 6:00. CNN’s Lou Dobbs Moneyline at 6:00 reported the story in full, but added ICP management had yet to comment. August 6, Atlanta.
The ICP van dropped Hanrahan at the entrance to the Tower.
The 80th floor offices were deserted. “Saturday,” Hanrahan muttered. He’d lost track
of time.
He found Mangrum sprawled across the bed in the master suite, his clothing disarrayed, and his face in a pool of vomit. Half an hour later, Hanrahan had forced four cups of coffee and two shots of whisky into the Chairman.
Mangrum stared at Hanrahan, then closed his eyes.
“11:00’s a bit early, Walter—or is this the end of last evening’s revel?”
“Both.”
“Hmm, well, has the money been transferred?”
Mangrum nodded.
“Then I’m ready for work.”
“Too late.”
“What’s too late? I got here as soon…”
“The story hit last evening.”
“Story?”
Mangrum described the report and explained its genesis.
“Walter, you scoundrel!” Hanrahan chuckled. “What about the professor?” “No longer in the picture.”
“After what he did?”
“Just doing his job.”
“No punishment?”
“Waste of energy.”
“Well—I’ll head on back south.”
“No!” Mangrum exclaimed. “I need you. I’ve paid you and I need you.” “To do what?”
“Protection. From Watanabe and Scott-Mallory and who know who else has taken offense.”
“How much money have these people lost?”
“None, I think—or very little. Most are hanging in for the upcoming offering.
”
“Then who’s after you?”
“They are—will be.”
“I don’t follow.”
“Kiro Watanabe and Simon Scott-Mallory. Delaney and Bittelsmann. If word gets out they have been made fools of by me, they’ll be eaten alive. They can’t allow me to go unpunished.”
“So, what is it you want done?”
“Gather your troops. Hold the fort here—literally—until I can reach them and find a way for everyone to survive.”
“OK. Now as to the fee?”
“Fee! I just gave you five hundred thousand.”
“Got to pay my troops, Walter.”
Mangrum shook his head. “Whatever it takes.”
“Lock your door. I’ll lock the elevator. I’ll be back in an hour. I’ll call when I’m on the way.”
Hanrahan was calling Sam Yang when his second line light lit up.
“Hanrahan.”
“Seamus. It's Simon.”
“'Simon' as in 'Simon ScottMallory'?”
“Indeed.”
“About your bedtime, isn't it? You're in Calcutta?”
“I am and it is, but not quite yet.”
“I'm listening.”
“I've just been digesting an article in this morning’s The Wall Street Journal.” “And?”
Scott-Mallory described the contents of the article.
“I know. Just heard about it from Walter.”
“Ah, then it is indeed true.” Scott-Mallory paused. “Very well. I called to discuss a
matter betwixt you and me. And I require an immediate answer.”
“OK.” “I w ant him dealt with immediately. And in full view of everyone who might need an object lesson. In a way that couldn't be mistaken—at least by insiders—for anything other than punishment.”
Hanrahan laughed.
“You find this amusing, Seamus?”
“I do. Walter just hired me to protect him.”
ScottMallory paused. “From?”
“You.”
“Interesting. What will you do?”
“What do you offer?”
“What did he..?
“Five hundred.”
“Seven-fifty?”
“Done.”
“You don't want any assurance you'll be paid, Seamus?”
“I have a lot of problems in my life, Simon, but the likelihood you might try to stiff
me is not one of them.”
“Hmm. Yes, quite right. Well, then, let me know. Soonest.” Mangrum listened to six rings before he answered Hanrahan’s call.
“Everything OK, Walter?”
“Yes.”
“I’ve talked to the troops. They’re in—though they may want more if they think the