When I finished, they were still scribbling. ‘Does this fit with what you know?’ I asked.
‘Pretty much. What you’ve told us will be very useful. We need to build as strong a case as we can before we make a move.’
‘I heard a rumour that you are investigating Frank Hartman?’
Adele winced. ‘Yes. We’ve been trying to keep it quiet. We’ve been investigating Hartman for two years now. Since Boesky was put away in 1987, insider trading hasn’t stopped, it’s just gone underground. People were blatant before, careless. And it still took us years to nail them.
‘Well, now they’ve wised up. We can tell from stock-price action that people are still trading on inside information; indeed, we’ve developed sophisticated computer programs to detect it. But it’s very hard to work out who is behind it, harder still to prove it. Nevertheless, the name of Frank Hartman is involved a statistically significant number of times. So we set out to catch him.’
Stephenson was leaning forward in her chair. She looked earnest, and very determined. ‘We want to take our time, use the same techniques that pinned down Boesky in the end. We pick off the weak links in the chain. Offer them immunity if they agree to pass on information to us and testify against Hartman eventually. Over the last two years, we’ve turned three little insider traders.
‘Then, in April, we received a call from your brother, Richard. He was suspicious about trading in FairSystems’ stock. He’d put together a complicated analysis that he claimed backed this up.’
‘So Richard got in touch with you? I never knew that.’
‘Yes. It was just one phone call shortly before he died.’
‘And his analysis made sense?’
‘Our own systems didn’t pick anything up in FairSystems’ trading. But our analysts thought your brother might be right.’ She smiled. ‘In fact they’ve incorporated some of his ideas into our own system. Anyway, from then on we watched the company closely. As you’ve discovered, Frank Hartman has been trading illegally to build up a stake.’
‘Can you prove it?’
‘Difficult. It’s going to be hard to prove that all the offshore funds that have been buying your stock are related. Nor can we show that Hartman has any inside information. Is there anything he could know about FairSystems that isn’t public knowledge? Something that might cause the shares to rise?’
I thought a moment. ‘There are two possibilities.’
‘Yes?’
‘The first is a takeover bid by Jenson Computer. Although they haven’t formally made an offer for the company, Jenson has bought five point seven per cent, maybe more.’
‘We’re aware of that. He made the appropriate filings. But we don’t know whether Hartman knew of this beforehand.’
‘He might have done. I’m pretty sure Wagner Phillips are acting for Jenson Computer, and of course they’re the brokers who helped Hartman accumulate his stock.’
‘We have our suspicions about Scott Wagner, too. We’re watching him closely. But you mentioned something else?’
‘Yes. There’s some new technology that FairSystems is just about to announce. Actually, it’s more like a new set of alliances. I’d rather not give you the details, but the code name is Project Platform. Anyway, if this project is as successful as we think it might be, then FairSystems could be worth many times its current share price.’
Adele Stephenson leaned forward with interest. ‘Who knows about this Project Platform?’
‘Just a very small group of people within FairSystems. And a similarly small group in Jenson Computer, including Carl Jenson himself. Come to think of it, there must be some people in Microsoft who know as well.’
Macchia interrupted. ‘So the leak could have come from anywhere, if there is one?’
‘I suppose so,’ I admitted.
Macchia picked up a sheet of paper.
‘We’ve learned a bit about Hartman’s methods,’ he said. He was slightly built, with a dark complexion and a small moustache under a large nose. He was probably a couple of years younger than Adele. They were clearly working together as uneasy equals. ‘He’s set up a tangle of offshore funds, controlled either by himself or by people he cuts into his network. This means that any stock buying he and his friends do seems to be spread over dozens of purchasers.’
‘I see.’
‘This is a list of eight companies which we believe Hartman has been involved with.’
‘Can I look?’
He pushed across the table a white sheet of paper with the names of the companies, their eventual acquirors, and the date. No title, no headed paper, no signature.
Rachel and I glanced down the list. I only recognised one. Futurenet, eventually acquired by Jenson Computer in September 1992.
‘Does he always use Wagner Phillips as a broker?’
‘No,’ said Adele, eager to take control again. ‘He uses a range of brokers, all the big firms that will still deal with him. Of the smaller firms, Wagner Phillips is probably the one he does most of his business through, especially anything high tech.’
‘Were they involved in the Futurenet transaction?’
‘They certainly were. They were acting for Jenson Computer, the acquiror. And Hartman did a number of his trades through them.’
I wasn’t surprised. ‘May I keep this?’ I asked, raising the sheet of paper.
‘You should know that we sent a copy of this list to your brother. After he was killed, the British police got in touch with us. Like you, they were concerned that his death might have had something to do with his suspicions.’
So Donaldson had done his follow-up. And drawn a blank, presumably.
‘Have they discovered any connection?’
‘No, they haven’t. I spoke to Superintendent Donaldson when I knew you were coming to see us. He said he was happy for us to give you this information.’
That was big of him, I thought. But I knew that Donaldson had been suspicious of me when he had first questioned me about trading in FairSystems’ shares, so I was glad I now seemed to be off his list. I wondered who was on it now that Doogie was dead.
Adele Stephenson nodded towards the piece of paper in my hand. ‘It looks like FairSystems is next. We’d like to gather enough evidence to prosecute on this one. Anything you can find will be much appreciated.’
Rachel and I got up to leave. The four lawyers stood up and shook our hands.
‘Oh Mark,’ Adele said as I opened the door.
‘Yes?’
‘Be careful. When these guys are in a corner, they can get dangerous.’
We caught an American Airlines flight from La Guardia to San Francisco that afternoon. The plan was to drop in on Walter Sorenson the next morning, and then go on to see Jenson at his factory in Palo Alto. A taxi took us to a hotel in Menlo Park, at the northern end of Silicon Valley. It was only six p.m. San Francisco time, but, of course, it was way past the middle of the night in Scotland. It had been a long day, and it looked as if the next day would be just as long.
I looked across at Rachel. She was staring out of the window of the taxi, watching San Francisco Bay race by. We made a good team. Although we had very different backgrounds, somehow we had a similar way of thinking. I smiled as I remembered that evening in her flat in Glenrothes when she had read to me.
We reached the hotel and checked in. The clerk at the desk tapped some keys on her computer. ‘That will be a double room?’
I was just about to correct her when I stopped myself. I looked at Rachel. She looked at me. The corner of her mouth twitched upwards.
‘Yes, a double,’ I said.
The question had been innocently put, but the clerk was quick to pick up on the pause. She couldn’t help smiling to herself as she clattered the computer in front of her.
‘OK, here’s your key card. Your room is on the third floor. You’re all set.’
We rode up in the lift together. Suddenly, I felt nervous, and excited. I gave Rachel a small smile. She smiled
back at me. We didn’t say anything.
When we reached the room, I dumped the cases on the floor. ‘It’s nice,’ said Rachel, wandering around the small space. She opened the cabinet where the television was hidden, and checked out the minibar. Then she disappeared into the bathroom.
I wasn’t sure what to do with myself, so I stood at the window, looking down at the hotel car park, and the busy intersection below. My heart quickened in anticipation. I tried to keep perfectly still, to keep calm, to wait for her.
I heard the bathroom door open and shut behind me, and felt Rachel’s presence next to me. ‘Not much of a view.’
‘No.’
I turned to her. She looked up at me. For once she had lost all her aloofness and self-confidence. She blushed, a warm glow spreading up from her neck. I brushed her hair away from her face, and touched her cheek.
She smiled, a sweet smile of happiness, nerves and confusion. She lifted her big brown eyes to mine. I bent down and kissed her. Our lips touched gently, and then she pulled me down to her, and kissed me hungrily.
My hands reached up towards her chest. She pulled away from me, and lifted her top over her head. It was a struggle, and we both laughed. I held both of her full firm breasts in my hands, and the nipples stiffened beneath my fingers.
‘Come here,’ she whispered hoarsely, pulling me towards the bed.
We made love in a rush of urgent fumbling, neither of us familiar with the other’s body, both of us eager to fulfil our desire. Later, she curled up in my arms, her hair a mass of tight black curls on my chest. I stroked it, gently.
We lay there a long time in comfortable silence. Then Rachel stirred. ‘I’m thirsty,’ she said. She pulled herself out of bed and padded over to the minibar. I watched her. She looked natural and relaxed without clothes on. Serene. She took out a bottle of wine and poured two glasses. She gave me one, and sat next to me cross-legged. She reached for her cigarettes, and was just about to light one when she paused.
‘Do you mind?’
‘No, that’s fine,’ I said.
‘Are you sure?’
I smiled at her sudden concern. ‘No, go ahead.’
She lit up, and took a long drag.
I looked down at her black top and trousers on the floor.
‘I like your summer clothes,’ I said. ‘Even if it was difficult to prise you out of them.’
Rachel laughed. ‘I should hope so. I selected them specially.’
‘What? For me?’
‘Yes, for you.’
‘I don’t know,’ I laughed. ‘Women are so manipulative.’
‘Oh no. It’s just men are so easy to manipulate.’
I smiled. I liked the idea of Rachel trying to tempt me. She did have a great body; I couldn’t deny that when she had finally revealed it, it had had an effect.
‘Can we do this again?’ I asked.
‘What, now?’
‘No, not now. Tomorrow. The next day. Next week.’
‘Yes please,’ said Rachel, grinning broadly. ‘But what’s wrong with right now?’
I thought that there was nothing wrong with right now, and we made love again, slowly, gently, getting to know each other.
Afterwards I fell asleep.
I woke several hours later. The red numbers on the alarm clock said it was 4.15 a.m. That was of course lunchtime in Scotland. I watched Rachel as she lay next to me, breathing gently, her lips slightly open, her face untroubled in sleep, surrounded by a mass of dark hair.
I felt relaxed and elated at the same time. I had no qualms about Karen, I didn’t miss her at all. It was good to be with someone as straightforward as Rachel, a woman who knew what she wanted, and what she wanted was me.
Rachel’s eyelids flickered, she opened her eyes, and for a moment didn’t seem to know where she was. Then she saw me and smiled. ‘Hi,’ she said.
‘Hi,’ I said and moved over to kiss her.
25
Sorenson’s house was in Los Altos Hills, a town about five miles from Menlo Park, on the other side of Stanford University’s campus. The community seemed to consist of large low residences, spaced well apart, set in woods of oak, pine and eucalyptus. Many had swimming pools and tennis courts.
We drove along a quiet road that wound uphill through the trees. The houses seemed bigger than most we had seen. The road eventually came to a dead-end next to a mailbox labelled ‘Sorenson’.
His house was a rambling, one-storey wooden building surrounded by oak trees and exotic shrubs. We rang the bell, and Sorenson himself came to the door. ‘Mark, Rachel, come in.’
The interior was entirely open plan. The hallway merged into a large living area, which was dominated by a huge picture window, stretching the length of the wall.
‘Go take a look,’ said Sorenson.
We walked over to the window. There was a tremendous view over the trees and low buildings of Palo Alto to the San Francisco Bay, shimmering in the sunshine. Beneath the house, a large lawn stretched down to a tennis court. Just outside were a wooden deck and a cool blue swimming pool. Somehow I didn’t think any of this came cheap.
‘Lovely,’ said Rachel. ‘How long have you lived here?’
‘Oh, five years. It’s a great location for the Valley. And we kind of like it here. But, of course, I spend a lot of time on the road.’
‘You can say that again, dear. You spend half your life in Europe these days.’ There was a noise of quick light footsteps as someone walked into the room behind us. I turned and saw a thin, well-groomed woman aged anything between forty and sixty. She had blonde hair and a tight, lightly tanned face. I wasn’t sure how much was real, and how much was artificial, but from her cheekbones and bright blue eyes you could tell she must have been beautiful once. She was still good-looking now.
‘This is my wife, Shirley. Shirley, this is Mark Fairfax and Rachel Walker. Mark is Geoffrey’s son.’
‘Oh, it’s so nice to meet you,’ said Mrs Sorenson, holding out her hand, ‘It was simply horrible about your brother. How’s your father taking it?’
‘It’s difficult for him,’ I said.
‘Well give him my love when you see him, won’t you. I think he’s such a sweetie.’
I wondered how the four of them had fitted together, all those years ago. My father, my mother, Sorenson and his wife.
‘Can I get you some coffee?’
We said yes, and in a moment she was in the kitchen clattering about with cups.
‘So, how did it go in New York?’ Sorenson asked.
I told him all about our conversations with Hartman and the SEC. He listened with great interest.
‘It looks like Richard uncovered quite an operation,’ he said. ‘Do you think the SEC are close to making an arrest?’
‘Not quite yet. But they’ll get there. They seem pretty determined to me.’
‘But so far they’ve found nothing that connects all this to Richard’s death?’
‘No. I asked the SEC how Donaldson was doing. It seems the Scottish police investigated that line pretty closely, but didn’t come up with anything. And of course there are other possibilities.’ I told him about Doogie and his death, about Yoshi’s presence at the Inch Tavern, and about David Baker’s disappearance
‘It’s difficult to say, but I’d guess it has something to do with the Japanese,’ Sorenson said. ‘That guy Yoshi pops up in all sorts of strange places. And I think you were right all along about David Baker. We should have gotten rid of him earlier.’
Mrs Sorenson came in with the coffee. She was about to sit down, and then Sorenson glared at her. It lasted less than a second, but she noticed it, and for an instant anger flared in her eyes. It was one of those moments when you catch a glimpse of the true state of a marriage behind its carefully maintained façade.
‘I’ll just leave you to it,’ she said, smiling again. ‘I’ll be out on the deck.’ She left the room.
‘So, do you have any theories?’ Sorenson asked.
&
nbsp; ‘No. But I think we’re getting closer. The SEC gave us a list of suspicious companies that they know Hartman was involved in. I’ve got it here.’ I pulled out the list and handed it over to him. ‘Recognise any of them?’
Sorenson frowned, thinking. ‘Well, I’ve heard of some of them,’ he said. ‘Futurenet makes network software, I think. A couple of the others are familiar.’
‘But there’s nothing that you know of that links them all together?’
Sorenson thought a moment. ‘Sorry. Nothing I can think of. Have you got any ideas?’
‘Not yet. But we’ll check them out when we get back to Scotland.’
Sorenson drained his coffee, and poured another. ‘Do you want some more? It’s decaf.’
Rachel looked shocked at the word ‘decaf’, but then recovered herself, and shook her head. I held out my cup.
‘You’re going to see Jenson now?’ Sorenson asked.
‘Yes. Our appointment’s at eleven.’
‘And what kind of deal have you got for him?’
We discussed strategy for the Jenson meeting for half an hour and then left, saying goodbye to Mrs Sorenson before we went. She was sitting in a deck chair reading a Jackie Collins novel, the Santa Clara valley stretching out into the distance below.
The sun shone down on the gleaming structures that lurked on either side of Page Mill Road. There was not a house to be seen; every building was dedicated to the mighty computer. It was nothing like Glenrothes; these edifices were bigger, sleeker, more mysterious. The vegetation was lush, and to my eyes exotic – palms, eucalyptus, the odd redwood pointing straight up towards the sky.
On the left was the Stanford University campus, and on the right we passed the impressive entrance to Hewlett Packard’s facility. HP was a role model for Silicon Valley. The company had started in a garage, but now had its headquarters in this elaborate and sprawling complex. Jenson Computer’s plant was a little farther on, just off El Camino Real, the backbone of the Valley. It was difficult to see much from the road; tall shrubs and a discreet security fence provided an effective barrier. We presented ourselves to the guard at the gate. He was armed, and he took his duties seriously. He wanted ID, and phoned through before he would let us pass.
Trading Reality Page 35
