Drummer In the Dark

by T. Davis Bunn

  Alex blinked. “Thank you, Mr. Hayek. But my place is on the floor.”

  “Very well.” Hayek rose to his feet. “Thank you for your time. I shall not keep you from your work.”

  Obediently they began filing out. Hayek added, “Remain behind if you will, Mr. Ready.”

  When the room had emptied, Hayek asked, “Anything more on our huntress and her companions?”

  “Nothing, sir. It’s like they’ve disappeared.”

  “Very well. Keep me posted.”

  The Washington lobbyist was still there when Colin departed. He paid her scant notice, as Alex waited for him by the elevator. The other traders were gone. When the elevator doors slid them into isolation, Alex asked, “What did the King say to you?”

  “There’s a local woman hired by a troublemaker up in Washington. Hayek’s had me trace her. She’s a nonstarter, believe me.”

  Alex chewed on his upper lip, muttered, “He didn’t give us enough.”

  “Just because they’re moved off-site doesn’t mean the threat is gone,” Colin agreed.

  “The man’s not perfect, much as he’d like us to believe otherwise. Did you ever hear about what happened in Ecuador?”

  Colin glanced at him. These were confidences of a new order. “Rumors only. Something about how he almost lost his silk shirt, then went on a rampage.”

  “I’ve heard enough to be fairly certain the rumors are all true. It happened just before Hayek made the move south.” Alex stabbed at the elevator controls, the machine not moving at a trader’s speed. “Wonder what he’s calling the new group.”

  “How about the Elvis Fund,” Colin suggested, then worried he had gone too far.

  Alex gave him the tight rictus grin of a man ready for battle. “You’re okay, kid. Ever wanted to give the floor a shot?”

  “Not a chance in all the whole wide world,” Colin replied solemnly. “Thanks just the same.”

  Alex was already moving before the doors slid open. “And smart to boot.”

  BURKE WAITED UNTIL the last of the traders and the techie had left before emerging from the alcove behind the conference area, where Hayek had a private bathroom and dressing area. Burke stepped into the open, still uncertain why he had not simply been invited to join the others. Hayek stood by the window behind his desk, staring out at the fountain and the glimmering afternoon. Hayek asked, “You heard?”

  “Yes.”

  “Do you think the trader who spoke, what was his name. Did he believe me?”

  “Probably not. It was Alex. Senior spot trader.” Burke remained standing beside the chair. “You offered him my job.”

  Hayek remained silent.

  “Am I out?” The mere possibility was a pain that threatened to twist his guts into a Pythagorean knot. Hayek had raged at Brant Anker for inserting the module but had not fired him. And had said nothing to Burke. Yet. “I had no idea Anker would—”

  “Did I ever tell you what happened to my former aide?”

  He swallowed. “No.”

  “It was after Ecuador.” Hayek turned around then, revealing the stress lines racing out from his eyes and mouth. The rage. “Certainly you’ve heard the rumors swirling about downstairs.”

  Burke found himself comparing this to Hayek’s earlier tirade. This was definitely real. The other now seemed mere theatrics. But why? “I try not to listen.”

  “Ah, but you should. The only way to profit from past mistakes is to study and dissect and study further. Ecuador was a mistake. A grave one. Undoubtedly the worst of my career. But I have studied and I have learned.”

  Hayek began to pace back and forth in front of the window, trapped by bars of unyielding sunlight and harsher memories. “The Ecuadorian setting was perfect for a huge financial coup—official corruption, a massive banking crisis, El Nino–driven crop failure, falling commodity prices. Inflation stood at thirty-two percent a month and rising. The Ecuadorian currency, the sucre, stood poised on the precipice. Working through confidential intermediaries based in the Cook Islands, I bought sucres with both fists. I then went short on almost the entire Ecuadorian stock market. I bought sell options for every Ecuadorian raw material. I prepared to push the currency and the country over the edge.

  “Then the gray ghosts at Treasury caught wind of my plans. I have tried without success to discover the source of the leak, to no avail. At first I assumed it was their brother spooks at Langley who uncovered my plot. But evidence kept cropping up. Signs that the information was less than complete. If it had been Langley, I would not be here today. The case would have been too perfect. I would have been stripped clean and defeated.”

  Hayek turned to him then. Beneath the silver-white brows his eyes were beyond black, fire blazing hot in a molasses pit. “No. Some blasted social charity outfit, a measly group of grubby do-gooders, they were the ones who managed to pierce my intricate veil. Their evidence was not enough to destroy, merely wound. Sant’Egidio was the most likely source of my woes, but I have never managed to prove this. Have you ever heard of the group?”

  Relief swept through Burke in a flood surge so strong he could have wept. This was not about him at all. Hayek would not have revealed such incriminating evidence to somebody on the way out. Burke slumped into a chair because he had to. “No.”

  “An international chain of pests and meddlers of the first order. They are the reason why burning at the stake should never have been banned. Someone flew down and told the president of Ecuador what I had planned. The president came up with a response no one had anticipated. Overnight they froze exchange rates at below what I had paid, dumped the sucre, and adopted the U.S. dollar as the official Ecuadorian currency.” Hayek paused long enough to give Burke a thin-lipped grimace. But it was doubtful he saw his aide at all. “Needless to say, I was enraged. I took the logical move, which was to finance a coup. And the coup succeeded marvelously. Three days later, a ragtag band of left-leaning Indians and the military was in power—a crippling concoction if I had ever seen one.”

  He resumed his taut pacing. “But those muddling idiots in Foggy Bottom would not leave it alone. Under pressure from Washington, the coup leaders backed down, and power was handed over to Vice President Noboa. Overnight, the dollar transfer was back on.

  “But my own trauma did not end there. I then received a visitor, some nameless gray specter from the Treasury Department. Someone utterly removed from my lobbyists and power politics and the influence I have garnered over elected officials. This Washington apparition looked down at me in the most humiliating manner, spoke around his mouthful of Ivy League marbles, and said they would not be going after me. The U.S. financial markets were already nervous after the Long-Term Credit debacle. So I was simply going to swallow my sucres and never exercise my options. All eight hundred million dollars worth. Amazingly, this spook actually had the correct figure, despite my best attempts to hide my actions. The American government made a paper write-off of this amount from Ecuador’s outstanding sucre debt. Which meant I had effectively financed the country’s transfer to a dollar economy.”

  Hayek stared out the window and said in a tone dulled by old fury, “I learned my lesson well. I removed myself from the porous Street, where information is bandied about by everyone from the bus drivers to the corner newsboy. But I did not move so far away as to raise warning flags with the SEC. I began paying careful attention to the do-gooders and their interference. I established a new electronic security system. And I replaced my entire senior team. I doubt seriously they had anything to do with my failure, most of them probably had no idea what had happened. Only four people even knew what I had planned. But I fired them anyway, as a warning to all future employees that failure of any kind was not to be tolerated.”

  “I won’t fail you.”

  “Esther Hutchings is involved with the Sant’Egidio band. So is the new congressman’s sister. Which makes the risk of their meddling absolutely unacceptable.”

  “What do you want me to do?” />
  “Proceed with the next phase. Meet the bankers this weekend.”

  Burke had to smile. Forcing a bank’s board to meet on Easter weekend would establish the perfect atmosphere for what they had in mind. “And the funds?”

  “The first installment will be transferred on Tuesday.”

  Burke hesitated, decided he had to say, “I don’t like how the senior traders have made Colin Ready their pet techie. It only means his reach has been broadened even further.”

  “Don’t give me mere chatter,” Hayek snapped. “It is time for proof.”

  “I could put Anker back on him.” Then Burke waited. When Hayek did not object, Burke knew with utter certainty that Hayek in truth had not objected to Anker’s tactics. Only his failure. “And if it’s Colin?”

  “Proof,” Hayek insisted. “Hard and fast. And spread your net further in case you’re wrong.”

  This time Burke did not move. “What do I do if Colin Ready is spying for the Brazilians?”

  Hayek did not like being trapped. “Must I really spell out every detail for you?”

  “No.” Burke headed for the door, vastly satisfied. “Absolutely not.”

  VALERIE LAWRY SAT in Hayek’s outer office and pretended to fume. Thus far she had been kept waiting precisely two hours and twenty-three minutes. No one kept her waiting two hours and a half. Not even the President of the United States, when twice she had attended conferences in the Oval Office. And to have it be Hayek, a man known for his eccentricities and his swagger, was doubly galling. Not to mention the fact that she had just risen from seven hours of ragged sleep, after two transatlantic flights in thirty-six hours. Even so, she didn’t want to leave, or even complain. In truth, she was far too shaken for much real anger.

  People were coming and going from Hayek’s office in a constant stream. Initially the great double doors had opened to reveal a genuine shouting match inside. Valerie had never heard Hayek raise his voice before, or show any emotion stronger than scorn. Then the doors had expelled a waxy-headed young man in Rodeo Drive garb, looking utterly crushed as Hayek blistered the silk wallpaper. Even Hayek’s secretary was frightened.

  Then Hayek had emerged, but not for her. A line of sullen traders had entered Hayek’s office. Among them was the slender techie who had sat in on her last bout with Hayek, a man who appeared frightened of his own shadow. Strange that he would be there among the heavy hitters. Valerie made a mental note to find out who he was. But not today, when the atmosphere stank of gunpowder and dread.

  She would not be there at all, except for the fact that Hayek was her first real client. Not of the K Street firm where she slaved and struggled. Her own. Almost six months earlier, Hayek’s android, Burke, had sought her out at the close of an international banking forum and explained that they were looking for a private rep. Her firm was the chief lobbyist for the American Investment Managers, or AIM, so there was certainly the potential for a conflict-of-interest claim. But these things happened all the time within lobbyist circles. They were far less organized or monitored than, say, the lawyers. Which was why Valerie had hung tough, obtained her secret dream, then signed.

  Valerie had fought tooth and nail for a contract clause that stated if she reached the six-month mark, she would be kept on for an additional five years. Which meant a solid base with which to go indie and start her own firm. Next week marked the six-month window. Which made this meeting crucial.

  “Ms. Lawry?” The secretary gave Valerie a pasty smile. “Mr. Hayek will see you now.”

  She rose to her feet, took a moment to straighten her jacket and smooth the lines of her skirt. But her mind refused to throw off the jet-lag clumsiness. Valerie decided she would hear him out, then claim fatigue. Which was both understandable and the truth. She would not be pressed into making any decision until she had rested.

  Even so, her ankles wobbled on her high heels as she entered Hayek’s office. He waved her into the seat opposite his desk. “How are you this morning, Ms. Lawry?”

  “Tired. I have just gotten back—”

  “From Rome. Yes. Rome.” Hayek wore his most infuriating smirk, his dark eyes glittering and mesmerizing. The man’s authority was what had struck her the first time they had met, and it affected her still. He was far from handsome, with his eagle’s beak of a nose, eyebrows like silver-gray shrubbery, hair Brylcreemed to his skull, and lips both sensuous and cruel. The jaw of a prizefighter, cheekbones of an Indian chief. But his demeanor was so awesome the physical attributes were secondary, if noticed at all. He rested calm and omnipotent, surrounded by a storm of his own making. Sucking whatever he required from those about him, giving nothing back. She was merely another pawn for him to put into play. There was only one way to give the situation any dignity at all. And that was to use him just as cynically, playing this situation to accomplish her own agenda. Lawry and Associates. Offices on K Street, three blocks from the White House. A name known to everybody in the business of power.

  Hayek asked, “How was your journey?”

  In truth, it had been as grand an experience as any intercontinental flight could be. Hayek’s new private plane was the largest Gulfstream made, equipped with deerskin seats, a six-screen entertainment center, butler, bath, and a double bed whose silk sheets smelled of lavender and rosewater. “Long.”

  Hayek asked, “Will you have coffee?”

  “Thank you, but I’ve had two and a half hours to drink your coffee.”

  “Indeed so.” Hayek leaned back in his chair, swiveled so as to stare out the back window. “You saw the congressman in Rome, did you not?”

  “Of course I did. Since that was why you sent me over.”

  “And then you did what?”

  “Came straight back. Oh, I took time for one decent meal. Would you like to know what I ate?”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Hayek remained absorbed in whatever he saw mired in sunlight. Forcing her to watch his silhouette. The window’s glare scratched at her eyeballs. “Tell me, if you would, what you thought of our congressman.”

  “The same as before. Utterly lost at sea. It was a wasted journey.”

  “Was it indeed.” Hayek mused to the world beyond his window, “Then I must assume you are not aware that you have been traced?”

  “Traced?”

  “Correct. From Rome. To here.”

  “Here?” Hating the way she sounded. But her astonishment was too great to hide.

  He turned around to face her now. The eyes were as harsh and brilliant as she had ever seen, the voice soft as a snake’s hiss. “Correct again. You see, Ms. Lawry, there was indeed a purpose behind having you wait. I needed to have this confirmed. And steps taken in response.”

  “But . . .” She fought against the mental bedlam. “How did you know?”

  “We almost didn’t. They apparently managed to hire themselves an extremely capable team.”

  “No, I mean how did you know?”

  “Because we’ve been tailing you.” Hayek showed no unease whatsoever. “What do you think?”

  She started to object, but there was no future in that. “I can’t believe Wynn would be capable of such a thing.”

  “Perhaps it was not the congressman at all.”

  “You can’t mean that woman.” She searched her mind, squeezed out the name, “Havilland.”

  Hayek merely raised one eyebrow and lifted the corner of his mouth. But the contempt was as clear as a slap to her face. “There are others beyond them. We can no longer ignore this risk.”

  She wanted to ask, risk to what? But she knew Hayek would not answer. She also knew she needed further strength to match the man’s mastery. “You must forgive me. I must have a brief rest. We can meet later, if you wish—”

  “About your contract.”

  She halted midway to the doors. “Yes?”

  “I have no problem with continuing our arrangement,” Hayek said. “But only if you remain in your present position.”

  Valerie did her
best not to gape. She had shared her secret ambition with no one. She was being struck by too many surprises, and from too many unexpected directions. “But were I to go independent, I would be able to concentrate more fully upon your needs.”

  “On this point we must disagree,” Hayek replied. “It is far more important that I be able to mask my activities within the framework of your functioning for AIM as a whole.”

  Defeat and victory mingled like ashes in her mouth. “Very well. I accept your terms.”

  “My secretary has an amendment to your contract awaiting your signature.” Hayek turned back to his window. “Good day, Ms. Lawry.”

  The casual dismissal galled so that Valerie demanded, “What will you do about this risk?”

  Hayek focused once again upon whatever lay beyond his window. “It is already done.”

  30

  Thursday

  WHEN THE MUEZZIN woke him to the gray light of another predawn, Wynn entered the suite’s sitting room to find breakfast already waiting. He poured a cup of coffee and moved to the balcony, where Sybel sat with her legs propped upon the balcony railing, her Bible open in her lap. Her hair was unbound, a ripe black field stroked by the dry morning wind. He sipped his coffee and recalled other mornings, back when they shared a tiny room in a house void of love and welcome both. Sybel had sat then as she did now, hunched over the open Book, clutching at the words with a fierce ardor that shone on her face.

  He knew she was aware of him, so when the muezzin grew silent he said what he had often thought, but never spoken before. “The only part of the whole religion thing that I could ever stand was mornings like this.”

  She flicked the hair from her face as she lifted her gaze, but said nothing. Just watched and waited.