Schuler’s hand fell to Leeny’s for a moment, then away. “There are a few more details to discuss.”
“Of course, of course,” Leeny gushed.
“Any drawings under the facility will be contingent upon a minimum of a billion dollars’ worth of equity subscriptions being signed and executed.” Schuler continued. “And the money being in the bank. I know sometimes you investment bankers don’t make the investors actually put cash in the account. But in this case we would require that it would all actually be there in the account before we would lend a dime.” He seemed slightly uncomfortable as he said the last sentence, as if he expected a problem with this requirement.
“Why, certainly, we’d expect nothing less in this case,” Leeny said.
Mace did not miss Schuler’s glance toward her hands, and for a moment the thought of her stretched out beautifully before him on the large bed in the New Orleans hotel room flashed through his mind. Then he remembered how she had been staring at him in the morning as he had awakened, how she had moved to the bathroom and back without a word, how she hadn’t mentioned the episode once, as he hadn’t either.
Schuler relaxed at her reaction, as if a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders. “But all that being said, I think we will probably be able to commit to this transaction sometime tomorrow.” He hesitated. “If there aren’t any unforeseen problems.”
“I can’t imagine there will be.” Leeny’s accent was becoming thicker by the word.
Poor man, Mace thought. Schuler really thinks he is going to get something from this beautiful creature.
“Well, as I said, there are a few details to attend to. I’d like to go over them now.”
Mace and Leeny nodded.
For the next hour they discussed the bank’s concerns and how best to structure the transaction so that not only would Chase be able to sell the paper to other banks and reduce its billion-dollar exposure quickly, but the terms and conditions would as well meet Walker Pryce’s criteria and allow Mace and Leeny to do what they wanted to do without being unduly restricted.
Finally, after the last point had been hammered out, Schuler leaned back on the sofa. “I think we can live with all that.” He groaned as he stretched. “But I can’t guarantee anything until tomorrow.” He smiled at Leeny.
Mace checked his watch: almost five o’clock. He needed to get back to Walker Pryce to review some of the stock valuations the two associates from the M&A Department had come up with. And he wanted to try Rachel again. He hoped she had gotten back from class by now. “I think we’d better get going, Leeny.” Mace rose from the chair.
Leeny glanced quickly at Mace, then at Schuler. “Oh.” She hesitated for a moment. “Why don’t you go ahead back to Walker Pryce without me?”
Mace paused. Schuler had reached for what had to be a very cold cup of coffee and was burying his face in it. “Okay. But I thought we were going to go over the stock valuations from the associates.”
“Right, well, bring them on the plane with you tomorrow. I’ll look at them then.”
Mace hesitated. “Do you want me to have the driver swing by your place and pick you up on the way to the airport tomorrow morning?” He suddenly realized that she was going to give Schuler what he wanted, and for no reason. She must have known that Schuler was going to get this deal approved. It probably already was approved, for Christ’s sake, and he was just holding back. All of Schuler’s bluster about not knowing for certain until tomorrow was just that: bluster. She didn’t have to do this.
Leeny shook her head quickly. “No, I’ll meet you at the gate.”
He watched her for a few moments. She seemed sad, despondent almost. “Are you sure you want to do that?” He tried to force the real meaning of his words into his tone. “You don’t have to.”
She gazed back at him for several seconds before answering. “Yes, I do,” she said, the picture of the man in Washington clear in her mind.
17
“Good afternoon, the Stillman Company.” The woman’s pleasant voice filtered softly through the telephone to her ear.
Rachel was tired, and the gentle voice seemed so soothing. It was one of those voices that could put you to sleep in an instant. “Is Bradley Downes there?”
“May I tell Mr. Downes who is calling?”
“Yes, it’s Rachel Sommers.”
“Just a moment, please.”
The line clicked and was silent for several moments. Rachel enjoyed the silence. She didn’t like the way most places played music or had you listen to news while you were on hold these days.
As she waited for Downes, she considered the tiny studio apartment that had been her home for the last two years. It was barely big enough for a bed and a sofa. Not anymore, she thought. The letter from Walker Pryce had been delivered this morning by messenger. She smiled sadly. Mace felt something for her. He had to. But he was holding back for some reason. Maybe that reason was Leeny Hunt.
“Rachel?”
“Hi, Bradley.” She used her softest voice and his full first name because she knew he liked that. And she needed information. Bradley was one of several portfolio managers who looked after the huge net worth of the Stillman family of Pittsburgh, one of the wealthiest families in the country. The family’s worth was estimated to be in excess of four billion dollars.
Rachel had met Bradley Downes in New York at an analyst presentation she was attending to hear about a stock she had put the Columbia fund into. He was there representing the Stillman family, which also owned shares of the company, a significantly greater amount than Columbia’s. They had become friends during a break and spoke once or twice a month now by phone. Bradley had asked her out several times when he came to New York City, but she had politely declined each dinner invitation, citing her heavy load of schoolwork for her Columbia classes.
“How have you been?” Downes’ voice was instantly animated. Usually he was the one calling her. So this was an unexpected pleasure.
“Fine.” She wasn’t really fine. She hadn’t slept more than a few hours since she had left Mace at the restaurant.
“I’m glad to hear it.” He spoke in a slightly snobbish Ivy League voice, but he was nice enough. He had told her more than once that he ought to be working on Wall Street, but that the Stillmans had made him an offer he couldn’t refuse out of Stanford Business School five years ago. After all, he was from Pittsburgh. “And to what do I owe this interruption?”
“Oh, I’m sorry, Bradley. I can call back if you’re busy.” He was a pain in the ass that way, always making it seem as if he were so busy.
“No, no. What’s on your mind?” The snobbishness diminished noticeably.
“A couple of things. First I was wondering if you were going to be in New York any time soon. I thought maybe if you were coming here, we could get together for dinner. I’m going to be graduating from Columbia soon, and I’d like to get your perspective on the world since you’ve been out there for a few years and I’ve been sitting in this protected academic nest. You know, the buy side versus Wall Street, Pittsburgh versus New York, that kind of thing.” It was sickening to make herself seem so naive, but at this point she had to do whatever it took.
“Great! It’ll be on me.” Downes was instantly excited. “I’d be glad to talk to you.” His condescending air had disappeared completely now.
Rachel smiled. He would provide her the information without a problem.
“I’m going to be there next month for several days.”
“Good, call me a couple of days before you come, and we’ll make a definite date.” She was careful to use the word date.
“Wonderful. I’m really looking forward to it.”
“So am I,” she said sweetly.
“Was there something else you needed?”
“As a matter of fact, there is.” She hesitated for a moment. “I’ve been hearing abo
ut this new fund that Walker Pryce is putting together.”
“You have, have you?”
Rachel could hear a hint of caution seeping into the man’s voice. “Yes. It’s called Broadway Ventures. Walker Pryce is looking for a billion dollars to invest in Manhattan real estate and stocks.” She was direct and conveyed very specific information immediately. She needed to show him that she wasn’t simply fishing for the basics. She had to show him that she might have some worthwhile information that he did not have, that she would be willing to trade.
“How did you hear so much about it?”
“I have my ways,” she said sexily.
Downes laughed. “I bet you do. Yeah, okay. I’ve heard something about it.”
“So Walker Pryce has contacted you?”
Downes hesitated. He sensed that he shouldn’t be divulging too much information, but he also wanted a date with this beautiful creature. “Yeah, they contacted us.”
“Was it a woman named Kathleen Hunt who called?”
Again Downes hesitated. “Yes, it was.”
Rachel inhaled. This was the key question. Mace had said at dinner that Leeny was expecting to get as much as two hundred million dollars or more from the Stillmans. “How much is the Stillman family going to put into the fund?”
“That decision has not yet been finalized,” Downes responded quickly.
“But you are going to invest?”
“Yes. But that’s off the record. If somebody calls me up and says that Rachel Sommers has told them the Stillman family is investing in Broadway Ventures, I’m going to be angry.” He tried to say the words lightly so as not to offend her, but he was dead serious. He had a good job, and he did not want to risk it.
“I’d never say a word, Bradley.”
“Good.”
“Is the amount you are looking to invest north of a hundred million?” Rachel asked firmly.
“What?” Downes began to laugh. “Are you kidding me?” Suddenly his voice became serious. “Did someone tell you that?”
“No, of course not.”
He ignored her. “Because if they did, they are very much mistaken. We wouldn’t do close to a hundred million in that fund.”
Rachel was breathing hard. “Of course you wouldn’t.” Something was suddenly smelling funny on Broadway. Leeny was expecting at least that much from the Stillmans. Mace was certain.
“A hundred million.” Bradley was laughing again. “Old man Stillman would have our butts on a silver platter. Hell, they’ll be lucky to get ten from us. She was only looking for twenty anyway.”
“Only twenty?” Rachel asked incredulously. That made no sense. Twenty was a drop in the bucket for a billion-dollar fund.
“Yeah. She said the thing was almost done and we’d be lucky to get in. I would have told her to go pound salt except that Walker Pryce is the sponsor. We want to maintain a very good relationship with them, so I’m sure the family will approve at least ten. But not much more than that.”
Rachel hardly heard the last few words. The fund was almost raised, but Stillman would invest only ten million. It wasn’t adding up. It would take forever to raise a billion-dollar fund with ten-million-dollar pieces, yet she said she had most of it already raised. Maybe that was just bragging, a story for the other investors so they would come in. “Bradley, have you ever dealt with LeClair and Foster?”
“You mean the investment bank in San Francisco?”
“Yes.”
“Sure, a number of times.” His voice became condescending again. “I have a very good friend who works there, a guy I went to Stanford with. We were roommates second year.”
Rachel hesitated. She did not know Bradley Downes that well. If Leeny found out that Rachel was checking on her, it might present a difficult situation. Leeny might try to persuade Lewis Webster to rescind the offer of employment at Walker Pryce—especially if the Stillman family got suspicious as a result of Rachel’s snooping around. “Bradley, did you know that Kathleen Hunt, the woman who is raising this fund for Walker Pryce, worked at LeClair and Foster?”
“No. But that’s not surprising. It’s a pretty big firm. I told you, it’s my friend who works at the firm.”
“Of course.” She was committed now. She had linked Leeny’s name to LeClair and Foster. “Could you do me a favor? Could you call your friend and ask him about Kathleen Hunt?”
There was silence at the other end of the phone.
Rachel held her breath.
“What’s the problem?” Bradley asked slowly.
“Nothing, just routine.” Rachel hoped her voice sounded normal. She was glad he could not see her face.
“That sounds as if you’re with the SEC or maybe the New York City Police Department.”
She laughed loudly. “You’re too funny. I think dinner is going to be great.”
“I hope so.” His voice gave away his anticipation.
“So will you do it? Will you ask your friend about her?”
“Not going to tell me any more about why?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you at dinner. But seriously it’s nothing.” Rachel could hear him breathing all over the other end of the phone.
“All right.”
“Tell him to give me everything he can find, everything. And thank you. You are really nice to help.”
“Don’t mention it. Hey, do you like Le Cirque for dinner?”
“Who doesn’t?” Suddenly a beep interrupted the line. “Oh, someone’s calling, Bradley. I’ve got to go. Can you call me as soon as possible after you talk to your friend at LeClair and Foster?”
“Sure, sure.”
“And you have the number here at my apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Okay, bye.”
“Bye.”
Rachel heard Bradley put down the phone. Again the line beeped, indicating another call. Slowly she hung up the receiver. It was Mace. She could feel it. But she wasn’t ready to talk to him yet.
* * *
—
Bradley Downes stared at the phone for several seconds after he hung up. A strange call. But he wanted Rachel Sommers. He hadn’t told her the whole story about his contact at LeClair and Foster. The man was his best friend in the world. Downes smiled. Rachel was going to be impressed. If there was anything to know about this woman Kathleen Hunt, Rachel was going to know it. His buddy would understand and help in any way he could. Downes wanted Rachel to be very impressed at their dinner. Perhaps he would even spend his own money to upgrade to a suite at the Plaza that night.
18
It was three o’clock in the morning, but Slade Conner could not sleep. He sat on the edge of the bed, reading the anonymous letter for the fourth time in the last two hours.
Dear Mr. Conner,
I need to tell you about Carter Guilford, former senior Central Intelligence Agency field officer for all of Central and South America. He was killed recently in Honduras, the result of a plane crash.
Guilford was working closely with the Ortega drug cartel of Colombia. He was providing sensitive information to the cartel with respect to the activities of the CIA and the United States Drug Enforcement Agency and their efforts to limit the flow of illegal drugs into the United States—specific information on the identities of undercover agents, the whereabouts of border patrols, and the flight patterns of DEA planes scouting drug runner aircraft. The information Guilford provided to the cartel enabled the Ortegas to ship significantly more cocaine into the country over the past four years than any other operation. It also enabled them to identify and presumably kill at least eleven undercover agents, whose bodies have never been found. His assistance translated into billions of dollars of profits for the Ortegas, and they rewarded him for it with almost two hundred million dollars.
The money Guilford was paid went directly in
to CIA accounts and was used by Malcolm Becker to fund the Wolverines, an outfit you are intimately familiar with. The Wolverines were well over budget—and in fact still are. Becker needed the drug money to cover his excess spending on the Wolverines. There was more money coming in, but Becker found out that Guilford was going to blow the whistle. He was going to reveal what was going on to a high-level contact in the Whitman administration. So I believe Becker had Guilford killed. I don’t believe the plane crash in Honduras was an accident.
You must find the evidence directly linking Becker to Guilford’s death. I will contact you again within two weeks.
Slade could not take his eyes from the page. “A high-level contact in the Whitman administration.” His mind raced back to the entry in the date book he had pulled from Guilford’s pocket: the meeting with Preston Andrews. But that was ridiculous. If all this were true, Guilford would never have written the vice president’s name in a book. That would have been stupid. But then people did stupid things sometimes. Even CIA people. He shook his head. Especially CIA people.
He lay back on the bed. It might be Becker testing him. Perhaps he was supposed to bring this letter directly to Becker, at which point Becker would shake his hand and thank him for his loyalty.
Or it could be Ferris. Maybe the Rat Man didn’t like old Malcolm as much as it seemed he did.
The most likely possibility was that someone else was guessing, probing to see if a nerve was struck.
Slade slammed a fist down onto the mattress. There was no way to determine anything about this letter, whether there was some grain of truth to it or it was simply a pack of lies. He needed more information about Wolverine accounts. And there was no way for him to determine whether Guilford really was working with the Ortegas because he didn’t have strong contacts in Central America. Poking around down there without knowing whom to talk to would get you killed very quickly.
“Damn it.”
He couldn’t do anything. All he could do was sit and wait. And he was a man of action. He hated waiting.
The Vulture Fund Page 20
