Among Thieves (34 page)

Beck nodded. Alex had spoken rapidly, but he still thought he had absorbed the gist of it. “Okay, so how long before you see everything?”

“About an hour to get one hundred percent tracking. But it's like he's fluent in a language that I only know the basics of. I guess I can just follow along with his trades until the money starts getting assembled. But I'd like to know exactly what he's doing, you know, what trading strategy he's executing so I can get out far enough ahead of him to set up a snatch.”

Beck nodded. “You really think you're going to figure out his strategy?”

“Not completely. Unless we can get somebody who knows how he operates. At the very least I'd like to be able to predict a little bit when he's ready to finish up.”

“Okay, I'm figuring Olivia should get on this with you. She'll know more about his trading methods than any of us. And what he has to do to get Markov's positions closed out.”

“That would definitely help.”

“I'll get her down here, but where is he right now in the process? As much as you can tell.”

Alex leaned forward and grabbed his wireless mouse. After some sliding and clicking and typing, screens of financial data bloomed on yet a third monitor. A desktop trading platform filled the central twenty-seven-inch monitor with a set of preconfigured screens.

Beck leaned forward to watch the blur of action in cyberspace that moved tens of millions of dollars. He saw columns of numbers and currency amounts and symbols. The numbers changed continuously in color-coded columns. It all seemed totally disconnected to the world around him.

Alex answered Beck as he squinted through his black-framed glasses at the screens. He pointed to images on his monitors.

“Okay, Summit Investing runs the fund. Or Crane does. The fund has several brokerage accounts for Markov. All the investment vehicles are in these accounts. As Crane closes out trades the cash goes into various sweep accounts.”

Alex pointed to different segments on the third monitor, pointing out the separate trading accounts.

“But there are also bank accounts, aside from the brokerage accounts. Summit isn't a chartered bank so there's tons of money in accounts scattered around in different banks. Some U.S. banks: JPMorgan, Wells, B of A. Also, a handful of offshore accounts. Four of them in Nevis. Two in Isle of Man. Two in Geneva, Switzerland. And four in Grand Cayman. There are probably more. But I only see these accounts when Crane transfers cash into them.”

“How much has he assembled?”

“In cash?”

“Yes.”

Alex leaned closer to the monitor. Moving his mouse. Clicking his keyboard.

“I count just over thirty million. But he's only closed about twenty-five percent of his positions.”

Beck thought about the amount. Crane had been at this less than a day. If there was another hundred million or so, the pace would have to accelerate very soon.

“Okay, Alex, can you keep going for a couple more hours?”

Alex's long arm reached amidst the clutter on his desk and rummaged around until he found a small energy drink bottle. Liebowitz gulped it down in one swallow.

“Of course.”

“Good. I'll have Olivia walk you through all the separate accounts and look over the assets. I suspect she'll know how he'll sequence his trades to close things out. At least some of it.”

“Okay. But I'll tell you, from the looks of it, a lot of his trades are automated. Running on bracketed conditional orders.”

Alex clicked through more screens and pulled up a tool that looked like a spreadsheet.

“His trading platform has a function that pulls in algorithms right off Excel. My hope is that even if he's not running it himself, there's a bunch of trades that will cycle through and he'll just sit and oversee it so he can pull out the cash as it comes in. Or bust a trade if he doesn't like it.”

Beck nodded. “He may have his conditional orders in, but if the numbers don't hit fast enough, he'll have to step in and override the orders. He's got to. I don't think Markov is going to wait around for his money.”

“Why doesn't he just move the assets as is?”

“Because Markov can't manage those investments. He has a very complicated, volatile portfolio.”

“Makes sense,” said Alex. “But remember, once Crane's got everything assembled, there's no guarantee I can hack into the bank accounts it ends up in, and take it out. That's movie stuff. It doesn't work that way in the real world. The banks will shut down access to accounts if anything starts tickling that money.”

“I know. We'll do that another way.”

“Really? How?”

“Don't worry about that now. You just let me know where it is as soon as you can.”

“When he starts to run out of time and starts pulling the plug, James, there's going to be big tranches of cash flowing in. If I'm fast enough I can see where it goes. But I won't know what happens to the cash after that. Once it's all assembled, I won't be able to track it unless Crane moves it.”

Beck stared at the screen and nodded. “Understood. Just try to get a sense from Olivia when he's approaching the finish.”

Beck patted Alex on the shoulder and headed up to the third floor.

The knife wound in his left leg twinged with each step up. He emerged on the third floor and walked to the east end of the building. He found her room. The door stood open; she sat on the end of the bed combing her thick black hair. She looked like she had just showered.

“Good morning,” she said with a quick, half-smile.

Her diffident smile seemed out of character. Beck couldn't interpret it, so he stood in the doorway and asked, “You sleep okay?”

“Not bad.”

“You feel all right?”

She stopped brushing her hair and looked up at Beck still standing in the doorway.

“I guess. I don't know. I never experienced anything like last night. I don't know how I feel.”

Beck nodded. “I understand. So, you still ready to help?”

“Of course.”

“We're into Crane's computers. Can you help Alex understand what he's looking at?”

“I'll try.”

She placed the hairbrush down on the bed, leaving it there as she stood up. She walked toward the doorway where Beck stood. He watched her. He decided that he could spend a lot of time watching this woman and never get tired of doing it. He didn't move. She stopped in front of him, so close to him that her breasts nearly touched his chest. She looked directly at him. Beck returned the look. Neither of them moved.

And then, suddenly, Olivia stepped into him, grabbed him by the head, and kissed him hard and fast on the lips. Just as quickly as she had done it, she released him and stepped back.

“Get out of my way,” she said, smiling at him as she walked past him.

 

50

Beck had left Olivia and Alex alone to work uninterrupted for an hour. It was now nearly noon. He couldn't wait any longer. He stood up from the couch at the west end of the second floor and headed back to speak to them.

As he approached, Alex told him, “He's moving a lot faster now. He's liquidated more in the last couple of hours than since he started last night.”

Beck didn't bother to sit. He asked, “How much?”

“Over fifty million.”

“How much more is left?”

“Depends on how the markets move. About seventy mil. Assuming all the accounts are appearing on this computer. If he hasn't opened one or looked at one since I rigged his setup, I won't know what the total is.”

“How much you think isn't showing?”

Olivia answered. “Not much. Maybe ten million or so.”

“Okay, keep on it. Where is it looking like it's going to end up?”

Alex answered, “Grand Cayman. He's sweeping the cash into a Summit account in the Grand Cayman branch of HSBC. That account is actually five accounts, all in the bank, but it looks like one.”

“Why?”

Olivia spoke. “It makes it easier to see which accounts are up or down. At some point Crane will assemble everything in one account at HSBC. That way Markov can transfer it out faster and easier. How are you going to…?”

Beck interrupted her before she could finish the question. “Okay, I got it.”

Olivia dropped her question and said, “I suspect Crane is going to start slowing down a bit soon.”

“Why?”

“He's going to wait as long as he can before he takes down his options that are underwater. There isn't much time decay on those contracts. If the underlying stocks pop, he could make a good deal.”

“But what if the market turns against him more?”

“Then he's just going to lose more. He'll have stop-loss orders in. But it's worth the chance in case any of those positions gap up.”

“Okay,” said Beck.

Just then his cell phone rang. He didn't recognize the caller ID phone number, but answered it anyhow.

“Yeah?”

The sound of a voice talking through a plugged-up nose identified the caller as Willie Reese.

“Beck.”

“What?”

“Just spotted some unfamiliar-looking white dudes who came into the neighborhood.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Thought they might be some hipster types that got lofts or studios around your neck of the woods. But they arrived in a car. A new car. My boys on the street say it's a rental.”

“Interesting.”

“Yeah. So I ask myself, what some strange-looking ofays doin' rentin' a car to come into this hood?”

“And the answer?”

“Ain't no answer.”

“Right. How many of them are there and where are they now?”

“Three. They just rolled through the projects. Heading your way on King Street. Looks like they trying to find a place to park.”

“Where are you?”

“Sitting upstairs in a crib across from the park. My boys have been passing them off.”

Beck heard the sound of a cell phone ring in the background.

“Hold on a second.”

He listened to Willie talking to one of his spotters. He came back on the phone and told Beck, “They just got out of their car. Three guys. Average size. They got out and split apart, one walking on one side of King, two on the other. Just about to come out on Van Brunt.”

“How are they dressed?”

“Hang on.” Willie asked his man on the street. “Two dark coats and one wearing like a silver down coat. One of 'em has a beard.”

“Okay, thanks Willie. Good job. Tell your guys to back off. We'll handle it from our end.”

Beck moved fast. He motioned for Ciro to keep an eye at the window and hustled downstairs into the kitchen.

“Manny, let's go. Grab a coat.”

Manny turned off the flame under a pot of something, grabbed his Navy-surplus peacoat and followed Beck out to the bar. Beck just motioned with his head for Demarco to come with them. Both men knew by the look on Beck's face that something was up.

In less than a minute they were out on the street.

 

51

The point man for the team was Ralph Anastasia. Ex–U.S. Army Special Operations Forces, a man with a long list of military missions, mostly direct-action and counterterrorism, mostly in the Mideast.

Anastasia hadn't particularly liked serving in the military, but he was proud of his skills. He had been the right type for a Special Forces fighter. Compact. Unemotional. Resourceful, with more endurance that he'd ever actually needed on a mission. He had zero inhibitions about using deadly force. Ralph Anastasia had been told more than once that he lacked empathy, which he took as a compliment.

He also lacked tolerance for the military command structure. The long leash allowed on most Special Forces assignments helped, but there was always somebody above him to answer to. So as soon as it was feasible, Anastasia mustered out with an honorable discharge and went freelance.

He had been quickly hired by private military contractors. At first, most of the assignments were like the ones he participated in while inside the military. The big difference was that Anastasia operated as an independent contractor. He was given an assignment, whatever reasonable support he needed, and allowed to decide how to complete the mission.

He worked in Sudan, Libya, Iraq, and once in Guatemala on an antidrug assignment which did not go well.

After Guatemala, he went with private security companies. He was the leader of his current team, which consisted of Anastasia, an ex–Army Ranger called Harris, and a South African Special Forces brigade member turned mercenary called Williams.

Anastasia didn't know if those were their real names, and he didn't care. He knew something about Harris's training and almost nothing about the South African's. None of that bothered him. He considered both men about as expendable as paper plates.

Their first assignment on this particular job on this particular winter afternoon was pretty standard stuff. Find a location based on an address he'd been given. Survey the surrounding area. Attempt to find out who was at that address. Lay out attack options. And do it without attracting any attention.

Piece of cake.

But as he walked through the Red Hook neighborhood, Anastasia became increasingly concerned about being spotted. From the moment they parked their rental car, he had an uneasy feeling. He wasn't worried about being attacked. Any of the locals who might attempt anything along those lines wouldn't last ten seconds. All three men were armed with Beretta 9-mm automatics, and various other personal weapons. Harris, the Army Ranger, had a supercompact MP5K fitted with a fifteen-round magazine concealed under his winter coat. He also had a spare magazine in each pocket for a total of forty-five rounds, more than enough to shoot their way out of a problem.

Anastasia's main worry was the lack of pedestrian traffic. They'd passed pockets of black guys near a bodega. And hanging out near a park. But there were almost no people walking on the streets they could blend in with. He had no idea that this section of Red Hook was so industrial.