41
Tuesday
W
YNN’S OFFICE STARTED off in low gear after the holiday, but by midmorning the staff was cranking. Everyone stopped to express sympathy over Sybel’s demise and gauge his response. They sought the day’s tone from his own reaction. When he showed that all he wanted was to get on with business, they switched to high speed. Simple as that. Like the lady had never been.
His secretary and Carter’s number two handled the press. Same as always. Carter stopped by twice, but only to prep him on upcoming meetings, two leftovers from Graham’s calendar. Wynn kept waiting for Carter to begin the Jubilee briefing. But the day just ticked along with C-Span marking time in the background. Late morning he forced himself to call his niece. As soon as Wynn came on the line she began to sob. Wynn sat and listened as long as he could, knowing she was crying for them both. He confirmed what Grant had already told her, that it could be weeks before the body was released. She took it very hard.
Jackie called soon after he had set down the phone. “I’ve got some information for you.”
“Tell me something first. Who exactly is this Boatman?”
“I wish I knew. You won’t believe how we met.”
Wynn listened to her tale with mounting incredulity. “He just happened to float by in the middle of a nor’easter?”
“The one and only time we ever connected. In person, I mean. He’s been in touch by e-mail.”
“I spoke with Sybel’s aide this morning. She’s never heard of any Boatman, and she checked Sybel’s e-mail address book while I waited. Nothing.”
“That doesn’t mean anything. He could have made up the name while we were out there on the river.”
“Did it ever occur to you that he might be setting you up?”
“For what? They’ve trashed my house once already, remember? They know where I live.”
“What’s the matter, Jackie?”
“I didn’t sleep well. And I don’t like myself very much this morning.”
“Just be careful, okay?”
“I’ve already heard that from Esther. Listen, I called because I’ve got some news. My contact down here says Hayek has bought himself a bank by the name of First Florida. Ring a bell?”
“I used to do business with them. This is from the Boatman?”
“No. Somebody else. And Esther’s already grilled me and I’m not saying anything more, okay?”
There was a knock, and Carter stuck his head around the door. Wynn waved him in, said, “I’m worried about you, Jackie.”
“I’m okay, I tell you. What you need to know is I did some checking this morning. First Florida was sold to Banque Royale of Liechtenstein.”
“I’ve heard that name.”
“Sure you have. They owned the plane that carted Valerie Lawry back and forth to Rome.”
He scribbled the words, turned them around for Carter to read, received a shrug in reply. “What do you want me to do with this?”
“I wish I knew. I’m hoping to have something more for you tomorrow. And don’t worry.”
Carter waited for him to hang up before saying, “There’s this guy at the Fed. Hutchings danced the Washington two-step with him but they never could connect. Graham was undecided whether he could trust the man. Especially as he stayed surrounded by people who wanted to drink our blood. But the guy kept insisting in private that he was a secret ally.”
Wynn was already up and moving. “So now we can trust him?”
“No, we’re just running out of options.”
The day had warmed into a welcome embrace. The taxi dropped them off in front of the Federal Reserve Bank, an imposing structure off Constitution Avenue in Foggy Bottom. Carter gave their names to the uniformed guard, pulled him over to a quiet corner, and said, “The global banking system is a mess. And the situation is growing worse, not better. Central banks are becoming pawns of the hedge fund and investment banking communities. Our own country’s regulation of the national financial institutions has not been this lax since the late 1920s. Back then, the flashpoint was every bank’s ability to print their own money. Today we’re back in a similar situation, only the paper isn’t called money any more. It’s called derivative certificates and currency options. But the effect is the same. Once again banks have found a way to extend risk beyond what is prudent.”
The marble-lined lobby was segmented by pillars and stairs and mock balconies. Clustered beneath the three-story ceiling were other dark-suited knots of serious faces and important murmurs. Everybody carried a briefcase, everyone expected to be noticed. A young man wearing the plastic badges of entry around his neck approached the guard, who pointed in their direction. Wynn demanded, “What do you want me to do here?”
“Just pretend like you’re talking straight into Hayek’s ear.”
The staffer said, “Congressman Bryant?”
“Just a minute.” He turned his back to the young man. “Go on.”
“These guys always travel in packs, it’s their way of sharing any possible blame. The one we’re interested in probably won’t say a word. His name is Gerald Bowers, and he makes me look pretty. Say whatever you think might make Hayek the most nervous. You know our situation. If this guy’s on our side we need to find out now.”
“
C
ONGRESSMAN, WE ARE indeed grateful that you would take the time to bring these matters to our attention.” The spokesman was handsome in the way of manicured pandering. Another was rail-thin and heavily jowled. The third man was short and bald and had the complexion of a wizened toad. Other than that, they were identical. All three were in their sixties, all spoke with the nasal twang of inbred Ivy League snobs, all eyed Wynn with polite condescension. “We also regret very much the recent demise of your sister at the hands of Islamic terrorists.”
“They weren’t terrorists.”
“That’s not what the FBI is stating,” interjected the slender man.
Carter leaned forward, asked in an over-soft voice, “And just how would you be knowing that?”
The spokesman harrumphed his way back into control. “As I was saying, we are obliged to take note of your assertions. But I must also tell you that they are utterly without merit.”
“The fact that First Florida has been acquired by a Liechtenstein bank fronting for the Hayek Group doesn’t concern you?”
“We are well aware of the Banque Royale’s recent acquisition. And we have made an official request to the Liechtenstein authorities for a full list of shareholders.”
Carter snorted. “Which you will definitely be receiving. In about fifteen years.”
The spokesman gave Carter the fish eye before proceeding. “As to these other matters, I am certain even in your bereaved state that you can well understand how unfounded these allegations of yours are.”
Wynn caught Carter’s signal, rose to his feet, and let a little of his heat show. “Hayek and his group are responsible for the death of my sister. He is a menace.”
“He is a respected member of the hedge fund community,” interjected the spokesman.
“Same thing,” Carter said.
“Have your people ask him about the code name Tsunami,” Wynn said, turning for the door. “And do it fast.”
W
YNN STOOD BEFORE the unlit fireplace in his suite and read off his note cards, “Currency traders are champagne-swilling speculators who treat the world’s financial markets like their own personal casino. These international gamblers produce nothing and help nobody. Their days are filled with maneuvers that endanger the lives and jobs of normal working people.” He stopped. “How’s that?”
“Be better if you could get the shimmy out of your voice.” Carter sat on the edge of the sofa, briefcase open beside him and notepad on the table in front of him. “But not bad.”
“I look nervous?”
“Like a rabbit staring down the barrel of a gun.” Carter glanced at his watch. “We have to go.”
Wynn reached for his coat. “I still feel like I ought to give them something with more meat to it.”
“If they want stats, have them talk to me. Every chance you get, hand the press a thirty-second soundbite. Anything more and you give them the power to edit you down.” Carter reached the door, gave Wynn’s suite a final glance. “Kay is going to have something to say about your present abode.”
Walking along the long hall and twice more in the elevator, Wynn had to stifle the sudden onslaught of panic. The Willard’s brass-framed mirrors reflected a man on the verge of serious meltdown. Carter met his eye just as the doors pulled back but said nothing. Too much was on the line for empty solace.
They were midway across the lobby when Carter murmured, “Well, just lookee here.”
The toadlike man from the meeting at the Federal Reserve was making his way toward them. Beside him walked a man in a red-and-blue-checked jacket and navy polyester pants. Despite the seventies golf attire, the second man carried himself with arrogant ease. Behind the pair walked the senior FBI agent who had wrecked Wynn’s Saturday. The squat man with the reptilian complexion said, “Gerald Bowers, Congressman. Far as the world is concerned, this is a no-hard-feelings little confab. Smooth the waters with the freshman in Hutchings’ seat after today’s set-to. Catch my meaning?”
“Yes.”
“This is Reed Brink, Vice President of the SEC and Chairman of the Arthur Brink Brokerage Company. Out of Saint Louis. A good man to have on your side. Agent Welker you already know.” Bowers planted himself within probing distance. “We’re here to tell you that we know the hedge fund community, Congressman. And as far as we’re concerned, they are the enemy. They’re a cancer that must be destroyed before it wrecks our entire financial establishment.”
The man barely made it up to the middle of Wynn’s chest, and smelled of hair oil, cigars, and the drink he had just had in the bar. “You guys came all the way over here to teach us the alphabet?”
“You look like a smart man, Congressman. Word is, you held your own when you went up against Jackson Taylor’s group. That’s good. We need us some fighters down in the front line trenches.”
“I’m still not clear on one thing. Just exactly why are we having this meeting?”
“Because once you unleash your firestorm tonight, officially we are going to be standing with the opposition.”
“I would never have suspected anything else.”
“Officially, I said. But we’d like to see things otherwise. Even so, we can’t box with shadows. Get us something real and we’ll do our best to help you take them down.”
“Explain one thing, please. Why is it I’m all of a sudden supposed to trust you?”
Bowers bristled. “If you were half as sharp as they say, Reed here and the agent are all the bona fides I should need.”
“Right. A man I don’t know and an agent who spent four hours in my face. Great references, Mr. Bowers.”
The agent stepped forward. “Tsunami is a name we haven’t had on our radar screens for some time, Congressman. Last time it popped up, the young lady who told us about it got very dead.”
Carter edged his way into the huddle. “What did she tell you?”
The agent held his focus on Wynn. “Little more than we have from you so far. A supposed connection to Hayek. Nothing more.”
Bowers repeatedly smoothed his tie, the nervous gesture of a man ready to bolt. “This has already taken too long. All you need to know is, if you come up with some real ammunition, we’re on your side. Otherwise, we’ll be just two more faces watching you from behind the enemy’s cannon.”
T
HE TAXI DROPPED them off at the member’s entrance to the Capitol. Wynn wanted to stop and catch a final breath of free air, but Carter grabbed him by the arm and pulled him forward. “Waiting won’t do anything but spotlight all the things that might go wrong.”
The stairways and corridors passed like a marble-lined maze. “I couldn’t find my way around this place with a map and a guide dog.”
“Remind me to give you the five-cent tour. That is, if we ever have time.”
“You think things are going to get busier?”
Carter smirked. “You’re about to redefine the term, upwardly mobile.”
Kay Trilling was waiting at the front doors, Esther one step behind. “How’s our man tonight?”
Carter answered for him. “Raring to go.”
“He looks a little green around the gills to me. You nervous?”
“Absolutely terrified.”
“Probably a healthy attitude.” She withdrew a sheet of paper from her navy jacket. “Graham wrote you out another missive.”
Wynn read the shakily printed letters.
Pray
.
“Man has a way with words, doesn’t he?” Kay patted his lapel. “We’ll be up there in the balcony doing just that.”
T
HREE OTHER MEMBERS of the House of Representatives stood to shake Wynn’s hand and thank him for his assistance. Carter and Kay were upstairs and seated by the time he reached his own desk. The chamber was not particularly large; he had addressed the final meeting of his employees and shareholders in a ballroom twice this size. The desks were scarred, the carpets scuffed, the odors mostly of dust and beeswax. But the pressure of history and brilliance and power squeezed his chest until Wynn was panting with the exertion of having made it this far.
To his right, a man was droning into a microphone. He wore no jacket. The top three buttons of his vest were undone. His tie dangled at half mast. He read from a tome of typed sheets with the bored voice of one who had been at it for a very long time. The Speaker’s chair was taken by a man Wynn did not recognize. None of the other front desks were occupied. The stenographer appeared almost asleep behind his machine.
Gradually the chamber filled, both the desks about Wynn and the balconies overhead. Without warning, the orator at the lectern turned and said, “Mr. Speaker, I relinquish my place to our newest representative from the great state of Florida, the distinguished Wynn Bryant.”
“Congressman Bryant, do you wish to address the House?”
It took him three tries to rise. “Yes, Mr. Speaker.”
“You have the floor.”
The orator patted his back in passing. “Way to go, son. Way to go.”