T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

“According to Colin, Hayek was reportedly sitting on a story so big it would rock the markets worldwide when it was released. But there were two problems with this. First, nothing that big could be sat on for weeks. Minutes, maybe. If he was lucky perhaps a whole day. But weeks?”

“It happens,” Bowers said. “Not often. And not likely. But it could.”

“Maybe,” she said doubtfully. “But then there’s the other factor.”

“Which is?”

“Timing. How could he control the exact moment when the news broke? This isn’t something Hayek is hoping would happen when he wants. He is certain . He’s committed everything .”

Bowers shifted nervously. Hating to have to ask, “So what conclusion did you draw?”

“Hayek,” Jackie replied, “is going to plant a false lead.”

The crew around Wynn shifted and murmured. Wynn was relieved when Kay saved him from having to ask, “Explain that to me, please.”

“High-stakes trading has bred a number of parasitical offspring. One is real-time journalism. Before, the wire services ran to a very few feeder organizations, most of them news groups in themselves-television, newspapers, weekly journals, the financial trade press. Which meant anything major received off the wires was rechecked and usually redrafted before going out. But all this changed with the explosive growth of Forex and derivative trading.”

Wynn observed a few of the team between him and Kay turn and ask one another who this woman was, seated there in her sleeveless high-neck cotton top and form-fitted black jeans. Jackie was the only one wearing anything other than standard bureaucratic gray. He saw the shrugs and astonished faces, caught sight of Kay giving the back of Jackie’s head a look of pure approval. He wanted to reach down, sweep her up, hold her for days.

“Bloomberg is the leader in real-time journalism,” Bowers agreed, directing his words to Kay. “They’ve seen their subscribers expand by two thousand percent in just ten years. Nowadays they employ nine hundred and fifty people in seventy-nine bureaus. They compete head-on with the more established wires of Dow Jones, Reuters, AP, Bridge News.”

“They all sell the one thing that has value in the trading world, speed.” Jackie seemed unaware of how fatigue was beginning to slur her words, or how the strain on her features was spreading to her voice. “The race is constant, twenty-four hours a day, sprinting around the globe in time to continental trading hours.”

“Financial wire services generally receive news releases fifteen minutes prior to general distribution. To a trader armed with fresh data, these fifteen minutes are an eternity,” Bowers agreed. “Senator, wouldn’t you prefer to sit down?”

“I’m fine where I am, thanks.” She asked Jackie, “So what does this have to do with Hayek?”

“The problem with real-time journalism is the crush of data. News flashes can’t always be checked prior to initial release. The time it would take for a wire service to call and confirm a breaking story means that someone else might carry the scoop. Too many lost scoops, and the wire service would be draining customers and income like a sieve.”

Bowers moaned one word, “Emulex.”

Jackie nodded agreement. “Last year, a news flash was released over the wires claiming that Emulex’s CEO had been forced to resign and the company would be restating its earnings. The story was later proven to be a total fabrication, brought on by a hacker who had sold the stock short. Even so, Emulex stock fell through the floor.”

Wynn watched the shock register around the room, the sudden heightened tension, the newfound reason to watch the screens. Bowers leaned forward and said, “Young lady, would you possibly be interested in a job with our organization?”

Jackie’s mouth opened, but no words came. She glanced back at Wynn, her gaze fawnlike with fear. He could do nothing but smile, urging her to move forward and accept what was already unfolding. Hoping only there would still be room in her life for him.

Colin saved her the need to respond by saying, “Heads up, everyone.”

Jackie swiveled back around. “Who is it?”

“Harris. New kid on the block. Lower level of coverage, which means lower salaries. Perfect.” Colin leaned forward and asked one of the Fed’s techies, “Can you set a trolling signal for the word Cisco ?”

“No problem.”

Bowers exploded from his chair. “What are you telling me?”

“Harris has a flash release,” Colin started, but was cut off by the MSNBC announcer’s voice suddenly shouting at full volume, “This just in. We have an unconfirmed report that Cisco Systems’ chairman is expected to announce this morning that their quarterly earnings were grossly overstated, and in fact the company is now facing a loss greater than its year-to-date profits.”

“There goes the Nasdaq,” the woman beside Wynn exclaimed. She caught sight of Wynn’s confusion and explained, “Ever since Microsoft went head-to-head with Justice, Cisco has been the Nasdaq bellwether.”

Bowers was already on the phone. “Get me the Nasdaq chairman.” Then, “I don’t care what time it is, and I don’t care what you have to do to get him. Find him now .” He stabbed the connection shut, looked back to where the Treasury guru stood, and asked, “Are we in agreement on this?”

“Unless we can get official confirmation that this news is for real, absolutely.”

Bowers pointed at his people among the crew. He had aged a decade in the previous few minutes. “Check this out.”

Colin pointed at one of his screens. “We’re receiving another flash.”

“What now?”

“Harris again.” Colin spoke to the techie poised in front of him. “Chase Manhattan.”

The woman beside Wynn muttered, “There goes the Dow.”

It was CNN this time, announcing in grave tones, “We have just received a wire report that Chase Manhattan’s Japanese arm, the recently acquired Bank of Sapporo, has admitted to previously undisclosed Forex losses amounting to. .” The announcer squinted over the paper in his hand. “In excess of six billion dollars. Which is more than twice the entire bank’s last-year profits.”

The woman beside Wynn added, “The dollar is going to bomb.”

Bowers said to an aide, “Get your team to work. Place calls out to the entire Interbank network. Neither Hayek nor First Florida are to receive credit. None. Any purchase they want to make requires a hundred percent up-front payment. Then inform Hayek that we are sending in the inspectors.”

The aide fled. Bowers said to the room at large, “We can’t close down the foreign exchange markets. They are too big and too global. If the gamblers can’t place their bets in New York, they’ll send them to London. So we have to hope that cutting off his Interbank credit will at least slow him down.”

He lifted the phone. “I need you to connect me with the President. Yes, now. Tell him we are facing a potential crisis.”

“Jackie.” Wynn leaned over. Asked softly, “Tell me what’s happening here.”

She turned only slightly, her attention held by the monitors. “What is reality in economic terms is less important than what the market thinks is real. Or, even more important, what the market thinks will be real tomorrow .”

“So?”

“Most economic pundits think a downturn is under way. The most likely scenario is what the economists call a soft landing. Economic growth declines slightly, remains relatively stagnant for a time, then gradually picks back up. Such contractions are all part of a normal economy. Okay so far?”

“Yes.”

Up close she bore stains deep as bruises beneath her eyes, at the edges of her mouth, upon her temples. She reached for her cup, grimaced at the taste of more cold coffee, drank it anyway. “But if pressure is precisely applied, the soft landing could be turned into a suicide leap. A twenty percent decline in the Dow would be enough to make the international investors panic and start dumping-the same scenario that brought about the Black Monday surge at the beginning of the Great Depression. These same pundits predict anything over a fifteen percent slide in the value of the dollar would have the fund managers racing for the safety of international waters, spurring a panic-driven spree of diving stock and bond prices and an uncontrolled fall of the dollar. Whoever bet against the lemmings would make a killing.”