T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

“You’re leaving, aren’t you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“All this is over. You’re leaving the United States.”

Hayek looked at him for the first time. “And if I am?”

“Take me with you.”

The smile came and went so swiftly Burke could only take it for silent assent. But before he could respond, a voice from behind them said, “Afraid it’s too late for travel plans, gentlemen.”

Burke turned and confronted the senior spot trader. Alex was flanked by two swarthy men, still in their gray blazers. He could only gape.

Hayek, however, responded more coolly. “It was you all along. Of course.”

“Always wanted to run my own fund,” Alex replied. “The Brazilians and their new Russian partners have got to park that money with somebody. Why not me?”

He motioned the two goons forward. “I’m pretty certain they’ll get their job right this time.”

Wynn did not realize he was holding Jackie’s hand until the memorial service was drawing to a close. The Melbourne park was so full and the wind so strong the words spoken by Sybel’s daughter were almost lost by the time they reached him. But he had no interest in moving closer. Surrounding him there at the back of the crowd was a second group of mourners. They were poorly dressed and seared by winds far fiercer than those rushing through the gathering. But these were Sybel’s people, and Wynn found comfort in standing among them to say his own farewells. Along the park’s far side, others unpacked a memorial feast for those Sybel had considered her special clan.

As people began drifting away, he felt Jackie’s eyes on him. He said, “It all began right here.”

She smiled so gently he could feel the comfort in his bones. “You need to make peace, Wynn.” When he did not move, she added, “Your sister would want this.”

He stared over her head up to where Grant stood surrounded by the better-dressed flock. “I’ll do it when the cameras aren’t watching. Besides, we need to be going.”

They drove to the prison in silence. Wynn glanced over from time to time but could read nothing from Jackie’s expression. Only when they turned off the Beeline Expressway and pulled into the prison parking lot did she say, “Do you mind if I watch from out here?”

He scanned the almost empty lot. Atop the chain-link fence, the razor wire danced and shivered in the wind, the sunlight glinting along its surface like sudden bolts of current. “Not at all.”

She started to reach for him, then redirected her hands to tightly clasp her chest. “Thank you, Wynn.”

The warden was there in the gatehouse and greeted him with, “An honor to meet you, Congressman. You’re all signed in, and the people are already assembled, so let’s move ahead, shall we?”

Wynn followed the warden down the path and into the concrete hall. All the tables had been pushed to the sides, save one down the center where a group of four people sat. In front of them was a lone man in a small plastic chair. He tossed nervous glances at Wynn and the warden, then returned his gaze to the assembled four.

“Shane Turner, you have been called before this exceptional meeting of the parole board. At the express request of Congressman Bryant, we are granting you a conditional release based on good behavior.”

Wynn studied him as he would a new opponent, and saw a too-handsome man in prison blues who could not believe his own ears. The spokesperson went on, “You will spend the next ninety days in a halfway house, then be placed on strict probation for the next three years. You must find gainful employment outside the financial arena. You must report to your parole officer on a weekly basis.” A pause, then, “Do you have any questions?”

The White House meeting was arranged by Polk Hindlestiff, professional kingmaker. His chair in the hallway outside the Oval Office was intentionally distanced from the AIM officials and the lobbyists who had hired him. His attitude, spoken and silent both, showed them a snobbish disdain. The two senior Wall Street bankers who headed up their little group glowered and bit off tight words of protest. Valerie did not need to approach them to know what was being said. After all, they had paid Hindlestiff forty-five thousand dollars, and all he had done was make a couple of calls. But apparently forty-five thousand dollars was not enough to purchase the old man’s respect.

Valerie paced as far down the hall as the Secret Service agents allowed, then turned and stalked back. Finding herself along on this little jaunt only deepened her wounds. She hated how she had been not just thwarted but vanquished. Being this close to the flame branded her with everything she had almost grasped.

The Secret Service agents alerted them by stiffening to sudden attention. The President came striding down the long hallway, leading an entourage made up of his chief of staff and three more agents. He acknowledged the man who had brought them together with, “I didn’t know you were in on this, Polk.”

“Only marginally, Mr. President.”

The man’s almost apologetic tone once again provoked the bankers. Valerie’s boss stepped forward before the pair could demolish the moment even further. “Mr. President, we are extremely grateful for this moment of your time.”

“A moment is all you’ve got.”

“Yessir.” Clearly this was as close to the Oval Office as they were going to come. “We have prepared documents that will show clearly what a terrible mistake it would be to sign this legislation into law.”

“I don’t need to see your papers to tell you how I read this,” the President replied. “You folks have showed up here today because you want to hand me a live grenade. And I’m here to tell you that I’m not accepting it.” He waited long enough to be assured he had finally silenced them, then added, “Now that this is taken care of, Frank here will offer you a bone. I advise you to take it and run. Good day to you.”

When the President had disappeared around the corner, his chief of staff opened his arms in grim welcome. “Why don’t we step into my office.”

He did not seat himself, however. Instead he leaned against his desk, crossed his arms, and said, “The President is going to sign this legislation, and that’s all there is to it.” One upraised hand was sufficient to silence the bankers’ objections. “You’ve had your word with the President, now you’ve got ninety seconds with me. You want to rant, that’s your choice. Or you can listen up and hear how things stand.”

When he was certain they were going to keep their protests leashed, he nodded. “Fine. This appropriations bill is a crucial piece of legislation, and several of the riders attached to it are vital components of this administration’s goals. Not to mention the fact that Hayek has made your entire industry out to be an enemy of this entire nation.”

“If you’ll just give us a second, sir, we can explain-”

“Don’t even start. The nation is not in any mood to listen, so neither are we.” When they had subsided once more, he continued, “Now then. If your lot can be on its best behavior for a year or so, next term you can pressure your allies in Congress to back a repeal. The President gives you his word he won’t stand in your way. You’ll have a level playing field. But you’ll be acting under the spotlight of international attention.”

He indicated the meeting was over by pushing himself off the desk. As they began filing out, the chief of staff patted the top fund manager’s shoulder, a recognition of his campaign funding potential. “Just make sure you back all the right horses between now and when Congress reconvenes. We’ll make this happen. You can count on it.”