T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

It was the longest speech Colin had ever heard the man make. The accent was clearer now, the tone barrel-rich and commanding. “As for the insertion of the electronic monitoring devices, I am utterly baffled. It was a grave error. The person responsible has been punished.”

Only when Hayek fell silent did they realize this was all they were going to get. Alex searched the faces of his compatriots and realized no one else was going to ask the obvious. “How much new money?”

“Four billion is to be directed into the First Florida Fund.”

There was a low whistle, an intake of breath. Four billion would not bring the new fund anywhere near the top ranks, but it was enough to carry weight. Four billion would establish First Florida as a player. But before the dismay could take hold, Hayek added, by way of an aside, “And an additional eleven billion into the Hayek ordinary fund.”

The traders turned jubilant. Eleven billion was enough to make waves on Wall Street. Many of these senior guys had followed Hayek south against their own better judgment, hoping for a coup such as this. Eleven billion in new ready cash would have them talking as far away as Tokyo. It was a clean hit for the home team. Eleven billion meant a huge upsurge in fresh trades. And increased bonuses all around.

Only Alex remained unfazed by the news. He cast the others a furious glance for forcing him into the limelight alone. “Any particular reason why we get all this money now?”

“We have been courting these funds for almost a year. The timing is theirs. We can only be glad the sources have chosen us above all the competition, and must do our best to offer them a solid return.” To their surprise, Hayek actually smiled. “I like a man who thinks of the downside even when things look positive. I have been forced to send Mr. Burke over to manage the new fund. I need a new top man, my personal link to the markets. Are you interested?”

Alex blinked. “Thank you, Mr. Hayek. But my place is on the floor.”

“Very well.” Hayek rose to his feet. “Thank you for your time. I shall not keep you from your work.”

Obediently they began filing out. Hayek added, “Remain behind if you will, Mr. Ready.”

When the room had emptied, Hayek asked, “Anything more on our huntress and her companions?”

“Nothing, sir. It’s like they’ve disappeared.”

“Very well. Keep me posted.”

The Washington lobbyist was still there when Colin departed. He paid her scant notice, as Alex waited for him by the elevator. The other traders were gone. When the elevator doors slid them into isolation, Alex asked, “What did the King say to you?”

“There’s a local woman hired by a troublemaker up in Washington. Hayek’s had me trace her. She’s a nonstarter, believe me.”

Alex chewed on his upper lip, muttered, “He didn’t give us enough.”

“Just because they’re moved off-site doesn’t mean the threat is gone,” Colin agreed.

“The man’s not perfect, much as he’d like us to believe otherwise. Did you ever hear about what happened in Ecuador?”

Colin glanced at him. These were confidences of a new order. “Rumors only. Something about how he almost lost his silk shirt, then went on a rampage.”

“I’ve heard enough to be fairly certain the rumors are all true. It happened just before Hayek made the move south.” Alex stabbed at the elevator controls, the machine not moving at a trader’s speed. “Wonder what he’s calling the new group.”

“How about the Elvis Fund,” Colin suggested, then worried he had gone too far.

Alex gave him the tight rictus grin of a man ready for battle. “You’re okay, kid. Ever wanted to give the floor a shot?”

“Not a chance in all the whole wide world,” Colin replied solemnly. “Thanks just the same.”

Alex was already moving before the doors slid open. “And smart to boot.”

Burke waited until the last of the traders and the techie had left before emerging from the alcove behind the conference area, where Hayek had a private bathroom and dressing area. Burke stepped into the open, still uncertain why he had not simply been invited to join the others. Hayek stood by the window behind his desk, staring out at the fountain and the glimmering afternoon. Hayek asked, “You heard?”

“Yes.”

“Do you think the trader who spoke, what was his name. Did he believe me?”

“Probably not. It was Alex. Senior spot trader.” Burke remained standing beside the chair. “You offered him my job.”

Hayek remained silent.

“Am I out?” The mere possibility was a pain that threatened to twist his guts into a Pythagorean knot. Hayek had raged at Brant Anker for inserting the module but had not fired him. And had said nothing to Burke. Yet. “I had no idea Anker would-”

“Did I ever tell you what happened to my former aide?”

He swallowed. “No.”

“It was after Ecuador.” Hayek turned around then, revealing the stress lines racing out from his eyes and mouth. The rage. “Certainly you’ve heard the rumors swirling about downstairs.”

Burke found himself comparing this to Hayek’s earlier tirade. This was definitely real. The other now seemed mere theatrics. But why? “I try not to listen.”

“Ah, but you should. The only way to profit from past mistakes is to study and dissect and study further. Ecuador was a mistake. A grave one. Undoubtedly the worst of my career. But I have studied and I have learned.”

Hayek began to pace back and forth in front of the window, trapped by bars of unyielding sunlight and harsher memories. “The Ecuadorian setting was perfect for a huge financial coup-official corruption, a massive banking crisis, El Nino-driven crop failure, falling commodity prices. Inflation stood at thirty-two percent a month and rising. The Ecuadorian currency, the sucre, stood poised on the precipice. Working through confidential intermediaries based in the Cook Islands, I bought sucres with both fists. I then went short on almost the entire Ecuadorian stock market. I bought sell options for every Ecuadorian raw material. I prepared to push the currency and the country over the edge.

“Then the gray ghosts at Treasury caught wind of my plans. I have tried without success to discover the source of the leak, to no avail. At first I assumed it was their brother spooks at Langley who uncovered my plot. But evidence kept cropping up. Signs that the information was less than complete. If it had been Langley, I would not be here today. The case would have been too perfect. I would have been stripped clean and defeated.”

Hayek turned to him then. Beneath the silver-white brows his eyes were beyond black, fire blazing hot in a molasses pit. “No. Some blasted social charity outfit, a measly group of grubby do-gooders, they were the ones who managed to pierce my intricate veil. Their evidence was not enough to destroy, merely wound. Sant’Egidio was the most likely source of my woes, but I have never managed to prove this. Have you ever heard of the group?”

Relief swept through Burke in a flood surge so strong he could have wept. This was not about him at all. Hayek would not have revealed such incriminating evidence to somebody on the way out. Burke slumped into a chair because he had to. “No.”

“An international chain of pests and meddlers of the first order. They are the reason why burning at the stake should never have been banned. Someone flew down and told the president of Ecuador what I had planned. The president came up with a response no one had anticipated. Overnight they froze exchange rates at below what I had paid, dumped the sucre, and adopted the U.S. dollar as the official Ecuadorian currency.” Hayek paused long enough to give Burke a thin-lipped grimace. But it was doubtful he saw his aide at all. “Needless to say, I was enraged. I took the logical move, which was to finance a coup. And the coup succeeded marvelously. Three days later, a ragtag band of left-leaning Indians and the military was in power-a crippling concoction if I had ever seen one.”