T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

The words swam before his eyes. On his official letterhead was an undated resignation. His own.

“You are going to be our point man in name only. You will take the heat, but I and my team will hold the reins. You have to live with that, Wynn. There isn’t any other way for this thing to fly.” Kay pointed at the page. “This is both insurance and our way out, if anything goes wrong. And believe me, if I have to use it, I won’t hesitate. Not for an instant.”

Wynn took the pen Carter was offering him and signed his name. “Smart.”

He watched Carter inspect the signature, then slip the paper back into his case. Esther’s expression clearly said she had been hoping he would refuse.

“Tomorrow night we’re pulling a page right from the lobbyists’ own game book,” Kay said. If she felt any pleasure or regret over Wynn’s capitulation, she did not show it. “One of their favorite ploys is to hit Congress at a downtime, stack the floor with their supporters, and pass amendments to vital legislation. That’s exactly what we’ve got planned, only in reverse.”

“What do I do?”

“Carter will walk you through it tomorrow.” Kay looked around the room and said, “Looks like we’re good to go.”

When she started to rise, Wynn halted her with, “Does the name Tsunami mean anything to you?”

The tableau froze. It was Carter who demanded, “Where did you hear that?”

“Jackie has an internet contact she knows only as the Boatman. He mentioned it to her.”

“She told me about that mystery guy. I thought perhaps it was one of Sybel’s people.” Worry tightened Esther’s face and voice both. “We’ve got to get her out of there.”

“Not a chance,” Wynn said. “I’ve begged her to come help out around here. She’s following up on something down in Orlando. She won’t say what, only that it has to do with Hayek, and that she’s got to do it herself.”

“Jackie has proven herself to be a pretty solid lady,” Kay offered.

Wynn demanded, “What’s going on here?”

“We lost a key person over this name, far as we can tell,” Carter said. “A researcher at the Library of Congress. But we haven’t been able to find out a single thing more.”

“A wonderful young woman,” Kay added. “A friend.”

“She was tracking down Hayek and came across a reference to Tsunami. Next thing we know, the lady was thrown off the roof of a downtown hotel.”

“The police claim it was a suicide,” Kay said.

“We know exactly what it was,” Esther replied. “And it wasn’t just one victim, it was two. That was the night Graham had his second stroke, or whatever it was. Right after we received the news about our young friend.”

Kay glanced at her watch. “I’ve got to go.”

Graham Hutchings gave what Wynn thought was a moan of pain. The others went on full alert but showed no alarm. Esther leaned in close to the wheelchair and asked softly, “What is it, dear?”

Graham made a feeble motion with his right hand. Esther clearly understood, for she said, “Just a minute.”

She slipped a pen into his fingers, held it until he had gripped it firmly, then lifted the pad into place on the wheelchair’s arm and put the pen down on the page. With her other hand she reached into her pocket, drew out a handkerchief, and wiped a line of spittle from his chin.

Graham took a very long time to form the letters, each one requiring dogged effort. He signified completion by dropping the pen. Esther examined the sheet, blinked, then asked stonily, “Who do you want me to give this to?”

The hand lifted a fraction, far enough to point toward Wynn.

Reluctantly, Esther tore the sheet free, but handed it to Kay instead. The senator stared at the page a long moment, then handed it to Carter. The aide humphed a humorless laugh, then handed the sheet to Wynn.

On it was scrawled a single word. Friend .

Tuesday

Wynn’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.”