T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

Thorson wasn’t finished. “This overcrowding is the pits. We got some new desks, but the traders are still falling all over each other. There aren’t enough screens or phones or lines for orders, nothing.”

“It won’t be for much longer.”

“That’s not good enough.”

Burke examined the other man. His features bore a strange mixture of flush and white splotches, the tension clearly moving toward the cracking point. “It’s a different world,” Burke observed. “Handling three billion and change.”

“I need answers,” Thorson snapped. “Not theory.”

So did he and Anker. That morning, Hayek had summoned Burke out to the manor and explained what he had planned. Burke had sat and listened as the pieces fell into place, then spoke the only word that had come to mind. Brilliant. It was a meager expression of the awe he felt, but for the moment it had to do. And the need to discover the Brazilian investors’ mole was now beyond critical.

“Answers,” Burke agreed. “We’re moving the entire team out.”

“When?”

“They’ll be gone Monday, just as soon as the current line of transactions has cleared.”

Fines was not expecting such a response. Which was no surprise, given how his former bosses had blocked his every move. He still had a lot of arguing left inside him. “Where to?”

“An upstairs room at the Hayek Group.”

“I thought you said we were supposed to stay totally separate.”

“They will. Believe me. This place is completely sealed off.”

“What about our trading positions?”

“For the rest of today, I want your team to switch everything to dollars. Do it as quietly as you can. Talk to your new guys. They’ll have a list of confidential brokers who value the business enough not to spread the word around.”

Thorson spoke very carefully. “You want me to put all this money into going long on dollars.”

“Every dime.”

He did a swift calculation. “Working at current margins, we could do, say, thirty billion in dollar derivatives.”

“Fine.”

“But the dollar’s already overvalued.”

“Hayek has decided it is going to rise.”

“And you want me to do it quietly.”

“If you can, place the entire amount without your name ever being known by the market,” Burke agreed. “And while you’re at it, clear out your Interbank lines.”

“But I’ve been spending every minute I can spare talking up our operation and extending our Interbank credit limits.”

Burke smiled. “Trust me.”

“You’re taking away my cash?”

His cash. The man was definitely hooked. “Just the opposite. Monday you’ll be getting more.”

“How much?”

Burke wished he could savor this moment and gloat over the power at hand. “Five billion dollars.”

Thorson Fines blanched. “If you take away those guys, I won’t have the manpower to handle that much fresh money.”

“You will,” Burke replied, “if you invest the entire amount through the Interbank.”

Fines chewed on that. The Interbank was designed specifically to handle huge bundles of cash, and on the quiet. Bank to bank. Confidential, discreet, never touching the trading room floors. “All right. I’m listening.”

“The funds you currently hold are to be managed by the group moving into the Hayek trading room. But they will remain on your books and be traded under your bank’s name. Tell that to your men. Their bonus situation remains the same. As does yours.”

“And the new funds?”

“Clear the Interbank accounts. Try to open as many new lines as possible. We’re looking for maximum leverage. We need the lines in place by Tuesday at the latest.”

“The Forex convention is this weekend,” Thorson pointed out.

“It would be best if you and your team skipped this year.” The annual foreign exchange convention was a clannish gathering of senior traders and those marked as up-and-comers. “Just to make sure nothing gets out.”

Burke could actually see the man’s mind racing through this new input. Coming up with the assessment at trading-floor speed. “You’ve got access to confidential data, don’t you. You’re going to use the Interbank lines to leverage the five big ones into a hundred, and make a killing on one huge bet.”

The man was almost too smart. “Be ready to move when you get the word.”

Hayek waited until the afternoon sun was roasting holes in his Persian carpets to summon the senior traders. He watched a pair of hummingbirds beat tiny thunder as they drank from the highest point of the central fountain. Events were unfolding at a pace so precise he felt able to halt the birds’ wings and peer at them between beats.

Hayek made appropriate noises as he ushered the traders into the conference area and offered beverages. He pretended not to notice the week’s strain, the old sweat, the market’s aging effect on their features. Hayek settled himself into his chair at the head of the table and inquired, “How is the market?”

Alex, the senior spot trader, waited until the others had made their reports to say, “The dollar’s on the rise. We’ve done all the checking we can. Somebody’s buying big numbers. We’ve been holding back, trying to find the reason.”

Hayek nodded slowly, as though the information was both valued and new. “I want us to clear our holdings and go heavy into the dollar.”

There was a long silence. A unified expelling of breath as the adrenaline took hold. The derivatives man finally said, “Sell all our holdings?”

“Do it smoothly,” Hayek replied. “No panic. Run this on through Monday and Tuesday. But strip away everything that holds us to anything other than a long-dollar position.”

Alex was the only trader to voice what should have been the obvious. “In other words, you want us to follow the market.”

“In this instance, I feel it is a justifiable move.”

“No chance the market’s first step was taken by our little brothers over at First Florida, is there?”

“A justifiable concern. But not the case, I assure you.” Hayek smiled false approval and hastened on, “By necessity, you will need to miss the Forex convention this weekend. We can’t afford for word of our actions to get out. In order to make up for this, I have rented a private Caribbean island for you and your guests the week after next. All expenses paid.”

One of the traders asked, “You’re telling us we’re looking at an active bull market?”

Another trader asserted, “The dollar’s already at record highs, right across the board.”

“Which means we can catch the market off guard.” Hayek knew he had to sell them if they were to sell the others. “Call the brokers you know will pass the word on. Tell them you’ve caught wind of something big.”

“So we use our mouths to talk the market up even higher.” Once again, it was Alex who caught the drift. “Then next week we’re going to sell off.”

Hayek rose to his feet very slowly, giving himself time to hide his sudden rage. He met the group with yet another smile. “Be ready to move fast. On my command.”

Friday

The Friday committee meeting was very well attended. Almost all the seats around the rotunda were taken, as well as most of the visitors’ chairs. C-Span had positioned a live-feed camera at the back. The questions went more sharply, the exchanges faster.

As Wynn departed that afternoon, he spotted Valerie speaking with one of the committee members. The senator from Oklahoma apparently did not mind in the least being corralled by a striking lobbyist in heels and form-fitted dark suit.

Carter moved up alongside Wynn. “We need to get back to the office. You’ve got a live television broadcast coming up.”