T. Bunn - Drummer in the Dark

“Our economy is in serious trouble,” Wynn replied, weaving together points from the files. “We just don’t know it yet. Hedge funds and the derivative traders in our major banks are getting away with financial mayhem. Today our system’s governing bodies operate according to what I call the New Orleans Theory of Finance: Let the good times roll.”

“What about-”

“The past several administrations have been real friends to the status quo. This bunch is no different. The Treasury and the Fed have both taken revolving-door policies to Wall Street. They come in, they club around, then they return to the domain of big bucks and fast living. This has resulted in an accident waiting to happen. The excesses of these huge equity funds need to be reined in. That is what our amendment proposes to do. No wonder they’re rolling out the big guns against us.” Wynn turned away. “That’s all the time I have.”

The portly man called out in an aggressive English accent, “Would you care to comment on the accusations that you are guilty of insider trading?”

Wynn had no choice but to turn back. “I know you from somewhere.” Then he remembered. “Sure. The British embassy reception for the new ambassador.”

“Excellent memory, Congressman. The question is, how selective is it?”

“The ambassador’s aide warned me about you. She didn’t mention you were a paid stooge.”

The reporter swelled like a ripe plum. “I resent-”

“I don’t know exactly what information you have, but I can assure you any such accusations are totally without merit.” He switched his attention to the Post reporter. “The important thing is, something good is turning into something bad. The people who have profited from putting our economy at risk will do anything and everything, including slurring my good name through planted accusations like this, to halt this vital legislation.”

When he was through the door and inside the committee room, Wynn cast Carter a sidelong glance. His aide was smiling again. “What’s the matter?”

“Nothing. Not a single solitary thing.”

“I just gave them what you fed me.”

“Not just.” Carter waited for Wynn to take his seat, then leaned over and said, “For a second there I could’ve sworn I was listening to a real pro.”

Monday

There was an osmosis quality required for top Washington lobbyists, an ability to read the political winds and react accordingly. Any lobbyist who waited until results were official was doomed to banishment and life in the wastelands beyond the Beltway. Valerie walked into her office that morning and instantly scented the change. People she had seldom spoken with were coming up, searching her out, trying to attach their careers to her ascending star. Two of the four senior partners made a point of stopping by the downstairs chamber that had become her team’s ops center. Supposedly they just happened by, as though they made the light-years journey between floors every day.

Two hours later she climbed the stairs and found her boss and the firm’s incumbent chairman huddled in the doorway to the boardroom. It was a perfect place for Valerie to declare, “We’ve completed our straw poll of committee members.”

Both of them grinned, discerning the news before she spoke. “Home run for the home team.”

“That’s the way it looks to us.”

“Come on in here,” the incumbent said. He gestured toward one of the suede-and-chrome chairs. “Try this on for a ride.”

“I’ve been in here before, thank you very much.”

“Not as a partner, you haven’t.” He patted the seat back and said to her former boss, “Is that corner suite ready?”

“Her name’s not on the door yet, but I doubt she’ll mind.”

Valerie slid into the seat, sighing ecstatically. “Nice.” It wasn’t her own firm, but there were advantages to having company along for the ride. Especially at a moment like this. “Very nice indeed.”

They took the two chairs to either side. “So the holdouts have come through.”

“They’ve said as much.” She gave the chair a little swivel. “We’re ahead by one vote for certain, possibly as many as three.”

“Val.” The incumbent leaned forward. “Given the situation, we’d like you to bury the personal stuff on Bryant.”

She halted in midswing. “What?”

“The senior partner is weighing in on this pretty heavily.” Her former boss was apologetic but firm. “He sees his chance of a top-level appointment going right down the drain if this is ever traced back to us.”

“Which it would be,” the incumbent intoned. “There is only one place this could have come from, that’s what they’ll say.”

She saw it then. The careful maneuvering, the friendly probes. Setting her up so she revealed the situation before they struck. Being handled by pros. “I suppose I have no say in this matter.”

“You said it yourself, Val. This thing is won.” He used his most soothing tone. Stroking out any hard feelings. “Something like this you can just tuck away, save it for the next time you get Wynn Bryant in your sights.”

But this was personal, she wanted to shout. She wanted to watch Wynn Bryant bleed. She’d already planned to record his resignation off C-Span, toast his departure for weeks to come. “I’ve already put out a couple of leads.”

The two men exchanged a swift glance. The incumbent said evenly, “Don’t feed them any more. We’ll just have to hope they don’t come up with enough meat to carry it forward.”

“The half-life on something this big must be a thousand years,” her former boss agreed. “And the old man won’t be around here to stop you next time.”

Monday

At seven that evening, traders finally began straggling off the Hayek Group’s trading floor. Eric was among the first to leave. The swelling to his forehead and lip had gone down over the weekend, and the traders were now too busy to rib him any further. The common wisdom was that he had struck a doorpost hurtling from a forbidden bedroom. Eric said almost nothing, kept to himself, and avoided Colin. Which granted Colin the excuse not to confront his pal with what he knew. And worse, what he suspected.

Around ten, the paper shrapnel cleared and the senior traders left the pit. Colin was still in his cubicle, a lonely circle of light in the midst of a dark fluorescent night. He remained because he could feel the storm gathering, and because he had nowhere else to go. At home, Lisa’s absence felt too much like personal deprogramming. The best of everything had been lost along with her, every day’s clarity erased. He had tried to rewrite his memories of the whole affair as just another warped and twisted mind game imposed by a merciless reality. But it did not help. Nothing did.

Alex swung around the corner with the ease of a man too tired to care whether or not he was welcome. He slumped into the visitor’s chair and announced, “If Hayek is right, we’re going to clear six months’ profit off this battle. If he’s wrong, they’ll sweep me out with tomorrow’s garbage.”

Colin used his well-chewed pen to point at the central screen, on which he had thrown up the floor’s highest camera, the one showing the upstairs balcony. “It’s empty now, but they started showing up about noon.”

“I saw.” Alex leaned over, squinted into the screen, and asked, “How’d you do that?”

“Tapped into the security system. They walked around, made themselves comfortable, checked the monitors, spent a couple of minutes grinning down and watching you guys kill yourselves.”

“Which means either they weren’t in on the action, which I doubt. Or they’d set their dollar positions hours ago.”