Alan Glynn - The Dark Fields aka Limitless

I waited in the reception area for nearly half an hour, staring at what I took to be an original Goya on a wall opposite where I was sitting. The receptionist was extremely friendly and smiled over at me every now and again. When Van Loon finally arrived, he strolled across reception with a broad smile on his face. He slapped me on the back and ushered me into his office, which was about half the size of Rhode Island.

‘Sorry for the delay, Eddie, but I’ve been overseas.’

Flicking through some documents on his desk, he then explained that he’d flown in direct from Tokyo on his new Gulfstream V.

‘You’ve been to Tokyo and back since Tuesday evening ?’ I asked.

He nodded and said that having waited sixteen months to get the new jet, he’d wanted to make sure that it was worth its not inconsiderable price tag of $37m and change. His delay in arriving this morning, he added after a pause, had had nothing to do with the jet, but was rather the fault of gridlocked Manhattan traffic. It seemed to matter to him that I understood this.

I nodded, therefore, to show him that I did.

‘So, Eddie,’ he said, sitting down behind the desk, and indicating that I should sit down too, ‘did you have a chance to look at those files?’

‘Yes, of course.’

‘And?’

‘They were interesting.’

‘ And? ’

‘I don’t think you should really have much difficulty justifying the price that MCL is asking,’ I began, shifting in the seat, aware suddenly of how tired I was.

‘Why not?’

‘Because there are some very significant options embedded in this deal, strategic stuff that isn’t evident in the existing numbers.’

‘Such as?’

‘Well, the biggest option value lies in the build-out of a broadband infrastructure, which is something Abraxas really needs…’

‘Why?’

‘To defend itself against aggressive competition – some other portal that might be in a position to develop faster downloads, streaming video, that kind of thing.’

As I spoke – and through the almost hallucinatory quality of my exhaustion – I was becoming conscious of how large a gap there was between information and knowledge, between the huge amount of data I’d absorbed in the last forty-eight hours and the arrangement of that data into a coherent argument.

‘The thing is,’ I went on, ‘building-out broadband is a big cash drain and highly risky, but since Abraxas has a leading portal brand already, all it really needs is a credible threat to develop its own broadband.’

Van Loon nodded his head slowly at this.

‘So, by buying MCL, Abraxas gets that credibility, without actually having to complete the build-out, at least not straightaway.’

‘How’s that?’

‘MCL owns Cableplex, yeah? That puts them directly into twenty-five million homes, so even though they might need to upgrade their systems they’re ahead of the game. Meanwhile, Abraxas can slow down MCL’s spend on the broadband build-out, thereby delaying any negative cashflow, but retaining the option to develop it later should they need to…’ I was having a sensation I’d had a couple of times before on MDT – one of walking on a verbal tightrope, of speaking to someone and clearly making sense, but at the same time of having no idea at all what I was talking about. ‘… and remember, Carl, the ability to delay an investment decision like that can have enormous value.’

‘But it still remains risky, doesn’t it? I mean, developing this broadband thing? Regardless of whether you do it now or later?’

‘Sure, but the new company that comes out of this deal probably won’t have to make the investment in any case, because I think they’d actually be better off negotiating a deal with another broadband player, which would have the added advantage of reducing potential overcapacity in the industry.’

Van Loon smiled.

‘That’s pretty fucking good, Eddie.’

I smiled too.

‘Yeah, I think it works. It’s basically a win-win situation. And there are other options as well, of course.’

I could see Van Loon looking at me and wondering. He was obviously unsure of what to ask me next… in case it all fell apart and I somehow revealed myself to be an idiot. But he eventually asked me the only question that made any sense in the circumstances.

‘How do the numbers add up?’

I reached out and took a legal pad from his desk, and a pen from my inside jacket pocket. I leant forward and started writing. After I’d gotten a few lines down on the page, I said, ‘I’ve used the Black-Scholes pricing model to show how the option value varies as a percentage of the underlying investment…’ – I stopped, flipped over the page and continued writing at the top of the next one – ‘… and I’ve done it over a range of risk profiles and time-frames.’

I wrote furiously for the next fifteen minutes or so, copying from memory the various mathematical formulae I’d used the previous day to illustrate my position.

‘As you can see here,’ I said, when I’d finished, pointing to the appropriate formulae with my pen, ‘the value of the broadband option together with these other options easily adds an extra $10 a share in value to the MCL stock.’

Van Loon smiled again.

Then he said, ‘This is just great work, Eddie. I don’t know what to say. This is just great. Hank’s going to love this.’

At about twelve-fifteen, after we’d gone through all the figures carefully, we wrapped up and left the office. Van Loon had booked a table for us at the Four Seasons. We made our way over towards Park Avenue and then strolled the four blocks uptown to the Seagram Building.

I had floated along during most of the morning in an icy and exhausted state of awareness – on automatic pilot in a way – but when I arrived with Van Loon at the Fifty-second Street entrance to the Four Seasons restaurant, and passed through the lobby, and saw the Miró tapestries and the leather seats designed by Mies van der Rohe himself, I began to feel energized again. More than being able to speak Italian, or read half a dozen books in a night, or even second-guess the markets, more than the fact that I had just outlined the financial structure for a huge corporate merger, it was being here , at the base of the Seagram Building, the holy of architectural holies, that brought the unreality of my entire situation home to me – because under normal circumstances I would never have found myself in a place like this, would never have found myself swanning into the legendary Grill Room, with its suspended bronze rods and French walnut panelling, would never have found myself gliding past tables occupied by ambassadors and cardinals and corporation presidents and entertainment lawyers and network anchormen.

And yet, strange as it seemed, here I was… happy to be swanning and gliding…

The maître d ’ led us to one of the tables under the balcony, and just as we’d settled down and ordered some drinks Van Loon’s cellphone went off. He answered it with a barely audible grunt, listened for a couple of moments and then flicked it closed. As he was putting it away, he looked at me with a thin, slightly nervous smile.

‘Hank’s running a little late,’ he said.

‘But he’s coming, right?’

‘Yes.’ Van Loon fiddled with his napkin for a moment, and then said, ‘Listen, Eddie, there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about.’

I swallowed, unsure of what was coming next.

‘You know that we have a small trading floor at Van Loon & Associates?’

I shook my head.

‘Well, we have, and I was thinking – that run of trades you made at Lafayette?’