Russell Andrews - Hades

"LaSalle's and Harmon's travel destinations?"

"And the other guy from Ascension, whatever his name is. Fenwick."

"You've got something from that that ties in to what you're talking about?"

"Well, look at where they went." Roger had that tone that Justin recognized now: the one that couldn't hide the fact he thought he was talking to an idiot. He patiently listed all the cities and countries that Evan Harmon, Ronald LaSalle, and Hudson Fenwick had visited on business, as if he were talking to a child.

"What about them?" Justin asked.

"It's where they mine platinum. Every one of 'em. Platinum mines."

Justin shook his head. "San Francisco? Come on, who the hell mines platinum in San Francisco?"

"Nobody. But you go about two hours up north to the Trinity River… platinum. You fly to San Francisco and drive up. You want to see a map?"

"How about Palm Beach?" Justin said, almost frantic now. "Harmon and LaSalle were there together. They're mining platinum in Palm Beach now?"

"No," Roger said. "That's the only one that didn't make sense, I mean, in the scheme of things. Well, that and Mexico. And, okay, Mexico I can't connect. But I figured out Palm Beach."

Justin was incredulous. "What is it?"

"It's not that they went to Palm Beach. It's when they went there. The third weekend in March."

Jonathan began nodding his head slowly now.

"What am I missing?" Justin asked.

"No reason you would know this," his father said. "But the first weekend in March is about the biggest date there is for hedge fund managers."

"It's the Rockworth and Williams hedge fund conference," Roger said. "Every year. Third weekend in March, at the Breakers Hotel."

"What happens there?" Justin asked.

"It's where the money is," Jonathan explained. "Rockworth invites its top clients-and people it wants to woo as clients-so it's where the hedge fund guys go. They meet, they talk, they drink, and if they meet and talk and drink well, they come away with a lot of that money."

"Dad," Justin said, "does anyone keep a record of who attends this conference?"

"I'm sure Rockworth does. It sends out the invites."

"Do you know anyone there who can get me that list? Immediately?"

"I can call Lincoln Berdon and-"

"No," Justin said quickly. "Not that high up. You know a low-level person there, someone who'd be under the radar, wouldn't think it strange if you asked for the list? And wouldn't think to mention it to anyone?"

"Sure," Roger said. "I know plenty of analysts who owe me favors, and I'm sure they could get their hands on it, no problem."

"Do it."

"Now?" Roger asked.

"Right now," Justin said. "Please."

So Roger made his call. Schmoozed a bit with whomever he was talking to on the other end, then gave out Justin's fax number. Two minutes later the list was faxed through.

"About five hundred names on this," Roger said. "You looking for anyone in particular?"

"Not necessarily. But I'm hoping I know it when I see it." Justin took the paper out of Roger's hands, began scanning down the list. And then he said, "And I see it."

He picked up the phone, called Reggie Bokkenheuser. When she answered, he said, "I've got our connection to Lenny Rube." He also told her that her hunch about platinum seemed to be paying off big-time. He explained about the boat sinking and about the shortage of the precious metal in a competitive marketplace. He also told her about the links between all the travel destinations-once again tying into that platinum wheeling and dealing was somehow central to everything else that had gone on. She started to pepper him with questions, but he said he needed to get a bit more info from Roger and that he'd call her later. Then he said, "Wait," and when she said she was still there, he said, "I know we're low on the Feebie totem pole, but can you use Immigration and get some info about someone going in and out of the country? And while you're at it, check into a few specific destinations?"

"I think we're still able to do that," she told him. "Immigration, Customs, they still like us. Who am I checking on?"

He told her and she whistled in surprise. She said, "Will wonders never cease," and before he could get annoyed, she said, "Later," and hung up.

When he hung up on his end, Justin turned to his father and to Roger Mallone and said, "Leonardo Rubenelli, the head of the New England mob, at a hedge fund conference. And I thought I'd seen everything."

Justin spent another hour with Roger and his father as they explained in greater detail the trading aberrations that Roger had spotted going through the Ascension data. It was not incredibly complicated, but there were twists and turns and obfuscations. Roger had isolated companies that had shorted platinum and lost money. Then he isolated companies that had lent their shares to the shorter and had raked in millions of dollars of profit as the price of platinum rose. Early in the scheme, the companies that had taken a bath were Charles Chan amp; Associates and the Noodleman America Corporation. Roger was disgusted at the names.

"Hedge fund assholes. They think that kind of stuff is funny."

"Chinese companies, obviously."

"Yeah, but shells. I'd bet my life on it. They make up the companies and give them fuck-you names. They're so smug, they like to flaunt their dishonesty. You look at all the companies Enron created before it took its fall, it was the same kind of thing-same kind of stupid, arrogant names."

"So the Chinese shells are losing money. What about the companies making a profit?"

Roger listed them: "Flame Bros. Ltd., the National Beet Growers Association of America Pension Fund, Pinkney amp; Associates, Rossovitch and Sons, Scarlet Knight, Inc."

"Just as stupid," Justin said. And when his father and Roger looked at him, confused, he said, "Lenny Rubenelli. They also call him Lenny Rube. And Lenny Red. All these companies… they're red."

"But there's still something off here," Jonathan insisted. "The profits are switched over the past few months. The companies making money on the shorting change at a certain point. Lately the ones taking in the profit are Eggleston Catalytic Converters; Goldman, Inc.; the Tintagel Group; and Silverado Jewelry Association. And the Chinese companies are back to making money."

"Because they've had shares transferred to them in those companies," Roger said. "And those companies are making money. Lots of money."

"And Lenny Rube's companies are down," Justin noted. And as he pondered the impact of that statement, he said, "I think we should have some dinner. Or some alcohol, at least."

"Excellent idea," his father said. "I don't suppose you have a decent wine in the house? Or clean wineglasses?"

"Hello," Roger said, a stilted, suddenly polite lilt to his voice.

Both Justin and Jonathan looked up, wondering why he was saying hello to them. Justin was about to tell him that it might be time for him to take a lengthy break, but then he saw that Roger wasn't saying hello to them. There was a man standing in the kitchen doorway. A Chinese man. He was standing very still, and it didn't take Justin more than his first glance to understand that this man was not here for any reason that could possibly do them any good.

"Give me papers, please," the Chinese guy said in halting English.

"What papers?" Roger asked. Then he waved at the records from Ascension. "These?"

"Give papers," the man said.

And Justin said, "Roger, move away from him. Move behind me."

"What?" Roger said.

"Don't give him any papers and don't get any closer to him. Move away right now."

Roger began to walk toward Justin. Justin glanced toward his desk. His spare gun-the one he hadn't handed over to Captain Holden-was in the drawer.