Brian Haig - The Capitol Game

“Maybe afterward,” Jack answered, pausing briefly before he pointedly added, “if there’s something to celebrate.”

Only thirty minutes before, they had all listened to-or in several cases, relistened to-the tape of Jack running circles around their LBO boys. The four men couldn’t help smiling at one another. We know your games now, Jack, they felt like saying; nice try, but don’t think we’ll fall for your tricks again.

They quietly sat around the conference table, the four CG heavyweights on one side, Jack, alone and seriously outgunned, on the other.

Jack carefully placed his suitcase on the floor, unbuttoned his jacket, offered a nervous smile, opened by briskly thanking them for meeting with him on such short notice, at this late hour, then came right to the point. “I have met with four other firms about this offer. All four are intensely interested, all four are making seriously generous bids.”

A quiet moment of mild confusion ensued while Mitch Walters glanced at his directors and they quietly decided who would take the lead. Nobody seemed to feel this was a bluff. This mistake would not be repeated. Bellweather cleared his throat, edged forward in his chair, and said, “I don’t wish to be rude, Jack, but it’s not clear exactly what you’re offering.”

“A takeover. I’m sure you’ve all heard the particulars about the company, so I won’t waste your time with a regurgitation.”

“Yes, I think we’re all aware of the polymer and its remarkable qualities.” Nods from the others on his side of the table-Yes, yes, we want this deal. Come on, Jack, let’s get rich together. “Please continue,” Bellweather plunged in very politely.

“All right, here’s what I’m offering. I know the company, and I’ve mapped out a way to take it over. It’s vulnerable and ripe. Make the right moves and it’ll fall into our lap in no time. I’ve done a lot of research. It will work.”

No mights, no maybes, no probablys. It will work, simple as that.

“We have plenty of in-house expertise at takeovers,” Bellweather noted, careful not to sound pushy or dismissive.

“I know you do. And I’m open to better ideas, though I doubt your people will improve on my plan,” Jack replied, looking and sounding quite sure of himself.

Mitch Walters came to the point they were all wondering. “What do you get in return, Jack?”

“For starters, I intend to resign my partnership at Cauldron. It would be a conflict of interest for me to remain there.”

“A job, is that what you want?”

“A job, no. Call it a limited partnership, and I’d like an office in this building. A small out-of-the-way cubbyhole will suit me. No assistant, no staff; I don’t intend to be a burden. I don’t plan to be here often, but I’d like the accessibility.”

“Easy enough.”

“And I want to personally orchestrate the takeover. I’ll need help from a few of your people, of course. But it’s my baby and I want to bring it home.”

Sure, why not? If he screwed it up, they’d simply take it away from him. Maybe they’d take it away on general principle. “We’re agreeable to that,” Walters answered, a vague assurance at best.

“And a twenty million finder’s fee for bringing you this deal.” Jack paused and searched their faces, then specified, “Payable the moment we complete the takeover.”

The heads from CG looked at each other a moment. Twenty million? That’s it, only twenty? Peanuts for a deal that would quickly grow in magnitude to billions. He could’ve demanded fifty and they wouldn’t have blinked an eye. A hundred million was worthy of negotiation. Was he really leaving that much on the table?

Probably not, they collectively thought. Obviously the boy with a diamond in his pocket had something else up his sleeve, something much bigger. Jack waited until all the eyes were fixed on his face, then said very firmly, “And I want twenty-five percent ownership.”

A long moment before the mouths fell open. Bellweather actually squeezed his arms against his sides and popped his lips. Jackson and Haggar rolled their eyes and exchanged incredulous looks.

“Out of the question,” Walters snorted, speaking loudly and insistently for all of them. “We’re perfectly prepared to give you a larger finder’s fee. And certainly, a piece of ownership isn’t out of the question. A few percent, fine. But a quarter? Forget it,” he repeated, shaking his head emphatically. “I mean it. Not even negotiable.”

“Think again, Mitch,” Jack answered, not giving an inch. “I have two offers of twenty percent burning holes in my pocket. That and considerably larger finder’s fees.”

“But you wouldn’t be back here if you didn’t know we’re your best bet, Jack,” Mitch persisted with a sneer. He crossed his arms, worked his lips into a tight pucker, and made clear he meant it.

Instead of debating that point, Jack bent over and started rummaging through the small black suitcase he had hauled in and placed on the floor. He popped back up after a moment and tossed a green canvas bag on the conference table. The bag slid, then stopped almost dead center. Walters and Bellweather took one look, just one short look-with sinking stomachs, they knew exactly what was inside the sack. They didn’t need to be told-they knew!

Jackson and Haggar, the other two directors, stared at it. “What’s that?” Haggar demanded, clueless.

“Oh, this?” Jack asked, as if the question surprised him. “A nasty present I found in my garage,” he mentioned with maddening casualness. “Five pounds of marijuana. High-grade stuff, planted in my home to frame me. Enough to get me five to ten, my lawyer tells me. Can you imagine anybody doing something so slimy and stupid?”

Apparently not; at least, nobody ventured a response. Blank expressions all around; two sincere, two faking it for all they were worth.

Jack pushed back his chair and gazed thoughtfully at their faces. “The boys you sent were good, but lazy. Here’s one of the things they overlooked: electronically activated cameras in the ceiling that switch on in the event of a break-in.”

Walters took a stab at playing innocent and with a loud show of indignation declared, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“And I don’t like being treated like I’m stupid.”

“I’m not-”

“Mitch, listen before you open your mouth. I have some expensive artwork, and in addition to the cameras, my alarm is dual-wired and my home is flooded with infrared beams. It gets me a nice discount from my insurance company. A signal is sent to Vector, with a simultaneous signal to a private security firm I’d prefer not to disclose.”

“So what?” Walters said as if he could care less.

“So my security firm dispatched a few people to my house. For over two hours the burglars rummaged around inside. Naturally, my people became curious. Where was Vector’s response? And why did the burglars remain inside so long?”

Jack let the questions linger in the air for a moment. Bellweather and Walters weren’t about to surrender or retreat, and both shrugged as though it was a complete mystery and they were dying to hear the answer.

Jack looked directly at Walters. “It was as if they knew I was in Washington and wouldn’t be back till midnight. So my boys staked it out until the burglars were finished, then trailed them.”

“Jack, Jack, I have no idea what you’re getting at,” Walters protested, his tone up about three octaves, nearly vibrating with innocence. He was battling an irresistible temptation to get up and flee. “You’re not inferring we had anything to do with this?”

Jack ignored him and pushed on. “Here’s where it gets more interesting. Afterward, these burglars-three of them, if you don’t already know-checked into a Best Western on 95, a few miles outside Princeton. Spent the night, had a nice leisurely breakfast at a local diner, and left plenty of fingerprints and DNA traces in their wake. The DNA and prints were collected, then run through a national database. One was a black hole, a cipher. The other two are former military. Their prints and DNA are on file and easily accessed. After the Army, they fell off the map, though I would bet they continued in government service of some sort. Probably CIA. What do you think?”