Andrew Gross - Reckless

“I can come Monday with an agent from the Exchequer, if you like. But I don’t see how that’s preferable…”

One of the kids called out, “Dad, c’mon, see if you can score…”

“I’ll just be a minute.” He waved back. “Start without me.”

His wife came over, a bit concerned. “Marty, is everything alright?”

“Of course everything’s alright. These people just need to ask me a few questions. I’ll be right along.”

They moved down the path to a small grove of cherry trees, the Wellington Arch behind them. “Alright.” He turned back, not hiding his annoyance. “You’ve got five minutes, Ms. Blum. What is it that couldn’t wait until Monday?”

“This is Ty Hauck,” she said. “He’s a partner in a security firm in Greenwich, Connecticut.”

Al-Bashir nodded dismissively, not offering his hand. “Okay…”

When it became clear that that was about as formal a greeting as they were going to get, Naomi said, “You know Mr. Hassani, do you not?”

“I don’t know. I may. The name is familiar. What does it matter anyway?”

“To refresh your memory, Mr. Hassani is a native Bahraini who is a principal in a number of businesses. Among them a United Arab Emirates firm named Ascot Capital Partners. I believe you have some experience with them at your firm.”

“Yes, yes, I know the firm.” Al-Bashir rolled his hand impatiently, shifting his gaze back and forth from Hauck to Naomi, trying to read what was in their eyes. He glanced at his watch. “So what? Can’t this wait?”

“You should be used to this kind of interruption to your weekends, Mr. al-Bashir.” Naomi met his eyes. “It was on a Sunday, the eighth of February; you took a call from Mr. Hassani. From Dubai. The subject matter was all very vague, of course. Investment strategies, the worrisome market…” She opened her satchel. “I happen to have a transcript of that conversation if it will help.”

“I don’t need a transcript,” he snapped. “I still don’t see the point. Mr. Hassani and I shared a business conversation. A private conversation, to be exact. How in the world are you in possession of-”

“Mr. Hassani is a person of interest for several matters related to U.S. national security,” Naomi said, cutting him off and squinting at him. “And as such, unfortunately, Mr. al-Bashir, so are you.”

The Saudi’s eyes grew narrow. He took off his glasses. “I don’t understand…”

She stared at him unflinchingly. Hauck was impressed. “Did you know Mr. Hassani was a figure who had attracted the attention of the United States government, Mr. al-Bashir?”

“No.” The Saudi shifted on his feet. “I did not. He is also a person who has helped facilitate a six-billion mezzanine financing tier from the king of Bahrain for one of your largest banks.”

“Mr. Hassani has also brokered sales of weapons from Chechnya that have found their way to the Taliban in Pakistan. He has siphoned money for the Islamic American Cultural Foundation, a sham organization that has set up madrassas that train terrorists all over the world, some right here in Britain, and is on the terrorist watch list.”

“Terrorist!” The Saudi blinked nervously. “I’ve done nothing wrong.”

Al-Bashir’s wife moved closer. “Marty, is everything alright?”

“Yes, everything’s alright, Sheera,” he snapped, his mood shifting. “Stay with the boys. I’ll be there soon.”

Naomi said, “Getting back to that conversation, Mr. al-Bashir, directly after it, you altered the investment strategy of your firm, did you not?”

“What do you mean I altered our investment strategy?”

“The very next day, Monday, February ninth, your fund began liquidating most of your financial interests in the United States markets. In fact, across the globe. Just to be clear, you’d call those interests sizable, would you not, sir?”

“Yes, of course, they’re sizable. We’re a significant fund. But whether or not you say it was a result of any conversation-”

“In fact, you began shorting the stock of many of the largest financial entities in the market. Citicorp, Goldman, Bank of America, AIG…”

“I’m not sure of the exact date.”

“Lehman Brothers, Beeston…,” Naomi went on, her eyes locked on his shifting gaze. “Wertheimer Grant.”

The Saudi’s complexion grew pale.

“If you don’t mind me asking, was Mr. Hassani some kind of partner in your firm, Mr. al-Bashir? Or one of the lead investors?”

“You seem to know very well who the partners are in my firm, Ms. Blum,” the Saudi reacted with irritation.

“Just to be clear, sir, it’s Agent Blum.” She stared at him and continued. “But he was someone from whom you took investment advice?”

“No, I wouldn’t say that. We were just two people discussing their views.”

“Yet you immediately altered course after that conversation. Why?”

“I think this has gone far enough, Agent Blum. I suggest this may be something you would want to take up with our attorneys, if you’re alleging there is something I’ve done wrong. Whatever it is you are trying to prove, it’s not for this location or this time. I think your five minutes are up.”

“I’m pretty sure this is something you would definitely not want me to run by your attorneys, Mr. al-Bashir. Do the names Marc Glassman and James Donovan mean anything to you?”

The Saudi blinked, now seeing where the conversation was leading. “I believe they were those two financial traders who died suddenly in the U.S. One was a home break-in. The other a suicide…”

“That’s correct, Mr. al-Bashir,” Naomi said, “except for one thing. There was no suicide. Mr. Hauck here has proved that. Both were murdered.”

“I didn’t know that,” the Saudi said. He glanced uneasily at Hauck, concerned about where this was going.

Naomi pressed on. “That sudden shift in strategy certainly changed the price of a lot of stocks, didn’t it, Mr. al-Bashir?”

He shrugged. “Anyone could see the financials were ready for a tumble. We were simply early on that one.”

“Yes, they did tumble, didn’t they, sir? Royal Saudi is one of the largest players in the market. Its support or withdrawal can move an entire sector, can it not? As it did.”

“I think the verdict is already in on that one, Agent Blum. But I still don’t know where you’re going-”

“Where I’m going, Mr. al-Bashir”-Naomi’s gray eyes fastened on him-“where the U.S. government is going, is that shortly after that shift in strategy, after their firms’ stocks had already been cut by more than two-thirds in the past year, Mr. Glassman and Mr. Donovan were both murdered. After their deaths it was discovered each secretly had lost billions in trading and concealed those results from their firms, making their companies’ balance sheets all the more fragile. These were considered the last straws, so to speak, in driving these firms into insolvency, correct?”

Al-Bashir nodded blankly.

“Dragging down the rest of the market, wouldn’t you say? Like a chain of dominoes.”

“Along with several other causes,” al-Bashir replied. “You have heard the words ‘subprime mortgage mess’ at Treasury, haven’t you? Or ‘credit-default swaps’? Or maybe, ‘reckless’?”

“Yes, they’ve come up. What if I could make the case, Mr. al-Bashir, that both Mr. Glassman and Mr. Donovan had been receiving substantial outside payments to commit such actions? And that those payments could be tied directly to Mr. Hassani? And, through another of his associates, tied to their murders as well?”

Al-Bashir’s face knotted tighter. He put his glasses back on, his face pale. “I’m going to walk away now, Agent Blum. I think I’ve had enough of this.”