Ark Storm (22 page)

“I’m listening.”

“Proverb says, sometimes if you have really nice, really helpful friends, you just might find that little needle hiding in the haystack.…”

Ange felt her blood quicken. “You’re killing me, Lucy. What you got?”

Lucy laughed, but when she spoke again her voice was all business.

“Unusual activity. Conducted by nominee companies. I asked some of my buddies. We can all sorta sniff out insider trades, at least some of the time ’cause they basically justify trades for which we, the uninitiated, can see no justification. They’re the kind of trades that give you pause. Some of the time it’s that the guy on the other end takes a different angle on the same info you have. Other times he just has different info.
Inside info.
So my buddies and I got together at Bar Agricole and had a good old root around.” Lucy paused for effect.

“I’m biting…”

Lucy laughed.

“So here it is. A series of put options on three California property casualty insurance companies. Quite a collection, far as I can gather. They’ve all been put on over the past week. Add up to a nice chunk a change. Thing about these trades that stuck out is that they are very specific and counter to the general market trend at the moment. My buddies and I could see no reason why someone would take such a position. And, the even odder thing is that the position is not company specific, but sector specific.”

Ange nodded furiously. “How big were the trades?”

“Big. All I know.”

“Any idea who did the trades?” Ange probed, standing like an island surrounded by rushing lunch hour bodies who flowed around her with varying degrees of grace and fury. She was impervious to all but the voice on the phone.

“Nominee companies. Their identity I cannot tell you. I don’t know myself. And my sources wouldn’t tell me. Client confidentiality. Could get themselves fired.”

“Fair points. Lucy, this is awesome! I owe you. Big time!”

“I’ll remember,” purred the voice. Always nice to have the SEC on side.”

Ange chuckled. “One last question. What does it mean? Why would someone put on those trades?”

“It’s basically like selling something short, only with leverage. It’s like a bigger punt.”

“I get that. But
why
?”

“I mentioned the trades were sector specific, not company specific. That means whoever put them on thinks the sector as a whole is gonna get hammered. That means big, and I mean real
big
insurance claims are expected. Big enough to move the price substantially.” Lucy paused. “This is where it gets really weird. I was wracking my brain trying to figure out why the price would move against prior market expectation. Here’s your menu; the Big Earthquake, catastrophic fires, though it’s getting to be the wrong season for California wildfires, or the new big one there’s been talk of recently, the ARk Storm—basically a huge winter storm bringing in biblical floods. Google it,” added Lucy. “There was a big article about it recently in the
San Fran Reporter,
” she continued. “Scared the hell outta me. Anyways, someone, maybe several someones, clearly think one of those three is on its way. Oh, and this I forgot to mention. These are six month puts, meaning the players think it will hit within six months. Which kinda rules out fires. So take your pick. Quake or flood?”

*   *   *

Ange forgot lunch. She wheeled round so fast she nearly took out a Starbucks-carrying jock. With a quick apology, she speed-walked back to the office.

“Keep him there! Cuff him if you have to!” she called out to Bergers’ PA, Bret, rushing past her boss’s office to collect Rodgers. She found him, head on his desk.

“Rac! Wake up!” she hissed. “Come with me.”

“Hm, this good?” he mumbled.

“Red hot! C’mon.” She pulled him to his feet, marched back to Bergers’ office. Bret niftily stepped out of their way.

“A word, sir?” asked Wilkie, managing to pause at his open door.

Troy Bergers forked his tuna salad into his mouth. He eyed them as he swallowed.

“Come in. You look happy. What you got?” He nodded to his chairs.

Rodgers sat down. Wilkie paced.

“The woman who rang Glass who then did the ‘call me on my personal cell phone’ insider shimmie?”

“Yeah?”

“Agent Rodgers got the accent people on her. They came back with California. Silicon Valley area. So I call a contact, ask about any unusual trades going down San Fran way.”

“Needle in a haystack,” grunted Bergers, “though the look on your face tells me you found it.”

“Contact found it. Or something that sure looks like it. A series of put options on California property casualty insurance companies. Described as “big” in size. All in the last week.”

Bergers laid down his fork, dabbed at his lips with a napkin, then trashed the lot. “Who did the trades?”

“She couldn’t tell me. Didn’t know herself. Said her sources wouldn’t tell her. Client confidentiality. Could get themselves fired and all that. Nominee companies, of course.”

“OK, I get that. But it’s a bit of a stretch to think this is an insider trade. First, why would someone put on those trades?”

“Asked her that. Only reasons she could think of was the Big One, the mega-earthquake, or the ARk Storm.”

“
ARk
Storm? What the hell is that?” asked Bergers with a frown.

“Catastrophic superstorm,” answered Rodgers. “Basically washes away California. Read something in National Geogr—”

“Guys!” exclaimed Bergers, cutting him off. He threw up his hands. “You’re trying to tell me that someone knows this earthquake or this storm is coming, your California woman, and she tips off Ronald Glass and some seriously huge hitter, who then buy the puts. That’s crazy! How can anyone forecast a quake or the weather like that?”

Wilkie gave a moue of defeat. “I know it’s a stretch; thing is, taking out a put like that—a six-month one, incidentally—it’s very specific. It suggests inside info.”

“Yeah, from God. It’s probably some weird hedge. Nothing more. Get outta here and lay off the drugs.”

56

CARMEL, MONDAY MORNING

Gwen clocked into the Lab at five after nine on Monday morning. She forced a breezy smile, aimed for a loose stroll as she headed for her office. She greeted Mandy, Kevin Barclay, and Mel Barbieri, all hogging the coffee machine with Monday morning yawns. Peter Weiss shuffled past, Beats headphones clamped to his ears, whistling in time. R.E.M. again. He raised a hand in greeting, secreted himself in his office, back-kicking the door closed, able to whistle, Gwen supposed, to his heart’s content without risking violent attack.

Gwen sat at her desk, turned on her computer, wondered how she could keep up her act.

She buried herself in the sensors and their latest readings. Still the seas warmed. She felt sure an ARk Storm was getting closer. Maybe
the
ARk Storm 1000. She could almost see it, speeding across the oceans on the Pineapple Express. How much longer could she keep silent?

Her cell trilled at eleven.

“Lunch today?” asked Dan, unusually curt.

“Sure,” she replied.

“Same place we met?” he asked elliptically.

“Sure. Twelve thirty?”

“See you then,” he confirmed and hung up.

He didn’t sound his usual self, thought Gwen, perturbed.

*   *   *

He was waiting for her at a corner table of the seafront café in Carmel, nursing a San Pellegrino.

He greeted her with a distracted kiss.

“Went to a press con this morning, Monterey cops,” he said by way of hello. “The body they found when we were at the Half Moon’s been ID’d. Elise Rochberger.”

Gwen gasped. “Rochelle’s friend. The hooker the man calling himself
Haas/Hans
roughed up?”

“Yeah, roughed up, and quite possibly killed.”

“Unless you believe in coincidence.”

“I don’t,” said Dan, eyes hard.

57

HURRICANE POINT, MONDAY EVENING

Gwen reckoned there was no alternative but honesty. Up to a point. She knocked on Marilyn’s door, called out to her neighbor.

“Gwen, come on in,” called out Marilyn. She was bent over the oven, in the process of retrieving a heavy dish.

“Shepherd’s pie,” she announced, placing it on a heatproof slab on her wooden table.

“Care to join me?”

Gwen smelled the vapors drifting across the kitchen.

“Try keeping me back!”

They blew on the steaming meat and potato, then Gwen set to some serious eating. Lunch with Dan was more talk than food. Elise’s murder had obliterated her appetite.

Gwen finished with a smile of delight. She was just about to launch into her warning when Marilyn spoke.

“Glad to see you got the electricians in at last.”

“Say again?”

“The work’s started on your house. Good to see.”

“No.”

“Whaddya mean no, it must be—”

“Sorry, Marilyn, to cut in, but no, no work has started.”

“But I saw the man letting himself into your house. Surprised him actually. I’d driven out, two minutes later realized I’d forgotten my pocketbook, came back, drove past, saw him going in, white electrician’s van parked outside. Vale Electrics it was called. Anyways, I slowed, said
hello
and it was good to see him starting, how I was always afraid the house would burn down and all.… He was real friendly. What’s wrong?”

“He wasn’t an electrician. I haven’t arranged anything to be done to my house yet. I haven’t had time.”

“Then who was he?”

“That’s the question. Look, Marilyn, something’s going on. The less I tell you the better, but, fact is, you’re in danger just because you live next to me. I want you to go and stay with your sister again.”

Marilyn pushed her plate away from her. She clasped her pale, veined hands together and gripped tight.

“What are you saying, Gwen?”

“Last week, Thursday night, I felt sure there was someone outside my house, watching me. Leo went on alert. Now this. Someone has effectively broken into my house in broad daylight.”

“Why would they do that? Were you burgled?”

“Not obviously. I’m going to go back and have a thorough check after we’ve finished up here. There’s something going on with a deal at Falcon. Two people are dead. I have no proof that there’s a connection, but my handsome friend and I are convinced there is and we are trying to prove it. In the meantime, please Marilyn, go away somewhere safe. If not to your sister’s, then let me treat you to a cruise.”

Something in her words must have struck a cord because Gwen saw fear mixed with the outrage in Marilyn’s eyes.

“What, just up and leave?” asked the old lady, taking a long gulp of water, swallowing awkwardly.

“I have to get you out of harm’s way, Marilyn. Please. I cannot lose anyone else. I cannot lose you.”

Marilyn nodded, looked resolute. She reached across the table, grabbed Gwen’s hand, gave it a squeeze.

“All right. I’ll ring Belinda later. Tell her to expect me.”

“Good. Soon as possible.”

“For how long?”

“Until this is all sorted out. I have a feeling it won’t be long.” Gwen had that sense of events accelerating, sweeping all before them, almost too fast to step out of the way.

58

HURRICANE POINT

Back home, Gwen took her cordless phone, walked out onto the deck, leaned against the rail, and called Dan.

“Someone broke into my house.”

“Are you all right?” he asked sharply.

“Fine. I was out. I just—”

“Stop!” Dan said sharply. “Save it till I get there. Just got to make a quick detour. I’ll be there in an hour. Lock your doors. Bolt them from the inside.”

*   *   *

Gwen waited. She hated waiting. Darkness fell. After forty minutes, Leo started to growl.
Shit! Enough of this,
swore Gwen. Marilyn was alone, with no dog to protect her, and she had witnessed and spoken to whoever had broken into her house. She was in danger now! Gwen grabbed her Maglite—flashlight-
cum
-weapon—called to Leo, and ran from her house. She ran full-pelt down the hill to Marilyn’s house, where the lights still burned. Her flashlight wobbled in her hand. The battery was old and the light was faint, all but useless. She heard Leo yelp, then when she ran toward the sound she collided with someone in the darkness, someone big and solid. She lashed out with fist and feet and flashlight, connected with flesh, heard a grunt, then she was violently shoved, falling hard on her back, knocking her head as she hit the ground, winded. She tried to jump up, to suck in breath, but it took seconds and by the time she was up, the man, it had
not
felt like a woman, had gone. Leo ran up to her, limping badly, licking her face.

“Marilyn. Go to Marilyn,” she rasped, still short of air.

She knocked violently on the locked door, called out. Marilyn appeared moments later, looking ghostly in a billowing white nightgown.

“Gwen! Are you all right? What’s happened?”

Gwen hurried in with Leo, locked the door behind her. She brandished her flashlight. “Marilyn, I’m just going to check your house. Stay here with Leo.” Gwen moved quickly through the rooms.

“No one’s here,” she reported back.

“Why would you think there was?” asked Marilyn, her voice tremulous.

“Leo growled. I ran down here, collided with someone. I think he was here to go after you. It was right by your house.”

“Well holy hell!” Anger mixed with fear now.

“I think he’s gone now. And it seems he was alone. Look, Marilyn, I want you to pack and leave. Now. Don’t wait till tomorrow. Just drive out of here. Stop at a hotel, motel. Wherever you need. I’d say stay the night with me, but I’m not sure my house is safe.”

59

HURRICANE POINT

Gwen saw off Marilyn, watched her taillights disappear up the dirt track, then she went back up to her own house. She’d left it unlocked, wondered whether the man had come here. Again she checked rooms, heart racing, flashlight aloft. But her house was empty and undisturbed, far as she could tell. Minutes later Dan’s Cougar roared up.