Bull Street (30 page)

“You’re not getting it. When I call you next about a deal, I’ll have reams of data you don’t have, full proof, and I’m not listening to any crap about you going easy on me because of my cooperation. I’m not cooperating. I’m the friggin’ Texas Rangers solving your stinking case.” And he hung up. Two minutes, 47 seconds. Probably not enough time for a trace. Richard headed back to the Waldorf, feeling every part of his body as he walked. He felt the muscles in his legs contracting and releasing as he trudged, heard his breath flowing in and out like he was in the last mile of a marathon. He needed to deliver. He hoped like hell he could find Milner.

Richard had left Kathy a note saying he’d stepped out to use a pay phone while she showered. He wanted to get back as soon as possible. He was troubled about her. Kathy had swung from complacent to twitchy with worry during their conversation at the Bull and Bear. It didn’t show much on the outside, but Richard knew her well enough to see it: it was twisting her up inside. The silence, distraction and fixed gaze weren’t Kathy. Richard knew now he’d need to get to Milner alone. Besides, he was the one
who knew Milner, and the only one Milner would talk to. And this whole mess was on his head. He’d gotten Kathy and Dad into this by nosing around. His job to get them out.

He walked into their room at the Waldorf to see Kathy with her brow furrowed.
Damn.
He wasn’t gone that long.

“Everything okay?” he said.

“I’m not sure. Here’s a little salt to the mix. The front desk just called. There’s a package for you downstairs.”

He got the chills. Who found out they were here? “That’s odd,” Richard said.

“That’s not odd, babe, that’s scary as hell.”

Richard walked over to the phone, picked it up. He said, “I might as well have them send it up. Whoever dropped it off already knows where we are.”

The bellboy delivered a large manila envelope with something rattling around inside. Richard felt his pulse quicken as he tore at the paper. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Kathy lean forward to see as he pulled out a cell phone and a note. He read the note aloud. “‘Richard. I thought about it. Let’s talk. 646-263-2764. Harold.’”

Kathy crossed the room to a chair and sat down, exhaling. Richard could see the tension in her movements. “What do you think it means?” she said.

“Only one way to find out.” He turned on the cell phone and dialed it, wondering who else might know they were here if Milner had figured it out, where they might go next.

Kathy said, “Are you sure…?”

Then the phone connected. “Hello, Richard,” Milner said.

“How’d you know where I was?”

“I have guys whose business it is to find out things.”

Devon & Co.
He thought about the Bull and Bear downstairs with Kathy, how exposed they’d been.

“You still there?” Milner said.

“Yeah.”

“Don’t worry. You’re still among friends, although…”

“Although what?”

“You should be careful. Not everything’s what it seems.”

No shit.
“Or everyone.”

“Yeah. I assume you’re current with the news? Walker and Source X? A prominent figure in U.S. business implicated?”

Richard hesitated for a long moment. He wanted to see if Milner had anything else to add. “Yeah,” he finally said. He started to think about how to steer the conversation.

“I sense you’re tentative. I understand your hesitation. So let me get to the point. I thought about our conversation and I believe we can help each other. We should team up.”

Milner was heading straight where Richard wanted to go, saving him the effort. And Milner had an agenda. So he had to know more than Richard did.
Play it out, learn something.
He didn’t respond. See what else Milner had.

Milner continued, “We have common interests. The information you said you had, copies of emails, computer files, all that is critical to getting us both cleared with the Feds. I have crucial information, too.”

“I figured out LeClaire’s Source X.”

“Yeah, he’s your mole, reporting directly to Schoenfeld and Delecroix. Jack and Mickey are in this with both feet, too.” He paused, then sighed into the phone. Richard was clasping his own phone so tightly his hand hurt; he switched hands and ears, then wiped the sweat from the hand he’d just freed. “The stakes are high. I’m sure they killed my CFO and Walker’s General
Counsel. Now that LeClaire’s talking to the Feds, who knows what he’ll say to cover it up.”

“He’s probably getting paid off to protect everyone else.” Angry at LeClaire and torn up about it at the same time.

“At least to protect Schoenfeld, Delecroix, Jack and Mickey, but he’ll most likely fry anyone else, including you.”

That hit Richard like a thud in the gut. He’d told himself that LeClaire could turn on him, but now hearing Milner verbalize it felt like a body blow.

Milner said, “I’ve got some ideas. I’m sure you do, too.”

“I talked to Croonquist fifteen minutes ago. I told him I calculated that the ring’s made two billion in profits over four years, that LeClaire’s only giving him a fraction of the story. I might’ve overreached, but I said I can deliver the top guys.”

“What’d he say?”

“I think I stood him on his head. It sounds like he’ll deal, but we’ll need to get indisputable proof. He’s an intimidating guy. A real crusader.”

“I can get a meeting with Schoenfeld and Delecroix. Let’s meet and plan strategy. Someplace safe.”

“Okay. Where and when?”

“Tomorrow. 7:30 a.m. at my office.”

Is he crazy?
“You call that safe? They have to be watching it.” Now he was getting a bad feeling about all this.

“Where is the last place you’d look for me if you wanted to find me now? The Feds probably think I’ve already left the country. I’ve got a private elevator in my building; it’s got a secret stop in the sub-basement the Vanderbilts built to access the tunnels to Grand Central. If you can get in, we can get out. If my building’s staked out, the Devon guys will steer you off and take you to me. Hang onto that cell phone.”

Richard was working it in his mind. Was Milner setting a trap? Why bother? He knew where Richard was now; he could sick the Feds on him if he wanted to. And it sounded like Milner needed the data. Getting Richard hauled in wouldn’t do Milner any good. “Okay,” Richard said.

“Bring the data. See you.” They hung up.

Afterward when he explained it to Kathy, he was laying out his logic as much to assure himself as her. When he finished telling her, he turned on his laptop and logged onto the Internet. He wanted to check the mole’s emails on the
netwiz.net
server one last time, see if there were any more to add to his files before getting ready to meet with Milner. When he got onto the mole’s
[email protected]
account, what he saw made him suck in his breath and arch his back in the chair.
What the…?
All the emails were deleted from the account. That certainly ratcheted up the heat, and maybe explained why the data was so critical to Milner. All he could do was meet with Milner, see where it led. It took a high tolerance for ambiguity, he reminded himself.
And like Milner said, balls.

L
ONDON
, E
NGLAND
.
J
ACK BUMPED HIS
head on the doorway of the Lear 60
^XR
as he climbed down the stairway out of the business jet, still the top of Learjet’s line.

“Watch your head, sir,” the attendant said.

“Thanks for the warning,” Jack said.

When the limo picked him up at 8:00 a.m. London time to deposit him at the Bristol, his mind started chewing on the day’s events, kept grinding for an hour after he went to bed.
Jeez.
He’s in the knife fight of his life to keep them all from going down the tubes with this mole thing. And the markets maybe running the firm into a brick wall anyhow, his entire career building up Walker maybe for nothing. Back and forth with Mickey about ten times on how to keep the mole thing packaged just right for the Feds, fine-tuning it. Then seeing this shit with Source X splayed all over the newswires before they were ready. Obviously old fart Sir Reginald and his toxic little gnome sidekick front-ran Mickey and him.

Unbelievable.
Now he wondered if maybe they were setting Mickey and him up. He couldn’t wait to figure out a way to get rid of these douchebags. When he got to Schoenfeld & Co.’s offices at St. James’ Square at 12:30 p.m., he stopped in front of Elvira’s desk outside Sir Reginald’s corner office.

“Good morning, my love,” Jack said, trying to play it cool.

“Jack, lovely to see you,” Elvira cooed back. “He’ll see you right away.” She lowered her voice, “Delecroix and my knight. It looks like an ambush.”

Jack was at full alert as he entered the room. He focused on body language and the room’s lighting. The blinds were drawn. Sir Reginald sat erect behind his desk.
All formally British and shit.
Delecroix puffed on a big Havana in the sofa beside Sir Reginald’s desk.
Looking edgy.

“Jack, old boy,” Sir Reginald said. Delecroix offered a flat, “Hello.”

“Have a seat, old boy, pull up a chair in front here.”

Jack didn’t like it. He didn’t want to be positioned between them. He sat down next to Delecroix on the sofa.

“Little early for that Churchill, isn’t it, Philippe?” he said, seeing if he could take his temperature.

“I have to be twice as bad when I’m not in Paris to make up for being so good when I’m home. My wife,” he explained, “she smells them on me. It isn’t worth listening to the lectures.” Jack chuckled and slapped Delecroix on the leg.

“We should get right down to it,” Jack said.
Assholes.
“So do you guys have a lid on this? Since Mickey and me gave you our plan on how to handle the deal with the Feds, I’ve heard more on the news about it than from you guys.”

Delecroix said, “The situation, it is at a delicate stage.”

“You couldn’t have kept Mickey and me in the loop?”

“Absolutely not,” Delecroix said. “At times like this we need to restrict knowledge to the innermost circle.”

“You think I’m your water boy?” See if the Frog knew what that meant.

Delecroix settled down into the sofa, sighed like it was the tenth time he was repeating a lecture to a kid, like Jack was
some twerp he could talk down to. Jack was tired, in no mood for this. He watched Delecroix blow out a big puff of smoke from his Churchill, curl his bony little fingers around the cigar. From where he sat, Jack could just reach out and break one of his skinny fingers right off if he wanted to.

Delecroix said, “LeClaire is taken care of adequately. He has agreed with your officials to cooperate under terms that require immunity for Walker & Company. And of course, François will keep the involvement of any senior officials from GCG, Schoenfeld and Walker secret. Certain clerical individuals must unfortunately be exposed as part of his arrangements.”

“You sure you took care of LeClaire?” Jack said, looking back and forth from Delecroix to Sir Reginald.

Delecroix puffed up his cheeks with air, blew it out. He scowled at Jack and said, “We have compensated François appropriately. He is a French citizen. When he is released from jail in two to three years based on his cooperation, his money will be waiting for him in France where he can live in high style. Very few people care about scandals in France. In fact, such things often lend an aura of prestige and mystery to an individual. Something you Americans do not appreciate.”

Talking down to Jack again. Maybe Jack would snap off two fingers; see if the Frog could appreciate that.

“And it is an inconvenient accident about your two young people learning as much as they did,” Sir Reginald said.

“I’m on that,” Jack said.

Sir Reginald said, “They could present a problem for—”

“I said I’m taking care of it,” Jack said.

“Who do you think you’re talking to?” Delecroix said.

“A couple a crooks. Who’re you guys to act so high and mighty?”

Delecroix pulled his cigar out of his mouth, gave Jack a look like he expected Jack to wither and back down.
Arrogant little runt.
Why had he danced around this guy so long?

Delecroix squinted at Jack and said, “What are you doing about it? We need this fixed, not made worse. We cannot afford another incident like Milner’s CFO or your General Counsel.”

Jack leaned in closer to Delecroix, saw Delecroix arch his head back. “I said I’m taking care of it.”

Delecroix just stared at Jack.

Jack grinned.

“What’s wrong? You don’t like one of your employees talking back to you?”

Sir Reginald said, “Oh come now, let’s not deteriorate into unpleasantness.”

Nobody said anything for a few moments.

Sir Reginald shifted his weight in his chair behind his desk. He said, “Well, then, we’ll let you get back to it, old boy,” looking away from Jack like he was dismissed.

Jack stood up, headed toward the door. “I don’t need you to tell me my business,” he said.

Delecroix said, “I remind you, I expect this handled discreetly and properly or I will take actions.”

Jack stopped and turned back to look Delecroix in the eye. “Don’t even think about trying to fuck with me. You stab me in the back, I got nothing to lose. If I’m dying already, what do I care if I gotta blow my brains out for the bullet to nail you in the heart? I’ll hand you to the Feds in a New York minute.”

Delecroix smiled and blew another big puff of cigar smoke.

Jack said, “Don’t look so smug. Even in France they don’t let you smoke those things in jail.”

New York City.
Richard walked out of the Waldorf, down Park Avenue and crossed 46
^th
Street toward the Helmsley Building. He carried his laptop in a Redweld folder under his arm, his gaze shooting back and forth from beneath his sunglasses, looking for anyone standing around. He wore street clothes and a baseball cap, hoping to look like a messenger, even though Milner said it was safe.

Then as he passed the East Helmsley Walk on 46
^th
Street, he saw a guy about fifteen feet away wearing an earpiece with a wire running down into his shirt. He turned fast and faced Richard.
Shit!
The guy looked startled for a second, then angry as he broke into a run straight at Richard, his arms spread like he was gonna tackle him. It must have been muscle memory from high school football that told Richard to cross his package from under his left arm into his right and run straight at the guy. Just before they collided, Richard jammed his left arm up, stiff-armed him hard in the face and then executed a perfect spin move, doing a complete circle as he bounced off him and headed across 46
^th
Street. Then another would-be tackler appeared straight ahead about five yards away. He had time to wonder if this was a trap all along. Richard threw him a head fake north up Park Avenue, which the guy bought, and then faked a cut left until the guy leaned back that way, then broke right past him. Richard heard the loud
snap!
of a tendon in the guy’s leg.
He won’t be chasing me but the first guy will.
Then another came running full tilt out of the West Helmsley Walk. Richard stopped short and reversed
his field. His first pursuer hurtled past him as Richard hunched underneath him.

Richard ran back east across 46
^th
Street.
Get out of here now. Now, now, now!
Richard cut right up the ramp toward the east encircling roadway around Grand Central Terminal. He darted across the roadway, barely being missed by a taxi speeding down on its way to Park Avenue northbound.

Richard got halfway up the ramp toward the 90-degree turn to the right that started the roadway around Grand Central. He heard screeching tires and blaring horns. From the corner of his eye he could see his pursuer was only seven or eight yards behind him. He guessed the guy would overtake him on the long straightaway down the east side of Grand Central. He felt a moment of hopelessness, then pushed it back.
Run!
He dashed straight across in front of another taxi, slowing down to force the cab to swerve hard at his pursuer. He heard the
crunch!
of the cab’s fender on the concrete wall and the sound of the guy’s body slamming on the steel of the cab. Richard looked over his shoulder to see the guy sprawled on the hood.

Go, go, go!
He ran as fast as he could along the straightaway down the east side of Grand Central Terminal. More horns, more screeches of tires and then the race of an engine filled his ears. He looked back over his shoulder and saw a car coming after him the wrong way on the roadway, and cars and taxis spewing in either direction to make way for it, crashing into each other and the side railing. Richard kept running.

The car pulled alongside him and now a guy was waving his hands and his head out the passenger window shouting something. Richard heard him call his name but the rest was just noise. He waved a gun in his right hand.
They’re gonna kill me!

He looked up and saw a taxi speeding forward with its tires smoking, trying to stop. He lurched toward the car and at the guy waving the gun, causing the driver of the car to swerve left away from him. The taxi crashed head-on into the car, and Richard kept running without looking back. He reached the south turn, followed the roadway’s 90-degree right and then left, and ran down the descending ramp toward Park Avenue South.

He gasped for breath as he ran and now felt perspiration soaking his shirt, still pushing himself not to slow down. When he was thirty feet from the bottom of the ramp, a man in a gray suit jumped out into the roadway and held his arms out wide. Richard felt desperation flood through him and then immediately called up some reserve. He gritted his teeth, ran straight at the man. He was big, maybe 250, so he’d have to hit him hard.

“Mr. Blum, I’m a friend,” he called as Richard got near him, still at a full run. “Mr. Milner sent us. We’re with Devon & Company.” He raised his hands above his head as if in surrender. “We can get you out of here.”

About ten feet from him Richard cut hard right and crossed to the other side of the ramp. The guy didn’t make a move to try to stop him. Richard ran to the bottom of the ramp where it deposited traffic onto Park Avenue South and crossed to the west side of the street. He stopped on the corner with his chest heaving, dropped to his knees. The taste of stomach acid filled his mouth. His lungs burned. He kept looking at the guy standing there motionless on the ramp.

“Let us help you,” he called. Richard didn’t respond, still panting. He looked around, got to his feet. The man walked to the side of the ramp and looked over the railing.

“There’s not much time,” he said.

“I don’t recognize you from the Tentron team,” Richard shouted between gasps. His panic had subsided. He started thinking what to do next, where to go. He looked from side to side, picking his route, ready to bolt if the guy came any closer. His legs were trembling, the left starting to cramp.

“I wasn’t on the team, but you’ll recognize Mr. Harrelson there,” he said, pointing to the corner of 42
^nd
Street and Park Avenue South. Richard recognized the man in the gray suit he pointed to. It was Harrelson, now jogging up from the corner. He waved at Richard. Richard was ready to run again.

“There’s not much time, Richard. Either come with us now or get out of here fast,” Harrelson said. People were now looking at them from all directions, some pointing. Richard decided; he jogged toward Harrelson.

“Alright, let’s go,” Richard said to Harrelson.

“The van is up the street on Vanderbilt Avenue,” the other guy said. He trotted up.

They ran across 42
^nd
Street and now saw a beat-up, gray van on Vanderbilt Avenue near 43
^rd
Street surrounded by cops, two police cruisers near it with lights flashing.

“We got a problem,” Harrelson said.

Richard felt a blast of adrenaline, then remembered Jack’s Porsche. It was worth a shot. “I think I can get us a car,” Richard said. “Follow me.” He jogged through Grand Central out to 45
^th
Street and toward the One Lexington Plaza garage, Harrelson and the other man following.

Richard felt a wave of relief as he approached the garage. The silver 911 was there in its usual spot near the manager’s office, heading out, ready for “Mr. Jack’s” call. He slowed to a walk, trying to look casual, realizing he was sweating, panting. “Angel,” he said as he approached the attendant. He pointed to the Porsche.
Angel looked confused at first, then recognized Richard. He waved and ducked into the office, a moment later coming back with the key. Richard tried not to squeal the tires pulling out.