The Trade (3 page)

The flight from Virginia had taken less than
two hours but had crossed more than just the few hundred miles of
crowded, over-priced, east coast real estate. He had flown out of
the secret shadow world of the CIA and into the high-visibility,
flashing neon world of New York City. Jay Calloway instantly felt
the different vibrations in the air. He wondered what his friend
Rick Hewlett was doing out on the West Coast and whether Rick felt
as out of place as Jay did.

"Mr. Beck?" Jay asked.

"Yes.” The two men shook hands. "Please. Call
me Bill. Did you check any bags?" Bill asked.

"No. Just carry-on. I heard New York City can
be tough on checked baggage.”

Here we go
, Bill thought.
Another
kid who has heard it all about New York City.
"Well don't
believe everything you've heard about New York City,” Bill Beck
started. "It's neither as good nor as bad as you've probably heard.
It does tend to polarize opinions though,” Bill said. He'd met and
interviewed several top candidates over the past few years. On
paper this Calloway kid looked to be the hottest prospect they'd
had in a while. His dissertation on stopping self-replicating
computer viruses that were capable of performing polymorphic
attacks was particularly interesting. And he appeared to have a
cadre of loyal students that he might be able to bring along with
him.

In his head Bill heard the oft-repeated words
of CEO Angus MacKenzie,
Seize the leader, and you seize the
followers
. Calloway didn’t look like a leader, but then what do
leaders look like?

"We've got you staying in the Vista Hotel.
It's in the World Trade Center. Nice rooms, good health club with
an indoor track and pool. Close to a lot of the tourist places.”
Jay was impressed. Bill Beck had done his homework. He knew what
Jay's hobbies were and he wanted to make sure that Jay had a nice
visit and saw the sites. It was obvious that Bill had been
listening to Jay when they set up the visit on the phone.

Jay and Bill stood outside the World
Financial Center just across the street from the World Trade
Center. Glass and granite stretched forty and fifty stories into
the downtown Manhattan sky. Though dwarfed by the World Trade in
height, the towers of the “World Fi” looked and felt like the more
expensive, more high-powered center of world finance that they
were. The three towers were similar, though not identical. They
stood guard over the Winter Garden, a glass palace that housed palm
trees and Italian marble. It was towards the Winter Garden that
Bill directed Jay.

“
Prepare yourself for
this,” Bill said. “The first time I saw it I couldn’t believe it.
Palm trees in New York City. Opulence. There’s no other word for
it. It’s like these guys, which I suppose includes me, want you to
know exactly the extent of their wealth and power.”

While Jay prepared himself to be both
overwhelmed and disappointed at the same time, he also catalogued
Bill’s description and admission, planning on comparing his words
to the actual experience so he could calibrate Bill’s level of
bullshit.

The revolving door spun silently and
delivered him into the marble, glass and chrome oasis. “Holy cow,”
Jay said.

“
Welcome to the big time,”
Bill replied.

“
Opulence” was indeed the
right word. His head was still spinning from the unprecedented
display of wealth he’d encountered working his way into MacKenzie
Lazarus’ headquarters. As they left the cherry paneled private
elevator, they entered an even more richly appointed foyer. Jay
sank practically to his ankles in the deep Persian rug. Across the
enormous entryway Jay spied a tall thin man standing nervously
beside a “Welcome Jay Calloway” sign. Bill shepherded Jay towards
the man and the sign.

"Jay Calloway, I would like to introduce you
to Dan Landford. Dan is the department manager for CTSG, the
Currency Trading Support Group. His organization is the one into
which we see you moving and for which we see you quickly becoming
the senior system architect."

"Nice to meet you Jay Calloway,” Dan said
without enthusiasm. His tone surprised Jay, who had quickly become
accustomed to Bill’s enthusiasm. Jay had no idea that ten years ago
Dan had been the whiz kid fresh out of graduate school with the hot
dissertation and hotter prospects. He'd seen ten years come and go
and remained stranded at department manager while many of his
contemporaries were well above him, some even retired as
millionaires many times over. He was still a good technical man,
but he knew his days were numbered. In Jay Calloway he saw his own
mortality.

"Nice to meet you Dan Landford,” Jay said,
repeating the name of the tall, ugly man so he'd remember it. It
was a Dale Carnegie technique. Jay had invested three hundred
dollars in the Carnegie class before starting his interviews. He'd
figured it would be worth at least five thousand in starting
salary. He figured he'd need to remember every lesson to deal with
these “east coast sharpies” as his mother called them.

Two days later Jay Calloway had met with and
had lunch with and jogged with what seemed like half of MacKenzie
Lazarus executives and programmers. As a whole they seemed both
flamboyant and secretive, wealthy, ostentatious, and uniformly
edgy, exhausted, enthusiastic, and ready to retire as soon as
possible.

“
So what do you think so
far?” Bill asked.

“
I’m surprised at the
access you’ve given me to people who are visibly and openly burnt
out,” Jay said.

"We like people to know what they're getting
into here,” Bill said. "We don't want you to come all the way out
here, commit to us, start work and then find out you don't fit in,”
Bill explained to the weary candidate. “To put it bluntly, we
expect our technical people to work hard in crushing anonymity, to
burn out early, and then retire far away on an insanely large
investment account that our professionals trade for you.”

"It's been tiring already,” Jay answered. He
felt himself wearing down. The strain of six days of interviewing
with no video game playing and no talking with Rick was showing. He
knew he'd have to be careful at this tense point in the process.
No deal is done until the paperwork is signed
, Jay reminded
himself.

“
I won’t lie to you, it’ll
be harder once you get here. We pay the most, well above any other
offer you’ll get, I guarantee it. But you’ll worker than even you
could imagine, Mr. Ph.D. in four years.”

“
I appreciate your candor,”
Jay said.

"Tell you what Jay. Today's Friday, here's a
plan, let me know what you think. We would like you to join us here
at MacKenzie Lazarus. That’s no secret. I've got an offer sheet
with me that has been cleared right up to the top. How about I give
it to you right now and you look at it over the weekend? We'll keep
you in the hotel.” Bill reached in his wallet. "Here's five hundred
bucks and some baseball tickets for the Reds against the Mets at
Shea Stadium this weekend. There’s a video arcade right on the
first floor of the North Tower, right below your hotel. Play a
little, have a good time at the game, think it over, we'll meet
Monday morning and you can let us know, alright?"

Jay was floored. He consciously willed his
jaw not to drop open and hang there like some cartoon character in
shock. Bill noted the reaction. He counted it as a good sign.

"We'll be ready to receive your acceptance on
Monday morning and if you're interested we can sign the deal, do
your physical, which will include a urine and blood test, and set
up a start date. You will pass a drug test won't you?" Bill
asked.

"No problem,” Jay said.

Though the triple scourge of moonshine, weed,
and meth had overrun his rural county, he had remained untouched by
these vices. When he thought about it, he was unsure whether it was
morals or simply luck.

“
Yes, I will pass a drug
test,” Jay repeated. “But if I go to the ballgame, I will be having
a beer.”

"Good that you will pass, no problem on a
beer,” Bill replied. He gathered up his things and made to go. The
two men shook hands and Bill retreated into the hotel. Jay looked
at the money. He'd never seen five one hundred dollar bills except
on television, in a gangster movie.

"Sweet Jesus,” he said aloud.

Jay Calloway got his Saturday morning
sightseeing started early. The Statue of Liberty was amazing.
Graceful, stately, awe-inspiring. Jay loved it. He savored every
moment of the boat ride across the mouth of the Hudson. Ellis
Island moved him to tears. Some of his relatives had come through
the facility from Europe on their way to work the coal mines and
then oil fields in Ohio. Jay was having a great Saturday.

After a quick change, Jay got the bellman to
hail a cab.

"Shea Stadium please,” Jay said to the cab
driver. The cabbie's eyes registered tourist. No real New Yorker
ever said "please" to a cabbie, and only a tourist would ride a
taxi from lower Manhattan to Queens instead of taking a dollar
subway ride. Jay didn't even flinch when they arrived at the
stadium one hour and forty-three dollars later. He was walking on
air. He felt like King Shit, the mythical creature of his
childhood. He'd been whistling New York, New York all day. He found
his way inside and was shown to his seat by a surly usher. Fifth
row, right behind first base. Jay was in the best mood he could
remember for quite some time. Better even than when his protégé
student C. Daniel had won the regional programming contest and then
been accepted into a doctoral program to further Jay’s work on
self-replicating viruses.

It didn't even strike Jay that he didn't know
one person in New York. At the moment he was happy. The anonymous
loneliness of the big city had neither taken hold of nor even
brushed against him yet. Besides, the towering buildings somehow
reminded him of the deep hollows near his home.

Jay bought a hot dog and a beer from a vendor
and settled in for the game. Doc Gooden for the Mets against Jose
Rijo for the Reds. The sun was shining, it was a beautiful spring
day in New York. Not even the jetliners flying over the stadium,
taking off from and landing at La Guardia bothered him. By the time
Barry Larkin hit a home run to put the Reds ahead in their half of
the second inning, Jay Calloway had forgotten all about the CIA and
had made up his mind he was going to work on Wall Street and
continue to learn to love New York City.

“
Excuse me please. Excuse
me.” Jay turned to look in the direction of the female voice
attached to the apparition that was approaching down the aisle.
"Excuse me, thank you.” The New Yorkers moved surprisingly quickly
and courteously out of the way, a rarity in the City, especially at
the ball yard, a testament to both the looks and assertiveness of
the twenty something girl working her way down the aisle. Her long
blonde hair fell down around her shoulders. Her navy blue eyes
glanced at each man as they politely gave way. All eyes followed
her as she got closer and closer to Jay. Few people in the area
noticed a baseball game was still going on a mere hundred feet
away.

CRACK came the sound from the splintering
bat. "Shit,” Jay cursed in the instant that it took to realize a
sharp line drive was bearing down on the blonde apparition. The
girl, with her back to the field didn't see it coming. Jay fought
the instinctive urge to duck and instead reached out to knock down
the screaming foul ball. He deflected it with his right hand, which
instantly began to burn and swell. A kid three rows back picked it
up and held it aloft for all to see.

"SHIT,” Jay screamed. His right hand was an
intense burning mitt of pain. He danced from foot to foot, shaking
his stinging hand. Finally he shoved his hand into what was left of
his beer, seeking something, anything that was cold. He sat back
down, the game and the girl and the city forgotten. In the crystal
clarity of the pain, the CIA came back to mind.

"Are you alright?" he heard. Raising his eyes
he looked directly into the deepest blue eyes in the kindest,
warmest face he had ever seen. The face of the girl he'd just saved
from the baseball.

"Yeah sure,” Jay lied. With his hand in his
beer he realized he didn't look okay. She signaled to the usher at
the end of the aisle.

"Two frosty malts and three beers,” she
ordered.

"Thirsty?" Jay ventured.

The vision sat down in the empty seat beside
him. His pulse rate jumped.

"No silly,” she said. "The malts are to ice
your hand, they'll be better than that nasty old beer, and the
beers are for the pain.”

"I’m not sure three will be enough," Jay
managed.

"We'll just have to wait and see then won't
we?" she answered. Jay liked the way she said 'we'.

"Tonia Taggert,” she said, introducing
herself.

"Jay Calloway,” he replied. “Forgive me if I
don’t shake…”

The newly introduced couple raised and
touched their beers together.

“
Wait silly. You have to do
that again. You have to look someone right in the eye when you
toast. If you don’t, it’s seven years of bad luck.”

She raised her beer again, found and held his
eyes with hers, and softly said “cheers”.

Six innings and three beers later Jay had
discovered that beer could indeed dull the pain of a hard line
drive. The big lead the Reds held also helped. But it was the
beautiful girl beside him that did the most. She'd had a few beers
of her own.

"So Jay. The game's almost over. You want to
split now and beat the traffic?” Tonia Taggert asked. Jay wasn't
sure he'd heard what he'd heard. For the last four innings he'd
been trying to figure out how to ask Tonia for her number.