Total Control (57 page)

"I understand." God, these Fed guys never stop with the secrecy, do they?

Sawyer thought. "Why don't you give them to me now."

Tiedman cleared his throat and began. "There were five such instances.

December nineteenth, 1990, was the first change. The others occurred on February twenty-eighth of the following year, September twenty-sixth, 1992, November fifteenth of the same year, and finally April sixteenth, 1993."

Sawyer wrote them down. "What was the net effect? After all five changes?"

"The net effect was to add one-half a percentage point to the Fed Funds Rate. However, the first reduction was one percentage point.

The last increase was three-quarters."

"I take it that's a lot at one time."

"If we were in the military discussing weapons systems, one percentage point would easily equate to a nuclear bomb."

"I know if early word leaked out about the Fed's decision regarding interest rates, then people could make enormous profits."

"Actually," said Tiedman, "advance notice of the Fed's action on interest rates is, for all intents and purposes, worthless."

Mother of God. Sawyer closed his eyes, slapped his forehead and leaned back in his chair so far he almost toppled over. Maybe he should just plant his trusty ten-millimeter against his temple and save himself additional misery. "So, excuse my French, but why all the goddamned secrecy?"

"Don't misunderstand me. Unscrupulous people could certainly profit in innumerable ways from learning inside information about the Fed's deliberations. However, advance information of Fed action is not typically one of them. The market has an army of Fed watchers who are so adept at their job that the financial community usually knows well in advance whether the Fed is going to lower or raise interest rates and by how much. In effect, the market already knows what we'll do. Is that clear enough for you?"

"Very." Sawyer exhaled audibly. Then he jerked up in his chair.

"What happens if the market is wrong?"

Tiedman's tone showed he was very pleased with the question.

"Ah, that is an entirely different matter. If the market is wrong, then you could have enormous swings on the financial landscape."

"So if somebody knew ahead of time that one of these unexpected changes was coming down the pike, he could make some nice profits?"

"That's considerably understating it. Anyone with advance information of an unanticipated Fed change in interest rates could potentially make billions of dollars seconds after the Fed action was announced." Tiedman's response left Sawyer momentarily speechless.

He wiped his brow and whistled under his breath. "There are innumerable vehicles in which to do so, Lee, the most lucrative probably being Eurodollar contracts trading on the International Monetary Market in Chicago. The leverage is thousands to one. Or the stock market, of course. Rates go up, the market goes down, and vice versa, it's that simple. You can make billions if you're right, lose billions if you're wrong." Sawyer was still silent. "Lee, ! believe there is one more question you want to ask me."

Sawyer cupped the phone receiver under his chin while he hurriedly wrote down some notes. "Only one? I was just getting warmed up."

"I think this query may make unimportant anything else you may want to know." Although Tiedman seemed on the surface to be toying with him, the agent sensed a true grimness behind the tone. He pushed himself to think. He almost yelled into the phone when it hit him. "The dates you just gave me, when the rates changed--were they all 'surprises' to the market?"

Tiedman paused before answering. "Yes." Sawyer could almost feel the electricity coming over the phone line. "In fact, they were the worst kind of surprises for the financial markets, because they did not occur as the result of regularly scheduled Fed meetings, but by Arthur's unilateral actions as Fed chairman."

"So he can raise rates by himself?"

"Yes, the board can give the chairman that power. It's often been done over the years. Arthur lobbied hard for it and got it. I'm sorry I didn't tell you that before. It didn't seem important."

"Forget it," Sawyer said. "And with those rate changes, maybe somebody made more money than there are stars?"

"Yes," Tiedman said very quietly. "Yes," he said again. "There's also the reality that others lost at least an equal amount of money."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you're correct that Arthur was being blackmailed to manipulate rates, the extreme steps he took--adjusting the Fed Funds Rate by as large as a percentage point at a time--leads me to conclude that damage to others was intended."

"Why?" Sawyer asked.

"Because if your goal was merely to profit from the adjustment in rates, you wouldn't need much in the way of movement to do so, so long as the direction, up or down, was a surprise to the markets.

However, to the investments of others who anticipated a change in the other direction, a point adjustment the other way is catastrophic."

"Jesus. Any way to find out who took those kinds of hits?"

Tiedman smiled. "Lee, with the complexities of money movement today, neither you nor I would have enough years left to do that."

Tiedman didn't speak for at least another minute, and Sawyer really couldn't think of anything else to say. When Tiedman finally broke the silence, his voice was suddenly bone tired. "Until we had our earlier discussion, I never had considered the possibility that Arthur's relationship with Steven Page could have been used to coerce him into doing it. Now it seems rather obvious."

"You understand, though, that we don't have any proof that he was being blackmailed?"

"We'll probably never know the answer to that, I'm afraid," said Tiedman. "Not with Steven Page dead."

"Do you know whether Lieberman ever met Page at his apartment?"

"I don't believe that he did. Arthur mentioned to me once that he leased a cottage in Connecticut. And he cautioned me about mentioning it in front of his wife."

"You think that was the rendezvous spot for Page and Lieberman?"

"It could've been."

"I'll tell you where I'm going with this. Steven Page left behind a considerable estate when he died. Megabucks."

Tiedman's tone was one of complete shock. "I don't understand. I remember Arthur telling me more than once that Steven was always complaining about money."

"Nonetheless, it's undisputed that he died a very rich man. I'm wondering, could Lieberman have been the source of that wealth?"

"Highly unlikely. As I just said, Arthur's conversations with me indicated that he believed Steven to be far from affluent. In addition, I think it quite impossible that Arthur could have transferred that kind of money to Steven Page without his wife knowing about it."

"Then why take a risk with leasing a cottage? Couldn't they have met at Page's apartment?"

"All I can say is he never mentioned to me that he had visited Steven Page's apartment."

"Well, maybe the cottage was Page's idea."

"Why do you say that?"

"Well, if Lieberman didn't give Page the money, someone else had to. Don't you think Lieberman would've been suspicious if he had walked into Page's apartment and saw a Picasso on the wall? Wouldn't he have wanted to know where the funds came from?"

"Absolutely!"

"Actually, I'm certain Page wasn't blackmailing Lieberman. At least not directly."

"How can you be sure?"

"Lieberman kept a picture of Page at his apartment. I don't think he would keep a blackmailer's photo around. On top of that, we also found a bunch of letters at Lieberman's apartment. They were unsigned, romantic in content. Lieberman obviously valued them highly."

"You think Page was the author of those letters?"

"I know a way to tell for sure. You were friends with Page. Do you have a sample of his writing?"

"Actually, I've kept several handwritten letters he wrote me while he was working in New York. I can send them to you." Tiedman paused. Sawyer could hear him scribbling a note. "Lee, you've adeptly pointed out ways Page could not have reaped his millions. So where did he get his wealth?"

"Think about it. If Page and Lieberman were having an affair, that's plenty of ammo to blackmail him with, you agree?"

"Certainly."

"Okay, what if someone else, a third party, encouraged Page to have an affair with Lieberman."

"But I introduced them. I hope you're not accusing me of perpetrating this ghastly conspiracy."

"You may have been the one to introduce them, but that's not to say Page and whoever was funding him couldn't have helped that introduction occur. Moving in the right circles, helping publicize Page's financial brilliance to the right people."

"Go on."

"So Page and Lieberman hit it off. The third party may believe that Lieberman may one day run the Fed. So Page and his backer bide their time. The backer pays Page to keep up the romance. They would've

documented the relationship every which way from Sun-day--taped phone calls, video, still photos--you can believe that."

"Then Steven Page was all part of a setup. He never actually cared for Arthur. I... I can't believe this." The little man sounded terribly depressed.

"Then Page gets HIV and allegedly commits suicide."

"Allegedly? You have doubts about his death?"

"I'm a cop, Charles, I have doubts about the Pope. Page is gone, but his accomplice is still out there. Lieberman becomes Fed chair man, and barn, the blackmail begins."

"But Arthur's death?"

"Well, your comment about him seeming almost happy that he had cancer tells me one thing."

"Which is?"

"That he was about to tell his blackmailer to take a flying leap and was going to go public with the scheme."

Tiedman rubbed his brow nervously. "It all makes perfect sense."

Sawyer lowered his voice. "You haven't mentioned 'any of what we've discussed to anyone, have you?"

"No, I haven't."

"Well, stick to that habit, and never let your guard down."

"What exactly are you suggesting?" There was a sudden catch in Tiedman's voice.

"I'm just recommending in the very strongest possible terms that you be very careful and do not tell anyone--not any of the Fed members, including Walter Burns, your secretary, your assistants, your wife, your friends--anything about this."

"Are you saying that you think I'm in danger? I find that very hard to believe."

Sawyer's tone was grim. "I'm sure Arthur Lieberman thought that tOO."

Charles Tiedman gripped a pencil on his desk so hard that it snapped in half. "I'll certainly follow your advice to the letter."

Thoroughly frightened, Tiedman hung up.

Sawyer leaned back in his chair and longed for another cigarette as his mental engine went into overdrive. Somebody had obviously been paying off Steven Page. Sawyer thought he had a reasonable answer for why: setting up Lieberman. The question nagging at him now was who? And then the biggest question of all: Who had killed Steven Page? The FBI agent was now convinced, despite evidence to the contrary, that Steven Page had been murdered. He picked up the phone. "Ray? It's Lee. I want you to give Lieberman's personal physician another call."

CHAPTER FIFTY-THREE

Bill Patterson looked at the dashboard clock and stretched out his large body. They were traveling southbound about two hours north of Bell Harbor. Next to him, his wife was sound asleep. It had been a far longer trip to the market than they were expecting. Sidney Archer had been incorrect. They had not stopped on the drive up to Bell Harbor, and had reached the beach house barely ahead of the storm. Having piled their luggage in the back bedroom, they headed out for food before the storm worsened. The market in Bell Harbor was sold out, so they were compelled to drive north to the far larger grocery in Port Vista. On the way back, their route had been closed off by a jackknifed tanker truck. Last night had been spent very uncomfortably in a motel.

Patterson now checked the backseat; Amy was also napping, her little mouth forming a perfect circle. Patterson looked at the heavily falling snow and grimaced. Fortunately, he had not been privy to the latest news flashes proclaiming his daughter to be a fugitive from justice. He was sick enough with worry as it was. In his anxiety he had chewed his fingernails until they had bled and his gut was full of acid. He wanted to be protecting Sidney now, as he had dutifully done when she was a little girl. Ghosts and bogeymen had been his chief foes back then. The current ones were far more deadly, he had to assume. At least he had Amy with him. God help the person who tried to harm his granddaughter. And God be with you, Sidney.

Ray Jackson stood silently in the doorway of Sawyer's cramped office.

Behind his desk, Lee Sawyer was immersed in a file. A full pot of coffee was on a hot plate in front of him, a half-eaten meal next to it. Jackson could not remember the last time the man had failed at his job. However, Sawyer had been taking increasing heat--internally from the director of the FBI on down, in the press and from the White House to Capitol Hill. Jackson grimaced. Hell, if they thought it was so damn easy, why didn't they hit the streets and try to solve the case?

"Hey, Lee?"

Sawyer jerked up. "Hey, Ray. Fresh pot of coffee on the hot plate, help yourself."

Jackson poured himself a cup and sat down. "Word is you've been taking some grief from upstairs on this case."

Sawyer shrugged. "Goes with the territory."

"You want to talk about it?" Jackson settled down in a chair next to him.

"What's there to talk about? Fine, everybody wants to know who was behind that plane going down. I do too. I also want to know a hell of a lot more than that. I want to know who used Joe Riker for target practice. I want to know who killed Steve and Ed Page. I want to know who blew away those three guys in the limo. I want to know where Jason Archer is."

"And Sidney Archer?"

"Yeah, and Sidney Archer. And I'm not gonna find out by listening to all the people who just have a bunch of questions and no answers.