The Takeover (1995), page 27
The file marked PM-Environmental Information was the thickest. It detailed the extent of Penn-Mar's massive environmental liabilities as well as a senior management conspiracy to dump waste illegally. It described how Jeremy Case and Torn West had fed the Sevens information and ultimately paid for it with their lives.
Falcon glanced at the bag again. The file marked Real Estate simply listed properties around the United States and what must have been their aggregate purchase value-almost six billion dollars. The Lodestar file was even less helpful. It simply contained an article about the investment management firm and its list of high-profile clients. And there was one name in the file: Peter Lane.
But what did it all mean? What were they trying to do? Was there anything at all to what he had found? Or was the box just an innocent collection of information? He shook his head.. There were too many coincidences now.
The elevator began to slow its ascent. Why did jenny have Rutherford's number? He shook his head again. There was only one conclusion. And it was a conclusion he didn't want to come to. She was working with them. They wanted to keep an eye on him and they were using her to do so. No wonder her attitude had changed so dramatically. He thought of the eight hundred dollar bills he had counted in her wallet at the Four Seasons.
The doors opened and Falcon moved into the hallway. Suddenly he stopped short. Alexis might be working with them too.
Why not? In retrospect their meeting at the club had seemed too scripted. She had fallen in love with him too quickly. He might be walking right into the spider's wed. But Johnnie had said there had been no visitors since Alexis had come home. None at all. And it was a secure building. He would be careful. And he wouldn't stay long.
Falcon slipped the key into the lock and entered the apartment quietly.
He moved silently to the bedroom. Alexis was asleep, passed out as Falcon had expected. He could tell that she had imbibed a great deal of alcohol last night. Her clothes were strewn over the bed and on the floor. Her mouth was wide open and a drool spot was growing in circumference on the pillow. Only when she drank did she breathe so heavily through her mouth. The room actually smelled of alcohol. She would be out for a while. That was good.
The computer and the Bloomberg terminal flickered to life. He didn't have enough yet to go to the authorities. He could probably interest a couple of Fed examiners in what he had found and have Boreman suspended, but he couldn't actually prove anything about the Sevens.
He couldn't really even prove they existed yet. He had the files, but he needed more. He needed to connect the Sevens concretely to Jeremy Case's murder. He needed telephone records. He needed to find the billion dollars of equity money that had come into NASO a month ago, money that was supposed to have come from Germany but that he now knew had come from the Sevens. Most of all, he needed to figure out the puzzle.
And how was he going to go to the authorities anyway? There was a dead Penn-Mar security guard in Toledo, Ohio. If he went to the authorities with the files from Chambers's office, it wouldn't take them long to figure out that he was connected to the guard's death.
Falcon caught his breath. The guard was dead. Because of him. He had watched the blood pour from the man's mouth. And prayed for him to die. He shook his head. There was no way he could think of that now.
But he would have to come to terms with it later.
Falcon punched Penn-Mar's ticket into the Bloomberg terminal. He moved through the system to the news section and found the lawsuit article.
He scanned the print quickly. And there it was. The name of the law firm. Cleveland, Miller & Prescott. And the lead attorney for the plaintiffs was Turner Prescott. The same Turner Prescott on the list in the file. Falcon had no doubt of that. He stared at the screen for several minutes. And then the enormity of the whole scheme hit him.
Suddenly the telephone screamed. He heard Alexis groan. Jesus! He should have pulled the phone wire from the wall. But it was too late now. Falcon stared at the screen. He needed to check out Rutherford and Henderson. But it was too late. He flicked off the terminal and bolted for the door.
"Boreman?" "Yes? " "It's Winthrop." "What is it?" Boreman asked.
"How are you?" "Well, I'd say I'm doing pretty well, given that I'm about to die."
Winthrop wasn't amused at Boreman's reference to the accident Phoenix Grey was about to stage. "Is Prescott still going to deliver the shocker to the Baltimore courtroom tomorrow?" "Yes."
Boreman laughed. "I can't believe the Pleiade Project is almost over."
"We're getting there. Listen, I want you out of New York City and with Grey by three this afternoon. Once Prescott lays the environmental information out to that jury tomorrow, you are going to be a hot item."
"I'll be out. Don't worry. I'm going to go into the bank this morning, and then I'm to leave at one to get to a two o'clock flight departing from La Guardia for Los Angeles. Or that's where people will think I'm going. I'm supposed to be visiting our L.A. office. But of course I won't ever show up." "Good. And you have left the keys to your car where Grey can get to them?" "Easy, Granville. I spoke to Phoenix. Everything is taken care of." "Boreman, I've been living and breathing this project for four years now. Humor me."
"Has Phoenix procured the body yet? When I spoke to him Monday, he still hadn't gotten it." "He's gotten it." Winthrop paused. "How did Barksdale and Falcon's visit in Toledo go yesterday?" "Fine, I suppose. I spoke to Barksdale last night after he got home. They fired Sotos and went over a great deal of other information. It seemed like a lot to go through just for appearance's sake, given that Prescott's going to release the information tomorrow. But it would be natural for NASO to want to get out there quickly, so I guess it's best that they went. And of course Barksdale and Falcon don't know what's going on." "How is Falcon?" "Okay. He went to Dallas directly from Toledo at the last minute yesterday. He's generated another M&A transaction and wanted to get right on it."
An alarm went off in Winthrop's mind. "Really?" It was probably nothing. "Yeah. By the way, when are we going to release the information about Falcon's supposed insider trading?" Boreman asked.
"Not until next week. Bailey Henderson will disclose Lodestar's trades in the Financial Chronicle tomorrow, and then print Lane's memo on Friday or maybe Saturday. We don't want to release too much at one time." "Yeah, I agree .. ." "Boreman, I've got another call coming in. I don't know who the hell this could be, but I'd better take it.
How much longer will you be there?" "Ten minutes." "I might call you back. If I can't get back to you before you leave, I may call you at NASO." "I thought you weren't ever going to call me at NASO." "I probably won't, but we're close enough to zero hour now that I don't think it matters too much. After tomorrow they'll think you're dead.
Look, I've got to go."
"Bye, Granville." Winthrop switched lines without saying good-bye.
"Yes?" He could hear the caller breathing. "Hello? Who is this?"
"It's Chambers."
Instantly, Winthrop knew something was wrong. He didn't bother to chastise the man for calling him at this number, as he had explicitly instructed Chambers and the other five not to do. "Devon, what is it?"
"Something very ... very bad has happened." Chambers could barely speak. "What?" "I can't believe it." His voice shook terribly. "I'm so sorry." "What?" "There was a break-in." "A break-in? Where?"
"Yes ... yes. Here at Penn-Mar." "Devon, tell me what's happened.
just tell me. I don't have time to screw around." "I just found out myself They called Landon first. Landon didn't even know I was using it as my office. He didn't know. I believe him."
Chambers was babbling, to the point of being incoherent, but Winthrop understood enough to feel the tiny hairs on the back of his neck beginning to stand on end. "The office you were using. Was that the office that was broken into?" he asked, coaxing Chambers. He had to.
The man was barely able to speak. "Yes." "Did the intruders get anything?" "A security guard was killed. The police believe he must have surprised whoever did this. He was shot with his own gun. And a few of my files ... they're missing." "What files?"
Chambers was silent. "What files, Devon?" Winthrop was losing control.
"The Sevens, the environmental information on Penn-Mar, the real estate partnerships, Lodestar." His voice was barely a whisper.
"Everything." "Are you kidding me? Tell me you aren't that stupid, Devon! Tell me this is a horrible joke you have all decided to play on me at the last minute. Tell me that's what is going on!" This was potentially devastating.
There was no answer from the other end of the phone. A flash of heat passed through Winthrop's body. Oh, God. Falcon!
"Funds Transfer." "Eddie?" Falcon spoke in a low voice. "Yeah."
"Eddie, it's Andrew Falcon." He could have called from the apartment.
After this morning he wasn't going to be back there for a long time.
But if they were listening, if they had the apartment tapped, which, now knowing who "they" were, he had no doubt but that they did, they would be able to track down Martinez. And that couldn't happen. He had to have Martinez. "Oh, hey, Mr. Falcon. I'm glad to hear from you."
But Falcon could tell from Martinezs voice that he was definitely not glad to hear from him. "Anything yet?" "You mean on the wires?" he asked. "Yes." Of course that was what he meant. Martinez was stalling. "No." Martinez did not want to tell Falcon that he hadn't even attempted to locate the transfers since the last time they had spoken. "It is of the utmost importance that you find the money and then find where it came from. I can't impress upon you how important it is." "Maybe you could just tell me what this is all about, Mr. Falcon."
"No! I mean it wouldn't be a good idea. It's just routine, I promise you." "Uh-huh."
Falcon could hear the hesitance in Martinezs tone. "Eddie, it's worth two thousand dollars to you. Cash, my friend."
Martinez held the phone away from his ear and stared at it. Two thousand dollars! There was definitely something going on here that wasn't on the up-and-up. And he shouldn't be a part of it. All the same, he could use that money. Martinezs eyesight blurred. He shouldn't even be thinking this. But they didn't pay him very much for his long hours at the bank, and the station wagon was on its last wheels. The engine and the transmission were shot. Beyond repair.
He'd have to put down just about that amount for the replacement car they were going to have to buy very soon. And he didn't have any savings. None. He, his wife, and the four children lived paycheck to paycheck. Martinez brought the phone back to his ear. "Five thousand dollars, Eddie," Falcon said, becoming impatient. He was negotiating against himself, but time was of the essence.
Martinez swallowed. "Five thousand?" His voice cracked. "Yes. In cash." Martinez looked around the room. Was anyone watching him?
"Going once, Eddie!" "Okay, okay." The woman at the next desk glanced at him. Martinez turned away. "Okay."
Falcon took a deep breath. Everyone had his price. Eddie's was five thousand. His had been five million. And both of them would probably pay for accepting that price. "Transfers have to be identified, don't they, Eddie?" "Of course. Otherwise nobody would know where they came from." "All right, then look for transfers which have a notation on them about Penn-Mar. You know, Penn, PM, or something like that."
Falcon paused and looked around the lobby. "Or maybe they have a seven as a notation. "A seven? "Yeah." "You're saying they're coded. That the notations are a code." "Yes."
"What's going on here?" His voice was filled with self-doubt. "Don't ask, Eddie. It isn't worth knowing about. Don't worry. just find the transfers."
But Martinez was still worried. He had a family to think about. On the other hand, there was five thousand dollars on the line too.
Falcon sensed Martinez second-guessing his decision. "Look, Eddie, nobody's ever going to give you a hard time about this. But on the off chance they do, you know I'm an officer of the bank. I can request an inquiry into a transfer anytime. I mean, it isn't as if you're doing anything wrong." "Yeah, sure," Martinez said, unconvinced. "So you'll do it, Eddie? For five thousand, you'll do it? Right?"
There was a long pause. "I want the money this afternoon." "Half this afternoon. Half if you find the wires." There was another long pause.
"Okay." "Just one more thing, Eddie. Don't tell anyone about this, you got that?" "Yeah." "I'll call you later to set up a time to give you the money." '0 ay." "Bye." Falcon hung up the phone.
Martinez had to come through. It was the link he had to have to nail these people.
"Hello." "Do you know who this is?" Rutherford spoke slowly so the woman would recognize his voice.
"Yes." He had a distinctive voice, and she had heard it a great deal lately. "Good."
She was nervous. "Is Falcon in New York?" There was an edge to the man's voice she had not heard before. "No, he's in Dallas. He called yesterday to say that he was going to go straight from Toledo to Dallas. It was a last-minute thing." "Are you sure that he actually went to Dallas?" "I think so." She hesitated. "I haven't heard from him since yesterday. I expect him to call me at some point this morning-" "Where was he going to stay?" "At the Dallas Hilton." "Give me the number there."
She hesitated, wondering if this was information she ought to give.
The voice at the other end of the line sounded strange today. "Give it to me!"
She did but transposed two numbers. Perhaps Falcon would need the few seconds it would take the man to find the correct number. "I'll be back in touch within the hour." "Okay." She replaced the telephone.
Something terrible had happened.
Falcon dialed Cassandra's number. "Hello." "Cassandra?" "Yes?"
"It's me." He looked out of the boardinghouse window at the bodega across 132nd Street. A large cockroach crawled along the windowsill.
He flicked it off, then leaned out of the open window and watched it fall to the pavement three stories below. "Hi, there. Listen, Andrew, I tried to call you at the office about an hour ago. I had a few more questions regarding the article. . . ." "Forget the article."
"What?" She laughed. "What are you talking about?" "Things have happened." "What kind of things?" "I need your help. Do I get it?"
She was silent. "Do I?" He raised his voice. "Of course, of course.
But why? Andrew, what's wrong?" Cassandra's voice became serious. "I don't want to tell you over the phone. I need to meet with you."
"When?" "Probably tomorrow." "Where?" "I'll let you know. I'll call you in the morning." "Fine. But what's this all about?" "I'll tell you tomorrow. just keep watching the screens.
PennMar and NASO will be front and center. Not in a positive light either." He paused. "I need a favor." "What? " "I need you to do a little research." "Okay." "Two names. William Rutherford and Bailey Henderson. I need to know everything about them."
There was a silence as she wrote down the names. "Well, I can tell you who-" "I don't have time now," Falcon interrupted her. "I've got to get going. I'll call you. Oh, by the way, you can't run the article."
"What?" She was instantly upset. She had deadlines. "But you gave your word that I could." "I know, but I care about you. Running the article might get you killed."
The loud banging continued relentlessly. For several moments Turner Prescott believed he was dreaming, and then suddenly e realized he wasn't. Immediately he swung his feet over the side of the bed and grabbed for the pistol in the middle drawer of the nightstand. He glanced at the clock on top of the table. Four in the morning. What the hell was going on?
Prescott quickly moved out into the hallway and down the long stairway.
He reached the foyer, flicked on the outside lights, and pulled aside the curtains. "Christ Almighty!" Prescott rushed to the door and yanked it open.
Granville Winthrop pushed past Prescott into the foyer of the opulent home. "Is your wife here?" Winthrop did not bother with pleasantries.
"No. She's in Martha's Vineyard. Look, why didn't you call to tell me you were coming?" "I tried. There was no answer." "Oh, Jesus, I'm sorry. I disconnected the phone because I was working. We're really coming down to it in the trial. I was just doing some last-minute prep for tomorrow." Prescott paused. "Well, come in. Would you like something to eat or drink?" "No."
The two men moved into Prescott's living room. It reminded Winthrop of the Harvard Club. Lots of horse prints and antiques. Winthrop and Prescott sat at opposite ends of a long couch. "What the hell are you doing here, Granville?" "We have a problem." Winthrop wasted no time in getting to the point. "A serious problem." Winthrop's voice was determined, and there was an atypical strain to it.
Prescott heard the strain. He scanned Winthrop's face for further clues, but there was nothing. "What is it?" "Chambers had several files stolen from his office at PennMar." Winthrop's eyes narrowed as he gauged Prescott's reaction. "What! What files?" "Files relating to the Sevens, to the environmental information you are supposed to present to the court today, to our real estate partnerships, and to Lodestar. Everything."
Prescott felt a burst of heat flash through his entire body.
Perspiration began to form on his forehead immediately. "Are you kidding me?" He rose and moved to the large fireplace which dominated the room, placing his hands on the mantel to steady himself. "Do I sound as if I'm kidding?" "Well, how the hell did this happen?"
Prescott's temper exploded to the surface. "Easy, Turner. Easy Winthrop had known Prescott for thirty years and had never encountered an eruption like this before. He had always known Prescott to remain as calm as he in the face of anything. It was what he valued most about Turner. "Was there enough in those files to take us down? To prove conspiracy? We're talking about my career. My life! Jesus Christ Almighty!" Prescott picked up a vase from the mantel and hurled it into the hearth. "That guy Chambers is an idiot! How could he let this happen? What kind of moron keeps files as sensitive as those where someone can get to them? Granville, I'm not going down for this!
I'm not going to see my career and my life destroyed because of his stupidity!"
