Midas

31

She came running as soon as he called.

He dialed her cell phone because he didn’t want to speak to anyone else at the station; the more he thought about it, the more his plan developed in his head, he knew it would be better if as few people as possible knew he was back in town. But he called Reggie because he had to call Reggie.

When she stepped into his living room there was an awkward moment. They had never had a chance to relax as lovers or even savor a moment of the passion they’d shared, so neither was exactly sure how to act. Reggie took the lead when she really saw him-saw the weight he’d lost, and the bruises on his face, and the combination of pain and relief in his eyes. She went to stand in front of him, then put her arms around him. She didn’t kiss him, just laid her head down on his shoulder, comforting him and letting him know how much comfort he gave her.

When she backed away a step she smiled at him. It was an anxious smile. She reached back for his face, put her palm on his thick beard and stroked it.

“I’ll shave it,” he said.

She shook her head. “No. It feels like a part of you right now and I want all parts of you to be here.”

“Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

“There are so many things I want to tell you. And ask you.”

“Me too. But we’ve got lots of time now.” He touched her chest, the spot where he’d seen her shot. “How are you?”

“I thought I was dead when he pulled the trigger. But I was just sore for a few days. It wasn’t bad at all.”

“That was the worst part of it for me. I couldn’t even let myself think about what had happened to you.”

“It’s over now,” she said. “Isn’t it?” And when he didn’t answer, she continued, “It’s on the Net and we’ve all been watching the news all day long. They caught all the people responsible for everything, Jay.”

“I know they have.”

“So it’s really over. Everything can go back to normal.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Everything can go back to normal.”

She took his hand and led him upstairs. “That was the worst thing for me, too, not knowing what happened to you,” she said. “When I woke up, two of those. . those men. . were here. They told me they were FBI and they wouldn’t tell me where they’d taken you. They wouldn’t tell me anything, just asked me all sorts of questions. What I knew about the plane crash, what I knew about all sorts of things, none of which I knew anything about. They took all the papers you had in the living room, all the files. And your computer. They told me not to say anything to anyone. I said I had to say something, you were the fucking chief of police, and one of them said he’d take care of it, he’d talk to the mayor and take care of it.”

They were in the bedroom now and she sat on the bed.

“I didn’t know what to do,” she told him. “I thought you were dead.”

“So what did you do?”

She looked embarrassed. “I called your father.”

Justin looked surprised. “That was smart,” he said. “That was good.”

“Well, you’d told me a little bit about him, and I’d seen some background when I Googled you. I knew he was rich and I figured rich people would have connections.”

“What did he say?”

“He was very calm, he made me feel better. He said he was going to talk to your friend in the FBI, the one up in Boston.”

“Wanda.”

“Yes. He said she could help.”

“She’s all right? Wanda’s okay?”

“I guess she is. She must have gotten involved.”

“Did you talk to Leona?”

Reggie nodded. “Yes. She called me, came to my house, said she’d talked to the FBI, said the one who’d talked to me was named Schrader.”

“What else did she say?”

“She said you were involved in something to do with national security. That you’d be okay, but that you were going to be kept in custody for a while. I was going crazy, Jay. They said I couldn’t say anything, if I did I’d be arrested, too. I didn’t know what to do. It wasn’t until your friend, the big one, came and told me you were okay. .”

“Bruno.”

She nodded. “He wouldn’t give me any details, said he couldn’t. But he came and said you were all right, that I shouldn’t worry, and that you’d be back soon. How did he-”

“I don’t know,” Justin said. “But I’ll find out.”

“Jay, what happened? Why were you arrested? I just couldn’t believe-”

“That’s the right thing,” he said. “Don’t believe anything. Just believe me.” He touched her cheek lightly, ran his finger down to her neck. “How was it handled? What do people think happened?”

“No one knows a thing. At least I don’t think so. I mean, you’re not the most social person in town. So we told the other guys at the station that you were called away for a family emergency.”

“They bought that?”

“They seemed to. No one asked too many questions. Occasionally, they’d ask if I’d heard from you or if everything was okay. But I just said that Leona was the only one in touch with you.”

“Nothing in the paper? No media?”

“No.”

“So no one really knows what happened. Or knows I’m back.”

“No,” she said. “I don’t think anyone knows.” She took his hand in hers and now she kissed the tip of his fingers. “I was going crazy,” she told him. “When I woke up and you were gone, I didn’t know what to do.”

“There was nothing you could do,” he told her.

“But now there is.”

“Yes,” he said. “Now there is.”

They made love very gently this time. There was none of the passion or the physicality that was there the first time they’d been in this bed together. She gasped when she saw his body-the bruises, how much weight he’d lost-and she kissed him lightly, careful not to hurt him. She made no demands on him, just held and kissed him and touched him until she coaxed him inside her and they came together, shuddering. She held him tightly for a long time after they came. She thought he was asleep in her arms but then he spoke quietly.

“Who was in charge?” he asked. “Who did Leona put in charge?”

He felt her shift her weight and he heard, rather than saw, her smile, could tell from the quiet way she breathed in and exhaled. “Me,” Reggie told him. “I’ve been the acting police chief. It’s a miracle there hasn’t been a crime wave.”

They both started to laugh. He kissed her on top of the head.

“I’ve never been so happy to give up a job,” she said.

But Justin immediately shook his head. “No,” he told her. “Not yet.”

“Why not? You’re back, Jay. No one has any idea what happened. It’ll be fine.”

“I’m just not ready yet. I’d like to stay quiet for a while.”

“Why?” she asked.

He glanced away from her. Instead of answering, he said, “You and Gary getting along?”

“Sure,” she answered. “He’s a nice guy. I mean, he doesn’t like having to report to a woman, but he’s been pretty professional about it. Yeah, we get along fine.”

“He’s the only one you can tell. In the morning. Ask him to come over here around noon. But make sure he doesn’t tell anybody else that I’m back. Okay?”

She raised her head. In her eyes he saw a bit of confusion, an equal amount of suspicion.

“You said it was over,” she whispered.

“I know I did.”

“But it isn’t, is it?”

“It’s almost over,” he told her.

In the morning, he sent her home. Asked her to go about her business as usual, reminded her to say nothing about his return except to Gary. He knew it wouldn’t be a secret for long, someone would drive by his house, someone would spot him through a window, someone would call him up, and it’d be all over town. That was fine. He didn’t need to keep hidden for long. He just wanted a brief period of peace and quiet. All he needed was a little bit of time.

The first thing he did was call Bruno Pecozzi. Bruno didn’t sound surprised to hear his voice. Didn’t seem surprised about anything.

“Bruno,” Justin said, “you remember that envelope I mailed you? From Washington?”

“It’s already in your house.”

“What?”

“Hey, if you’re mailin’ me somethin’ from D.C., I figure it’s somethin’ important. Who knows what these sick fucks are gonna decide to do, maybe they’re gonna search my house just ’cause I know you. I figured they already searched your place, they wouldn’t be lookin’ for nothin’ new after that. So I did a little B and E and put it someplace safe for when you came back.”

“Where is it?”

“The table to the right of your couch. In that drawer. You should find someplace safer to keep your grass, Jay. I mean, Jesus, you’re the chief of fuckin’ police.”

Justin said he’d think about it, then asked if Bruno could come over in the afternoon. All Bruno said was, “Be there,” and hung up.

His next call was to Wanda Chinkle. He tried her at the office, was told she wasn’t around. He didn’t leave his name, hung up, tried her Boston apartment. He didn’t leave a message on her phone machine, decided to next try the number Wanda had given him for emergencies-the gym in Boston. This time Leyla answered herself. He gave his name, she said, “Oh, okay. What’s the message?”

He told the woman what he wanted Wanda to do. She said she’d pass it along, and agreed to call back to confirm.

Five minutes later, Leyla called back. All she said was, “You’ve got the okay. Wait fifteen minutes, then go ahead. But Wanda said she has a question for you.”

“Go ahead.”

“She said to ask you, ‘Do you know what the fuck you’re doing?’”

He said, “Does she want an answer?”

“No,” the woman at the gym said. “She said I didn’t have to get the answer. She said she just had to ask the question. She also said to give you a message.”

“Okay.”

“She said. . Hold on, I wrote it down ’cause she wanted me to give it to you right. . Okay, this is an exact quote: ‘You’re in some serious shit. Try to remember that no matter how it seems, when the time comes I’m on your side.’”

“That’s it?”

“Except for the number you wanted.”

“Okay. Let’s have it.”

“Here’s who you’re supposed to call. .”

After she gave him the information, he hung up, waited exactly fifteen minutes, as instructed, called the number of a north shore police station. He hadn’t wanted to call Southampton. He was too paranoid to go that close to home. No, not paranoid, he thought. Too smart to risk it. “I’m calling for Wanda Chinkle of the Federal Bureau of Investigation,” he said when he reached the officer whose name Wanda had given him.

“Right,” the voice said. “I just got off the phone with her. How would you like us to handle this?”

“I’ll get you the two objects that have to be dusted.”

“Two? She said one.”

“You must have misunderstood. Does she need to call you back to verify?”

“Nah. One, two, what difference does it make?”

“Great. Someone from the East End PD’ll bring it over,” Justin said. “We’ll need a match for both sets of prints-names and addresses.”

“If they’re in the system, we’ll get them.”

“One of them should definitely be in the system,” Justin told the cop. “He’s probably military. Might be military intelligence.”

“What about the other one?”

“Strictly a guess, but I think it’ll be in Immigration.”

“How deep am I supposed to look?”

“As deep as you can.” Justin gave the officer his home fax number. “You can fax the info there.”

“Hey, as long as the FBI authorized it, you got it, pal,” the cop said. “You get me the things, I’ll get you the info.”

“They’re on their way,” Justin said.

He looked at the small paper cup he’d carried with him from Guantanamo Bay. He’d already wrapped it carefully in bubble wrap and placed it in a manila envelope. He went to the end table to the right of his couch, opened the drawer and, sure enough, found the envelope he was looking for, the envelope he’d mailed from a mall near Theresa Cooke’s house, the one he’d addressed to himself, care of Bruno, with the words “hold for pickup” written across the front. Justin put that envelope inside the manila one, stuffing it under a fold of the bubble wrap. He wrote out a simple list of instructions, added his fax number to be on the safe side, taped the note to the bubble wrap, and sealed the envelope.

A few minutes later, when Gary Jenkins arrived, Justin handed him the package, told him to take it to Riverhead, gave him the cop’s name to whom he should hand-deliver it. He could tell that Gary was a little hurt that he was being so curt, so professional after all the time he’d been away and with all the unanswered questions about his disappearance. He softened a bit, said, “Gary, this is really important to me. You’re about the only person I can trust to do this and keep quiet about it. When it’s all over I’ll take you out to dinner and fill you in and answer all your questions, but right now I need you to shut up and get the fuck over to Riverhead.”

The young cop smiled. “Already starting to feel like the good old days,” he said.

“Thanks,” Justin said.

Gary gave him a mock salute, flipped the envelope in a “don’t worry” manner, started to leave.

“Gary,” Justin said. And when the young cop turned back to him, he said, “You know a lot of kids at the high school, right? Through your brother.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

“You know any of the teachers?”

“Sure. A few of them coach Little League and I help out when I can.”

“After you hit the north shore, I want you to go to East End High. I need the best artist in the school.”

“Artist? You mean, like, painter?”

“I need someone who can draw. Ultra realism, that’s what I’m looking for. I want the kid who can draw the best portraits in the school. You got that?”

“Yeah, sure. Except school’s closed. Christmas vacation, you know?”

“Damn. My sense of time is a little off right now.”

“Don’t worry about it. When I went to the school play before graduation, they had an art show, in the admin building. They got people who can draw pretty damn good. Somebody’ll know who they are. My brother, one of the teachers. I’ll find him.”

“Remember: I need the best. And bring the kid here as soon as possible.”

“I’ll bring you the best who’s still hangin’ around town. That’s all I can do.”

“Fair enough.”

“Whoever it is is gonna want to know-”

“Just say it’s the same deal that Ben got. Whatever the hell he wants, that’s what he’ll get. As long as he can draw what I need him to draw.”

“Got it.”

And clutching the envelope, he was out the door.

Leaving Justin to think, Jesus, I’m taking on the United States government with a bunch of high school kids.

He went to his fridge, realized that everything there had spoiled except for several bottles of water. He took out one plastic container, drank deeply from it. He was still dehydrated, figured he had plenty of other things wrong with him, too, knew he should go to a doctor soon, but he didn’t have time. When it’s really over, he thought to himself.

What he wanted to do was go back to bed and sleep. Instead, he began to poke around the house, taking inventory of what was missing. The FBI agents had been relatively neat and extremely thorough. The hard drive on his computer was gone. His fax machine had been left behind, but he was certain they’d checked his log of incoming and outgoing faxes. They hadn’t bothered to take his phone machine, although he was certain that if he’d actually had any calls, they’d been monitored and traced. There were no messages waiting for him. They’d gone through his mail and, he was sure, found absolutely nothing of interest. Neither did he, for that matter. As he thumbed through the envelopes, there were two solicitations from a chimney repair company. A curt note from Visa telling him he was late paying this month’s bill. Nothing but junk mail and bills. At least nothing’s changed, he thought.

He went to the phone now, reached down to dial the number for his parents-he knew he should relieve their worry and tell them he’d made it home. But before he could grab the receiver, the phone rang. His caller ID said the call was coming from Washington, D.C. Justin clicked on the talk button and said hello.

“This is Martha Peck,” the voice on the other end said, although Justin hadn’t needed to hear her name to recognize that passive-aggressive tone that had driven him so crazy when they’d met in her office. “From the Federal Aviation Administration. I. . I know what happened to you. . I mean, that you’ve been. . away. . but I heard that you’ve been. . that you’re back home. I hope you’re okay.”

“I’m just great,” he said. “It was just like a vacation.”

“It’s important that we talk,” Martha Peck told him. “Mr. Westwood. . Chief Westwood. .”

“Try Jay. It’s easier, Ms. Peck.”

“Then please call me Martha.”

“Deal,” he said. “Is this just a social call, Martha? Just checking up on my health and well-being?”

He let her silence go on until she decided to end it herself. He had a feeling she wouldn’t need much prompting and he was right. “I. . I believe I may have been partially responsible for what happened to you, Mr. . Jay.”

“Responsible for what exactly?”

“For where you’ve been. For what’s been done to you. I think it may be my fault.”

Justin ran his free hand through his beard. He decided to cut it off the moment he was off the phone. It suddenly made him feel filthy and degraded. “Why do you think that, Martha?”

“Because I called someone. After you left my office. I couldn’t believe what you were telling me, and yet some part of me knew that what you were saying was accurate.” She hesitated. Again, Justin waited out her silence. “I removed Martin Heffernan’s file from the computer,” she said.

“But not on your own,” he said.

“No. I did it because someone asked me to.”

“Who?”

“You have to understand the mood in government these days, Jay. After 9/11, particularly after the findings from the 9/11 Commission, and the recent bombings. . we all felt so put-upon. My agency took a big hit. And there was so much criticism that a lot of it happened because there was no communication between government organizations. .”

“I understand,” he said.

“So when I got a call, it seemed. . it seemed important to cooperate. And once I did, I couldn’t believe I might have done the wrong thing.”

“Who called you?” he asked softly.

“It doesn’t make sense to me,” Martha Peck said. “It’s an old friend. We met at a White House function and we’ve been friendly for years. When she called, she said it was a very delicate matter, that it had to do with a terrorist alert.”

“She?”

“She said she was involved because the threat involved protected land that fell under her domain. She was working with the FBI and with Justice, she said.”

“Stephanie Ingles. From the EPA. That’s who called you.”

“Yes,” Martha Peck said. “She called me that day and she called me after Heffernan was killed to say that it had nothing to do with me or the file. She said that Heffernan had done nothing wrong but that I was never to tell anyone what I’d done, that it was a matter of national security. Do you know what kind of panic it causes when anyone says the words ‘national security’ these days?”

“Yes, I do,” Justin said.

“Stephanie called me again yesterday. To tell me that the FBI knew you had talked to me and to tell me you were being released. She said that I was not to speak to you under any circumstances. It wasn’t just a friendly piece of advice or even a warning. It was a threat. Not an overt one, but I know a threat when I hear it.”

“So why are you calling me, Martha?”

“Because I don’t like to be threatened. And because she was lying to me, Jay. She was lying to me from the very beginning. And you were telling me the truth, weren’t you?”

“Yes, I was,” Justin said.

“Is this. . is this helpful to you?”

“Extremely helpful, Martha.”

“Well then, I’m glad I called.”

“Me too,” Justin said. “I’m very glad you called.”

And I take back everything I’ve always thought about bureaucrats, he thought. Every last damn thing.

He didn’t call his parents. Instead he dug out a yellow legal pad and a pen. They’d taken his computer and his files, but he could still write.

It struck him that he should be scribbling in the dirt, this felt almost too clean. But it all came so easily this way. He didn’t need a computer for this. Everything was in his head. He wondered if it would be there forever. He hoped not. But he was glad it was there now.

The names and organizations flitted across his memory as clearly as if they were on a movie screen. He was able to conjure up every list, every variation. He remembered his near breakthrough at Gitmo. And where he’d come up short.

Stephanie Ingles.

She was now in the mix, but what the hell was her role? What was her connection to the others and to what he suspected was going on? He’d overlooked that connection before, but Martha Peck’s phone call made it as clear as could be that there was one. But what could it be?

Slow it down, he thought. Go back to the process. Take a deep breath. And another. You’re just at another plateau. So think this through. Be logical.

The EPA. Start there. That’s where the connection must be. What was their function? To protect land, water, and air. Protect wildlife. Pretty nonthreatening. But what the hell had he been reading about it lately? What had he heard? Something. He’d read a newspaper story. .

His mind was racing. Environmental protection. Land preservation. Yes! That’s what he’d read. He’d discussed it with Roger and his dad. The EPA and President Anderson had declared a huge mass of land in Alaska off-limits to the oil companies. Stephanie Ingles had pushed for the resolution. Dandridge had supported it. A surprise to everyone. Halliburton was livid. EGenco was furious. But how the hell did that fit? It didn’t. It was the opposite of everything else that was beginning to add up. It made no sense.

But it had to. It had to. .

Go slowly, he told himself.

Think clearly. Everything has a reason.

Just get to the next plateau.

It had to fit. .

Millions of acres unavailable for oil drilling.

He began scribbling furiously on the pad.

What was the result of that decision? Environmentalists were thrilled. The permanent preservation of land and wildlife. Possible political gain, a nod to a constituency that wouldn’t normally vote for Dandridge.

What else? The oil companies were up in arms. Less drilling. Less potential for domestic oil. More dependence on overseas oil.

So what? So what? What did it mean?!

Less oil, prices go up. .

Higher prices were bad for the administration. It was harmful to their normal constituents, which meant it was politically damaging. .

But when oil prices rose, someone was making a lot more money.

Bad politically. Very good personally.

He remembered Roger Mallone, lecturing him in the living room of his East End house. “SPEs,” he’d said. “A great way to hide a lot of crooked things.”

EGenco. Midas. Special Purpose Entities.

He jumped up and ran out to the front lawn. His newspapers had never stopped being delivered, and he scrounged through the several dozen papers that were scattered around, found that morning’s New York Times. Justin turned to the business section, found that day’s oil prices.

Sixty-four dollars a barrel. A record high.

Justin swore at the guys who’d stolen his computer-he no longer had access to his computerized address book-then called Rhode Island information, asking for the number for Roger Mallone. A minute later, he had Mallone on the phone.

“Jay, Jesus Christ, what the hell’s been going on? Are you all right?”

“Roger, I don’t have time to explain. I need some information and I need it now.”

“All right, all right. Go ahead.”

“EGenco. Remember we were talking about their Special Purpose Entities?”

“Sure.”

“Well, what kind of entities would they be likely to set up?”

“Depends on who they were being set up for.”

“Government officials. High-up government officials. And Saudis. A combination of the two.”

“That doesn’t narrow it down much.”

“Okay,” Justin said. “Go with me for a second, Roger. Is it possible that oil prices could be manipulated-”

“What, to go down? You mean to help these guys win the next election? Sure. There’s been a lot of speculation that, when the time comes, that’s what’s going to happen-”

“No. To go up. How could the partners in a company benefit if oil prices go way up?”

“Are you kidding? If you’re a supplier, you make a fortune.”

“Tell me.”

“Well, several ways. A company like EGenco has the government contacts to get huge contracts to rebuild Iraq and Afghanistan and anyplace else over there we might invade.”

“Keep going.”

“So they have to provide oil and fuel to rebuild the factories and infrastructures there. If oil prices go up, the government has to pay more. The company could make tens of billions of dollars extra.”

“Okay, that’s the company as a whole. How about something smaller? An SPE now.”

“Well. . you mean if I were being really devious about this?”

“Be as devious as you possibly can.”

“Well. . a company like EGenco doesn’t really explore anymore. They’re so big, they’re in so many other areas, it’s not cost-effective for them. So what they do is they buy from small and medium companies. If they wanted to, they could set up an SPE that’s a small or midsize oil drilling company. If they had to, they could justify it legally by saying that they’re taking a percentage of the findings, which they would-probably fifteen to twenty percent. Then the company-and the partners set up in the SPE-take the other eighty to eighty-five percent of the profit.”

“What kind of profit are we talking about?”

“Well, the partners’ve got to put up some dough, but it’s something relatively minimal. The way it works, when it’s really sleazy, is guaranteed money up front. That’s the suspicion about Dandridge right now, that’s where some of the lawsuits are headed, and it’s why people think he’s being so secretive. He could have put up a million bucks and gotten a deal where his share of the SPE guarantees him ten million-no matter what the SPE’s profits are. In exchange, he arranges the sweetheart deal for EGenco to rebuild the Middle East for billions and billions. That kind of shit goes on all the time.”

“Now let’s say the partners also want the SPE to be profitable, over and above that guarantee. What kind of money could we be talking about for a midsize oil exploration company?”

“If oil prices go up? Huge. Let’s say EGenco says, ‘You put up a million bucks each to be a partner.’ The Saudis generate about eight million barrels of oil per day. Three years ago the price of oil was twenty bucks a barrel. Now it’s sixty-two, sixty-three, or some unbelievable thing. So their gross has gone up from about a hundred and sixty million a day to around five hundred a day.”

“Five hundred million dollars a day?”

“Hey, it’s why it’s nice to be a Saudi royal. You pick up a nice chunk of change from that.”

“Three years ago it was almost a third of what it is now,” Justin said. “That was around the time of Dandridge’s big secret energy conference.”

“You got it.”

Justin shook his head in amazement. “How about a medium-sized American company?”

“Well, if EGenco puts these guys in a midsize company that’s working, that’s a success, that kind of company can generate about a hundred thousand barrels per day.”

“Which they’re selling for sixty-plus dollars a barrel.”

“Yup. Comes out to six million dollars a day. Of course, that’s not profit. EGenco takes their percentage, there’s operating costs. .”

“You know what, Roger? It’s still a shitload of money left over.”

“No question about that.”

“And one more thing: give me a simple rule of thumb about how to manipulate oil prices.”

“It’s actually pretty easy. Especially if you’re someone like Dandridge where everyone would expect him to manipulate downward to benefit the administration and make himself look good politically.”

“Well, explain it to me both ways, up and down.”

“There’s just one way, Jay. Once you have production in place, there are only two components: volume and price. The more volume, the lower the price. It’s just simple supply and demand. Less volume, the more people have to pay. And vice versa.”

“And the way you alter the volume?”

“You lower the number of producers and producing sources. If you want to be really paranoid, you can say we blew up Iraqi oil wells in the various Gulf wars so the Saudis got a bigger share of production.”

“How about declaring oil-producing land off-limits to drillers?”

“You mean American land? Sure. Anything that limits production is going to raise prices. You know, you’re starting to scare me, Jay. This doesn’t sound so hypothetical.”

“Do me a favor, Roger. Call my folks and tell them I’m okay. Tell them I’ll call them as soon as I can.”

“Want me to wish ’em a Merry Christmas for you?”

“I’ll do that myself, thanks.”

“Did I give you what you need?”

“You gave me exactly what I need. I’ll make it up to you.”

And when he hung up, he knew he had it. Not every detail. Not every piece of the puzzle. But the overall scheme. It was crystal clear. He had it cold.

And then he began to write. He no longer cared about his missing computer and the lost information. He remembered the last two lists he’d scrawled into the floor of his prison cell and quickly jotted them down on his pad. The first list was Dandridge and the various ways he was connected to the pieces of the puzzle.

DANDRIDGE

Midas

EGenco

Cooke

Anderson

Stuller

Ingles

Mishari

The next list was one where he’d split all the names into two categories-people and companies.

Cooke Midas Anderson EGenco Stuller Ingles Mishari

Cooke was a victim. The others were survivors. The others formed the core group. So he rewrote the list, eliminating Cooke’s name. He stared at what he’d written, realized that Dandridge was missing. He was the link to everything and everyone else and he belonged in this grouping. So he quickly scrawled the name at the bottom.

Anderson Midas StullerEGencoIngles Mishari Dandridge

He didn’t have to stare at it for long before it came to him. Before it hit him like a sledgehammer on the back of the head. He turned to a new page. He wanted this clean and clear. And he rewrote the names in the left-hand column so it read:

Mishari

Ingles

Dandridge

Anderson

Stuller

Shaking his head, he underlined the first letters of each name on the list, first just one line, then two, then three. Each time he drew a line, he slashed down harder and more furiously with his pen.

Mishari

Ingles

Dandridge

Anderson

Stuller

There it was. In angrily underlined black and white.

“Son of a bitch,” he whispered.

Who was Midas? That question was answered.

What was Midas? He was pretty sure he knew the answer to that one, too, now.

A hundred thousand barrels of oil per day. Over sixty dollars per barrel.

Over six million dollars a day.

Follow the money, his father had said.

Follow the goddamn money, Justin thought. Everything else is a mirage.

But the money gets you there every time.