The Codex

37

Lewis Skiba stared into the flickering fire, losing himself in the shifting colors. He had done nothing all day, answered no phones, taken no meetings, written no memos. All he could think of was Had Hauser done it? Had Hauser made him a murderer yet? He held his head and thought back to the ivy-covered buildings of Wharton, the heady sense of possibility of those early days. The whole world was there, ahead of him, ripe for the plucking. And now… He reminded himself that he had brought jobs and opportunity to thousands, that he had grown his company and made drugs that cured people of terrible diseases and sicknesses. He had three fine sons. Yet for the past week the first thought that came into his mind when he woke up was I am a murderer. He wanted to take back his words. Except that he couldn’t: Hauser hadn’t called, and he had no way of contacting him.

Why had he told Hauser to do it? Why had he allowed himself to be bullied? Skiba tried to tell himself that Hauser would have done it anyway, that he himself had not caused anyone’s death, that maybe it was just big talk. There were people like that who liked to talk violence, brag about their guns, that sort of thing. Sick people. Hauser might be one of those, all talk and no action.

The intercom buzzed, and with a shaking hand he pressed the button.

“Mr. Fenner from Dixon Asset Management for his two o’clock.”

Skiba swallowed. This was the one meeting he couldn’t miss. “Send him in.”

Fenner looked like most of the other stock analysts of his acquaintance, small, dry, emanating overweening self-confidence. That was the key to his success: Fenner was a guy you just wanted to believe. Skiba had done a lot of little favors for Fenner, tipped some hot IPOs his way, helped get his kids into an exclusive Manhattan private school, given a couple of hundred thousand to his wife’s favorite charity. In return, Fenner had been calling Lampe stock a “buy” all the way down, leading his hapless clients to the manure pile and shoving them in head first — all the while making millions himself. In short, he was a typical successful analyst.

“How are you, Lewis?” said Fenner, taking a seat by the fire. “This can’t be much fun.”

“It isn’t, Stan.”

“I don’t want to bandy civilities at a time like this. We’ve known each other for too long. I want you to give me one reason why I should advise my clients to keep holding Lampe. I just need one good reason.”

Skiba swallowed. “Can I offer you anything, Stan? Mineral water? Sherry?”

Fenner shook his head. “The investment committee is going to override me. It’s fire-sale time. They’re spooked and, frankly, so am I. I trusted you, Skiba.”

What a crock. Fenner had known the company’s real picture for months. He was just too tempted by all the tidbits Skiba was tossing his way and by the investment banking business Lampe gave Dixon. Greedy bastard. On the other hand, if Dixon went from “buy” to “hold” or “sell,” that would finish Lampe. It would be Chapter 11.

He coughed, cleared his throat. He couldn’t quite manage to get a word out, and he coughed again to cover his paralysis.

Fenner waited.

Finally Skiba spoke. “Stan, there is something I can give you.”

Fenner tilted his head ever so slightly.

“It’s privileged, it’s confidential, and if you act on it it’d be a clear case of insider trading.”

“It’s only insider trading if you trade. I’m looking for a reason not to. I’ve got my clients up to their necks in Lampe stock, and I need to give them a reason to sit tight.”

Skiba took a deep breath. “Lampe is going to announce, in the next few weeks, the acquisition of a two-thousand-page manuscript, a unique copy, compiled by the ancient Mayan Indians. This manuscript lists every plant and animal in the tropical rainforest with medically active properties, along with prescriptions on how to extract the active ingredients, dosages, side effects. The manuscript represents the sum total of ancient Mayan medical knowledge, refined over thousands of years from living in the richest pocket of biodiversity on the planet. Lampe will own it, lock, stock, and barrel. It will come to us free and clear, without royalty deals, partnerships, litigation, or encumbrances.”

He stopped. Fenner’s expression had not changed. If he was thinking, it didn’t show on his face.

“When will you announce this? Can I have a date?”

“No.”

“How certain is it?”

“Very.”

The lie was easy. The Codex was their only hope, and if it fell through nothing else would matter anyway.

A long silence. Fenner allowed something that might have been a smile to form on the fine, astringent features of his face. He collected his briefcase and rose. “I thank you, Lewis. You take my breath away.”

Skiba nodded and watched Fenner make his small, careful way out of the office.

If only he knew.