The First Billion

27

Yesterday was the zone. Today was multitasking.

Ray Luca backhanded a glob of ketchup from his mouth and planted his double chili cheeseburger on the only available sliver of free desk. Chewing contentedly, he flicked his eyes from monitor to monitor and screen to screen, from the market being made for Intel to the closed-circuit feed of Thoroughbreds taking their morning run at Hialeah, to the “Money Honey” on CNBC reporting live from the floor of the Exchange and back again. At the same time, he sipped at his coffee, tapped out a series of buy orders, and managed to hum a little ditty.

Let the good times roll. Yeah baby, let the good times roll.

The market was up strongly. The sky was as blue as a Tiffany gift box, and on his lap was a completed copy of the Private Eye-PO’s latest editorial concerning the Mercury Broadband offering. He particularly liked the title. “Mercury in Mayhem.”

Another bite of the double chili cheese, a gulp of coffee, then a moment’s glance to reread and edit.

Private sources report an explosive confrontation Thursday afternoon outside Mercury Broadband’s Moscow offices on Kropotkin Ploshad between OMON militia troops led by Russian prosecutor general Yuri Baranov and members of the FIS (read KGB) loyal to Konstantin Kirov. Armed with a search warrant, Baranov had hoped to seize financial records incriminating Kirov in the theft of $125 million from the coffers of Novastar Airlines. Kirov, law-abiding citizen that he is, denied the OMON troops entry, preferring to let his legion of house-trained espiocrats do his talking for him. No doubt he’ll call Baranov’s visit just another case of political harassment motivated by his advocacy of free speech and a free press.

The question Luca had yet to answer was what members of the state security apparatus were doing at Kirov’s offices and why they had stood to his defense. It was akin to the CIA’s defending Ted Turner on American soil.

Whatever Kirov may say, the Private Eye-PO continued, there can be little doubt, dear hearts, that not only he, but Mercury Broadband as well, is skating on very thin ice. Do tell… if he didn’t steal the $125 million, who did? Maybe we should ask Jett Gavallan for the answer? After all, if he’s Kirov’s banker, who better to point us to the missing loot?

Stay tuned, campers, for more news from the Russian Kleptocracy.

Luca put down the pages, pleased but tired. It had all started just after eleven last night, when Jack Andrew, a correspondent for the Financial Times in Moscow, had called him in a furor to demand how he had known beforehand about the raid on Kirov’s offices. Luca dodged the question, instead pounding Andrew for every detail imaginable about the encounter. Afterward, like any solid journalist, he double-checked his source. He phoned his contacts at the Post, the Wall Street Journal, and the Moscow Times. All of them said they’d heard whispers about the raid, but as yet could get neither Kirov nor the prosecutor general to confirm or deny.

Adding a few comments here and there, Luca folded up the article and put it back into his briefcase. He’d meant to get it onto his server and uploaded to his web page this morning, but he’d overslept, and his cardinal rule was never to miss an opening. Good thing, too. The market was riding an updraft the likes of which he hadn’t seen in a year. Fifteen minutes after the opening the Nasdaq was up 80 points and the Dow up 100.

In a parallel universe, Mazursky and his crew were yelling loud enough to rouse the Miracle Mets. Let ’em, thought Luca. With the news about Kirov, he’d be out of there inside a month. The newsletter would do better than he’d ever imagined. Forget three thousand subscribers. Why not four thousand? Five thousand? Ten, even? Luca would buy a little house and a Boston Whaler he’d had his eye on. He’d arrange a weeklong trip to Disney World for the girls. Maybe, just maybe, he could convince his wife to come back to him.

Enraptured by this rosy vision of the future, he found it difficult to breathe. It could happen, he told himself. It really could. The family back together again. Ray and his four girls. It was all he had ever really wanted.

Minutes passed and the market continued higher, headed straight for the stratosphere. Volume. Tick. S &P futures. All were rocketing up, up, up. One after another he put on a buy, not bothering even to take profits on his earlier positions. At ten o’clock, the Nasdaq was up 150 and the Dow the same. A quick tally showed him ahead twenty-five grand.

Once in a while Luca looked down at the briefcase. Part of him said to close his positions, take his profits, and get home to post his newest article—the sooner the better. But Luca ignored the voice. He wasn’t leaving today. Today he was a trader. He could be the Private Eye-PO tomorrow, and for the rest of his life.

Hello, Ray.”

Luca jolted in his chair as if he’d seen a ghost. “Jett Gavallan. What a surprise. What brings you round these parts?”

“I’m sure you can guess. You’ve been doing some good work—or should I say your sources have. Looks like I was wrong about Mercury.”

Luca eyed him warily. “You’re going to cancel the deal?”

“Postpone it. The company isn’t all bad. Maybe it isn’t everything we billed it to be, but there’s some decent stuff there. It’s Kirov I’m worried about.”

“So you heard?” Luca’s eyes flashed triumphantly.

“Heard what?”

“Yesterday there was a…” Luca sat back, rubbing at his chin as a mean-spirited grin darkened his features. “Sorry, Jett, you’ll have to wait and see.”

Gavallan lowered himself onto his haunches so he could look Luca in the eye. “Ray, this isn’t about Synertel. I’m sorry about what happened. It was a lousy turn of events. I can imagine it was a letdown.”

“A ‘letdown,’ was it? Is that what you call losing a billion dollars? Having your wife throw you out on the street? Watching your children shy away from you because they’re too embarrassed to give you a hug? A ‘letdown’?”

“Like I said, I’m sorry it turned out that way. It was a tough break.”

“What the hell do you know about ‘tough’? You, sitting up there in your luxury penthouse, driving your snazzy car? You bankers are all bloodsuckers. Best friends when times are good, out of there like lightning when things get rough. Payback, Gavallan. This one’s on me.”

“I did what I had to do. You would have done the same thing if you were in my place. Look at me, Ray. You know it’s true. Now, listen, I need your help. I have to know where you got your information about Mercury. I’m trying to work back up the chain, figure out who pulled the wool over our eyes.”

Luca laughed, a little wildly. “You’re not serious? You don’t just expect me to tell you.” Shifting his gaze away from Gavallan, he spent a moment tapping an order into his computer. “Tell me, what do I-bankers earn these days? An hourly rate will be fine.”

“This is a lot more important than what I earn.”

“Two hundred an hour?” Luca cut in. “Or am I out of date? Three hundred? Four?”

“It’s not just about Mercury and Black Jet. You’re in this too, Ray… or the Private Eye-PO is. We need to talk. You could be in a lot of danger.”

“Danger? Ooh, I’m shivering. Can’t you see me shaking in my boots?” He tried on another smile, but Gavallan’s grim expression stole his mirth. “What kind of danger?” he asked after a moment.

“I’m not sure exactly. But if I can find you, so can Konstantin Kirov. After all the crap you’ve been spreading on the Net about his company, I don’t think he’ll be in a charitable mood.”

Something in Gavallan’s tone reached Luca. The angry cast to his eye softened and the tension left his shoulders. “Okay, okay,” muttered Luca. “But I can’t leave now. Take a look at the market. I got to make some money.”

“Take a break.”

“Got too many open positions. Tell you what, though. I’ll stop at noon for fifteen minutes. Believe me, that’s all we’ll need. Meet me next door at Alberto’s. We’ll have a cup of coffee.”

“Deal,” said Gavallan, rising to go, happy to get out of the rancid confines. “See you at twelve. Alberto’s, right?”

Luca nodded. “And, Jett? Order yourself a drink beforehand. Something strong. You’re going to need it.”

Leaving the building, Gavallan turned left and headed down the sidewalk to his car. He didn’t see the slender young man in the baseball cap enter the building less than a minute after he left.