The Garden of Betrayal

14

Amy wasn’t at her desk when I got back to the office, but my new cellphone battery was on my desk, so I knew she couldn’t be far. I checked my computer while I swapped out the battery, to see if the depletion model had finished running yet. No luck-the progress icon was still flashing. I tapped the top of the CPU a few times to hurry it along. Old habits die hard-tapping had made the TV work better when I was a kid.

I dropped the reassembled phone into the charging cradle and then scanned the news. The Ukrainians were still denying everything loudly, but the Russians and the French had gone ominously quiet. Nothing that required my immediate attention. I was starting to go through messages when I noticed Amy bustling my way, a concerned expression on her face.

“Morning,” I said, stepping out from behind my desk to greet her. “What’s up?”

“Morning.” She glanced over her shoulder and then leaned toward me. “Alex is out again today,” she whispered. “There’s a rumor on the floor that Walter’s closing his positions.”

“What positions?” I asked apprehensively.

“All of them.”

I started to swear, catching myself just in time. Having your positions closed is the trading-desk equivalent of having your epaulets ripped off. It meant Alex was out for good, his trading career over, at Cobra and everywhere else-with his track record, no one would be hiring. I was upset with him because I suspected he’d tried to mislead me, but I certainly didn’t want to see him hurt. Although maybe it was for the best, I thought, as the initial shock wore off. I’d told him the truth the other day-he was a smart guy, but he wasn’t cut out to be a trader. Relieved of the day-to-day pressure, he might be able to pull himself together, stop drinking, and get back in some kind of decent physical shape. And he’d still have Walter’s political activity to manage. Or at least I hoped he would. There was some chance that he and his father had had a major falling-out, which would be another explanation for why he hadn’t been back to the office.

“Has Lynn talked to him?”

“No. He didn’t call in. She’s on her way over to his place now, to make sure he’s okay.”

I wavered a moment, wondering whether I should get involved, before deciding I didn’t have a choice. Alex was a friend. I had to help if I could.

“I want to talk to Walter. Set something up as soon as possible, please.”

“Will do. And I don’t know if you saw the message yet, but Reggie called a few minutes ago. He’d like you to get back to him on his desk number.”

“Thanks.”

Amy was wearing a bright red Christmas sweater with metallic candy canes embroidered on it, and the shimmering reflections made me feel nauseated. I was too old to get by on three hours of sleep, particularly after a couple of shots of whiskey.

“Can I get you some coffee?” she asked, sounding concerned. “You look kind of rocky.”

“Maybe later,” I said. The coffee I’d drunk at Rashid’s hadn’t gone down so well. I had enough acid working on my insides. “A little dry toast would be great.”

“I’ll see what I can rustle up.”

I dialed Reggie’s work phone. The cop who answered put me on hold, and Reggie picked up a minute later.

“Mark?”

“Yeah.”

“Any luck with this OPEC buddy of yours on Gallegos?”

“He didn’t know him, but he promised to make a few calls. I should hear back later today or tomorrow. Why?”

“Because the situation’s a lot more complicated than I realized.”

My hand tightened on the receiver.

“Complicated how?”

“The stolen-car report on the BMW is cross-referenced to a murder investigation.”

“Whose murder?” I asked breathlessly.

“Gallegos’s brother-in-law, a guy named Carlos Munoz, also a diplomat. He and Gallegos were married to sisters. Gallegos lent Munoz the car the day it was stolen. This guy Munoz sounds like a real prince. A bunch of complaints about him for sexual harassment, and a girlfriend out on Long Island who he liked to use as a punching bag. According to the file, Munoz drove out to see the girlfriend that afternoon, but she’d skipped town. Could be she finally had enough. So he drove back into the city, picked up a hooker, and took her to a motel on the Lower West Side. That’s where his body was found. He caught three to the chest from a military forty-five. The girl vanished.”

I exhaled slowly.

“Which suggests what?”

“Hard to know. One possibility is that Munoz is the guy we’re looking for. There was a security camera in the parking lot. The tape showed him arriving with the hooker at five-thirty and driving away alone at six. Kyle left your place a little after seven-thirty.”

“I’m confused,” I said, making an effort to remain analytical. “Didn’t you just tell me that Munoz was murdered at the motel?”

“Right. In bed and with his pants down, the way we all should be lucky enough to go. Second security camera in the lobby caught him when he arrived the first time but not leaving or returning. Parking-lot camera showed him arriving and leaving but not returning. Best our guys were able to figure, Munoz checked in, left by the fire stairs, propped the door open behind him, moved the car, and then came back in by the fire stairs. They reckon maybe he went out for cigarettes and left the car somewhere else.”

“That make sense to you?” I asked incredulously.

“Nope. Sounds like a load of shit. I read enough files to be able to tell that the guys who caught the case mailed it in. Dead diplomat in a seedy hotel room; semen on the sheets; watch, wallet, and money clip gone. He went walking on the wild side, and he got more than he bargained for. All she wrote. Nobody was interested in loose ends.”

“So, what are the chances that he kidnapped Kyle before he was murdered?”

“Slim, in my book. ME made his time of death around nine, which doesn’t give him a big window to have grabbed Kyle, ditched the car in Harlem, and found his way back downtown.”

“This is weird,” I said, wishing again I’d had more sleep.

“No shit.”

“What do you think?”

“I don’t know. Munoz’s car key was still in his pants pocket. Maybe he really did just move the car around the corner for some reason and then some third party boosted it. Or maybe we’re chasing a fairy tale. Bottom line, it makes me want to talk to Gallegos even more. He was interviewed at the time, but he made his brother-in-law out to be a saint. I’m reckoning he might know more than he said. So, let me know as soon as you hear back, okay?”

“Okay,” I said unhappily. The last thing I wanted was more uncertainty.

“Hang in there,” Reggie urged. “I’ll talk to you soon.”

Amy buzzed as I hung up.

“Walter’s free now.”

“Thanks. I’m on my way.”

Walter’s office was modest in the scheme of things, a ten-by-fifteen glass-walled chamber in the middle of the trading room, backed against the building’s core. Guys on the floor called it the fishbowl, and nobody ever wanted to be in it, save at bonus time. Conversations about the market were held on the trading desks so everyone could listen. A summons to the fishbowl meant you were in for a reaming.

“Come,” Walter said, beckoning with one hand as I tapped on his door. He turned the report he’d been reading facedown on an otherwise empty desk and fixed his pale blue eyes on me. One of his defining characteristics was that he was never distracted, always entirely focused on whatever he had at hand at the moment. Admirable in concept but disconcerting when what he was focused on was you.

“I’m worried about Alex,” I said, figuring it was best not to beat around the bush. “He hasn’t seemed well recently.”

“I appreciate your concern,” he replied curtly. “But Alex isn’t twenty-two anymore. He doesn’t need a minder.”

“I’m not saying he does. He might need help, though. My sense is that he’s been drinking heavily. Having his positions liquidated isn’t going to improve his outlook.”

Walter stared at me unblinkingly. I stared back, wondering if he was deliberately trying to intimidate me.

“Close the door and sit down,” he ordered.

I did as he asked, chafing at his tone, as always.

“Every guy out there works his ass off to keep his job,” he said, stabbing a finger toward the trading floor. “I can’t play favorites just because Alex is my son.”

“I’m not suggesting you should. I’m suggesting you reach out to him. Because he’s your son, and because I suspect he’s in a bad way.”

I endured the stare for another few seconds, wondering what he was actually thinking. It was hard to believe he didn’t care about Alex at all, even if they’d had a falling-out. He glanced down, nudging the upside-down report with a fingernail to align it more precisely with the front edge of his desk.

“I’ve expressed my concerns to Alex directly,” he said hesitantly. “I don’t know that there’s anything more I can do at this point.”

“You agree he has a problem?”

“It seems that way.” He frowned. “His mother and I are worried.”

The highlight of Walter’s ugly divorce twenty years previously had come when Alex’s mother submitted evidence from an animal psychologist asserting that Walter’s negative energy made her Yorkie suicidal. The tabloids had a field day, leading Walter to temporarily relocate to London. The admission that he was discussing anything with his former wife was a better indication of his level of concern than his mild declaration.

“I’d be happy to talk to Alex about getting help,” I offered, warming to him a little, father to father. “I’d like to know that I have your support, though. He values your opinion.”

Walter’s phone rang before he could reply. He picked it up, listened, and then held the receiver out to me.

“It’s Amy. She says it’s urgent.”

“Sorry.” I took the receiver from him and put it to my ear. “Amy?”

“Nikolay Narimanov is calling,” she announced apologetically. “I tried to take a message, but he insisted I interrupt you.”

“Narimanov,” I relayed to Walter, covering the mouthpiece with one hand. “He wants to speak to me right away.”

Walter raised his eyebrows, and I shrugged.

“Take it,” he said.

“Put him through, please,” I told Amy.

The phone clicked.

“Nikolay?”

“Mark. Your secretary tells me that I’ve reached you at a difficult time.”

“I’m afraid so.”

“Let me get straight to the point. I’ve been reflecting on our conversation yesterday, and I’ve decided that I don’t want any of my confidential information put into the public domain, with or without attribution.”

“Then there isn’t much for us to talk about,” I said, feeling simultaneously crestfallen and pissed off. Narimanov was theoretically only backing me up on Saudi, but I was counting on him as my primary source for Russia. “All of my prime clients see everything I’m working on at the same time. I can’t do a special analysis for you and not share it with my other subscribers.”

“I assumed as much, which is why I’d like to change the terms of my proposal. I’ll buy you out. I’ll capitalize your current income stream at a favorable discount rate and pay it down in cash over five years. In exchange, you agree to work for me exclusively for the same period.”

I swallowed hard, running the numbers in my head. It worked out to three or four million bucks a year. Walter was staring at me quizzically.

“That’s unexpected,” I said, keeping my voice neutral. “I’ll have to give it some thought and get back to you.”

“Do. And think about this-working for me will give you access to information you won’t be able to obtain elsewhere.”

“I understand.”

“Perhaps not as fully as you imagine. Here’s a small sample: Russian and French paratroopers have just completed a clandestine assault on a Ukrainian ultranationalist paramilitary base north of Zhytomyr, about a hundred kilometers west of Kiev. Early reports are that they’ve seized evidence of Ukrainian involvement in the Nord Stream assault and captured two prisoners directly linked to the attack.”

My jaw dropped.

“You’re certain?”

“What?” Walter interjected. I waved him silent, intent on Narimanov’s answer.

“Yes. There’ll be a press release within the hour. Act quickly. And get back to me on my offer as soon as possible, please. I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

He hung up. I was too shocked to move for a second, and then I leaned over Walter’s desk and punched a free line on his phone, dialing Amy.

“What’s going on?” Walter demanded.

“News,” I said. “Just listen.”

Amy answered on the second ring. I cut her off mid-greeting.

“Open an e-mail to my full client list immediately.”

Walter got up and moved to the door, poised with one foot in his office and one foot on the trading floor.

“Done.”

“Subject line URGENT, all caps. Message body: Reliable report received of successful Russian/French military strike in Ukraine. Evidence seized implicates Ukrainian ultranationalists in Nord Stream attack. Press conference expected soon. Look for capital markets to rally strongly and energy markets to decline. Detailed analysis follows. You got that?”

“Got it.”

“Hit send. I’ll be at my desk in two minutes.”

I hung up the phone and turned around. Walter was already out on the floor, barking orders to his trading staff. He looked calm and collected, like a battle-hardened officer directing troops in an attack. I guessed we were done talking about Alex. I closed the door behind me as I left his office. It was going to be another long day.