Andrew Gross 3-Book Thriller Collection 1: The Dark Tide, Don’t Look Twice, Relentless. Andrew Gross

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СКАЧАТЬ The panic after 9/11 would never occur again. He had billions invested on all sides of the economic ledger, impervious to the vagaries of whoever won or lost. Today geopolitical trends and shifts were merely hiccups in the global transfer of capital. Yes, there were always blips—blips like Charlie, betting on the price of oil so stubbornly and unable to cover his spots on the way down. But behind that, all one had to do was look at the vast Saudi and Kuwaiti investment funds, the world’s greatest oil producers, hedging their bets by buying up all the ethanol-producing sugarcane fields in the world.

      It was the greatest capital-enlarging engine in the world.

      “So it doesn’t bother you, my friend?” the German banker suddenly asked. “You are a Jew, yes, and yet you know that this money you take regularly finds its way into the hands of interests that are unfriendly to your own race.”

      “Yes, I’m a Jew.” Lennick looked at him and shrugged. “But I learned a long time ago that money is neutral, Johann.”

      “Yes, money is neutral,” Fichte agreed. “Still, my client’s patience is not.” His expression sharpened again. “The loss of over half a billion dollars of their funds does not sit easily with these kinds of people, Saul. They asked me to remind you—your daughter has children up in Boston, does she not?” He met Lennick’s eye. “Ages two and four?”

      The blood seeped from Lennick’s face.

      “I was asked to inquire as to their general health, Saul. I hope they’re well. Just a thought, my old friend, from my own employers. Please, do not dwell. Still …” His smile returned with an affable tap of Lennick’s arm. “A small incentive to keep those—how was it you phrased it?—fluctuations to a minimum, yes?”

      A cold bead of sweat traveled down Lennick’s back underneath his six-hundred-dollar Brioni pinstripe shirt.

      “Your man lost us a considerable amount of money,” Fichte said. “You shouldn’t be so surprised, Saul. You know who you’re playing with here. No one is above accountability, my friend—even you.”

      Fichte put on his hat.

      Lennick felt a constriction in his chest. His palms, suddenly slick with sweat, pressed deeply onto the bridge’s railing. He nodded. “You spoke of four new deliveries, Johann. Two hundred and fifty million euros each. So far you’ve only mentioned three.”

      “Ah, the fourth …” The German banker smiled and patted Lennick briskly on the back. He drew his gaze to the metal case at his feet.

      “The fourth I’m giving you today, Herr Lennick. In bearer bonds. My men will be happy to escort you to wherever you would like it placed.”

CHAPTER FORTY-THREE

      By morning the welt on Hauck’s face had gone down a bit. He had packed his bags, set to check out in a couple of minutes. There was no need to press the old man any longer. He had other ways to find out what he needed to know. He glanced at his watch. He had a ten o’clock plane.

      When he opened the door to leave, Pappy Raymond was leaning on the outside railing.

      The old man’s face was haggard, eyes bloodshot and drawn. He looked like he’d spent the night curled up in some alley. Or like he’d been in a street fight with a ferret. And the ferret had won!

      “How’s the eye?” He looked at Hauck. Somewhere in his tone was the hint of an apology.

      “Works.” Hauck shrugged, rubbing the side of his face. “I was a little peeved about the beer, though.”

      “Yeah.” Pappy smiled sheepishly. “Guess I owe you one of those.” The blue in his hooded eyes shone through. “You heading home?”

      “Somehow I got the sense you’d be okay with that.”

      “Hmphh,” Pappy snorted. “How’d I ever give you that idea?”

      Hauck waited. He set down his bags.

      “I was a fool my whole life,” Pappy said finally. He eased off the railing. “Stubborn with the best of them. Problem is, it takes getting old to find that out. Then it’s too late.”

      From his coverall pocket, he took out the Orange Bowl ticket stub Hauck had placed in his hand the night before. He bunched up his lips. “We drove all day to see that game. Might as well have been the Super Bowl for all my son cared. It was to him. Seminoles were always his team.” He scratched his head, suddenly clear-eyed. “I guess I should say thanks. I remember last night you said …”

      “My daughter was four.” Hauck gazed back at him. “She was run over by our car, in our own driveway. Five years ago. I’d been driving. I thought I’d left it in park. I was bitter, after the pain finally eased. My ex-wife still can’t look me in the eyes without seeing it all over. So I know…. That’s all I meant to say.”

      “Never goes away, does it?” Raymond shifted his weight on the railing.

      Hauck shook his head. “Never does.”

      Raymond let out a breath. “I watched those goddamn tankers come in three, four times. From Venezuela, the Philippines, Trinidad. Twice I even brought ’em in myself. Even a fool could see those ships were riding way too high. Didn’t have a lick of oil. Even snuck inside the holds once to see for myself.” He shook his head. “Clean as a baby’s ass. It’s not right what they were trying to do….”

      Hauck asked, “You took it to your boss?”

      “My boss, the harbormaster, the customs people … No duty on oil, so what the hell do they care? No telling who was getting paid. I kept hearing, ‘You just bring ’em in and park ’em, old man. Don’t stir it up.’ But I kept stirring. Then I got this call.”

      “To push you to stop?”

      Pappy nodded. “‘Don’t make waves, mister. You never know where they might fall.’ Finally I got this visit, too.”

      “You remember from whom?”

      “Met me outside the bar, just like you. Square jaw, dark hair, mustache. The kind of SOB who looked like he meant trouble. Mentioned my boy up north. Even showed me a picture. AJ and some gal up there with a kid. I knew what he was telling me. Still I kept at it. Called up this reporter I knew. I said I’d get him proof. That’s when I went aboard. A week later they sent me this.”

      Pappy dug into his trousers, the kind of navy blue work pants he’d worn on the job, and came out with his cell phone, scanning it until he found a stored call. He handed it to Hauck.

      A photo. Hauck exhaled. AJ Raymond lying in the road.

      Pappy pointed. “You see what they wrote to me there?”

      SEEN ENOUGH NOW?

      A screw of anger and understanding tightened in Hauck’s chest. “Who sent this to you?” Pappy shook his head. “Never knew.”

      “You take this to the police?” Another shake of the head. “They won. No.”

      “I’d СКАЧАТЬ