Qubit, page 15
First chance I get, she promised herself.
15
* * *
Nariman Point, Mumbai • Kapoor Financial Planning Ltd
Tuesday, May 1st
8:30 p.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Swaran Kapoor poured himself a scotch, wiping his forehead with a white handkerchief he kept in his back pocket, wishing he’d spent more time practicing his English. Doing it while giving instructions to his broker was bound to end in a tragic misunderstanding one day. He sat down behind his desk and picked up his cell phone, staring at an email on his monitor.
“Please, I would like to buy five hundred dollars in put options for Google at eight hundred and ten, Facebook at eighteen, and Apple at four hundred,” he said, looking at the options pricing displayed on his computer monitor.
“Really?”
“Yes, please.”
“Five hundred total, or each one?”
“Each one.”
“Expiration?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You sure? Those puts are way out of the money.”
“Yes.”
“You expecting some kind of high-tech Armageddon?”
“It’s only one thousand five hundred dollars.”
“Sure. It’s your money. Should I round up or down?”
“What?”
“You gotta buy ‘em in blocks of one hundred. Five hundred bucks of Google at eight-ten is…one thousand three hundred and fifty-one options. So you can either buy one thousand three hundred—“
“Ah, yes. Round up.”
“Okay. So that’s one thousand four hundred for Google, an even fifty thousand for Facebook, and…for Apple…two thousand seven hundred.”
“Thank you,” said Swaran. The email had specifically said at least a 10 percent decline. At which point, all those options would be in the money. If those stocks actually declined by, say, 11 percent, he’d net nearly $30,000 from $1,500. In fact, each percentage point decline represented another $30,000. If the stocks actually declined by 15 percent, he’d net nearly 150 grand, or 100 times his original investment.
Of course, that was a big if. He mopped his brow again. At least he hadn’t risked all ten grand. Perhaps Vipul had inside information, but there was no sense getting carried away. Things didn’t always go as planned and this way, he would still have capital even if this particular tip didn’t pan out. Vipul had told him that the Rathod family had chosen to work with him because he was reliable and trustworthy. He would show Vipul his faith hadn’t been misplaced.
East Detroit • The Lab
Tuesday, May 1st
5:00 p.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Kirin beamed while looking up at the monitor, his hands on his hips. Raj had set it up to display the share prices of their real targets. “All right. The floor is closed. We have Apple down twenty-four and a quarter, Google down twenty-two five, and Facebook down…nineteen. Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Lock couldn’t suppress a small smile. Their software had worked flawlessly. Of course, Wall Street was in a panic. But if Lock was choosing between Sophie’s well-being and Wall Street… “Nice job, Raj,” he said.
“You too.”
“I brought a little something to celebrate,” announced Kirin, walking over to a briefcase that was sitting next to the couch. He pulled out a caramel-colored bottle and held it up. “Talisker 30-year,” he announced.
Sanjay began to applaud. Raj joined him and Lock followed, even though he could have cared less about fine scotch at that particular moment. There was no sense spoiling the mood, especially not before he had a chance to talk to Kirin about Sophie.
Kirin produced four glasses, set them out on Sanjay’s desk, and began to pour two fingers’ worth of scotch in each. “Drink up, my friends,” he said, raising his glass.
Each of the men took a glass, raised it, and drank. Lock swished the scotch around in his mouth, but it was impossible to enjoy it. His mind was on Sophie. He’d carefully planned his approach. The first step was to reinforce his bond with Kirin.
“By my calculations,” Lock announced, “we erased nearly fifty billion dollars of value in the market today. And that’s only counting the stocks we targeted. The entire tech NASDAQ took a dive. Which makes this the greatest heist in history, I would imagine. And we never even had to leave this lab. I only wish…”
All three men waited for him to finish the thought. He faced Kirin. “I only wish we had some idea of what the real play was.”
Kirin’s smile was sly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to content yourself with knowing that, indeed, you are taking part in, as you say, the biggest heist in history. And it isn’t over yet. Tomorrow, we strike again. Only this time, we will hit the energy sector.”
Lock smiled to hide his disappointment. He’d hoped Kirin would share a small detail of the plan, begin to include them as co-conspirators. Swallowing the last of the scotch along with his disappointment, Lock pressed on to the next phase of his plan.
He pulled Kirin aside as he was heading for the door. “Can I talk to you privately for a moment?”
“Of course,” said Kirin, and the pair walked away from the door and the desks into the relative darkness surrounding them.
“It’s about Sophie.”
Kirin made a sympathetic humming sound.
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
“Yes.”
“So…please. Can you let her come home?”
Kirin frowned. “I wish I could, Lock. I do.”
“Please. I promise, I won’t cause any further trouble.”
“I’m afraid until this is all over…” Kirin shrugged, as though it was out of his hands.
“Honestly, Kirin, you don’t even need me. The system is built, it works—”
“Lock,” counseled Kirin, placing his hand on Lock’s shoulder, “try not to think about it.”
“Perhaps I could—you could take me to visit her. You could blindfold me so I—”
“I can’t do that, Lock.”
Lock studied Kirin’s face closely but saw only the same vaguely condescending expression. “Or…is she back in India? You could fly me there?”
“Lock, please.”
Lock pursed his lips, no longer attempting to hide his frustration. He hadn’t fooled Kirin for a moment. He thought about how good it would feel to put his hands around Kirin’s throat and squeeze. But that wouldn’t help Sophie.
He took a breath and played his last card. “Okay, okay. Can I at least talk to her? Over the phone. Or video chat. See for myself, you know, as you said, that she’s in good hands?”
Kirin squeezed Lock’s shoulder. “That’s reasonable. Let me see what I can do.”
Lock had to resist pulling away. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Lock. See you tomorrow?”
Lock forced himself to smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The Federal Reserve, Washington DC
Wednesday, May 2nd
7:45 a.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Michael Ryan’s black sedan pulled up to the guard station at the Twentieth Street entrance of the Federal Reserve building at precisely 7:15 in the morning, as it did nearly every weekday. The gate opened after a slight delay, and the sedan pulled up in the circular drive in front of the building. Ryan’s driver got out and came around the passenger side to open the back door. Ryan, a trim man who didn’t stand much higher than the sedan, mumbled a thank-you as he got out, briefcase in hand. He walked quickly to the smoked-glass doors, which, as always, struck him as distastefully out of place in the austere and regal setting. Once inside, he made his way around the scanners with a slight nod to a security guard. He started up the grand marble staircase in the center of the building, running with small, precise steps, the sound of his hard-soled shoes striking the stairs echoing in his wake. He walked down a marble hallway to a large and heavy wooden door, which had a brass-plated sign affixed to it that read “Chairman’s Office.” He pushed open the doors and made his way past two empty desks, which, presuming neither was sick or on vacation, his secretary and executive assistant would occupy by seven thirty. Finally, he reached the doors to his inner sanctum.
Ryan’s office was larger than a typical DC apartment, with walls of dark wood and marble along the back. Had he stopped at the window to enjoy the view, he would have been able to see the Lincoln Memorial to one side and the Washington Monument to the other. Instead, he sat down at an elegant wooden desk, pulling several folders from his briefcase and setting them on the burnished top. He patted his salt-and-pepper hair briefly, as though to make sure it was where he expected it to be, and logged in to this computer.
It was seven forty-five when Allen Lane, Ryan’s executive assistant, arrived, accompanied by Susan Court, the inspector general. They apologetically sat down and handed him yet another folder.
“Normally, Mr. Chairman…” Allen began before faltering.
“We wouldn’t bring something like this to you, Michael,” continued Susan. “Obviously.”
Ryan put on a of pair spectacles and began reading the contents of the folder.
“But given what happened yesterday…” added Allen.
“He’s either very lucky or…” mumbled Ryan, scanning the paper he held. The trio sat in silence while Ryan read through a second and third page. He looked up. “He’s predicting another sell-off today.”
“Yes. In the energy sector.”
He rolled his chair back from the desk and placing the folder against his chin. “All right. Let’s keep a close eye on the early action.” He paused, his eyes roving the expanse of his desk. “Susan,” he continued, looking up and removing his spectacles. “If this looks like it’s even close to accurate, set up an emergency teleconference with the G8 bankers. Bankers. Nobody else. Wait. Maybe it should be in person.” He paused again, his eyes searching. “In person. Not a call. Zurich is probably best. Damn it. I’ll have to fly out tonight.” Another pause. “Then set a cabinet meeting and make sure Honour is there.”
“And Brackenridge?” asked Susan.
“Good point. Financial terrorism. Honour and Brack can argue jurisdiction. Not my problem.”
“I’m assuming this is need-to-know,” said Susan.
“Obviously, yes.”
“So…your cover story? For Zurich?”
Michael raised his eyes to meet Susan’s. “Well, if this prediction turns out to be the least bit accurate, we’re staring at a complete meltdown. We’d be having a meeting anyway, just to deal with that.”
16
* * *
Nariman Point, Mumbai • Kapoor Financial Planning Ltd
Wednesday, May 2nd
8:30 p.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Swaran froze when he saw the name on his cell phone. “Good evening, Mr. Rathod,” he said, fumbling around for his handkerchief.
“It’s not a good evening at all.”
Swaran suddenly felt as though he’d swallowed a hummingbird. “But, sir. All the options I bought are in the money, are they not? In my message—”
“Of course, they’re in the money! These aren’t hunches, you idiot!”
“Of course, you’re right. What I meant was only—”
“What is the point of giving you ten grand if you’re not going to use it? You should be looking at a million dollars right now, not a measly one fifty!”
“I-I thought it was more prudent to start modestly.” Swaran felt like he needed to scratch itches on half his body at once.
“Prudence isn’t prudence when the game is rigged; it’s just stupid. You should not only be investing what is in the note but borrowing against the capital.”
“Oh, I don’t know if—”
“I do know, Swaran, that is the entire point! Leverage, man! I make more money and you make more money. Why wouldn’t you want that?”
“Of course, sir, I want to make more money. But there is no sure thing, isn’t that also true?”
“You’re not listening, Swaran. Perhaps you don’t have the stomach for this, after all. I’m about to send you another email. I want you to put the entire one fifty and change into play. If you do that, you should be sitting on fifteen million dollars worth of options by this time tomorrow. Your take on that is roughly one point five million dollars based on the terms in the note. Can you do that? Because if not, let’s just stop right here.”
Swaran gave up on finding his handkerchief and simply wiped his brow with his sleeve. Had he said one point five million dollars? Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. “I can do that, yes.”
“Very good. Because the stakes only go up from here. We’re just getting warmed up, Swaran. I’d hate for you to drop out before we even start making the real money.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Swaran, but the line was dead.
East Detroit • The Lab
Wednesday, May 2nd
5:00 p.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Lock marveled as he watched a crisply dressed, attractive Asian woman assess the damage he’d wrought. She was an anchor for CNN, and Sanjay had queued up the video on the large monitor.
“—in disarray as the energy sector was hit hard, with Exxon, Chevron, and Shell alone losing nearly five percent of their value. Today’s losses followed hard on the heels of yesterday’s massive collapse of the tech sector, which had begun to stabilize when today’s selling began. Analysts are scrambling to explain the cause of what is rapidly developing into a panic—”
Lock took a sip of his scotch and stepped up to Kirin’s side. He needed to keep the pressure on. If he could talk to Sophie, maybe he could extract some clue as to where she was being held. “Any word?” he said, speaking softly.
“Any word about what?” asked Kirin.
“About, you know, what we discussed. Last night.”
“Oh. Right. No. Not yet.”
Lock blinked slowly. “Are you even doing anything?” He regretted the aggressive tone immediately. He had to stay on Kirin’s good side.
“What do you mean?”
“Just…you said you’d set something up.”
“I said I’d look into it.”
Lock took another sip of his scotch, trying to buy himself a little time to think. He decided to try a different tact. “How much money do you think we just made?”
“We? None.”
Lock rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Kirin.” He patted Kirin on the back. “Don’t be difficult. You know what I mean.”
Kirin frowned and looked at him askance. “Stop prying, Lock. I can’t tell you anything more than I already have.”
Lock felt his insides going dead. He was getting nowhere. Kirin and he weren’t going to be buddies. He heard himself speaking. “Here’s something I don’t know. I don’t know whether my fucking daughter is alive.”
“Keep your voice down.” Kirin guided Lock away from the desks where Raj and Sanjay were rapt in attention to the newscast. “I think you should not lose sight of your situation.”
Lock was committed now. There was no longer any plan. He felt his nerves twitching and took another swig of scotch. “Let me put it to you this way, Kirin.” He paused and took a deep breath.
“Be careful, Lock.”
With another deep breath, he forged on: “I haven’t forgotten about my situation, not for one second. But if I don’t get some assurances that she’s alive, I’m going to have to assume she’s dead. And then, all bets are off. Do you think I’m afraid of you? Or your thugs? Or going back to jail? None of that matters to me, Kirin. Not anymore. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Kirin stared at him for a moment. He spoke slowly. “I said I’m working on it. Until then, you’ll have to take my word for it.”
Lock stepped closer to Kirin, so that they were nearly touching. Kirin frowned, but didn’t move. “You’ve lied to me from the start, Kirin. Why—”
“Have I?”
“—should I believe anything you say?”
“Because you can’t afford not to.”
“No, Kirin. That’s not good enough. I’ve done my job. I’ve done what you asked. I need something from you. Clear evidence that she’s alive. Which, by the way, you’ve already agreed to provide me.”
Kirin took a step back. “Fine, Lock.” He smiled. “You’re right. It’s not too much to ask. We’ll set something up.”
“Tomorrow. I want to see her tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best. But it will have to be video chat. Best I can do.”
Lock felt his fists balling up and his jaw clench. “Don’t test me, Kirin. I’ll bring this whole operation down.”
Kirin laughed again. “Lock, please. You’re being melodramatic. Give me till Friday.”
Lock shook his head but looked away into the gloom of the far corners of the warehouse. He looked back at Kirin. “Friday, then. Video chat.”
Kirin nodded and headed toward the exit, extending a hand casually in the air. “Good night. See you tomorrow, bright and early.”
After the door had closed behind him, Raj approached him, holding the nearly empty bottle of scotch. Without a word, he took Lock’s glass and refilled it.
Lock met Raj’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said and, tilting back his head, drained the glass.
Chinese Garden, Singapore
Thursday, May 3rd
5:30 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Katya took her usual place on the bridge next to Haruo. It was another cool morning, and she wore a black workout top and sipped water from her Camelback. “Good morning, Haruo.”
Haruo wore a cream-colored button-down sweater and stared impassively out at the lake. He was the retiree going for a morning stroll to her yuppie jogger. “Good morning, Katya.”
Haruo had sent her a message yesterday instructing her to resume their usual meetings. She wondered if perhaps he had some news from Langley. She hadn’t heard anything, and there was no reason why administrative information couldn’t just be sent via email.
15
* * *
Nariman Point, Mumbai • Kapoor Financial Planning Ltd
Tuesday, May 1st
8:30 p.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Swaran Kapoor poured himself a scotch, wiping his forehead with a white handkerchief he kept in his back pocket, wishing he’d spent more time practicing his English. Doing it while giving instructions to his broker was bound to end in a tragic misunderstanding one day. He sat down behind his desk and picked up his cell phone, staring at an email on his monitor.
“Please, I would like to buy five hundred dollars in put options for Google at eight hundred and ten, Facebook at eighteen, and Apple at four hundred,” he said, looking at the options pricing displayed on his computer monitor.
“Really?”
“Yes, please.”
“Five hundred total, or each one?”
“Each one.”
“Expiration?”
“Tomorrow.”
“You sure? Those puts are way out of the money.”
“Yes.”
“You expecting some kind of high-tech Armageddon?”
“It’s only one thousand five hundred dollars.”
“Sure. It’s your money. Should I round up or down?”
“What?”
“You gotta buy ‘em in blocks of one hundred. Five hundred bucks of Google at eight-ten is…one thousand three hundred and fifty-one options. So you can either buy one thousand three hundred—“
“Ah, yes. Round up.”
“Okay. So that’s one thousand four hundred for Google, an even fifty thousand for Facebook, and…for Apple…two thousand seven hundred.”
“Thank you,” said Swaran. The email had specifically said at least a 10 percent decline. At which point, all those options would be in the money. If those stocks actually declined by, say, 11 percent, he’d net nearly $30,000 from $1,500. In fact, each percentage point decline represented another $30,000. If the stocks actually declined by 15 percent, he’d net nearly 150 grand, or 100 times his original investment.
Of course, that was a big if. He mopped his brow again. At least he hadn’t risked all ten grand. Perhaps Vipul had inside information, but there was no sense getting carried away. Things didn’t always go as planned and this way, he would still have capital even if this particular tip didn’t pan out. Vipul had told him that the Rathod family had chosen to work with him because he was reliable and trustworthy. He would show Vipul his faith hadn’t been misplaced.
East Detroit • The Lab
Tuesday, May 1st
5:00 p.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Kirin beamed while looking up at the monitor, his hands on his hips. Raj had set it up to display the share prices of their real targets. “All right. The floor is closed. We have Apple down twenty-four and a quarter, Google down twenty-two five, and Facebook down…nineteen. Not bad. Not bad at all.”
Lock couldn’t suppress a small smile. Their software had worked flawlessly. Of course, Wall Street was in a panic. But if Lock was choosing between Sophie’s well-being and Wall Street… “Nice job, Raj,” he said.
“You too.”
“I brought a little something to celebrate,” announced Kirin, walking over to a briefcase that was sitting next to the couch. He pulled out a caramel-colored bottle and held it up. “Talisker 30-year,” he announced.
Sanjay began to applaud. Raj joined him and Lock followed, even though he could have cared less about fine scotch at that particular moment. There was no sense spoiling the mood, especially not before he had a chance to talk to Kirin about Sophie.
Kirin produced four glasses, set them out on Sanjay’s desk, and began to pour two fingers’ worth of scotch in each. “Drink up, my friends,” he said, raising his glass.
Each of the men took a glass, raised it, and drank. Lock swished the scotch around in his mouth, but it was impossible to enjoy it. His mind was on Sophie. He’d carefully planned his approach. The first step was to reinforce his bond with Kirin.
“By my calculations,” Lock announced, “we erased nearly fifty billion dollars of value in the market today. And that’s only counting the stocks we targeted. The entire tech NASDAQ took a dive. Which makes this the greatest heist in history, I would imagine. And we never even had to leave this lab. I only wish…”
All three men waited for him to finish the thought. He faced Kirin. “I only wish we had some idea of what the real play was.”
Kirin’s smile was sly. “I’m afraid you’ll have to content yourself with knowing that, indeed, you are taking part in, as you say, the biggest heist in history. And it isn’t over yet. Tomorrow, we strike again. Only this time, we will hit the energy sector.”
Lock smiled to hide his disappointment. He’d hoped Kirin would share a small detail of the plan, begin to include them as co-conspirators. Swallowing the last of the scotch along with his disappointment, Lock pressed on to the next phase of his plan.
He pulled Kirin aside as he was heading for the door. “Can I talk to you privately for a moment?”
“Of course,” said Kirin, and the pair walked away from the door and the desks into the relative darkness surrounding them.
“It’s about Sophie.”
Kirin made a sympathetic humming sound.
“I’ve done everything you’ve asked.”
“Yes.”
“So…please. Can you let her come home?”
Kirin frowned. “I wish I could, Lock. I do.”
“Please. I promise, I won’t cause any further trouble.”
“I’m afraid until this is all over…” Kirin shrugged, as though it was out of his hands.
“Honestly, Kirin, you don’t even need me. The system is built, it works—”
“Lock,” counseled Kirin, placing his hand on Lock’s shoulder, “try not to think about it.”
“Perhaps I could—you could take me to visit her. You could blindfold me so I—”
“I can’t do that, Lock.”
Lock studied Kirin’s face closely but saw only the same vaguely condescending expression. “Or…is she back in India? You could fly me there?”
“Lock, please.”
Lock pursed his lips, no longer attempting to hide his frustration. He hadn’t fooled Kirin for a moment. He thought about how good it would feel to put his hands around Kirin’s throat and squeeze. But that wouldn’t help Sophie.
He took a breath and played his last card. “Okay, okay. Can I at least talk to her? Over the phone. Or video chat. See for myself, you know, as you said, that she’s in good hands?”
Kirin squeezed Lock’s shoulder. “That’s reasonable. Let me see what I can do.”
Lock had to resist pulling away. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome, Lock. See you tomorrow?”
Lock forced himself to smile. “Wouldn’t miss it.”
The Federal Reserve, Washington DC
Wednesday, May 2nd
7:45 a.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Michael Ryan’s black sedan pulled up to the guard station at the Twentieth Street entrance of the Federal Reserve building at precisely 7:15 in the morning, as it did nearly every weekday. The gate opened after a slight delay, and the sedan pulled up in the circular drive in front of the building. Ryan’s driver got out and came around the passenger side to open the back door. Ryan, a trim man who didn’t stand much higher than the sedan, mumbled a thank-you as he got out, briefcase in hand. He walked quickly to the smoked-glass doors, which, as always, struck him as distastefully out of place in the austere and regal setting. Once inside, he made his way around the scanners with a slight nod to a security guard. He started up the grand marble staircase in the center of the building, running with small, precise steps, the sound of his hard-soled shoes striking the stairs echoing in his wake. He walked down a marble hallway to a large and heavy wooden door, which had a brass-plated sign affixed to it that read “Chairman’s Office.” He pushed open the doors and made his way past two empty desks, which, presuming neither was sick or on vacation, his secretary and executive assistant would occupy by seven thirty. Finally, he reached the doors to his inner sanctum.
Ryan’s office was larger than a typical DC apartment, with walls of dark wood and marble along the back. Had he stopped at the window to enjoy the view, he would have been able to see the Lincoln Memorial to one side and the Washington Monument to the other. Instead, he sat down at an elegant wooden desk, pulling several folders from his briefcase and setting them on the burnished top. He patted his salt-and-pepper hair briefly, as though to make sure it was where he expected it to be, and logged in to this computer.
It was seven forty-five when Allen Lane, Ryan’s executive assistant, arrived, accompanied by Susan Court, the inspector general. They apologetically sat down and handed him yet another folder.
“Normally, Mr. Chairman…” Allen began before faltering.
“We wouldn’t bring something like this to you, Michael,” continued Susan. “Obviously.”
Ryan put on a of pair spectacles and began reading the contents of the folder.
“But given what happened yesterday…” added Allen.
“He’s either very lucky or…” mumbled Ryan, scanning the paper he held. The trio sat in silence while Ryan read through a second and third page. He looked up. “He’s predicting another sell-off today.”
“Yes. In the energy sector.”
He rolled his chair back from the desk and placing the folder against his chin. “All right. Let’s keep a close eye on the early action.” He paused, his eyes roving the expanse of his desk. “Susan,” he continued, looking up and removing his spectacles. “If this looks like it’s even close to accurate, set up an emergency teleconference with the G8 bankers. Bankers. Nobody else. Wait. Maybe it should be in person.” He paused again, his eyes searching. “In person. Not a call. Zurich is probably best. Damn it. I’ll have to fly out tonight.” Another pause. “Then set a cabinet meeting and make sure Honour is there.”
“And Brackenridge?” asked Susan.
“Good point. Financial terrorism. Honour and Brack can argue jurisdiction. Not my problem.”
“I’m assuming this is need-to-know,” said Susan.
“Obviously, yes.”
“So…your cover story? For Zurich?”
Michael raised his eyes to meet Susan’s. “Well, if this prediction turns out to be the least bit accurate, we’re staring at a complete meltdown. We’d be having a meeting anyway, just to deal with that.”
16
* * *
Nariman Point, Mumbai • Kapoor Financial Planning Ltd
Wednesday, May 2nd
8:30 p.m. IST (India Standard Time)
Swaran froze when he saw the name on his cell phone. “Good evening, Mr. Rathod,” he said, fumbling around for his handkerchief.
“It’s not a good evening at all.”
Swaran suddenly felt as though he’d swallowed a hummingbird. “But, sir. All the options I bought are in the money, are they not? In my message—”
“Of course, they’re in the money! These aren’t hunches, you idiot!”
“Of course, you’re right. What I meant was only—”
“What is the point of giving you ten grand if you’re not going to use it? You should be looking at a million dollars right now, not a measly one fifty!”
“I-I thought it was more prudent to start modestly.” Swaran felt like he needed to scratch itches on half his body at once.
“Prudence isn’t prudence when the game is rigged; it’s just stupid. You should not only be investing what is in the note but borrowing against the capital.”
“Oh, I don’t know if—”
“I do know, Swaran, that is the entire point! Leverage, man! I make more money and you make more money. Why wouldn’t you want that?”
“Of course, sir, I want to make more money. But there is no sure thing, isn’t that also true?”
“You’re not listening, Swaran. Perhaps you don’t have the stomach for this, after all. I’m about to send you another email. I want you to put the entire one fifty and change into play. If you do that, you should be sitting on fifteen million dollars worth of options by this time tomorrow. Your take on that is roughly one point five million dollars based on the terms in the note. Can you do that? Because if not, let’s just stop right here.”
Swaran gave up on finding his handkerchief and simply wiped his brow with his sleeve. Had he said one point five million dollars? Maybe he was looking at this all wrong. “I can do that, yes.”
“Very good. Because the stakes only go up from here. We’re just getting warmed up, Swaran. I’d hate for you to drop out before we even start making the real money.”
“Yes, sir,” agreed Swaran, but the line was dead.
East Detroit • The Lab
Wednesday, May 2nd
5:00 p.m. EDT (Eastern Daylight Time)
Lock marveled as he watched a crisply dressed, attractive Asian woman assess the damage he’d wrought. She was an anchor for CNN, and Sanjay had queued up the video on the large monitor.
“—in disarray as the energy sector was hit hard, with Exxon, Chevron, and Shell alone losing nearly five percent of their value. Today’s losses followed hard on the heels of yesterday’s massive collapse of the tech sector, which had begun to stabilize when today’s selling began. Analysts are scrambling to explain the cause of what is rapidly developing into a panic—”
Lock took a sip of his scotch and stepped up to Kirin’s side. He needed to keep the pressure on. If he could talk to Sophie, maybe he could extract some clue as to where she was being held. “Any word?” he said, speaking softly.
“Any word about what?” asked Kirin.
“About, you know, what we discussed. Last night.”
“Oh. Right. No. Not yet.”
Lock blinked slowly. “Are you even doing anything?” He regretted the aggressive tone immediately. He had to stay on Kirin’s good side.
“What do you mean?”
“Just…you said you’d set something up.”
“I said I’d look into it.”
Lock took another sip of his scotch, trying to buy himself a little time to think. He decided to try a different tact. “How much money do you think we just made?”
“We? None.”
Lock rolled his eyes. “C’mon, Kirin.” He patted Kirin on the back. “Don’t be difficult. You know what I mean.”
Kirin frowned and looked at him askance. “Stop prying, Lock. I can’t tell you anything more than I already have.”
Lock felt his insides going dead. He was getting nowhere. Kirin and he weren’t going to be buddies. He heard himself speaking. “Here’s something I don’t know. I don’t know whether my fucking daughter is alive.”
“Keep your voice down.” Kirin guided Lock away from the desks where Raj and Sanjay were rapt in attention to the newscast. “I think you should not lose sight of your situation.”
Lock was committed now. There was no longer any plan. He felt his nerves twitching and took another swig of scotch. “Let me put it to you this way, Kirin.” He paused and took a deep breath.
“Be careful, Lock.”
With another deep breath, he forged on: “I haven’t forgotten about my situation, not for one second. But if I don’t get some assurances that she’s alive, I’m going to have to assume she’s dead. And then, all bets are off. Do you think I’m afraid of you? Or your thugs? Or going back to jail? None of that matters to me, Kirin. Not anymore. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Kirin stared at him for a moment. He spoke slowly. “I said I’m working on it. Until then, you’ll have to take my word for it.”
Lock stepped closer to Kirin, so that they were nearly touching. Kirin frowned, but didn’t move. “You’ve lied to me from the start, Kirin. Why—”
“Have I?”
“—should I believe anything you say?”
“Because you can’t afford not to.”
“No, Kirin. That’s not good enough. I’ve done my job. I’ve done what you asked. I need something from you. Clear evidence that she’s alive. Which, by the way, you’ve already agreed to provide me.”
Kirin took a step back. “Fine, Lock.” He smiled. “You’re right. It’s not too much to ask. We’ll set something up.”
“Tomorrow. I want to see her tomorrow.”
“I’ll do my best. But it will have to be video chat. Best I can do.”
Lock felt his fists balling up and his jaw clench. “Don’t test me, Kirin. I’ll bring this whole operation down.”
Kirin laughed again. “Lock, please. You’re being melodramatic. Give me till Friday.”
Lock shook his head but looked away into the gloom of the far corners of the warehouse. He looked back at Kirin. “Friday, then. Video chat.”
Kirin nodded and headed toward the exit, extending a hand casually in the air. “Good night. See you tomorrow, bright and early.”
After the door had closed behind him, Raj approached him, holding the nearly empty bottle of scotch. Without a word, he took Lock’s glass and refilled it.
Lock met Raj’s eyes. “Thanks,” he said and, tilting back his head, drained the glass.
Chinese Garden, Singapore
Thursday, May 3rd
5:30 a.m. SGT (Singapore Time)
Katya took her usual place on the bridge next to Haruo. It was another cool morning, and she wore a black workout top and sipped water from her Camelback. “Good morning, Haruo.”
Haruo wore a cream-colored button-down sweater and stared impassively out at the lake. He was the retiree going for a morning stroll to her yuppie jogger. “Good morning, Katya.”
Haruo had sent her a message yesterday instructing her to resume their usual meetings. She wondered if perhaps he had some news from Langley. She hadn’t heard anything, and there was no reason why administrative information couldn’t just be sent via email.
