The Last Hedge (20 page)

“How did you find this out?”

“I went to Thompson himself. He gave me the lowdown.”

“Any idea what they’re looking for?”

Highland hunched his shoulders and wrinkled his mouth. “They really didn’t get into it with me. After all, I’m a peon to them.”

“Wow,” Conroy said, throwing his hands into the air. “What the hell do you think is going on, Dan? If this guy is investing money with Ray Corbin, he’s probably not some run of the mill terror suspect. Something must be up.”

“What’s your line of reasoning?”

“He’s a terrorist investing in a hedge fund? Not your typical Jihadist.”

“True, buy who says he’s a terrorist?”

“True, but what else would he be?”

“Timmy, he could be a lot of things: money launderer, RICO, smuggling…You’re making some assumptions. Just because this guy’s name turns up in a file, doesn’t mean he’s an investor. It also doesn’t mean he’s done anything wrong.”

“Dan, we think we have a set of cooked books.”

“Do we? Maybe Cash was a dead-end.”

“What about your informant?”

“Folded like a house of cards.”

“Maybe Cash is your ace in the hole; he did get us the list.”

“I get your point, Timmy, but let’s see it before we become judge, jury, and executioner. And that leads to thing number two: Thompson wants you off the Corbin investigation.”

“Why? I just started.”

“Like I said, Timmy, they collect details, they don’t give them out. Maybe Fazziz has been on their radar for a while, but in the last year the trail has gone cold. This thing with the Corbin brothers may heat up the trail again.”

“But all I found was a name in the file. Do they even know if he’s in the country?”

“They didn’t tell me, either way. I guess now Thompson will put some resources into finding him, or at least trying to find him.”

“But that means we’re out?”

“For the time being, yes.” Conroy threw up his hands in the air. Highland sensed his displaced energy, and sought to cut him off at the pass. Highland laughed. “Timmy, if you mess up a homeland security case over naked short selling, Thompson will chop your spine off!”

“Come on, Dan. That’s not what I meant. Besides, we never found the naked short selling.”

“Did you look hard enough?”

“I think we did. He also came in and spoke to us.”

“So what? I looked at Dylan Cash’s file. Timmy, we both know, where there is smoke, there’s usually fire. We don’t know what this guy’s angle is.”

“Dan, that’s my point. Let’s give it more time.”

“I can’t, Timmy. We have to shut it down for the time being.”

“Is there anything I can do to convince you otherwise?”

“No. You have to stand down on this one. I don’t have the juice to go up against Thompson on a speculative short sale case.”

“I got it.”

Both men paused to regain their bearings. Highland was the first to break the ice. “So what else is new?”

“Nothing but the rent.”

Conroy was in mid-sentence when Vanessa popped her head through a slightly opened door.

“Oh,” she said, as she realized that Conroy had company. “Sorry to interrupt.”

“Come on in,” Highland said, “We were just shooting the shit.”

“I hope you killed it.”

“I was just leaving,” Highland said as he got up from his chair. He stopped at the door before he exited. “Timmy, good luck in the pool.”

“You too, Dan.” Highland exited, closing the door behind him. Conroy cleared his throat before addressing Vanessa.

“You sure know how to clear a room.”

“That was nothing. You should have seen me in college.”

“Yeah, well, Dan delivered some bad news. He’s pulling us off of Corbin Brothers.”

“Really? What’s up?”

“Apparently, Homeland Security is looking at this guy Fazziz. Thompson tabled our operation in order for them to do their own thing.”

“This sounds really odd.”

“I know. Tell me about it.”

Conroy picked up a plastic basketball and began to bounce it off the wall.

“The funny thing is, Dan was acting strangely, as if there was something he wasn’t saying; like he was nervous for some reason.”

“Why would he be nervous?”

“Some people don’t lie well.”

“You think Dan is lying?”

“I didn’t say that.”

“You implied it. You don’t think the Homeland Security thing is real?”

“There’s no way of telling. But why would Dan lie?”

“Every reason under the sun. Is there any way you could find out what Thompson told him?”

“I can’t ask Thompson if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“I know that, but I was just wondering if there was another way.”

“Not that I can think of procedurally.” A brief silence ensued. Vanessa stood up as she looked at the door.

“What would you say if I told you maybe I could find out something on this Fazziz guy?”

“I would say you’re crazy. Then I’d ask how.”

“I know someone.”

“Like who? Colin Powell?” “It’s a little off the beaten track.”

“How far off the beaten track?”

“I have a contact here in New York.”

“Who is he?”

“He’s very well-connected. He and I, from time to time, have shared information.”

“A little
quid pro quo
?”

“It’s … something like that. I’ve helped him out a few times, I think he owes me one.”

“NSA?”

“Don’t even ask.”

“Where is he now?”

“He’s at Columbia, studying as a grad student in Arabic studies.”

Conroy smirked. “Conspicuous.”

“If you want to know the answer, he can probably help us.”

Conroy looked down at his desk for a moment, then picked up the paper with Fazziz’s name on it.

“Second guessing your boss is usually a bad career move.”

“Why?” Vanessa asked, a devilish grin plastered on her lips. “I do it all the time.”

“Okay, wise guy, see what you can find out. But keep a lid on it. This is strictly between you, me, and your friend.”

The underground club in the East Village was packed. Young trend-setters and scantily clad women were rocking in the tunes. Dylan had skyped Adam earlier that afternoon, and Adam had instructed him to meet him at this club. Hip-hop was blaring on the club’s hi-fi system. Dylan had felt foolish standing on line with a group of hipsters at least ten years his junior. Once inside, he had made his way to the bar and ordered a gin and tonic.

He looked around the club and suddenly felt old, standing near the bar with a bunch of hipsters at least ten years his junior. He had not been to a place like this in years, and could honestly say that he did not miss it. The mixture of youth and alcohol was already boring him, and he was already feeling anachronistic for having appeared in such a placed. He returned to his gin and tonic. After a few minutes, Dylan spotted Adam as he walked through the door.

Dylan spotted him easily. As he moved steadily through the crowd; the green army jacket was what gave him away. Adam was moving faster than Dylan expected, forcing himself noticeably through the crowd that had quickly thickened. Adam was fast-approaching. He grabbed Dylan by the lapels in lieu of a greeting.

“Look!” Adam said as he grabbed Dylan’s lapels. “I can’t stay here! I have to go!” Adam’s was winded as if he had been running. His labored breath was heavy and thick.

“Where are you going?” Dylan asked

“I’m being followed! I have to go!”

“Adam! Wait, you were right about 8/6! I needed to tell you that.”

“No time. You need to find the laptop!” Adam pushed himself away from Dylan and made his way towards the rear of the club.

“Wait!” Dylan said. Adam pushed himself away and headed towards the rear of the club. Dylan then noticed the group of three men pushing their way through the club.

They were shoving and pushing their way to the crowd with no abandon. They were dressed in suits, without ties, businessmen
sans
pleasure on a pursuit with no abandon. They looked to be in there forties and fifties, Dylan watched them as they pushed in the same direction as Adam and shuffled past. Half out fear, he turned his face towards the bar as they made their way past him.

Dylan turned and looked back at the jubilant crowd and pulsating music. In the packed density of the youthful bacchanal, no one had noticed either Adam or the men. Dylan put his drink down on the bar and began walking in the path that Adam and the men following him had gone.

Dylan exited through the double doors that led towards the rear of the club. He was walking down a white corridor past the kitchen, a menagerie spectacle of two hundred dollar champagne bottles and microwave chicken fingers. The staff was in constant motion and did not even noticed as he traipsed through their kitchen. Dylan saw none of the men in sight. Dylan exited the kitchen that led onto an alley.

The alley was pitch dark, yet Dylan could see the men holding Adam at the far end of the alley. A car door was open and the men were dragging Adam towards it. Dylan had walked closer to survey the situation, when one of the men flashed a light in his direction, the halogen beam pointed directly at him. When the light reached his face, Dylan turned and began to run.

“You stop!” Dylan heard the scream and continued to run. In a brief glint over his shoulder, Dylan imagined that one of the men was following him, though he could not be sure. He continued all out until he had reached the end of the alley, and soon he was on the avenue, bright and sunny amidst the Saturday night crowd. He checked behind him and no one was following. He ran across the street and hailed a cab.

Highland's blue rental car stood in the airport kiss and ride a little over a mile from the airport, and he sat there anxiously, windows down, puffing on a Camel cigarette that he had found in his briefcase. After just a few puffs, he found himself soothed from the high of the nicotine charge, even though he had not smoked in months. After being summonsed to Miami on little over three hours notice, smoking a few cigarettes was the least of his problems.

Highland glanced down at the black-faced Omega strapped to his wrist. It was just after 9 p.m, and the deep summer blue of the Miami skyline had just began to fade. He had been told that wheels-down time was 9:15. When the text message arrived, he got in the car, turned on the ignition, and sped quickly out of the parking lot.

Highland wasn't used to being given these types of orders on short-notice. It was a lot of work for a brief meeting, and if he missed his flight, he would be stuck in Miami overnight. His thoughts were heavy as he drove the short distance towards the alternate runway where the private jets often landed. He had told his wife Jenny that he was working late on a case, and that he might not make it home until morning. He hoped to be on a flight a little more than two hours later. Highland felt so lucky that she rarely asked questions about the nature of his work.

As he drove through the gates, he could see the large white aircraft gleaming in the distance. It pulled close enough to the read the number on the tail. It was the one he was looking for. He removed his BlackBerry from his jacket. He had been instructed to blink his lights twice when he saw the aircraft. He did so. Seconds later, a text message arrived on his phone:

PARK CAR. ENTER AIRCRAFT.

Highland soon got out of the car, and walked towards the plane.

A man was waiting at the bottom of the aircraft as Highland approached. He hesitated for a moment, until the man nodded. He walked up the stairs, and the man followed him up and closed the aircraft doors behind him.

Onboard, Highland could see Jonathan Kay seated behind a table, just inside the forward cabin of the aircraft. The aircraft was configured like a typical private jet: spacious leather chairs, a lounge-type area with a bar, and a flat-panel screens on various walls. It was all very pleasant, like a Hilton with wings. Jonathan was dressed in his usual Sunday best: a dark blue suit and Fedora. Highland walked towards him and Jonathan stood up. Jonathan quickly embraced Highland in a bear hug.

“Well, well,” Jonathan said as he greeted Highland. “It’s ‘Dan the Man’.”

“Jonathan, it’s been a long time,” Highland said.

Highland looked Dan over, remembering the names, places and faces of both the living and the dead:
Afghanistan, Kuwait, Iraq, Martins, Kelly, Stevens
… Highland smiled sadly as he did the same:
Yemen, Mogadishu, Syria
… They were older now, and certainly more wary, but they were still brothers united for the common cause.

“Remember that night in the Kuwait.”

“How could I forget? It was a hundred and thirty degrees at night. The devil had a choice between spending the summer in hell or Kuwait. He decided to stay in hell and rent out Kuwait.”

“I thought we were going to die that day. First time I ever slaughtered meat.”

“Only food we had. And we’re sitting there, roasting that pig, you must have been taking a leak … Next thing you know, we looked up in the night sky, all of a sudden, and there was the fucking space shuttle flying through the night.”

“Yeah, and with all those fires burning and missiles dropping, it must have looked like the devils birthday.”

“Yeah, and we gave him a hell of a present that day.” Both men took stock of their reminiscences, as they sat down across the table from one another.

“First time I’ve been on American soil in over two years.”

“Do you miss it?”

“Of course I miss it. America is my home. It’s why we do what we do. ”

“I know it is,” Highland said with a smile.

“You want a drink?” Jonathan asked.

“Certainly.” A male flight attendant came and served them both drinks. Highland ordered a Scotch neat. Jonathan had a bourbon.

Highland took Jonathan in. Though he was a bit heavier, he had hardly changed since their first encounter on a desert airstrip in a distant land so many years ago. They were both soldiers then, mercenaries of the system, caught between battles in a land far from home. They were still soldiers now, though the battles had changed. Private jets and private banks fueled the wars of the new age.