The Last Hedge (34 page)

“There it is.”

The screen quickly began to fill simultaneously as the orders began to scroll by

“This is fantastic!” Stewart said. “There are thousands of orders! If you had this software, you could make a fortune.”

“I know that. That's why it's illegal. Do you have a way to capture the output?”

“I'll turn on the screen scraper.”

Stewart clicked a button that would capture all the trades on the screen into a text file. They would then be able to download them and analyze them.

“Let it run for a few minutes.”

Dylan nervously turned back towards his Bloomberg monitor. The Dow was now down 600 points. Dylan emptied the text file that the screen scraping software had produced in Excel. There were over one thousand trades that had occurred in the last five minutes. Dylan sorted the transactions by the highest to lowest quantity of trades.

The bulk of the trades belonged to three counterparties. Some of the names were readable; others were still in their mnemonic form. Dylan trolled down the list slowly. He deleted the names that he recognized as legitimate firms.before honing in on his target

“You recognized that list of mnemonics. How did you do that?”

“It’s a gift.”

Dylan isolated the trades that were mostly likely fraudulent into four distinct firms, and sorted them separately.

“Now what?” Stewart asked.

“I’m not sure.”

Dylan began to scroll through the list of trades. Nothing seemed amiss. The trades were in large lot sizes of hundreds or thousands:
Standard
. All were, except the trades from one firm. Those were in a sequence that he easily recognized: 144,233,610,987. Dylan stopped scrolling and peeled his eyes even closer to the screen.

“Why did you stop there?”

“Look at that series of trades: It’s a perfect Fibonacci sequence.”

“How did it get there?”

“I know exactly how it got there, and the person whot put it there.”

Dylan then looked at the mnemonic and closed his eyes and thought. He recognized it as a tiny broker dealer who was barely on the brink of existence.

“
Mnemonic 5216
. Stewart, Can you Google ‘Schafer Capital’?.”

“Of course,” Stewart said, as he began to type. “It’s in Englewood, New Jersey.”

“How far is that from here?”

“Twenty minutes.”

“Is your car downstairs?”

“Of course.”

“Let’s go.”

Dylan and Stewart took Route 4 in New Jersey towards Englewood Cliffs. The cloudless sky gave them no idea of what was ahead, and Stewart drove silently as he approached their destination. Dylan was not very familiar with this part of New Jersey, but the limo’s global positioning system efficiently guided them towards their target.

He had called Vanessa from his cell phone. Shaffer Capital was not one of the firms that the FBI was intending to raid that day. He had informed her of his destination, and Vanessa warned Dylan to not get involved. He immediately hung up the phone.

As Stewart drove through the gates of the industrial office park, a series of large buildings were arranged like dominoes.

“Which one?”

“I think it’s the one on the end.”

“Are you sure?”

“It’s what the computer says.” Just for fun,” he added, “and computers don’t lie, right?”

Stewart stopped the car fifty yards short of the door and turned off the ignition.

“What exactly is your plan?”

“I don’t have one,” Dylan said. “Do you have a gun?”

“Do I look like a guy who carries a gun?”

“Guess not. But I bet you have a light saber in the trunk.”

“How did you know?”

“Wait here. If I’m not back in twenty minutes, well …”

“I know: Call.”

Dylan got out of the car and headed towards the building. It was a one story roach-motel of a building. For a broker dealer who was executing millions of dollars in bets against the S&P, the building was surprising desolate. No cars were in the parking lot. Dylan wandered up to the vestibule of the building, and it was dark. The outer door was open and Dylan stepped inside. A short corridor led to another door, and Dylan approached it cautiously. The door was locked. Dylan examined the lock. It was of the cheaper household variety.

Then, the alarm went off.

“Shit!”

Dylan ran back towards the parking lot. Two men were running towards him. He could see Stewart’s car driving away in the distance. Dylan held up his hands.

“You looking for something?”

“Home Depot.”

Dylan could see the two of them reaching for their weapons. They yelled back at him as they rose into firing position. Then guards grabbed him, and soon had him in a painful full-nelson. The guard who had Dylan in a headlock began to edge slowly forward as they entered the building. Dylan could see in the distance three men walking towards them.

“Save me Harry Potter,” Dylan said slowly, as the men drew closer.

From the way the three men walked, it was clear who was boss. The man in the center was wearing a commando suit, all black. The two men flanking him were in camouflage, with walkie-talkies in their hands. They were enforcers, plain and simple. They walked briskly as they got closer. The man in the middle was the first to extend his hand. Dylan couldn’t shake it, as his hands were bound by the two goons.

“McGarity.”

Vanessa’s car was racing through New Jersey, across the Pulaski skyway towards lower Manhattan. In her gut, she had a feeling of trepidation. Something about her brief cell phone conversation with Dylan told her that he was right, and it was not a good feeling. The FBI’s discovery had seemed too obvious, too calculated. Perhaps it was something in Dylan’s voice, the icy logic of his knowledge that made her stop and turn the car around. If she was going to go down, it was going to be with him.

When Vanessa arrived at the industrial office park, an hour had passed since her last conversation with Dylan. She removed a backpack from the trunk and checked her weapon. When she saw that all was good, she headed towards the building door.

Dylan had been dragged down a lengthy corridor into a large open area. He looked around. He could see a host of people, buzzing with activity. Whatever had once existed of Shaffer Capital had been gutted. Several banks of computers had been set up, and several people were huddled around screens. A large plasma screen displayed the financial news from around the world. Dylan could tell from the setup that it was a makeshift trading floor. Technicians were boxing some of the equipment as if the shop were about to close. McGarity turned and smiled at Dylan.

“Welcome to my hedge fund. We were expecting you. Fortunately, the fund is closed to new investors, as we weed out the dead weight, such as you.”

“I came to find my friend.”

“Ah, yes; your clever little friend.” McGarity said. “He tried to run, but he couldn’t get far.”

“Where is he?” Dylan asked.

“Do you want to see your friend?” Dylan said nothing.

McGarity gestured towards some of his minions.

“Bring him out.”

They wheeled Binky out from an area behind a large moving crate. His lifeless and inert body was slumped in a wheelchair. The only sign that he was still alive was the loudness of his breathing.

“Binky!” Dylan said, as he struggled to break free. The guards were much too strong.

McGarity laughed. “He should be the least of your concerns. He’s sedated. It will wear off soon. Of course, perhaps it would be better if he didn’t …”

“Why Binky? He’s not like Ray.”

“Ray Corbin was a government tool. We thought that he could help us attract and maintain large sums of money. Of course, the great Ray Corbin managed to lose most of our money, spoiling our operation, and our connections.”

McGarity then pointed to a group of figures seated at several of the computers. “When your friend ascertained the situation, he was able to scramble our trades and bank accounts beyond recognition. After we tracked him down, we had to call in some of the best minds in the hacker world to figure out what he had done. We would have killed him a long time ago, but we kept him around as insurance. Now that our data is safe and he was able to configure your system for us, it’s time for him to die also.”

“Listen, nothing has to happen. Just let me wheel him out of here, and you can fly off into the sunset. We can forget this ever happened.”

“That is not possible.”

“I didn’t think so, but I thought I’d test a trial balloon.”

Josh and Highland suddenly appeared. Dylan’s eyes were bigger than saucers.

“You gave it a good try, Dylan. It was a noble effort.” Highland said.

Josh stepped forward, several feet from Dylan’s face.

“And your software worked perfectly. You should win an award … in the next life.”

“You?” Dylan said.

“Hello, Dylan,” Highland said. “Didn’t ever think we’d have face time together again.”

“The Teaneck raid was faked, wasn’t it?”

“One hundred percent. And once the loop was closed, when we met at the gallery, I decided it was time to cut my losses. There was simply too big a chance that I might end up like Ray.”

“So that’s why you had us testing our system. You helped them appropriate my code, and my system.”

“Something like that,” Highland said.

“Geniuses,” Dylan said. “You two should be in the White House. Was this your idea of revenge? Teaming up with the people who might have killed your brother?”

“Jonathan Kay killed my brother.”

“Funny, that’s not the way I heard it.” Dylan could see anger flash across Josh’s face.

“Will someone please deal with him,” Josh asked.

“Sure, Josh,” Highland said, as he walked over to Dylan, smiled at him slightly, then spit in his face.

“I’d try a new toothpaste, if I were you: Garlic flavor doesn’t work so well.” Highland stepped forward and patted him on the shoulder.

“You should feel proud of yourself, Dylan. You figured out something that the FBI couldn’t. You’re still going to die, but perhaps you’ll die with a sense of achievement. Right now, Conroy and half the Eastern District are on wild goose chases that don’t even exist. They are out looking for terrorists in all the wrong places. And we are on our way to Europe with 600 million dollars in profits.”

“I have to admit,” Dylan said. “This is good. Real good.”

“I’m glad you’re impressed. From a sharp fellow like you, that actually means something.”

“McGarity,” Highland said, “I called the plane. The aircraft is ready.”

“Good,” McGarity said. “But it looks like there’s going to be time for some fun. We have company.” McGarity pointed to an electronic surveillance camera that had captured an image of Vanessa.

“Remmerling,” Highland snarled.

“You’re a good recruiter, Dan. Glad to have you on the team.” McGarity turned towards one of the goons. “Turn out the lights and lock the door. Gary, go out and find her and send her my love.”

The goon picked up his weapon and headed for the open corridor.

Vanessa heard the electronic lock click behind her. The lights in the corridor also began to dim. She ducked into a small room next to the door. From inside, she removed a pair of infra-red goggles and put them on. She placed her backpack back on her shoulder. and then carefully began to make her way down the corridor.

The corridor was long, with small rooms off to each side. Vanessa proceeded slowly and carefully. After fifty yards or so she froze. She could see a figure moving towards her, a hundred yards or so in the distance. Vanessa stood silent, then ducked into the nearest doorway.

Her heart was beating wildly. She had discharged her weapon that night at her apartment, and that had been the only time in five years at the FBI. The thought of killing someone made her sick to her stomach. She would give this person a chance before she used lethal force. She gathered herself, raised her weapon, and carefully pointed it out into the corridor.

“Freeze!” She shouted.

The gunman had not been ready. By the time he raised his weapon, Vanessa had already fired twice. His fell instantly. His shots braised the doorway behind where she had stood.

The man was down, and Vanessa did not bother to check his body. She made her way along the dark corridor until she came to the door from which the man had emerged. She made her way to her right, and immediately found another door that was locked. She removed her Swiss army knife from her pocket and quickly jammed it into the lock's cylinder. One quick hard turn of the wrist and the lock gave way. She shut the door behind her after she had scanned the corridor for other gunmen.

Whoever had converted the warehouse to offices had done a poor job. Vanessa found herself walking in an area that still very much resembled a factory. The ground beneath her feet was gravel. The walls still consisted of wood beams and plaster, and above her head a crust of insulation was falling. She proceeded cautiously, and even with her goggles, the path ahead was dark. She took out her listening device and began to scan for sound. The device took her towards the Northeast corridor of the building. Her weapon was ready in case of a “misunderstanding”.

Soon, she found herself staring at the side of a large wall. She scanned it up and down. She placed her listening device against the wall. The vibrating sound emitted seemed to indicate voices on the other side. Vanessa placed her ear against the wall. She thought she heard sounds, though she was not completely clear that they were the human voices. She knew, however, that there was no time for uncertainty. She was going to have to make a quick decision and follow through with it. Time was of the essence, and there was no time to waste.

The construction in this part of the building was just as poor as the rest. Though new, the walls were worn, and much in need of repair. Holes were in the walls, from the top on down. There were slot-like openings for electrical wires and ventilation. The work on the HVAC system had yet to be completed, not to mention the electrical work. Vanessa looked around her. Vestiges of construction were scattered all around her. She found a chair sitting a few feet away, and hauled it towards the wall. She then stood on top of the chair and began inspecting the ventilation duct.