His contact nodded his head as he looked out over the East River. “Of the entire operation, I think the financial aspect has been most underappreciated. The cascading effect of having the markets crash and the news of the transfer of money to a terrorist account has been remarkable. The crash is mainly due to an algorithm we had introduced to the New York and London stock exchanges. It cost a fortune to have the hacker create the algorithm and then insert it into the systems so computer trading started selling at an exponential rate, but it was worth every penny.”
Katazin said, “I’m not entirely happy with our partners in this endeavor.”
“The Islamic extremists concern you? They concern everyone. But the Americans and Europeans seem to focus on them more than anyone. By promoting these lone wolf attacks we are essentially playing on Western fears. It costs us nothing and completely diverts the West’s attention from our military ambitions in the East. Once we feel the protests and the terror attacks have wreaked enough havoc in the West, our military will cross the Narva River into Estonia, and no one will lift a finger. By the time anyone realizes we have occupied another country, it will be far too late to take action.”
“So you’re not concerned that the Muslims could turn on us?”
“Of course the Muslims will turn on us. But probably not for a while. At least this way we get some use out of them before they turn their wrath on us. Keep doing what you’re doing, and I will be available if anything serious occurs.”
Katazin just nodded as he stood up from the bench and casually headed to the walkway that led up toward the FDR.
Mike Rosenberg continued to watch the news in amazement as the violence across the country seemed to grow by the minute. It was early evening in Europe, and they were having issues as well. The New York Stock Exchange had stopped computer trading, and the word “crash” was being spewed by every financial nerd the networks could round up.
He really wanted to call Derek Walsh to see if he could get an inside scoop, but he recognized Thomas Brothers had so many employees, his friend probably didn’t even know who was involved. He could picture Walsh saying, “I don’t know shit.” Rosenberg would reply, “As usual.” Just the idea of the conversation made him laugh out loud. He missed his friends. Especially Ron Jackson.
After a few minutes, he decided he’d call Bill Shepherd. Maybe he could shed some light on what was going on.
8
Derek Walsh was hungry but didn’t want to admit it to either of the FBI agents in the small interview room. Frank Martin had barely spoken since they sat down, and Tonya Stratford had come and gone from the room four times and was now working on some notes she had scribbled down on her legal pad. There was a light knock on the door, and a young woman opened it tentatively. She stepped over to Tonya and whispered something in her ear as she handed her a plastic bag. Walsh could see that it was an evidence bag containing his security plug.
Tonya looked up and said, “You can’t remember using this plug since last week?”
“I did not use it. I can specifically remember not using it. You can check my computer log, and it will show you all the transactions I’ve made. The last thing I did with it was check an escrow account.”
“You do realize we’re not some local sheriff’s office. We seized your computer and have been searching the entire network at Thomas Brothers. To say they are unhappy with you would be a monumental understatement.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong.”
“Regardless, the stock market has reacted to the news of the loss, and markets around the world are plunging. It looks like you’re responsible for the biggest single loss in the history of finance. At least that’s something you can hang your hat on.”
Walsh tried to fathom that. Something was going on that was bigger than a few trades. He could feel it. The idea of a conspiracy came into his head. He looked at the two FBI agents. Were they a part of it? Told to make an arrest no matter what? He started considering his options.
They had uncuffed him earlier when Martin had no interest in helping him go to the bathroom. No one had bothered to secure his hands again, so now he let his head drop into them.
Tonya said, “So where do you usually carry the plug?”
He lifted his hands, incensed that it felt like she was listening to the story for the first time. “Usually in a coat pocket, but occasionally I hang it around my neck like a necklace.”
“But you don’t remember handling the plug? Taking it out of its sleeve?”
“I don’t think so.”
“Do you use gloves when you handle the plug?”
“Of course not.” Then he thought to ask, “Why?”
“Because a cursory check found no fingerprints of any kind on the plug. It looked like someone had wiped it clean. Even if it’d been in your coat pocket, in its plastic sleeve, there would be fragments of a print somewhere on the plug.”
Walsh wasn’t sure if that helped him or hurt him.
Agent Stratford’s partner spoke up. “This is bullshit. All a smoke screen. He made the trades, and he thinks we’re stupid enough to believe anything he shows us. We can see photos from that plug all day long, but they don’t mean squat. This son of a bitch can make it look like he wasn’t involved, but he had to be. That’s all we need for now. We need an arrest first, then we can figure out what was done. Let’s just book this asshole and be on our way.”
Agent Stratford eyed her partner but didn’t say anything.
Walsh could see she agreed, at least partly, with her partner. Now he needed to ask for an attorney. It was past the point of what it cost or if it made him look guilty. He was about to be railroaded. The only problem was that a lawyer wouldn’t stop that. It sounded like Walsh was going to jail no matter what happened. He was starting to get the sense that this was a well-orchestrated plot. He didn’t want to use the word, “conspiracy,” but it seemed to fit.
There was a surge of noise outside, and he heard glass shattering. The door burst open, and a young uniformed patrolman shouted, “Everyone to the other end of the building. We can no longer maintain security here.”
Walsh offered no resistance. He followed Agent Stratford out the door and down the crowded hallway, with Agent Martin directly behind him. In the rear of the building he could hear shouting and more glass breaking. In the distance, outside the building, he heard the clear sound of gunfire.
Did people really think this was his fault? He needed to do something. Anything.
Fannie Legat had used some of the money she was moving around to rent a hotel room four blocks from the Swiss Credit and Finance building on Bundesstrasse in Bern, Switzerland. The ornate building with carved columns and decorative windows had stood for more than 120 years as a testament to the Swiss commitment to banking. It was a major player in international finance, just like Thomas Brothers in New York. This particular office was open twenty-four hours a day to stand as a link between the major financial markets from Tokyo to New York. This was one of the hubs of the financial world, rivaling Credit Suisse.
The room was clean and adequate but certainly not luxurious. The small cell phone that sat on the table before her had a number entered and was merely waiting for someone to send it. That signal would travel to a somewhat complex explosive device, or more accurately devices, located throughout the first and second floors of the building. It had cost $2.3 million to bribe the contractor to hire four Brothers of Islam for a major remodeling job. One, a graduate of Cambridge, with a degree in engineering, had carefully placed sizable chunks of C-4 in the support columns across the entire building. They were also wrapped around key energy components of the building, and the engineer had assured Fannie that the resulting explosion would not only be spectacular but would bring the entire building down upon itself.