“Lehman Brothers, Beeston…,” Naomi went on, her eyes locked on his shifting gaze. “Wertheimer Grant.”
The Saudi’s complexion grew pale.
“If you don’t mind me asking, was Mr. Hassani some kind of partner in your firm, Mr. al-Bashir? Or one of the lead investors?”
“You seem to know very well who the partners are in my firm, Ms. Blum,” the Saudi reacted with irritation.
“Just to be clear, sir, it’s Agent Blum.” She stared at him and continued. “But he was someone from whom you took investment advice?”
“No, I wouldn’t say that. We were just two people discussing their views.”
“Yet you immediately altered course after that conversation. Why?”
“I think this has gone far enough, Agent Blum. I suggest this may be something you would want to take up with our attorneys, if you’re alleging there is something I’ve done wrong. Whatever it is you are trying to prove, it’s not for this location or this time. I think your five minutes are up.”
“I’m pretty sure this is something you would definitely not want me to run by your attorneys, Mr. al-Bashir. Do the names Marc Glassman and James Donovan mean anything to you?”
The Saudi blinked, now seeing where the conversation was leading. “I believe they were those two financial traders who died suddenly in the U.S. One was a home break-in. The other a suicide…”
“That’s correct, Mr. al-Bashir,” Naomi said, “except for one thing. There was no suicide. Mr. Hauck here has proved that. Both were murdered.”
“I didn’t know that,” the Saudi said. He glanced uneasily at Hauck, concerned about where this was going.
Naomi pressed on. “That sudden shift in strategy certainly changed the price of a lot of stocks, didn’t it, Mr. al-Bashir?”
He shrugged. “Anyone could see the financials were ready for a tumble. We were simply early on that one.”
“Yes, they did tumble, didn’t they, sir? Royal Saudi is one of the largest players in the market. Its support or withdrawal can move an entire sector, can it not? As it did.”
“I think the verdict is already in on that one, Agent Blum. But I still don’t know where you’re going-”
“Where I’m going, Mr. al-Bashir”-Naomi’s gray eyes fastened on him-“where the U.S. government is going, is that shortly after that shift in strategy, after their firms’ stocks had already been cut by more than two-thirds in the past year, Mr. Glassman and Mr. Donovan were both murdered. After their deaths it was discovered each secretly had lost billions in trading and concealed those results from their firms, making their companies’ balance sheets all the more fragile. These were considered the last straws, so to speak, in driving these firms into insolvency, correct?”
Al-Bashir nodded blankly.
“Dragging down the rest of the market, wouldn’t you say? Like a chain of dominoes.”
“Along with several other causes,” al-Bashir replied. “You have heard the words ‘subprime mortgage mess’ at Treasury, haven’t you? Or ‘credit-default swaps’? Or maybe, ‘reckless’?”
“Yes, they’ve come up. What if I could make the case, Mr. al-Bashir, that both Mr. Glassman and Mr. Donovan had been receiving substantial outside payments to commit such actions? And that those payments could be tied directly to Mr. Hassani? And, through another of his associates, tied to their murders as well?”
Al-Bashir’s face knotted tighter. He put his glasses back on, his face pale. “I’m going to walk away now, Agent Blum. I think I’ve had enough of this.”
“Before you do,” Naomi said, “two more quick things. One, does the name Dani Thibault ring a bell with you?”
The Saudi blinked. Hauck kept his gaze on him, measuring his reaction.
Clearly, it did.
“And the second…” Naomi squinted. “If you don’t mind answering, sir, just what did it mean, the parting phrase of your conversation with Mr. Hassani: ‘The planes are in the air’?”
CHAPTER SIXTY-SEVEN
All at once, the defiance in Marty al-Bashir’s face seemed to drain. The Saudi blinked, removed his glasses again. Trying to gather his composure. “What?”
Naomi had sucked him along like an expert prosecutor. Like a barracuda, Hauck thought with admiration, fixed on her prey. Hauck had seen this moment many times. The most hardened deniers begin to crack. Seemingly calm outside, but inside their brains revved frantically, trying to decide what to do. He couldn’t have done it better himself.
“I think you heard me, Mr. al-Bashir.” Naomi continued to gaze at him, knowing she had set him back. “What did it mean when Mr. Hassani said to you, ‘The planes are in the air’?”
“It meant nothing.” The Saudi cleared his throat and glared at her. He was an investment manager, hardly used to having to defend himself this way. “It was simply a phrase. A business conversation between two professionals. Mr. Hassani is a well-known figure. He has facilitated a mezzanine financing tier for Reynolds Reid with the Bahraini royal family, for God’s sake.”
“Then it shouldn’t be an issue to you if I share the transcript of that phone conversation with your employers, the Saudi royal family,” Naomi said, sensing the kill.
“Look…” The young investment manager shook his head, seeing the arc of his life falling apart.
“Your career is over, Mr. al-Bashir. You conspired with a person who has known terrorist ties to defraud the already shaky world financial markets. You’ve made billions of dollars illegally. Investment managers were lured to commit financial fraud against their banks and take those firms over the edge. At best, it’s a conspiracy to manipulate the markets. At worst, it’s an act of terrorism, adjudicable under Homeland Security laws. Regardless, Mr. al-Bashir, when do you think is the next time we can expect to see your face on CNBC?
“Not to mention,” Naomi continued to look at him without letting him respond, “that as a result of this, four innocent people have been murdered.”
Al-Bashir’s color drained. He glanced toward his wife, who now was looking at him with concern, then took a few steps farther along the path, away from his family. He spoke back in a hushed tone, almost a whisper, but with a measure of desperation in it. “What is it you want from me, Agent Blum?”
“I want to know what was behind that phone call, Mr. al-Bashir, and how it ties into a plot to recruit Marc Glassman and James Donovan in an effort to destabilize the United States economy. The United States government wants to know.”
“I had nothing to do with any of that. All I did was merely shift our portfolio.”
“Oh, I think you did have something very much to do with that, Mr. al-Bashir. I think you had something to do with it the minute you bedded down with individuals like this. But unfortunately”-Naomi shrugged and inhaled a breath-“that’s not even your biggest problem right now.”
He cleared his throat and adjusted his glasses. “What are you talking about?”
Naomi glanced over at the Saudi’s wife, now huddled with her boys, clearly worried about what was going on. “You have a lovely family, Mr. al-Bashir. I’m sure, like any husband and father, you would do whatever you could to keep them from harm.”
The Saudi’s gaze darkened. “What are you talking about?”
“Dani Thibault was murdered yesterday. He was shot, execution style. In Serbia. In a remote village we had traced him to. Thibault had recruited Glassman and Donovan with a series of payments that we can tie to Mr. Hassani. We believe his death was ordered by Mr. Hassani, to cover it up.”
Al-Bashir’s cheeks twitched. He swallowed and did his best to sound bold. “I still don’t know what that has to do with me, Agent Blum.”
“Well, it’s this: All the players in this plot, Mr. al-Bashir, are dead. Glassman, Donovan, now Thibault. All but one, Mr. al-Bashir…,” Naomi said, staring at him. “You. Puts a whole new meaning to the word, ‘reckless,’ doesn’t it, sir?”