Before. He hated the word. “You will, however, have to recite the sacred oath.”
“Oh, Jett, come on.”
“Sorry. You know it’s important to me. I am an Eagle Scout, you’ll remember. The oath, please.”
Cate looked uncertainly to her left and right, then raised her right hand to her shoulder, arranging the fingers in a familiar salute.
“On my honor I will do my best
To do my duty to God and my country
and to obey the Scout Law;
To help other people at all times;
To keep myself physically strong,
mentally awake, and morally straight.”
Gavallan nodded his approval. “At least I know your time with me was not completely misspent.” He cleared his throat. “Anyway, I guess the first thing you should know is that I’m pretty much tapped out. That much of the rumors is true.”
And with that he launched into a recitation of the entire day’s events: Byrnes’s disappearance, the meeting at Sten Norgren’s, his taking out the second mortgage, the particulars of his personal and professional liquidity crunch. He left nothing out.
“So, I guess you had a pretty dull day,” she said afterward.
Seeing the mischief in her eyes, he laughed. For the first time since he’d woke, he felt as if things might turn out okay.
17
They’d danced three songs in a row. The entree was being served, and suddenly they were the last couple on the floor. Gavallan didn’t need to look toward his table to know that Nina was staring daggers into his back. Let her, he thought. I’ll take Cate. She can have Giles. Only Tony will be the poorer off.
“So let’s get this straight,” Cate was saying, “you floated Mercury a fifty-million-dollar bridge loan with no collateral—I mean, other than their stock? Shoot, Jett, I’d be worried, too, about what the Private Eye-PO says.”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” Gavallan countered. “Mercury earned sixty million in profit last year on revenues of three hundred ninety million. No one’s disputing that. They couldn’t have earned it without the Moscow market. It’s one of their biggest.”
“I hope you’re right, Jett. I really do. Because God forbid that Mercury isn’t every inch the company your prospectus says it is, and you bring a fraudulent company public. And in this case I mean ‘public’ with a capital P. Two billion dollars’ worth. Because your life will be over as you know it and everything you hold dear will be taken away from you. Your money. Your company. Everything. The only good news is that you won’t have to worry about that second mortgage anymore. You’ll have rent-free accommodations for the next seven years or so. Depends on the judge.”
Gavallan listened to her assessment, his worry growing because it was the same one he’d made himself. Earlier, he’d told Tustin and Llewellyn-Davies they had to be true to their client. But Cate’s skepticism, coupled with his partner’s lingering silence, lent him second thoughts, Cisco receipts and Jean-Jacques Pillonel’s word notwithstanding.
“A guy I know is tracking down the Private Eye-PO,” he said. “Once we find him, I plan on having a heart-to-heart, just him and me, find out why he’s going after Mercury before I have a judge slap an injunction on his ass.”
“Why do you think he’s going after Mercury?” Cate demanded. “Because he has the goods on them.”
“Actually, we were looking into the possibility it might be personal, a grudge or something against Black Jet, or maybe even me.”
“Oh, come off it. A grudge? Sometimes you really piss me off.” The voice had hardly risen, but her eyes had narrowed and a rigid control had taken hold of her body. Dropping her hands, she turned and walked off the dance floor, weaving through the maze of tables to the hallway outside the ballroom. Gavallan knew she meant for him to follow.
She was waiting outside the ballroom, hands on hips, head cocked defiantly.
“Jett, I want you to listen to something I have to say. And I want you to promise me you won’t get mad. You sent Graf to Moscow to check on Mercury’s operations there and now you can’t find him. Gone from the hotel. Not calling back. Whatever. Point is he’s disappeared while he was supposed to be looking into Mercury.”
“Yeah?”
“And at the same time the Private Eye-PO issues another warning about Mercury. He’s never wrong, that guy. You know it and I know it. Accuracy is his hallmark.”
“So?”
Cate’s eyes widened. “Do I have to connect the dots? Maybe Graf’s disappearance isn’t a coincidence. Maybe the Private Eye-PO has the goods on Mercury. Maybe Kirov called you to make sure you were still on board.”
“That’s enough, Cate. Now you’re talking like a fool.”
“Am I? Think about it, Jett. Just think about it.” The challenge hung between them, the ensuing silence warming her concern from professional to personal. Nearing him, she rested a hand on his jacket and neatly brushed a hair from his lapel, so that for a moment, he dared believe she might still love him.
“So what’s your advice?” he asked.
“I’ll only tell you if you promise to take it.”
“Forget it,” he said, turning to go back to the party. “I already know what it is. Drop the deal. I’m not going to do it. I can’t.”
“Postpone the offering,” she pleaded. “Let me put you in touch with some of our guys in Moscow. Let them look into it. They’re hooked into the whole scene.”
Gavallan bit his lip, bitter, confused, wanting to say a million things, not daring to say a word. “The offering is going through, Cate. Like I said, Mercury’s a gem. I know it, even if you and the Private Eye-PO don’t. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have to go give a speech to three hundred of our city’s snootiest before they get too sloshed to understand a word I say.”
And opening the door, he walked back into the ballroom.
In Potomac, Maryland, and across the ethereal veins of the Internet, the roundtable between Jason Vann’s cast of disgruntled characters and the man calling himself Spade was growing more heated.
Aclass="underline" Listen to me, kid! You want the inside skinny on Mercury, I’ll tell you. You’re way off base on this one. My sources tell me Mercury’s double the deal you think.
Spade: Whoopee for you! We’ve all got our sources, honey. And mine is indisputable.
Vaclass="underline" Listen to Al. Where you get silly pictures? I see this and laugh.
Heidi: What picture?
Mario: Go to his website and take a look—www.PrivateEyePO.com. You’ll see!
Spade: Thanks, chum. Always nice to know what side your toast is buttered on. As for ye of little faith, the picture cometh straight from the hand of God. Cross my heart and hope to die.
Jason Vann rubbed his hands together, a worried look narrowing his eyes. He was desperate to angle the Private Eye-PO into a private chat room.
Aclass="underline" If it’s “straight from God” you want, come with me, big mouth, and I’ll show you something that’ll make you close your yap.
Spade: I go everywhere and nowhere. You got the goods, send them to my address at Hotmail.
Aclass="underline" You want to keep up that winning percentage, you’d be wise to jump my way. You’re not the only one with inside info. I’ve also got some documents from Mercury. And they tell me the opposite of what they tell you.
Vaclass="underline" I come, too. I also know people at Mercury.
Spade: Who? Give me the name, cutie pie. Don’t make me beg.
Vaclass="underline" Janusz Rosen. A Pole like myself. He is programmer. Damn good one, too!
Jason Vann stared at the last sentence, wondering who the hell “Val” was, why he was so keen on butting into Mercury’s business. If Val was Rosen, then the boys at Mercury were probably running their own gig to track down the Private Eye-PO. Surely, “Spade” knew this.