“Of course.” The German banker amped up his smile. Then, in a soft voice, staring ahead, as if his gaze were tracking a far-off bird that had landed on the Vltava, he explained. “The funds we discussed will be in the form of four separate deliveries. The first is already on account at Zurich Bank, ready to be transferred upon your say-so to anywhere in the world. The second is currently held at the BalticBank in Estonia. It is in the form of a charitable trust designed to sponsor UN grain shipments to needy populations in East Africa.”
Lennick smiled. Fichte always had a cultivated sense of irony.
“I thought you’d appreciate that. The third delivery is presently in non-cash form. Military hardware. Some of it your own, I am told. It should be leaving the country within the week. The general is quite insistent on the timing.”
“Why the rush?”
“Pending the status of the Ethiopian military buildup on the Sudanese border, it’s conceivable His Excellency and his family may be forced to leave the country at fairly short notice.” He winked.
“I’ll see to it the funds don’t sit unproductive for too long,” Lennick promised with a smile.
“That would be greatly appreciated.” The German bowed. Then his tone turned businesslike again. “As discussed, each of the deliveries will be in the amount of two hundred and fifty million euros.”
Well over a billion dollars. Even Lennick had to marvel. It crossed his mind just how many heads had had to roll and thousands of fortunes wiped out to assemble such a sum.
The banker said, “I think we’ve already gone over the general agreement.”
“The mix of products is quite diversified and fully transparent if need be,” Lennick replied. “A combination of U.S. and worldwide equities, real-estate trusts, hedge funds. Twenty percent will be retained in our private equity fund. As you know, we’ve been able to achieve a twenty-two and a half percent average portfolio return over the past seven years, net of any unforeseen fluctuations, of course.”
“Fluctuations …” The German nodded, the warmth in his blue eyes suddenly dimmed. “I assume you’re speaking of that energy hedge fund that collapsed last year. I hope it won’t be necessary to revisit my clients’ unhappiness over that development, will it, Saul?”
“As said”—Lennick swallowed a lump, trying to redirect the subject—“an unforeseen fluctuation, Johann. It won’t happen again.”
The truth was, with the amount of capital available in today’s world, Lennick had learned to make money in every conceivable market environment. In times of economic strength or stagnation. Good markets or bad. Even following acts of terrorism. The panic after 9/11 would never occur again. He had billions invested on all sides of the economic ledger, impervious to the vagaries of whoever won or lost. Today geopolitical trends and shifts were merely hiccups in the global transfer of capital. Yes, there were always blips—blips like Charlie, betting on the price of oil so stubbornly and unable to cover his spots on the way down. But behind that, all one had to do was look at the vast Saudi and Kuwaiti investment funds, the world’s greatest oil producers, hedging their bets by buying up all the ethanol-producing sugarcane fields in the world.
It was the greatest capital-enlarging engine in the world.
“So it doesn’t bother you, my friend?” the German banker suddenly asked. “You are a Jew, yes, and yet you know that this money you take regularly finds its way into the hands of interests that are unfriendly to your own race.”
“Yes, I’m a Jew.” Lennick looked at him and shrugged. “But I learned a long time ago that money is neutral, Johann.”
“Yes, money is neutral,” Fichte agreed. “Still, my client’s patience is not.” His expression sharpened again. “The loss of over half a billion dollars of their funds does not sit easily with these kinds of people, Saul. They asked me to remind you—your daughter has children up in Boston, does she not?” He met Lennick’s eye. “Ages two and four?”
The blood seeped from Lennick’s face.
“I was asked to inquire as to their general health, Saul. I hope they’re well. Just a thought, my old friend, from my own employers. Please, do not dwell. Still …” His smile returned with an affable tap of Lennick’s arm. “A small incentive to keep those—how was it you phrased it?—fluctuations to a minimum, yes?”
A cold bead of sweat traveled down Lennick’s back underneath his six-hundred-dollar Brioni pinstripe shirt.
“Your man lost us a considerable amount of money,” Fichte said. “You shouldn’t be so surprised, Saul. You know who you’re playing with here. No one is above accountability, my friend—even you.”
Fichte put on his hat.
Lennick felt a constriction in his chest. His palms, suddenly slick with sweat, pressed deeply onto the bridge’s railing. He nodded. “You spoke of four new deliveries, Johann. Two hundred and fifty million euros each. So far you’ve only mentioned three.”
“Ah, the fourth …” The German banker smiled and patted Lennick briskly on the back. He drew his gaze to the metal case at his feet.
“The fourth I’m giving you today, Herr Lennick. In bearer bonds. My men will be happy to escort you to wherever you would like it placed.”
By morning the welt on Hauck’s face had gone down a bit. He had packed his bags, set to check out in a couple of minutes. There was no need to press the old man any longer. He had other ways to find out what he needed to know. He glanced at his watch. He had a ten o’clock plane.
When he opened the door to leave, Pappy Raymond was leaning on the outside railing.
The old man’s face was haggard, eyes bloodshot and drawn. He looked like he’d spent the night curled up in some alley. Or like he’d been in a street fight with a ferret. And the ferret had won!
“How’s the eye?” He looked at Hauck. Somewhere in his tone was the hint of an apology.
“Works.” Hauck shrugged, rubbing the side of his face. “I was a little peeved about the beer, though.”
“Yeah.” Pappy smiled sheepishly. “Guess I owe you one of those.” The blue in his hooded eyes shone through. “You heading home?”
“Somehow I got the sense you’d be okay with that.”
“Hmphh,” Pappy snorted. “How’d I ever give you that idea?”
Hauck waited. He set down his bags.
“I was a fool my whole life,” Pappy said finally. He eased off the railing. “Stubborn with the best of them. Problem is, it takes getting old to find that out. Then it’s too late.”
From his coverall pocket, he took out the Orange Bowl ticket stub Hauck had placed in his hand the night before. He bunched up his lips. “We drove all day to see that game. Might as well have been the Super Bowl for all my son cared. It was to him. Seminoles were always his team.” He scratched his head, suddenly clear-eyed. “I guess I should say thanks. I remember last night you said …”
“My daughter was four.” Hauck gazed back at him. “She was run over by our car, in our own driveway. Five years ago. I’d been driving. I thought I’d left it in park. I was bitter, after the pain finally eased. My ex-wife still can’t look me in the eyes without seeing it all over. So I know…. That’s all I meant to say.”
“Never goes away, does it?” Raymond shifted his weight on the railing.
Hauck shook his head. “Never does.”