Part 38 (2/2)

”What did he want?”

”He wanted to give me these,” Galway explained, reaching forward and handing the envelope to Stockman.

Stockman took the envelope, placed it on his desk, and removed the stack of photos. Carefully examining each one before finally looking up at Galway. ”We have a problem,” he said calmly.

”I thought you might see it that way, too, sir.”

”Have you shown these to anyone else?”

Galway shook his head.

”Did the person who gave you these say what he wanted?” Stockman asked.

”No, sir.”

”Did he give you a way to contact him?”

”No.”

”Did he say when he would contact you again?”

”Sometime this weekend. Nothing specific.”

Stockman ran his hands through his silver hair and shut his eyes tightly. Christian Gillette. It had to be.

Strazzi had been sitting on the rock for five minutes, letting his heart settle down. ”All right,” he muttered to himself, ”time to get home.” As soon as he got back to the penthouse, he was going to hire a full-time bodyguard. Like Gillette had done. ”Come on, get up,” he urged himself, groaning.

As Strazzi made it to his feet, he noticed the man. He was standing twenty feet away in the middle of the trail. The same man who'd helped him a few minutes ago.

Strazzi smiled and waved. ”Thanks again for the water. It hit the spot.”

The man said nothing.

”Hey, did you hear me?”

The man began walking toward Strazzi. When he was ten feet away, he reached behind his back and pulled a pistol from a holster. Aiming it directly at Strazzi's chest and squeezing the trigger.

Strazzi scrambled off the rock the second he saw the gun, but the bullet still struck him. It caught him in the shoulder and put him down as it tore out his back. Strazzi groaned and grabbed at the wound, but still was able to pull himself to his feet and stumble into the woods, ducking around trees as he ran. He hurled headlong into a sapling when he looked back to try to see if the shooter was there, tumbling to the ground as it snapped under his weight. But he was up again instantly, moving deeper into the thick cover.

The second bullet got him in the back of the thigh, tearing his hamstring. He pitched forward, landing heavily in the thick cover of leaves, grabbed his leg and screamed in pain.

The a.s.sa.s.sin moved deliberately toward where Strazzi lay. He always enjoyed these last few seconds-when the victim knew it was over. He wondered how it felt to know the number of breaths remaining could be counted on the fingers of one hand. He'd killed a lot of people in his life, but the question always came to him at this moment. Had from the very first time. How did it feel to know death was close and there was nothing that could be done?

He stood over Strazzi for several seconds, gazing into his eyes. Trying to comprehend the terror Strazzi was enduring. Strazzi wasn't yelling anymore, just whimpering pitifully, overcome by the inevitability of his death.

The a.s.sa.s.sin leaned down, pressed the barrel to Strazzi's temple, and pulled the trigger. Blood, bone, and brain blew out the other side of Strazzi's head, onto the leaves. After a violent tremor, his body went still.

Walter Price was the chief executive officer of Dominion Savings & Loan. Three years ago, Donovan had recruited Price out of Citibank, where he'd headed their huge retail operation. He had given Price ten million a year plus bonus plus stock options to make Dominion a player. To grow it fast. Which Price had done, increasing Dominion's a.s.set base from three billion to forty. A huge increase that Gillette now feared might have been accomplished mostly by sleight of hand.

”It just isn't true,” Price said evenly. ”We have less than two hundred million in nonperforming loans. That's about half of 1 percent of our total a.s.set base. That's nothing. It's right in line with industry averages. A little better, actually.”

”Then why does Congressman Allen hold up a folder in front of the television cameras and say he has proof that you have billions in nonperforming loans? How do you explain that?”

”I can't,” Price replied simply.

”You gotta do better than that, Walter. I told you to have a report ready for me. You haven't prepared anything.”

”There's nothing to prepare. We're fine.”

”Walter, I-”

”Look, Christian, we have state and federal examiners around all the time. It's ridiculous how much time they spend in our offices. And we have our own internal people constantly spot-checking. If there was anything to find, someone would have.”

”You're telling me I have nothing to worry about.”

”I'm telling you to go out and buy as many shares of our stock as you can. By this time next week our share price is going to be back up where it was before all this bulls.h.i.+t. Maybe higher.”

Gillette sat back in the leather chair and thought for a second. a.s.sume what Price was saying was true. a.s.sume there wasn't anything wrong. a.s.sume all of this had been neatly ch.o.r.eographed. But if you a.s.sumed that, you also had to accept what Price was saying would happen, that when no one could find anything wrong with Dominion, its stock would go shooting back up. There'd be some p.i.s.sed-off investors who'd dumped at the bottom because they believed they might as well get something before the shares were delisted. But there would also be some extremely happy people who'd speculated and bought when the price was a buck and change because the downside was so small. So what was the point?

Then it hit him. Of course. This was Strazzi's way of manipulating the widow, of scaring the h.e.l.l out of her so she'd sell her stake in Everest. Strazzi had tried to get information on the portfolio companies from Mason to cement his case, but he'd been beaten to the punch. However, it hadn't mattered. All he'd ultimately needed was Dominion's implosion. And, after Monday, it wouldn't matter if the stock came roaring back. Strazzi would own the piece of Everest he wanted. The widow might cry foul, but he'd just tell her to go screw herself.

Gillette nodded to himself. There was a way to check it all out.

”I appreciate you meeting with me, Walter,” he said, standing up and shaking the other man's hand. He needed to get going right away.

Because the answer wasn't in Was.h.i.+ngton. It was back in New York.

23.

The Showdown. Someone must lose. Someone must lose.

”THEY HAVE TO GO,” GILLETTE said firmly, pointing at Galway and another aide as he and Stiles entered Stockman's office.

”All right,” Stockman muttered, motioning for them to leave.

”But my my man stays.” Gillette gestured toward Stiles as the two aides disappeared through the doorway. man stays.” Gillette gestured toward Stiles as the two aides disappeared through the doorway.

Stockman nodded.

Gillette sat in front of Stockman's desk while Stiles moved to the window, checking on the two men he'd left on the street with Gillette's driver.

”It's two o'clock Sat.u.r.day afternoon,” the senator spoke up. ”What in the h.e.l.l's so d.a.m.n important that you had to see me right away?” the senator asked angrily.

”I think you know.”

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