Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [123]
“I’m convinced that they planned a cunning way to disrupt the economic system of the West. Their plan called for the cartel to ultimately gain control of the entire American Stock Market.”
“They already had enough economic leverage to influence the Market,” Caitlin said. Her head pounded mercilessly. Some small sadist with a jackhammer was working way back in the recesses of her skull, digging for God only knew what. She thought about Carroll, who was out there in pursuit of Green Band. Why hadn’t they heard anything?
“That spring, our newly elected President learned of the Tripoli plot. More important, the Committee of Twelve must have heard. Only they moved much faster than President Kearney could in Washington.”
The old man’s eyes became as cold as fire going suddenly out “Caitlin, I believe they created Green Band to counter the plot. Effectively, the Committee of Twelve has stolen the Arabs’ billions away. Green Band is the very finest of trompe l’oeil, the best.
“Now, they’re selling them back their own funds. This has been an economic world war. The first of its kind—unless we include the 1970s oil embargo.”
Caitlin thought that if it had been anyone other than Birnbaum making these accusations, outlining these hypotheses…. But it was Birnbaum. And he was serious about everything he was proposing….
“How does Hudson fit in? What’s his part in this, Anton?” Caitlin asked.
“Ah, the enigmatic Mr. Hudson.” Birnbaum allowed a smile to cross his face. “I’ve given great thought to Colonel Hudson. Either he’s in the pay of the Committee of Twelve … or they’re ruthlessly using Hudson and his veterans group. It wouldn’t be the first time, would it? It wouldn’t be the first time these men were used by those who wield power in this country. Either way, we’ll know in a few hours. We’ll know the truth soon, won’t we?”
Chapter 96
AS HE ARRIVED at the designated address, Hudson felt exactly the way he’d always known he would—if they had won in Viet Nam. The adrenaline, the excitement of victory, was pumping, rushing furiously through his body.
This would certainly be the most unusual safe house he’d ever used, Hudson thought as he reached York Avenue on Manhattan’s fashionable East Side. He entered an elegant glass-and-grillwork doorway just beyond the corner at 90th Street.
Billie Bogan’s apartment was located on the river side of the modern building, a building which apparently had paper-thin ceilings and walls, because Hudson could hear a piano playing as he approached the doorway on the fifteenth floor.
The lovely music surprised him. He hadn’t known that Billie played.
Hudson hesitated before pushing the doorbell. Warning alarms, his usual alert signals were going off again. It was all perfectly natural. One didn’t stop being a military terrorist and saboteur overnight.
Billie answered the door seconds after the first ring. She was wearing a pink T-shirt that said winter across her chest. She had on tight black French jeans, no shoes or socks.
“David.”
Her brilliant blue eyes passed from the slightest puzzlement to undisguised pleasure as she saw who it was at the door.
She reached out and pulled Hudson toward her. She held him in the doorway.
“Was that you playing the piano?” he asked.
Billie pecked at his cheek and gave him an extra hug. “Of course it was me…. You know, I think the piano is the reason I ultimately escaped from Birmingham. As I found out about Mozart, Brahms, Beethoven, I was convinced there had to be more than the dreary dullness I was used to. Come inside. I’m so happy to see you. It’s so good to see you.” She kissed him again.
Hudson smiled more willingly than he had in a long time. “I’m happy to see you. I feel like I’m home at last,” he said.
Once inside, they talked. They held one another. They stared into one another’s eyes for