Black Friday (or Black Market) - James Patterson [45]
This one was about Monsieur Michel Chevron. It was a fascinating story of the most exclusive rat pack of thieves in the world. All of them respected bankers, high-priced lawyers, successful stockbrokers. Every single one of them was in a position of absolute trust.
Was this Green Band? Carroll couldn’t help wondering.
Was Green Band a powerful cartel of the richest investment bankers and businessmen in the world? What would be their motivation?
Carroll finally signaled to the two FBI guys waiting at the corner table.
“You can arrest this guy now…. Oh, and Freddie? I told a white lie about letting you go free…. Have your lawyer call my lawyer in the morning. Ciao.”
Mike Caruso was outside the restaurant when Carroll finally appeared. Carroll’s lieutenant was wearing a garish beach shirt beneath his overcoat, a devoté of summer who never embraced the winter season.
He gestured Carroll to step aside from Caitlin. Both policemen huddled together at the far edge of the sidewalk.
“I just got a report on our friend Isabella Marqueza,” Caruso said. “Somebody murdered her. She was shot four times.”
Carroll glanced at Caitlin, who was standing several feet away, waiting for him. A lovely vision in a dull gray, wintry city. He tried to imagine Isabella Marqueza dead.
“Shot at point-blank range,” Caruso said in the offhand manner of someone immunized against murders. “It freaked out all the Christmas shoppers.”
“Yeah, I’m sure it would.” Carroll was silent a second. “Somebody thought she talked too much. Somebody was keeping close tabs on her.”
Caruso nodded. “Somebody who knew her movements, Arch. Or yours.”
A ragged wind blew down East 46th Street, dragging around discarded newspapers. Carroll plunged his hands inside the pockets of his coat and stared at the cold grim city surrounding him. He liked this investigation less and less.
He finally pointed back at the doorway of Christ Cella. “Nice place to eat, Mickey. Next time you want to blow a couple hundred on lunch.”
Caruso nodded. He tucked in a flap of his flowered shirt. “I already had a Sabrett’s.”
Chapter 31
THE FOLLOWING MORNING, Anton Birnbaum, appearing on a special edition of the PBS show “Wall Street Week,” explained why the destruction of Manhattan’s financial district did not exactly signal the end of the civilized world.
“The major American market was indeed knocked out this past Friday. More markets exist out there, however— believe it or not—and they may just possibly become the beneficiaries of this disaster…. These markets are the Midwestern, the Pacific, and the Philadelphia exchanges. They handle local issues as well as certain board listings. If Joe Investor has to sell fifty shares of AT and T to meet the balloon payment on his mortgage, his local broker may well be able to make a deal for him outside of New York. Of course, he may not find a buyer at a price even close to what he’s asking.
“Obviously,” Birnbaum went on, “Chicago is where the significant action is this week. Between the Midwest Exchange, and the two premier commodity exchanges, there are still plenty of opportunities for everyone to lose a lot of money.”
Even as he gave this purposely calming and reassuring speech, Anton Birnhaum knew that the existing situation was more tragic that he dated admit. Like almost everyone intimately connected with the Market, Birnhaum expected a crash.
In a way, somewhere deep in the inner recesses of his mind, he almost welcomed the purification rite, so very long overdue, As of Tuesday morning, the venerable Financier had not idea large a part he would play in Green Band himself.
Chapter 32
PARIS…. A MANnamed Michel Chevron… Green Band….
The idea of the city filled Carroll with something akin to dread. Even as he sat inside a dark blue State Department limousine, sailing like a proud ship across Boulevard Haussman, Carroll didn’t want to look out at the streets. He didn’t want to acknowledge that he was