The Garden of Betrayal - Lee Vance [12]
“Is that a prediction, mate?” an Australian voice asked.
“Absolutely. Second, the ex–Eastern Bloc countries can’t buy from someone else, because gas moves most economically through pipelines, and the only producer their pipelines connect with is Russia. Nobody’s going to invest the money to change that anytime soon, because pipelines are expensive, and eastern Europe isn’t that big a market. The Russians have been over a barrel for the last decade, because the routing of the existing pipelines meant that they couldn’t interrupt delivery of gas to eastern Europe without also interrupting delivery to western Europe. The Nord Stream pipeline changes that by making a direct connection to Germany under the Baltic Sea. And the Ukrainians and the Poles and all the other former Soviet clients and republics that have been trying to put distance between themselves and their former master are keenly aware of the fact that it’s difficult to ignore a neighbor who can turn off your lights and heat.”
“The speaker of the Russian Duma accused the Ukrainians on Moscow radio,” someone else said. “How likely does that seem to you?”
“Russia bit the bullet on western exports and turned off Ukraine’s gas twice in the last five years, once in January 2006 and once in March 2008, because of arguments over subsidized pricing. The ultranationalists in the Ukrainian coalition government made some ugly threats at the time. That puts them at the top of everyone’s suspect list.”
“So, you think they did it?” the same voice demanded.
“My opinion is that who actually did it isn’t important in the short run. What matters is how the Russians react. They’re going to be under enormous pressure to hit back hard and fast, and as the United States learned to its detriment in Iraq, intelligence has a way of providing the answers politicians want. Which raises the question of how NATO will respond if Russia threatens military action against one of the former Soviet republics.”
A message from Alex popped up on my screen as two callers began arguing with each other about the likelihood of the Ukrainians having sponsored the attack. Drink? it read. I checked my watch. It was only a little past four, and I still had a huge amount of work to do. I hadn’t been out with Alex in a while, though, and I knew how he must be feeling. There are no secrets on trading floors—Alex had gotten creamed. I wavered a moment and then typed back: Fifteen minutes.
“I have time for two more questions.”
“What’s your best trade?” another voice asked.
“The slope of the forward price curve. Let’s take a look at the ICE closing prices for Brent …”
Alex was at his desk in his office, typing something on his computer. I tapped on his door and then took a seat, waiting for him to finish. He’d changed his shirt, but he still looked like hell. I was always taken aback to notice how worn and bloated he’d become—in my mind’s eye, I always saw the skinny, engaging kid I’d first met a decade ago, a kinetic-market wonk with short-cropped hair and black-framed glasses who bore a passing likeness to Buddy Holly and wore his khaki pants too short. I’d been a top-ranked Wall Street analyst at the time, and Alex had been a recent college grad trying to make a go of his own small fund. Walter, a major client, had leaned on me, insisting that I spend time with him. Alex overcame my initial reluctance by being smart and entertaining. We fell into the habit of talking regularly—about work, and other things. Protective of my constrained time with Claire and the kids, I rarely invited professional acquaintances home, but I liked Alex enough to extend an invitation. He’d been a hit, charming Claire with his interest in the arts, and Kate and Kyle with a repertoire of simple card tricks and a willingness to play hide-and-seek. I remember thinking that he was exactly the kind of vivacious, intellectually curious young adult I hoped my own children would become. Claire insisted