Silent Assassin(40)

Moriarty. It was a bold choice. Pretentious, Marcus Lee would be the first to admit; but he was a dreamer, a true visionary, so why settle for less? After all, hadn’t he figured out the scheme, the game, the master plan? Wasn’t he exploiting it, right under his employer’s nose? The scheme was making him millions on top of millions, and this was only the beginning. He’d hardly broken a sweat. It’s all up from here, baby.

He clutched his briefcase tightly in his right hand as he exited the subway into the icy Manhattan air, wincing in the sunlight while, with his left hand, he played with the ballpoint pen in his pocket—a pen that concealed a two-inch knife. He had taken to carrying it with him wherever he went after he read about it in a self-defense book. Whenever he sat down alone, he would practice removing the cap and drawing it until it became one fluid motion.

He dodged pedestrians on the sidewalk, power-walking toward the designated rendezvous point. Lee would readily admit to himself that he was enjoying the hell out of this cloak-and-dagger business. Who’d have thought that scrawny little Marcus Lee, the same little Asian kid who’d spent his graduation stuffed in a locker, the quiet nerd who had never even held hands with a girl until he was nineteen, would be getting away with this? He couldn’t help but grin at the thought.

At the moment, he was on his way to meet with the man who had started all this. The man with the plan. The man with no name.

He’d emerged on the corner of Broadway and West Fiftieth Street. and stood there as instructed in front of the Gershwin Theater, squinting as he looked around for the man he was supposed to meet. His eyes scanned the passing tourists and natives, pedestrians waiting at the crosswalk, the customers in line at the hot dog cart. He’d been told to wait here and nothing else, so he didn’t know who was coming to meet him or from where. He was startled but not entirely surprised when a limousine pulled over and, from the open window, the man without a name said, “Get in.”

Lee opened the door and sat on a seat upholstered in white leather. The boss was sitting across from him facing backwards, placidly cross-legged, in a sharply tailored navy pinstriped suit. His bony face had a flat expression as always. Next to Lee, taking up well more than his half of the seat, was a huge man with a goatee and a thick neck who looked like he could be a football player, which by itself was enough to make Lee nervous. He was in a black suit, and suddenly Lee was feeling underdressed in his khakis, polo shirt, and puffy down jacket.

“Is this really necessary?” asked Lee, motioning with his head in the direction of the bodyguard.

“You’ve been dodging my calls,” he said, ignoring the question.

“Busy,” said Lee. “You know how it is when you get in the zone with something. . . .”

“Right. In the zone.”

“But I wouldn’t want you to think I’ve been ignoring our partnership.”

“I certainly hope you haven’t been prioritizing side projects over our objectives,” he said.

Lee couldn’t help furrowing his brow at this, but caught himself and resumed a neutral expression immediately. Did he know? Could he know? Or was it a harmless throwaway comment? “My priorities are with our work here. That was the deal, wasn’t it? While working with you, I work only with you.”

“Yes, that was the deal. And if I recall, there was more to that deal. Do you have it?”

Lee opened his briefcase, and felt the bodyguard tense as he reached into it. “Easy,” he said to the mountain beside him. He pulled out a manila folder. “See? Nothing sinister here. Just paper.”

The bodyguard grunted.

Lee handed the folder over to his boss. “Here you go. A complete investment plan for the next . . . event. Like the other ones, but better. I think you’ll find this one particularly inspired. Subtle, I would call it.”

The man opened the folder and calmly leafed through it.

“Not that it was hard,” Lee continued. “But it’s no simple matter not to be obvious about it. You know how it is.”

The boss gave him a pointed look. Lee knew he must be sweating. His hand unconsciously played with the pen in his pocket.

“This actually just might be my best work yet. Really complex mix of stocks, futures, swaps, and forex. No obvious shorts. Guaranteed undetectable. Just a well-balanced portfolio that any investor might put together.”

The man across from him continued to peruse the document, flipping through the pages at a measured pace. “This is looking good,” he said. “Even at a glance, I can tell this is top-notch work.”

“Thanks. Sir.”