The market had done its work for Aircoach and Coolbox and Tom felt the warm satisfaction of having gamed the system perfectly. He thought back to his boss’s last instruction and picked up the phone to call Gabe. It was engaged. He loaded up the video feed of the Silverman office and saw that Gabe was on the phone. He saw Ike Silverman meet someone at the door to the main office. It was two thirty in New York. That slimy bastard Mark Duncan is right on time, Tom thought.
As soon as Gabe put his phone down, Tom called back.
‘Why were you on the phone so long?’ he asked.
‘It was a colleague in Nashville–’
‘It doesn’t matter,’ Tom interrupted. ‘I need you to do one last thing for me. Liquidate all of today’s investments, then invest as much as you can in shorting Mark Duncan Properties.’
‘I’ve never heard of them.’
‘Don’t worry about that. They’re a relatively new company. Just don’t blow the whole wad in one trade. Build it up slowly, but not that slowly. You need to have as much invested as possible by close of business today.’
‘You don’t want me to liquidate your holdings at the end of the day?’
‘No. I’ll do that tomorrow morning.’
‘When do you want me to start?’
‘Now.’
Tom didn’t want to interrupt the deal that was about to be done in the Silverman building, so he quickly typed out a message on his phone and sent it to Ike. It read only three words, in upper case for effect:
SIGN THE DEAL
Tom almost felt sorry for Mark Duncan. Almost. The shady businessman was about to have the rights to the Silverman building signed over to his company. Little did he know that he would then be captured and sent to the Emergency Response camp while the security staff he thought were working for him killed Ike Silverman and framed him for the bombing. Serves you right, Mark, Tom thought, that’s what you get for trying to blackmail a former director of the CIA.
Tom definitely felt sorry for Ike Silverman. He may have been the head of an investment bank that triggered the recent financial crisis but he was a family man. All he really wanted was for his daughter to be happy. It would certainly take her a while to get over the fact that her father had suicide-bombed his own building as a last stand when forced to sign it over to save his failing businesses. That’s what the papers would tell her anyway.
Tom looked at the investment status page, then the video feed. Gabe was sitting at his desk, but he hadn’t put any trades through since their last call. He picked up the phone.
‘Why haven’t you put any trades through yet?’
‘I was just looking up the fundamentals,’ Gabe said, then paused. ‘Hold on, how do you know I haven’t put any trades through?’
Tom watched the video feed as Gabe spun round in his chair and found the security camera that had been broadcasting his movements all day. Gabe gave it the finger.
‘Hey, that’s not very nice,’ Tom quipped. ‘Just do what I say. Make the fucking trades. Now.’
For full details on how to get your hands on a copy of One Day in Gitmo Nation, visit www.noagendanovels.com
0 comments:
Post a Comment