Jack said, “But somebody is betting that they’ll take a fall. Betting big.”
Chappelle said, “Exactly.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know; not yet, that is. Our mystery shorter has taken great pains to disguise himself. He’s covered his tracks by using a variety of shell companies, dummy corporations, and similar cut-outs. It’s like an onion. Peel back one layer and you fi nd another, peel away that and there’s another underneath. He’s also been careful to spread out his operations in a variety of exchanges, foreign and domestic.”
Chappelle’s expression was like a clenched fist as he added, “But we’ll get him. We’ll peel back that onion to get to the heart of it, no matter how clever he thinks he is. It’s just a matter of time.”
Jack said, “Where do I come in?”
Chappelle’s features relaxed, a crafty look coming into his eyes. “The catch is we may be running out of time. One pattern stands out: all of the stocks our mystery man is betting against are those of companies whose owners and CEOs are attending the Sky Mount Round Table.”
The Round Table was a prestigious annual conclave of the movers and shakers of the U.S. economy. It was held each July in the luxurious and scenic splendor of the Sky Mount estate in the Colorado Rockies. Its invited guests were the elite of American business, members not of the Fortune 500 but of the Fortune 50. They occupied the apex of the national socioeconomic pyramid. It was a domestic counterpart to the periodic Bilderberger meetings of Europe’s corporate masters.
Jack’s bailiwick was the Los Angeles area, but he and his outfit had been much concerned lately with the imminent Sky Mount gathering. CTU/L.A. had increased its surveillance of local hate groups, militant foreign and domestic anti- American organizations, and the far wider pool of their sympathizers, fellow travelers, and enablers, monitoring them for any credible evidence of a plot aimed at this year’s Round Table. Two hundred leading lights of big business gathered in one spot at the same time presented an attractive target to the nation’s enemies. Or to any crackpot or group of crackpots who happened to hate rich people and wanted to strike a blow at the corporate empire.
No such plot had been detected by CTU/L.A. Which didn’t mean that none existed. Such a conspiracy might have evaded their notice, or could be hatching somewhere in a different jurisdiction.
Chappelle’s information certainly put a new and sinister slant to the possibility.
Jack said, “The person or persons betting those stocks will take a sudden and dramatic fall may not be gambling at all. It could be a sure thing. A terror strike or other catastrophic event at Sky Mount could send those stocks tumbling. It could wreck the national economy. What’s left of it, that is.”
Chappelle said, “A logical conclusion. There was a lot of short selling of airline and insurance stocks in the days before 9/11. Somebody knew in advance that those stocks were going to take a big hit and reaped several billions of dollars due to that inside information. We’ve never been able to pinpoint the profiteer but there’s no doubt about the pattern.”
He’d been pacing back and forth in front of Jack’s desk. He stopped abruptly, turning to face Jack and point a finger at him. “Now couple that with those Colorado cultists suddenly dropping off the board.”
Reports about the disappearance of Abelson Prewitt and two dozen of his most fanatical followers from the Red Notch compound had already come to Jack’s attention as part of his daily intelligence summary.
Jack said, “I don’t doubt that Prewitt would like to bring a mountain crashing down on the Round Table’s guests, but I can’t see him playing the market to make a profit off it. That goes against his whole crackbrained ideology, what little I understand of it. His theories are a bit too opaque for me.”
Chappelle made a hand gesture like he was shooing away gnats. “Maybe he decided that if you can’t beat them, join them. He may be cracked but he knows the financial system inside out. Remember, he used to be an economics professor before he went all political.”
“Where would he get a couple of million dollars to invest?”
“Good question. Maybe he’s found a sponsor; a hostile foreign power, say. Interests inimical to the United States could be backing him. Using him for a cat’s-paw to do their dirty work while they turn a big fat profit at the same time.”
“Possibly.”
“And I know just the man to find out the answer, too, Jack.”
“Who?”
“You.”
Jack had seen that one coming but there wasn’t much he could do about it. He’d try, though. He said, “That’s CTU/DENV’s turf.”
Chappelle said, “The SIU’s findings about the short selling gives us an in.”
“I don’t think Lando Garcia’s going to want us com ing in.” Garcia said
Chappelle said, “You let me worry about Garcia.”
Jack said, “I can’t just drop everything here and take off for Colorado— ”
“Sure you can. Nina Myers can hold down the fort while you’re gone.” Nina Myers was the assistant SAC of CTU/L.A. and Jack’s chief of staff, fully qualified to take over in Jack’s absence.
Chappelle said, “Things are relatively quiet here. Sky Mount is where the action is. You’re a top field man, Jack. Garcia hasn’t got anybody in your class.”
“He’s got some good people out there— ”
“Not like you. You could make a difference. This is important, Jack. Big. I’m surprised you’re not jumping at the chance.”
“I’ve got a full plate here, Ryan. I don’t like to leave in the middle of things.”
“Nothing that won’t keep for a few days. And that’s all it’ll take, a few days. The Round Table ends on Sunday, and by Monday the guests will all have gone their separate ways.”
There was no way out. Jack had to say yes. Chappelle was his superior officer in the chain of command; he could order Jack to take the assignment. It didn’t matter that Jack was in charge of CTU/L.A. with its mountainous workload, awesome responsibilities, and important ongoing projects and investigations. It didn’t matter that Jack had recently ended a long and painful separation from his wife, Teri, and had moved back home with her and his teenage daughter, Kimberly, a delicate situation that was an emotional minefield of raw sensitivities, resentments, and bruised feelings.
It didn’t matter that Garcia and his whole CTU/ DENV outfit would see Jack as Chappelle’s creature, giving the notoriously ambitious Regional Division Director an opportunity to extend his authority by injecting himself into their operations.
It was a classic Chappelle ploy. The SIU’s discovery of the money manipulations gave him the opening wedge he needed to put Jack on temporary duty and strap him on Garcia’s CTU/DENV as a consultant. If Jack turned up something at Sky Mount, Chappelle could claim a share of the credit. If things went sour, he could wash his hands of all responsibility and hang it on Jack. And if nothing happened and it all worked out a draw, Chappelle would still have the pleasure of having intruded on the turf of his longtime rival Orlando Garcia.
The hell of it was that Chappelle might just be on to something with the discovery of the suspicious stock manipulations being a warning sign of an anti — Round Table plot. But he couldn’t just pass the information along to CTU/DENV for them to handle in their own way. No, he had to use it as a way to get his foot into Garcia’s door, like a pushy salesman who won’t take no for an answer. He certainly wouldn’t take Jack’s no for an answer.
Jack accepted the inevitable, stifling the sigh that sought to escape him and keeping a poker face. “When do I leave?”
Chappelle said, “Immediately.” He rubbed his palms together, a gesture somehow suggestive of a fly anticipating a choice morsel. “I’m counting on you, Jack. They need you out there. I know you’ll make Garcia and his crew look sick.”
Jack smiled wanly. Chappelle said, “And stay in close contact with me here. Keep me posted on all developments at all times.”
Chappelle had gotten what he wanted. The interview was over.
That was the prelude. Jack was now in the center of things, probing the Red Notch compound. The buildings were grouped close together, within walking distance. Neal indicated the central structure, a white, wooden frame two-story building. He said, “That’s the admin building, Prewitt’s headquarters.”
They crossed toward it. It fronted east, its long axis running north- south. A television satellite receiving dish
