Terminal Value Part 25

"Maybe it's time to talk to the cops."

"Maybe. Or maybe it's time to let in some suns.h.i.+ne on these guys and expose the truth."

"And how are we going to do that?"

Dylan paused. "Heather, I have an idea."

"What?"

"I need to think about it a little more. And I'm going to need help."

"You know I'm here."

"Someone from outside the office. You still have the key to my place?"

"Of course."

"Good, I'll meet you back there by five o'clock to discuss it. It's time we turned those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds' own tactics against them."

Chapter 28.

May 17, 7:00 a.m. Boston Dylan arrived early at the Boston office. He seated himself at his desk amid the quiet of the morning; the normal buzz of activity was absent. He opened his laptop and watched the stock market prices stream across the bottom of the screen. Mantric's stock soared to an all-time high of $101.75 a share, and for Dylan that meant that, on paper at least, he was now worth over sixteen million dollars.

He shook off the thought and forced his mind to refocus on just two things: business and Tony-and how they crossed paths. He obsessed about Art and Christine's probable involvement with Tony's death, and the ongoing Hyperfn fiasco continued to raise its ugly head and beckon him.

He expected to hear from Art at any moment, a curt letter demanding his resignation-or maybe from Christine, unapologetically nasty as she fired him and laid the blame on Art. He was staring at the streaming figures on the monitor when his screen flashed, letting him know a caller wanted to speak to him on the LAN. It was Ivan. He got up, closed his door, then reseated himself. He clicked "accept," and Ivan's grim face appeared.

"Good morning, Mr. Johnson," Ivan said, his accent more chopped and precise than normal.

"Morning," Dylan said, his tone barely civil. "What do you want, Ivan?"

"I would like to discuss the Hyperfn situation with you."

"Would you? Okay. Go ahead."

Ivan cleared his throat. "I would prefer to do this in person."

"Well that could be difficult, because I'm in Boston, and-"

Ivan cut Dylan off. "Yes, I know. As am I."

Dylan caught himself short, wondering why Ivan was in Boston. He cursed under his breath. "You know you can have your secretary call my secretary and-"

"Mr. Johnson, please. Will you come to Tony's office?"

Dylan noticed a subtle change in Ivan's expression. Not threatening, but more pleading. He gave a curt nod. "I'll be right there." He signed off and left his office.

The sound of his steps echoed as he walked through the empty hallway. He recalled the last time he had gone to Tony's office-he'd found Ivan dismantling his friend's computer. He hesitated outside it, then opened the door.

Ivan sat in a chair behind the desk, arms folded and head bowed. Dylan glanced around. The empty office, now stripped of any evidence of its former occupant, contained only a desk and two chairs. A cold and empty feeling swirled through the pit of his stomach. He stepped in and closed the door.

Anger bubbled up from his gut like bile. "So why do you give a f.u.c.k about Hyperfn?"

Ivan raised his head and regarded Dylan as an unwelcome pest. "I don't. I had to say something to get you here." He glanced around the room. "Where we can talk."

Dylan snorted. "You're kidding. Now you're worried about someone snooping in my office, after what happened last week and what's been happening for months?" He shook his head in disbelief. He pulled up a chair and sat in silence, waiting for Ivan to take the first step.

"We have a big problem," Ivan said.

"Really? What a brilliant revelation!"

"You refer to what happened last week. You are speaking of Mr. Smith's firing?"

Dylan cast an icy stare across the desk.

"I did nothing, Mr. Johnson." Ivan looked at him with a pained expression. "I don't think you appreciate the difficulty of my position." He rose and walked to the window, his back to Dylan.

"I think I do. You're playing both sides for your own benefit."

"Not benefit. Survival." He turned around and faced Dylan. "This is a difficult time, Mr. Johnson. The moral issues are . . . ambiguous."

"Right. Because it's hard to decide whether or not to turn in a murderer."

"Sometimes, yes, but not in this case. Unfortunately, I do not have any substantive information leading me to identify the murderer."

Dylan scrutinized Ivan's face. He saw questions in his eyes. Was he lying about knowing who murdered Tony? Was he wondering what Heather had seen? The man's granite face left little room for answers. Only his eyes displayed fear-and perhaps a bit of sadness.

"So what did you want to talk about?"

Ivan hesitated for just a second. "I wanted to see if you have made any progress in your investigation of Tony's death."

"Nothing that points away from Mantric, if that's what you mean." Dylan tried to stay one mental step ahead of Ivan, but felt the man's breath on the back of his neck.

"Have the police told you anything?" Ivan asked.

"I'm actually avoiding the police. I guess you know about that."

"You guess wrong, Mr. Johnson. The people I am avoiding are not the police."

"Well, if you lie down with swine-"

"You criticize me?" He lifted his chin. "You are such a successful young professional, aren't you, Mr. Johnson? With the world in the palm of your hand. Money is your G.o.d. You think you are so different from Art Williams, from Christine Rohnmann, from me? How closely have you examined your motives? Because from where I am sitting, you are well on your way to becoming a second Art Williams." His tone was not rude, just stating the facts as he saw them.

Dylan bristled: he knew that Ivan's angry words might well be true. Again, he thought he saw a moment of fear, crossed with desolation. "What does Art have on you anyway, Ivan? The way Art talks to you-his condescending att.i.tude. It's pretty clear he's holding something over your head."

Ivan returned to the desk and sat down, leaning in toward Dylan. "You couldn't even begin to imagine my situation."

"Fine. So again I ask, what do you want?"

Ivan's jaw clenched. "I want to ask you to warn me when you make your move."

"What move?"

"Please, Mr. Johnson, don't bother to try to cover it up."

"Okay, so you want a heads-up if I know when something is coming down."

"If you want to put it that way."

"So you can what? Take off? Warn Art?" He heard the anger in his words.

Dylan watched Ivan's gaunt face. He realized Ivan was on the verge of a disclosure; he just didn't know if it would benefit him or not. He decided to push. "I notice I didn't get a heads-up from you about Matt."

"I didn't know Art would ask you to fire him. I'm not hearing as much as I once did."

Dylan wrinkled his brow, confused. "Okay," he said slowly as he organized his thoughts. "So-what? All you want me to do is promise to give you warning if I discover something? You're still on my suspect list, you know, and pretty close to the top."

Ivan remained emotionless and let out a long sigh. "I did not kill Tony, but I have nothing other than my word that I can give you. While I realize he was a close friend to you, he was nothing more to me than an employee. I mean no ill-I just had no history with him. My time with Mantric is coming to an end, one way or another. I'm just asking for a favor. Whether you grant it or not is up to you."

Dylan lowered his glance toward the desk. The last thing he expected from Ivan was the request of a favor. The sound of silence, that mind-numbing experience of the total absence of sound, wrapped itself around him and squeezed. His photographic memory recapped the entire conversation but could not provide an answer to the question: Should he trust Ivan? All he had to go on was his instinct, his ability to judge this man. And, in Ivan's case, his head told him one thing, and his gut another. He took the chance. "Okay. Consider yourself warned."

Ivan raised one eyebrow and leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner. "Something is in the works?" he whispered, more as an aside than a direct question.

Dylan nodded.

Ivan stood and walked to the window. He clasped his hands behind him. "Hmm. Your goal is to-what?-find evidence of wrongdoing, or proof of who killed your friend?"

"It's all the same to me."

"Perhaps not. Do you plan to do this alone, Mr. Johnson?"

"Actually, I've lined up outside help."

"And what about inside help?"

Dylan's heartbeat increased, and suddenly the temperature of the room seemed to rise. "What about it?"

Ivan paced across the room, the image of a man trying to make a key decision. "You wonder what Mr. Williams had on me?"

"Yeah."

Ivan walked over to the window and looked out. "My country doesn't exist anymore." He stopped and took a breath, released his breath through his nose. "In my line of work, situations occur and people turn quickly to save themselves. I do not have pleasant memories of my actions. Let us just say political strife, when it reaches high levels, results in actions people do not forget."

"So what does Art have on you?"

"When the revolution came, fortunes changed hands, memories were long, and my actions in one regime were remembered by the second. I had worked for the wrong side, you see. I fled with a price on my head and eventually found my way to your country. I am skilled at my job, and contacts introduced me to Mr. Williams. Unfortunately for me, they informed him of my past, and he has maintained a file on me. This was several years ago, but even then he was planning. He has the ability to look into the future and plan for his own good fortunes. I would not play a game of chess with him if I were you. He is always several steps ahead of his opponent."

"How did you ever get a green card?"

Ivan did not answer.

Dylan immediately realized the answer. "You don't have one, do you? Art somehow fixed it up so you could stay, or got you a fake ident.i.ty. Is that it? Is that what you wanted to find? His file that proves you're an illegal alien?"

Ivan's eyelids flickered. "Yes."

Dylan stopped and thought. "But you had access to all the computers, all the files. You could have deleted that information any time, and he could not have said anything to you because he would have been complicit in your illegal status."

"His file on me was not on any computers. He had a paper file I've never found, and he would have manipulated the information to keep the authorities away from his involvement. I won't be able to rely on Mr. Williams's sponsors.h.i.+p any longer." He turned to Dylan and changed the subject. "You won't see me again, Mr. Johnson. I admire your desire to fight for justice for your friend. You show commendable pa.s.sion." He picked up a sheet of paper from the desk and scribbled directions on it. "Perhaps this information will be of some value to you." He handed Dylan the paper and turned to leave. He stopped at the door and turned around. "One more thing, Mr. Johnson. Those videos Ms. Carter saw? They were my insurance plan. Mr. Williams knows nothing about them."

May 17, 6:00 p.m. Boston The medical examiner's report on Tony Caruso, ruling the death to be a homicide, was released at eleven o'clock that morning, more than two weeks after his death. The Mantric employees' cell phones rang nonstop throughout the day, and Art sent out another emergency voice-mail to the U.S. staff expressing his distress, his support of Tony's father in this difficult time, and the unsubtle implication that, if true, it certainly had nothing to do with Mantric. Dylan wondered if the news caused Art to put off firing him for another day. If so, he owed the Boston medical examiner a big thank-you.

Dylan was in his kitchen pouring a second cup of coffee just as the Tracfone rang. It could be only one of three people, and he hoped it was Heather. "h.e.l.lo?"

"Hi," she said. "Are we putting our plan into action today?"

"Yes. I'm taking the eight o'clock shuttle to New York this evening. Sorry I didn't call you. Are you okay back in your apartment? You're welcome to stay here if you prefer." The sound of hope echoed in his voice, and he wished he were not so obvious.

"No, I'm fine. Did you see the news?"

"If you mean about Tony's death, yeah, I saw it." A moment of silence echoed between them. "Where are you on the spreadsheet?" he asked.

"I spent most of the day reviewing the information with Rich. He really is quite good with numbers, and even better at explaining them. I'm comfortable once we solidify the information, even if it has nothing to do with Tony's death. With these numbers and the videos, we will have a solid case against Art and Christine and their illegal business practices."

"Good. I'll be at my hotel in New York. I need to organize our plan. Monday will be an ugly day at the office." He hesitated for a moment, and then added, "Listen, Heather. I had a meeting with Ivan this morning."

"You what?" Her tone became defensive. "Why didn't you call me and tell me?"

"I needed to have some time to myself to digest the conversation, but, if you have a few minutes, let me tell you now."

Chapter 29.