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  had finally pushed on. Inside a metal briefcase was the videotape that had been removed from the camera in the file cabinet. The case was within easy reach of his hand. A steward appeared and poured out another cup of coffee for the plane's one awake passenger. Hardy's eyes rested on the metal briefcase. His brow wrinkled and, from long habit, his fingers traced and retraced the worry lines stamped across his forehead. Then Hardy put the report down, leaned back in his seat and stared out the cabin window as the aircraft headed east. He had a lot to think about. He was not a happy man right now. Both his jaw and his gut clenched and unclenched as the sleek jet raced on.

  The Gulfstream hit its cruising altitude on a flight that would culminate in Washington, D.C. The rays of the rising sun reflected off the familiar company logo emblazoned on the aircraft's empennage. The soaring eagle represented an organization like no other.

  More recognized worldwide than even Coca-Cola, more feared than most of the world's largest conglomerates--which, by comparison, were aging dinosaurs aware of the constant pull of extinction. It was the complete package as the twenty-first century hurtled toward them, just like the bold eagle symbol that was rapidly making its way into the four corners of the world and everywhere in between.

  Triton Global would have it no other way.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  A uniformed security guard escorted Lee Sawyer through the massive lobby of the Marriner Eccles Building, the Constitution Avenue home of the Federal Reserve Board. Sawyer thought that the premises were in keeping with the enormous clout of their occupant.

  After walking up to the second floor, Sawyer and his escort stopped at a thick wooden door and the escort knocked. The words "Come in" filtered out to them. Sawyer moved through the doorway to a large, cozily furnished office. The floor-to-ceiling bookcases, dark furniture and ornate moldings made a somber impression. The thick drapes were closed. A green banker's lamp glowed on the large, leather-topped partners desk. The smell of cigars hovered everywhere; Sawyer could almost see gray wisps of smoke hanging in the air like ghostly apparitions. It reminded him of the scholarly studies of some of his old college professors. A small fire burning in the fireplace threw both warmth and light into the room When a man of massive girth swiveled around in the chair behind the desk, Sawyer's attention was instantly riveted upon him. A corpulent red face housed light blue eyes hiding behind lids reduced to slits by sagging facial skin and the overgrowth of a pair of eyebrows as thick as Sawyer had ever seen. The hair was white and abundant, the nose was wide and the tip was even redder than the rest of the face. For one brief moment, Sawyer jokingly wondered if he was confronting Santa Claus.

  The man rose from behind the desk, and his big, cultured voice flowing across the room to envelop Lee Sawyer dispelled all such thoughts.

  "Agent Sawyer, I'm Walter Burns, vice chairman of the Federal Reserve Board."

  Sawyer moved forward to grip the flabby hand. Burns matched the six-foot-three Sawyer in height, but carried at least a hundred more pounds on his frame than did the powerfully built FBI agent.

  Sawyer took the leather chair indicated by Burns. When Burns sat back down, Sawyer noted that he moved with a grace that was not uncommon to large men.

  "I appreciate your seeing me, sir."

  Burns shot the FBI man a penetrating glance. "I take it that your agency's involvement in this matter means it was not merely a mechanical or other similar problem that befell that plane?"

  "We're checking through all possible scenarios. Nothing has been ruled out right now, Mr. Burns." Sawyer's features were impassive.

  "My name is Walter, Agent Sawyer. Since we're both members of the sometimes unwieldy system known as the federal government, I think that allows us the pleasure of a first-name basis."

  Sawyer grinned. "Mine's Lee."

  "How can I help you, Lee?"

  The clatter of freezing rain assaulted the window and a chill seemed suddenly to pervade the air. Burns rose and walked over to the fireplace, beckoning Sawyer to pull his chair over. While Burns placed some small pieces of kindling taken from a brass bucket onto the fire, Sawyer flipped open his notebook and briefly studied some notes. When Burns sat down across from him, Sawyer was ready.

  "I realize that a lot of people have no idea what the Fed does. I mean people outside the financial markets."

  Burns rubbed at one eye and Sawyer almost heard a chuckle escape the other man's lips. "If I were a betting man, I would be inclined to lay money on the fact that fully half the population of this country have no idea of the existence of the Federal Reserve System, and that nine out of ten have no clue as to what our actual purpose is. I must confess I find that anonymity enormously comforting."

  Sawyer paused and then leaned toward the older man. "Who would benefit from Arthur Lieberman's death? I don't mean personally, I'm focusing on his professional side. As chairman of the Fed."

  Burns's eyes widened until the slits reached the shape of half-moons, about the limits of their range. "You're implying that someone blew up that plane in order to kill Arthur? If you don't mind my saying so, that seems awfully far-fetched."

  "I didn't say that was the case. That is, we're looking at everything right now." Sawyer spoke in low tones, as though he feared he would be overheard. "The fact is I've combed through the passenger manifest and your colleague was the only VIP aboard. If it was a deliberate sabotage, then one reason that jumps out would be killing the Fed chairman."

  "Or just a planned terrorist attack and Arthur simply had the misfortune to be on board."

  Sawyer shook his head. "If we are looking at sabotage, then I don't believe Lieberman being on the plane was a coincidence."

  Burns leaned back in his chair and slowly put his feet out toward the fire. "My God!" he finally said as he stared into the fire. Although he would have looked quite at home in a three-piece suit replete with watch chain, his current attire--camel-hair sport coat, dark blue crew sweater with a white button-down shirt collar peeking out, gray pleated slacks and comfortable black loafers--did not look so out of place on his frame. Sawyer noted that the man's feet were surprisingly small for his size. Neither man spoke for at least a minute.

  Sawyer finally stirred. "I know I don't have to tell you that anything I say to you tonight is extremely confidential."

  Burns's head swiveled around to the FBI agent. "Secrets are something I am quite good at keeping, Lee."

  "So getting back to my question: Who benefits?"

  Burns considered the query for some moments and then took a deep breath. "The United States economy is the largest in the world.

  Hence, as America goes, so goes the world. If another country hostile to America desired to damage our economy or disrupt the world financial markets, perpetrating an atrocity such as this could well have that effect. I have no doubt that the markets will take a staggering blow if it turns out his death was premeditated." The vice chairman shook his head sadly. "I just never thought I would live to see the day."

  "How about anyone in this country who might like to see the chairman dead?" Sawyer asked again.

  "As long as the Fed has existed there have been conspiracy theories painted so vividly about the institution that I'm quite sure there are more than a handful of people in this country who take them, however nonsensical they are, quite seriously."

  Sawyer's eyes narrowed. "Conspiracy theories?"

  Burns coughed and then loudly cleared his throat. "There are those who believe that the Fed is actually a tool for wealthy families around the globe to keep the poor in their place. Or that we take our marching orders from a small group of international bankers. I've even heard one theory that has us being the pawns of alien beings who have infiltrated all the highest positions of government. My birth certificate says Boston, Massachusetts, by the way."

  Sawyer shook his head. "Christ, that's pretty wacko."

  "Exactly. As if a seven-trillion-dollar economy employing well over a hundred million people could be secretly
run by a handful of waistcoated tycoons."

  "So one of these conspiracy groups could have plotted to kill the chairman in retaliation for perceived corruption or injustice?"

  "Well, few governmental institutions are more misunderstood and feared out of ignorance than the Federal Reserve Board. When you first mentioned the possibility, I said it was far-fetched. Having thought about it for a few minutes, I have to say my initial reaction was probably not correct. But blowing up a plane..." Burns shook his head wearily.

  Sawyer jotted down some notes. "I'd like to know more about Lieberman's background."

  "Arthur Lieberman was an immensely popular man in the major financial circles. For years he was one of the top moneymakers on Wall Street, before turning to public service. Arthur called things as he saw them and he was usually right in his judgment. With a series of masterful maneuvers, he shook up the financial markets almost from the moment he became chairman. He showed them who was boss." Burns stopped to put another piece of wood on the fire.

  "In fact, he led the Fed in a way that I would like to think I would if ever given the opportunity."

  "Any idea who might succeed Lieberman?"

  Burns shook his head. "No."

  "Around the time he left for Los Angeles, had anything unusual occurred at the Fed?"

  Burns shrugged. "We had our FOME meeting on the fifteenth of November, but that was a regularly scheduled event."

  Sawyer looked puzzled. "FOME?"

  "Federal Open Market Committee. It's our policymaking board."

  "What goes on at those meetings?"

  "Well, in a shorthand version, the seven members of the Board of Governors and the presidents of five of the twelve Federal Reserve Banks look at all pertinent financial data on the economy and decide whether any actions are required with respect to money supply and interest rates."

  Sawyer nodded. "When the Fed raises or lowers interest rates, for instance, then that affects the entire economy. Contracts or expands it."

  "At least we think so," Burns replied sardonically. "Although our actions have not always had the results we intended."

  "So was there anything unusual at this FOME meeting?"

  "No."

  "Nevertheless, could you give me a rundown of exactly what was said and by whom? It might seem irrelevant, but getting a motive could really help us track down whoever did this."

  Burns's voice went up an octave. "Impossible. The actual deliberations of FOME meetings are absolutely confidential and cannot be divulged to you or anyone else."

  "Walter, I won't push it now, but with all due respect, if any information discussed at these meetings is relevant to the FBI's investigation, rest assured that we will have access to it." Sawyer stared at him until Burns dropped his gaze.

  "A brief report detailing the minutes of the meeting is released six to eight weeks after the meeting is held," Burns said slowly, "but only after the occurrence of the next meeting. The actual results of the meetings, whether any action was taken or not, are released to the news media the same day."

  "I read in the paper where the Fed left the interest rates the same."

  Burns pursed his lips and then eyed Sawyer. "That's right, we didn't adjust the interest rates."

  "How exactly do you adjust rates?"

  "There are actually two interest rates that are directly affected by the Fed, Lee. The Federal Funds Rate is the interest rate banks charge other banks who borrow funds to meet reserve requirements.

  If that rate goes up or down, interest rates on bank CDs, T-bills, mortgages and commercial paper will soon follow. The Fed sets the target Federal Funds Rate at the FOME meetings. Then the New York Federal Reserve Bank, through its Domestic Trading Desk, buys or sells government securities, which in turn restricts or expands the supply of money available to banks to ensure that that interest rate is maintained. We call that adding or subtracting liquidity. That's how Arthur took the bulls by the horns when he became chairman; by adjusting the Fed Funds Rate in ways the market didn't anticipate. The second interest rate which can be affected by the Fed is the Discount Rate, the rate charged by the Fed to banks for loans by the Fed. However, the Discount Rate is tied to loans for what amounts to emergency purposes; thus, it's known as the 'window of last resort." Banks who frequent that window too often will come under increased regulatory scrutiny, since it's seen as a sign of weakness in banking circles. For that reason, most banks will borrow money from other banks at the slightly higher Federal Funds Rate, since there is no stigma attached to that channel of credit."

  Sawyer decided to change direction. "Okay, had Lieberman been acting strangely? Anything bothering him? Any threats that you know of?"

  Burns shook his head.

  "This trip to L.A. that Lieberman was taking, was it a regular thing?"

  "Very regular. Arthur was meeting with Charles Tiedman, president of the San Francisco Federal Reserve Bank. Arthur was very good about making the rounds of the presidents, and he and Charles were old friends."

  "Wait a minute. If Tiedman is head of the San Francisco bank, why was Lieberman flying into L.A.?"

  "There is a branch office of the Fed there. Also, Charles and his wife live in Los Angeles and Arthur would stay with them."

  "But he would've just seen Tiedman at the November fifteenth meeting."

  "That's right. But Arthur's trip to L.A. was planned well in advance.

  It was only a coincidence that it occurred shortly after the FOME meeting. However, I do know he was anxious to talk to Charles."

  "Do you know what about?"

  Burns shook his head. "You'd have to ask Charles."

  "Anything else that might help me?"

  Burns considered the question briefly and then shook his head again. "I can't think of anything in Arthur's personal background that would have led to this abomination."

  Sawyer rose and shook Burns's hand. "I appreciate the information, Waiter."

  When Sawyer turned to leave, Burns gripped his shoulder.

  "Agent Sawyer, the information we have at the Fed is so enormously valuable that the slightest slip could reap incredible profits for undeserving individuals. I guess I've become extremely tight-lipped over the years to prevent just such an occurrence."

  "I understand."

  Burns put a flabby hand on the door as Sawyer buttoned up his coat. "So, do you have any suspects yet?"

  The agent turned back to Burns. "Sorry, Walter, we have secrets at the FBI too."

  Henry Wharton sat behind his desk, nervously tapping his foot on the carpeted floor. The managing partner of Tyler, Stone was small in stature but large in legal ability. Partially bald with a trim gray mustache, he looked every bit the senior partner in a major law firm. After thirty-five years of representing the elite of American business, Wharton was not easily intimidated. However, if anyone came close, it was the man currently seated across from him.

  "So that's all she told you? That she was unaware her husband was on the plane at all?" Wharton asked.

  Nathan Gamble's eyes were half closed as he looked down at his hands. He now looked up at Wharton. The movement made the attorney jerk slightly.

  "That's all I asked her."

  Wharton shook his head sadly. "Oh, I see. Well, I know when I spoke with her she was devastated. Poor thing. Such a shock, right out of the blue like that. And--"

  Wharton broke off speaking as Gamble stood up and went over to the window behind the lawyer's desk. He studied the Washington landscape in the late morning sunlight. "It occurred to me, Henry, that further questioning might better come from you."

  Gamble put one big hand on Wharton's narrow shoulder and gently squeezed.

  Wharton quickly nodded. "Yes, yes, I can understand your thinking on that point."

  Gamble strolled over to peruse numerous diplomas from prestigious universities neatly lining one wall of Wharton's expansive quarters. "Very impressive. I never finished high school. I don't know if you knew that or not." He looked over
his shoulder at the lawyer.

  "I didn't," Wharton said quietly.

  "I guess I did okay for a dropout." Gamble shrugged his thick shoulders.

  "Quite the understatement. Your success is unparalleled," Wharton said quickly.

  "Hell, I started with nothing, probably end up that way."

  "I hardly think that."

  Gamble took a moment to straighten one of the diplomas. He turned back to Wharton. "Getting to particulars, it was obvious to me that Sidney Archer knew her husband was on that plane."

  Wharton started. "You're saying you think she lied to you? No disrespect, Nathan, but I can't believe that."

  Gamble returned to his chair. Wharton was about to speak again, but Gamble fixed the lawyer with a gaze that froze him. Gamble