only confuse her.”
“Right.”
“Suffice it to say, Roxy, there are a number of ways for a sophisticated investor to make many millions of dollars on just a single takeover deal without ever having to put much cash down.”
“So the terrorists could be making a fortune.”
Claire nodded. “Possibly hundreds of millions or more. It all depends on how much sensitive info on pending deals they can get their hands on.”
She finished off her wine. “That kind of money buys a lot of roadside bombs and grenade launchers.”
“Yes, Roxy, it sure does.”
“I get the picture, Claire, possessing knowledge is the same as having money in the bank. It’s practically a sure thing.”
“It is, Roxy, and that’s why people are willing to risk going to jail in order to obtain it.”
She sat back. “I can understand the temptation; a person could retire in style from doing just one deal.”
“But human nature being what it is, Roxy, they rarely stop at just a single deal. Greed leads to their eventual arrest and downfall.”
He placed his napkin on the table. “I’ve got to say I’m impressed at the ingenuity of the terrorists. On 9/11 they hijacked our own planes and used them to attack us; now they’re hijacking our capitalist system and using it to attack us.”
“Yes, Frank, it’s as if they are mocking our culture.”
“The Devil must be given his due, Claire.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.”
He looked from one woman to the other. “Why do you come to an ancient fossil like me for help on this case?”
Roxy poured herself more wine. “A bit player in this scam happens to be a patron of the Bull & Bear.”
“Hmm.”
“And you are friendlier with him than most.”
“Me?” He tried to imagine who that could be but drew a blank. “What’s your plan?”
She sighed. “This is where it gets a little sketchy, Frank, I can’t give you a road map. All I can suggest is you get closer to this person than you already are; pump him for information about his job without arousing his suspicions; become his confidante; use him to figure a way for us to move up the chain of command to the major figures in the conspiracy.”
“I see.”
“We’ve got to get a key player to turn State’s Evidence, a co-conspirator who will furnish us with enough hard evidence to make a terrorism charge stick.”
He smiled. “For a gal who never went to business school, Roxy, you’re asking a lot from a guy who never went to spy school.”
“I realize it’s not going to be easy. You’ll have to wing it, Frank, and we’re also going to need some luck.”
“Is it going to be dangerous?”
She took a few seconds to answer. “Probably not.”
“Probably?”
“The Americans, we believe, are in it solely for monetary gain, however, the bunch in the Middle East is ideological. For them, the money is merely the means to political and religious ends.”
“Praise Allah!”
“Yes.”
“So we’re talking radical Islam, Roxy, very fearsome people.”
She dipped her head. “Fanatical, irrational people you can’t reason with and who are willing to die for their cause.”
“Hmm.”
“Death is a gift for some Muslims, Frank, because martyrdom has its own special rewards in the Afterlife.”
“Like 72 vestal virgins waiting for you up in Heaven when you get there.”
“Exactly. It is a chauvinistic mantra but going instantly to Heaven is very appealing to uneducated young men with no money, no prospects, and nothing to lose.”
“I suppose.”
“And there are other benefits as well. Suicide bombers are honored in their villages. The families they leave behind also profit greatly from their sacrifice; they are looked up to in the village, they receive cash and privileges, the kids get to go to the best schools, and the widows remarry more senior members in the cause and move up socially.”
“So it’s a win-win situation for both the living and the dead.”
She nodded. “Which explains why there is no shortage of volunteers willing to strap on explosives and blow themselves up in crowded places.”
“Don’t worry, Roxy, I’m not chickening out. I just wanted to get the lay of the land.”
“As I said, your part in this should be fairly safe, Frank, it’s only when we move up the chain does it become really dangerous.”
He shrugged. “Up or down the chain, Roxy, it makes no difference to me. My wife is dead, I’ve no family to live for, and nobody much cares.”
Claire pressed his arm. “That’s not true, Frank, you’ve got friends who care about you.”
“It’s true enough.” He rubbed his hands together in gleeful anticipation. “I’ve been bored stiff for years, ladies, a bit of derring-do is exactly what the doctor ordered.”
“Ok, Frank, if you’re sure.”
“Tell me, Roxy, how soon do I begin this assignment?”
“Tonight, Frank, this very minute.”
His breathing quickened. “Really?”
“Yes.”
“Well, I’m ready; you only have to steer me in the right direction.”
She averted her razor-sharp gaze towards the section of the bar where a man was perusing a newspaper and munching on Buffalo wings.
He twisted sideways in his seat to view the object of her attention without being unduly obvious about it.
“That’s him.”
“Carl Pizzi?”
“Yes.”
“You’re way off base, Roxy, Carl’s a … a skirt-chasing, bullshit artist and totally Mets-crazy, a true creature of the nose bleed section of the stadium bleachers. In addition, he’s not the brightest bulb in the room; he talks with his hands.”
“That may well be true, Frank,
