CHAPTER 50

VARTAN VOLE WAS WAITING FOR ANNIE WHEN SHE CAME IN TO WORK ON MONDAY MORNING. Petra caught her just as she rounded the bend in the building.

“Annie, I’m so glad you’re here. I found Mr. Vole in your office when I got back from a bathroom break. He refused to wait in reception! I’m so sorry. Should I call someone?” she asked anxiously.

“Oh no.” Annie took a step backward as if to flee. Reflexively she glanced at her watch. Eight thirty was a little early for an unscheduled meeting. What was the man doing there?

As soon as she asked herself the question, a number of frightening thoughts popped into her head. Where were the code-yellow buffers that Homeland Security advised for all public places? What was wrong with the security man in the lobby of the building? He’d let an outsider walk right in, then only minutes later hassled her, a legitimate employee he’d known for years. What was wrong with everybody? The receptionist at Hall Stale let him walk right in, and Petra hadn’t been at her station to stop him. Too many holes in the fire wall. She trembled thinking about how easy it was to breach security. So now the man was in her office. For all she knew, he was an evil genius who could use her own computer to transfer anybody’s money to himself—even hers. Or he had a gun in his pocket and planned to shoot her dead if she denied him the millions he was so desperately trying to acquire. What to do? What to do? Fight or flight? She hesitated, considering her options.

“Is Brian here?” she asked.

“Not yet,” Petra said.

“Frisk?”

“Frisk and Darian are here,” Petra replied.

Darian could probably fight off a tiger, but Frisk was burly. He was the one Annie wanted. Security on the fourteenth floor? That was a laugh. She had no idea who that might be. “Alert Frisk, will you? We need him to return Vole’s certificates,” she said.

“What about you?” Petra said. “You want me to come with you?”

“Go get Frisk,” Annie said, “and anybody big you can round up.”

Annie was wearing a black suit with a black T-shirt to suit her no-nonsense mood. She was ready for war on all fronts. From the door, she could see a three-quarters view of Vartan Vole, who still didn’t look the part of a world-class financial player. He was a hairy, heavyset man in a cheap and wrinkled suit with a bulging briefcase hugged tightly to his barrel chest. Luckily he wasn’t anywhere near her computer. He was hovering by the glass-topped coffee table in front of her sofa, appearing to study a photo of her family taken at camp some years ago. Inside their gold frame, the Custers were all wearing shorts and polo shirts with the camp’s logo on the pocket, and they were grinning like happy fools in the sunshine of that long-past summer.

“Mr. Vole, what a surprise. I didn’t have you on my schedule this morning,” Annie said coldly.

Vartan turned to face her like an eager suitor at a dance.

“Heelllo, Annie Custard,” he said heartily. “I came on the red-eye just to see you.”

She didn’t ask him where from, only wished him to return there as quickly as possible. She could see through his large black eyeglass frames that his eyes were indeed puffy and red. He could well have had a sleepless night. The condition of his suit also indicated exceptional usage without benefit of a good dry cleaner. But he was a liar about everything else, so why believe this?

Vartan started talking before she was even halfway in the room. “I am about to show you more money in one place than you have ever seen in your life,” he said excitedly. “You won’t believe this.”

“Funny you should say that, I don’t believe it already,” Annie remarked.

“Oh no. Oh yes. This is amazing indeed. A chance of a lifetime. Come in and sit down, yes? Hold out your hand, you will feel the riches of kings rush through your blood. Believe me, Annie Custard, this is the deal of a lifetime.”

Annie sat down at her desk. She no longer had any hope for deals of a lifetime from Vole. “Mr. Vole, the IBM certificates you gave me last week are phony,” she told him bluntly.

“What!” He acted like an innocent bystander in a war zone, shot in a crossfire by a sniper’s bullet. One hand smacked the briefcase over his heart. His eyeballs rolled around in his head. He actually staggered a step and had to steady himself on the back of one of Annie’s plaid wing chairs. “Don’t do this to me,” he cried.

“I can’t do anything for or against you. Your certificates are phony. End of story. You’ll have to leave.”

“They aren’t,” he protested. “There’s been a mistake.”

She shrugged. “It doesn’t matter. There’s nothing we can do for you.”

“But wait. I know they’re good as gold. Anybody would take them,” he argued.

“Fine, you can try them somewhere else.”

“But I bought them at auction. Southebee’s,” he protested.

“You mean Sotheby’s,” she corrected. He didn’t even know the name of the auction house.

“That’s right, Southebee’s. Do you think they would handle phony certificates? No, they wouldn’t.”

She shrugged again. It wasn’t her problem.

“But I want you to see this,” he said wildly.

Out of nowhere came his passport. He flapped it across the desk at her. “U.S. passport, the real thing. I’m a citizen. Would a U.S. citizen fool you? Would I spend five million dollars on phony certificates? Never.”

Frisk strode into the room without his suit jacket and without knocking. He was a well-muscled young man, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. Board-stiff from Chinese laundry starch, his white dress shirt displayed an impressive expanse of chest. Annie exhaled in relief. He looked every inch a Wall Street warrior. Darian followed close on Frisk’s heel, with Anderson, a young broker who played on the firm baseball team. No one wanted to miss a show. Today Darian’s hair was curly and soft, and she was wearing another pink suit. Annie saw a bulge in her jacket pocket and guessed it was the can of pepper spray she normally kept in her purse.

“Hellooo, everybody,” Vartan said without missing a beat.

Before Frisk had a chance to wrestle him to the floor or Darian could spray him with the pepper, Vartan had his briefcase open. A pile of coins clattered down on the coffee table. One flipped over onto the rug, and he sank down to his knees to locate it.

“Gold!” he exclaimed, retrieving it with relief. “Solid gold, thousands of years old. You will never see so much wealth again.”

Gold? For a second they all froze in their places. Then Vartan climbed to his feet. “Are you happy now? I have something really big for you!” he said triumphantly.

“I have an appointment, Mr. Vole. Mr. Frisk here will return your certificates. I need you to leave quietly,” Annie said firmly. “Hall Stale does not deal in coins.”

“What are you talking about? You don’t want to see a hundred million dollars’ worth of lost treasure?” Vartan looked amazed.

“No,” Annie said. “I don’t want to see it.”

“Where’s it from?” Darian piped up, peeking at a coin without picking it up.

“I acquired it from an Arab gentleman—”

Oh God, Iraqi plunder, Annie thought, and cut him off before he could say another thing. “Mr. Vole, Mr. Frisk will escort you to the elevator.”

“No, no. You don’t understand. If you deposit this in my account, we’ll all be rich,” Vartan said frantically.

“We understand, but we can’t deposit coins,” Frisk told him.

“But take a look at this king’s ransom that’s never been available before.” He shook the last one out of a leather pouch. It was thick and dull and not perfectly formed, clearly produced by hand and not in some modern machine. It clinked on the glass, but failed to impress them the way the IBM certificates had. The dull gleam gave a suggestion of gold, but no one made a move to take a closer look at the pile. Annie actually shuddered. She had trouble enough without adding foreign plunder to her list of transgressions.

“Whatever it is, we can’t take it.” Frisk echoed her thoughts. “Why don’t you come with me?”

Vartan ignored him. “Believe me. It’s completely on the up-and-up. Put it in my account. A little trade, that’s all. Treasure for cash.” Up went his bushy eyebrows. He had his own belief system. It didn’t include defeat.

“Mr. Vole. We’re a brokerage firm. We deal in stocks and bonds, not coins. That’s it. And we all have work to do.” Frisk jerked his head toward the door.

“Well, I gave you stock. You wouldn’t take my stocks, either,” Vartan said in a hurt tone.

“No, they’re fake,” Frisk told him.

“But I can sell these anywhere.” Vartan wasn’t finished.

“Goodbye, Mr. Vole,” Annie said.

“But I came all the way from Turkey for this,” he protested.

Annie didn’t say anything more. Frisk moved in, and Vartan stuck his hand out.

“You told me you were a full-service broker. Where do you expect me to go now?” His hurt eyes made a circuit of the room.

“Try Charles Stack,” Darian said quickly. “They deal in coins.”

“Do you think they’ll take the stock, too?” he asked earnestly. “I only have today.”