Total Control, Page 41

  "What does that mean?"

  The little man's expression became astonishingly sharp when he focused on the agent's face. "It means that it is never wise to follow placidly along when good judgment should dictate otherwise."

  Sawyer leaned back in his chair. "Meaning you didn't agree with Lieberman all the time."

  Tiedman was not looking at the agent now. His features betrayed what he was thinking, however. It was clear that he now intensely regretted ever allowing this interview.

  "Meaning' that members of the Federal Reserve Board are placed on that board to exercise their own minds and their own judgments and not to blindly succumb to arguments that have little basis in reality and could lead to disastrous consequences."

  "That's a pretty big statement."

  "Well, it's a pretty big job we have."

  Sawyer referred to his notes from the conversation with Walter Burns. "Burns said Lieberman took the bull by the horns early on, to get the market's attention, to shake it up. I take it you thought that wasn't such a good idea."

  "Ludicrous would be a better term."

  "If it was so off-the-wall, why did a majority go along?" Sawyer was a little skeptical.

  "There's a phrase that critics of economic forecasting like to use: Give an economist a result you want, and he'll find the numbers to justify it. This entire city is filled with number crunchers who look at the exact same data and interpret it in widely disparate ways on every thing from the federal budget deficit to the Social Security surplus."

  "Meaning that data can be manipulated."

  "Of course it can, depending on who's paying the meter and whose political agenda is being furthered," Tiedman said with asperity.

  "You've no doubt heard the principle that for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction?" Sawyer nodded. "Well, I'm convinced its genesis is political rather than scientific."

  "No disrespect, but could it be they thought your views were wrong?"

  "I am not omniscient, Agent Sawyer. However, I have been intimately involved in the financial markets for the last forty years. I have seen up and down markets. I have seen robust economies and ones teetering on collapse. I have seen Fed chairmen take prompt, effective action when confronted with crisis and I have seen others flounder badly, with the result that the economy gets tipped on its head. An in-advised half-percent increase in the Fed Funds Rate can cost hundreds of thousands of jobs and absolutely devastate whole sectors of the economy. It is an enormous power that must not be exercised lightly. Arthur's zigzagging with the Fed Funds Rate placed every American citizen's economic future in serious jeopardy. I was not wrong."

  "I thought you and Lieberman were close. Didn't he ask for your advice?"

  Tiedman fingered his coat button nervously. "Arthur had previously sought out my counsel. Often. For a period of about three years he stopped doing that."

  "Was that the period during which he played roller-coaster with the rates?"

  Tiedman nodded. "I finally concluded, as did others on the board, that Arthur was punching a lazy financial market flush in the face.

  But that is not the board's mission, it's far too dangerous. I lived through the last stages of the Great Depression. I have no desire to do so again."

  "I guess it never occurred to me how much power the board wields."

  Tiedman looked sternly at him. "Do you know that when we decide to raise rates we can tell fairly precisely how many businesses will declare bankruptcy, how many people will lose their jobs, how many homes will be foreclosed? We have all that data, neatly bound, carefully studied. To us it's only numbers. We never, officially, look behind those numbers. If we did, I don't think any of us Would have the stomach for the job. I know that I wouldn't. Perhaps if we started tracking suicide, murder and other criminal statistics, we would be more understanding of the vast powers that we hold over our fellow citizens."

  "Murder? Suicide?" Sawyer looked at him warily.

  "Surely you would be the first to admit that money is the root of all evil. Or perhaps more accurately stated, the lack of money is the root of all evil."

  "Jesus, I never really thought of it that way. You sort of hold the power of..."

  "God?" Tiedman's eyes sparkled. "Do you know how much money the Fed wire-transfers out to maintain its policies and to insure that the commercial banking system operates smoothly?"

  Sawyer shook his head. "One trillion dollars per day."

  Sawyer sat back, stunned. "That's a lot of money, Charles."

  "No, that's a lot of power, Agent Sawyer. We're one of this country's best-kept secrets. Indeed, if average citizens were fully aware of what we can do and have often done in the past, I believe they'd storm the walls and cast us all into dungeons, if not worse. And maybe they would be right."

  Sawyer looked down at his notes. "Do you know the dates those rate changes occurred?"

  Tiedman retreated from his musings. "Not offhand. An astonishing admission for a banker, but my memory isn't all that good with numbers anymore. I can get you the answer, though."

  "I'd appreciate it. Could there have been another reason why Lieberman went nuts with the rates?" Now Sawyer clearly saw the twinge of anxiety mixed with fear in the man's features.

  "What do you mean?"

  Sawyer leaned back in his chair. "You said it was out of character for him. And then he abruptly returned to normal. Doesn't that sound mysterious to you?"

  "I guess I never thought about it in that light. I'm afraid I still do not understand your point."

  "Let me put this as clearly as I can. Maybe Lieberman was manipulating the rates against his will."

  Tiedman's eyebrows shot up. "How could anyone make Arthur do that?"

  "Blackmail," Sawyer said simply. "Any theories?"

  Tiedman regrouped and began speaking nervously. "I had heard rumors that Arthur was having an affair, years ago. A woman--"

  Sawyer broke in. "I don't buy that and neither do you. Lieberman paid off his wife to avoid a scandal so he could run the Fed, but it wasn't over a woman." Sawyer leaned forward so that his face was within inches of Tiedman's. "What can you tell me about Steven Page?"

  Tiedman's face froze, but only for an instant. "Who?"

  "This might jog your memory." Sawyer reached in his pocket and pulled out the photo Ray Jackson had found in Lieberman's apartment.

  He held the photo up in front of Tiedman.

  Tiedman took the photo in quivering hands. His head bent low, his long brow a sea of creases. However, Sawyer could see the recognition in the man's eyes.

  "How long have you known about this?" Sawyer asked quietly.

  Tiedman's mouth moved, but no words came out. He finally handed the photo back to Sawyer and took another drink of water.

  He didn't look at Sawyer when he spoke, which seemed to make the words come a little easier. "I was actually the one who introduced them," was Tiedman's surprising reply. "Steven worked at Fidelity Mutual as a financial analyst. Arthur was still president of the New York Fed at that time. I was introduced to Steven at a financial symposium.

  Many colleagues whom I respected sang his praises loudly.

  He was an exceptionally bright young man with some intriguing ideas on the financial markets and the Fed's role in the evolving global economy. He was personable, cultured, attractive; he'd graduated near the top of his college class. I knew that Arthur would find him a welcome addition to his circle of intellectual acquaintances.

  He and Arthur quickly struck up a friendship." Tiedman faltered.

  "A friendship that eventually blossomed into something else?"

  Sawyer prompted.

  Tiedman nodded.

  "Were you aware at the time that Lieberman was homosexual, or at least bisexual?"

  "I knew that his marriage was troubled. I did not know, at the time, that the trouble stemmed from Arthur's sexual... confusion."

  "He seemed to solve that confusion. He divorced his wife."

  "I don't th
ink that was Arthur's idea. I believe Arthur would have been perfectly happy keeping intact at least the facade of a happy heterosexual marriage. I know that more and more people 'come out' these days, but Arthur was an intensely private man and the financial community is very conservative."

  "So the missus wanted the divorce. Did she know about Page?"

  "His specific identity? No, I don't think so. But I believe she knew Arthur was having an affair, and that it wasn't with a woman.

  I believe that was why the divorce was so acrimonious and so one-sided.

  Arthur had to act quickly, lest his wife tell her attorneys, even, about her suspicions. It cost him every penny he had. Arthur only disclosed this information to me as the most personal secret one friend could tell another. And I only tell it to you under those same strict, confidential terms."

  "I appreciate that, Charles," Sawyer said. "Only you have to understand if Lieberman was the reason that plane went down, I have to explore every possibility to solve that crime. However, I can promise you that I won't use the information you've just given me unless it directly impacts on my investigation. If it turns out Lieberman's affair is not connected, then no one will ever learn from me what you've just disclosed. Fair enough?"

  "Fair enough," Tiedman finally said. "Thank you."

  Sawyer noted Tiedman's exhaustion and decided to move forward quickly. "You're familiar with the circumstances of Steven Page's death?"

  "I read about it in the paper."

  "Did you know that he had tested positive for HIV?"

  Tiedman shook his head.

  Sawyer sat back. "A couple more questions. Did you know that Lieberman had terminal pancreatic cancer?" Tiedman nodded.

  "How did he feel about it? Devastated? Hurt?"

  Tiedman didn't answer immediately. He sat quietly, his hands clasped in his lap. Then he looked at Sawyer. "Actually, Arthur seemed happy."

  "The guy was terminal and he seemed happy?"

  "I know it sounds strange, but it's the only way I can describe it.

  Happy and relieved."

  The puzzled FBI agent thanked Tiedman and left, his head swimming with an entirely new set of questions and no way, as yet, to answer them.

  CHAPTER FORTY-NINE

  Sidney sat alone in the dining car as the train rumbled through the night on its way to New York. While darkened images flew past the windows, she distractedly sipped at a cup of coffee and nibbled on a microwave-warmed muffin. The steady clicking of the train wheels and the car's gentle swaying as it headed up the much-traveled northeast corridor soothed her.

  For a good part of the train trip her mind focused on her daughter.

  It seemed like an eternity since she had held her little girl. Now she had no idea when she would see her again. The only thing keeping her away was the certainty that if she tried to see Amy, she would bring harm to her little girl. She would never do that, not even if it meant never seeing her again. She would call, though, as soon as she got into New York. She wondered how she could explain to her parents the next nightmare that awaited them: the headlines proclaiming their overachieving, cherished daughter a murderer now on the run. She could do nothing to shield them against the onslaught of attention that would be hurtling their way. That attention would find its way to Bell Harbor, Maine, she was sure, but perhaps her parents' trip north would buy them some precious time away from the hideous spotlight.

  Sidney knew she had only one shot to unravel whatever it was that had come and blasted her life to hell. That opportunity lay in the information in the hard plastic shell that would soon be speeding its way north as fast as Federal Express could ship it. The disk was all she had. Jason seemed to think it vitally important. If he was wrong? She shuddered and forced her thoughts away from that potential nightmare. She had to trust her husband on that one. She peered out the window as a blur of trees, modest homes with crooked TV antennas and the cracked, ugly cinder blocks of abandoned businesses raced by. She huddled into her coat and lay back in the seat.

  As the train rolled into the dark caverns of Penn Station, Sidney stood by the exit door. Her watch proclaimed it was five-thirty in the morning. She didn't really feel tired, although she couldn't remember the last time she had slept. Penn Station was fairly crowded for that hour of the morning. Sidney waited in the cab line and then decided to make a quick phone call before she went to JFK. She planned to dump the gun before leaving for the airport. However, the cold metal gave her a feeling of security she desperately needed right now. She still had not decided where she was traveling, but at least the cab ride to the airport would give her time to think of a destination.

  On her way to the pay phone, she grabbed a copy of the Washington Post and scanned the headlines. Nothing about the murders had appeared yet; however, the bodies could have been found and the reporters might simply not have had time to file their stories before deadline. If her two former partners hadn't been found yet, it would not be long now. The parking garage opened to the public at seven A.M. but it could be accessed at any time by tenants of the building.

  She dialed her parents' number in Bell Harbor. An automated message greeted her and announced that the number was not in service.

  She groaned as she suddenly remembered why. Her parents always had the phone turned off during the winter. Her father had probably forgotten to turn the service back on. He would certainly do so once he got up there. Since it wasn't back on, that meant they probably hadn't arrived yet.

  Sidney swiftly calculated travel times. When she had been a child, her father would drive all the way through, about thirteen hours, stopping along the way only for food and gas. As he had grown older, though, he had become more patient. Ever since his retirement, he would stop along the way for the night, break the trip up into two days. If they had left early yesterday afternoon, as planned, that would put them in Bell Harbor at about midafternoon today. If they had left as planned. It suddenly occurred to Sidney that she had not verified her parents' departure yet. She decided to correct that oversight immediately. The phone rang three times and then the answering machine picked up. She spoke into the phone to let her parents know it was she. They often screened their calls.

  However, no one picked up the phone. She put the phone receiver back. She would try again from the airport. She checked her watch and decided to make one more phone call. Now that she knew of Paul Brophy's involvement with RTG, something didn't make sense to her. There was only one person she could think of to ask about it.

  And she had to do it before news of the murders reached the public.

  "Kay? It's Sidney Archer."

  The voice on the other end of the line was sleepy at first and then wide awake as Kay Vincent sat up in bed. "Sidney?"

  "I'm sorry to call so early, but I really need your help on something."

  Kay didn't answer. "Kay, I know what all the papers have been saying about Jason."

  Kay's voice cut her off. "I don't believe any of that stuff, Sidney.

  Jason could never have been involved in any of that."

  Sidney breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you for saying that, Kay.

  I was beginning to think I was the only one who hadn't lost the faith."

  "Not by a long shot, Sidney. How can I help you?"

  Sidney took a moment to calm her nerves, to keep her voice from shaking too much. She eyed a police officer walking down the hallway of the train station. She turned her back to him and hunched against the wall. "Kay, you know Jason never really talked to me about his work."

  Kay snorted. "It's no small wonder. It's beaten into our heads here: Everything's one big secret."

  "Right. But now secrets don't do me any good. I need to know what Jason was working on the last few months. Were there any big projects he was on?"

  Kay shifted the phone to her other ear. Her husband was snoring on the other side of the bed. "Well, you know he was working on organizing the financial records for the CyberCom deal. That took a lot of his time."


  "Right, I knew something about that one."

  Kay chuckled. "He'd come back from that warehouse looking like he'd just mud-wrestled an alligator, filthy from head to toe. But he kept at it and did a great job. In fact, he really seemed to enjoy it.

  The other thing he spent a lot of time on was the integration