Due Diligence: A Thriller (52 page)

“I’m sure I’ll manage,” said Bassett.

“I’m sure you will,” said Amanda. “You’ll have a Hill Bellinger person with you. Her name’s Sophie Greene. She’s coming in today and she’ll be with you at the Royal Gloucester. Your secretary has her details. She should be with you in the office at … if she’s not there already, she should be with you very shortly. If you want to practice anything, do some trial runs, whatever, do them with Sophie. I’d recommend that. She’s terrific. Really very good.”

“Best one in the agency after you, Mandy, isn’t that right?” quipped Wilson.

Amanda laughed. “Mike, you still coming in tomorrow morning?”

“Yeah. Right before the conference.”

“You sure you don’t want to come in this evening and go through it?”

“No, I’m fine, Mandy.”

“You’re going to have to get up awfully early.”

“The jet’s leaving at four-thirty. On the ground by eight-fifteen Eastern.”

“Okay. If that’s how you want to do it.”

“We’ll have lunch tomorrow afterward. Keep it free.”

“I already have,” said Amanda. And she wondered what else they’d have. She fantasized. Back in Wilson’s suite after the press conference at the Four Seasons, both of them a little celebratory, a little high, maybe some champagne to mark the occasion … Who knew what might happen, with the chemistry between them and the high of the day? She’d let him take her. Urgent, explosive. A little rough maybe. A power fuck. What if it really happened? She felt a tingle thinking about it.

“Okay, Mandy, I’ve got to have a word with Andy.”

It took a second for Amanda to get back to reality. “Gentlemen, you’ll do fine.”

“Thanks, Mandy,” said Wilson. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Thanks, Mandy,” said Bassett.

Amanda went off the line.

Wilson paused for a moment. “Well, Andy. This is it, huh?”

Bassett laughed.

“No cold feet?”

“Funnily enough, no.”

“How many times you been married, Andy?”

“Just the once,” said Bassett. “I suppose I’m rather a traditional chap.”

“Me, twice. Damned if I didn’t get cold feet both times.” Wilson laughed. “Should’ve taken the hint, huh?”

“Well, that’s—”

“Anyway,” said Wilson. “Point is, I’ve got no cold feet about this one. I’m looking forward to working with you, Andy. Hell, I think we’re going to do some great things with the company we’re creating.”

“Yes,” said Bassett. “My feelings exactly.”

“Say, Andy. I wanted to ask whether you heard anything else from that guy you mentioned yesterday.”

“Which guy do you— Oh, you mean the Dyson Whitney chap?”

“That’s the one.”

“No,” said Bassett. “Not a squeak.”

“No more calls today?”

“Not that I’ve been told about. I’m sure Georgina would have told me. What’s the situation with him, anyway?”

“Don’t know,” said Wilson. “I guess they must have gotten to him. It was kind of a sad situation. You know, he had this personal thing. I hope they’ve found him, because it sounds like he needs help. I just hope he doesn’t … you know, do something silly.” Wilson had a sudden stroke of inspiration. “To himself, I mean. I just hope he doesn’t.”

“Do you think he might?” asked Bassett anxiously.

“Who knows? Doesn’t sound like he’s thinking straight. It’s possible he blames himself for whatever it is that’s happened. The sooner they get to him, the better.”

“Oh. Well, I hope they do.”

“Investment bankers, huh?”

“It’s a wonder any of them are sane.”

“What?” said Wilson. “You know a sane one?”

Bassett laughed. “Touché, Mike!”

“Well, good talking with you, Andy. Good luck tomorrow. We’ll talk afterward.”

“Good luck to you, Mike. I just regret I won’t be able to watch you live on Bloomberg.”

“Hell, Andy, you already know what I’m going to say!”

They both laughed. Wilson shut down the line.

He leaned back and gazed out the window. He was there, almost there. The great game of bluff that he was playing was almost his. It was virtually inconceivable that he was going to pull it off, considering how high the stakes were and how little he held in his hand. A reputation, that was all. A name, Louisiana Light. But the higher the stakes, the more likely a bluff to succeed. Against amateurs. And Andrew Bassett, thought Wilson, was nothing if not an amateur.

Everything else was on track. Even Lyall Gelb seemed to have been pretty much okay for the last couple of days. But he hadn’t won yet, Wilson knew. You only had to blink once. You only had to lose your nerve for an instant. It was the oldest trap in the book, to think you’ve won in that last split second before your opponent finally makes his call, to let your mask slip just a moment too early. The closer you get, the harder you have to concentrate.

There was still one potential fly in the ointment. But from what Andy Bassett had said, it sounded as if that had been taken care of.

Mike Wilson just couldn’t resist finding out for sure.

57

He waited for the familiar, nasal voice to come on the line.

“It’s done, right?” Wilson barely dared to draw a breath. If only the answer would be what he wanted to hear, if only he could hear that it was finished.

“Not exactly.”

Wilson’s heart sank.

“The information you gave was good, Mike,” said Tony Prinzi. “I thank you for that.”

Wilson clenched his fist, trying to control himself. He was boiling over. What use was information if Prinzi’s goons couldn’t get things right? “What happened?” he muttered through clenched teeth.

“There are no guarantees, Michael. I have told you this before.”

“So you killed someone else?”

“No.”

“Then where is he?”

“That, we don’t know.”

“Jesus Christ!” Wilson exploded, no longer able to bottle up his frustration. “I give you guys the exact place, all the details, and you can’t even fucking go and—”

“There are no guarantees, Michael,” said Prinzi slowly. His voice was very soft. Something about it chilled Wilson’s blood.

Mike Wilson took a deep breath. “What are you going to do now?”

“Well, this is a problem. We’re working on it.”

“What are you doing?”

“I said we’re working on it. Let me remind, you, Michael, that it is I who is doing you a favor here.”

“You said it was a thing of honor! You said you’d—”

“We’re working on it,” said Prinzi again.

A wave of anxiety swept over Mike Wilson. He was seized with a horrible, visceral dread, so deep it was beyond rationality. He felt as if he were doomed. Wilson remembered that young, smiling face gazing out from the Dyson Whitney website. The smile seemed to be one of mockery. Was there no way to stop him? He seemed to keep bouncing back, no matter how often he was supposed to be knocked down. Like some kind of jinx. A curse.

Suddenly, all the tension that had built up in Mike Wilson from maintaining the masquerade, day after day, week after week, broke out. Prinzi was the one person he wasn’t trying to bluff. The fear in his heart took over. He forgot where he was, forgot the thinness of the wall separating him from Stella. “If he does something before this announcement is made … if he does something, there’s no money for either of us.” Wilson’s voice rose. “You hear me, Tony? You can kill me, you can chop me up! Doesn’t matter! There’s nothing, nothing—”

“Michael, calm down. You’re panicking.”

“The hell I am! There’s nothing for anyone, you understand? If this motherfucker gets to Bassett before—”

“Who’s Bassett?”

“Who’s Bassett? Who the fuck do you think—”

“Michael!” yelled Prinzi. “Calm the fuck down!”

The loudness of Prinzi’s voice, so rarely raised, was like a slap in the face.

“Excuse me for cursing. Now, who is this Bassett? Michael, tell me the truth. You know why Holding is in London, don’t you?”

“Yes,” whispered Wilson.

“Why?”

“He’s trying to get to Bassett.” Wilson closed his eyes. “Andrew Bassett. He’s the head of the other company.”

“The one you’re buying?”

“Yes. We’re making the announcement of the deal together tomorrow.”

“How do you know he’s trying to get to him?” asked Prinzi.

“He called him.”

“What did Bassett do?”

“He didn’t talk to him,” said Wilson. “He told me where Holding was. That’s where I got the details I gave you yesterday.”

“So Bassett knows you’re trying to—”

“No!” cried Wilson in horror. “No, he has no idea.”

“Then why didn’t he talk to him?” asked Prinzi.

“Because he’s from my investment bank. It’s not the way you do things.”

Prinzi chuckled. “Not the way you do things. I like this. I must remember it.”

Mike Wilson rolled his eyes.

“And if Holding talks to Bassett, you think this might damage your deal?”

“Yes,” said Wilson. Not damage it, he thought. Kill it.

For a while, Prinzi said nothing. Wilson listened to his breathing on the line with loathing.

“Mike,” said Prinzi at last. “One thing I don’t understand. Holding is in London, correct?”

“Yes,” said Wilson impatiently.

“Yet you and Bassett are making an announcement together tomorrow.”

“Yes,” hissed Wilson.

“So he’ll be with you in New York.”

“No,” growled Wilson. “He’s making it in London.”

“Bassett?”

“Yes!”

There was silence. Wilson’s impatience was almost choking him. He could just imagine the Neanderthal thought processes going on in Tony Prinzi’s skull.

“We’re listed on two exchanges,” he said. “We’re making the announcements—”

“You should have told me this,” said Prinzi softly.

The tone of Prinzi’s voice stopped Wilson cold.

“Let me understand, Mike. Tomorrow, this Mr. Bassett stands up at the same time as you and makes the same announcement. Only he is in London and you are here.”

“That’s right.”

“What time?”

“Ten o’clock in New York. Three o’clock in London.”

“In front of the press?”

“Of course it’s in front of the press!” retorted Wilson. “You can do that when you’re in a legitimate business.”

Prinzi ignored the jibe. “Mike, I think you better tell me where this announcement is going to be made.”

“The hell I am! If any of your guys go in there and fuck this up—”

“Did it ever occur to you, Michael, that this might be Holding’s plan? To go there. He wants to talk to Mr. Bassett, but Mr. Bassett won’t talk to him, correct? So if Mr. Bassett won’t talk to him, maybe he will try to find a place where Mr. Bassett will have to listen. In front of people, I mean.”

Wilson was silent. All of a sudden, Tony Prinzi’s thought processes didn’t seem so Neanderthal.

“Maybe we should have a few people there in case he makes an appearance,” said Prinzi. “Do you think this might be a good idea, Michael?”

“Tony, if your guys fuck this announcement up, if they make some kind of a scene, that’s it. You understand? That’s it!”

“Michael, it’ll be very discreet.”

“Like killing his best friend? Is that what you call discreet?”

“Michael, I think there are some things it’s better you don’t keep talking about. I’ve explained how this happened. Now, tomorrow, this is very delicate, I understand. I think for this my brother will go personally, in a supervisory capacity.”

Wilson didn’t say anything.

“Michael, I hope you appreciate this thing that I am offering you. This isn’t something I would normally do.”

Wilson frowned. The idea of Prinzi’s goons hanging around Andrew Bassett’s press conference didn’t exactly fill Mike Wilson with confidence, even if one of them was Nick Prinzi himself. He didn’t want to think about what might happen if they screwed things up. But Prinzi was right, Wilson was certain of it now. That must be Holding’s plan.

“Michael? Where is the announcement?”

Wilson hesitated a moment longer. “The Royal Gloucester Hotel,” he whispered.

“What was that?”

“The Royal Gloucester. The Royal Gloucester Hotel.”

“Wait. I have to write this down.” There was silence for a moment. “Okay. What’s it called again?”

“The Royal Gloucester,” said Wilson. He spelled it out.

“Oh, that’s a spelling!” said Prinzi in delight. “‘Gloster,’ you say, and that’s how you spell it? That’s one for the books.”

Jesus Christ, thought Wilson.

“Now, the name of the gentleman you mentioned?”

“You’re not going to touch him!”

Prinzi chuckled. “That’s funny. What’s his name?”

“Bassett.”

“Spell it.”

Wilson spelled the name.

“What’s the name of his company?”

Wilson told him.

“Okay,” said Prinzi.

“What does that mean?” demanded Wilson. “’Okay’? What does that mean, Tony?”

“It means okay. If Mr. Holding decides that he’d like to attend Mr. Bassett’s announcement, we’ll be waiting. In fact, we might just have a couple of people waiting at your announcement also, in case Mr. Holding decides to catch a plane home and come to that one instead. Where is this going to be, Mike?”

Wilson closed his eyes. He didn’t want any of Prinzi’s thugs within a thousand yards of him.

“Mike?”

“The Four Seasons,” said Wilson.

“In New York? Very nice. Let me write it down.”

Wilson waited. “I swear,” he said suddenly, “we’re
this
close. If you and your goons fuck this up for me, I swear I’ll…”

“What, Mike? Tell me. What will you do?”

Wilson took a deep breath.

“It’s okay, Michael. I understand. You’re upset. This is very stressful.”

“Yes. It’s very stressful.”

“Of course. We’ll forget you said the last thing, Michael. Threats … I don’t like threats. Threats are disrespectful.”

“I’m sorry, Tony. I didn’t mean it. I do … appreciate the special care you’re taking.”

“Thank you, Michael. Now let me finish writing.”

Wilson grimaced. It was all in the hands of Prinzi and his brother now. One wrong move, and the announcement was gone.

“Please, just tell them to be careful,” said Wilson quietly.

“Yes. I understand. Leave this with me, Michael. You must relax now. You have an important announcement tomorrow, isn’t that right?”