The Insider (11 page)

Nikolai and Yuri stopped talking. Nikolai reached into the pocket of his coat and withdrew a box cutter with an exposed razor blade. He heard the rustling of a paper bag in the backseat, but he couldn't turn around to see what Yuri was up to. He couldn't turn around because that would mean looking away from the dull gray edge of the blade. If he looked away, there was no telling what might happen.

“Take off your jacket,” Nikolai said.

“Look, this isn't going to accomplish anything,” Will said.

“Take off your fucking jacket!” Nikolai shouted, raising the box cutter.

Will slowly removed his jacket, his mind racing. Everything seemed too close and too vivid. The stench of Nikolai's perspiration, which was staining the underarms of his shirt. The sound of Yuri mouth-breathing a few inches behind him, clearly excited by what was coming next.

Will noticed the button on the dashboard that released the electric door locks. Placing the jacket in his lap, Will felt his breathing grow shallow as he prepared himself.

Will slammed his elbow backward between the seats, aiming for the spot where he thought Yuri's face would be. His elbow connected with Yuri's forehead with a thud, and a Russian curse issued from the backseat.

Will reached for the button on the dash to unlock the doors. Before he could reach it, Nikolai pressed the blade against Will's throat. Will's eyes darted, searching for someone outside the window, but the garage was still deserted.

“If you touch that, I'm going to make a mess in here,” Nikolai said. Will withdrew his hand and faced forward. To the backseat, Nikolai added, “You okay?”

“
Pohsol na khuy!
You stupid, fucking asshole!” Yuri spat, again yanking Will's arms behind the seat. “Nikolai, hand me the blade. This is taking too long.”

“In a minute,” said Nikolai, shifting the box cutter from one hand to the other, watching Will's eyes follow.

“Look, this is a mistake,” Will said. “There is no deal! Katya got it wrong!”

“Don't worry, Will,” Nikolai said reassuringly. “We won't touch your face or your hands. No one at work will be able to tell how fucked up you are.” To Yuri, Nikolai added, “Roll up his sleeve.”

Yuri loosened his grip on Will's shoulders and pulled up Will's shirtsleeve to expose the forearm.

Nikolai's hand shot forward, leaving a long, bright red gash about an inch below Will's elbow. Pain and shock scrambled his thoughts like a bad radio signal. There was a sound echoing in the car's confined space. It took him a moment to realize that he had shouted.

“You know, every animal responds the same way to pain,” Yuri said. “You could be Albert fucking Einstein. Doesn't matter.”

More rustling of the paper bag, then Yuri's hand emerged from the backseat holding a Band-Aid and a dish towel with the price tag still on it. “Use these,” Yuri said.

Will's hands were shaking a little as he applied the bandage. The cotton pad went red instantly, and blood oozed out the sides.

“Talk to us, Will,” Nikolai said. But before he could respond, Nikolai lunged again. This time, he buried the short blade in Will's upper forearm and ripped downward.

Will thrashed to release himself from Yuri's grip. He was shaken by the pain, by the sight of his blood, and most of all by the realization that Nikolai and Yuri were just warming to their work. He examined his arm; it looked like he was wearing a red elbow-length glove.

“Use the towel,” Yuri said. “You better put some pressure on that.”

“It hurts, doesn't it?” Nikolai asked.

“He made more noise than I thought he would,” Yuri said. “You think we should be doing this in a parking garage? Somebody could hear.”

“I was thinking same thing,” Nikolai said. “Maybe we should go outside.” Nikolai turned again to face Will. “I'm going to give you a few seconds to think about this before we continue.”

Will desperately searched for something that he could say that might make them stop.

“You know, you're going to get caught. You can't pull this off,” Will gasped, as he applied a second towel proffered by Yuri.

“Oh, yeah? And why is that?” Yuri asked.

“The SEC has systems that detect unusual trading activity, particularly when a public company is acquired.”

“Yes, we know,” Nikolai said.

“The first people that the SEC looks at when there's a leak of inside information are the attorneys. And if they find me, it's going to lead them to you.”

“You're not leading anybody anywhere,” Yuri said. “You're not going to talk to anyone about this because if you do, we're going to kill you.”

“Time to decide,” Nikolai added.

As he pressed the dish towel to his arm, he still couldn't stop looking at the blade of the box cutter, which was now smeared with blood. Suddenly there seemed to be so many reasons why he should talk to them. And insider trading was just about money, after all. What was money compared to the blade of that box cutter?

He tried to wipe his nose, but the movement sent a shooting pain through his arm.

Nikolai watched him expectantly, tightening his grip on the box cutter.

“Okay,” Will said. As soon as he said the word, he felt a wave of relief, quickly followed by sickening guilt. He had to admit, though, that as he watched Nikolai put away the box cutter, the relief was stronger.

Yuri released his grip on Will's arms and raised the seat to a sitting position.

“Good,” Nikolai said. “Then we are going to need to get a few facts straight. First, who is buying Jupiter?”

“Pearl Systems.”

“Really? I have one of their computers at home. They are publicly traded, yes?”

“They're on the New York Stock Exchange.”

“And this deal makes the price go up?”

Will pressed the dish towel to his arm. “I don't really know.”

“I think that you do. Please, no bullshit.”

“Yeah, the market is probably going to like the deal. Jupiter's encryption software is a natural fit with some of the new business applications that Pearl is developing.”

“And when is deal going to close?”

“We don't know for sure, but we're aiming for May first.”

“Just two weeks away.”

“Yeah, but a million things could still go wrong. It could take much longer. It might not close at all.”

“You will see that it does,” Nikolai said.

“If you think that I control this process, you're mistaken. If either party gets cold feet, I can't be responsible for that.”

“Oh, but you can. We are making you responsible,” Yuri said.

“But what's so special about this deal?” Will asked. “Surely there are easier ways to make some quick money. And there are plenty of other public-company transactions you could have chosen.”

Yuri leaned forward from the backseat, already snickering at his own joke. “We could tell you that, Will . . . BUT THEN WE'D HAVE TO KILL YOU!”

Nikolai removed a cell phone from his pocket. “There's something else that you need to see, just in case you're thinking of going to the SEC or some stupid shit like that.”

Nikolai switched on the phone and played a video clip that was recorded on the phone's camera. He held the small screen inches from Will's face.

An out-of-focus, color-saturated image appeared on the phone's video display. At first, all he could see was a blue, carpeted floor, which Will immediately guessed was the blue carpeting of the Lincoln Town Car that he was sitting in. The picture showed a portion of a man's face—a nose and an eye. The soundtrack consisted of static and a series of thumps as someone adjusted the camera in their hand, brushing the speaker with their fingers.

Then the camera pulled back to show Ben Fisher, who looked more upset than Will had ever seen him. His eyes were moist and bloodshot, and it looked like he had been crying.

The sound crackled through the tinny speaker. “This is Ben Fisher. I want whoever is watching this to know that Will Connelly has been threatening to kill me for the past week and I know now that he intends to do it. I know that Will committed malpractice on a deal that we're working on. He's afraid I'm going to tell the firm and spoil his chances of making partner. If I die, I want whoever finds this to know that it was him.” The clip abruptly ended.

“That's Ben's cell phone,” Yuri said. “All we have to do is give it to the police and you'll be arrested for his murder.”

“You forced Ben to say that. No one will believe it,” Will said.

“Oh, I think the police will find it interesting,” Yuri responded.

“You murdered Ben,” Will said.

“What's important for you to know,” Nikolai said, “is that you belong to us, just like Ben Fisher belonged to us.”

“When you put the video together with the security card thing,” Yuri added, “it's more than enough to get you convicted for Ben's murder.”

“So you switched the access cards. How did you get into the office to do that?”

“It doesn't matter,” Nikolai said.

“Ben made us a lot of money,” Yuri said. “We aren't about to walk away just because he had an accident. You're our new guy, Will.”

“Let him out, Yuri,” Nikolai said.

Will's knees were still jammed against the dashboard. He opened the door and climbed out, his legs numb from the cramped quarters. Still woozy from the pain, he placed his hand on the roof of the Town Car to steady himself.

Yuri got out and took his spot in the front passenger seat. “Hey, Will! You messed with my seat! I had it just the way I like it.”
Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz.

Still clutching the blood-soaked dish towel to his arm, Will managed to make it upstairs to his condo without being seen by any neighbors.

Once inside, he unwrapped his arm and rushed to the sink, wincing as the cold water rinsed away the blood to reveal two long, ugly gashes down his left forearm, blackening at the edges where the blood had dried. He felt nauseated watching the pinkish water slosh in the basin.

Nikolai had been right—no one at work would be able to tell what had happened to him. Unless, of course, his frayed nerves gave him away. Ben must have gotten the burns on his chest and upper arms during a similar encounter with the Russians. Will imagined that Nikolai and Yuri had probably used the Lincoln Town Car's cigarette lighter to coerce Ben into making the statements on the cell phone video.

He felt light-headed, but it wasn't from blood loss. The adrenaline that had started pumping the moment the Russians greeted him at the elevators had taken its toll. Will slumped onto the couch, feeling both leaden and weightless, like someone running a high fever.

Will's apartment made up for what it lacked in domestic niceties with enough gadgetry to outfit an electronics show-room. A seventy-inch flat-screen plasma TV with home theater speakers, a coffee table littered with Xbox games, a Bang & Olufsen stereo, and a StairMaster occupied the places of honor in his living room. A couple of windsurfing boards and sails were stacked in one corner, gathering dust. No woman who entered the place failed to note that it was a perfect example of a single thirtysomething male's impaired notions of interior decorating.

The phone rang, and he picked it up. “Congratulations on making partner!”

“Hi, Dana.” It was his ex-girlfriend. Her tone was easy and light, as if it were a year ago and they were still a couple. “I saw the item in the
Daily Journal
. I just had to call when I heard.”

Six months ago, a call from Dana would have been a major event, cause for hope of reconciliation. But now that she was very publicly dating the odds-on favorite in the San Francisco mayoral race, he knew that he had no shot.

Will, still dazed from his encounter with Yuri and Nikolai, was having difficulty generating banter. “So . . . congratulations!” she added again in an ebullient tone. “You so deserved it. Remember all those Sunday afternoons we sat around drinking beer at the Grove, planning our careers?”

“Back then, you were the one who was really into the career planning. I was just trying to figure out what I had to say to sleep with you.”

“Well,” she said with a sharp laugh, “you figured it out, didn't you?”

“That I did.” He recalled her long, elegant body, which looked wonderful in a black cocktail dress. She'd get plenty of opportunities to wear one on the political fund-raising circuit.

“There's actually something else I wanted to talk to you about,” Dana said, sounding a little uncomfortable. “I guess you probably know that I've been dating Jamie Pryce.”

“Yeah, I was at the dentist's office and saw the
San Francisco
magazine piece. Nice photo.”
I'd rather not talk about your new politico boyfriend
, he thought. And did she have to call him Jamie?

“Thanks. It's so ridiculous all the attention we've been getting,” she said, unconvincingly.

“Wait until he gets elected mayor. You might even graduate to the
Star
.”

“Actually, that sort of thing has been worrying us a little.”

“Really? Isn't it a little early for that?”

“Maybe not. See, I have some news of my own. Jamie and I are getting married.”

Although he liked to think that he was over Dana, he found this news surprisingly depressing. It underlined the fact that she'd moved on and he hadn't. “That's great,” he managed. “Congratulations to you, too. Have you set a date?”