National Burden (14 page)

“Mr. Martindale puts all his VIP guests at The Peninsula.”

“Never heard of it.”

The co-pilot grinned. “Trust me, you’ll like it.”

Cal was still admiring the inside of the black armored Bentley that picked them up from the airport when they pulled up to the gold tassel-encrusted awnings framing the entrance to The Peninsula New York. Inside the Bentley it smelled like fresh hundred dollar bills, along with a hint of buffed cow hide. It was also probably one of the only cars in the world that MSgt Trent could fit in comfortably. “I wouldn’t get used to riding back here, Top.”

Trent had his hands clasped behind his head, a contented smile displaying his mood. “Maybe I should ask for one of these during our next contract negotiation.”

Cal laughed. SSI was frugal by nature, opting for high tech weaponry over exorbitant luxury. It was a throwback to his father’s days in the Corps; Spartan, yet the tip of the spear. That wasn’t to say SSI employees weren’t paid well. They were. Compensation was above the industry average, and a healthy housing/living allowance was given to employees who opted to not live on one of the two company campuses.

“If you can convince The Hammer to buy you one, I’ll drive you around, Master Sergeant of Marines,” said Cal.

Trent’s eyes popped open, a child-like excitement glinting playfully, adding to the ear-to-ear grin. “You’re on, Mr. Stokes.”

An Asian valet, dressed in a white high-collared uniform along with a matching pillbox cap, went to grab their bags, but each man insisted on carrying their own. Regardless, Cal tipped the man handsomely, having learned early on the importance of taking care of those who were caring for you.

“Thank you, sir. If there’s anything you need during your stay, feel free to ask for Lin.” The valet tucked the large bill in his pocket smoothly, bowing in the process.

“Thanks,” said Cal, leading the way into the opulent entryway.

After a seamless check-in, they were escorted to their room, The Peninsula Suite. Normally a 3,300 square foot two-bedroom penthouse, graced with Murano glass chandeliers, the suite had been converted at the last minute to include one extra king-sized bed in the space usually reserved for the dining room.

“As per Mr. Martindale’s request,” said the bell-hop who’d given them a quick tour of the rooms, which included not only a colorful splash of tasteful art-deco inspired decor, but also a grand piano in the corner of the living room. Muted rugs covered marble floors, reflections cast up as they walked. A fully stocked kitchen invited perusal with the clear glass front refrigerator neatly arranged with colorful vessels and food stuffs. There were huge crystal vases bursting with fresh cut flowers in each room, mounds of tropical fruit held in silver bowls on tables and two enormous metal bins filled with ice and overflowing with expensive bottled beer and liters of Tennessee whiskey.

The three Marines tried to appear nonplussed, but the sheer elegance of the suite was overwhelming to men who were more experienced in the art of rolling up a shirt for a pillow and using a poncho-cover as a blanket.

“Will there be anything else, sir?” asked their guide.

“No thanks.” Cal ran his hand along the window sill, admiring the view of downtown New York City, red and white lights streaming far below.

Daniel handed the man a tip and escorted him out, locking the door once he’d left. “What do we do now?”

“Martindale should be calling soon.”

As if on command, the room phone rang. Cal answered it. “Stokes.”

“Mr. Stokes, this is Leo Martindale.”

“Hello.”

“I hope your flight was okay?”

“It was. Thanks.”

“Good. I know we weren’t supposed to meet until tomorrow, but I’m right down the road. Would it be okay if I stopped by?”

Cal almost said, “You’re the one paying for this, dude,” but held his tongue. Instead he said, “Sure. You don’t mind if we order some food while we wait?”

“How about I do one better? Let me bring dinner.”

“Sounds good.”

Cal replaced the receiver and looked up at his friends. “Wash your hands and wipe your asses boys, we’re about to be served by a billionaire.”

Leo Martindale arrived twenty minutes later, handling two large plastic bags laden with pizza boxes wrapped in brown paper. “I hope you guys are hungry,” Martindale said with a smile that seemed more genuine than Cal would have thought.
Maybe this guy isn’t a schmuck
, thought Cal.

It turned out that the gregarious billionaire had stopped to get four different kinds of pizza from four different restaurants. “I figured three Marines would rather eat some authentic New York pizza than some foo foo shit from Swankytown.”

The three SSI men looked up, Cal almost choking on the huge bite of pizza in his mouth. Martindale laughed at the bewilderment on their faces. “Semper Fi, boys. Staff Sergeant Leo Martindale at your service.”

It turned out that Leo had done a six-year stint in the early ‘80s in intelligence. As they ate the greasy oversized slices of mouthwatering pie, Martindale told them about how he’d left the Corps, gone back to school to get his degree, and then worked his way up the slippery Wall Street slope. He regaled them with stories from his early days as a stock broker, going from cold-calling, to networking, to landing his first big deals. In a community full of greed, where one broker would gladly backstab another if it meant a chance at a commission, Martindale had earned a reputation as one of the good guys. An honest broker. An anomaly.

“I won’t lie. The crash of ’87 almost bankrupted me. Luckily, I had a handful of clients that stuck with me. All but one still have.”

“So when did you open your own place?” Cal asked, picking a hockey-puck-sized piece of pepperoni off one of the pizzas and folding it into his mouth.

“1990. I’d learned my lesson in ’87. While I liked my broker, I thought there were things the company was doing that were a bit too risky for my taste. Funny thing is, well, maybe not so funny, but they invested heavily in the first tech bubble after 2000 and ended up closing shop. They should’ve been more careful, but by then they were getting desperate for returns. That guy ended up killing himself.”

There was silence for a moment while they each digested Martindale’s words and the last of their meals. Trent said, “I’ve gotta say, Leo, it makes us all proud to see a down and dirty Staff Sergeant make it to the top. Hell, Cal told us you were gonna be some corn-cob-up-the-ass kinda guy.”

“Fuck you, Top,” Cal said, slightly embarrassed, but still smiling. “It’s true. Marge should have told me.”

Leo was smiling too. A Marine never misses the chance to fuck with a fellow Marine, especially one that he likes. “I told Marge not to say anything. Figured it would be better if I handled that part. She said you weren’t jumping up and down to come up here.”

Cal shrugged. “I’m just a dumb grunt, Leo. Never been one for rubbing elbows with wealthy Wall Street types.”

“Just know that I’m not one of those, what did you call them, Top?”

“Corn-cob-up-the-ass kinda guy.”

“Right. I’m not one of those. I may have a lot of money, but I don’t think I’m the only one in the room with that problem.”

Cal adjusted himself in his chair. He wasn’t comfortable talking about his money. In his mind, he hadn’t earned it, his father had. Not a day went by that he wouldn’t give up all his millions for more time with his mother and father.

“I can see by the look on your face that you don’t like to talk about your checkbook,” Leo continued, not swayed by Cal’s frown. “But I don’t believe for a second that you’re just a dumb grunt. Five bucks says your two brothers here would say different.”

Daniel and Trent nodded.

Cal threw his hands in the air. “Okay, okay. Let’s stop talking about me. Leo, tell us why you wanted us to come.”

Martindale’s smile disappeared, his face serious. It reminded Cal of the look on his platoon sergeant’s face the first time he’d gone out on patrol. “I think someone’s planning on collapsing the U.S. stock market.”

The room was quiet except for the muted sounds of traffic from the street below, honks and the occasional screech. It was like Martindale had laid a grenade with no pin in the middle of the oriental carpet under their feet. No one wanted to touch it.

“What do you mean someone’s trying to collapse the stock market?” Cal asked. “How is that even possible?”

Martindale threw his crumpled napkin into one of the empty pizza boxes. “I’m not sure it is, but I’m pretty sure someone’s trying to see if they can do it.”

Trent leaned forward, his shifting weight making the couch squeak. “I’m not a stock broker like you, Leo. I mean, I have a few bonds and whatnot, but I seem to remember certain safeguards being in place that wouldn’t allow that to happen.”

“Let me see if I can explain it in a way you’ll understand.” Martindale paused to gather his thoughts. The other waited patiently. “Okay, what happens after someone, say, loses a toe? Do they go on walking like before, or do they compensate with the rest of their foot?”

“They compensate,” said Trent.

“Right. So that’s kind of what I’ve noticed. Certain stocks have taken inexplicable dives. I’ve had my people do the research. These are reputable stocks. Nothing anywhere gives any indication of why their stocks went down.”

“But isn’t the market like the lottery? Crazy stuff we don’t even know can affect it, right?”

“Yes, but to a point. Typically, if, as you said, crazy stuff happens, it doesn’t affect just that one stock. Large scale ups and downs are just that, large scale. They affect many stocks.”

Cal wasn’t sure he understood where Martindale was going. “So you’re saying someone is manipulating these stocks?”

“I can’t prove it, but I think so. It’s not unheard of. In fact, a book recently came out talking about something us veterans have known for a long time. Have you ever heard of high-frequency trading?”

All three men shook their heads.

“In a nutshell, there are companies that use highly sophisticated computer systems to move in and out of stock positions in a fraction of a second. They’re capitalizing on minute changes that can drastically affect a stock’s price by the time a traditional trading firm puts in their order,” explained Martindale.

“So you’re saying that between the time my day-trading account order is placed and when the purchase is actually made, these other guys are in and out selling for what could be a small increase, but I’m the one who ends up paying more?” asked Cal.

Martindale nodded, impressed. “Dumb grunt my ass. High-frequency trading’s been around long enough that it’s not a secret, at least to insiders. This new thing doesn’t feel like that. This is more like someone’s rigging the system.”

“Have you told anyone?” Cal asked, still not sure why the billionaire had called SSI. Maybe Marge was a super stock whiz kid on the side.

“No, you three are the first.”

“And you called us because…?”

“I knew I could trust Marge. It helps that the company was founded by a Marine who knew how to keep secrets.”

“Wait, did you know my dad?”

Martindale nodded. “I did. He did some work for me in the late nineties. Helped with a few security analyses for companies I was looking to buy. Good man. I’d like to think we were friends.”

Cal’s father had never mentioned Leo Martindale, but then again, in those days Cal was wrapping up high school in Tennessee and heading off to college. He wasn’t part of SSI other than the occasional take your son to work day. “That still doesn’t answer the question. Why didn’t you take this to the authorities, the SEC or the FBI?”

Martindale looked uncomfortable, not like he was trying to hide anything, more like he was trying to decide how honest to be with Cal. “Look, I know those guys are around for a reason, but the second I raise even a discreet flag, they’ll be all over me. I’d rather not have the attention, if you know what I mean.”

Something wasn’t making sense. SSI didn’t specialize in this kind of thing. Sure, they had Neil Patel, who could hack into anything and build technology that only Stephen Hawking could fathom, but they were still a company full of warriors, doing what former military contractors did.

“Leo, I appreciate you telling us all this, but I’m just not sure how we can help. We’re not really built for this sort of thing. I’m sure I can ask around and find a company that specializes--”

Martindale cut him off with an emphatic shake of his head. “No, it has to be you guys. I need people I can trust, a company with brains and muscle.”

Cal stared at the man, trying to read his expression. “What are you not saying? Is there something else?”

Martindale’s body seemed to deflate like a balloon, his shoulders slumping, the confidence gone and replaced by a look Cal had seen too many times. “I thought I could take care of it, or at least that my head of security could, but, well, I’ve gotten a couple threats.”