couldn’t put his finger on. It was charisma or leadership, call it what you would but he had the feeling that Ryan could lead men to hell and back and that they would enjoy the experience.
‘I appreciate your involvement,’ Gallagher said standing beside the driver’s door of the Audi. ‘I wasn’t sure that you would buy into my scheme.’
Nielsen extended his hand. ‘Have no worry, Mr Ryan, whenever there is a large amount of money to be made by manipulating the markets then you can be assured that I will play.’ This time, like Russia, he would be ahead of Soros. By the time he had finished with the Riyal it would be clear who was the real master of the markets.
Gallagher took the extended hand and shook it firmly. He climbed into the front seat of the Audi and started the engine. As he moved off down the driveway towards the iron gates he looked in the mirror and saw Nielsen’s bent form still standing where the Audi had stood. He smiled as he thought that data banks of the world’s intelligence agencies were full of details of people like himself who were responsible for local or global murder and mayhem. But even the most horrific terrorist act touched far fewer lives than the manipulations of Nielsen and his friends on the financial markets. The financial crisis of 2007 had proved that point.
Nielsen watched the Audi disappear down the driveway before turning back towards the chalet. He would spend the next few hours in his study giving orders to undermine the Saudi currency and at the same time give him a strong long position in the oil futures market. He felt exhilarated at the possibilities of making a fortune on both ends of the deal. The crash of the Riyal would provide one fortune and the chaos in the oil market another. He felt in his pocket and found Ryan’s bank draft. He wondered whether he should frame it or cash it. He decided he would cash it.
CHAPTER 7
Houston, Texas
Frank Terman had ditched his habitual flower shirt and was dressed in an ill-fitting dark blue suit and an open neck white cotton shirt. It wasn’t every day that he was called upon to strong arm a Congressman and he decided that he should at least look the part. He was sitting at the corner table at the Remington Restaurant at the St. Regis Hotel in downtown Houston when Congressman Rick Bradley entered the room. Terman had spent some time examining Bradley’s picture but the photo hadn’t quite caught the arrogance that the man exuded in person. He hadn’t been looking forward to leaning on the Congressman but the haughty posture of the man had changed his mind. He watched while the maître d’ pointed him out to the Congressman. The look on Bradley’s face indicated that he wasn’t impressed. Terman smiled. He was the son of an Armenian father and an Iranian mother and had what he liked to think were swarthy good looks. Many folks thought that there was more than a hint of tar in his background.
Congressman Bradley hesitated before walking slowly towards the corner table. Terman ignored him and moved his gaze slowly around the large red walled room. He was looking for someone like himself who appeared out of place in the exalted dining room at the St. Regis. The twenty or so diners in the room all looked like they fitted right in. Terman turned his gaze to Bradley whose approach was punctuated with short stops at tables where he was obliged to press the flesh of Houston’s patricians.
‘Mister Terman?’ the accent was unmistakably Texan.
Terman looked up and saw that the Congressman had reached his table. ‘Take a seat, Congressman.’
Bradley hesitated again before taking the seat directly across from his host. A waiter appeared at their table almost immediately.
‘Bourbon and branch,’ Bradley said without taking his eyes off Terman.
‘Two,’ Terman said simply.
Neither man spoke until the waiter was outside listening distance.
‘I’m confused,’ Bradley began. ‘I received a letter
‘I appreciate your involvement,’ Gallagher said standing beside the driver’s door of the Audi. ‘I wasn’t sure that you would buy into my scheme.’
Nielsen extended his hand. ‘Have no worry, Mr Ryan, whenever there is a large amount of money to be made by manipulating the markets then you can be assured that I will play.’ This time, like Russia, he would be ahead of Soros. By the time he had finished with the Riyal it would be clear who was the real master of the markets.
Gallagher took the extended hand and shook it firmly. He climbed into the front seat of the Audi and started the engine. As he moved off down the driveway towards the iron gates he looked in the mirror and saw Nielsen’s bent form still standing where the Audi had stood. He smiled as he thought that data banks of the world’s intelligence agencies were full of details of people like himself who were responsible for local or global murder and mayhem. But even the most horrific terrorist act touched far fewer lives than the manipulations of Nielsen and his friends on the financial markets. The financial crisis of 2007 had proved that point.
Nielsen watched the Audi disappear down the driveway before turning back towards the chalet. He would spend the next few hours in his study giving orders to undermine the Saudi currency and at the same time give him a strong long position in the oil futures market. He felt exhilarated at the possibilities of making a fortune on both ends of the deal. The crash of the Riyal would provide one fortune and the chaos in the oil market another. He felt in his pocket and found Ryan’s bank draft. He wondered whether he should frame it or cash it. He decided he would cash it.
CHAPTER 7
Houston, Texas
Frank Terman had ditched his habitual flower shirt and was dressed in an ill-fitting dark blue suit and an open neck white cotton shirt. It wasn’t every day that he was called upon to strong arm a Congressman and he decided that he should at least look the part. He was sitting at the corner table at the Remington Restaurant at the St. Regis Hotel in downtown Houston when Congressman Rick Bradley entered the room. Terman had spent some time examining Bradley’s picture but the photo hadn’t quite caught the arrogance that the man exuded in person. He hadn’t been looking forward to leaning on the Congressman but the haughty posture of the man had changed his mind. He watched while the maître d’ pointed him out to the Congressman. The look on Bradley’s face indicated that he wasn’t impressed. Terman smiled. He was the son of an Armenian father and an Iranian mother and had what he liked to think were swarthy good looks. Many folks thought that there was more than a hint of tar in his background.
Congressman Bradley hesitated before walking slowly towards the corner table. Terman ignored him and moved his gaze slowly around the large red walled room. He was looking for someone like himself who appeared out of place in the exalted dining room at the St. Regis. The twenty or so diners in the room all looked like they fitted right in. Terman turned his gaze to Bradley whose approach was punctuated with short stops at tables where he was obliged to press the flesh of Houston’s patricians.
‘Mister Terman?’ the accent was unmistakably Texan.
Terman looked up and saw that the Congressman had reached his table. ‘Take a seat, Congressman.’
Bradley hesitated again before taking the seat directly across from his host. A waiter appeared at their table almost immediately.
‘Bourbon and branch,’ Bradley said without taking his eyes off Terman.
‘Two,’ Terman said simply.
Neither man spoke until the waiter was outside listening distance.
‘I’m confused,’ Bradley began. ‘I received a letter
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