lunch."
"What are you planning?" Ashby asked her. "I'm bloody curious."
She did not doubt that observation. She was curious, too. Wondering if Ashby was a friend or foe.
"Let me explain it this way. In the late 1990s South Korea, Thailand, and Indonesia all experienced near financial collapse. The International Monetary Fund eventually bailed them out. Our own Robert Mastroianni was working with the IMF then, so he knows what I'm referring to."
Mastroianni nodded in assent.
"While that bailout occurred, investors ransacked all three economies, reaping huge profits. If you possess the right information, at the right time, even in the risky derivatives and futures markets, millions in profits can be made. I've made some preliminary projections. With the nearly three hundred million euros we currently have on hand, a return of between four point four and eight billion euros can reasonably be expected over the next twenty-four months. And I'm being conservative. All of those amounts would accrue tax-free, of course."
She saw that the group liked that prediction. Nothing appealed to a person with money more than the opportunity to make more money. Her grandfather had been right when he said, Make all the money possible and spend it, for there is much more to be made.
"How would we be allowed to get away with this?" one of them asked.
She shrugged. "How can we not? Government is incapable of managing the system. Few within government even understand the problem, much less how to fashion a solution. And the general public is totally ignorant. Just look at what the Nigerians do every day. They send out millions of emails to unsuspecting people, claiming that a huge return can be made on some sort of unclaimed funds, provided you forward a small administrative fee. Countless people around the globe have been bilked. When it comes to money, few think clearly. I propose that we think with crystal clarity."
"And how are we to do that?"
"I'll explain all of that after lunch. Suffice it to say that we are in the process of securing a source of financing that should provide us many more billions in untraced resources. It's a cache of unrecorded wealth that can be invested and used to our collective advantage. Right now, it's time for us to venture to the top of the tower for our few minutes of viewing."
The group stood.
"I assure you," she said, "the trip will be worth it."
Chapter Twenty
FIFTY-THREE
MALONE LISTENED AS THE ROLLS-ROYCE TURBOSHAFTS DROVE the blades of the Westland Lynx. The navy had taught him how to fly fighters and he'd logged a respectable amount of time in jets, but he'd never flown a helicopter. He settled back in the rear compartment as the chopper arched up into a cold midday sky.
Stephanie sat beside him.
A rap from the cockpit door window caught his attention. The pilot was pointing to his headset and motioning to two sets that hung on the wall. A corpsman handed the earphones over to both he and Stephanie.
"There's an encrypted communication coming in for you," the pilot's voice said in his ears.
He twisted the microphone close to his mouth. "Let's hear it."
A few clicks and a voice said, "I'm back."
"Care to tell us what's going on?" Malone asked Danny Daniels.
"The plane deviated off course. First it headed north, away from the city, and now it's turned back south. No radio contact can be made. I want you two to check it out before we blow it from the sky. I have the French president on the other line. He's scrambled a fighter. Right now the target's not over any populated areas, so we can take it down. But we don't want to do that, obviously, unless absolutely necessary. Too much explaining to do."
"You sure this threat is real?" he asked.
"Hell, Cotton, I'm not sure of crap. But Lyon had a plane at Heathrow. You found it. Which, I might add, seems like he wanted us to find-"
"So you know what happened last night?"
"Every detail. I want this son of a bitch. I had friends die when he bombed our embassy in Greece, and they are only a few of the many he's killed. We're going to punch this guy's ticket."
One of the pilots slid the panel door to the cockpit open and motioned ahead. Malone searched the sky. Clouds lay like tracks above the French landscape. The outskirts of Paris rolled past beneath the chopper's undercarriage. He spotted a blue-and-yellow-striped fuselage in the distance-another Cessna Skyhawk, identical to the one seen last