“I’m getting real coffee.”
“I’ll give you a hand,” Trueheart said, going with her as Baxter wandered to the board.
“Brothers,” he noted. “By blood, in-arms, by choice. That makes solid sense. Sociopaths—big duh on that one—but gamblers? That adds interest, and adds more solid sense.”
“When two experts—Roarke and Mira—use similar terms, I go with it.”
“Both companies’ stocks took major hits. I checked about a half hour ago. Being an ethical son of a bitch, I refrained from calling my broker and saying buy me some of that, baby. But, kiss my ass, it was tempting.”
Curious, Eve glanced back. “How much would you have tossed in?”
“If I didn’t know about all this? Mmm, maybe five each. Knowing, double that.”
“Seriously. You’re a fucking NYPSD detective, and you’ve got twenty large to gamble?”
“I have my ways.” He turned as Roarke came in. “How much would you have laid on Quantum and Econo an hour ago?”
“Well now, if my cop wouldn’t have given me the hard eye? Two hundred on each, as I know some of the players well enough to be reasonably certain on a fine return. And . . .”
He pulled out his ’link, tapped. “I’d have already gained considerable as both companies’ stocks are on the move. Up.”
“Easy come.” Baxter sighed. “Easy go.”
“Already going up?” Eve asked.
“With the statements some twenty minutes ago,” Roarke told her, “they’re inching up. They’ll be higher than they were before the dive, I’m thinking, by end of business. Emotion,” he reminded her. “Some will see this as courageous and strong. Others will just see the opportunity. Some who scooped up the bargain will sell, and others will buy what they see as a strong, solid stock.”
“It’s a gamble,” Eve noted as Peabody and Trueheart came in with a pot of coffee and a tray of mugs, some creamer, some sugar.
“Run that part by them,” Eve told Roarke.
As he did, he took out his PPC and skimmed. “Still moving up,” he added. “If they’re in for the kill, they’ll likely wait until near close of the market, then sell off. I’d do just that in their place.”
“Can we track the sell-offs?” Eve asked him.
“If they’re idiots, yes. From what I see on your board, they’re not.”
“How would you do it, not being an idiot?”
“I’d be using numbered accounts in any of a number of locations that offer anonymity, on-planet or off. Myself, I’d lean to off, but it takes longer for the transactions. So for them? I’d lean on-planet, offshore, safe havens, and if they’re particularly bright, they’d layer it in shells.”
“Could you dig them out?”
He shifted his gaze up to hers. Clearly, to him, she wondered if he could use his unregistered equipment to run deep, ethically shadowy searches. “Eventually,” he said, and smiled.
“Peabody, start working on warrants.”
So not the unregistered, he thought, as yet. Pity.
“Meanwhile,” Eve continued, “we’re looking for two males, with at least one of them having some military background that would include working with explosives. They might be related, or have worked together. They trust each other. One is likely older and more dominant. Gamblers, sociopaths, and patient ones who take time to research and work out the details. They’ll have some business knowledge, and understand the stock market.”
“It won’t be their first investment,” Baxter put in. “I’d bank against them plotting out a scheme like this first try.”
“Agreed. Possibly they’ve worked in the market. Financial advisers, stockbrokers. Dabblers, such as yourself.”
“As a dabbler, I’m with Roarke on the on-planet, offshore acc
ount. Maybe more than one?”