Terminal Compromise

"How about we just talk, and you tell me what I should do...what you think...and...I don't want anything in the paper. You have one for that?" Hugh was feeling easier on the phone with Scott.

"Sure do. We'll just call it off the record for now. Everything you tell me, I promise not to use it without your permission.

Will that do?" Scott smiled broadly. If you speak loudly with a big smile on your face, people on the other end of the phone think you're honest and that you mean what you say. That's how game show hosts do it.

"OK." Scott heard Sidneys inhale deeply. "Those papers you say you have? Remember?"

"Sure do. Got them right here." Scott patted them on his clut- tered desk.

"Well, you can't have them. Or you shouldn't have them. I mean it's impossible." Hugh was getting nervous again. His voice nearly squeaked.

"Hugh, I do have them, and you all but confirmed that for me yesterday. A weak confirmation, but I think you know more than you let on..."

"Mr. Mason..."

"Please, call me Scott!"

"OK...Scott. What I'm trying to say is that what you say you have, you can't have cause it never existed."

"What do you mean never existed?" Scott was confused, terribly confused all of sudden. He raised his voice. "Listen, I have reams of paper here that say someone at First State is a big crook. Then you say, 'sure it's real' and now you don't. What's your game, Mister?" Playing good-cop bad-cop alone was diffi- cult, but a little pressure may bring this guy down to reality.

"Obviously you have them, that's not the point." Sidneys reacted submissively to Scott's ersatz domineering personality. "The only place that those figures ever existed was in my mind and in my computer. I never made a printout. They were never put on paper." Hugh said resolutely.

Scott's mind whirred. Something is wrong with this picture. He has papers that were never printed, or so says a guy whose sta- bility is currently in question. The contents would have far reaching effects on the S&L issue. A highly visible tip of the iceberg. McMillan, involved in that kind of thing? Never, not Mr. Clean. What was Sidneys getting at?

"Mr. Sidneys...Hugh...do you have time to have a cup of coffee somewhere. It might be easier if we sat face to face.

Get to know each other."

Rosie's Diner was one of the better Greasy Spoons near the Hudson River docks on Manhattan's West Side. The silver interior and exterior was not a cliche when this diner was built. Rosie, all 280 pounds of her, kept the UPS truckers coming back for over thirty years. A lot of the staff at the paper ate here, too.

For the best tasting cholesterol in New York, saturated fats, bacon and sausage grease flavored starches, Rosie's was the place. Once a month at Rosie's would guarantee a reading of over 300.

Scott recognized Hugh from a distance. No one came in there dressed. Had to be an accountant. Hugh hugged his briefcase while nervously looking around the diner. Scott called the short pale man over to the faded white formica and dull chrome booth.

Hugh ordered a gla.s.s of water, while Scott tried to make a light

"So, Hugh, please continue with what you were telling me on the phone." Scott tried to sound empathetic.

"It's like I said, I don't know how you got them or they found out. It's impossible." The voice was uncannily like Pebbles Flintstone in person.

"Who found out? Does someone else know...?"

"OK," Hugh sighed. "I work for First State, right? I work right with McMillan although n.o.body except a few people know it. They think I do market a.n.a.lysis and research. What I'm really doing is helping shelter money in offsh.o.r.e investment accounts. There are some tax benefits, I'm not a tax accountant so I don't know the reasons, but I manage the offsh.o.r.e investments."

"Did you think that was illegal?"

"Only a little. Until recently that is."

"Sorry, continue." Scott nibbled from the sandwich on his plate.

"Well there was only one set of books to track the offsh.o.r.e investments. They wanted them to be kept secret for various reasons. McMillan and the others made the deals, not me. I just moved the money for them." Again Hugh was feeling paranoid.

"Hugh, you moved some money around illegally, maybe. So what?

What's the big deal?" Scott gulped some hot black coffee to chase the pastrami that almost went down the wrong pipe.

Sidneys continued after sipping his water and wetting his lips.

"Four days ago I got this call, from some Englishman who I'd never spoken to before. He said he has all the same figures and facts you said you have. He starts reading enough to me and I know he's got what he says he got. Then he says he wants me to cooperate or he'll go public with everything and blow it right out of the water." Hugh was perspiring with tension. His fists were clenched and knuckles white.

"And then, I called you and you came unglued. Right?" Scott was trying to emotionally console Hugh, at least enough to get some- thing more. "Do you think you were being blackmailed? Did he, the English guy, demand anything? Money? Bribes? s.e.x?" Scott grinned. Hugh obviously did not appreciate the attempt at levi- ty.

"No, nothing. He just said that I would hear from him shortly.

That was it. Then, nothing, until you called. Then I figured I missed his call." Hugh was working himself into another nervous frenzy.

"Did he threaten you?"

"No. Not directly. Just said that it would be in my best inter- est to cooperate."

"What did you say?"

"What could I say? I mumbled something about doing nothing wrong but he said that didn't matter and I would be blamed for every- thing and that he could prove it."

"Could he prove it?" Hugh was scribbling furiously in his note- book.

"If he had the files in my computer I guess I would look pretty guilty, but there's no way anyone could get in there. I'm the only one, other than McMillan who can get at that stuff. It's always been a big secret. We don't even make any printouts of it. It's never on paper, just in the computer." Hugh fell back in the thinly stuffed torn red Naugahyde bench seat and gulped from his water gla.s.s.

Scott shook his head as he scanned the notes he had been making.

This didn't make any sense at all. Here was this little nerdy man, with a convoluted tale of embezzlement and blackmail, off sh.o.r.e money and he was scared. "Hugh," Scott began slowly. "Let me see if I've got this right. You were part of a scheme to s.h.i.+ft investments overseas, falsify reports, yet the investments always made a reasonable return in investment." Hugh nodded in agreement silently.

"Then, after how many, eight years of this, creating a secret little world that only you and McMillan know about..."

"A few others knew, I have the names, but only McMillan could get the information from the computer. No one else could. I set it up that way on purpose." Hugh interrupted.

"OK, then you receive a call from some Englishman who says he's got the numbers you say are so safe and then I get a copy. And the numbers agree with the results that First State reported. Is that about it?" Scott asked, almost mocking the apparent absurd- ity.

"Yeah, that's it. That's what happened." Hugh Sidneys was such a meek man.

"That leaves me with a couple of possible conclusions. One, you got yourself in over your head, finally decided to cut your losses and make up this incredible story. Maybe make a deal with the cops or the Feds and try to be hero. Maybe you're the embezzler and want out before it's too late. Born again bean- counter. It's a real possibility." Hugh's face grimaced; no, that's not what happened, it's just as I told you.

"Or, two, McMillan is behind the disclosures and is now effec- tively sabotaging his own plans. For what reasons I could hardly venture a guess now. But, if what you are saying is true, it's either you or McMillan." Scott liked the a.n.a.lysis. It was sound and took into account all available information, omitting any speculation.

"Then why would someone want to threaten me?

"Either you never got the call," the implication was obvious, "or McMillan is trying, quite effectively to spook you." Scott put a few dollars on the table next to the check.

"That's it? You won't say anything, will you? You promised!"

Hugh leaned into Scott, very close.

Scott consoled Hugh with a pat on his wrinkled suit sleeve. "Not without speaking to you first. No, that wouldn't be cricket.

Don't worry, I'll call you in a couple of days."

His editor, Doug McGuire agreed that Scott should keep on it.

There might be a story there, somewhere. Go find it. But don't forget about the viruses.