kept
trying to swat my hands away, too much touching from a
strange man. McNulty brushed past and was out the door. I
stepped back to let our boy leave, and then went to the bar to
pick up a newspaper I'd purposely left there.
Outside the pub, McNulty was shuffling at a drunken
pace. He hadn't gotten far when he looked back and saw me
headed his way. He was good. I didn't even see the drop, but I
did see the black wallet on the sidewalk. I picked it up and
opened it. A driver's license belonged to Tom Hall, so did some
business cards. I took one and hoped Tom wouldn't miss it.
First mailbox I came to, I stuffed in the wallet, which at fast
count contained more than two hundred quid. I didn't need it
now, but the fact that it was there made me feel more secure. If
things didn't work out with investigations, at least I was
learning a new trade, pickpocket assistant.
I took the Underground back to my hotel. McNulty was
waiting in the lobby.
"Who's Tom?" was the first thing he said.
"Last name's Hall. His card says he's the director of IT
security for LIFFE."
"Information technology chief, a wanker."
"Yeah, why?"
"He isn't a trader."
I handed McNulty the business card.
"He's young to be a director," he said. "He also has an
odd job, doesn't he, considering the circumstances. I pinned
your note to Mumby's wall, and he goes amok. It describes a
foreign exchange trade, but he calls a computer specialist. Why
would he do that? I had expected Tom to be a trader. No fit, is
there?"
"There might be. If you knew all the backdoors to the
system, how much could you mess around with things? "
"There's got to be safeguards to keep some loose
cannon from rigging the market." McNulty said.
"I don't know what they are, but you must be right. The
likelihood he could overwrite real data and make the dollar
appear to trade at a set level must be zero. But what if he could
do something else, something more subtle."
"Like what?"
"Good question. There a pub around here? I need to
loosen up a creative streak."
McNulty pointed out that we were in London, which
made the existence of a nearby pub not a likelihood but
inevitable. We ordered pints of bitter. I drained off half my
glass, before the brew started working its magic.
"What if he wrote a program that could affect the
timing of trades, so that they were executed in a sequence that
would move the dollar in the direction he wanted.
Stockbrokerages used to do something like that. Before the SEC
cracked down, they regularly traded customer accounts ahead
of or behind trades for their house accounts to maximize
profits."
"You think one lad can sit at home and write
something like that?"
"I read about a guy who did just that, except he wrote a
program for high-frequency stock trading. He tested it, then
gave the program money to play with and started chalking up
earnings. I'm not a programmer, but one strikes me as no less
complicated that the other."
"He'd get caught."
"What if he had a contingency? Foreign exchange is the
biggest market on the planet. He scores and hightails it."
"With Interpol all over his backside."
"South America isn't a bad place for someone with
more money than he could spend in a lifetime."
McNulty didn't look impressed. "What's the tie-in with
Paris?"
I grunted and finished the pint. For a fabulously rich
man with connections, even Venezuela could be a good spot. So
could China. Both were safe from Interpol.
"Do you think you could track Hall and bug his
home?"
McNulty's laugh was low. His eyes sparkled.
On the drive back to Paris, I called Burroughs and told
him the effect his fax about the trade had on Mumby. I also told
him about Tom Hall. "Do you know him?"
"No, but I probably know someone who does. I'll ask
around. You said this guy Mumby was nervous about the fax. If
something's going on, it would be fun to see Hall's face when he
realizes I'm looking for him."
"You said you didn't know him."
"I don't. He knows me. Everybody in the trade
trying to swat my hands away, too much touching from a
strange man. McNulty brushed past and was out the door. I
stepped back to let our boy leave, and then went to the bar to
pick up a newspaper I'd purposely left there.
Outside the pub, McNulty was shuffling at a drunken
pace. He hadn't gotten far when he looked back and saw me
headed his way. He was good. I didn't even see the drop, but I
did see the black wallet on the sidewalk. I picked it up and
opened it. A driver's license belonged to Tom Hall, so did some
business cards. I took one and hoped Tom wouldn't miss it.
First mailbox I came to, I stuffed in the wallet, which at fast
count contained more than two hundred quid. I didn't need it
now, but the fact that it was there made me feel more secure. If
things didn't work out with investigations, at least I was
learning a new trade, pickpocket assistant.
I took the Underground back to my hotel. McNulty was
waiting in the lobby.
"Who's Tom?" was the first thing he said.
"Last name's Hall. His card says he's the director of IT
security for LIFFE."
"Information technology chief, a wanker."
"Yeah, why?"
"He isn't a trader."
I handed McNulty the business card.
"He's young to be a director," he said. "He also has an
odd job, doesn't he, considering the circumstances. I pinned
your note to Mumby's wall, and he goes amok. It describes a
foreign exchange trade, but he calls a computer specialist. Why
would he do that? I had expected Tom to be a trader. No fit, is
there?"
"There might be. If you knew all the backdoors to the
system, how much could you mess around with things? "
"There's got to be safeguards to keep some loose
cannon from rigging the market." McNulty said.
"I don't know what they are, but you must be right. The
likelihood he could overwrite real data and make the dollar
appear to trade at a set level must be zero. But what if he could
do something else, something more subtle."
"Like what?"
"Good question. There a pub around here? I need to
loosen up a creative streak."
McNulty pointed out that we were in London, which
made the existence of a nearby pub not a likelihood but
inevitable. We ordered pints of bitter. I drained off half my
glass, before the brew started working its magic.
"What if he wrote a program that could affect the
timing of trades, so that they were executed in a sequence that
would move the dollar in the direction he wanted.
Stockbrokerages used to do something like that. Before the SEC
cracked down, they regularly traded customer accounts ahead
of or behind trades for their house accounts to maximize
profits."
"You think one lad can sit at home and write
something like that?"
"I read about a guy who did just that, except he wrote a
program for high-frequency stock trading. He tested it, then
gave the program money to play with and started chalking up
earnings. I'm not a programmer, but one strikes me as no less
complicated that the other."
"He'd get caught."
"What if he had a contingency? Foreign exchange is the
biggest market on the planet. He scores and hightails it."
"With Interpol all over his backside."
"South America isn't a bad place for someone with
more money than he could spend in a lifetime."
McNulty didn't look impressed. "What's the tie-in with
Paris?"
I grunted and finished the pint. For a fabulously rich
man with connections, even Venezuela could be a good spot. So
could China. Both were safe from Interpol.
"Do you think you could track Hall and bug his
home?"
McNulty's laugh was low. His eyes sparkled.
On the drive back to Paris, I called Burroughs and told
him the effect his fax about the trade had on Mumby. I also told
him about Tom Hall. "Do you know him?"
"No, but I probably know someone who does. I'll ask
around. You said this guy Mumby was nervous about the fax. If
something's going on, it would be fun to see Hall's face when he
realizes I'm looking for him."
"You said you didn't know him."
"I don't. He knows me. Everybody in the trade
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