A Calculated Risk Katherine Neville (adventure books to read txt) đ
- Author: Katherine Neville
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âRight,â agreed Georgian. âEverything else can just be photographed and printed right from the photo, without making engraving plates. That is, everything but the denomination of the bondâits âface value.â That seems to be engraved rather than printed on every kind of bond.â
âBut run your fingers over that number,â said Tor. âIt may be engraved, but the ink is just a bit thicker than the parts of the bond that are only printed. Furthermore, the denomination is located in the center of the certificate. If the border around itâs engravedâand thatâs what youâd be most likely to touch when youâre thumbing through a pile of securitiesâyouâd hardly notice whether some flowery number in the middle was engraved or printed.â
âIt would certainly cut down on time,â Georgian admitted. âI can get eight securities on one photo negative, and print right from that. A lot easier than taking the photo and then making eight engraving plates before printing.â
âIâm willing to take this risk if you are,â Tor told her. âAfter all, Iâm the one who has to deliver these fakes to the Depository Trust. Iâll be the one caught with his pants down, if these donât pass inspection.â
âIâd like to get a photo of that.â Georgian laughed. But she looked really worried. âIâm so nervous when the least little thing goes wrong,â she explained. âI feel like weâve walked into a nightmare.âŠâ
âNo time for the nightmaresâor the reveries, either,â said Lelia, coming to remove the soup bowls. âYou must not put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after.â
âAll right, Mother.â Georgian laughed. âGet the hair dryerâit looks like weâre in business.â
It was two-thirty when Lelia entered the ancient, fishy-smelling foyer of the South End Yacht Club below Whitehall on East River Drive, a large envelope tucked beneath her arm containing the twenty completed certificates.
âExcuse me, maâamââthe porter stopped herââbut you canât enter unless accompanied by a member.â
âBut Dr. Tor is expecting meâon a matter of grave urgence,â she explained.
âPerhaps heâs been detained,â said the porter. âHe hasnât come in today.â
Lelia was about to protest, when the porter looked up toward the door in alarm. Tor was bounding up the steps, covered with mud, in his frayed tweed and faded pants, the pannier baskets swinging from his shoulder.
âIâm glad you waited, darling,â he said, taking Lelia gingerly by the sleeve of her fur coat. âGeorgeâthis is Baroness Daimlisch. Weâll be having tea in the private dining room, itâs reserved. And send up a bottle of that thirty-two claret, will you?â
The astounded porter tried not to look at Torâs costume, but reached into the closet behind him and brought out a necktie printed with the tiny block insignia of the club. This he handed to Tor, who draped it around the neck of his burgundy sweater and made a knot.
Then he offered Lelia his arm and headed for the room.
âOh, and George,â he called over his shoulder, âkeep an eye on my bicycle, will you? Itâs just out front.â
âCertainly, sir,â George replied.
âThis is excellent claret,â Lelia said as she sat beside the fireplace in the dimly lit, paneled private club room.
âAnd these are exquisite engravings,â Tor replied, thumbing through them carefully. âNow weâll put them back into the right satchels for delivery. Iâve picked up some more while you and Georgian were working on these. Itâs a quarter to three now; do you think you can get back uptown, copy them, and return by five so I can get them into the Depository?â
âIt will be difficile,â Lelia admitted. âBut she has completed this last printing in less than one hour. It was the time required for me to get here from the subway that makes it so long. Though this is faster than the taxi.â
âPerhaps I can meet you at the subway, then?â he suggested. âAnd no more stopping for lunch or cocktails, after today. Timeâs of the essence, so Iâm happy youâre willing to be our runner. I hope you understand, though, youâre taking a risk.â
âWhat is life, if one is afraid to take the chances?â asked Lelia.
Tor nodded and looked down at one of the fake securities theyâd done. He ran his fingers over the scalloped number at center, which read: â$5,000 and no/100ââa number that had been printed rather than engraved. Only an expert would notice the difference. It was the sentence six lines below it that bothered him. Not because of the way it looked, but because of what it said: âSubject to prior redemption, as provided herein.â
Theyâd printed a callable bondâa security that could be âcalled inâ like a note if the issuer wanted to pay it off earlyâwhy hadnât he noticed that earlier?
Oh well, he thought, it couldnât be helped. The likelihood was slim that anything would happen. And, as Lelia said, what was life if one was afraid to take the chances?
Tor slipped the bond into the satchel for the Depository Trust.
The Depository Trustâs forty stories of concrete and glass concealed a vaultlike inner construction where hundreds of thousands of securities, like those in Torâs bag, were stored.
Most standard deliveries were made through the front entrance, which housed the Chemical Bank. But the deliveries that countedâthe constant traffic in securitiesâwere made through the rear of the building.
At the back of 55 Water Street was a pair of nondescript doors made of twelve-inch steel. Beyond the steel doors was a series of double-door âmantraps.â Through them passed, all day long, unkempt messengers in faded jeans and sneakers, delivering satchels and suitcases packed with corporate and municipal bonds, common and preferred stocks.
The vaults where the securities were stored were located in labyrinthine, multilevel subbasements of the building. But the messengers never entered these hallowed halls, nor did they enter the offices scattered throughout the upper stories. Everything beyond the steel doors was controlled by security camera, security badge, and
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