Leverage in Death: An Eve Dallas Novel (In Death #47)(40)

“How would you do it? If you were a sociopath, didn’t care about leaving a trail of bodies. How would you set this up? How long would it take? How much would you need?”

He blew out a breath. “Well now, let’s sit by the fire.”

“I want—”

“A brandy’s what I want,” he decided, and strolled over to get one. “And we might as well be comfortable while I’m planning out a job without worrying about the death toll.” He grabbed her hand as he walked, tugged her over to the sofa.

The cat slid off the sleep chair, bounded over and up to stretch out across both their laps.

“Cozy,” Roarke decided. “The start could be from a variety of points—and there’s where you’ll have your issues. You might be inside one of the companies, or know someone who is. You might catch the word in the media, or on the street. You might be in finance, or again, the politics of it. But from there you have to know enough to have vision.”

“Crash the companies at the optimum time, buy, wait, sell.”

“In shorthand, yes. And if you’re that sociopath, you’d think the optimum way at that optimum time to bring about that crash is blood and fear.”

“Explosion, loss of life, confusion. Nobody knows what the fuck for the first couple of hours.”

“Exactly. The world being what the world is, people rush toward terrorism at such moments, foreign or domestic. The market reacts. So if this is my plan, I’d want times, dates, names. I’d want the companies to rebound or it’s not profitable, is it?”

He sipped brandy, calculated. “I don’t have to know, absolutely, the Monday meeting is the big marketing reveal and the finalizing of the merger.”

“I can’t buy that. It’s no coincidence.”

“Not at all,” he agreed. “But I only have to know there’s a major meeting. I already know about the merger, already know it’s about to cross the finish line. But I need a time and place. I could make friends with an assistant or junior exec from either company,” he supposed. “Meet them in a bar, a gym, strike up a conversation. Run into them a few times, have a drink, talk shop.”

“Loose chatter. Bragging or complaining.”

“Often both. All this person has to tell me is there’s a big meeting on this particular date, and I can take it from there. Or I nudge for a little more, just conversation, just a couple of people blowing off steam after work.

“If I knew enough,” he continued, “I’d know Pearson’s heirs are safely away, as are Karson’s. Only some of the BODs from each company were to be at that nine o’clock. This is a presentation, a formal introduction. The official signing will come after. So you’d need the names of who’d be at the presentation, as that’s your optimum.

“Hit later, you take out too many of the bigwigs.”

“Both the biggest wigs were there,” Eve pointed out.

“From my standpoint? You’re not worried about cutting off the head of both companies, as they have more limbs to pick up the pieces. But too much damage, that dive will hold longer, and recovery might not come for weeks, if then.”

She nodded. “The explosion was bad, but it was contained. One room, and the people in it. And those on the other side of the room—for the most part cuts and burns, broken bones but nothing really life threatening.”

“The smallest impact for the biggest, if you follow. As I’m going to kill Rogan anyway, I might make contact with him. Friendly or businesslike. We jog in the park, frequent the same deli. Nothing that connects me to him particularly. Or, if not that close, the wife, the daughter, the assistant, a coworker.”

He sipped more brandy. “If it’s me, I’d cultivate more than one source. Casual—that afterwork bar, a steam at the gym, a flirtation at a club. Bits and pieces add up if you know how to work it. When I have enough, I study Paul Rogan and his family.”

“Rogan’s the key,” she agreed. “If you’re with Econo, why don’t you pick somebody from Econo? Too close? Still, you have to know Rogan. You have to be sure of him, or gambling sure. Who’s your partner?”

“Ah well, that’s a tricky one, isn’t it?” Roarke studied the brandy he swirled. “I preferred to work alone, but you can’t always pull a job on your own. You’d best be damn sure of any along with you. And this one’s bloody, so all the more sure. If it’s my job, my plan, I select someone who brings a skill to the table I need or want, and I know them. Personally and well. If I’m tapped for someone else’s plan, the same applies.”

“Did you ever work with explosives?”

“Hmm.” He sipped some brandy. “I preferred finesse, but when finesse isn’t an option . . .”

“Did you build them yourself?”

He toed off his shoes, put his feet on the coffee table, and settled into the interrogation. “It’s wise to learn all aspects of a particular vocation, don’t you think, Lieutenant? Blasting holes in things always seemed . . . crude, but there were times for crude, and needs must. For a big hole now, I value my skin as much as any shiny object I might have coveted, so there’s where a partner or an expert might come to play. Still, what you’re dealing with here’s a different thing. A bomb’s a bomb in its results, but it comes in forms. And the building of a wearable one, that I’ve never done or had part in. It would take some study.”