Five Entrances

Part 2 of 4

Kyle pulled up to the famous “Old Faithful Inn” just as the crowd was applauding the timely forceful spray from the geyser. He shook my hand firmly, and said “hope you enjoyed yourself, shalom” and quickly sped off.  Shalom? What a red neck prick I thought to myself. I stepped inside the hotel which is made of timber and originally constructed in 1904. It’s massive, intricate, and delicate. One errant flame would send the wood hotel into blazes. The hotel was busy and I bumped into tourists as I continued to stare at the elaborate timbers and high ceilings. Suddenly, a massive “paw like hand” brushed my shoulder. It’s Jess the real estate agent. “Welcome to Ol’ Faithful Lodge, quite a place, eh?” It certainly is, Jess. It’s amazing the workers had the necessary construction expertise at the turn of the twentieth century. “American ingenuity”, he tells me.  Jess walks me over to the coffee shop and a table off the corner marked “reserved”. Just as we approach, a seventyish waitress wearing a traditional white waitress uniform approaches with a coffee pot, and says “How ya doin’ Jessie, are you eatin today? The apple pie was just baked and I got a big slice with your name on it, honey”. “Just the coffee, May unless my client would like a slice”. Yeah, that sounds good. No ice cream and no cheese. “Comin right up”, May tells me. Jess reaches around to his beautiful cowhide briefcase and places it on the table, opens it, and removes a lease which he places on the table in front of me. Just as I’m about to turn the first page, Jess places a leather wallet on top of the lease contract and says “open the wallet”. I open the wallet and immediately recognize an FBI badge and identification card with Jess’ photo. My heart “skips a beat” and I’m flabbergasted. I don’t understand, Jess. What the hell is going on? “Years ago you signed a confidentiality agreement as part of your Army security clearance. What I tell is you is confidential and violation is a federal crime to which you can still answer, understand?” I nod in agreement. “The Bureau is investigating Dickers for manipulation of the oil futures markets along with your former employer, Goldfarb. I’ve been undercover for the past two years learning the Jackson real estate market and attempting to get close to Dickers. I gained his trust by arranging for him to purchase excess Federal lands at auction. He thought it was my “inside connections” and expertise that won him the land but actually the Bureau facilitated his winning the bid” In addition to being the largest land holder in the state of Wyoming, Dickers owns the Jackson Lodge.  His lieutenants include an ornery retired Deputy Sheriff from Southern California named Al Gomez who owns the local airport shuttle company and a small wildlife tour company with a hand full of employees who also serve as ranch hands for Dickers. We have an assortment of charges pending against Gomez and will prosecute him along side Dickers.” I came to Wyoming to retire, Jess. I’m through with the oil business.  “Dickers wants your trading experience and algorithms to crush his competitor Goldfarb. Even though he’s an anti-Semite, he respects you, Ben”. I still don’t get it, Jess. “We want you to trade for Dickers, infiltrate his business, and feed the Bureau evidence to prosecute him”. I’m beginning to sweat and fidget in my chair. Jess opens a dossier he retrieves from the briefcase and quickly closes it as May brings a healthy wedge of freshly baked apple pie and places it in front of me. The pie no longer looks appetizing to me and I push it away. Jess reaches for his fork and begins to eat the pie. “Damn, May makes good pie. If I wasn’t married”. He opens the dossier and begins to read. “Benjamin Altschuler. Only son of two public school teachers. Graduate of the Bronx High School of Science. National Merit Scholar. Westinghouse Scholarship recipient in mathematics. Full academic scholarship to Cornell. Completed a double major in Mathematics and History yet you enrolled in Army ROTC knowing that you’d have to postpone graduate school or a lucrative job after graduation. Appointment to the Joint Chiefs of Staff as a speech writer where you spent a few years impressing the top brass and received a post graduate fellowship to Technion paid by the IDF.   At Technion, you put your mathematical talents to work developing algorithms designed for oil and gas trading. A senior military officer within the IDF alerted his former IDF colleague Goldfarb that he should hire you”. Mr. Goldfarb was an IDF soldier? “Not only was he an IDF soldier, he was a decorated tank commander and annihilated the Arabs in ’67 and ’73 later immigrating to the US”. I’m dumbfounded. Mr. Goldfarb was a brilliant investor but never talked about his personal life and battle experience. “Ya know, Ben, it’s been my experience that the toughest and bravest SOB’s are the most modest. They put the blood and guts behind them and move on with their lives. Now, let’s talk about your life, Ben. You’re at the proverbial fork in the road. You can get up from this table, call your big city attorney, and spend the next ten years of your life with one foot in Wyoming heaven and one foot in legal hell defending SEC charges of oil futures market manipulation under Goldfarb or assist the Bureau and live the rest of your life with a clear conscious in this paradise”. My trades were clean, Jess. I just had better mathematics. You have nothing on me. “We know you’re clean, Ben. But we already have evidence on Goldfarb and if we have to indict you as a co-conspirator to get your cooperation, we will”. I know it ain’t fair, Ben but that’s the hand which has been dealt you. What’s your decision?” I have to think about it, Jess. “No time for decision, Ben. Dickers is expecting you Saturday night at the Cattleman’s Ball. He’ll make his offer of employment to you at the ball. Once you enter the mansion, you’re either a co-conspirator or an inside informant. Make your choice. It’s now or never” If I agree and assist you, will I have immunity? “Yes, I have immunity papers in the briefcase for you to sign but you’ll have to testify.” What about Mr. Goldfarb? “Your cooperation will be used to prosecute Goldfarb too, Ben”. He has been good to me, Jess. “I understand but if the roles were reversed, what would Goldfarb choose?” At that moment, the decision was clear. I motioned for the immunity papers and eagerly signed them along with the lease on my “piece of heaven”. “You’ve made the correct decision, Ben. When we arrest Dickers you’ll be arrested as well. It’s all part of the show and for your protection. We don’t want Dickers knowing you are our mole”. By the way Jess, how did you know I would select Dickers A frame to rent? “I read your Army “Personality Profile” and learned you were the kind of guy who prefers elbow room and wide open spaces to high density which is why I suspect you chose secluded upstate New York and Cornell over Columbia or MIT and retired to the remoteness of Wyoming. Dickers built the A frame just for you based upon my recommendation. By the way, Dickers promised to bonus me when you sign that lease. It’s a pity I have to hand the bonus money over to the Bureau.”

It was late afternoon and time to prepare for the Cattleman’s Ball. I was looking forward to being amongst a large crowd of sophisticated people again, particularly women. Dickers was a powerful and influential man and the guest roster was certain to be interesting. Periodically, I heard private jets approach and land on Dickers airstrip. My evening wear included a bespoke Armani tuxedo, mother of pearl cuff links with studs, and Prada tuxedo shoes. As I dressed, I tried to remember the last formal affair that I attended and couldn’t remember. The sun had set behind the majestic Tetons’ and only the moon and the stars lit the landscape. I heard a car approach and the horn honked once. I took one last look in the mirror and looked “sharp” and ready for anything or anybody who might come my way this evening. I stepped on to the porch and awaiting me were the two ranch hands elegantly dressed in dark business suits. Even the old cowboy looked more like a venture capitalist than a cow poke! They were driving a Mercedes “Maybach” which is the top of the line Mercedes and was one of Hitler’s personal fleet of cars. Today, they are the limousine of choice of the world’s elite. The old cowboy held the back door open for me as I stepped inside and he gently closed the door emblazoned with the letter “M”. The rear passenger area was private and separated from the driver by a tinted screen and was well stocked with crystal glasses and high quality assortment of liquor. The Maybach traversed the dirt road leading up to the mansion as if “riding on air”. I parted the privacy drapery covering my window to see that the airstrip looked like O’Hare on a holiday weekend. Virtually every type of private plane was tightly packed on the tarmac. It didn’t take long before the Maybach arrived at Dickers Mansion. The old cowboy opened my door while his roustabout associate hustled to open the door to Dickers mansion for me. For the first time, both greeted me with “have a wonderful evening, Sir. Please call us when you’re ready to depart”.

I entered the foyer to Dickers mansion. The floor was marble and hickory tables proudly showcased original Remington statutes and American artwork adorned the walls.  There was a large walnut double door with Al Gomez standing guard. Even Al looked sharp in his dark business suit. As I approached the walnut doors, Al whispered “good evening, Sir, please allow me” and proceeded to scan me with his metal detection wand. On the table beside Al was a basket with neatly packed cell phones each tagged with a claim ticket. Convinced that I wasn’t “packing” a weapon or cell phone, Al pressed a button and the heavy walnut double doors opened into the massive dining room. The room was abuzz with activity and culinary plenty. Large tables were covered in white table cloths, candelabra, and proudly displayed turkey, ham, venison, prime rib, roast rib, potatoes, and vegetables. The bar was massive and the selection of wines would have put any Napa winery to shame. The help were all male and appeared to be Indians from the nearby reservation. Their smartly pressed white coats were accentuated by their high cheek bones, rugged faces, and long black pony tails. The MaîtreD was also Indian and wore a full war bonnet and kept tabs on each of his “braves”. Cigar smoke, booze, laughter, and conversation filled the room. To my disappointment, there wasn’t a single woman in attendance. Not even the help. I was clearly the youngest in attendance and I judged the median age to be sixtyish.

As I made my way around the heaping food tables, I suddenly felt an arm around my shoulder. It was Dickers who looked elegant in his American made Hickey Freeman tuxedo and smartly shined dress cowboy boots. “Listen up all you degenerates”, he shouted across the room. The guests broke out in laughter and then became silent to hear what Dickers had to say. “This is the kid who cost me my shirt!” Dickers slapped my back prompting a thunderous applause. I heard “way to go kid”, “you’re my kind of guy” from the crowd.  The crowd resumed their festivities and Dickers drew me near. “Eat drink, and enjoy yourself Benjamin but before the evening is through, you and I have business to discuss”. He patted my back and left to cavort with his minions. I circled the massive dining room with my plate in hand trying to make small talk with the “movers and shakers” in the room. I recognized a few United States Senators, corporate CEO’s, and both the Treasury Secretary and Federal Reserve Board Chairman. Although every gentleman was polite, I felt like an outsider and it was clear that I wasn’t a member of the “club”. I was grateful to see a familiar face, Gregory from the Jackson Lodge looking handsome and dashing in his tuxedo. As I made my way across the room to engage him in conversation, an effeminate older man with two drinks in his hand moved in close to Gregory and the two of them retreated to the corner of the dining room. The evening was dragging on and suddenly the Maitre'D approached the center of the room and let out an Indian “war cry”. The Maitre'D’s scream made my skin crawl as the guests began to clap and stomp their feet. The entire affair reminded me of a frat party.  It was surreal seeing this twenty-first century Indian wearing a war bonnet and tuxedo scream at the top of his lungs in a crowded dining room of old white men. The room became silent. The Maitre'D proclaimed “all those wishing to join Mr. Dickers for the remainder of tonight’s festivities, please make your way to the study. To those who will be leaving our company at this time, Mr. Dickers bids you a good evening”. I’d say about ten percent of the attendees made their way to the front door, retrieving their cell phones from Al and left for the evening. The remainder hurriedly lined up to enter the study. As we entered the study, I was struck by the walls lined with first edition volumes of the classics and western books. The walls were oak and lined with rare American western artwork and the heads of most species of North American wildlife. Classical music filled the air as did the cigar and cigarette smoke from the guests. After dinner liquors, coffee, and expensive booze of every variety were neatly placed throughout the study as were boxes of Cuban cigars. Without warning and from a side entrance to the study, came a line of the most beautiful young women wearing expensive French lingerie and “Manolo Blahnik” shoes. Each of the women was blond, tall, thin, and very young. They were so beautiful they could easily strut down the cat walks of Paris, New York, and Milan. They broke off from their “formation” and began to mingle with the crowd of men. As I walked throughout the room, I could make out the language of the girls. I recognized Russian, Ukranian, Belarusian, Czech, Slovak, Bulgarian, and Serbo-Croatian. I knew one day my college Eastern European language course would come in handy. In the corner of my eye, I saw Al Gomez survey the room as if to make certain the guests were well attended to.

Although the girls were beautiful, it wasn’t a pretty sight to see men old enough to be their grandfathers molest them. In one corner of the room, a seventyish pot bellied man with his pants down around his ankles was receiving fellatio from a beautiful girl who may have been no more than a day older than eighteen. He gripped her head and held her hair tightly as she serviced him. In another corner of the room, a beautiful young blond was laying across another old man’s lap with her ass raised in the air and beaten red by his repeated spankings. When I saw her tears begin to flow, I made my way towards the pervert to put an end to her misery. Dickers intercepted me by saying “ah, Ben, just the man I want to see. Follow me into my office”. Dickers led me into his office which was off the study and closed the heavy solid door. He saw that I was disturbed by the sights and sounds of the study and gently gripped my lapels and said “Ben, let boy’s be boy’s. It’s not for you or me to judge. Get a grip, we have business to discuss”. Dickers office was reminiscent of the “robber barons of the early twentieth century. Photos of Dickers with politicians, world leaders, and celebrities adorned the room. I saw no pictures of family. Dickers sat behind his massive hand carved desk which previously occupied the White House and put his elegant boots on the desk.  “I want to hire you to trade for me, Ben. You’ll trade with my money and keep 25% of the earnings. You won’t be responsible for any losses. I’ve established a trading account with a starting balance of one billion dollars. Your trades require no authorization whatsoever. Just as I was about to thank Dickers for his offer but decline, he rose from the desk and said “follow me Ben, I have something to show you” and walked to another room just off his office. He turned on the lights and a large office and been set up as a trading room. The office looked out upon the beautiful vistas of Yellowstone and was lined with computer monitors, plasma television screens, and multiple phone lines. A well appointed bathroom with shower and a cozy bedroom for napping were attached to the trading office. “Everything you need is here, Ben. You’ll work here during trading hours and live in your cabin. Do what you want during your off hours but be ready to trade and win inside this office!” Mr. Dickers, you’re very generous but I’ve retired and left the trading world. “I realize you don’t have a car, Ben so consider my purchase of the car as an additional perk. Pick any car you want but I highly recommend a solid four wheel American vehicle capable of traversing this wild country particularly in the winter. Those Wop sports cars won’t do you any good in our Jackson winters!” Thank you, Mr. Dickers but I’m not interested.  Dickers became red faced and began to breath heavily. He lunged at me and grabbed my lapel. He was quite strong for a man in his seventies. “Listen to me you little Jew bastard, you don’t have a fucking choice in the matter. You’ll work for me until you lose the billion dollars or the one year lease on the cabin expires!” I managed to pull Dickers hands from my lapels and said Mr. Dickers there are plenty of talented traders who would kill for the privilege of working for you. Just put the word out on Wall Street. “I want you, god damn it. You have a unique skill set which I can’t find elsewhere”. Mr. Dickers, my algorithms are good but you can hire a legion of mathematicians to refine them and institute your own proprietary trading formulas. “You’re not listening to me, you little prick. Your math is exceptional but I want your contacts”. What contacts are you referring to, Mr. Dickers? “Your fucking Mossad contacts. Yeah, you think I didn’t know about your “secret sauce” for trading. It was your Mossad contacts who tipped you off to the terrorist attacks in New York which enabled you to set up your big trade fucking me and making Goldfarb a billion dollars!” Mr. Dickers, you’re way off point, Sir. You have access to the highest levels of US intelligence. For Christ sake, I saw the Secretary of the Treasury and Chairman of the Federal Reserve inside your dining room tonight! “They’re morons and never saw the terrorist attacks coming. They couldn’t even clean up the mess! You think that I would put my trust in them? Think again! Let me be perfectly clear, you’ll trade for me until I’m through with you or that wild country outside will swallow you up and you’ll disappear forever”. Dickers began to calm down, walked towards the booze table, poured a brandy, and looked out the large window into the wilderness as the private planes began to taxi and take off. “How was your nature tour with Kyle, Ben?” Dickers made his point. What he didn’t know was that I had an “Ace” in my pocket named Jess!

I didn’t sleep well that night. I stared out the window from my loft bedroom and the full moon hung low over Yellowstone. In order to undertake this ordeal and make it through sane and alive, I needed to get into mental and physical shape. My life and Dickers trading success depended upon my being at the top of “my game”. I thanked the beautiful moon for the clarity, closed my eyes, and drifted off to sleep.

I was awoken by a loud knock on my door. I peeked out the loft window and could see that it was Al Gomez. I draped the blanket around me and headed downstairs to open the door. “Good morning, Sir. The Jackson Inn phoned. Maria the desk clerk has personal effects you left behind and asked that you stop by and pick them up. Since you don’t have a car yet, I’ve arranged for my driver Sue to pick you up and drop you at the hotel. She has errands to run in Jackson and will pick you up at the hotel when she is finished. Since cell service is spotty out here, Sue will provide you with a sat phone compliments of Mr. Dickers. Mr. Dickers has also requested that you make your car selection shortly. Sue will be here within the hour. Good morning, Sir”.

About an hour later as Gomez mentioned, Sue pulled up in her “AG Transportation” minivan. Her ear to ear smile was just what I needed to shake the horrors of the night before. It was nippy outside and she leant over to open the passenger door for me. The minivan was warm and smelled of jasmine perfume. Sue was beautiful in a wholesome way and different from the Eastern European women surrounding Dickers. “Good morning, Ben. Nice to see you again. So, we’re off to the Jackson Lodge”. Yep, it’s nice to see you again, Sue. “Well, let’s get rocking. Gitty up little SUV”. She drove down the long driveway heading out on to the State Highway connecting Yellowstone to Jackson. “So, how was the Cattleman’s Ball?” she asked. “It must be so elegant. My husband tells me about it every year but we never get invited”. Sue, it’s not all that it’s cracked up to be. I noticed that Sue was wearing a thick application of mascara over her left eye which was a tell tale sign that she was masking an injury. How are things with your husband, Sue? “Same ol, same ol. He works all of the time. Oil wells most of the time and on the ranch for Mr. Dickers the rest of the time”. Are you happy, Sue? “Well of course, silly. Why do you ask”? I saw you and Kyle the other day inside Yellowstone. He leaned in as if you and he have a “thing”. “Kyle was just being silly, Ben. He’s just a big over grown boy. How about you, Ben? Do you have a girl?” Not yet, Sue. It would be nice but I have a lot on my plate right now and I’m new to Jackson. The population statistics in Wyoming don’t bode well for me either. “Actually, Ben, the statistics bode very well for a man like you in Wyoming”. What do you mean, Sue? “In a state with a small population like Wyoming, the number of eligible men is very low”. What qualifies as eligible?, I asked.  “Smart, gentlemanly, refined men who respect women, Ben”. Sue’s hand made it over to my lap and slowly brushed my thigh and rested atop my croch. “Is it true all Jewish men are circumcised, Ben?” Sue turned to look at me with a devilish grin almost missing a hairpin turn. I gently removed her hand and said, I’m flattered, Sue but you’re a married woman to one of Mr. Dickers employees and I don’t “shit where I eat”. “My husband is a loser. He can’t get it up and give me a baby because he’s drunk all the time. When I confront him, I get a beating”. Report him, Sue, you don’t have to tolerate that behavior. “Ben, this ain’t the big city and even if I find the authorities sympathetic to my plight, this country is hard on a single woman living on just a driver’s wages”. Sue pulls up the drive leading to the Jackson Inn and pulls to the entrance. I opened the door and began to exit.  “I’ll be back in a couple of hours, Ben. Would you like to get us a room”? Sue winked and smiled. I closed the door and she drove away. I approached the front desk to find Maria working the desk. “Good morning, Sir. Nice to see you again. I have some personal effects for you in our storage room. Please follow me”. I followed Maria down the hall and through a doorway marked “employees only” which led outside to the rear of the Inn. Waiting for me was Jess. “Thank you, Agent Gonzales, That will be all”. In perfect English and without an accent, Maria replied ‘you’re welcome Agent Barrow. I’ll just be inside if you require anything else, Sir”. I watched Maria’s shapely figure in her tightly fitting dress move sensually out of sight. Agent Gonzales, Jess? “Maria is a good Special Agent. She’s from El Paso. Her husband is also with the Bureau. She’s a proud mama of three kids and a devout Catholic. I’ve watched her compete in hand-to-hand combat drills and you wouldn’t want to mess with her!” Tell me about the Cattleman’s Ball and Dickers proposal”. The ball was a big frat party for the Country’s elites. Dickers keeps a stable of Eastern European girls to service him and his friends and Dickers wants me to trade for him. “We’re aware of the girls and have Dickers and Gomez on a host of international sex crime charges and falsification of visa documents but those are minor charges Dickers can brush off with his legal resources. We want Dickers on rigging the oil trading markets. What did he offer you?” 25% of the profits with a one-billion-dollar trading pot. “He likes you, Ben. Christ, one billion dollars! We want the account number and name of the bank for the trading account”. Jess reaches into his shirt pocket and removes a hand written note with an account number and name of a bank which he hands me. “Here is your personal bank account where you are to receive your trading profits, Ben. This is a Bureau account and only accepts deposits. No withdrawals or transfers. I trust you understand that the profits are illicit and remain evidence, Ben?” Yes, I do Jess. “Here is the first month game plan, Ben. In week one, create a modest profit for Dickers. Show him you’re off to a good start. Make him horny. Weeks two and three will be losers. In week four, swing for the fences and score big. Got it? Use your fancy algorithms but you might find the following very helpful”.  Jess reaches into his briefcase and removes an envelope and hands it to me. “The contents of this envelope are to be committed to memory and returned to me after you review the intelligence assessments. Go on, read the documents”. I opened the envelope and read the intelligence analysts predictions regarding terrorist threats in the Persian Gulf, Gulf of Adan and the Gulf of Oman which were to be disseminated by the terrorists through carefully planned press releases and social media over the next month. The intelligence report actually had release dates from the terrorists. Many appeared to be empty threats but the oil price fluctuation would occur at the time of the press and or social media release dates and Dickers could bet on the upward spiral of oil shortly thereafter. The analyst’s report also predicted pricing dissention within the OPEC Ministers meeting to occur within the month.  Making money with this intel would be like “shooting fish in a barrel”. I committed the data to memory and handed the reports back to Jess. “What did Dickers focus on the most in his discussion with you, Ben?” He kept talking about my Mossad contacts and called them my “secret sauce” as if my algorithms played no part in my trading success”. Jess became uncomfortable, took a deep breath as if to make an important point and said “Ben, the less said about your Mossad connections the better. I represent the FBI not the CIA”. It wasn’t hard for Jess or Dickers or anybody else to link a brilliant American Technion postgraduate student to the Mossad which boasts graduates from Technion. “How did Dickers feel about the win you garnered for Goldfarb at his expense?” It wasn’t about the billion dollars he lost to Goldfarb. It was all about losing to another shrewd investor and the intense desire to best his opponent in the next match. “I’ll be damned, is that really what it’s all about with you Wall Street guys? The win and not the money? Ben, from my standpoint, you have 3000 reasons to not sleep at night! Maria will contact you in a month for our next meeting. Assume your office and cabin are bugged and videotaped. Happy trading.” Jess reduced me to feeling like a piece of excrement. He was either a sanctimonious blow hard jealous of the easy profits earned by a few on Wall Street or a Boy Scout.

I had some time to spare before Sue would return to pick me up so I walked around Teton Village and imagined how busy it would be during ski season. Jackson Hole has been consistently ranked as one of the Country’s best ski resorts. I visited several of the shops including a gun shop where I purchased a Glock 9mm and AR 15.  Wyoming is an “unrestricted concealed carry state” and has one of the most lenient gun laws in the Country. The clerk informed me the Federal background check was clear and he was happy to include UPS shipping in my price. The weapons would arrive the next day. I spent some time looking at mountain bikes with the young proprietor. I said that I may be in the market for a mountain bike in the not too distant future but needed a car immediately. The proprietor said most American makes were available in town. It was at that moment that I decided to “stick it” to Dickers and have him purchase the car of my dreams. The “Lamborghini Aventador” with a sticker price of almost four hundred thousand. The proprietor’s mouth dropped when I asked him where I could find one. He rummaged through some business cards and handed me the business card of the local “exotic car consultant” who kept a small showroom in Jackson Hole. I walked back to the hotel lobby and found Sue parked and waiting for me. She was cleaning the windshield and her tight jeans showed her beautiful American figure. The pencil thin Eastern European ladies Dickers crowd adored looked great on the cat walks but I preferred the natural beauty of American women of the West. Frankly, I was second guessing my “don’t shit where I eat” comment to her earlier. Her long tightly woven blond pony tail hung down to the small of her back and her perky breasts wanted to bust free from the thin flannel shirt tucked tightly inside her jeans. I quietly approached Sue from behind and tapped her shoulder. Sue turned quickly and smiled when she saw it was me. Sue’s Robin Egg blue eyes pierced my soul and for a moment, I felt like a school kid with his first crush. “Well hello, Ben! Ready to go? We have to make one stop in Jackson Hole to pick up your sat phone”. That’s ok, with me Sue.  It was nice to ride with Sue because she didn’t jabber on endlessly with small talk. She spoke volumes without saying a word and Sue was telling me she was happy to be alone with me. We arrived in Jackson Hole and pulled up to the cell phone store. “I’ll be right back, Ben”. I’ll go with you Sue. Sue smiled ear to ear and we made our way into the store. After purchasing the sat phone, we did some window shopping and I just happened to pass the exotic car dealers showroom named “Monty’s Classics”. It wasn’t much of a showroom. Just posters and catalogues piled about but Monty was a long time resident of Jackson Hole and knew all the “heavy weights” including Dickers. He was an older gentlemen, wore an obvious toupee, golf pants, matching sweater, and an ascot. Monty was a throwback to the 1960’s Hugh Hefner “swinging set” and I imagined him partying on the ski slopes and chalets to Perry Como and Mantovani. “So, what kind of ride are you looking for?” I looked him in the eye and said a yellow Aventador! Monty knew cars and said “you do realize the winters in Jackson are not friendly to a tiger like the Aventador?”. I don’t care. Sue asked “what’s an Aventador?” Monty grabbed Lamborghini’s latest catalogue and showed her the photo. Sue was dumbstruck having never seen a car so beautiful. “Your man has exquisite taste, young lady”. Sue was embarrassed by Monty’s assumption about our relationship but didn’t say a word. Monty removed an expensive leather jacket emblazoned with the distinctive Lamborghini “raging bull” insignia and draped over Sue’s shoulders. What a salesman, I thought to myself. “It will ship in two weeks from Bolognese, Italy and will arrive in a shipping container in New York. I can have the vehicle serviced and ready for US highways by a trusted Lambo specialist in Long Island. He’ll ship it direct to your doorstep via big rig special vehicle transport. How do you want to pay’?” Bill it to Ernest Dickers, I said. Monty looked confused and realizing that I wasn’t joking excused himself and retreated to his back office. I suspect he called one of Dickers staff to confirm payment and returned within minutes. “It’s a pleasure doing business with you, Mr. Altschuler. Expect delivery in two weeks”. We shook hands and Sue began to remove the expensive leather jacket and hand it to Monty. Monty wouldn’t take it and said “please accept the jacket as my token of appreciation for your patronage”. Sue smiled ear to ear as if she was wearing a fur coat and thanked Monty.  I suggested we stop for an espresso to toast the Aventador. We sat at a table in a private corner of the café and sipped our coffees. Sue looked chic in her expensive Lambo jacket accentuated by her tight jeans. For all anybody knew in the café, Sue was just another well heeled resident of Jackson Hole. Sue looked into my eyes and said “Ben, I’ve never seen anything so beautiful in my life. Its poetry, art, and science all rolled into one”. Sue’s description of the Italian “masterpiece” was succinct and I’d never heard the car so aptly described before. Sue reached into her hand bag and pulled out a rectangular gift wrapped box and handed it to me. “I feel embarrassed giving this paltry gift to somebody so sophisticated”. I carefully removed the wrapping paper, opened the box, and removed the most beautiful Mezuzah I had ever seen. It was simple but born from the natural woods and stones of Jackson. “The man at the Judaica store said it has a prayer wrapped inside and you would post it on your door.” I began to tear up and was speechless. A country girl handed me a simple gift more precious than any Aventador. I instinctively leaned in to kiss her cheek. It was soft and smelled of fresh cut flowers. We were frozen in the moment. Against my better judgment, I slowly turned my lips towards Sue’s and we gently kissed. Our lives would never be the same. Sue took my hand and suggested “it was time to head back”. We returned to the minivan hand in hand and hardly said a word the entire way back home. As Sue parked in front of my cabin, I turned to kiss Sue and was going to invite her in but Sue said “let’s not rush, Benjamin. They’ll be plenty of time for us. Please hang it where you’ll think of me”. I knew that the front door frame to my cabin was the appropriate place because it was the entrance to my “heaven” and I wanted Sue to share it with me. It was dangerous on Dickers property for Sue and I to share another kiss so we just stared into each other’s eyes cherishing what we shared today and would yearn for in the days to come.

I didn’t sleep well the night before my first day and week of trading. I felt “rusty” and unsure of the quality of intel provided to me by Jess. US intelligence concerning the Middle East was never as dependable as that coming out of the Mossad. Furthermore, my office was adjacent to Dickers office and his expectations of me really unnerved me. I decided to shake my nerves by jogging to the office. When I hit the dirt road and inhaled my first breath of the fresh Yellowstone air, I regained my confidence and became cockier with each step along the one mile jog to Dickers mansion. Dickers had pointed out a private entrance to the office just off the side of the mansion which I found unlocked, the lights to my office already on, the computer screens humming with activity, and an American style breakfast awaiting me with a card inscribed “Welcome to Dickers Equities. Good luck”! What a classy move, I thought to myself. Dickers was a prick but exuded “old school” charm and etiquette. The Middle East oil markets were ten hours ahead and traded out of the Dubai Mercantile Exchange and US oil was traded out of the New York Mercantile Exchange which was only two hours ahead. Because I was betting on the price of a barrel of oil at the end of the week, I didn’t concern myself with daily time differences and placed my “bets” at the beginning of the week. Trading wasn’t like a 9 to 5 job where you measured your productivity at the end of the shift. My productivity would be measured weekly, monthly, and yearly.

Algorithmic trading is the process of using computers programmed to follow a defined set of instructions for placing a trade in order to generate profits at a speed and frequency that is impossible for a human trader. The defined sets of rules are based on timing, price, quantity or any mathematical model. I knew my math and programming skill was damn good because I wrote it, tested it against the best in the world, and refined it over the years. Apart from profit opportunities for the trader, algo-trading makes trading more systematic by ruling out emotional human impacts on trading activities.

Suppose a trader follows these simple trade criteria:

• Buy 50 shares of a stock when its 50-day moving average goes above the 200-day moving average

• Sell shares of the stock when its 50-day moving average goes below the 200-day moving average

Using this set of two simple instructions, it is easy to write a computer program which will automatically monitor the stock price and place the buy and sell orders when the defined conditions are met. The trader no longer needs to keep a watch for live prices and graphs, or put in the orders manually. The algorithmic trading system automatically does it for the trader, by correctly identifying the trading opportunity. The “secret sauce” as Dickers put it is knowing in advance how the market will react to positive or negative news and “games” the system in the trader’s advantage.  I could trust my mathematics but the quality of US intel was only as good as those gathering and reporting it. After reviewing the intel Jess had provided for week one, I was betting on an uptick in the price of a barrel of oil, selected my end of week price and committed $100,000,000 of Dickers money on my “calculated bet”. The remainder of the week would be rather dull. Professional traders never sweated daily returns. It was all about where you stood at the end of the week, month or year. I was set up on a weekly investment regimen so Friday would be my “big day”.

(Continued)