Five Entrances

Part 3 of 4

Dickers wasn’t around all week so I had the office wing of the mansion to myself. I really enjoyed my runs to and from the office and decided to pursue a dedicated exercise regimen similar to that I learned in the Army. I cut a running trail with a series of flat, uphill, and downhill twists and turns. There were plenty of branches for pull ups and stumps for decline or incline pushups. I restricted my diet to lean game meat and fresh vegetables which became a joy to cook in my small but efficient kitchen. I even put the portable grill Dickers provided to good use and savored the smell of fresh grilled game meats. I was becoming “ripped” as my weight declined and I put on lean muscle. The more physically fit I became, the more creative my mind became. I filled notebook after notebook with mathematical equations for algorithmic trading platforms. I often awoke in the middle of the night with mathematical insights and found myself working into the morning only to rush off to my office. As Friday of my first trading week concluded, I was daydreaming of Sue while staring out of the window to my office and into the majesty of Yellowstone. The computer tone alerted me to the conclusion of trading and Dickers net profit for the week of $20,000,000. I pulled up my “FBI personal account” and saw my 25% earnings for the week of $5,000,000 already deposited into “my” account. Although the money wasn’t mine, I earned every penny of it and was quite proud of myself and felt more comfortable about the intel Jess provided. I’d really like to celebrate tonight and wish I could find Sue. I pulled out my new sat phone and dialed “AG Transportation” hoping Sue would answer but was greeted by an answering machine. I hung up without leaving a message. I want to see her again but didn’t have her number.

It was the weekend and I had nothing to do. My boredom was exacerbated since my car wouldn’t arrive for another week and I was stranded at home unless I wanted to walk or jog into town. I couldn’t get my mind off Sue. I didn’t know where she lived and didn’t get her cell number. I could always call “AG Transport” and request Sue but I couldn’t risk it. I decided to hunker down in my cabin for the weekend, exercise, eat well, and plan my trading moves for week two. I never traded with the intention of losing before and it was actually more difficult than affecting a winning trade. As I reviewed the intelligence data supplied by Jess for week two, I set up my trade as if to profit from the intel and proceeded to trade in the opposite direction.

Dickers was up $20,000,000 from the previous week so I placed $120,000,000 at stake and set my oil price per barrel and waited for Friday. It turned out to be a short week as it was painfully obvious to me by the close of business on Wednesday that Dickers had lost the entire $120,000,000. I actually felt sorry for the anti Semite son of a bitch and felt my family’s Jewish guilt overtake me as my, sorry, the FBI’s $5,000,000 profit from the week before remained intact and drawing interest.

It was another lonely weekend but I managed to muddle through by vigorous exercise, cooking, and filling more notebooks with great mathematics. On Sunday night, I heard the familiar sound of Dickers Gulfstream G650 fly overhead and make its landing on the private airstrip. Having Dickers in the office next to mine would make another week of losing excruciating.

As I entered my office through the side door, I could already hear Dickers in the office next door. Dickers was always first in the office and the last man out of the office. As I reviewed the intelligence Jess supplied for week three, I placed my losing trades which included a $200,000,000 trade. I could definitely feel the pressure of Dickers in the office next door. Dickers was a hard charging business man and his telephone conversations were endless. He would alternate between one to three calls at the same time. His conversations were punctuated with heavy swearing and racial epitaphs directed at “all of the usual suspects”. I heard him answer a call with the salutation “Mr. President” only to hang up later uttering vile comments about the President under his breath. The calls were all political or social. Dickers was too intelligent to discuss any of his trading activity which may be recorded by the authorities. Friday was a nightmare. As the trading concluded and it was confirmed Dickers had lost $320,000,000 between this week and last, Dickers stormed into his office ranting and raving about a misplaced Blackberry cell phone. I heard the familiar Eastern European accent of a young lady playfully calling Dickers “Papa, Papa”. I could tell the young lady was interrupting Dickers frantic search for the phone and he was becoming angry. “Damn it, get off me woman”, Dickers shouted at the top of his lungs. I rose from my chair, opened the door between my office and Dickers, and looked inside. Dickers was clad in only a red silk bathrobe and his pot belly, uncircumcised tiny penis, and saggy testicles were exposed by the open robe. Dickers was rummaging through his desk drawers looking for the phone. “God damn it, where is that fucking phone!”, he exclaimed. The beautiful young blond woman was clinging to Dickers and playfully purring “Papa, Papa”. Suddenly, Dickers turned and back handed the girl who fell backward face up and appeared unconscious. I ran into the office and to her side just as she was regaining consciousness. What’s the matter with you Dickers? “They’ve got to learn whose boss”, Dickers shouted back. The young woman paid me no mind and began to crawl to Dickers and grasp his ankles crying ‘Papa, papa, me sorry”. Dickers didn’t even look down at the beautiful girl prostrate at his feet and said “you go back into the bedroom and wait for Papa. Go now. I’ll be right in”. What’s with all these young blond women you keep around here, Dickers? “It’s Mr. Dickers, Ben. You work for me and don’t forget it. They’re foreign exchange students and live on the ranch. They receive two hours of English language instruction each day as well as free room and board. They have weekly supervised visits to town, shopping sprees, and sightseeing all at my expense. Each is certifiably eighteen with a bona fide birth certificate and up to date Visas.” What do they provide in return, Mr. Dickers? “Hospitality. It’s an easy gig compared to the lives they would lead back home”. Dickers finds the cell phone, wraps the silk robe tightly about him, and says “You know Ben, it might do you some good to spend more time with one of these lovely young woman. Maybe your trading will improve!” Dickers let me know in no uncertain terms that he was following my progress to date and was expecting another big win soon. Just at that moment, the sound of a big rig truck pulling a trailer with my $400,000 Lamborghini paid by Dickers was pulling up to the cabin. Fortunately, Dickers had left the office and didn’t witness the “insult to injury”. I shut down the office and raced to my cabin eager to “unwrap my new toy”. Finally, I could get off the estate and travel freely around Yellowstone and into town. The car was being unloaded as I arrived. The driver and his helper were professional exotic car transporters and carefully removed the protective coverings revealing a beautiful canary yellow Aventador. They handed me the keys and I started the massive V12 motor which roared like a caged lion. I spent the next half hour signing inspection and waiver forms with the drivers whom I tipped $100 each. They thanked me and cautioned me to take the first several drives at reduced speed until I became accustomed with the handling. The big rig departed and I slowly drove my Lambo along the dirt driveway and towards the highway. Dickers was correct. The Lambo wasn’t designed for dusty dirt roads but when I hit the highway leading into town, the Aventador begged me to let it “loose”. I gradually depressed the accelerator and the car gripped the pavement. I was at 100 MPH within seconds and the wind whipped through the car. The handling was exceptional and gripped the narrow twisting highway with all its might the faster I drove. I didn’t want to tempt fate and get killed the first day in my new car so I slowed, made a u-turn, and headed back to the cabin. I couldn’t wait for Sue to ride in my Lambo. I carefully parked it close to my cabin underneath the carport and dusted the car off. I said “arrivaderci” to my new ride and couldn’t wait to see it in the morning.

I awoke Saturday morning to find my beautiful car shining in the sun and demanding it’s “exercise”. Alongside my beautiful example of twenty first century transportation was a product of nineteenth century transportation, a beautiful chestnut mare. The image of these side by side really resonated with me. The old cowboy was staring at the car in amazement. “Well good morn’in Mr. Ben, this sure is a pretty ride. Is it one of those “I, talian cars”, he asked.  I’m sorry but I never caught your name, I asked the weathered old cowboy. “I’m Clive, Sir.” The old cowboy extended his hand to shake mine. His hand was thick, strong, and weathered and spoke volumes about Clive’s life journey. It’s a Lamborghini Aventador, Clive. “It sure is pretty, Mr. Ben. Is it fast?” Want to see for yourself, Clive? Clive looked at the ground and shuffled his feet like a shy kid and said “well, Sir, if it ain’t gonna put you out”. Jump in Clive. I pressed the button on my remote key and the aerodynamic doors rose. Clive jumped back in astonishment.

“Well I’ll be a monkey’s uncle”, he exclaimed. Clive dusted himself off and politely removed his dirt caked cowboy boots and hat before getting inside. I closed the doors, hit the accelerator, and we headed out of the ranch and on to the highway. I punched it and the g force propelled Clive back into his seat. Clive was speechless and although he wouldn’t admit it, he appeared frightened at the power and speed of the Lambo as he gripped the seat. I drove to the intersection just about a mile outside the ranch, turned around, and raced back to the ranch punching the accelerator to the point of just shy of 200 mph. Not only did I want to give old Clive the “ride of his life” but I wanted to send him a message that in this machine, I was the “boss”. Clive held on for dear life and didn’t say a word. I slowly pulled up to the cabin, turned off the ignition, and raised the doors. Clive’s chestnut mare began a forceful steady flow of urine which formed a stream towards the Lambo and pooled around one of the tires. I guess the horse didn’t think much of the Lambo I thought to myself. Clive climbed out like an astronaut leaving the space capsule after a harrowing return to earth. I hope you enjoyed the ride, Clive. “Whew, Mr. Ben, that’s some machine. Yes sir but ‘ol Clive better stick to his horse Jesseabelle” Clive mounted his horse. “Thank you for the hospitality, Mr. Ben. If I can return the favor, just ask”. No problem, Clive thanks for stopping by. Jessabelle quickly galloped away as if “to stick it to the Lambo”.

I drove towards Jackson Hole and sped through the countryside. I slowly drove  through the crowded down town streets of Jackson Hole carefully observing all of the traffic laws. The exotic yellow Italian sports car was the center of attention and I felt like a celebrity. I headed out of Jackson Hole and towards Teton Village. I was able to “open it up” on the highway. I saw the Jackson Lodge in the distance and came up with my game plan to see Sue. I parked near the hotel and phoned the front desk. The male voice on the end of the line answered “Jackson Lodge, Gregory speaking, how may I help you”. I masked my voice and inquired if “Maria” was on duty as I couldn’t risk running into Agent Gonzalez and alerting Jess for any reason. “I’m sorry, Ms. Gonzalez is off today, may I help you”, Gregory asked and I politely said, no thank you. My next call was to AG Transportation. A male voice answered which I surmised was Al Gomez. I told him I required a ride into Jackson Hole from the Jackson Lodge and was requesting the nice young woman who delivered my bags months ago. “I’m sorry but Sue is on a delivery right now and won’t be available for a couple of hours. I can come get you now if you prefer. May I have your name and method of payment, Sir”, Gomez told me.  I told Gomez that I had a few hours to spend in Teton Village and I was a cash pay. My name was Fletcher and would be waiting in front of the Teton Lodge in two hours. Gomez booked the reservation for Sue to pick up “Mr. Fletcher” and I went inside the Teton Lodge to finish my plans. Gregory was looking sharp at the front desk and greeted me enthusiastically. “Well hello again, Mr. Altschuler, How can I help you?”  I’d like to arrange for a picnic lunch with all the trimmings and I need it in two hours. “I’m happy to assist, Mr. Altschuler”, Gregory said walking me to the restaurant just off the lobby and introducing me to the hostess who would make all of the arrangements. I ordered a gourmet lunch for two, linen napkins, china plates, silver utensils, bottled water, and a high priced bottle of wine. The hostess neatly packed everything into a wicker basket. “You’ll probably need these as well, Mr. Altschuler” and the hostess provided comfy large woolen blankets to sit upon. I tipped her $100 and waited for Sue to arrive. I parked the Aventador discretely in the parking lot and looked for the familiar minivan. Just as it arrived and parked in front of the lobby, I drove up behind the minivan and revved the V12 motor. The roar of the motor startled Sue and I saw her look into the rear view mirror and smile. She motioned for me to follow her as she drove to the parking lot. Sue exited the minivan, and ran towards me. “It finally arrived. It’s beautiful, Ben” as she stroked the beautiful yellow paint and aerodynamic lines. Let’s go for a ride, Sue. “I can’t Ben, I’m waiting to pick up a passenger”. I’m Mr. Fletcher, Sue. Get in. Sue smiled ear to ear and gently got inside the car. She placed her hand on my leg, reached into kiss me on the cheek, and whispered “you’re a tricky little devil, Benjamin”.

I revved the engine to give Sue a taste of the power and headed out of Teton Village onto Moose Wilson Road where I opened it up. Sue immediately felt the thrill of the G force as we headed into the wilderness and towards the park. I pulled up slowly to the gates of the park and the Ranger issuing entrance permits starred in amazement at my Lambo. The Ranger was welcoming, seventyish, and portly. He sported a manicured handlebar moustache and looked sharp in his pressed uniform and the official “Smokey the Bear” hat sat proudly atop his head.  Strapped to his waist was a loaded Smith & Wesson .357 Magnum handgun. I paid the park fee, and was chided “now take it slow and steady inside the park, son. The roads are tricky inside Yellowstone and I don’t want to have to come looking for you kids after the park closes. Besides, you don’t want to scare the animals with that beast” the Ranger chuckled. Sue had never experienced such luxury in her life and my heart was warmed by seeing how happy she was. I pulled off the highway leading through park and into “Laurance S. Rockefeller Preserve” which looked deserted. I parked and motioned to the back seat and said, would you join me for lunch, my lady? “Oh Ben, this is wonderful. I’m so surprised”. I grabbed the picnic basket with one arm and held Sue’s hand with the other arm as we walked toward a secluded grassy knoll alongside a lake and spread out the blankets and sumptuous lunch fare. Sue had never been treated to a spontaneous affair in her life and she looked like a high school girl receiving her corsage on prom night. I didn’t remember the last time “everything was just perfect”. Beautiful woman, beautiful surrounding, and a beautiful car. The beautiful yellow Aventura accentuated the fall colors of the park and was worthy of full page advertising spread. Sue and I ate, drank, and laughed. I was careful not to drink too much wine as I was the driver but I could tell Sue was drinking to mask pain. She told me that life with the abusive Hank had become untenable and was happy that he was gone for two weeks on the oil rigs. Sue told me that she had a BS in Agricultural Sciences and worked for the USDA until her husband demanded that she quit out of fear her career would surpass his. The louse also demanded that she cut off all communication with her family in the Midwest after learning they were telling Sue to leave him and come home. I grabbed Sue’s hand and held it tightly. For the first time in years, Sue must have felt like she had an empathetic ear and a strong shoulder to cry on. Sue leaned in and kissed me passionately. We rolled to and fro locked in a deep, sensual kiss. My hands probed her shapely figure and Sue assisted by unbuttoning her shirt revealing her beautiful breasts and unbuttoned her tight fitting jeans. We made passionate love alongside the lake and amongst the wildlife. We consummated our relationship with a chorus of bull frogs. Mr. Rockefeller would have been proud of me. Sue’s cell phone began to vibrate and Sue said “shit, it’s Gomez. He was probably watching the GPS and can see that the minivan hasn’t moved.” Sue and I knew that we “crossed the line”. I told her that I needed her and would be there for her. She leaned in close to me and whispered, “thank you, Ben. Where have you been all my life?” We drove slowly through the Park gates and the kind old ranger tipped his hat and said “hope you had a good time, kids. Drive safely” with a smile on his face as if he knew what had transpired. The Ranger reminded me of the wise old Jews in my Bronx neighborhood always looking after the kids. We drove back to the Jackson Lodge parking lot. Sue and I exchanged one more passionate kiss. Sue, I want to see you again. How do I get a hold of you?. Sue reached for her cell phone and texted me her number. “If I don’t reply right back to you, it’s because he is at home but don’t worry, I’ll get back to you”, Sue said. We hugged. “I don’t know what to tell, Gomez, Ben”. I approached the minivan, popped the hood, and placed a small nick in the fuel line which began to leak gasoline. Tell Gomez that the minivan wouldn’t start and Fletcher made other arrangements. Sue agreed. Tell Gomez you’ll wait for him inside the Jackson Lodge. Introduce yourself to Gregory as a friend of mine and wait with him until Gomez arrives. We blew each other a kiss and I drove off. The weekend raced by as Sue was the highlight of my weekend. I hoped that Gomez bought the story and she was safe. I heard the Gulfstream G650 take off and knew that I would have the office to myself most of the week.

I entered the office on Monday morning and laid out my trades for the week based upon the intel Jess had provided. This was the final week before I would report back to Jess and Maria.  The FBI plan was to profit in week 4 and I actually wanted to make Dickers a big windfall as I was grateful for the Lambo. I would “swing for the fences” this week and add $100,000,000 to the $320,000,000 Dickers had lost for a total investment of $420,000,000. It was a gut wrenching week with the market going in the opposite direction of my trade. I knew that sooner or later the lousy US Intel would screw me. Both the FBI but Dickers would be furious. It wasn’t until late in the trading day on Thursday that the market began to move in my direction based upon comments coming out of an OPEC Ministers meeting earlier in the day were released. When I walked into the office on Friday morning, Dickers had made $700,000,000 and my FBI personal account stood at $180,000,000. I deserved the Medal of Honor for helping the United States Treasury make so much money. All I could think about was Sue.

Friday night I heard Dickers Gulfstream land and I wondered if the SOB would even give me the benefit of a pat on the back or “job well done”. I awoke Saturday morning to find an invitation to a cocktail party pinned to my door. The invitation was for Sunday evening at 7:00 pm and was black tie. I was happy to drive up to Dickers mansion in my new lambo. There weren’t as many private planes on the tarmac and I concluded this was a more intimate affair. Clive was dressed elegantly in his business suit and was the door man for the evening and greeted me by saying “Good evening, Mr. Ben. Welcome. The gentlemen are waiting inside”. Waiting inside? For who, I asked myself. Gomez was the “gate keeper” to the study again and proceeded to wave his metal detecting wand over me. “Thank you, Mr. Altschuler, please go inside”.  It was indeed an intimate cocktail party. I was relieved to find no scantily clad teenage girls dancing about. I saw Gregory standing alone in the corner with a drink in his hand and headed over to say hello. As I walked though the study, there was no need to mingle as each of the guests reached for my hand to shake it or pat me on the back. There was an endless chorus of “job well done”, “you’re a genius”, “got any tips for me?”. The party was interrupted by a fork striking a crystal glass. It was Dickers. “Gentlemen, our guest of honor has arrived”. I wondered who the guest of honor might be. “I’m fortunate to have a brilliant young man in my employ who earned Dickers Equities and many of its investors in this room, three quarters of a billion dollars this week. May I introduce, Mr. Benjamin Altschuler”. Dickers began to clap and motion for me to approach him. The attendees burst into thunderous applause. Dickers embraced me and placed his arm around my shoulders in a fatherly fashion. He whispered into my ear “this is all for you, Ben. I’m proud of you”. Why that old SOB was a class act after all! Dickers spoke again, “enjoy yourselves, gentlemen, I trust there will be many more causes for celebration with Ben on our team”. Dickers left my side to mingle and I approached the bar to get a stiff drink. Gregory came along side me and whispered “with friends like Dickers, who needs enemies”. I got my drink and joined Gregory in the corner of the room. I saw Dickers in the corner of my eye look in my direction. The expression on his face was one of disappointment to find his star trader  huddled in the corner of the study with a fag. Gregory began to speak softly but to my surprise, he was speaking Hebrew with the unmistakable accent of the West Bank. “Listen carefully to me Ben. I have important information to impart to you. I’m working at the Jackson Lodge at the behest of Mr. Goldfarb who has asked me to keep tabs on Dickers. I’ve been reporting on you since you arrived in Jackson. We’re also aware of your involvement with the FBI”. I attended Technion with students like Gregory and knew he was more than just a detective for Goldfarb. Gregory was Israeli and his gay demeanor was professionally deceptive. He was Mossad. In fluent Hebrew, I asked Gregory “who the hell are you?’. Gregory told me that he grew up in the United States and immigrated to Israel as a child when his parents decided to make their “aliyah” to Israel. His name was Ismail Abramowitz. He was the loving husband of Sarah and doting father to Heidi. I asked him in Hebrew why the gay masquerade? “It’s leverage. You can learn a great deal about people by pretending to be somebody you’re not. Frankly, I don’t care the sex of the mouth on the other end of my cock as long as it helps Mr. Goldfarb or Israel”. I asked him what he knew about the FBI investigation and he said “The trading intel was accurate  because we assisted the CIA in its preparation. I know that both Jess and Maria are Special Agents but they don’t know who I am other than a hotel clerk”. How does Goldfarb figure into all of this, Ismail? “The State of Israel owes a debt to Major General Goldfarb and we won’t allow him to be prosecuted by your country”. So, Israel is playing both “ends against the middle”, Ismail? “You could say that Ben. By helping the FBI and staying close to Dickers, we can keep tabs on the bureaus investigation of Mr. Goldfarb, extricate him at the appropriate time, and help him screw Dickers”. My head was spinning with intrigue. I didn’t bargain for any of this bullshit when I moved to Wyoming. Listen, Ismail, I can’t tell you anything about my relationship with the FBI lest they prosecute me. “I understand, Ben but I suspect you’ll have a meeting shortly with Jess and Maria to report your findings at the conclusion of your four weeks of trading and the Bureau will decide to make their move against Dickers and Goldfarb shortly thereafter. Listen to me, Booby. You’ve been calling too much attention to yourself by driving that yellow banana around town and shtooping that shiksha, Sue. Her husband’s irrational and capable of violence, Ben. Watch yourself.”  Who else do I need to fear, Ismail? “Al Gomez is a cunning, street smart former sheriff from the barrios of Southern California and has a lucrative female trafficking business with Dickers he will protect at all costs. One of Al’s guides is a guy named Kyle. Not particularly smart but knows Yellowstone like “the back of his hand”. And Sue, I asked. “She’s a simple, honest country girl with a big heart requiring mending, Ben. That’s what makes her so dangerous to you.”  Anymore advise for me, Ismail? “The Bureau will move against Dickers any day. Trade like you’re trading for an imminent retirement, Ben”. Ismail reached for a cocktail napkin and began to scribble in Hebrew. I immediately recognized the writing as a few key international events which would occur within the Middle East this coming week as well as what appeared to be a bank account number. Ismail handed me the cocktail napkin. “Use this information to your trading advantage, Ben. We’ve established an account at the Bank of Israel for you and it can’t be touched by the US Treasury”. Ismail, how can I time the trade if I don’t know when Israel will hold the press conference? “Leave that detail up to us, Ben. We’ll know when to hold the press conference”, Ismail assured me. I made friends in Israel and Israel never forgot its friends. By the way, Ismail, was it you that stabbed the Teddy Bear and how the hell did you know that I would freak out and want a room change? “It wasn’t me, Ben. I knew you’d be pretty shaken up after reading your IDF psych profile indicating a mild insecurity complex coupled with exaggerated fear of death when beloved childhood symbols are killed. The psych officer concluded the root cause was a childhood trauma of some sort”. Who was it, Ismail? It could only have been planted by one of Dickers employees. There aren’t many so it won’t be hard to discern the culprit” The Mossad was good. Real good. I don’t know how to thank you, Ismail as I reached to hug Ismail. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Dickers watch “Gregory” and I embrace. Ismail whispered into my ear “don’t thank Israel, thank Goldfarb”. Gregory released himself from my hug and made his way across the study to make small talk with the other guests.

I returned to the cabin after the cocktail party, lit a roaring fire in the pot belly stove, settled into my sofa and admired the full moon over Yellowstone. I thought through what Ismail had told me and my mind kept returning to Sue. I was wondering what she was doing and began to text her against my better judgment. Suddenly, the sat phone rang showing a restricted number. I hoped that it was Sue! I answered, this is Ben. “Ben, Maria. Jess needs to meet with you tomorrow at 3pm at the entrance to the park on Moose Wilson Road. It’s urgent”. Maria disconnected and I was alone with the specter of what lay in front of me. Was this the end?

I set out for the office Monday morning more nervous than week one. What I was about to do would either get me murdered or incarcerated for a better part of my adult life. The intel provided by Ismail indicated a significant degree of terrorist chatter about the bombing and sinking of oil tankers within the Strait of Hormuz. Furthermore, Ismail told me that Israel would release the intelligence early in the week with a press conference. I knew instinctively that the price of oil would sky rocket and needed to place my trades accordingly. I hated Dickers and could screw him easily with a miscalculated billion dollar trade but in doing so would screw myself out of 25%. On the other hand, if Dickers traded correctly, my take would be $250,000,000 which would bypass the Bureau account and go directly into my personal account with the Bank of Israel. Dickers would be screwed nevertheless because Treasury would seize his trading account. My plan was now clear and I set a billion dollar trade on the price of a barrel of oil rising to my strike point. Next, I substituted my Bureau account with my Bank of Israel account. I closed the office for the day and headed out to the park entrance on Moose Wilson Road.  My sat phone rang and the voice on the other end of the phone was Sue who was crying uncontrollably “Ben, he hit me really hard last night and said he would kill me. I think he knows about us, Ben”. Get a hold of yourself, Sue. Where are you? “I’m stopped along side of the road just outside Jackson, Ben”. Listen, go to my cabin and wait for me. Park your minivan behind the cabin so it can’t be seen. I have a key hanging from the antlers nailed to the tree behind the cabin. Go inside and lock the doors. Don’t open them for anybody except me.  “I will, Ben. When will you be home?” Soon, I have an important meeting and will come home right after. I hung up and my heart raced. In addition to the meeting with Jess and the big trade, now I had to deal with the consequences of rescuing Sue and all that surrounded taking her away from her abusive, violent husband. I approached the ranger station at the entrance to the park and noticed the road was coned off. I recognized the kind ranger from the weekend who motioned for me to stop. “Hello again, young fella. The Park’s closed”. Why, Ranger? “Grizzly attack. A park visitor was mauled to death this morning”. Who was it, Ranger? “I can’t say, son. Please turn around”. The Ranger was melancholy and I suspected he knew the victim. “You’re blocking the road for emergency vehicles”. I turned the Aventador around and parked alongside the road. I needed information on the mauling quickly. I frantically turned the radio dial seeking local news but only found country western music. No news, damn it! I attempted an internet search on the sat phone. I typed in “bear mauling” “Jackson” with the date. To my astonishment, a report had been posted just minutes before reading “local real estate agent, Jess Barrow mauled to death by Grizzly”. My emotions ran from sympathy to fear. I came to like Jess and trust him but now I was on my own. Jess was too smart to be mauled by a bear and on the same day of our meeting was too much of a coincidence. I took a deep breath, dug deep within my sole, and remembered the Army training which taught me to forward in the face of adversity. I quickly headed home.

As I drove through the pristine beauty of Wyoming, I performed a game theory in my head whereby I imagined the actions and counter actions of the various actors in this sad “game”. Who would have had the motive to blow Jess’ cover? The only logical answers were Ismail acting on behalf of Goldfarb in order to slow or stymie the FBI investigation or Dickers was now aware of the investigation. It also dawned upon me that there was only one “actor” with the repartee to select “death by bear”. I knew the FBI would quickly move to arrest Dickers since Jess had been killed. This also meant that Treasury would freeze Dickers trading and personal accounts which would eliminate my opportunity for profit. I needed to make my trade tonight. I knew that Dickers wouldn’t want me around as a witness for the FBI and would make arrangements for me to “disappear”. My Glock and AR 15 were ready. As I entered the ranch and drove by my cabin, I could see the lights were on indicating Sue had arrived safely. I proceeded to park next to the side door to the office and make my trade before it was too late. I prayed that the trading platform and Dickers trading account were still “alive”. I turned on the computer, opened the trading app, and made my trade. The trading account balance was still at one billion dollars after Dickers paid me and took his profits. I bet the entire one billion dollar balance on an uptick in oil prices by the close of business on Monday. If I stretched the trade until Friday, I risked a Treasury Department freezing of the account. By reducing the trading window to just one day, I risked losing the entire bet if the State of Israel held the press conference after Monday and oil prices went in the opposite direction. I didn’t mind losing Dickers one billion dollars but losing my profit was unacceptable. I hesitated to establish the trade momentarily as I stated out the window to the pristine beauty of Yellowstone. A heard of bison was making its way slowly across the pasture without a care in the world and told me that “life would go on” regardless of the trading outcome. I thanked the bison and instructed the platform to make the trade! I waited anxiously for the confirmation to flash across the screen indicating that both the trading account and Dickers bank account holding the one billion dollars were both live and in sync. I took a deep breath, clinched my fists, and yelled “yes” as the screen announced “trade concluded”. I immediately opened my Bank of Israel account and proceeded through the instructions to “open the account”. The screen announced in Hebrew “account open and active” including the date and time. I turned off the computers and sat in the dark, quiet office reciting the Shema before returning to Sue.

(Continued)