Chapter Thirty-One

Gulfstream G5, Southbound over France

Mike watched as Angus peered over his reading glasses.  Angus had told him he normally piloted the plane, but this time he wanted to pore through the sheaf of papers in his attaché. 

The plane was the height of luxury.  Angus seemed completely unfazed by it. 

Private jets, private banks -- none of it seems to touch who he is.

Mike felt better, but still weak.  The shocking developments in global credit markets, however, had spurred Angus to move sooner than he’d rather.  They had watched streaming commentary as U.S. debt was downgraded, markets roiled in reaction, and flash mobs burned buses and raided citizenry. 

I don’t remember the riots of 1968. I wonder if my parents thought the world was coming undone then.  Probably.

Mike looked up from his thoughts and realized Angus had been watching him for a while.

I phase out for a second and he catches it.  The man misses nothing.

“Are ye alright, Lad?” Angus asked him softly.

“Oh yeah, I’m fine.”  

Angus paused with Mike’s quasi-lie.  He looked back at Mike for an extra moment, and then continued.  “I’ve been researching.” Angus shoved the papers aside. 

Mike waited.  In his short time with Angus, he learned that there usually was more.

“I am not liking what I am seeing, Lad.”  Angus took his readers off his crooked nose, folded them and placed them inside his jacket.

“Why is that, Angus?” Mike asked. 

“I do not believe in coincidences, Lad.  What happened to you is a thread.  These market reports are a thread.  My private intelligence shows another thread.”  Angus poured water into a crystal glass and showed the bottle to Mike, who nodded yes.

Angus poured a glass for Mike, handed it to him and continued.  “I want to know who is weaving these threads, Lad.”

“What then, Angus?  What happens when you find out who's responsible?”

“I cut the threads, and end the Weaver,” Angus replied.

Then he finished his drink.