Free Dollar Down by Sam Waite Page A

cause that,
but it isn't impossible technically. With a corporate stock or
even an index, if it falls too fast too far, say five percent or ten
percent in one session, the exchange simply stops trading it,
automatic trigger. There is no such mechanism in the foreign
exchange market. No exchange owns the dollar."
    "Let me know what you find out."
    "I've done this much because of Bizet's name. I
wouldn't mind knowing a little more about who Sanchez
is."
    I described my relationship with Winchell &
Associates and the deaths of Sabine and Trevor. As soon as I
hung up, I called Bizet and explained what had happened.
Better that he hear it from me. I also asked him not to mention
Mumby to Burroughs. They might be pals.
    Winchell's computer system used a proprietary
application for word processing. By default, that was the
application that had opened the Chinese file, which it was not
designed to display. I opened it again in an off-the-shelf
program that could read Chinese. I couldn't. Without knowing
the contents, there was little point in speculating on a China
connection. Market information would have been the best
guess, but there were twenty pages. That was too dense for a
Winchell description of who's buying what. The firm's
documents tended to be short and full of graphs.
    It was very late, but I decided to take my chances with
an abusive-language response and called Alexandra. She
mumbled into the phone.
    "This is Mick."
    More mumbling. It was warm and throaty, not the
sound of a marble goddess.
    "I woke you."
    "Unn."
    "You'll have to trust me on this. It's important enough
to write down. Do you have pencil and paper?"
    "Yes."
    "The encrypted files, they weren't encrypted. It was
Chinese. I'll explain later. Can you get a translation?"
    "Yes."
    I paused and asked, "Can you get one quick?"
    Alexandra had more to say than yes or no. I couldn't
make out what it was, but I pardoned her French.

Chapter 11
    The next day, Oddsson's lawyer arranged a visit for me.
He said the evidence against him was weak, and he should be
released soon. Maybe so, but that didn't solve the issue of
Sabine's death. I assured everyone that I was making
progress.
    Oddsson said, "Thanks."
    The lawyer sneered politely.
    I called Alexandra to see how the translation was
going.
    "It isn't going at all. My computer is broken. The hard
disk just died. The systems administrator put in a new one, but
I lost all my data."
    "That's OK. I have the file and a printout."
    "No, it isn't OK. I lost everything, not just the Chinese
file. I have back-ups to about a month ago, but from then on,
the best I can do is to try to restore the data from paper reports.
The translation is not a high priority for me right now."
    I thanked her and promised to stay in touch. Since I
didn't know any Chinese translators, I checked the Web.
Instead of looking for the cheapest bidder, I went for proximity
and found someone nearly next door.
    When I called, the translator's wife answered. She was
French. Her husband was Taiwanese. He was a free-lance
translator and a sidewalk artist. Right now he was with the
artists in Montmartre.
    The square, surrounded by bistros and cafes, was
crowded with painters and tourists. I wandered through a
mini-world of red-nosed clowns, amber cityscapes and yellow
bicycles. A girl, about ten years old, with long lashes and
haunting eyes sat patiently as an artist recorded her face to
canvas and passing tourists recorded it to snapshots and video.
Toward the center of the square, the only Chinese man among
the painters was intently adding oil accents to a canvas no
bigger than six by nine inches. The image was a door. All of his
paintings were of doors. I stood behind him a while wondering
if he drew portals as a philosophical statement or if he just
liked rectangles. Either way, the art was good. I tested my
pronunciation of "looks good" in Mandarin.
" Piaoliang ."
    He looked up and smiled. " Xie xie, ni de Zhongguo
hwa shou de hen hau ."
    My