. . The security guys were about what Thad would have expected, silent and hulking and at first a little frightening. They wore matching blue blazers and crew cuts and had muscles so pumped up their shoulders remained bunched in permanent shrugs. He had asked their names and got mumbled replies he only half heard and instantly forgot. By the second hour of the early Monday drive, however, he had mentally designated them as Frick and Frack, his two silent shadows. They spoke a grand total of six words the entire trip down to Pittsburgh. The bank’s spy had done his job well. He was a nervous bespectacled kid by the name of Wesley Hadden, nine months out of MBA school and desperately eager to please. When Thad and the guards pulled in front of the Pittsburgh hotel, Hadden handed him a file containing Buddy Korda’s movements over the next three days. Thad endured the kid’s business-school handshake and hearty voice, congratulated him on a job well done, and sent him on his way with a sigh of relief.
