The First Billion

In New York City, on this third Tuesday in June, the sun rose at 5:24. The dawn promised a flawless day. Wisps of cumulonimbus raked a hazy blue sky. A freshening breeze kept the temperature in the low sixties, dousing Wall Street with the honest, vital scent of the East River. Outside the New York Stock Exchange workers draped an enormous banner emblazoned with Mercury Broadband's logo across the building's proud Doric columns. Measuring fifty feet by thirty-five, the banner was decorated with a stylized drawing of Mercury's helmet- the disclike headplate garlanded with two lightning bolts- and the company name, painted gold against a royal blue background.

Inside the building, television crews set up for what promised to be a hectic day. Twelve networks had constructed production facilities on the mezzanine level ringing the Exchange's principal trading floor. Making the circuit, one passed cramped, brightly lit ministudios for CNN, CNBC, the BBC, Deutsch Fernsehen, Nippon Television… Journalists could be glimpsed applying their makeup, brushing their hair, and practicing their "good morning smiles."

By 7 A.M., the first reports were going out live to audiences around the world. The talk today centered on one subject: the Mercury Broadband IPO. What would be the first day pop? Would the stock keep its head? Was Mercury an exception to a moribund market or the pioneer of a long-awaited rally in technology stocks?

***

Konstantin Kirov rose at seven-fifteen, showered, shaved, and dressed in a sober gray suit and maroon tie. Despite last night's warnings, he'd slept remarkably well. What will be, will be, he told himself. He'd taken every precaution. He was convinced that once the stock began trading, no one would have the nerve to stop it. If Gavallan were going to make a move, he would have done it long before now. What was the American saying? "No news is good news."

Giving himself a final once-over in the mirror, he asked himself if he was being too confident, too cocksure. Up came his hand with a last spritz of cologne. No, he decided, just realistic.

Picking up his briefcase, Kirov left his suite and took the elevator to the first floor, where he was joined for breakfast in the main dining room by Václav Panišc, the CTO of Mercury's European operations, and Janusz Rosen. The bankers were absent, no doubt putting in an appearance at the office before making their promised rendezvous at the Broad Street entrance to the stock exchange at nine o'clock. Kirov ordered a large breakfast, then picked at it. His appetite had deserted him.

At eight-thirty, he and his colleagues decamped to a black stretch limousine berthed in front of the hotel. Kirov settled into the backseat for the drive downtown. The chauffeur announced that due to congestion on the FDR Drive, they would be taking the West Side Highway. Traffic was moderate and they made good time, passing the Javits Center, the USS Intrepid- a mothballed aircraft carrier used for various charity functions- and the reconstructed World Financial Center.

The limousine turned onto Broad Street, and through the windows Kirov stared at an imposing neoclassical building at the far end of the street. A steep flight of stairs led to the building, and even he could recognize the statue of George Washington at the top of the steps. The chauffeur explained that the building was Federal Hall, the seat of the United States government from 1776 to 1791. Across from Federal Hall stood the old headquarters of J. P. Morgan & Co., from whose offices the legendary financier had built his empire and dictated the course of the American economy.

To Kirov's left rose the New York Stock Exchange itself. It could have been a temple on Mount Athos, so perfect was its architecture: the soaring Doric columns, the broad plinth, the bas-relief sculpture running lengthwise beneath the roof.

The limousine pulled to a stop. Kirov got out of the car without waiting for the door to be opened. Staring up at the Mercury Broadband banner that hung in front of the fabled Exchange, he gasped.

My God, he thought, I've done it.

***

The wheels of the Learjet touched down at John F. Kennedy International Airport at 8:47 A.M. Eastern Standard Time. The eight-passenger aircraft performed an abbreviated rollout, braking sharply and making a quick starboard turn off the runway. The doors to the flight deck opened, the engines revved, and the plane began an easy ride to its parking slot. Unbuckling his safety belt, Gavallan leaned forward, rocking slightly. Through the cockpit windscreen, he watched the impressive girth of a China Airlines jumbo jet cross their path. Inexplicably, the plane came to a halt directly in front of them.

"What's keeping the guy?" Gavallan shouted to the flight deck.

"Waiting for an inbound jet. It'll just be a couple of minutes."