No part of this added up, and Steven’s nose for rat was detecting a strong, pungent odor. Those who should have known something were reacting to his gentle enquiries as though he was trying to sell pedophilia snapshots, and he had the distinct impression that anyone with any knowledge was circling the wagons. Which made Steven curious. Why all the melodrama? What was being hidden?
So now he had a genuine mystery on his hands.
The case of the disappearing boat.
Book Three ~ Checkmate
A position in which a player’s king is in imminent danger of capture – where the player has no legal move to make without being captured by the opponent’s next move (i.e. cannot move out of check). A player whose king is checkmated loses the game.
Checkmate: Chapter 1
Steven had been asking questions all over Anguilla about the mysterious motor boat explosion that killed Nicholas Griffen’s partner several years before, and reactions had varied from puzzlement, to polite disinterest, to overt hostility. He wasn’t sure what to make of the stonewalling, but the curious reactions convinced him that the explosion somehow tied into the larger battle he was waging against Griffen.
Anguilla had largely recovered from the recent hurricane and life had returned to normal. As with most things on an island in the Caribbean, the local attitude of ‘no worries, be happy’ seemed a formidable response to any obstacles nature threw at them.
A phone rang in one of the local homes in The Valley; a residence more grandiose than most in the well-feathered neighborhood. It was answered by an authoritative voice.
“Yes?”
“I thought you ought to know,” the matron began, “a man came by Hedges House today, looking into the Cavierti thing, and asking questions about the boat.”
“Who is this man…any idea?” the voice inquired.
“A Marvin Simpson. He said he’s investigating the incident.”
“Any idea where he’s staying or how long he’s here for?”
“I told you all I know. I’m concerned about this. What’s going on?”
“Don’t be, Miss Talya – everything will be fine. Thanks for calling.”
The authoritative voice belonged to a dignified black man who now stood pensively in his study reflecting on the events from a few years back. He thought about the call, then walked to his desk, looked up a number in his address book, and dialed. No answer; he’d have to try tomorrow. Why now, after over three years, was someone snooping around? He was worried. Which was an unusual state of affairs for the Chief of the Anguillan Police Department.
~ ~ ~
On Monday morning Antonia slept late, giving Steven enough time to get some work done. He checked his e-mail; the wire transfer instructions from Alfred had arrived. He forwarded them on, encrypted, to Stan, then noticed a message from Spyder, who was still working on Argentina, but had gotten a hit on the Swiss company:
[Swiss firm is a conduit for middle-eastern arms money. Probable trade with sanctioned countries and Jihad groups, blacklisted technology and devices, missiles, bio agents, nuke technology. Selling bad things to people who shouldn’t have them. Spyder]
Further evidence the game he was in had a deadly element; he really would be in mortal danger if he exposed them. A shiver of apprehension ran up his spine.
Spyder was checking on Adriatic Trading as well, but no bingos yet.
Antonia stirred from her slumber; yawned lazily whilst stretching then called to him: “Steven…come to bed.”
He logged off and went to join her in the bedroom. “Don’t you understand I’m more than just a piece of meat? I have thoughts and ideas. I have feelings, too,” he complained.
“Of course you do, caro. Now, can you lick right here?” she suggested, offering very specific guidance.
How could he refuse?
They headed out for another run in the late morning, deciding to spend the day on what remained of the beach. He noted he was still very interested in the way Antonia looked in her G-string, even after having spent almost a week with her rolling around naked. That bode well for the future.
Which stopped him in his tracks.
The future.
He’d started to imagine a future with Antonia in it, where he wasn’t battling financial predators and dodging bullets. But that future was a dangerous place to explore, because he needed to stay focused on the matter at hand in order to have any future at all. He now had no illusions this wasn’t a potentially terminal threat, and by stirring the pot and going after Griffen he’d affixed a bull’s-eye firmly to his chest.
“I’m glad you stayed, Antonia,” he said as they walked onto the warm pink sand.
“I think in the end, I had no choice. You’re my destiny, Steven. I just have this feeling. I hope that doesn’t scare you,” she said. He wondered again if she were psychic. Reading his mind again. The power of G-string-related paranormal occurrences in Italy was well documented somewhere, he was sure.
“I feel the same way, Antonia,” he said. “I just don’t want you to be in danger or get hurt.”
“The only thing that would hurt me now would be losing you, Steven. Everything else is unimportant.”
The day wore on in a pleasant and sunny manner. The sorbet fairy dutifully made her rounds, ensuring they were suitably refreshed before shimmering off with her frosty delights.
His cell rang. It was Alfred.
“I have some interesting information regarding the banks’ perspective on the offshore fund. They’re deeply troubled, because they feel the margin exposure they have leaves them with insufficient collateral to protect them in the event of a catastrophe.”
“How can that be?” Steven asked.
“I have a good contact at the primary broker the fund uses, and according to him they have allowed Griffen’s offshore fund incredibly high leverage – on the order of ten to one. As Allied decreased in value over the last month the value of the collateral declined precipitously as a percentage of the portfolio. Simply put, the Allied position is upside-down, and if anything went wrong with the stock and it started dropping significantly, there would be risk of forced liquidation of not only the assets of the fund, but also a decent chunk of the bank’s net asset value…largely due to the leverage.”
“Wow. So Griffen got in over his head, and now the banks are at risk as well. I wonder what his plan is to get out with his skin?” Steven mused.
“I couldn’t possibly speculate – not my area of expertise. But to summarize, you have some extremely worried people at CaribeWest bank, and a documented multi-million-share position in Allied that’s underwater and vastly over-leveraged. I can document the investors and the position. The banking concerns, however, are obviously oral and must remain that way.”
Steven shook his head in disbelief. The sort of leverage Alfred had described is part of what had taken down a lot of the U.S. banking system – he couldn’t believe anyone was still allowing that kind of reckless risk-taking in today’s economic environment. He supposed greed never changed, though. To get and keep a fund like Griffen’s as a client, with hundreds of millions in assets, many small brokers or banks would break every rule ever conceived so they could make their next bonus.
Now the trick for Steven was to get all of the information into the right hands.
Checkmate: Chapter 2
The chief of the Anguilla police, Robert Townsend, had checked with all the hotels first thing in the morning for Marvin Simpson, with no success. Ditto for customs records. There simply was no such person on the island, at least officially.
He dialed the number he’d tried the night before. Griffen answered.
“Talk.”
“Mr. Griffen, this is Robert Townsend, from Anguilla.”
“Yes, Robert. How nice to hear from you. I heard you had a little storm recently. All safe, I trust?” Griffen could pretend to care with the best of them.
“No permanent harm, thanks. I’m afraid this isn’t a social call. I’ve bee
n notified that a man’s been probing around, conducting an investigation into your partner’s boat accident. He’s been asking some difficult questions. Are you aware of an investigation, or know who this might be?” Townsend asked.
“No. But I can’t think of anything positive that would arise from the results of an investigation,” Griffen observed, “and so anyone investigating it should be considered hostile.”
“So how would you handle it?”
“If it was me, I’d be concerned about the incidence of violent robberies on some of the islands after natural disasters. When people lose everything, they can get desperate; they’re likely to do things they otherwise wouldn’t. Sometimes these things get out of hand, go astray. You’d know more about that than I would,” Griffen suggested.
“Too true. There are always elements that will prey on opportunistic targets.”
“Keep me in the loop if anything comes up. I hope I’ve been able to help,” Griffen. said
“Helpful as always, Mr. Griffen. I’ll keep in contact.”
~ ~ ~
“Chief, the guy asking all the questions about the boat is at Ripples. Looks like he’s on his way in for dinner. White, goatee, dark blue button-up shirt, tan pants, short hair. I was driving by and saw him standing there, waiting for someone.” It was the newspaper owner, his voice distinctive enough not to require identification.
“We’ll keep our eye on him,” Townsend replied. “Thanks for calling.”
He dialed another number.
“Bobby, get a couple friends and head over to Ripples,” the chief instructed, giving him Steven’s description and a contract price.
“Whoa. How bad you want him roughed up?” Bobby asked. That was a lot of money for this sort of an errand.
“I don’t want him talking to anyone any more. Ever.”
“That’s cold, boss. But for that kind of cash, will do.”
~ ~ ~
Antonia emerged from the shuttle with a glow of radiance. She wore a very short black dress that accentuated her shapely, tanned legs, and carried a small black purse with a long gold chain strap. The purse chain matched the gold highlights in her high-heeled sandals and earrings. Casually elegant. The Italians sure knew how to dress. Among other things…
Every head turned as they walked into the restaurant. Get used to it, Steven told himself. The curse of accompanying Italian bombshells around town; he supposed he could steel himself for a lifetime of that. Rough duty, but someone had to do it.
They ordered the grouper, and conch soup to start. She had a glass of sparkling white, but he passed; his stomach had been getting that knot in it for the last day or two, and he wanted to be sharp at all times.
They savored their meal, and discussed how long they wanted to remain on the island. Antonia favored another week, and then maybe try St. Barts; she’d heard good things about it and wouldn’t mind a little French cuisine and style. Steven was open for anything, and said as much. He had no plans. Whatever she wanted was fine by him.
“How long do you think it will take for you to be done with your investigation?” she asked.
“I don’t know, but I’m getting closer. This new information I got on the list of investors goes a long way to building a case for prosecuting Griffen, if not his domestic fund. I really just need to understand who all the players are – and then I can mount a good offense.”
“So a month, maybe?” Antonia obviously wanted a definitive.
“I hope so, honey. I want this to be in the past. I’m going as fast as I can,” he answered honestly.
“Buon, then maybe you can grow your hair and stop the bad dye job…and I can introduce you to my family,” she concluded.
Those were words that would have ordinarily sounded a full-scale alarm for Steven, but strangely he felt nothing but contentment at the idea. Maybe she’d slipped date rape drugs into his soda.
“I’d like that, Antonia. I really would.”
~ ~ ~
Griffen was settling in to watch the news when his cell phone rang. He looked at the number, but didn’t recognize it. He hit return call, and a heavily accented voice answered, “Da?”
“This is Griffen. Someone called?”
He heard some fumbling with the phone. Sergei’s voice came on the line.
“How are you?” Sergei asked. “Everything is good?”
Griffen’s heartbeat spiked by twenty beats per minute. Why was Sergei calling at night and at home; to check on his wellbeing?
“Couldn’t be better. To what do I owe the pleasure of your call?” Griffen asked cautiously.
“Interesting information from California. I thought you should hear it here first. Apparently the webmaster we all thought had the terrible tragedy befall him is still with us. It was another unfortunate. A boat cleaner. Tragic luck,” Sergei said.
Griffen’s blood chilled momentarily. He collected his thoughts. What now?
“The poor man. I trust you’ll let me know if our friend resurfaces? I can’t wait to congratulate him on his good fortune.”
“I will. I hope you will do the same if you hear from him.” Sergei disconnected.
Could the man in Anguilla be Steven Archer? Was that possible? He dialed an island number. The chief picked up.
“Were you able to attend to the problem you called about?” Griffen asked.
“It’s being handled as we speak.”
“This may be a gentleman who’s made my life very difficult lately. Name’s Steven Archer. Please call and let me know how things turn out.”
“Will do. I’m sure we will be able to identify the remains,” the chief said.
“The islands can be a dangerous place.”
“Indeed they can. Goodnight.”
Checkmate: Chapter 3
The island breeze washing over Anguilla after the hurricane was fresh and invigorating, smelling of the ocean, and subtly scented with the ubiquitous tropical flowers that had somehow survived the storm. Even after the devastating few days the island had just endured, most of the shops and restaurants were open for business.
Steven’s vague uneasiness during dinner hadn’t abated, and while he didn’t want to upset Antonia by seeing ghosts around every tree, he was also in a heightened state of alert. The instinct that had served him so well was telling him that all was not right, and he’d long ago learned to trust it. He didn’t know what triggered it – whether it was a change in the energy of those nearby, or a sensation of being scrutinized, or some indefinable sixth sense – but Steven was feeling on edge, and he didn’t dismiss that easily.
Antonia took Steven’s arm possessively as they left the restaurant and strolled down the narrow, deserted streets towards Sandy Ground’s main drag – if you could call it that – to grab a taxi.
Steven sensed someone walking behind them, approaching at a faster than normal pace. He also spotted a figure standing up near the next corner; lurking in the shadows. Make that two figures. The scenario quickly took on an ominous flavor – couple out alone, nobody around, and suddenly the dark street had a crowd. From force of habit, Steven automatically began slowing his respiration and controlling his adrenal response. He pulled Antonia tighter and whispered in her ear.
“There may be some trouble here. Don’t get involved. If it’s a robbery, give me your purse and stay behind me at all times. Trust me.” Antonia looked at him, alarmed, but didn’t give anything away. She reached into her purse and extracted something; probably her wallet.
Things happened fast after that.
The two figures stepped out of the darkness. Islanders. Rough looking. They were both holding ominous-looking pieces of iron pipe. Steven pushed Antonia behind him, against the wall. The man who’d been following them joined his two associates. No pipe, but a long screwdriver, likely sharpened. This didn’t look like an ordinary robbery to Steven.
“Hey, now, look at what we have here. Good-looking pair of lovebird visitors. Do you have a few dollars for some poor islander
s to help them get by?” the taller of the three asked.
“Sure, just don’t hurt us. You can have whatever you want.”
“Well, now, that’s mighty friendly of you. I see your little lady is dressed for a good time. Maybe we can show her one once we’re done with you?” the taller man continued.
“Don’t hurt her, please. We’re just tourists,” Steven pleaded.
The one with the screwdriver was amped on something. “Just gimme your money, you piece of shit.”
The taller of the pipe-brandishing men took a step forward. “Hand it over.”
“I’ll do what you want…honey, give me your purse.”
Antonia handed him the purse with one hand, Steven keeping between her and the group as much as possible.
Steven took the little bag, then looked around alarmed, knees buckling, arm reaching to the side seeking some sort of support. He staggered a few steps forward then grabbed at his chest and throat, making choking sounds, and rolled his eyes up into the back of his head.
“Oh God...ack...my…my...ack…” He fell forward and hit the ground. The assailants seemed momentarily rattled, which was just enough time for Steven to pivot using his hand and shoulder, and kick the legs out from under the closest man. He went down hard, striking his head with an audible thump on the asphalt, and Steven completed the job by driving a kick straight into his groin.
One down. But it was going to be tougher from here on out.
The tall man lurched towards Steven, but his height was a disadvantage while Steven lay on the ground. Steven knew he’d have to lean forward and bend at the knees to aim a blow with the pipe, which is precisely what the islander did. Steven arrested the whistling descent of the pipe with the chain from Antonia’s purse – gripped in both hands – and used the man’s own momentum to pull him over then catapult him into the air with a flex of his leg. The man went head-first into the road, trying to break his fall with one hand while the other still instinctively clutched the pipe – which Steven wrenched free as the man struck the pavement. Steven swiveled, rose up on one knee, and delivered a rapid pipe blow to the man’s leg. He heard bone crack. The man screamed.
Zero Sum Page 26
