13
Stone called Mike Freeman at Strategic Services. “Good morning, Mike.”
“And to you, Stone.”
“I would like to retain Strategic Services on the account of Woodman amp; Weld.”
“Of course,” Mike said. “How can we help?”
“The firm has a client who is contemplating entering into a large transaction involving the purchase of her shares in a movie studio by a man named Terrence Prince, of Los Angeles, who wants to build a hotel and an office/residential development on the studio’s land.”
“I understand. We used to provide personal security to Mr. Prince, before he got so rich he hired his own people.”
“Good, because I want to know everything about him, where his money comes from and who else’s money he’s playing with.”
“We can investigate and supply that information,” Mike said. “Our file on him is by now out of date, but I can tell you that the origins of his wealth are shady.”
“Is this about the brother who ran the drug ring in the Amazonian jungle?”
“It is. His brother is said to have backed him to the tune of a hundred million dollars, perhaps as much as two hundred million in cash laundered through a dozen banks in the Caribbean and the Far East. When Terry’s brother was killed in the big raid by the Colombian army, the debt evaporated, as did any influence from the brother, so for intents and purposes, he has been clean since that time.”
“How very convenient,” Stone said. “You think Terry ratted out his brother?”
“It’s a possibility; we’ll look into that, too, if you like. What sort of time frame are we talking about?”
“Very short,” Stone said, “no more than a few days. This deal has been brewing for several weeks, but I only recently became involved, after that phone call I took at Elaine’s.”
“We’re on it,” Mike said. “Anything else?”
“Yes. There are a couple of people who work for Prince I’d like profiles on, too: one is his driver, name unknown, white male, thirtyish, shaved head, bulky build; the other is his executive assistant, Carolyn Blaine, thirty-fiveish, five ten, a hundred and thirty pounds, born New York City, educated at Miss Porter’s School, Mount Holyoke, and Wharton for an MBA, divorced last year.”
“What are you looking for?”
“With the driver, a criminal record and any violent activity in his past; with the assistant, just whatever you can find.”
“I’ll get back to you, Stone, on the cell?”
“Yes, I’m still in L.A. and will be for at least a week.”
Mike hung up, and so did Stone.
Dino came out of the guesthouse. “Anything you need me for?”
“No, I’ve set some things in motion, so I’m pretty much just waiting to hear from people.”
“Mind if I take the car, then? I’d like to do some sightseeing.”
Stone tossed him the keys. “Keep it as long as you like; if I have to go out, I’ll take Vance Calder’s Bentley.”
“Have a nice day,” Dino said, then walked toward the front of the house.
Stone relaxed in the sun and was soon asleep. Then he was being lightly shaken by Manolo. Stone opened his eyes. “What is it, Manolo ?”
“Mr. Stone, your secretary has been trying to reach you on your cell phone but got no answer. She’s on the house line.”
“Thank you, Manolo,” Stone said, and reached for the phone on the table next to his chaise. “Hello?”
“It’s Joan. You were asleep by the pool, weren’t you?”