Strategic Moves (Stone Barrington 19)

“All right. What is it?”

“Herbert Fisher is my client. He has seven million dollars invested with you, and he has gotten himself into some difficulties that I believe are temporary. He therefore wishes to withdraw all his funds immediately.”

Gunn was silent for a moment. “Does Stephanie know about this?”

“No, and Herbie is very anxious that she not know. It would be humiliating for him to have to explain it to her.”

“What do you mean by immediately?” Gunn asked.

“I mean right now.”

Again, a silence, then: “All right. I’ll cut a check. Tell Herbie he can pick it up from the receptionist in half an hour.”

“Thank you, Jack.”

“Stephanie tells me that you declined an opportunity to invest with us.”

“I’m very sorry about that, Jack, but circumstances have been difficult. I hope to have a resolution soon, and I hope I can invest with you at that time.”

“I’ll keep the opportunity open, then. Goodbye, Stone.”

Stone hung up. “Herbie, Jack is cutting you a check right now. Go over there in thirty minutes and pick it up from the receptionist. If Jack or anyone else there tries to discuss it with you, just tell them that you can’t talk, that you have to get to your bank immediately. Then take the check to the bank, get ahold of a senior officer, and ask him to clear the check immediately and deposit the funds in your account.”

“All right,” Herbie said. “Thanks, Stone.”

“Herbie, I’d like your permission to discuss this situation with a couple of people. It might help us find out exactly what’s going on.”

“All right, Stone, you have my permission. Now, I had better get over there and pick up that check.” He shook hands and hurried out.

Stone called Airship Transport in Newburgh, New York, and asked for the CEO.

“Holly Barker.”

“It’s Stone. How’s the world of international business?”

“Not as boring as I thought. Actually, Todd Bacon left the place in pretty good shape. The C-17 has been repaired, and we’re back in business. I may be able to get out of here and back to Langley pretty soon.”

“Good luck on that,” Stone said. “I need some information, and I hope you can help me.”

“You can ask,” she replied. “You know I can’t always answer.”

“Nothing like that. Have you ever heard of an island in the South Pacific called Attola?”

“Funny you should mention that,” Holly said. “I first heard about it last week.”

“Tell me what you can.”

“The way I hear it, this was a little fleabag of an atoll, something like twelve miles by five, the sort of place we spent thousands of lives to take from the Japanese during World War Two. It has a central, extinct volcano and some glorious beaches and has failed to attract tourists because its only runway was too short, and the government couldn’t afford to extend it.

“Last year, a consortium of half a dozen billionaires sort of bought the place.”

“Bought a country?”

“Pretty much. The place is run by an elected president and a legislature of twelve men, and they’ve sold most of the island, exclusive of the capital city, its only town, in return for a bundle of cash and an agreement to rebuild the capital and extend the runway. They now have a ten-thousand-foot runway and an airport terminal building, and jet fuel is available.”

“Let me guess: they have no extradition treaty with the United States.”

“Nor with any country,” Holly replied. “The new owners have also subdivided most of the island and have begun selling lots—minimum, five acres—and have funded a construction company to import building materials. They’ve almost completed a cushy new beach resort of about a hundred suites. And the construction company is already the island’s largest employer. They’ve adopted a building code and everything.”