“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sloan said as he tucked the document away. “I will ask the State Department to pay you immediately. Now… Call the premier, tell him that I’m here and that I want to meet with him.”
A look of horror appeared on Higgins’s face. “We need an appointment! He would never…”
“Call him,” Sloan said. “Tell the premier, or his gofer, that if the big Kahuna fails to arrive within the next hour, we’re going to drop a two-thousand-pound smart bomb into his swimming pool. And yes, we know where he lives. As for me, I understand there are some nice bars a block away, and I’m going over to have lunch. He can join me there.”
Higgins fumbled a cell phone out of his pocket and was dialing as Sloan and his bodyguards walked away. It didn’t take long to discover that Georgetown had fallen on hard times. Except for a dozing dog and two boys on bikes, the main drag was deserted. Most of the previously thriving businesses were closed.
One of the few exceptions was the garish-looking Margaritaville Restaurant. Sloan waved his entourage forward. “Come on, lunch is on me.” The interior was nearly empty, and the staff was eager to seat such a large group of customers.
Sloan was seated at a table, and halfway through an order of chicken quesadillas, when he heard a commotion out front. The premier? Yes. And his bodyguards, all of whom were immediately disarmed.
Finally, after being cleared by Sloan’s Secret Service detail, Higgins was allowed to escort Premier Alfred Campbell into the part of the restaurant where Sloan was seated. He stood and went forward to greet Campbell. The premier was a big man, with black hair and coffee-colored skin. Judging from the look on his face, Campbell was pissed. No surprise there, Sloan thought. He’s seen the steel… So it’s time for the velvet.
“Premier Campbell! What an honor… Thank you for agreeing to meet with me on such short notice. Please, have a seat. Will you join me? The food here is excellent… But I’m sure you know that.”
Campbell, who was clearly prepared for a contentious meeting, looked confused. “Yes,” he said. “There are many fine restaurants in Georgetown. I’m glad you like it.”
“I certainly do,” Sloan assured him, as the premier sat down. “I’m sorry about the planes, the troops, and all that… Please rest assured that we have no intention of occupying your country, harming your citizens, or interfering with the running of your government. We could use some assistance where some illegal banking transactions are concerned, however. Once that’s been taken care of, we’ll be on our way. But let’s eat first. There will be plenty of time to talk business later.”
Sloan’s friendly manner, combined with his assurances, were enough to take the edge off. Campbell seemed to relax, and the ensuing conversation centered on the devastating loss of income from tourism and international banking the Caymans had suffered since the meteors fell. And, according to Campbell, the civil war was making a bad situation worse. He wanted to know when the war would end.
The opening was too good to ignore, and Sloan didn’t. “The war will end when the Confederacy surrenders,” he said. “Which I believe will happen within the next six months. In the meantime, there are certain financial arrangements that we need to put right. And, if you can find a way to help me, that will serve to strengthen our already positive relationship.”
Campbell was no fool… And he had no difficulty translating Sloan’s flowery bullshit into real-speak. What the Union president meant was that he could assist the Americans or they would take whatever they wanted. Yes, the UK was supposed to protect the islands, but it was on the other side of the Atlantic. So he was tempted to cave in. But what about his Confederate friends? They’d gone to considerable lengths to support his faltering economy. Because they had large quantities of money stashed in the Caymans? Yes, but some of their representatives seemed to have a genuine affection for the colony as well.
How would the Confederates react if he were to cooperate with Sloan? Not well, Campbell reasoned. And that put him in a bind. Should he remain loyal to his Confederate clients? Or place a risky bet on a Union victory? Perhaps there was a middle course. He could cooperate with Sloan, but drag his feet and hope to continue the positive relationship with the Confederate government. “So,” Campbell said. “Tell me more. What ‘arrangements’ were you referring to?”
Sloan smiled. He could read Campbell’s mind, or thought he could, and liked the way things were going. “I believe you know Oliver Sanders,” Sloan said.
“You kidnapped him,” Campbell said. “That’s what it said in the New York Times.”
Sloan chuckled. “That’s what the article said. But you know Oliver… And you know the man is no fool. And when Oliver saw how the war was going, which is to say poorly for the South, he chose to defect. What you read in the Times was a cover story and nothing more. But that’s just between us, right?”
Judging from the expression on the premier’s face, Sloan could see that he was hooked. He wanted proof, though… Something to hang his hat on. “Really? How do I know that’s true?”
“Oliver’s living in Kentucky now,” Sloan replied. “I went down to visit him a week ago. He told me about the fishing trip that you took him on. According to Oliver, he caught a two-hundred-pound yellowfin tuna, but that seems hard to believe.”
“It was every bit of two hundred pounds,” Campbell replied. “That was a very enjoyable day.”
The truth was that Sanders had shared the tuna story with another prisoner, who had been quick to share the anecdote with Warden Gladfelter in return for some extra phone calls. Sloan smiled agreeably. “I’m sure it was. Anyway, according to Oliver, he was ordered to pump oil out of my country’s petroleum reserves and dump it onto the open market. And each time one of those transactions took place, some money was taken off the top and deposited in bank accounts belonging to President Lemaire and other prominent officials. Guess where those bank accounts are located? That’s correct, they’re here. In your country. And I want that money back. Not for me, not for the Union, but for the United States of America.”
Campbell’s seafood salad had arrived by then but sat untouched. He took a sip of white wine. “I wasn’t aware of that,” the premier said. “Or involved in it,” he added. “And, now that I understand the issue more clearly, I realize that I can’t help you. In order to recover your funds, it will be necessary to sue the officials in our courts and win. At that point, you can approach the appropriate banks and request payment. I would be happy to provide you with a list of reputable lawyers.”
Sloan frowned. “Okay, Al… I was hoping to do this the nice way. But now I realize that you’re a cretin. Call your wife. Tell her that she has ten minutes to take the kids and get out of the house.”
Campbell’s eyes grew larger. “Why?”
“Because we’re going to drop a bomb on that motherfucker. Or, if you prefer, you can help pry our money loose. It’s your choice, option A or option B. Which one is it going to be?”
“If you drop a bomb on my house, England will view that as an act of war!”
“Where were the Brits when Canada tried to invade my country?” Sloan demanded. “I’ll worry about them later. Option A or option B. You choose.”