“Your critics say that you’ve lost your Midas touch and that the recent quarters are more attributable to risky strategies gone wrong than normal business fluctuations,” she parried, her smile lighting the room even as her eyes remained locked on his.
“Oh, I’m sure there’s a cadre of hopeful short sellers who are spreading all sorts of alarming rumors. After all, they profit only if the stock loses value. So it’s in their best interests to make it seem as though the world’s ending for us.” Grimes chuckled at the thought. “To hear them talk, every day is a new nail in our coffin.”
“Right, but what do you have to say about the specific criticisms? That you were caught overextended when the value of the derivatives you were speculating in lost much of their value?” she asked, her tone reasonable.
“Anyone familiar with our operations understands that we’re always adequately hedged. That the doors are still open underscores that we were in that instance as well.”
The woman nodded and shut off her recorder, then slipped it into her purse before smoothing her dress and standing. “I think that should do it. You’ve given me more than enough to work with.”
Grimes took in her long tanned legs with a quick glance and offered a sparkling, chemically augmented smile. “Ms. Donovan, it was a pleasure meeting you,” he said, rising and offering his hand.
“Likewise, Mr. Grimes. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me,” she said, shaking it.
“A refreshing departure from the usual drudgery of my day,” he assured her, his hand lingering on hers. “I hope you got what you wanted out of it.”
“I think my readers will be fascinated with the human face of the ruthless corporate raider portrayed by your critics.”
“There are two sides to every story,” he said, and then glanced at his watch. “If you’d like to get together after my day’s over, perhaps to have a drink and tie up any loose ends, I’d be delighted to answer any further questions you might have.”
She batted her eyes and appraised him with interest. “Why, Mr. Grimes, that’s very… generous of you. I know how valuable your time is.”
“Please. It’s Jeffrey. And I make time for the things I find important,” he said, squeezing her hand slightly before releasing it. “It would be my pleasure. I’m planning to take my boat out for a sunset cocktail cruise — something, regrettably, I don’t get the chance to do nearly enough. Would you join me in watching the sun set over the city?”
She smiled broadly. “You’re very persuasive, Jeffrey. And it’s Cynthia. What time were you thinking?”
“Six-thirty at the dock. My assistant will give you all the information and security codes.” His eyes roved over her figure before his gaze locked on hers. “Do you have any favorite beverages?”
Cynthia blinked and shook her head slightly. “Surprise me.”
Grimes escorted her out of his offices and instructed his assistant to arrange for her access to his dock. She was beaming as she left, and Grimes congratulated himself on another conquest, only hours away. He’d successfully converted a potentially hostile interview into a romantic pursuit, the conclusion of which was foregone for a wealthy, handsome bachelor like himself.
He pulled his door closed behind him and was startled out of his reverie by the chirping of his cell phone — a tone he’d programmed that chilled his blood whenever it sounded. He rushed to his desk and lifted the phone to his ear.
“Yes,” he answered.
“There will be another event tomorrow that should seal the island’s fate,” the robotic voice announced without preamble.
“It’s taking too bloody long. I thought the last ‘event’ was supposed to be the tipping point,” Grimes complained.
“This isn’t an exact science. It’s more of a cumulative process. Each drip of water wears the stone away.”
“That’s all well and good, but I’m being eaten alive here by margin calls and demands from my bankers. Something needs to happen fast or there will be hell to pay.”
“There should be substantial progress within forty-eight hours, at the outside. I’m alerting you so you can be ready to move quickly, as discussed.”
“I’ve been ready for a week,” Grimes snapped.
“Then your wait is almost over,” the voice said, and the line went dead with a click.
Grimes punched the phone off and tossed it on his desk before taking a seat. The call was good news. He was juggling a lot of balls and running short on both maneuvering room and time.
When it would be announced that he’d negotiated deals with the supposedly nationally owned shell corporations that would soon have most of the islands’ mineral rights in their portfolios, his company’s stock price would skyrocket. There was literally incalculable value locked beneath the jungle and the sea for the fortunate group that was granted permission to exploit those rights — in this case, Grimes being the sole member of that exclusive group.
He’d doubled down on his bet by buying call options on his own stock, and part of his impatience centered on their expiration date — they’d expire worthless within three more weeks. But if he was able to announce the news of the deals, his million-dollar option play would net him an easy six or seven — not a bad payday for idle speculation.
He smirked as he sent a short message to his captain and alerted him to have the yacht fully stocked and ready to sail that evening. He suspected he would get ample opportunity to explore the nubile Ms. Donovan’s charms before the night was through and he wanted everything in place for another perfect evening on the water.
Grimes eyed the sparkle of Sydney Harbor from his picture window, his thoughts once more on his mystery caller. To the victor in this struggle would go impossible spoils. That he would be the victor was preordained. He’d made sure of it. Although it was taking longer than he’d been assured, which had his fortune, and nerves, teetering on the brink.
His intercom buzzed and he pushed the doubts from his mind, donned his jacket, and marched to his conference room for another awkward meeting with several of his largest creditors. There would be time enough to revel in victory in the days ahead. Right now, he needed to keep the wolves at bay for just a little longer.
“They were captives?” Leonid blurted, eyeing the bindings that loosely ringed the skeletons’ wrists.
“I’d say that’s a given,” Sam said quietly as he crouched by the remains.
“The question is, whose?” Remi finished the thought for him.
“Maybe… rebels?” Leonid said.
“Could be,” Lazlo said. “How long have they been active here?” he asked.
“I don’t know,” Sam admitted. “But I got the impression that they were a relatively recent development.”
“That’s my understanding,” Remi said. “There was no mention of them in any of the accounts from the civil war in 2000.”
Lazlo shined the light beam on the far wall of the cave, which stretched into darkness beyond the water’s edge. “Not to be a materialistic pig, but back to the immediate concern — the treasure. Shall we continue into the void and see what we find?”
Leonid stared at the skeletons. “They certainly aren’t going anywhere.”
“Lead on, Lazlo,” Remi said.
“Wait,” Sam said, eyeing the surface of the pool. “I want to see how deep this is.”
“Why?” Leonid asked.
“In case our Japanese friends decided the best place to hide a treasure was back underwater.” Sam approached the pool, knelt, and probed at it with his machete. The blade hit stone. He continued until he was standing near the center of the pool in no more than three inches of water. “I think it’s safe to say there’s no treasure here.”