A Calculated Risk by Katherine Neville (best time to read books .txt) 📗

Rahadzi,” he whispered when we surfaced for air, “would your husband mind it very much if I played around under your burnoose?”

“This is serious!” I said fiercely, trying to focus on what I’d come for.

“I should say it is,” he agreed. “I can’t keep my hands off of you—I can’t keep my mind on track—that’s more than serious!” He bent down and kissed me again, until I could feel it in my toes. “Madame Rahadzi, I’m going to have a very hard time returning you to your husband. Why don’t we lock the door and pretend you aren’t married?” he said.

I took a deep breath and held him away as he reached for me again.

“I must get to those phones and call Tavish,” I managed to get out. “I’ve figured out what Lawrence is up to—but now I have to prove it.”

“You mean, something more than what we already know?” said Tor, his eyes lightening.

“I think he’s their banker,” I told him. “Where else did they get all that money—hundreds of millions of dollars—to buy up those loans? I think he’s done some creative financing in these last few weeks.”

“Without passing through the loan department for approvals?” he suggested.

“He’s the head of bank-wide data processing. If we could get into the system and grab that dough, why couldn’t he?—he’d only need it for the short term—”

“Especially if he cut a few corners, like refusing to pay us,” agreed Tor. “I think you’re onto something. The only phones for international calls are right there in that room. Stay here. I’ll get Lelia to wrap things up quickly, drag them off, and show them a bit of the island or something. Never fear—I’ll get you in there.”

“Couldn’t you have found a more reasonable hour to phone?” Tavish moaned, his voice gravelly with sleep. “Have you any idea what time it is here?”

“This is an emergency,” I told him. “Get up, dunk your head in ice water, make a pot of coffee—anything. I want you to get on-line to the bank in San Francisco and hit every file till you find what I’m looking for.”

“What are you looking for?” he asked.

“Money. Lots and lots of money. About four hundred million dollars in short-term, low-interest, no-penalty loans.”

“Anybody we know?” asked Tavish, his voice sounding considerably more cheerful.

“Only time will tell,” I said.

But two hours later, I was a bit less optimistic. We were still on the phone, Tor and Lelia having left a note that they were taking the Vagabonds on a lengthy walking tour of the island, and would meet me for cocktails at the castle.

I was lying on the floor of the boardroom, the World War II telephone sitting on my chest, the receiver propped on the floor near my ear as Tavish and I pounded through our paces.

“I’ve tried every bloody loan in the system that’s short-term and has low rates,” he informed me. “I even checked those loans for automobile flooring, recreational vehicles, small boats, and student education! I’m afraid—rumors to the contrary—that there are no four-year-college degrees that cost over fifty million dollars!”

“There has to be something out there,” I said, cursing under my breath. “There aren’t that many of these Vagabonds. How many men would they trust in a deal this confidential—twenty-five—fifty—a hundred max? And these guys are all CEOs of major corporations—not idle heirs to a dimestore fortune. They may be well paid, but not that well. They don’t have that kind of cash lying around their checking accounts. They got it from someone—and that someone was Lawrence. Why else was he so frantic to keep me and the auditors off that system?”

“Terrific theory—I’m in total awe,” said Tavish. “But I’ve rather exhausted my supply of rocks under which to look. Any new ideas—so long as we’re footing the global bill for satellite communications?”

“Try the password file,” I said. “Whatever Lawrence did, he must have done under his own password.”

“You can’t be serious,” said Tavish. “There are fifty thousand IDs out there. He might have used anything—or two or three, or a dozen—or a hundred!”

“Try Lawrence,” I suggested.

“Beg pardon?”

“Lawrence!” I repeated. “L-a-w-r-e-n-c-e. Or Larry—something like that.”

“Don’t be absurd,” said Tavish with disdain. “No one would use his own name as a password—like a birth date or mother’s maiden name—it’s the very first thing a thief would think of trying.”

“We have nothing to lose at this point,” I said. “Humor me—give it a shot.”

Tavish went off mumbling, but a few moments later, I heard exclamations—then a shriek.

“There is a password of Lawrence!” he cried. “By God, this is the bloodiest, ugliest, most criminal thing I’ve ever witnessed in my life!”

“What is it?” I cried, sitting up and clutching the phone to my ear.

“I’ll print it all off on Charles Babbage so we’ll have the hard copy later,” he said, “since I can’t print on your line. But I’ll read the basics off to you. I hope you’ve got a quill handy.”

“What is it?” I repeated, clutching the pen and pad in my hands.

“It’s stocks, ducky—three hundred million in bank stock—all of it transferred in the last two weeks.”

“Bank stock? You mean, shares in the Bank of the World?”

“Believe me, I haven’t a clue where it came from,” said Tavish, “but I can quote you name, rank, and serial number for mucho millions of shares.”

Perhaps Tavish didn’t know where it had come from—but I did. And I smiled. It wasn’t too hard to figure out where there was a block of bank stock that size, and one that was really handy. In fact, it could be transferred without ever leaving the bank’s computer system.

They’d ripped off the bank’s own employee pension fund!

It was late afternoon—nearly evening—when I cut through the woods and dropped down below the castle to enter from the small peninsula beneath. From there, cobwebbed internal stairwells led directly to the observation tower overlooking the parapet and the sea—without passing through the courtyard, where I might be seen.

I knew that sound traveled