by Davis Bunn
“Was it our guy?”
“He wasn’t there, was he?”
“So he’s upstairs somewhere?”
“If it was him.”
“What do we do?”
“We wait.” Matt snapped his fingers. “Large tea. Extra milk. Hot mustard and white toast, and the eggs better be fried up hard enough I can nail them to the wall.”
“What if it’s him?”
“We call it in. Say he’s just arriving.” Matt didn’t take his eyes off the bank’s only entrance. “Now hop to it. I need you back here and ready.”
THE BANKER PUT UP A RATHER HIGHBROWED PROTEST AT VAL’S demand for over two million dollars in cash. But obviously Val was not the first person to come in seeking that sort of withdrawal. The papers were eventually filled out and passed over for Val’s signature.
The conversation drifted over inconsequential matters as the money was gathered. Suddenly Val spied a face in a window across the narrow street. He leaned forward, searching his memory. But he couldn’t be certain. Then he spotted a second man, a larger one whom Val had seen much closer and for far longer than the narrow-faced man. Suddenly he was back on the ferry.
Val stood and turned his chair around. When he reseated himself, he realized the banker was observing him with mild alarm.
“The light,” Val said. “It bothers me.”
The banker stared out his window. “But it’s raining cats and dogs.”
“Exactly,” Val said.
The banker’s secretary returned with a polished rosewood tray. On it resided a very substantial block of cash. Richards could not completely hide his avarice as he surveyed the money. “Perhaps you might like to count it,” he suggested brightly. “Then you can be on your—”
“We’re not done yet,” Val said. He turned to the secretary and asked, “Would you mind leaving us alone?”
Richards gave her a befuddled nod. “Give us another moment, would you, Fiona?”
“Certainly, sir.”
When the door closed again, Val reached into his jacket pocket and brought out several sheets of paper. He handed over the first page, which held the six strings of numbers they had found on Terrance’s computer. “Have a look at these, please.”
The banker’s eyes rounded as he read the data. He swung his chair around and tapped into his computer. His eyebrows crawled up into his hairline.
It was the response Val had been seeking. The one they desperately needed for this to work. Val interpreted for him. “Your bank holds deposits totaling four hundred and eighteen million dollars. These accounts are in the names of Val Haines and Marjorie Copeland. As you have heard, Mrs. Copeland died in the explosion that destroyed your New York offices. This leaves me the sole holder of these funds.”
Richards continued to study his screen. It was all the confirmation Val needed. “I am countermanding whatever standing orders you have controlling access to these accounts.”
Richards read off the computer screen, “I require detailed codes to unlock them.”
“They were destroyed in the explosion.” Val handed over a second sheet. “I want all these funds transferred to this account.”
Richards worked his mouth a few times before managing, “But this is . . .”
“That’s right,” Val agreed. “It is.”
The banker looked from the page to Val and back again. “Without the codes, I fear—”
“But wait, there’s more. In a couple of minutes, your phone is going to ring.” Val offered the banker a third sheet. “This man will be calling you. He is going to ask if the funds are still in the account here in this bank. Tell him yes. He will then probably give you transfer instructions. He will have the codes. Tell him you’ll do as he orders, but only once you have confirmation that this person is released. Confirmation must come from the father, Arthur d’Arcy. Who must come on the phone and speak with you.”
Richards sputtered, “I couldn’t possibly even consider—”
“Do these two things,” Val said, “and all the money piled here on the desk is yours.”
The banker went pale.
Val carefully repeated the instructions. “There will never be anything in writing about this conversation. No record whatsoever of this ever having happened.” Val pushed the tray slightly closer. “One transfer. One phone call. And it’s yours.”
The instant Val slipped through the front entrance, Bert gripped his arm and spun him about. “Face the wall, that’s a good lad.”
Gerald explained, “Bert thinks we’ve got some unwanted attention from the hotel across the way.”
“I spotted them from the banker’s office,” Val said.
Bert shielded him from the street with his bulk. The bank had a circular awning of colored stone, from which the rain dripped in a steady translucent curtain. Gerald asked, “What’s the word?”
“He went for it.”
The two men sighed in unison. Gerald announced quietly, “Dillon rang. His contact came through.”
“We have to be certain.”
“You can count on the lad.” Bert looked from one face to the other. “Then we’re good to go, are we?”
Val forced himself to say, “Let’s make the call.”
Bert took his phone from one pocket and a slip of paper from the other. He dialed the hotel’s number, listened, and handed Val the phone. “Good luck, mate.”
The phone spoke to him. “Good morning, Hastings Palace Hotel. How may I help you?”
“Suite eight-eighteen, please.”
“One moment.”
The phone rang twice before a male voice answered with, “We’re still waiting on a fresh pot of coffee up here.”
Val swallowed hard. “I’d like to speak with Terrance d’Arcy.”
“Who’s this?”
“Just tell him there’s four hundred and eighteen million good reasons for him to get on the phone.”
TERRANCE LAY IN THE SUITE’S SECOND BEDROOM AND WATCHED daylight stain the walls. It had stopped raining during the previous hour. A steady drip-drip pattered upon the windowsill beside his head. Every now and then one of the sentries glanced through the parlor’s open door. Terrance lay in his clothes except his jacket, which was cast over the back of a nearby chair. His tie was down a notch. He rubbed his chin. He needed to shave. He could not recall the last time he had been so bedraggled. Or a time when it had mattered less than now. He stared up at the ceiling where the window drapes formed a guillotine’s shadow.
One of the sentries stepped into the doorway. “The boss wants a word.”
Terrance knew there was nothing to be gained by arguing. Besides which, he had no interest in lying there any longer. He donned his jacket, tightened his tie, slicked back his hair, going through the motions as though they mattered.
“Pour our guest a cup of coffee,” Loupe ordered.
Terrance did not want any, but he accepted it and held it. Loupe slurped happily from his own cup. “We were discussing the safety measures you kept in your machine. What did you call them?”
“Firewalls. We’ve gone through this before.”
“Indulge me. Firewalls. Yes. A fascinating concept. Are these firewalls secure?”
Old cigar smoke clogged the parlor. “Anything can be broken into, given enough time and expertise.”
“So nothing has changed. We enter a new electronic age, and yet the old rules still apply.” Loupe seemed to find a bizarre satisfaction in that pronouncement. “And there is no way for you to access your accounts except with your machine?”
“My laptop, my home computer, Don Winslow’s computer. But only with them.” The codes had to be entered in a precise fashion. All electronic banking was done in this manner, but Terrance had introduced new restrictions such that the bank’s computer would only communicate with another computer that reconfirmed as it worked, an ingenious means of ensuring that no outsider could access their accounts. It required both the codes and a knowledge of which bank they accessed.
>
Which Val Haines possessed.
“Which means we must not grant our opponents sufficient time to move.” Loupe toyed with his cup. “Remind me once again the sum we are discussing here.”
“Four hundred and eighteen million.”
“Dollars.”
Terrance wanted to raise his fists and scream. “Dollars. Yes. Dollars.”
Loupe finished his coffee and sighed contentedly. He asked the sentry, “Still nothing at the old man’s house?”
“Not a peep, boss.”
He asked Terrance, “You are certain there is no other number where we might . . .”
His words were cut off by a pinging from the hotel phone. The nearest muscle answered and said they were still waiting for the coffee. Then he held the phone out to Loupe.
The man on the other end did not bother to cover the phone as he spoke to someone else. “There’s a bloke on the phone asking for d’Arcy. Sounds like a Yank. He knows about the money.”
A longish pause, then a slightly accented voice asked, “Who am I addressing, please?”
“Val Haines.”
“Mr. Haines. How wonderful. I have been so looking forward to having a little chat.”
“Who is this?”
“Let’s be frank, Mr. Haines. There’s only one name that matters here, wouldn’t you agree? And it’s certainly not mine.”
The two men supported Val with their steady gazes. “Audrey.”
“It’s so good to deal with someone who can move directly to the matter at hand, don’t you agree?”
“I asked to speak with Terrance.”
A faint steel edge crept into the voice. “You’re dealing with me now.”
Val fought hard to keep his quivering stomach muscles from affecting his voice. “Long as I get what I want.”
“My thoughts exactly, Mr. Haines. You have something of ours, I believe.”
“That’s right.”
“So how would you wish to play this out?”
“A straight swap. The hotel lobby.”
“I would prefer somewhere a bit less public.”
“I know you would. But this is how it’s going to be. I want Terrance and Audrey in exchange for the computer.”
“I do not care for your tone, Mr. Haines. Perhaps I should have one of my men help your dear young lady to sing for you.”
“I’ll be there in three hours. The two of them for the computer. Your call.” Val punched off the phone. Clenched it to his chest with one hand and reached for the metal pillar supporting the veranda’s roof. Pumped his lungs hard. “I’m going to be sick.”
Gerald looked as nauseous as Val felt. But Bert replied, “No time for that, lad. You said it yourself. Timing’s everything now. Straighten up, big easy breaths, that’s the ticket.”
“Time for the second call,” Val said weakly, and handed Bert the phone.
“No, mate.” Bert coded in another number and handed it back. “You’re the captain of this ship.”
The phone rang once, then Arthur d’Arcy said, “Yes?”
“We’re on.”
“Bless you, son.” The old man sounded positively joyful. “A thousand times over. Bless you.”
“You be careful.”
“Don’t worry about me.” Arthur almost sang the words. “God is on our side.”
Val cut the connection and handed back the phone. “You won’t believe what he just told me.”
Bert pointed over his shoulder at the hotel across the way. “I might’ve recognized one of the blokes. From inside.”
The sick feeling started to press up into his chest again. Val damped it down as best he could. “Nothing we can do about that now.”
“No, suppose not,” Bert said, and followed Val back inside.
“Is it him?”
“For the tenth time, I can’t say.” Matt pounded the windowsill and hissed across the street, “Turn around!”
“I’ll go over there and sort this out proper.”
“Stay where you are.”
“But—”
“The boss didn’t say anything about getting ourselves made, did he?” Matt clawed the sill. “What’re they doing standing around in this weather, that’s what I’d like to know.”
“We can’t sit here doing nothing.”
“Hang on. He’s going back inside.” Matt groaned. “And the muscle is going with him. Of all the ruddy luck.”
“What do we do?”
Matt slumped back into the chair. “What we been doing since we started this life sentence. We wait.”
WHEN THEY ARRIVED UPSTAIRS, THE BANKER’S SECRETARY WAS waiting to show Val back into the banker’s office. Her eyes widened at the sight of Bert. Most likely she did not often see bruisers with arms larger than her waist come waltzing in, wanting to talk about two million dollars in cash. Val said simply, “He’s with me.”
“Of course, sir.” She scurried to stay well ahead of them. “Right this way.”
When they arrived back in Richards’s office, the cash was still there on the desk. Richards’s gaze rounded at their entry. But less so than the secretary’s. He was too busy with his mental games, playing out what he could do with over two million dollars.
Val said, “This is my associate. I have to leave. He will remain here through the telephone conversation, then depart. He knows what you need to say.”
Richards rocked back in his seat. “And if I don’t?”
Bert warned, “A deal’s a deal, mate.”
Whatever Richards saw in Bert’s face was enough to drain his own features of blood.
“No, none of that,” Val said sharply. “You agreed. But if you decide to change your mind, we’ll just take the cash and leave.”
“A little late for that.” Bert punched the air between them, causing the banker to flinch. “We’ve already set things in motion because of him.”
“Bert.” Val waited until the big man stopped glaring at the banker and turned around to say, “Audrey wouldn’t go for that.”
Bert’s shoulders slumped. “What a thing to be telling me now.”
Richards cleared his throat. “Audrey?”
Val kept his eyes on Bert. “We do this right, or we don’t do it at all.”
“The right thing for the wrong reason is just adding to the problem,” Bert mumbled to his feet.
“Is that from Audrey?”
“Sure didn’t come from me, mate.” Bert nodded once. “Okay, then.”
“You’re sure?”
“Yeah, I’m right as rain.”
Val turned to the banker, who was watching with wide-eyed confusion. “It would help us to know now what you’re going to do. A woman’s life may hang in the balance.”
Bert covered his eyes.
Richards’s gaze went from one man to the other. “Something’s happened?”
“The man who is about to call you is holding her against her will. We don’t think he will hold to his side of the bargain and let her go. You’re part of our insurance policy.”
“I-I’m not quite sure I understand.”
“You don’t need to,” Val replied, and waited.
Richards touched the knot of his tie, rubbed his jaw, patted his foppish hair. “Well, naturally, if we’re intending to help a damsel in distress, who am I to refuse?”
“Then you’ll do it?”
“Certainly. For a good cause, and all that.”
“And two million two in cash, free and clear.”
“Well, yes.” His gaze swiveled back to the money. “There most certainly is that.”
Val pulled the final sheet of paper from his pocket, inspected it carefully, and said, “There’s just one small thing more.”
Richards blanched. “I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing complicated. Just a straight transfer, for which I do have clearance.” Val handed over the page. “Can you handle that while you’re waiting for the call?”
Richards had difficulty bringing his computer records
into focus. “Oh. Yes. Of course. I see no problem here.”
“Great.” Val rose from his chair. “Is there a back door? If I can, I’d like to slip out unobserved.”
“There’s the employees’ entrance at the rear.” Richards saw nothing beyond the cash on his desk. “I’ll have my assistant show you the way.”
“Ask her to bring my associate in from your front porch before she does. His name is Gerald.” Val patted Bert on the shoulder. “We’ll call as soon as we’ve got something to report.”
Bert did not look up. “You just make ruddy sure things go to plan, mate.”
“I’ll try.”
“And when you see her, tell the lass Bert says hello.”
Matt leapt from the chair. “I don’t believe this!”
“What is it now?”
“They’ve all disappeared!”
Jocko pressed in beside him. “They can’t have.”
“They did, I’m telling you. One comes out, two go in, now a lady shows up and the third does like smoke.”
“You think they made us?”
“How am I supposed to know that?”
Jocko leaned out the window and was drenched by the rain. “It’s like they never were there.”
“The boss hears about this and we’re good as dead.” Matt pounded the windowsill. “What do we do now?”
Jocko ducked inside and wiped his face. “You want me to go have a look?”
Matt let his hand drop to his side. “What good would that do?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Wait, let me think.” Matt’s face glistened with the same fear churning through Jocko’s gut. “Okay. Here’s the deal. You go have a quiet look around the outside. I’ll keep watch. First sign it’s really our man, we call like we just spotted him, right?”
Jocko swiped his own face clear of the fear-sweat. “But what if they don’t show, Matt? What if we sit here all ruddy day and the bank closes and we still don’t get another look? The guy’s scarpered, we’ve let him go, what then?”
Matt’s features were green. “Then we scarper.”
“What?”
“Morocco. Or the Philippines, maybe. Someplace far away.”