One Step to Danger

by John Gubert

  I glared at him. “There is one way you can get out of this. That is if you actually leave us alone. I am going to notify one person of a change in plan and I am doing it now. And I am going to do it in front of you. I am going to tell them that they should give the tape to the police if they do not hear from me in any twenty four-hour period. And if you do anything to get in the way of Jacqui or me once again, I will not make that call. And you are dead. Do you understand?”

  I opened my case and took out my mobile. I dialled Carrie’s number. She answered after a few rings. “It’s me,” I said. “I am in trouble. You know the package I gave you? If I don’t call you in any twenty four hour period give it to our friends in the force.”

  She had of course no idea what I was talking about but she guessed something was wrong. So she played along in case anyone was listening in. I asked her to repeat the instructions. She did.

  “I’ll call you tomorrow again,” I said. “Good-bye.”

  I then dialled again, this time the hotel number. Once it had answered, I apologised for a wrong number and switched off the mobile. I turned to Di Maglio. “Even if you tried to get my phone you cannot find out who I dialled. It only recalls the last number. You are now going to have to pray that I don’t get separated from a phone for too long. Now go. Oh and by the way are we being bugged? You obviously know what has happened. I can’t imagine you’ve had a cosy chat with Jacqui.”

  “It’s under the phone,” he snarled. “Tomorrow I am getting the place swept by an expert. If you have double crossed me, I’ll release the tape.”

  “There is another under the bed. That was a reserve. These things go wrong. They have a radius of 50 yards. That’s enough.”

  I turned on my heels, disappeared down the lobby and through to the lifts.

  LAUNDRY TIME

  I walked out of the lift on our floor. I went over to our door. I hesitated. Then I knocked. There was no reply. I knocked again. There was still no reply. I called softly through the door “Jacqui. It’s me. I’ve just seen your father. We must talk.”

  There was movement inside the room. The door opened. Her face was flushed. Her eyes were red. She’d been crying.

  She looked at me. She saw the torn clothes. She looked at the dishevelled look. She winced as she saw the bruise on the side of my forehead. She assumed it was her father.

  She sobbed “What’s happened to you? Darling. Darling. Come to me. I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that. He called after you left and laughed at me. He did do it on purpose. He knows people too well. He wanted to destroy you in my eyes. He knows all that happened. He’s in the hotel. The room’s even bugged. He knows what he did. I should have helped you understand. I was wrong to push you away. Come to me. Please.”

  I pushed the door closed and took her in my arms. “I know. I have seen him.” And I explained to her what had happened downstairs.

  We walked over to the sofa. She noticed I was limping. “What’s happened to you? Who did that to you?” I explained about the accident. She went quite white. “You could have been killed.”

  “I doubt it. It was my stupidity. Let’s forget about it. But first of all let’s get rid of the bugs. Then I think I need a soak in a bath. I feel foul.”

  We removed the bugs. They were exactly where he had said they were. I unceremoniously stamped on them. I placed the broken pieces in a bin. I then stripped off, throwing my discarded clothes away in a similar fashion and stepped into the large round circular bath we had enjoyed so much earlier in the evening.

  The bruises on my legs were going a variety of shades of purple and black. I knew where the car had hit me and was surprised how far the bruises spread. My right hand was grazed and raw. My head sported a large bump where it had hit the kerb. Generally I felt stiff and shaken. I suspected the car was going faster than I assumed when it hit me. I knew he braked sharply but I guessed I took the full force at around twenty to thirty kilometres an hour. I remembered I had sprawled over his bonnet before falling onto the ground. That had helped. I wondered if I had damaged his car. I had gone off in my daze and not talked to the driver.

  “I’ll call my father tomorrow and discuss matters. We should move from here. It’s a pity as it’s comfortable and convenient.”

  “No,” said Jacqui. “My father can pay. That was what they told us on arrival. And we’ll make him suffer. I plan to run up a bill that even he will notice.”

  That rather appealed to me too. “OK. Good idea. How about a nightcap?”

  “No. First of all I want to see your cuts. You might need a doctor about that bump.”

  “I’m all right,” I said. “I could do with a couple of pain killers. Otherwise it’s nothing major.”

  “I’ll get the pain killers from room service. But no booze. You better stick to a hot drink.”

  Soon she had me propped up in bed, feeling like an invalid. She had slipped into slacks and a shirt. She had cleaned her face. She still looked pale and a bit worried. She started to paint her toenails. She was using a deep pink shade of nail varnish. I was watching her feet. Her toes waggled provocatively as she sought to quicken the drying process. In the morning I knew she had done both feet, but I fell asleep before the first was complete.

  Sleep proved to be a better cure than anything else. When I woke up, I could see daylight through the curtains. Jacqui was beside me. She was still fast asleep. Lying on her side, she faced me with one arm thrown protectively across my body. I gently moved it away and eased myself out of the bed. I winced as I stood up. My head ached. My legs were bruised, and my calves and shins appeared as a mass of purple and black. I was less sore than I expected and walking was no problem. I walked into the bathroom. The bruising of the night before had eased. The left side of my face still bore signs of the fall but it looked less frightening and was already starting to heel.

  After a long shower and shave, I felt far better. I picked up the phone in the bathroom and ordered a large English breakfast for us both together with coffee. Then dressed in the white robe I had suddenly discarded the night before, I tiptoed over to the sofa and waited for it to arrive. There was no point in waking Jacqui until that happened. She slept on and did not even hear the gentle tap on the door that announced the arrival of breakfast. I took the table at the door and said I would handle it.

  Having wheeled it over to the bed, I kissed her on the forehead and told her to wake up. There is something wonderful about a person as they wake up. The inquisitive, sleepy look. The slight yawn followed by a longer one. In this case, a tousled head of hair being shaken as she entered the world of today. A white pyjama top, slightly ruffled, teasing an outline of her figure. She gradually sat upright. Her nose seemed to twitch as she looked over at the table. “An English breakfast. Great. Orange juice and coffee. Get me a plate full and loads of liquid. I’m just off to brush my teeth.”

  And with that, she tumbled out of bed and into the bathroom. I could hear her humming and wondered how one could hum and brush teeth at the same time. Still I could find out another time.

  Breakfast completed, we headed out to the bank. It was a fine day and we walked the short distance. Halfway there, we passed a shop full of designer dresses. Jacqui noticed one and wanted to try it on. There was no rush and I thought a designer bag would make us look more casual. So we went in, only to leave with a bag containing a tightly cut mini skirt in black, topped by a black and white military style jacket over a white silk top. Jacqui looked pleased.

  “Shopping suits you,” I commented. “Now, how much should I take. I think the banks are open tomorrow. So we could return but that would make it look a bit suspicious. Should it be two million or more?”

  “Let’s start with five. If I can clear it today, then we go back. We can always pretend we forgot a document or something. I don’t like the idea of taking too much at one time. I would be surprised if I do five in a weekend. The big money will come later.”

  The vault was easily accessible and I disap
peared into the privacy of a side room to take out the appropriate bundles. The money was in thousand dollar bills. Each batch of notes was fifty bills thick. That made a fifty thousand dollars a wad. And I needed to load a hundred of them into my briefcase. It took them at a squeeze.

  I had brought the money in two thousand wads. I had had to put them in a small trunk when I left with them in the bank. I had explained that they were office papers, which I would sort out as I established my office. The bank had not cared. They just wanted the rental of the vault. As long as the contents did not smell, they were fairly indifferent.

  I had had more trouble on the way over. The money had been in false bottoms in a set of cases. That had been a necessary risk. Luckily the departure from Latin America is not a problem. Almost as luckily, the police swoop in Paris on landing was on two unpleasant looking passengers from first class. To keep my cover, I had squeezed myself into an economy class seat for my alibi (supported by visas and date stamps in my passport) had been that I was a post graduate student in Latin American studies returning from a one year exchange visit between universities.

  We got a cab back to the hotel. It felt safer than walking with a five million dollar case. From there Jacqui called the casino at Monte Carlo and put the arrangements in place. It would have been impossible to walk in with the cash and expect everything to go smoothly. We needed to have facilities to unpack the money. Jacqui was planning to play a million at a time in Monte Carlo. Afterwards we would see where the private games of the big rollers were taking place. That’s where I would come in. There would be some major arrangements to make.

  The plan was quite simple. We could launder a million or so in the casino. More than that was impossible. We would meet high rollers there. They would soon realise that we were laundering money. Among the high rollers would be people who needed cash. They would establish our background and we would arrange to exchange cash for a bank credit. The usual instrument would be a US cashiers cheque or a letter of credit. It could even be a bank transfer. Jacqui would do the negotiations. She was aware of how to make the arrangements although I would have to help with the details. My main role was to carry the gun and the money for the eventual drop.

  I now realised why she felt she could do the laundering so quickly. I had thought that we would do it only at the casino. She saw the casino as bait. The real big-ticket stuff would be done privately. I established that there were many people who wanted cash, especially US dollars. The dollar is the most recognised currency. Just as a class of people wish to move illegal cash into legal taxable funds, there is a class of people who wish to move legal taxable funds to third parties in exchange for tax-free cash.

  I had commented that these could include drug dealers and other illegals. Jacqui had said that they definitely would not include drug dealers. They all, almost universally, have businesses that generate cash. They would rather want to swap the cash and get it into the system.

  I almost suspected that she knew that was not true. But she had to persuade herself that she wouldn’t touch drug-related money. I did not feel those qualms. I just wanted to get the cash in the bank without having to answer masses of questions. The only thing I did not want to do was to deal with her father. And that was more because I mistrusted him than because of his business.

  As the evening approached, we changed. I was still bruised but felt much better. Jacqui put on the Feraud outfit she had bought in Geneva. It was stunning. I felt jealous about leaving her alone. As she explained, I could hardly leave the cash alone and they would not let me carry a briefcase into the casino.

  In any case, she also carried her gun. We had agreed that her risk of being robbed was negligible. I would drop her off at the main entrance to the casino. She would have a bag with the cash. I would have the rest in the car. I would park by the casino. There were people around and I should be safe. The greatest danger would be wherever we had a meeting with our prospective partners. And we had to play that by ear.

  “The good thing about it,” said Jacqui as we sped along the motorway to Monte Carlo, “is that everybody carries guns and there are always women around. So nobody wants a fight. Also this is a relationship game. All the parties want to do it again tomorrow. If you put one foot wrong, then you’re finished. That is if you are not dead.”

  People were pouring into the casino on the Friday night. I waved goodbye to Jacqui, found a spot to park and waited for her call. She had told me that it would take a couple of hours at the least. The trouble was that I was sitting in a car with millions of dollars in cash in the back seat.

  It was strange that I had felt indifferent to the dangers from the Caymans to France. I had not even packed a gun. Here I felt distinctly nervous despite the flood of people and the bright lights of the streets of Monte Carlo.

  As night drew in, the crowds thinned. The casino must have been busy given the number of people who appeared to be heading that way. The restaurants and bars were also doing a lively trade even if it was hardly in season. I locked the car from the inside and waited.

  I then noticed someone stopping behind the car. He looked in through the back window. I could see his outline in the rear mirror. I eased my hand inside my jacket and grasped hold of my gun. I had put it in the waistband. The jacket of my evening suit was made of too fine a material for me to put it there without it being plainly visible to all and sundry. I held my breath. The figure moved forward. I curled my finger round the trigger. There was a knock on the window. I held my breath again. I thought I must act normal. I opened the window slightly. I looked up. It was a policeman. I quickly let go of my gun. There was no way I was going to shoot one of them.

  “Could I see your papers Sir?” he enquired politely.

  I fished into my inside pocket and removed my false passport. He glanced at it. “Thank you. Could I see your driving licence and insurance?”

  He looked at these in turn. “May I ask why you are parked here. I notice you here half an hour ago. It is unusual for someone to wait here in a dinner jacket for so long.”

  “I’m waiting for my girlfriend. She’s in the casino and should be out soon. I arrived earlier than planned and just parked here to wait.”

  He looked unimpressed by my answer. Luckily at that moment my mobile rang.

  “Excuse me,” I said. It was Jacqui. “Hello darling. Good, you’re on your way. I’ll be at the entrance in a minute or two. Have you already got your coat? That’s excellent. See you in a moment.”

  I turned to the policeman. He was looking disappointed. He saw my bruised face. “Have you been in a fight?”

  “Yes,” I answered. “But only with my own feet. I tripped over a kerb yesterday in Cannes and fell rather heavily.”

  He again did not look impressed. He was actually a good policeman. He sensed all was not well. It was just that he could not tell what it was. I would have to be careful he did not follow us. He signalled me to move on and I headed to the front of the casino. Minutes later, Jacqui floated down the stairs and got in beside me.

  “That’s the first million done,” she said. “And I have great news. I met a man called Ali. I know him well. He is in the market for high denomination US dollar bills. And he is willing to exchange it for a wire transfer. We just need to make the arrangements. I have dealt with him before. He never deals in less than ten or twenty million. He charges a commission on large amounts. That’s usually two and a half per cent. We can maybe get him down.”

  “What does he use the money for?” I asked.

  “He’s quite legitimate actually,” Jacqui responded. “He buys property all over Europe. In some countries though the seller will ask for a payment under the counter. Say the property is worth ten million, then they will pay eight million through the bank and two million in cash. The seller has two advantages. The first is that he can reduce his tax bill on any gain made on the sale. Secondly he has an untraceable two million dollars on which he will never pay tax.”

  “I suppose
the buyer pays less taxes on the transaction itself. So that makes sense. But why doesn’t Ali get the cash from the bank?”

  “They would not hold that sort of cash in the right notes. In any case Ali would not want to draw attention to himself. After all this is strictly illegal. Nobody is going to notice high value cheques passing over his account. He trades in everything. He deals in securities or property. And God knows what else. By the way he doesn’t know I have had a bust up with my father. It’s better that way. It gives us added protection.”

  I reflected on this as I drove down to the port. Jacqui had told me to head to one of the large modern hotels that serve as holiday venues in the summer and home to interminable conferences in the winter. There we were to meet Ali for dinner. I was amazed how easy it seemed to be.

  We walked into the dining room where Ali had already booked a discreet, corner table. He was not yet there and so we crossed over to the bar. Then he came. A small man with a goatee beard that framed a sallow face. He wore an impeccable evening suit and a frilled dress shirt with a big blue floppy bow tie. When he smiled, he flashed a selection of gold teeth interspersed with tobacco stained ones. He held a cigar in his right hand. Its smoke seemed to wind its way up a yellowed finger and then into the starched cuffs of his shirt.

  Jacqui introduced me as Mr Charles. There was no need for him to know my surname.

  He held out his left hand, indifferent to protocol and not bothered to move his cigar from the right one. We walked silently to the table.

  “We order first,” he said. “The food is not too good here. This is a place for business. Good restaurants are too crowded. One can’t talk in them for fear of being overheard. Then we talk business.”

  His English was perfect. He had the clipped accent of a public school. It contrasted with his appearance. He added, “No pork dishes. That’s my only concession to religion. Not for any other reason than I hate the stuff.”