by John Gubert
Once we ordered, Jacqui asked what he was looking for. “I require up to fifty million for a series of deals. I will take part but not less than ten million. I need high denomination notes, minimum of one hundred dollars.”
“What are the terms?” asked Jacqui.
“Cash on Monday and I want a fee of two and a half percent,” he responded.
“What discounts are you giving for large amounts?” Jacqui asked.
“For you, and for you only, two percent for twenty million in one delivery,” he replied.
“Go higher,” she responded “And don’t forget who I am.”
“One and a half per cent over twenty five, I won’t go lower.”
“What if I offer all in thousand dollar bills,” she countered.
That obviously attracted him. I wondered if it was just the bulk or whether he had another reason.
“I will go a quarter lower. So one and a quarter per cent for high values,” he responded.
“And if I suggest the whole sum. In thousand dollar bills. New thousand dollar bills,” she almost whispered.
He lent forward. “You can give me new bills? Are they forged?”
“No. The real thing. In wads of fifty. One thousand wads of fifty. Yours if you do it for a half a million fee. And it can be done on Monday in the region.”
He shook his head. “No, seven hundred and twenty five thousand for the fifty.”
“Split the difference. Six hundred,” she said, arching her eyebrows. As he looked at her, she lent forward. His eyes travelled down the bodice of her dress and feasted on the show of flesh. She flickered her eyelids. She slowly moistened her lips with her tongue.
He shook his head. “You tease me. Because you are beautiful, I agree. We meet Monday but where?”
“How can you pay?” she asked.
“Transfer to be in an escrow account at United by lunchtime?” he suggested. We can set up the formalities on Monday morning. An escrow account allows money to be held to order pending an event that causes it to be transferred to another party.
“Will they be able to identify it by lunchtime?” I questioned.
“They always have to date,” he commented.
“What about the drop?” asked Jacqui.
“At the bank. I have a safe box. We will use one of the private rooms. I put the funds in the escrow. You come to the bank. You show me the funds. I release the escrow and Mr Charles can confirm it has been done.”
He turned to Jacqui. “You still have an account at United?”
She nodded. “Same branch.”
He continued. “Once Mr Charles has confirmed the transfer, I return to the private room in the vault and we exchange the cash. You, Miss Jacqui, will stay in the room with my assistant until we return. If we are not back in half an hour he will take you outside and shoot you. Just the normal procedures. Mr Charles can keep the money on him all the time.”
“Who will your assistant be?”
“My son,” he replied.
“It’s a deal,” came the reply. “The money is in Cannes. We’ll pick it up from there. When we come to Monte Carlo, we will be armed and followed by guards. Try anything and you’ll be blasted out of the world. Your son meets us in Cannes and accompanies us to our bank there and to United.”
“Sensible,” he responded. “Miss Jacqui. I would never trick you. Why don’t you trust me? We have dealt so often together.”
“Don’t give me that shit Ali. We never trust anyone. That’s why we’re still around.” Her reply shocked me. She rarely swore.
“Where does my son meet you in Cannes?” asked Ali.
“He should call me on my mobile from the centre of the Rue D’Antibes at nine on Monday morning. I’ll write down the number,” I said. “That way he is not sure where the bank is and where we are going for the pick up. It’s safer that way.”
He nodded in agreement as I handed him the number. The rest of the meal passed without further mention of the drop. Ali told us about his past. It was definitely colourful.
He had been born in Alexandria. His father was a shopkeeper. He was one of six children. During the Second World War he worked for the British Army. He was only fourteen then but he started to run errands for the soldiers. As the war progressed he became more involved and spied for them as well. He hinted that he had run a good business procuring girls and boys for the officers. I must have looked shocked for he joked, “Some liked the girls. Some liked the boys. And there quite a few who liked both, perhaps at the same time.” He laughed uproariously at this. And laughed even more when he saw my discomfort. “You only like the girls Mr Charles. Well it’s a free world. But let others enjoy themselves as they prefer.”
Ali said that he was well trusted and respected. When the war was over, he was given a small bounty for his services. Apparently that was the practice then. He bought a property in the Gulf and set up in business. He dealt with the oil companies and supplied them with their daily needs. This time he almost cried with laughter when he realised I thought that meant food and household goods. “No, Mr Charles I don’t mean food and drink. I mean bedroom goods. Girls mainly. They would come from all over Asia and earn good money with the oilmen. It was my social duty.” He laughed even more. “Better that I supplied them and made three people happy. The men who had spent weeks on the rigs. The women who earned more in a week than they could earn in a year back home. And me, who made my little fee.”
He said he got to know the oilmen. As the oil price rose, he spent more of his time as a middleman between the rulers of the Gulf States and the oil companies. He had been involved in arms purchases. He had helped get licences. He had moved into the drinks trade, for smuggling illicit alcohol into the Gulf was also a big business. He was now worth several million. He had never got anywhere near the scale of a Kashoggi, but he was a millionaire. In the process he had had six wives, four of whom survived. The current youngest was just two years older than Jacqui. It was unclear if his wives died of natural causes or whether Ali had a touch of the Henry VIII about him. I suspected it could well be a combination.
Dinner completed, Jacqui suggested we head back to the casino. Ali declined. “At my age you go to bed early. Otherwise you are only good for sleep,” he roared, lighting another large cigar. We said our goodbyes and reconfirmed the Monday arrangements. I agreed with Jacqui. It was time for the casino. And this time I wanted to go with her.
As we drove back, I asked what she thought of Ali. “He’s been involved in some fairly foul businesses in the past. And he must be a health hazard. But he is a straight businessman. We can trust him. But we need to be careful always. These people can be ruthless and we are dealing big money.”
She explained that she had laundered the entire million dollars. She had a cheque from the casino in her bag and we could put that into the bank the next day. “I suggest we take another million each and play that. You do exactly the opposite of what I do. That way we break even. I will play random numbers with fifty thousand dollars at a time. That way it is only obvious to the professionals what I am doing. You should do the same. In reality, we may lose half a million but that is one of the risks of the business. If we spread the fifty over the table the risks decrease. So never put anything on one of my numbers. Around one we will take a break and cash in. Then we can regroup and decide if we call it a day or play the last two million.”
“What do I do with the rest of the money?” I asked.
“You should lock it in the car. It’s a risk but one should never leave a briefcase with cash in the casino. That’s a bigger risk. I’ll sort it out before we go into the garage. I prefer to do it away from the security cameras.”
She opened the case and said, “How many wads?”
“There are fifty thousand in a wad. Two million is therefore forty wads.” She counted, and from time to time placed them under her seat. She then put the last ten or so under mine.
We both rather enjoyed the casino. We played till just a
fter twelve in the end. Jacqui was right about the odds. As we cashed in our chips at the end of the session, my cheque came out at just over nine hundred thousand and her’s at just over nine hundred and fifty.
“I know it cost us just under a hundred and fifty this time, but I had to lose some money. I just played a straight wash earlier. One can only do that for a limited time. Shall we do the last two million? There are still loads of people around.”
I agreed and we were soon back with the money. Having bought our chips, we joined a table filled with Arabs. They all wore traditional clothes and were gambling heavily. They were drinking whisky. They had a group of bleached blond haired girls with them. They gazed at Jacqui and one leant over, leering down her dress to my fury and asked her something. She smiled and mouthed something to him. As she passed me she muttered, “Filthy oaf. He thinks I am for sale. Keep an eye on him.”
I nodded as I headed over to the table. We started playing again. All of a sudden I decided to take a big gamble and pushed chips for a hundred thousand onto a single number. Jacqui looked over in horror and shook her head. The ball spun round and clattered from one number to another. Greedy eyes watched its progress. Hope, despair, anguish, pleading registered on one or another of the faces around the table. Then I gasped, “I’ve won.”
I took half of the money and gambled high again. Everyone was looking at me. The same story. It seemed an eternity before the ball stopped whirling round in the opposite direction to the spinning wheel. It landed and I had won again. I continued playing high for about an hour. Sometimes I lost but I won more often than not. The Arabs were following my every move. I tired and put a smaller stake on the thirteen. I said aloud, just as the ball started spinning “This is going to be the big one.” Two of the Arabs, including the one who had annoyed Jacqui, quickly pushed all their stakes to my number. And it failed, as I had sensed it would. One of them burst into fury.
“You said it would win. I placed half a million dollars on the thirteen. I lost.”
“Tough,” I responded, “Perhaps you shouldn’t listen to a man talking to himself.”
That drove him berserk. He charged at me but I slipped aside. He charged again and I caught his flailing arms. I pulled the arm back and he yelled in anguish as I brought it down on the side of the table with a thundering crack. The security men walked in and stood in front of me. Jacqui went to restrain me too. “Don’t worry. That was revenge. That wasn’t anger,” I whispered to her. “Teach the bastard right for thinking you could be a tart like the floss he brought to the place.”
There was much commotion. People were pushing and yelling all over the place. I picked up my chips, pushing a ten thousand dollar one over to the croupier. Jacqui did likewise and we cashed them in. We went over to the bar.
Jacqui looked at me seriously. “That was stupid. I know you had a run of luck but you must never ever do that again. It is too risky. Tomorrow you could lose a million. Gambling is a mug’s game. The odds are stacked in favour of the banker, not the punter.”
“I know,” I said. “I just got the urge to do that. I’ve been in a casino before. I’ve played fruit machines, but never at the table. I hate the idea of losing and so always just watched.”
“Keep it that way,” she said. “And keep away from casinos. You could become a gambler. And that would be stupid.”
“I suspect I am already one,” I said ruefully. “This whole escapade is a gamble.”
“Of course it is,” said Jacqui. “But it is one where we can manage the odds. You were playing like an amateur on a whim. That sort of gambling is stupid.”
“OK,” I said. “I got one point three million. You got a million. With the money we changed earlier, that means we are at five million one fifty. That’s one fifty more than we started out with. I guess it’s time to head back to Cannes.”
“Yes. And we will have to stay clear of the place tomorrow. We were too high profile today. We may even have to find a new casino next week. Still we can take a rest on Sunday and then do the deal with Ali on Monday. Then we have to think of the balance. But we are well ahead of schedule now.”
The drive back to Cannes was uneventful. The hotel was quiet as we returned just before two in the morning. I decided to call my father the next day. I did not want to do it from the hotel phone in any case as the call could be traced. Moreover I knew my parents would have left the US now for Mexico, and soon would be in Rio for their operations.
THE HANDOVER
On the Monday morning, we had breakfasted by eight and were preparing ourselves for the handover. We needed to be in Monte Carlo by eleven at the latest. Jacqui would drop me outside the bank and then park the car. I wanted to spend no time in the street with fifty million dollars in a small suitcase. She would also be parked outside the bank once I had picked up the money. There also I did not want to be hanging around in the street.
I had put on a suit for this part of the deal. It was a pale grey suit with a single-breasted jacket. I again placed a gun in my waistband. As a precaution I taped another one to the inside of my right leg. I had only seen this done in films before and was surprised at how easy and comfortable it was. I took some spare ammunition and placed that in my briefcase. It had in it the five million dollars or so of cheques from the casino evening on the Friday night.
Jacqui had put on the outfit she had bought the previous Friday. The skirt was shorter and tighter than I had realised. I questioned if it did not stop her from moving fast if we had to run. “Not at all.” She had replied. “If necessary I’ll just pull it up around my waist. I am wearing panties and tights you know. The shoes are a bigger worry. I can hardly run in these heels and it can be painful without shoes. But we’ll have to see what happens.”
We got the car and drove to the bank. There Jacqui got into the driving seat and I sat next to her. It was five to nine. The roads were quite empty. There were few people around. I could see nothing that appeared suspicious. Jacqui did a check as well and agreed with me. There appeared to be nothing dangerous on the horizon.
At nine o’ clock precisely the phone rang. It was Yussef, Ali’s son. Jacqui gave him directions and told him that he was to get into the passenger seat in the front and to try no tricks. As a precaution, she also had come armed and now she took her gun out of her bag. She held it with the bag covering it from any curious passer by. She would frisk Yussef when he got into the car.
I stepped out of the car and headed briskly into the bank. The staff welcomed me as an old friend. I suppose that I had been to the bank quite a few times now in the past week or so. I headed down to the vault, and removed the container from my box. I counted carefully out one thousand wads of notes. Fifty million dollars in total. They fitted neatly into my case. In fact it was not that large although large enough to attract attention.
I once again went through the ritual of replacing the container in my safe deposit box. I was offered assistance to carry the case but declined. It actually was not as heavy as I had expected. I told the staff that I had come to pick up different papers that I would need this week for business purposes. I was only using the suitcase as I would be storing them at a friend’s. He was lending me some space in his office.
I walked out of the bank and blinked in the morning light. It was a sunny day. There was a chill in the air. Autumn was now well established and soon we would be in the middle of a cold wet Mediterranean winter. I was glad we were planning to be away. A seaside resort in the rain, even a large one like Nice or Cannes, has no charm at all.
I again looked around the half empty streets. There was no sign of trouble. Jacqui had pulled up in front of the bank and a younger version of Ali was seated in the front seat. I walked briskly down the steps and into the back of the car. I put the suitcase on the seat beside me.
“Head out to the motorway. The sooner we are there the safer I will feel. In town it is easier to stop the car. Put on the central locking.”
Jacqui obeyed and drove off. I
looked at the Arab. “I’m Charles,” I said. “You must be Yussef. Sit still. Make no sudden moves. Pray that nobody tries to stop us. Hope that we are not being double-crossed. My philosophy is simple. With fifty million dollars in a case next to me, I will shoot to kill if there is the slightest shred of doubt about you in my mind.”
That pretty well put a stop to any social chitchat. Yussef looked straight in front. He hardly dared to shift a finger. I looked him over. I suspected he was harmless. He appeared to have the same build as his father. He had no beard but a moustache that filled his upper lip in an untidy fashion. He had longish hair, part way over his ears and collar. I then realised that he stank. Not a dirty smell, but the result of an overzealous use of strong after-shave or toilet water. It filled the car with its pungent odour. It drowned the delicate smell of Jacqui’s perfume. She used one called “Mille” by Patou. They say it’s the most expensive perfume in the world. It smelt amazing, of jasmine. His reminded me of over-perfumed toilet cleaner rather than a scent. But I realised I had to bear it till we were on the motorway. I was not going to take the risk of an open window.
We drew onto the motorway. It was nine thirty. We had plenty of time. Jacqui drove at a steady one hundred and twenty or forty kilometres. The roads were quiet. There were enough cars to give me comfort. These days drivers have mobiles and anyone attacking us on the motorway would find it difficult to get away. The police alerted by one or another of the passing cars would catch them at the exit tolls.
We swept past Antibes and then through Nice, passing close to the airport where I had landed not that long ago. I kept a watch on the cars behind us. Occasionally one would come close to us, but then they would either overtake or drop back. If they dropped back, I instructed Jacqui to step on it to see if they followed. None did.
We only stopped to pay the tolls but hardly needed to slow down. Jacqui had pre-prepared the change and the traffic caused no queues at the booths. We approached the Monte Carlo turn-off.