“James, what I do know is that 500 million dollars is a great deal of money that can buy a great many things, including, perhaps, proof that your Mr. Winnfield has been in the hospital and that you were in Miami. You see my dilemma, I’m sure. And please believe me, I have no desire to threaten you, only to tell you the reality of your situation – and mine – should you persist with this. This will put us both in untenable positions from which you certainly – and perhaps I - will not survive. You should be frightened.”
There was a pause of voices on the line. Then Whitmore’s voice, lower, seemingly farther away, as if he was already trying to distance himself from this developing nightmare. “I do not know what else to tell you, Manuel. I have already told you the truth. I would like to think that you honestly do not believe me, that I can hear that doubt in your voice. But honestly, I’m not certain. Perhaps you have stolen the money yourself and are trying to convince your violent clients that I am to blame. I will say it one more time. Please listen carefully to my voice, Manuel: it was not I who stole your clients’ money. It was not me!”
The Mexican banker’s response was short and clear. “I do not believe you, James. I would like to, but I cannot. It was you that I spoke to and saw. It could have been no one else.”
“I see.” Whitmore’s voice was now matter-of-fact – all emotion removed. I liked that. “I will take the necessary measures, both with the police and privately, to protect myself and my employees.”
Ramirez’s voice was equally without emotion. “And your families – all of them, wherever they are. That would be wise, James. The money will buy you plenty of protection, but sadly, I don’t think it will be enough.”
Ramirez closed the connection.
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9:05 AM. Ramirez was again sitting in Soares’ office. The two old friends sat on the overstuffed sofa, facing each other. Maria had earlier delivered a silver tray bearing coffee and water. The Device gave me a view of the two men from a position above and behind Soares’ desk. I watched them both clearly.
Soares had just taken a pair of reading glasses from his face, briefly rubbed his eyes and looked up at his banker. His face did not portray happiness. “Who else knows of this?”
“No one, Gomez. No one.”
“And you, my old friend, are absolutely certain that it was this Mr. James Whitmore with whom you were dealing and not someone else – an imposter?”
“I am certain. I have dealt with him many, many times in the past, both over the phone and personally. I have visited his office on three or four occasions. I know his voice, I know him, I know what his office looks like. It was him. It had to be him!”
“And his assistant, the one who came and met with you to discuss and arrange the details of the investments?”
“Whitmore says that this man was an imposter. But even if it was not the real Winnfield, Whitmore could easily have sent the imposter – another employee, perhaps, someone well versed in the subject matter. The man did know what he was doing, he was very impressive, and he did have that marvelous briefcase. It did work. The money was transferred out of my bank in the manner he and I discussed.”
Soares sat there looking closely at his old friend. He moved his gaze away briefly, then back. “Yes, precisely – in the manner you and he discussed. Large amounts of money can cause people to do odd things. It would seem that this has happened to your Mr. Whitmore. The very large amount of my money has apparently caused him to believe that he can evade my attentions, those of a man who you described to him as ‘brutal when needed.’ Did I get those words correct, Manuel?”
“Yes, Gomez, that is how I described my ‘clients’ to him.”
“I can believe that. Yes, I can. And your staff saw Mr. Whitmore’s assistant when he visited your office on two occasions. Your bank’s security cameras will show him to us. So we have that evidence. But we have no evidence – other than your word, my old friend – of the marvelous operation of that wondrous briefcase.”
Ramirez sat up a little straighter on the sofa. He tilted his head to the right side. “I do not understand, Gomez. What are you suggesting?”
“I am suggesting nothing, Manuel. I am, however, wondering if, after all these years, a very large sum of money has caused you to do something odd. You see my dilemma, I’m sure.”
The Mexican banker sat forward on the sofa, looked into the distance, and then directly at Soares. His voice was louder. “I would never steal from you, Gomez. I would never betray you! Besides my friendship for you – like a brother – it would be idiocy!”
Soares’ voice was softer. “Yes, it would be. But you see, I have no hard proof, my old friend, and you are the one telling me that I am missing a very large sum of money. It is not your banking friend in the Bahamas who is telling us this. It is you telling me. I love you like a brother, Manuel. But certainly you see the puzzle here for me.”
Ramirez raised his voice, his speech quicker. “You must believe me, Gomez. What must I do to convince you?”
Soares looked hard at his friend and leaned toward him. He put his hand on Ramirez’s upper left arm. He spoke slowly. “Work with Mendoza; provide him as much information as possible to prove to me that this was the work solely of Whitmore and the man he sent to see you with the wondrous briefcase.” He paused, but kept his gaze on his childhood friend. “If you cannot do this, you will oblige me to have another type of conversation with you, one that Mendoza will conduct on my behalf. I am sorry, my old friend, but there is a great deal of my money involved here. These are the stakes that you are playing with here. But Manuel, you have always known this. I would be very happy if you are successful in proving your innocence. You know that, as well.”
As Soares let go of the Mexican banker’s arm and sat back into the sofa, his personal smartphone rang. He reached into his pocket, took it out and looked at its display. His expression changed. It showed surprise. He looked quickly at Ramirez, then back down at the smartphone display. As he sat forward in the sofa, he said softly, “An unknown number – very odd.”
Soares pushed the button to accept the incoming call and put the device to his right ear. “Who is this?”
Soares heard a male voice, speaking in fluent Spanish. “This is Mr. Winnfield. I never had the pleasure of meeting you. But I did work with your banker, Mr. Ramirez, to arrange very sizeable investments in the United States defense industries. I’m the person who stole your money.”
Soares lowered the smartphone, covering it with his two hands and said to Ramirez, “He says he is Winnfield.”
Ramirez immediately sat forward in his seat, a look of astonishment on his face. “Put it on speaker, Gomez, so I can hear his voice.”
Soares pushed another button on his cell phone and placed it on the table in front of him. “What do you want?”
“Soares has activated his cell phone’s external speaker.”
“To give you some of your money back – a good bit of it.”
“Why would you do that?”
“You are a powerful man, Mr. Soares. I suspect that eventually, you might find me. And in any case, I don’t like the idea of having to look over my shoulder for the rest of my life, even with all the protection your money would buy me.”
Soares again covered the cell phone with both his hands and addressed Ramirez. “Is that the man’s voice?”
“Yes, it sounds like him,” Ramirez whispered.
Soares looked at Ramirez and held his gaze as he spoke toward the cell phone. “I have Manuel Ramirez with me now. He was just informing me that my money is missing and he insists that he has nothing to do with it. That it was only you and Mr. Whitmore who have acted against me. What do you say to that?”
“Mr. Ramirez had nothing to do with my action against you. He was duped into believing that he was dealing with Mr. Whitmore’s agency, that I was the real Mr. Winnfield. Mr. Whitmore and the real Mr. Winnfield know nothin
g of my actions nor the whereabouts of your 500 million US dollars. Mr. Winnfield has been in the hospital for two days in the Florida Keys for appendicitis. You can check this for yourself, of course. Mr. Whitmore and Mr. Winnfield are simply unfortunate and unwitting players in a sting of which you are the target. There is nothing for you to hold against any of these men. Just me.”
Ramirez’s eyes opened wide as he spread his arms, extended both hands toward the cell phone and softly said, “You see!”
“But, Mr. Ramirez tells me that he spoke with and saw this Whitmore in his own office in the Bahamas. That Whitmore recognized both of you. He is absolutely certain of that. Now you tell me that Whitmore - and this other man, the real Winnfield - were not involved whatsoever.” He looked back to the Mexican banker. “How could Ramirez be wrong about these things? He was involved firsthand.”
“I told you – he was duped.”
“How can you dupe someone of Mr. Ramirez’s intelligence in this manner in front of his very eyes?”
“By being more intelligent, Mr. Soares.”
A pause.
“And why should I believe your story?”
“Because it is the truth and as proof of that I offer to return half of your money. In return, I ask only that you take no action against Mr. Whitmore, Mr. Winnfield or myself.”
“Now you would have me believe that you are acting out of concern for the welfare of these men and not simply concern for your own wellbeing. You are changing your story.”
“No, I am simply sharing more of it with you as we talk.”
Soares paused again, looking at Ramirez, then spoke again into the phone. “So you will return half of my own money to me and in exchange I will not harm Mr. Whitmore or Mr. Winnfield, nor seek to find and punish you. Is that correct?”
“Precisely, Mr. Soares.”
“And why should I agree to this offer to return to me only half of my own money?”
“Because, Mr. Soares, if you do not, you will get none of it back and I will accept the risk of remaining in hiding from you for the rest of my life. I realize that you will never stop trying to find me and I would prefer to avoid that, if possible. As for Mr. Whitmore and Mr. Winnfield – and Mr. Ramirez, for that matter - I simply do not wish innocent people to be hurt because of my actions. I have some morals.”
“But not as it applies to my money.”
“It is only money, Mr. Soares. Drug money. Extortion money. Blood money. You will make much more of it in the future. It is in your nature.”
“But it is my money!” Soares yelled into the cell phone, his face red with anger. Ramirez jumped in his seat.
“Not any longer, Mr. Soares.”
“Who are you?!”
“I am the person offering half of your money back to you.” There was a pause on the line. “And think carefully, Mr. Soares. I believe with all of the attention you are about to receive from the Mexican government, you might have use for half of your money – it is still a very great deal of money – to buy what you will need to survive the coming storm.”
Soares looked at his smartphone and pushed one of its buttons. He picked up the smartphone, looked away from Ramirez and spoke more quietly. “What are you talking about?”
“The external speaker has been deactivated.”
“Your little adventure with the terrorists from the East. I admire your vision and planning. Very nearly worked. But apparently you lost your military toy, many of your men, and your friends from the East. How did that happen to a man of your influence, resourcefulness and intelligence?”
“I ask you again: what are you talking about?”
“Your communications security is alarmingly vulnerable, Mr. Soares. My telephone call to you now is evidence of that. How many people have access to your private cell phone number? How many times has your phone’s display shown ‘unknown number’? I have on record all of your telephone conversations with Miguel and your other men and with the leader of the men from the East, from the time they arrived in Mexico; your discussions with them while they watched over your military toy in downtown Mexico City; your discussions with Mendoza to receive information about the identity of the bodies at the Central Hospital; and your discussions with your sources in the government about what happened in that downtown building. You really should hire more competent communications security people, Mr. Soares. How else could I have found out about your investment plan and the reason for it? That is what I am talking about.”
“If my communications security is that bad, then I should hang up now.”
“If you do that, Mr. Soares, you will never hear from me again. I will send copies of the recordings to the governments of Mexico and the United States. They will do voice matches. There is enough circumstantial information for them to press you very hard and even, perhaps, throw you in a dark hole in some Mexican prison. Given their interest in slowing down the movement of drugs across the border and in stopping your growing power, I think both governments would be eager to try. What do you think, Mr. Soares?”
Silence.
“On the other hand, we could continue our talk,” the voice said. “I guarantee the security of this discussion.”
“How can I know that?”
“Mr. Soares, if I know about your little terrorist adventure, your investment plan and can steal 500 million dollars from you in broad daylight in front of your personal banker and reach you on your private cell phone, then perhaps I can do what I am saying. Don’t you think that is at least a possibility you should seriously consider?”
Soares took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a few moments, opened them, then spoke again. “I don’t know who you are. I don’t know that you have my money. I don’t know that you have recordings of the conversations you spoke of. I don’t know that you will not send the supposed recordings to the governments, even should I agree to whatever it is that you really want.”
“The most important issues, Mr. Soares, are whether you want half of your 500 million dollars and whether you want the recordings not to find their way into government hands. Presuming the answers are yes, how can I resolve your doubts?”
Soares stood and began pacing about the room. “First, I want to meet you with Mr. Ramirez present to assure myself that you are who you say. Second, I want proof that you have my money. Third, I want proof of the recordings and copies of all of them. And fourth, I want some guarantee that you will not forward the recordings after the fact.”
“And if I agree to your terms, you will leave me alone – and Mr. Ramirez, Mr. Whitmore and Mr. Winnfield?”
Soares stopped pacing, turned and looked at Ramirez. “Yes, I will do that. But tell me, what type of guarantee can you provide about keeping the recordings to ourselves?”
Silence.
“Hello? Are you still there?”
Silence.
Hello!”
“My apologies, Mr. Soares. I was considering your question. I will provide you another recording, this one video and audio, that has me stating that the other recordings are fabrications, initially made to attempt to blackmail you. I will make that recording in your presence. That’s the best I can do.”
“And what is to prevent me from simply kidnapping you and getting the information I need from you to recover all of my money?”
“Nothing. But, should that happen, a copy of the recordings will automatically make its way to the governments of Mexico and the United States, including one of this discussion.”
“Something of a stalemate, then.”
“Not really, Mr. Soares. We need simply exercise a bit of faith that we both want what we say we want. You – your vast amount of money and your position. Me – a rich life free from worry.”
“I want the meeting to take place in my office.”
“No, I think not, Mr. Soares. Somehow I imagine that you would be too tempted to break your word and I would never leave. I will meet you in a public place.”
“I must insist on this po
int.”
“Do you want your money and your future, Mr. Soares? Just a bit of faith, please.”
Soares stopped walking. “Where?”
“In the Jardin del Arte. Southwest corner of the park in one hour.”
“Agreed. I must meet you – a man who intends to do this to me.”
Soares pushed a button on his smartphone. The line went dead. He threw the phone into the cushions of the sofa. He bent over and pushed the white call button on the glass-topped coffee table, then just stood there looking down at it. A few moments later, a knock on the door and then Maria appeared. Soares lifted his head and turned toward the opened door. “Tell Mendoza to come here - now!”
A look of concern appeared in Maria’s eyes. “Yes, Senor. Immediately.” She rushed out, closing the door again.
Soares turned to look at his old childhood friend, still sitting on the sofa. Ramirez looked uncertain and frightened. “We’re going to meet this bastard. You are coming along to identify him to me. I want you to tell me that this is the man to whom you gave my money. He thinks he can outsmart me with promises and giving back to me half of my own money.” His voice was rising now. “I am going to take him and torture him. I will find out what is really going on here! I will tear him apart if I have to!”
At that moment, Mendoza knocked and entered the room. Soares turned to him. “We are going to the Jardin del Arte, the southwest corner, to meet a man. He may bring his own protection. If he does, I want them neutralized and him taken. Bring plenty of men. Mr. Ramirez is coming with us to identify this man. I will explain more in the car.”
Soares strode off toward the office door. “No one does this to me!”
The fly followed.
Chapter 17 - Ending
The projectile rounded the last structure, corrected its course, and continued toward its target, now less than five kilometers away. Its speed increased. I watched the projectile from my vantage point 300 meters north-northwest of where the target and the projectile were intended to meet.
I was nowhere near the Jardin del Arte and had no intention of meeting with Soares and his henchmen. I never had. What I had needed was to get Soares into the open, where the projectile could do its work. Everyone has a chink in their armor and Soares’ ego was his. It was his ego that gave him the little bit of faith to believe that what I wanted was a rich life with his money, free from worry. It was his ego that drove him to want to personally confront an individual who had stolen immense wealth from him and then insulted him by offering to give half of it back – an individual who had the gall to threaten his future, his place in the world. It was his ego that was driving him now to move down through the building with Ramirez, Mendoza and his personal bodyguards toward his waiting car to go and soothe it.
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