Purely by Accident

by Jim Beegle

  “But if he destroyed all the records, then how did you know how much he took?” Mark asked now with a renewed interest in the total amount claimed to have been taken.

  “After the bank examiners and Mr. Ketchem, the President of Southwest at the time, got through going over what records they did have, Mr. Ketchem concluded that fifteen million dollars was missing.”

  “Didn’t the bank in Bahrain have a record of how much money was deposited there?”

  “I am sure they did, but they weren’t about to tell us without major diplomatic appeals from the United States. Fifteen million dollars to these guys is just one day’s worth of interest. You see, one of the things that everyone likes about banking in Bahrain is these guys know how to keep a secret. They actually have laws on their books that keep them from revealing much information about the accounts in their bank or the people who hold those accounts. For the most part, only companies and not individuals are allowed to hold accounts there anyway.”

  “How did this guy, David Cameron you said his name was,” Marin nodded while she drank from her beer, “get around that?” Mark asked.

  “He didn’t.” Mark looked at her with amusement. “One thing became obvious during the investigation; he did not do this on the spur of the moment, at least not from what I can tell. He had opened a corporate account at Al-Ahi sometime before the heist. There were some records, on this end, of money moving out of Southwest and into the Al-Ahi Bank and back several times. The amounts were always the same coming and going, and it did not appear to be gone more than forty-eight hours. At some point Mr. Cameron must have opened a corporate account or, more likely, he had Southwest transfer funds from Houston to Bahrain in order to open an account. All of this could be done by wire and telephone without someone actually having to go to Bahrain. You have to remember that this was in the middle of the good ole’ oil days. There was a ton of money moving back and forth between the United States and the Middle East. Especially from the center of the United States oil empire, Houston, to the banking center for OPEC, Bahrain. Fifteen million dollars was a small amount of money, compared to all the funds that were being moved. And if the paperwork or, in this case, the wire transfer, was in order there was no reason for anyone to ask questions.”

  “What happened after it got to Bahrain?” Mark queried.

  “It stayed there for less than twelve hours. From Al-Ahi, it was tracked to a bank in Panama, a branch of a bank in Cardiff. It stayed in Panama for about eight hours and then it was moved, once again by way of a priority wire transfer, from the bank in Panama to Switzerland.”

  “What happened to it then?” Mark had forgotten that he knew anything about the money. He had become caught up in the story and Marin’s narrative. He picked up his bottle and began to take a drink from it when she answered his last question.

  “It vanished,” she said.

  “What?” Mark almost shouted, stopping the travel of the beer bottle just short of his mouth.

  “All trace of the money vanished. Along with, I might add, all traces of Mr. Cameron too.” Mark put his beer bottle back down on the table.

  “How did that happen?”

  As a reply, Marin just shrugged. “The Swiss are very funny about telling anyone anything about the money in their banks. During World War II, even the Nazis put their money in Swiss banks knowing that the rest of the world would pay hell to find it.” She picked up several papers from the table and looked at them. After a moment’s pause, she continued her story. “The best anyone can figure out is that he let the money sit there until the markets in Europe opened up on Monday. Monday was a holiday in the United States. Even though everyone was beginning to suspect that something was wrong, no one yet knew how much money if any had been taken. From here on out it is pretty much educated guesswork. It was guessed that Mr. Cameron took the money out of the bank or banks in Switzerland and purchased different investment instruments, like stocks and bonds, with the money. Only now there was no trace of Mr. Cameron anywhere to be found.”

  “How could that happen?”

  “Well,” Marin said taking her glasses off and looking at Mark, “this is the real sketchy part. Passport records show Mr. Cameron flying from Houston to Frankfort, in then-West Germany, on the Friday afternoon the computer system went down. That was easy enough for the FBI and the investigators that came later to track through airline passenger manifests and German customs when he entered their country. After he cleared customs in Frankfort, David Albert Cameron simply ceased to exist. It’s as if he walked off the plane, through customs, out of the airport, and into thin air. The prevailing wisdom at the time was that he must have changed his identity.” Marin stopped to take another drink from her beer. Mark did the same not because he was thirsty, but so he could buy time to think. Something was nagging at the back of his head and he wanted to stop and let it come forward. It only took a moment before he knew what it was.

  Cecil had said, in the letter he left for him in Nassau, that his last assignment in the Army had been at the Pentagon attached to military intelligence. More than likely with some interface with the Central Intelligence Agency, as well. It did not take a big leap in logic to understand that in that kind of job you would very easily come in contact with people who knew all kinds of people who could help you get lost if you really wanted to. A favor for an old army buddy, he thought. Mark finally admitted to himself, it wouldn’t have been all that hard.

  There were any number of so-called underground magazines, sold at the finer Army/Navy stores in Dallas that ran ads for people who would, for a few thousand dollars, teach you how to establish a new identity without too much trouble at all. Once again Mark’s mind went to the safety deposit box in the Bahamas and the documents, driver’s licenses, passport, and other things in the name of Cecil Lawrence.

  “How did he move the money from Bahrain to Panama and then to Switzerland. You said yourself that it was best if you were there to do it?”

  “Best, but not necessary. I am going to assume, because it makes the logic much easier, that he already had accounts set up in the banks in Panama and in Switzerland. The instructions on the wire to Al-Ahi could have authorized them to move the money from their bank to the Wales branch in Panama after twelve hours. At the same time he sent the wire to Al-Ahi he could have sent a similar wire to the bank in Panama instructing them to move the money to Switzerland on Monday. No matter that the full amount wasn’t in the account yet, just so long as it was there when the wiring instructions came through.”

  “Then how did he get the money out of the bank in Switzerland?” Mark asked.

  “Chances are he didn’t. All you need in Switzerland is the account number. As long as you know the number of the account the Swiss assume it is your money. It would have been an easy matter to buy stocks or other negotiable instruments on the DAX, you know, the Germany stock market. The broker would be instructed to draw however much money was needed for the purchase from the account in Switzerland to pay for the order. That way there would be no direct record tying whoever Mr. Cameron had become to the account in Switzerland. And that’s assuming that someone was to discover where the money had gone.”

  “What happened at the bank after it was determined that the money was really gone and could not be found?”

  “I suppose there was some kind of insurance. Everyone that works there has to be bonded and I am sure the bonding company paid something. The rest was just written off as a loss. You have to remember that these were the go-go times. Money was flowing into the bank from the oil boom faster than the directors could find ways to spend it. I doubt seriously it was even a blip on the annual earnings for that year.” Marin waited after she finished her explanation to see if Mark had any new questions.

  What Mark really had, he finally admitted to himself, was an ever-growing admiration, although grudgingly, for the talents and meticulous nature of his departed friend. Along with this discovery was a decision that w
hat he really needed at that moment was another beer. He got up quickly from the table to immediately find that the first beer had gone straight to his head. He stood there waiting to regain his insecure balance and tried to remember when the last time was that he had anything to eat. As if signaled from his brain that he was considering food, his stomach informed him that it had been quite a long while.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked turning to Marin. Marin was too startled in the quick change in directions of the conversation to lie.

  “Yes, I am, as a matter of fact.” She almost blurted out.

  “Me, too.” He said looking at her. “Would you care to join me for dinner?” She thought this over for a moment.

  “I really don’t want to be a bother,” she said, getting up from her chair. “I really should be going back anyway.”

  “Oh no, I can’t let you go without at least offering you something to eat.” Mark walked around to where Marin had stood. “By the way, before I forget, thanks for doing all this for me,” he said, pointing to the paper scattered at the end of the table. Marin actually blushed. She was used to doing these kinds of things for the people she worked for day in and day out. She was not used to being thanked for her efforts. Through her embarrassment, she decided she liked the feeling.

  “Oh, it was no problem. I was glad to help.” She said regaining some composure.

  Mark looked at her for a moment and then thoughtfully, almost to himself, he said, “You have no idea just how helpful you have been.” Then he looked at her again as if to say something else but couldn’t think of anything. There was an awkward moment. Mark wanted to do something to indicate how grateful he was. Shaking hands seemed too cold and impersonal. Marin looked at him as if she realized the thoughts going through his mind. He opened his arms and stepped closer to her. At first, she thought he was motioning for her to move. But that was just for an instant before she realized just what he was attempting to do. She did not move but let her arms fall to her sides and accepted Mark’s embrace.

  “Thanks,” he said hugging her. She recovered from her confusion at his intentions and put her arms around him, returning the hug.

  “Any time,” was all she could say. The embrace was over almost as fast as it had started. When it broke up Mark stepped back and looked at her. “Where are we going to go?” she asked. He thought for a quick moment and then smiled with a very broad grin.

  “Just the finest place in these parts of Texas.”

  “Is it far from here?” she asked.

  “Oh no, real close.” He paused for effect. “You’re standing in it.”

  “What?” she said.

  “I was planning on cooking for us here,” he said. She thought about that for a moment. The prospect of not having to leave the warmth of the house and the idea of sampling some more of Mark’s cooking was very pleasant.

  “Only on two conditions,” she told him, collecting the papers she had been using.

  “And what are conditions, my lady?” he bowed while continuing to smile.

  “The first is I get to help.”

  “And the other?”

  “We both get to eat inside this time.” Mark burst out laughing and nodded in agreement as he moved off into the business part of the kitchen.

  While Marin cut lettuce and tomatoes for a salad, Mark lit the oven. He then took two pieces of fish out of the freezer. He put each piece of fish in a boat of tinfoil, put a pat of butter on each, and sprinkled them both with dill weed he found in the cupboard. When she had two salads done, Marin helped Mark clean and peel potatoes and then set them to boil. As the potatoes neared being done he sealed the tin foil and slid the boats onto a cookie sheet and into the oven. Within fifteen minutes they both pronounced dinner ready. Mark held a chair for Marin, then rounded the table to seat himself. Before he himself sat, he stood and looked down at the table thinking.

  “Is anything wrong?” Marin asked.

  “I don’t think so,” but she could tell by the way he said it that something was. He snapped his fingers, “I know, the wine.” And with that, he disappeared through a door that led from the kitchen to the basement. He reappeared a moment later with a full bottle of wine in each hand.

  “You have a wine cellar?” Marin asked as he came back into the kitchen.

  “Oh, no. I just keep this stuff down there in boxes. There’s no room for it up here. The only thing down there is a few boxes of this stuff and the cable and phone hook-ups.”

  “Is it cold enough?”

  “Let me tell you, if it weren’t for the alcohol content it would be ice now. It is plenty cold down there now. In fact …” Mark put the bottles down on the table and went to the door that led from the kitchen out to the back of the house. He turned out the light in the room and peered through the glass window in the door. He turned it back on and walked back to the table. “Just as I thought, it’s snowing.” Marin got up and went to the lookout. A light snow of small wispy flakes was slowly falling. It was not sticking on the ground, but there was a light dusting on her car and the top of the rail that formed the corral. She came back and took her seat at the table. Mark opened a bottle of wine, took glasses from the cupboard, and poured one for each of them. They both must have been hungry because they ate with little conversation passing between them for twenty minutes. Once they had eaten their fill and over a second glass of wine, they began to talk.

  This time the conversation moved away from stolen money and foreign banks and hovered closer to home. Marin told Mark about living in Houston, of her children and their successes. She talked for some time about her life in Houston. Mark guessed the recollections were triggered by the research she had been doing for him.

  She had lived in Dallas for a while now, but work and other things associated with providing a roof over her head and meals for herself seemed to get in the way of much else. Mark was again surprised with the change that had come over her since she had arrived at the ranch. She was talking without prompting and not apologizing for every misstep she thought she made.

  Mark emptied the wine bottle by pouring a third glass for each of them. Then he began to tell her of things in his recent past. He told her about Micronix and DECCO. He told her about the project he was working on for them. He also told her of the progress on the ranch since she was last there and all the grand plans he still harbored for working on it and fixing it up. She seemed to enjoy hearing about the remodeling that he had already done and the plans he had for the future. The one subject that both had in common was the one subject that neither of them mentioned the whole time: Amy. The first bottle was emptied and the second opened as the conversation continued. The conversation flowed back and forth and Mark could not help but draw comparisons between this one and the many that Cecil and he had had sitting at the same table. Mark fought the urge to ask Marin if she knew how to play chess. When the second bottle was empty, Mark made tea in an old kettle on the stove. They drank it while clearing off the dishes from the table. When this was done Marin looked at her watch. Reflexively, Mark did the same. It was almost ten o’clock.

  “Oh God, I had better head back. I didn’t realize it was this late. You must be tired from listening to me.”

  “Not at all,” Mark said and he meant it. “I have enjoyed it very much.” Marin did not reply in words but blushed deeply.

  “You are a good cook, sir,” she said, walking into the living room to get her coat. This time it was Mark’s turn to blush

  “Thank you ma’am; you are good company.” Marin returned to the kitchen pulling on her coat. Mark walked with her to the door intending to go out to her car with her. When he opened the door it was obvious that the snow had continued to fall but not much faster than they had seen it earlier. The ground was covered with a thin coat of white. Marin fished in her purse for her keys. Instead of finding them in her hand they fell out on to the floor. She bent over to pick them up and when she stood back up she lost her balance for a
moment. Mark grabbed her to keep her from falling. “You all right?” he asked. She laughed.

  “Fine, just a little dizzy from the wine I guess.” Mark looked at her for a minute and then looked outside again. He stood there holding on to Marin’s arm and thinking. Finally, he came to a decision and closed the door.

  “Look, I can’t let you go out there. These roads are hard enough to travel when it’s daylight, dry, and when you are stone cold sober. Why don’t you stay here tonight? I have plenty of room.” Marin was taken aback by his offer.

  “I can’t do that. I‘ll be fine, honest. I’ll stop and get some coffee and I will be fine. I’ll drive slow.” Mark just shook his head.

  “No, Marin. I would feel awful if something were to happen to you. I have a spare room that isn’t being used. It is no trouble. Please, don’t go out there tonight. You can take off in the morning.” Then he added, “I would be honored if you would stay.” Marin stood thinking over Mark’s invitation. The idea of driving three hours just to get home at one o’clock in the morning to sleep in her own bed did not have as much appeal as it had several minutes ago. She thought it over for another minute.

  “Are you sure it wouldn’t be any trouble for you?” she asked.

  “Not in the least,” he assured her. In a positive answer to his invitation, she took off her coat again.

  Mark put her coat back where it had been most of the evening. He led her upstairs and into the middle bedroom. The bed was made already, but Mark pulled a big quilt out of the closet and put it on the foot. Next, he lit the heater in the room and showed Marin how to adjust the flame if she wished to change it. He walked her back out of the room and into the hallway that overlooked the living room. He showed her the bathroom and told her that he had one off his bedroom so, for the duration of her visit, this one would be hers. They returned to her assigned room and Mark checked the heater. He turned and looked at her for a long moment. She was puzzled by his stare.