Purely by Accident

by Jim Beegle

  He spoke to Mark as he pulled Amy back away from her husband. “It was a matter of prudence actually. If Amy didn’t leave with you or failed to show up later, when she was supposed to, you would have concluded that she had been the victim of foul play. You would have had no other option than to go to the police and tell them the whole sordid story. We would have been well away by that time, but as long as the authorities considered her a victim of a crime instead of an accomplice in one ….” He paused and thought for a second, “Well, you know.”

  Mark considered this for a few seconds. “Yeah, I can see that.” Hamilton smiled and bowed to Mark as if he had just earned a point in a debate. “So,” Mark continued, “can I assume I’m right in thinking that you never contacted the FBI over any of this?”

  “Correct,” Hamilton said. “As far as I know the statute of limitations ran out on this thing a long time ago. I can’t speak for any international laws that were broken; but as far as the U.S. is concerned, I’m pretty sure this thing is off the books.” While he talked he unzipped the bag and took out a leather-looking pouch and rope. He gave the rope to Amy and nodded in Mark’s direction. “Actually,” he continued as Amy made her way to the where Mark sat on the bed, “we never even tried to find out. We planned on letting everyone think the money was still long gone and spent. We started planning to discover where the money was the minute Amy showed me out of your house last week.” He stopped what he was doing and looked up thoughtfully.

  “The kidnapping, as it were, was not in the original plan. We were quite willing to take our time and gather information on the whereabouts of the money. Amy was sure you had the information locked away on one of your computers. She says you keep everything there. It was just a matter of finding it. She was also pretty sure that she could get you to tell her where it was, one way or another.”

  Hamilton smiled briefly and then continued, “But when you stumbled onto our surveillance and decided to go over my head at the bank, you greatly limited our options. You also put finding out where the money was located on the fast track, shall we say. We had to do anything we could to keep others from discovering that the money still existed. As long as you, Amy, and I were the only three who knew the robbery money still existed, time was on our side. Once that circle of knowledge expanded to anyone else, we would have been out of business.” He stopped fiddling with the leather case again while Amy motioned for Mark to lie back and extend his hands. “You know, she was very sure you would rise to our bait. She said you would never let anything happen to her if you could help it,” he told Mark with some level of admiration in his voice. Mark was not sure if it was meant for him or for Amy.

  Mark looked at Amy as she looped the rope around his left wrist several times and then tied it off to one of the bedposts. She threaded the other through the headboard of the bed. “I am glad I didn’t let her down then,” Mark said. Amy hesitated for just an instant before continuing to loop the unused part of the rope back down to his arms. Hamilton noticed she didn’t look down at Mark.

  “Anything else you are just dying to know?” Hamilton asked from the other side of the bar. Amy had succeeded in getting Mark’s other wrist secured in the coils and knots of the rope to the point that Mark could no longer sit up enough to see what was going on in the rest of the room.

  “Just one more thing,” he said lowering his voice so only Amy, who was now getting up off the bed, could hear him. “Did you mean what you said at Fresco’s Sunday night?” he asked, keeping his voice flat. “Would you have run with the money and with me or was that just part of the act too?” Mostly as a reflex caused by his question, Amy looked down at him. Her face colored from a rush of blood and her eyes, for one brief second, looked at him with confusion and then flashed with an emotion that was a cross between regret and hurt.

  “What was that? I didn’t hear you.” Hamilton asked, coming from around the bar and toward the bed.

  “Nothing,” Mark told him, looking back at Amy and holding her in his gaze. “I found out what I wanted to know.” Moving into his limited range of vision, Mark saw Hamilton insert a hypodermic needle into a rubber topped vial of clear liquid. He tipped the combination upside down so it appeared as if the bottle had been skewered.

  “This,” Hamilton said, answering the question that had come into Mark’s eyes, “is pentothal, a drug that is most commonly used to induce deep sleep. I am going to inject you with this and then Amy and I am going to wait until you go to sleep. Once you are out, we’re going to make a quick trip to your local bank,” he smiled pleased with his own humor, “and make sure everything is just as you have told us.”

  “It is,” Mark said. “The money’s there.”

  “I’m sure it is,” the banker said, still looking at the bottle of clear liquid. “But, just to be on the safe side, we’re going to go see. If it is, then we plan on moving it right away. I’m sure you can see the logic in that?” Mark nodded his head within the limited range that his bonds allowed. “If the money is not there …” Hamilton continued looking at Mark while he spoke, “I have other things in the bag over there that will ensure we find it. One way or another you’ll tell me where the money is. If we have to come back for a second round, sleeping will be the least of your worries. You’ll be so afraid of the ten-foot spiders that come as an added side-effect to my finding out what I want to know, that you won’t be able to close your eyes and sleep for a long time.” Hamilton withdrew the vial, but kept the needle upright in the air. He pushed up on the plunger until some of the liquid squirted out the top of the needle. He flicked the needle portion of the hypodermic device and squirted a little more out the top. Satisfied that the contraption was free of air bubbles, Hamilton continued his narrative.

  “Once we have completed the transfer, Mrs. Vogel and I will be gone. Never to bother you again,” Hamilton said, moving toward Mark.

  “Is that because I don’t ever wake up?” Mark asked. His voice had lost its even tone, betraying his very real fear.

  Hamilton stopped his movement toward where Mark lay and looked genuinely concerned. “Mr. Vogel, what do you take your wife and me for? Common murderers?”

  “Oh, not at all,” Mark said. The sarcasm obvious in his voice, “just common liars and thieves.”

  Hamilton smiled at him. Nothing was going to ruin the mood that the promise of fifty million dollars had created. “Let me assure you that you will wake up. It will be sometime tomorrow. Not before the maid comes to clean the room, finds you here, and calls the hotel doctor; but you will wake up. You won’t feel so good for a while, but you’ll be very much alive.”

  While he talked Hamilton had sat down on the edge of the bed. When he finished speaking Mark began to say something else but was interrupted by a sharp sting in his right arm.

  “Ouch!”

  “Sorry. It’s over now,” Hamilton said, withdrawing the needle from Mark’s arm and bringing it back into his limited field of view.

  Mark looked up at his wife. She had been shifting her gaze between the two men throughout their last conversation. Now she turned her full attention to Mark as he lay there, returning her gaze. He thought about saying something to her; however, by the time the decision to speak had been fully formed in his head and transmitted to his mouth, the sodium pentobarbital had taken away his ability. He noticed he was having a hard time keeping his wife in focus. He saw her mouth move and he knew that she was still looking at him but speaking to Hamilton. The words arrived in his head long after she stopped speaking. He thought she said, “I think he’s under now.” But he was too tired to try to make it out. He closed his eyes. At the same time, his breathing slowed and swallowed.

  “Yep, he’s out.” Hamilton said to her, watching Mark’s chest rise and fall with his breathing. “We’ll give it a few more minutes, but I ‘m sure he won’t be doing anything but sleeping until long after we’re in Europe. Before we leave you’ll stop at the front desk and tell them that your husband ha
s taken ill and the doctor has ordered that he stay in bed and get some rest. In order to help him out, you will request that they not service the room tomorrow. That will give us until late Friday at the very least. By the time they get him to come around in any condition to tell them anything, Amy Vogel and Hamilton Hunte will no longer exist.”

  “Instead,” Amy said, taking up the story with a smile on her face and in her voice, “Mr. and Mrs. Hurst from San Diego, California, will be enjoying their new villa in the south of France.”

  “Exactly,” Hamilton told her with a laugh. Then he stood up.

  Amy started busying herself with the task of collecting and stowing all the stuff they had used over the last few hours. While Amy worked Hamilton pried open one of Mark’s eyes and studied the pupil. Satisfied that he was completely under the influence of the drug, Hamilton untied the ropes and tossed them to Amy, who put them back in the nylon bag. He rolled Mark to one side of the bed and removed his shoes. While he did this, Amy turned down the side of the bed her unconscious husband had just vacated. With the shoes removed Hamilton rolled Mark back to his previous spot and Amy covered him up. For all intents and purpose, it looked as if Mark was naturally sound asleep.

  Amy left through the other room, closing the connecting door. As soon as it was shut Hamilton did the same thing on his side, picked up the nylon bag, and left the room. He rejoined Amy in the hall. Her hand in his, they walked to the elevator bank and rode down to the lobby. They carried nothing but the nylon bag. They had stayed the night before in the Crystal Palace Resort, renting the rooms at the Atlantis only for the purpose of meeting Mark. What other things they had left Dallas with were waiting in their rental car.

  Hamilton drove to the bank while Amy, in the seat beside him, notarized and backdated the partnership agreement. They could have gone to France first and arranged to have the money wired from there. It would be safer for them from that standpoint. But the thought of making the long flight to Europe without knowing if the money would still be there when they arrived was enough for them to have devised this plan. Getting the information from Mark, initiating the wire transfer from the bank here instead of from Europe, while having him handy in case everything did not turn out as planned, seemed to be the best way of ensuring it all worked the way they wanted it to. If they sent the money under a priority transfer, they could complete the whole process in less than half an hour.

  They arrived in the lobby of the Commonwealth International Bank a little after two. Hamilton, still using his real name and passport, informed the lady at the front desk that he needed to place a priority wire from his account. The young woman picked up the phone on her desk and called for someone to assist them. A man in his late twenties or early thirties, who introduced himself simply as Matthew, appeared and ushered both Amy and Hamilton into a small conference room.

  He inquired as to their need for something to drink. They assured him they were fine and stressed that they needed to have their business conducted quickly as they had a flight to catch. Matthew took his cue and reached into the credenza behind where he sat and took a form from a drawer. He gave it to Hamilton, asking him to fill out each line on the paper. When that was done, Matthew informed them that it would be just a short wait to confirm the transfer.

  Hamilton had seen a good number of forms like this one in his career and was able to zip through it quickly. The only time he had to stop was to take the card with the account number on it and copy it. When he finished, he handed Matthew the form along with the partnership agreement. By showing the partnership agreement, Hamilton hoped to eliminate any delays before they had a chance to form.

  Matthew quickly scanned the form and pronounced it complete. He rose, took it and the partnership documents with him, and left the room. They sat in silence, neither moving nor talking for almost twenty minutes. Hamilton had become fidgety five minutes earlier and was about to go look for Matthew when the door to the small room opened. Instead of young Matthew, a much older man entered the room. He was carrying the documents that Matthew had left with several minutes ago.

  “My name is Jonus Roddy, Mr. …? “ Jonus looked down at the form in his hand. “Hunte. I am the president of this bank.” Hamilton got up and extended his hand.

  “Hamilton Hunte of Dallas, pleased to meet you. This is my assistant.” Hamilton said, not offering Amy’s name. “Is there some kind of problem? I wouldn’t think a simple wire transfer would involve the president of the bank.” Hamilton wasn’t alarmed, just annoyed at what appeared to be a delay.

  Jonus shook hands with Hamilton and nodded to Amy before he spoke again. “Please, please sit back down Mr. Hunte. Usually, it doesn’t. However, we have a small problem. I am sure it will only take a moment to clear it up.” While Hamilton sat, Mr. Roddy took the seat that Matthew had recently vacated. “I just want to make sure you understand our fees.”

  “Oh?” Hamilton shrugged. He knew enough about the business of how a bank earns it profits to understand that Amy’s and his newly gained fortune could take a hit of as much as one percent on the transfer, especially for a priority wire. “I was prepared for a charge to be leveled on the transaction. You can take the fee out of the account before you complete the transaction can’t you?”

  “Well,” Jonus began, a little embarrassed, “there is where we need to clear up things. You see, our fees for a priority wire transfer are twenty-five hundred American dollar or one percent of the amount being transferred, whichever is greater.”

  “So? I agree to your fee. What’s the problem? Do I need to sign something else?” Hamilton said, clearly annoyed at the increasing delay.

  “Well, the problem is, sir,” Jonus hesitated, referring to another paper in his hand. “I can’t very well take a charge of twenty-five hundred dollars against an account that only has a balance of fifteen hundred dollars now can I?”

  Several times during the short trip back to the Atlantis Hotel Hamilton had to remind Amy to calm down. So what? They should have expected that Mark would try to fool them after all that had happened over the last week. They would get the money, he assured her more than once as he drove, one way or another.

  When Mr. Roddy had told them about the account, Hamilton had sat in disbelief for several seconds before regaining his composure. He stated there must be some kind of mistake here and would Mr. Roddy mind showing him the transaction records for the account. The unspoken accusation was that the mistake, and Hamilton was sure there was one, had to have been on the bank’s part. Jonus had anticipated Hamilton’s request and produced a computer-generated report that showed the activity on the account for the last month.

  There it was. The statement showed the balance of almost eleven million dollars first thing yesterday morning, and then a steady stream of money from over twenty incoming wire deposits. Each deposit was annotated by the amount, and time it came into the account over a twelve-hour period that continued until almost midnight of the previous day. The balance at posting this morning had stood at $50,873,356. Over fifty million dollars, as Mark had said. The last entry in the record showed a withdrawal that had taken place at about the same time Mark had walked into room 913 at the Atlantis Hotel. At that time the entire balance, except for fifteen hundred dollars, had been moved out of the account.

  Hamilton recovered from his shock long enough to make up a story about how his partner must have given him the wrong account number. He then inquired as to how late the bank could process his request. Mr. Roddy told him they would be happy to accommodate any transfer right up until four o’clock and offered to allow Hamilton to use a phone to make the call.

  Hamilton hesitated, having to extemporize his stories on the fly now. No, he would need to go back to his room. This was a confidential matter and he would feel more comfortable talking to his partner there. He was sure Mr. Roddy understood.

  Mr. Roddy assured Hamilton that indeed he did and offered Hamilton one of his cards as he and Amy left the room. />
  It was almost four o’clock when Hamilton hurried to get in front of Amy as they moved down the ninth floor hallway of the Atlantis Hotel. She had continued to get madder and madder as they had driven from the bank. He was now worried that she would try to do real bodily harm to her husband. Not that he cared, and not that he did not have some of the same emotions, but no one could do anything to him until they knew the real location of the money.

  Hamilton swiped the key through the lock and leaned into the door. It didn’t open. He looked down to see the light flashing red at him. He swore and flipped the card over, swiping it again. This time the lock clicked and the panel flashed green. Hamilton burst into the room. Amy followed behind him so quickly that she ran into him when he pulled up abruptly halfway toward the bed. She regained her balance and looked around Hamilton toward the other side of the room.

  The coverings and pillows lay piled on the floor at the foot of the bed. The bed itself was totally and completely empty, not only of its bolsters but, of her husband as well.

  Mark was gone.

  Chapter Eleven

  Hamilton had been right about one thing. The after-effects of the pentothal made Mark feel awful. His head felt, as Ray Stevens once sang, “like someone had teed off a golf ball in a newly tiled bathroom.” His stomach was not in much better shape, and the only reason he could hold anything down at all was based solely on the fact that there was nothing in his stomach. Every muscle ached. Technically, he should still be out like a light. But an amphetamine had been administered to him to counteract the pentothal as soon as they had gotten him to the Paradise Island Beach Club Resort.