The Lesser Evil

by Jim Magwood

  Wait. Slow down, he told himself. You’re doing something wrong. Just be methodical and you will find the problem. Go slow. He started to pull up individual accounts that he knew should have large amounts of activity in them and almost fainted when the first one, the account of a certain government official from Dubai, showed a zero balance. Sandoval was now sweating profusely, and was beginning to feel sick at his stomach. He rested back in his chair for a moment, then quickly keyed into the activity section of the account to see what had happened overnight. Had the official pulled all his funds out overnight?

  And that is what he found. At exactly 2:13 in the morning, Grand Cayman time, an order had come through transferring the balance of the account to a secure account number in a Swiss bank. While that didn’t settle Mr. Sandoval’s local problem, he felt relieved to know he wouldn’t have any problem with a foreign depositor.

  He went back to the account listing he had first opened and felt his heart almost stop when he saw zero balances down the list—hundreds of accounts, all with nothing in them. One by one, he opened them to be sure. Zero. Zero. Over and over again. Zero. This is impossible, he thought. There has to be a major software problem, or a complete system error. Then he saw something that made him stop and immediately scramble into the bank general activity report. The report listed all the activity by time of event. Everything for the previous day looked completely normal—until one minute after midnight.

  Then, entries to make transfers of all funds in each account were listed on the report for about every two minutes until just before he had arrived at six that morning. Two hundred and twelve accounts had been zeroed out in that time for a total of over 3.4-billion dollars at the standard U.S. valuation. All the money had been transferred out to accounts somewhere else than in the Caymans.

  Mr. Sandoval slowly sat back in his chair and tried to think, but his mind would simply not work. He just knew that what he had seen was impossible, yet he had no explanation for what was being reported. Zero balances in two hundred and twelve accounts. It couldn’t be.

  As he stared at the activity report on his screen, he realized that there were several accounts that were still active. He scrolled down the accounts that still had balances and realized that they were all accounts for local people and businesses, mostly small balances and with little activity. He finally recognized that the emptied accounts were all large ones, presumably those of important people around the world, and the ones still there were for the local people of the Islands that also did banking, just not in large figures. And that is when Mr. Joshua Sandoval really started to panic.

  He had no idea how the accounts had been raided; he could only assume that’s what had happened. He only knew they were empty. And he also knew he now needed to make a phone call that he simply couldn’t fathom making. He had to let the main branch of his bank, located in Dubai, know what had taken place, and he thought he knew what kind of an explosion that was going to bring.

  He also knew, though, worse than the call to Dubai, were going to be the notices that would have to be sent to the account holders around the world notifying them that they no longer had any funds in his bank. And, he knew the type of people he was going to have to be notifying. People that hadn’t wanted their banking activity to be known in the first place. People that were likely going to be arriving on Grand Cayman Island shortly after his notification. People he certainly did not want to have any association with. People he was now deathly afraid of.

  And, that is when Mr. Joshua Sandoval left the little bank in the Grand Pavillion Centre, never to be seen again—he hoped. He had looked up his own account, found it still there with all his funds intact, and immediately closed it out into cash and travelers checks. He then carefully shut down all the computers he had just opened, diligently locked the doors behind him, and walked across the street to where he had parked his car. He drove carefully to the docks where he left his beloved Bentley in the long-term parking lot and purchased pas-sage on a private yacht sailing to Jamaica and, hopefully, to places far away.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Over the next ten days, nine more banks in the Cayman Islands were raided. A few of the larger ones, like the Wang Ho Bank (Cayman) Ltd., headquartered in China, and the Bancredit Bank & Trust Ltd. from Nigeria, lost amounts totaling almost sixteen billion dollars. The smaller ones like the Banco Di Credito (Cayman) Ltd., the Mauritania Bank & Trust (Cayman) Ltd., and the Cayman National Bank & Trust branches on both Little Cayman and Cayman Brac, lost an additional three billion. Six of the bank managers left shortly after notifying their headquarters of the losses and were not seen again. One manager was found in his office after having committed suicide. The two other managers tried to remain at their posts and help with the internal investigations, but within two weeks after headquarters officials arrived and notified the account holders of the losses, their bodies were found by scuba enthusiasts, weighted heavily and rapidly being de-voured by the denizens of the off-shore reefs.

  In almost every time zone around the world, the losses in the ultra-secret Cayman banks caused ripples that traveled widely and caused chaos wherever they touched. Ex-government officials were suddenly bankrupt and could no longer live in their retirement mansions in the world’s playgrounds. Men known for riding in expensive limousines and carrying large rolls of large bills as they visited expensive clubs all night were suddenly unable to meet the payments on large debts, and disappeared. Suicides became common among people in Chicago and Tokyo, London and Munich, Durban, Amman, and Moscow; all people who had long been known as ‘having it all.’

  Certain banks were forced to close their doors overnight as accounts were closed and funds transferred to supposedly safer locations. Certain bankers got rich overnight when they were able to transfer accounts into safer securities for clients—for a considerable fee. Political campaigns fell apart for lack of money; businesses shut down because of being unable to arrange needed financing with previously reliable sources; business executives were seen sitting at their desks staring va-cantly at the walls of their offices as stock market ticker tapes rolled across their computer screens. The shock wave continued to roll on in countries around the world for months.

  CHAPTER 34

  Henry answered the intercom with a simple, “Yes?”

  “It’s a Mister Asch from Israel. He said…”

  “Yes. Thank you. I’ll take the call, Darla.”

  Henry took a deep breath, wondered to himself why he was so nervous, then punched the phone button. “Dr. Asch.

  Thanks so much for calling me back. How are you?”

  “I’m very well, thank you. I’m calling to see if you and I might meet sometime soon and discuss that project you were interested in. I don’t know if there is much I can tell you, or directions I might give, but it might be something we both could learn from.”

  “I would appreciate that opportunity, Doctor. Is there some time that would be best for you? I’m pretty much free to fly out at any time. Where would be the best place to meet?”

  “Well, I’m back at the university again. I have some special classes to present for the next couple of weeks. I don’t want to ask you to come all the way to Israel, but if you thought it was important, I would be free most nights.”

  “Oh, that would be quite alright. I’m used to traveling much of my time, so I could be there in just the next couple of days. I’m sure I could get a flight out by Thursday, so would you be available Friday or the weekend, or any time next week?”

  “Yes, any of those times. Why don’t you check your flights and get back to me, and we can plan together. And, if you would care to, please plan on staying at my place here in Tel Aviv. I have lots of room here, and you would be very welcome.”

  “Well, thank you very much, Doctor. I’ll make some calls and get back to you before the end of your day.”

  Three days later, Henry drove up to a beautiful home in the northwest part of Tel Aviv, in the Ramat Aviv area close to the univ
ersity. The home was built into the hillside; parking was at the bottom of a short rise; and a long, curving set of wide rock stairs led visitors up to the entranceway. Landscap-ing up the hillside seemed to be an actual part of the natural vegetation rather than something that was added. Even the construction of the home itself gave the appearance of flowing out of the hill, not just sitting on it. Heavy wood beams supported the roof. The front walls were part shaded glass with rock seemingly wrapped around the glass areas. In many places, it looked as if the rock simply grew out of the hillside, and it caused many visitors to question how the glass had been blended with the rock until they realized it was actually the construction of the walls themselves. Henry knew the home was expensive, but he also knew he had seen much more expensive homes that didn’t have near the beauty. It had him asking himself just who this man was—this university professor that was also on a CIA source list.

  As he touched the button for the doorbell, he heard nothing coming from inside. He presumed it did work, and was about to touch it again when the door opened and an older man smiled at him. “Mr. Baxter, welcome. Please do come in.

  I am Jacob Asch.”

  Henry had expected—he didn’t know what. But, this man was just an average looking Israeli with a gentle smile and a soft voice. He didn’t have any formality about him as Henry might have expected from a university professor. He looked relaxed, but there also appeared to be a sense of drama or ob-scurity about him, as if the man himself was an enigma.

  Again, he wondered who this man actually was.

  As Henry entered the foyer, he recognized that just as the front of the house seemed to flow out of the surrounding hillside, the same rock and vegetation seemed to flow from outside into the house. He knew that this was not a house that had been designed by an architect. The builder of this house had lived the structure, had put his soul into it. It was truly a reflection of the builder—maybe Asch himself? He also saw two cameras following his movements. He didn’t know if they were being manually operated, but he knew he was definitely being watched, or perhaps scanned for profiling and future recognition.

  Asch led him forward through a short hallway. Henry heard soft violins playing; nothing he could recognize, just a quiet, gentle background that almost seemed to be water flowing in a natural scene. When he stepped out of the hall, he stopped short when he saw the room before him appear to open up and explode into the night. It was dark, yet there was light. It took him a moment to realize that the light was actually the night sky he was seeing through the glass ceiling and the soft lights coming from the beautiful city stretched before him. He also saw there really was a source for the sound of water. A small stream flowed in under the edge of the glass wall to the left, gently splashed into a pool by the glass by the center of the wall, then flowed out under the glass to the right.

  For more than a minute, he simply stood and took in the beauty. Then, he turned toward his host and saw a gentle smile on his face.

  Jacob said, “Yes, it is beautiful, isn’t it? There are nights when I sit here for hours trying to absorb it, to draw it into myself, only to realize that it is drawing me into it. We so often try to create beauty, and so seldom recognize that the beauty has already been created. It is only ours to discover.”

  He then reached to his side and pressed a switch in the wall.

  Soft light from discreet lamps and recessed ceiling fixtures seemed to blend with the beauty coming from the outside and amplified, rather than covered, it.

  “Dr. Asch, it’s magnificent. And I see what you mean by discovering it. One could not likely create this on his own.

  One could only find it.”

  “Yes, and that should cause us to realize how small we really are. Perhaps we should just get out of the way of things instead of always trying to control them?”

  Henry looked at the elderly man, trying to understand what he was saying. As Jacob ushered him into the room and to a beautiful wood and glass table, Henry noticed that virtually everything in the room fit into the view. Nothing really stood out on its own as something to be seen, though the furniture and décor, the works of art on the walls, the huge rock fireplace, were lovely as they were. He saw that everything enhanced the view, fit into it, rather than covered it. The table was a simple, though magnificent, work in itself. Yet its real beauty came from the fact that the outside light and beauty was seen through its glass, rather than the light showcasing the table.

  “You said you had eaten on the plane, so I took the liberty of setting some snacking foods for us. Please help yourself, and we can get down to your questions.”

  “Dr. Asch, thank you for seeing me like this. Sometimes it seems like such a fool’s errand—a wild goose chase—to be searching for this information, but I simply can’t let it go. I’ve contacted a lot of people, but no one has been able to lead me in any direction except—nothing. I don’t know that you have any more information than the others, but I felt I had to exhaust all my sources before giving up this chase.”

  “I don’t know if I do or not, either, but we can just begin and see where we go. You originally said you wanted to find information about this so-called vigilante group, and/or more detailed information on the subjects of the vigilante’s actions.

  Do you have any specific questions, or trails you want to start down, or is this all general at this time?”

  “Right now, I don’t know how to become specific. I have one man’s name, and that’s likely just a pseudonym. I have dates and places of most of these events, but not a thing to tie them to anything or any one else. When Ron Kincaide gave me the list of names, with yours on it, all I could do was check them out. He seemed to think highly of the people on the list, so he must know something, or perhaps you do, that I sure don’t.”

  “Well, I’ve been able to gather a little material in my studies and research that Ron was able to use, so that’s why he would have me on that list. Perhaps we could look together at your list of names and dates and so forth, and see if perhaps anything begins to suggest something to me. Would that be all right?”

  “Anything would be all right with me, Dr. Asch. I’ve exhausted my research abilities, so anything is more that I have now.”

  “Good. Then let us begin. And, would you be so kind as to just call me ‘Jacob.’ ‘Doctor’ is perhaps best left in the classroom,” he said with a smile.

  Henry and Jacob worked far into the night, but Jacob was not able to shine any lights into Henry’s materials that answered any of his questions. Jacob knew far more about world affairs and the dark side of life than he could reveal to Henry, but even he didn’t have any clues as to the secrets of the vigilante group. He recognized many of the names of the victims of the events, and knew they were, for the most part, outright criminals or highly suspected of criminal activities. However, he couldn’t reveal his own knowledge or his information sources without revealing his own shadowy life to Henry. And that he could not do.

  Henry spent the night in Jacob’s beautiful home and they worked for about half the next morning before Jacob had to go to the university. Henry learned a lot more about Jacob than he had known when he arrived, but was left with more questions about the full background of the man. He didn’t, however, learn anything of importance about the vigilante group.

  Jacob, though, learned a lot, and he especially learned that he needed to find out what was going on, what this group was all about, and where things were leading. There was much more going on behind the scenes than he was comfortable with, and he knew his part of the search had just begun.

  CHAPTER 35

  The gray-haired man leaned back, completely relaxed, in the beautiful, wood-paneled library in his Georgetown mansion. The view through the huge plate glass window over the city below was magnificent. The office was lighted only by a couple of small lamps that wouldn’t dim the view. The crack-ling fire kept the exquisite room warm, and the soft, classical music contributed to the peaceful atmosphere. He was casually dres
sed, and gave the appearance of being a professor or retired CEO. He was lean and still muscular, even though he was over 70. He sipped his coffee as he talked with the other man on the speakerphone.

  “What do you think the chances are of the vigilante efforts ultimately being of benefit to our own plans?” asked the gray-haired man.

  “As long as no one knows we’re involved, they can only help. They may appear to be the reverse of what we’re doing, but if the people are concentrating on the activities taking place, then we can keep moving the way we want. Confusion, my friend, confusion. It’s what we have to do more of. Keep them confused, off balance, and unaware of reality, and we come out ahead.”