We heard the door open and the stairs go down, followed by Lenore greeting the man. It sounded like she did not know him. He announced himself, and she invited him in. The door opened. Lenny and I both stood up.
“Good afternoon, gentlemen. I’m Major Christopher Donden. We welcome you to the Cayman Islands. You here for a vacation?”
We offered our hands and introduced ourselves. I took the lead. “We’re here for business, sir.”
“Can I ask what business you’re in?”
“Tourism. We want to bring tourists here, packaged tours. Good for you, good for us. We’ll be checking some hotels today.”
“Will you be staying with us very long?”
“Not too long. Can we get moving? We have a meeting,” I tried to push.
“Certainly… Certainly. If I can just check your passports, we can finish up, and you can be on your way.”
I handed him the two passports and focused on him without moving for the benefit of the Google glasses. He noticed the money before he got to the name and country information, and deftly withdrew the pension payment from each. He pocketed two thousand dollars for three minutes of work.
“Thank you, gentlemen. Enjoy yourselves in Cayman. Here’s my card. If you need anything, call me. That’s my private cell on the back.” I took the card, we thanked him, and he efficiently exited the plane. As he got into his government car, I noticed the Mercedes pull around and park close to the stairs. A Black man exited, wearing a suit and tie, ramrod-stiff and middle-aged with short hair and sunglasses. Former-SAS was just the kind of credential we needed today.
Lenore and Captain Eddie came into our cabin space.
“Good flight, Captain,” I said. “We’ll be back in about two hours, maybe less. Will you be parked here?”
“Right here. We’ll get refueled. We’ll be waiting for you.”
“Can you file a flight plan for Bermuda?” I asked.
“You’re supposed to be here-and-back to MIA. You don’t want to go back?”
“We might. But I’d like them to think we’re going to Bermuda. Can you do that?”
Captain Eddie paused for a minute, considering his options. “Not sure what the upcharge would be for that. I’d have to consult headquarters.” I was sure he meant the upcharge for him and Bart.
“Don’t worry about cost. We can be very appreciative,” I said, with a little emphasis on very.
“I see. Not a problem. Have a good visit. We’ll be here waiting,” he said as he reached into his shirt pocket for a business card. “Here, it’s my cell phone. It works on the island. Let us know if anything comes up.”
I took the card. Why hadn’t I thought of that? We all shook hands and carried our equipment off the plane. Lenny had his suitcase, and I had two briefcases. Ryan was at the bottom of the steps. Right away, I knew he was a good fit for us.
“Ryan McGraw. Happy to take care of you today,” he said with a British accent, offering his hand, a nice smile, and body language that was nothing but friendly. I put him at fifty years of age but in excellent shape: thin, wiry, maybe six feet, with some gray in his hair. “Can I get those bags for you?”
We refused and pointed to his car. “Let’s get going. We have a meeting,” I said.
He nodded and opened both back doors. We got in. I checked my watch. It was one forty-five.
“Cayman National Bank… in town,” I said when he had closed his door and was ready to depart the airport. It was almost cold in the car—German engineering in action. Definitely my choice in view of the anxiety I was building up in myself. This was a real op in the field, with real people and real consequences.
“It’s ten minutes. Let me know what else you need.” I noted that he said need, not want. Was I lost in details? We exited the airport.
I tapped in the bank’s main number. “Mr. Gonzalez, please,” I responded to the receptionist. “Tell him Mr. Chapman is calling.” I was put on hold, and some delightful Caribbean music played. It was almost two minutes before Gonzalez answered—not a good sign.
“Ray Gonzalez here,” he said with no accent.
“Mr. Gonzalez, Daryl Chapman. I’m here. Are you ready for me?”
“I’m pretty tied up today. Can you come at three-thirty?”
“No, Mr. Gonzalez, I will be there at two… as instructed!”
“I’m trying to reach Santo—”
I cut him off like a butcher chopping a piece of meat. “What the fuck are you doing? He sent me. We don’t do our business on phones! I’ll be there at two. If you’re not available, I will call Santo!”
“Okay, come in, I’m here,” he said. I clicked off.
Lenny and I shared a look. I looked to the mirror and saw Ryan glancing at us. My sense was that he knew why we were here. We’d have to fold him in somehow.
Ryan drove us safely along the ocean road to the center of Georgetown, the capitol. We parked in the main square in the center of town, Heroes Square. The bank had a prominent location, along with the National Museum and the Government House offices. The bank was in a nice, modern, two-story building. Ryan parked. Showtime.
We asked Ryan to step out of the car while we made some calls. He said it was better if he stayed, because the police in this area could be a problem. Then he said, “You can trust me. I can see you’re not normal tourists. You know my background; you chose me for a reason. I’m good. Don’t worry.”
Lenny offered him a fist bump.
I set my cell phone for broadcast and checked it for any visual signs that it was on. Lenny heard me perfectly, and James said he was getting the audio clearly. Lenny plugged earbuds into his cell phone and then in his ears. I tapped my directory on Santo, and Lenny’s other phone rang. We checked that connection. All was good. I asked James about Santo’s cell: was it good?
“I just fixed it,” he said. “Go!”
It was exactly two p.m. I grabbed my two briefcases, then flipped on the Glass sunglasses.
Ryan jumped out of the car and opened the door for me. “Good luck,” he said.
“Thanks,” I responded. I knew that the mission was everything in military lore. “Take care of Lenny and the car; I’ll be back soon.”
“Will do, chief,” he said, which was just the comforting gesture I needed.
I took some deep breaths and walked toward the entrance to Cayman National Bank and Trust to steal back millions of dollars from corporate thieves and from a bank that enabled their criminal pursuits. I had done a few ops like this before. But each one was different, and each one presented entirely different problems. I felt like I was as prepared as I possibly could be for this one. I had my best friend and wingman waiting for me at the curb. I had one of the world’s best hackers helping with the potential disaster that communications could create today. And I had history and experience.
I paused for a moment at the doors. I took a final deep breath, pulled open the front doors, and walked into the Cayman National Bank and Trust for the purpose of inflicting justice.
15
As I entered the Cayman National Bank and Trust main headquarters, I saw that it was what one might find at an upscale bank anywhere in America. There were five desks placed around a large main hall, with marble floors and a few tellers to one side. There were some offices around the outside of the hall with window walls, through which I could see people working the phones. I saw that the employees in the bank were mixed about evenly, half Black and half White. Just inside the doors, a couple leaving the bank passed by me and nodded a pleasant greeting, a man in a white seersucker suit and a woman in a nice dress; he looked like he could have been a doctor or a judge. This all ran up against my assumptions about what a bank that did heavy money laundering in the Caribbean would look like. This one appeared to be totally respectable.
I approached the first desk, which I assumed to be the reception
.
“Good afternoon, can I help you today?” a lovely young white woman asked me in a distinctive English accent.
“Yes, I have an appointment with Mr. Gonzalez.”
“Your name?”
“Mr. Chapman.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here, Mr. Chapman.”
I moved beyond her desk and around the hall, trying to get acclimated. I noticed that there were tons of security cameras covering every possible inch in the hall.
As I passed by the tellers and the two people who were waiting in a designated line for counter service, a man came out of one of the offices. He was wearing a green blazer with the bank’s name on its lapel, had an ID security card dangling from his neck, and a Glock bulging on his hip. He beelined to me and asked, “Can I help you, sir?” also with a heavy English accent.
“I have an appointment with Mr. Gonzalez,” I responded, which was satisfactory to him. He nodded and continued toward the front door, where he was probably most often positioned.
A heavy Black woman approached me from the back. “Mr. Chapman, Mr. Gonzalez is ready for you. Please follow me,” she said pleasantly. She started walking back toward where she had come from, turned her head, and said, “Your first time in Cayman?”
It was just another Monday afternoon at the bank. Nothing had tripped my radar, at least at this point. Well, maybe the Glock.
“Yes, first visit. You have a lovely island.” That ended the small talk.
She led me down a short hallway to the office at the very end. Printed on the door was Horatio Gonzalez, Vice President. She knocked and opened the door, stepped aside, and waved me in. It was a large corner office with full windows on two sides. Gonzalez was seated behind his desk, which faced the door. There was a sitting area with a couch and two chairs to the right. One wall was built-in shelves with lots of photos and a few trophies for some sport. I saw three photos with two children and a man and a woman—Gonzalez had a family. Good to know. He was a large Black man. Youngish, probably mid-forties. When he stood up, he was about six feet, slightly shorter than me, and solidly built, but it wasn’t the most healthful type of solid. I saw no visible security cameras in his office; a smart operator would conceal them.
“Mr. Chapman,” he said, walking from behind his desk and offering his hand. He had no British accent, a fact I had noticed when I had spoken to him from the car. What did that mean, that everybody else had nice British accents?
“Mr. Gonzalez, thank you for seeing me.”
“Please, call me Ray. Everybody else does. Have a seat.” He gestured to one of the client chairs in front of his desk. He moved slowly around to his chair, sat down, and studied me. He was not a dimwit. He obviously had skills; he was confident and poised. I placed my cell phone on the desk in front of me. It was live—I thought about possible jamming equipment, but quickly got off that paranoid thought. Time to do business.
“We need to move some money. That’s why I’m here. I assume you’ve heard from Mr. Garcia.”
“In what context?” he asked. He steepled his hands under his chin, a very serious posture, waiting for me to say something wrong or to trap myself some other way.
“In the context that I’m here to move money. We have business to conduct… and I’m the new guy.”
“I’ll have to check with Santo.”
“No, Ray!” I responded with some feigned anger. I needed to be in charge of the meeting. I reached in my briefcase and removed the power of attorney. “Santo gave me this!” I handed it to him. He reviewed it quickly.
“This is a copy,” he said, laying it down on his desk. He was trying to be an obstacle.
“Yeah, I know. I have the original right here.” I held it up for him to see. “I had an asshole one time take an original document and run it to a toilet and flush it… like that was going to change things. That guy didn’t survive.” I was trying to sound like a tough guy.
He was silent for a moment, picked it up again, and said, “I thought this notary was dead.”
Flash thought: had we made a fatal mistake, not checking this loose fact, or was he just trying to be tricky and trip me up? Meet force with force.
“Santo gave me this!” I raised my voice. “Look, if you’re going to make problems here, you’re going to lose us.” I paused. “And it won’t be just us.”
“Sorry, we have to be careful here. We’re an international bank.” He placed the paper back down on his desk and resumed the silent stare. This tactic probably worked with some people. Not with me, not today.
I broke the silence. “Let’s start again, Ray. We need to move money… today.”
He looked at his watch. “It’s a little late for that,” he said.
I picked up my phone from the desk. “Ray, if I call Santo, you’re done here.”
That got his attention. He picked up the power of attorney and tried again.
“I thought Lavorosky was not to be part of these accounts. He signed this POA.”
That was it. I had to go full gangster. “Look, Ray,” I started. “I’m the new guy. I have deals for them that nobody has. I need their money to do those deals, and they want me to do those deals.” I emphasized deals; that was a concept he would understand, being an international money laundering banker. “If you’re going to be uncooperative here, you won’t be in the picture for long.” I paused to let that sink in. Then I jammed him in a way that was true gangster. I pointed to the photos on his shelves. “You got a family, buddy. You need to be careful with these people. Once I leave here, it’s out of my hands.”
“Whoa… Whoa…“ That finally got his full attention in a serious way, as intended. His face was animated and his eyes were wide. “No need to threaten me. I’m just a banker.”
“Then do your job and stop fucking around here. I have work to do. You need to move money today so that I can do my job. I have a meeting in Bermuda tonight. If this money doesn’t show up…” I just let it hang.
“Okay, what do you want to do?” he said, and sighed loudly enough to be heard back at the airport.
“I’m instructed we have two accounts here, at least for my purposes. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“What are the balances today?” I asked, and gave him the account numbers James had collected.
He picked up a printout from his desk. “There’s thirteen-point-five mil in the first, and sixty-seven mil in the second. In the third—” he started, but I cut him off.
“I only want to know about these two. I have no business with that third,” I said. We were unaware of that one. “My understanding with Santo is that I am to use only the first account for these new deals. I want you to wire thirteen mil to this account, in my name.” I handed him the account and routing numbers for the Jersey account. Then I went gangster again. “How much cash can you give me… today?” I asked, looking at him for any tells.
He glanced up from the paper I had given him. “How much cash do you want?”
“Can you do two hundred K?” I asked.
“I’ll see what we have in the vault. I assume you want dollars,” he said, finally assuming his role as compliant international banker.
“Yes, dollars,” I responded. “US dollars. Now make the wire happen and get the cash. I have a plane waiting. If I’m not in Bermuda tonight, your life will not be the same tomorrow.” I twisted the dagger a little more.
“I’ll be right back,” he said as he stood up and exited the office with the Jersey banking information, carrying the paper like it was slightly toxic.
As soon as the door closed, I stood up, went over to the shelving, and looked at every photo through the Google glasses. I glanced around the office, up at the ceiling, and around his desk for anything else of value, then sat back down. I wanted to speak to Lenny and James, but I had to assume the bank was recording, so I tapped thr
ee times on the cell phone. Which made me flash on the military saying that assumption is the mother of all screwups.
* * *
Lenny had been sitting in the back seat of the car, listening through his earphones to everything in the meeting. He heard Gonzalez leave the room, then the three taps. He knew Derek would say nothing to him out of concern about recording devices in the room. Then his cell phone rang. He looked at the screen, saw the number… and knew what to do. He pulled one of the earbuds out.
“Yes,” he bellowed into the unit he held to his ear. He saw Ryan’s eyes look to him through the mirror.
“Ray Gonzalez here. I need to talk to you.”
“What do you want, Ray?” he said gruffly. He had practiced the accent and the tone. “I sent a man to see you. What happened?”
“He’s here now. He never said the code word.”
“What? I told you to do what he wants. He gave you a power of attorney, right? You have what you need for the bank.”
“But the code word we agreed on…”
“Fuck the code word, Ray, just do your damn job!” Lenny larded it on.
“You want that money wired out today?”
“What’s with you, man? Why do you think I sent him?” Lenny paused while Gonzalez got the picture. “Listen, if you become a problem, you’re gone. We got lots of other people who want to hold our money. You understand,” he said. “Wire… the… money… now! We’ve got deals to do with this guy.”
Lenny was a fast learner, and apparently so was Ray Gonzalez.
“Okay, sir, consider it done.”
Lenny clicked off. He looked to the mirror and saw Ryan still looking toward him.
“We don’t have a problem… Do we?”
“Not at all, sir,” Ryan shot back.
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