Shell Game

by Jeff Buick

  Juan fingered the digital camera through his rags. He had never been entrusted with such an expensive piece of equipment, and he constantly touched it to ensure it hadn’t fallen from his pocket onto the dusty earth. Ricardo had paid for his plane fare and his hotel room and had given him the camera and a cellular telephone. All in return for watching a large boat docked in the marina. He had three hundred American dollars under his mattress in his small room in Mexico City. Juan allowed himself a small smile at the thought. Three hundred American dollars. Such a stash was unheard of. Ricardo had promised him another five hundred if he did a good job. Just watch the yacht and report back on any activity. Take pictures of everyone who boarded the boat. So far there had been no guests. But the digital camera came with a cord that attached to the computer back at the hotel, and the pictures could be sent to Ricardo through the computer. He would not do that. It was too complicated. The owner of the hotel would send the pictures, if there were any.

  Juan touched the camera again. It was an expensive one, with a zoom lens. He felt a trickle of sweat run down his side, beneath his armpit, a nervous reaction to the thought of what might happen if he lost the camera. He wiped his brow with his right hand and swallowed. What if it was stolen? There were many other wharf rats about who would beat him and pull it from his neck if they knew he had it. He started to shake. Ricardo would be angry.

  Juan watched a man walk up to the locked gate that serviced the pier where the Mary Dyer was anchored. He called someone on the intercom, and they buzzed him through. He was a gringo, with curly blond hair that hung to his shoulders. His shirt was loosened almost to his waist, and Juan could see the taut muscles on his chest and abs. His skin wasn’t pasty, but it also was not tanned. He looked like a recent arrival to the sun. Juan stiffened slightly as the newcomer slowed as he approached the Mary Dyer. He reached the gangway and hoisted himself up the plank.

  Juan fumbled with the camera but managed to get it out from under his rags as the man he knew to be Edward Brand came into view. Juan kept the camera concealed from any prying eyes near him by draping his loose, ragged sleeve over the body but leaving the lens to point at the boat. He kept pushing the button, the camera loading image after image of the two men as they met at the top of the gangplank. They stayed in sight for only a few seconds, then disappeared below the main deck. Juan slipped the camera back inside his shirt and watched for a few minutes. When there was no further activity, he left the alcove where he hung out during the hot daylight hours and hurried to the main road. A bus pulled up inside five minutes, and he jumped on. The trip to his hotel took under ten minutes.

  When he arrived, Juan gave the camera to the hotel manager and watched as the man downloaded the pictures into a file, then forwarded them to the e-mail Ricardo had given him. Juan knew Ricardo and the manager had an agreement in place, but had no idea how much money the man received for sending the pictures. He didn’t care.

  Once the pictures were in the system and sent ahead to Ricardo, Juan returned to the marina and retook his position next to the Dumpsters that lined the rear wall of the hotel closest to the water. He slid into his alcove and waited. From what he had seen on the computer screen, his shots had been very good. He had managed to get both men’s faces on one or two of the shots, just as they were turning to go below to a lower deck. He hoped Ricardo would be pleased. Maybe there would be more money.

  CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT

  The jpeg files appeared on Ricardo’s laptop computer seconds after Juan sent them. The computer beeped to let the user know a new e-mail had arrived. Ricardo was in his hotel room, and he clicked on the server. The new file appeared and he opened one of the jpegs—and sucked in a sharp breath. He opened file after file, looking for the best shot of the two men on the luxury yacht. He found what he considered to be the sharpest image and printed it on his portable Canon I-70. Then he went in search of Taylor and Kelly. He found them sitting in the small garden, talking.

  “My man in Puerto Vallarta sent me some pictures,” he said, joining them at the table. The gardens were lush, and the sound of trickling water relaxing.

  “And . . .” Kelly said.

  “Edward Brand had a visitor,” Ricardo said. He dropped the color image on the table.

  Kelly slowly reached out and picked it up. Neither spoke for a moment. They just stared at the man’s face. A face they both knew very well. It was Alan Bestwick.

  “So the son of a bitch is in Mexico,” Taylor said. Her voice was smothered with bitterness.

  “When did he arrive?” Kelly asked.

  Ricardo shrugged. “I would guess within the last couple of hours. I told Juan to get pictures of any visitors and send them to my e-mail immediately.” He pointed at the picture. “Look at the shadows. They are almost nonexistent. The sun was directly overhead. That would put the time around noon. It’s just a little after one right now. I’d say these are as close to real time as we’re going to get.”

  “Why would Alan visit Edward Brand?” Taylor asked no one, shaking her head. “It doesn’t make sense.”

  “They know each other. They were partners in the scam. Maybe they think enough time has passed that it’s safe for them to get together. Who knows?” Kelly said. “The fact is, we’ve got a problem.”

  Ricardo nodded. “Brand might bring Alan with him to Monte Alban. He knows me. Remember back to Mexico City when I drove you and Alan to the antique shop. It will be much more difficult. Impossible perhaps. They will suspect something immediately.”

  “Maybe we should back off until Alan leaves.”

  Taylor shook her head. “No. If Brand pulls anchor and sails out of the marina, he’s gone. Then we have to find him and start from scratch. Right now we’re only a few days from making this happen. I say we stay on schedule.”

  Ricardo looked unsure. “I don’t know, Taylor. Kelly’s right. This is getting very dangerous.”

  “It was dangerous before Alan arrived,” Kelly said, nodding emphatically. “Like Ricardo says, the problem we have now is that Alan knows who he is. If Alan is within eyesight when Ricardo and Edward Brand meet, the gig is up.”

  “I don’t think Brand will involve Alan. He’d have to split the profits.”

  “Going ahead is dangerous, Taylor,” Kelly said.

  Ricardo checked his watch and stood. “I’ve got to pick up Adolfo at the airport. He’s in at two-twenty. You two can figure out what you want to do. I’m okay if you want to go ahead. If anyone else shows up at the boat, we shut it down. Alan is a detail we can probably handle, but that’s it. No more.”

  “That’s fair. Did you take the artifacts we bought to the goldsmith?” Taylor asked. They had purchased nine pieces of Mixtec and Zapotec art and given them to Ricardo the previous day.

  Ricardo nodded. “He’ll have them done sometime tomorrow. He figured the cost to be around four thousand U.S. dollars. I told him we’d pay him when we picked them up.”

  “That’s fine,” Kelly said.

  “Oh,” Ricardo said, turning back to the table. “I was going to ask. Who is going to coordinate the information? I’ll be in Cabo; Kelly, you’ll be in Washington; and Taylor will be here. Before I can meet with Edward Brand, I’m going to need to know what story Kelly fed to that FBI agent. We need someone to pass information between us.”

  Kelly turned to Taylor. “Probably best if you do it. I don’t want traceable calls coming into the NSA. I’d rather call you from my cell or my home phone. Then you let Ricardo know what Brent Hawkins will find in the computer.”

  Taylor agreed. “That works for me. I’ll relay to you what’s happening with Ricardo—when he’s meeting with Brand and when he expects them to be in Oaxaca City.”

  “We’ll use your cell phone,” Ricardo said to Taylor. “Just make sure to keep it charged.”

  “Okay.”

  Ricardo left for the airport and Kelly ordered another Corona. “You’re sure you want to finish this, Taylor?”

  “Absolutely. Th
e only way Edward Brand gets away is if he floats out of that harbor before we’re ready. Today’s the twenty-eighth. I think Ricardo can hook him and get him to Monte Alban by January second or third.”

  Kelly picked up a pen and made a few notes on a napkin. “We need to have the artifacts plated and in place. Adolfo already has his false identification, but he needs time to see the layout at the ruins. I have to get back to Washington and input the false data on the CIA computers. Ricardo needs to meet with Carlos Valendez, entice him to believe his story and deliver him to Edward Brand. They have to get from Puerto Vallarta to Oaxaca City. I think we’re cutting the timing too close.”

  “You fly out tomorrow?” Taylor asked.

  “Eight in the morning. But I’ve got to hub through Mexico City and Dallas. I don’t get into D.C. until almost nine at night.”

  “You lose an entire day. That puts you at the office on Saturday, December thirtieth. How much time do you need?”

  Kelly shrugged. “Not sure. I know how to access Langley’s computers without being seen by any of their sniffing devices. Getting in isn’t a problem. It’s where to put it. I’ve got to create a file that shows the CIA had an operative at Monte Alban who discovered the cave, and Brent Hawkins, our rotten little FBI agent, has to be able to find it. So it has to be deep, but not too deep. That’s going to be the problem.”

  “You can do it,” Taylor said.

  Kelly smiled. “Sure. I can do it.”

  Taylor brightened. “When you initiate the transfers, where does the money go?”

  “Well, the first five hundred thousand will go to a charity of my choice. Probably the children’s hospital in Washington. They can always use another half million dollars. I’m not sure where to send the bulk of the money. I’ll figure it out.”

  “What sort of account do you need?” she asked.

  “Somewhere in the Caribbean. An existing account would be best, but a new one will do in a pinch. I can probably set one up from D.C.”

  “I’ve got an account in the Bahamas,” Taylor said. “I was thinking about buying a condo down there before I met Alan. When we got married I kind of forgot about it.”

  Kelly sat forward. “Is the account still active?”

  “Sure. I’ve got about twenty thousand dollars in it. And they debit their administrative fees every year. Why? Do you think it would work?”

  “It should. And it’s a long-established account. That’s a good thing. Do you have the number with you?”

  She laughed. “You’ve got to be kidding. No. But it’s on my computer back in San Francisco. I’ll give you my IP address and password so you can log into my hard drive.”

  “Do you have some sort of remote access on your system? I’ll need it to get in.”

  She nodded. “PC Anywhere, and it’s hooked into the Internet. The account number and the access code are in an encrypted file.”

  “Smart girl. Did Alan know about the account?”

  Taylor took some time to think. Finally she said, “No, I don’t think I ever mentioned it. We never discussed buying a property in the Caribbean.”

  “Excellent. The file has always been encrypted?”

  “Yes. The banker who set up the account recommended it, and I was scared that someone would hack into my computer and get the code, so I did it right away.”

  “Okay, jot down the file name and the password into your computer, and I’ll pull it. That’s where we’ll send the bulk of the money.”

  “Won’t he be able to trace it?” Taylor asked.

  Kelly grinned. “Not a chance. I’m going to bounce the money off fifteen satellites and twenty banks before putting it in the account. There is absolutely no chance he’ll be able to trace it.”

  Taylor took a deep breath. “Then we’re almost there. Ricardo will get Adolfo up to speed, then head for Cabo San Lucas to meet Carlos Valendez. You’re leaving for D.C., and I’m staying here to get the fake artifacts in place and light the fire. Everyone with a part to play.”

  “Cogs in the wheel. Just keep your fingers crossed that Alan doesn’t see Ricardo in Puerto Vallarta.”

  Taylor played with her empty cup, the coffee long since drank. “When you leave tomorrow, I won’t see you again until this is over. In fact, if it goes wrong I may never see you again.”

  Kelly tried to smile, but the reality of what she said hit him hard. It was true. If Edward Brand or Alan Bestwick smelled a rat or figured out the scam too quickly, people would die. Taylor was at risk. She would be on top of an unforgiving mountain in the heart of Mexico in the middle of the night. At least one person, probably armed, would be nearby. If that person learned they had been robbed, they would go ballistic. Taylor’s life would be on the line.

  “It’ll be okay,” he said. “We’ll make this work.”

  She slowly nodded. “Just get the money. All of it. Ruin him.”

  “I’ll get the money,” Kelly said. “I promise.”

  CHAPTER FOURTY-NINE

  Alan Bestwick played with the label on the beer bottle. He scraped one edge until it began to lift, then pulled. The label came off in one piece. He set it on the glossy wood tabletop and glanced about for the thirtieth time. The inside of the yacht was opulent, polished teak and chrome, with a wide-screen plasma television tucked against the bulkhead. The window coverings were drawn shut, and it was dark. The television was off, and there was no remote control in sight. He simply sat and waited as Edward Brand had told him to an hour ago when he arrived at the yacht. Brand was on the phone in another part of the boat, and Alan could pick up occasional snippets of the conversation when the man’s voice rose. Brand wasn’t happy about something.

  The wall clock had just ticked past two o’clock when Brand pulled open the door to the salon and entered. He walked through the plush salon and into the galley. He took a beer from the fridge and twisted off the cap, then returned and sat opposite Alan on one of the soft leather chairs beside the television.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” he asked.

  Alan shrugged. “The weather in Paris is shitty. I felt like getting some sun.”

  “This isn’t the only place on the planet with warm weather.”

  “It’s been almost four months,” Alan said. “The proverbial dust has settled. The job is over. We did it. You’re just being overly cautious.”

  Alan’s easygoing manner partially disarmed Brand. He sipped the beer. “Still, it’s not a good idea. The less we’re together the better.”

  “I wanted to find out what you were up to. To see if you had anything on the go.”

  Brand motioned to the room he had just left. “I’m trying to get something off the ground, but I’m dealing with idiots. I don’t think it’s going to work.”

  “What’s wrong?”

  “There’s an industrialist in Germany who is looking for offshore investments. I’ve set up a shell company in St. Lucia and a great prospectus on a company about to be listed on the New York Stock Exchange, but the banker in St. Lucia is getting greedy. He wants twenty-five percent. The figures aren’t working with him taking that kind of slice.”

  “What are you going to do?” Alan asked, rising and grabbing two more beers from the fridge. He set one in front of Brand and retook his seat.

  “I’ve got a man on the Island who is willing to take care of my problem.”

  “The banker?”

  Brand nodded. “For ten large he’s fish food. It’s simply amazing what a small sum of money can buy.”

  Alan laughed. “I’ve always found that interesting. An absolute value on a human life. Ten grand. So that’s what a Caribbean banker is worth.”

  “This particular piece of shit, yes. That leaves me with having to find a substitute. I’ll be doing that while the police are poking about trying to figure out who killed the first one. It’s a no-win situation.”

  “Go to a different Island.”

  “A lot of the Islands are starting to tighten up. The Caymans are still
the best, but that’s where the NewPro money is, and I’m not drawing any heat to that. There’s too much money in that account to do something stupid.”

  “Yeah, I suppose.”

  Brand’s face clouded over again. “I still don’t like that you’re here, Alan. It’s a dumb idea.”

  “Okay, I’ll stay a couple of days and then take off. Maybe go down the coast to Acapulco. Lots of nightlife there. Lots of women who like money.”

  “You get your share okay?” Brand asked.

  “Fine. Thanks.”

  “You earned it. Good job with Taylor.”

  Alan’s face changed. Emotion flooded into his eyes. “Taylor is an incredible woman. There were times when I wished this whole thing would collapse, and we would back off. I think I could have stayed married to her and been quite happy. She’s beautiful and intelligent. Very intelligent. It probably sounds kind of strange, but I miss her.”

  “You were married for three years. It’s normal. You’ve got to let it go.”

  “Yeah, I know.” Alan paused, staring at the ground, then said, “You want to go out and get some dinner?”

  Brand shook his head. “Something’s not getting through that thick skull of yours, Alan. I don’t want to be seen together. Not now, not ever, unless we’re working and we know the marks. Doing stupid things is how people get caught.”

  Alan launched himself off the couch. “All right, but I’m going to have some fun. Maybe I’ll stay in town. If I don’t make it back, I’ll be at the Sheraton.”

  Brand’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t make it back. Stay away, Alan. Your presence only complicates things. For no reason.”

  Alan gave him a grin as he headed up the stairs. “Nice boat, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” Brand muttered under his breath to the empty room. “Idiot.”

  Edward Brand finished the beer and picked up the empties. It was almost New Year, just three days until the fireworks would usher in another January 1. This year had been very good to him. He wondered about what the next would hold. Perhaps he should quit while he was ahead. It was the safe thing to do. Even as he cleaned the galley and wiped down the countertops, he knew that wasn’t going to happen. Conning people, taking their money, was like a drug. He thrived on it. Needed it, almost. No, no almost about it. He needed it. It was his habit, and he needed his fix.