by Stuart Woods
“You will be receiving a great deal more in the course of events,” Barbara said, “and we will discuss over lunch how investments are to be handled. Right now, though, I would like you to wire twenty million dollars to this brokerage account.” She handed Johns the card with the account number on it.
“Of course, Mrs. Keeler,” Hills replied. “Morton will be happy to do that at once.”
“And I would like a cashier’s check, payable to me, for twenty million dollars,” Barbara said.
Hills appeared to gulp. “Of course,” he finally managed to say. “Morton, will you attend to those two transactions immediately, then join us for lunch?”
“Certainly,” Johns said. “Mrs. Keeler, are there any other transactions you would like to make at this time?”
“Well, I wrote a check yesterday for three hundred and seventy-seven thousand dollars to the Bentley people. You might see that it is paid upon presentation.”
“Of course. I’ll be back shortly.” Johns vanished, as if in a cloud of smoke.
HILLS AND BARBARA were already seated at a beautifully set table in the next room with a fabulous view of San Francisco Bay and the Golden Gate Bridge. Hills said, “I’d like you to know that Mort Johns is the brightest and most capable man at this bank, and I do not exclude myself from comparison. He is destined to have my job when I go, and I think you will be very pleased with him.”
“I’m sure I shall be,” Barbara replied.
Johns rejoined them and handed Barbara an envelope. “Your cashier’s check for twenty million dollars and your receipt for the wire transfer to your brokerage account,” he said, then seated himself.
“Thank you, Morton,” Barbara said. “Now, let’s talk about what we’re going to do with the more than one billion dollars in cash and liquid assets that will soon be sent to the bank.”
Barbara issued instructions while the young banker made notes and two waiters served them a lunch of caviar and salmon. When they were done, Hills asked if there was anything else they could do for her.
“I’d like to make an acquisition,” Barbara said. “A business. I would be grateful if you would research its soundness and availability, and ascertain what price I should offer for it and what I might expect to pay.”
This request was received as if it were an unexpected gift.
56
Ed Eagle sat at his desk, munching on a sandwich and reading
The Wall Street Journal. His eye fell on a news story on page two that caused him to begin choking.
WIDOW OF WALTER KEELER BREAKS WILL
When avionics billionaire Walter Keeler died in a car crash, he left a will that severely restricted the inheritance of his new wife, Eleanor Keeler, to a monthly allowance of $50,000 and the lifetime use, but not ownership, of their apartment in San Francisco. The remainder of his estate went to a few charitable bequests and to support his foundation.
Earlier this week, on the testimony of his late attorney’s secretary, two pages illegally excluded from the will were restored, and the bulk of Keeler’s $l.5 billion estate reverted to his widow. Today, the newly appointed executor is to turn over to Mrs. Keeler more than $1.2 billion in liquid assets, plus her apartment and extensive other real estate holdings.
The lawyer who took it upon himself to change Walter Keeler’s will was subsequently murdered outside his home, and an associate who participated in the fraud has died of breast cancer. The secretary, who had typed the original will, had kept the original pages and, freed from the threat of retribution by her former boss, disclosed his actions to the ethics committee of the California Bar Association. She has been rewarded by Mrs. Keeler with a substantial whistle-blower’s reward.
Eagle cleared his throat with a gulp of iced tea and pressed a button on his phone. “Find Cupie Dalton and Vittorio and get them in here,” he said.
CUPIE AND VITTORIO SAT across Eagle’s desk from him and read the Journal article. “I don’t believe it,” Cupie said.
“Who could believe a story like that?” Eagle asked. “What does this mean to us?”
“I think it means,” Cupie replied, “that Barbara is going to be too busy spending her money to have time to try to kill you again.”
“Well, should she get caught at that, she certainly has a lot more to lose now than ever before,” Eagle said.
“And she has a murder charge and an extradition warrant to deal with,” Cupie said. “She’ll soon be out of our hair.”
“I’m not so sure,” Eagle said. “Now she can afford any attorney in the United States to defend her. I’ll bet she’s working on that right now.”
BARBARA WAS SITTING ON HER terrace overlooking San Francisco Bay when the maid led Raoul Estevez outside and announced him.
Barbara held out a hand and waved him to a chair. “I’m very pleased to meet you, Mr. Estevez,” she said. She found him handsome and well tailored.
“And I you, Mrs. Keeler. Ralph Waters has asked me to inform you that your husband’s estate has cleared probate, and the executor has begun to transfer cash and stock accounts to your bank.”
“That is very good news indeed,” Barbara said brightly.
“Now, Mrs. Keeler, how may I be of service to you?”
“I’ll be as concise as I can,” Barbara replied. “Two or three years ago I and my sister were on a vacation in Acapulco when we met a charming young man. In the course of events we took him into our bed, but he became violent and abusive, and in order to defend our lives, my sister grabbed a steak knife from a room-service cart and stabbed him, killing him. She also, in a rage, took it upon herself to, ah, remove a part of his genitalia.
“We managed to leave the country undetected, but the young man turned out to be related to an important captain in the Federal Police. My sister subsequently met her death in Santa Fe, and I married a man there, an attorney named Ed Eagle. Do you know him?”
“We’ve never met, but I know him by his formidable reputation,” Estevez replied. “Go on, please.”
“I left Ed, and divorce negotiations became difficult. He hired two private detectives to lure me aboard a yacht out of San Diego for a dinner cruise. Later that evening, unbeknownst to me, the yacht sailed into Mexican waters, where it was met by a police boat. I was arrested and subsequently received a brief, extremely unfair trial and was sentenced to twenty years to life in a women’s prison at Tres Cruces, east of Acapulco.
“There I was repeatedly sexually assaulted and raped, on almost a daily basis, by the warden, a Captain Pedro Alvarez. Finally, after several months of this abuse, I was able to slip a dose of Valium into his tequila, and I escaped through a window in his apartment, which adjoined the prison. A friend drove me to Acapulco, then we were both privately flown back to the United States.”
“I understand, Mrs. Keeler,” Estevez replied. “I take it you have not read this morning’s Examiner?”
“No, I have not.”
“There is a story that the United States attorney general has acquiesced to a request for extradition from the Mexican minister of justice, and that a federal judge has issued a warrant for your arrest.”
“I was not aware of that,” Barbara said.
“I will leave for Mexico City tonight and begin to try and right this wrong that has been done to you,” Estevez said. “I understand that you have access to a private jet aircraft.”
“That is so.”
“I suggest, entirely off the record, that you leave the country immediately and wait for me to contact you.”
“Would the Bahamas do?” Barbara asked.
“Very nicely,” he replied.
“I will follow your advice, Mr. Estevez.”
“Mr. Waters mentioned another legal concern?”
“That will have to wait,” Barbara replied.
“If I am to be successful in Mexico one or more bribes will have to be paid. The total could come to as much as a million dollars, perhaps even more.”
“I will leave that entire
ly to your judgment,” Barbara replied.
“Very well. Please arrange with your bankers to be able to wire-transfer funds on a moment’s notice to accounts in Mexico or other countries, the numbers of which I will supply you with.”
Barbara wrote down her cell number and the number of the sat-phone on the airplane and handed them to him. “Thank you, Mr. Estevez. Now, if you will excuse me, I have some calls to make and some packing to do.” She stood up, shook his hand and waved him off.
Barbara sat down again and called Morton Johns at her bank and explained that she was leaving town immediately and about the need to wire funds. He gave her his cell number.
“Call at any hour of the day or night and I will attend to it,” he said. “Incidentally, I have researched the business investment you wish to make, and we here consider it to be an attractive proposition.” He mentioned the price. “There is one owner, and he is prepared to close immediately. I will send the report to you in San Jose,” he said.
“Please proceed with all speed,” Barbara said. “You may use the power of attorney I gave you. Keep in touch with me by phone, as I will be traveling. You have the numbers.”
“Of course, Mrs. Keeler. And I have some good news for you: Your husband’s estate has transferred eight hundred million dollars to your account here, and there is more to come, I am assured.”
“Wonderful news,” Barbara said. She thanked him and instructed him to initiate the procedures they had discussed at lunch. She hung up and called the FBO in San Jose and ordered the airplane to be prepared for an immediate departure to Nassau, then made another call.
“Bentley Motors,” the operator said.
“Charles Grosvenor, please,” Barbara said.
“Please hold.”
“This is Charles Grosvenor.”
“Charles, it’s Ellie Keeler.”
“How nice to hear your voice.”
“I have an invitation for you,” she said. “You’ve said that you enjoy travel.”
“Yes, indeed, Ellie.”
“Do you have your passport handy?”
“Yes. It’s in my briefcase.”
“Here’s what I’d like you to do. I’d like you to go directly to the San Jose Airport and meet me there.” She gave him directions to the FBO. “We will be departing immediately for the Bahamas.”
“I’ll have to get time off,” Grosvenor said.
“Please don’t worry about that. Just walk away now. I’ll explain later.”
“But my job.”
“Don’t worry about it, and don’t worry about clothes. We’ll get you a new wardrobe in Nassau.”
“Whatever you say, my dear,” he replied. “I’ll look forward to seeing you in an hour.”
“I’ll look forward to it as well,” she said, then ran to pack a small bag.
AS WILLARD DROVE HER away in the Bentley, a government car drove up to Barbara’s apartment building, and two FBI agents got out and went inside. They were told by the maid, as per Barbara’s instructions, that she had flown to Rome earlier in the day.
57
Lieutenant David Santiago was shown into the office of the chief deputy district attorney and asked to sit down and be quick with his report.
Santiago handed the man his completed request for an arrest warrant for Eleanor Keeler. The deputy D.A., whose name was Warren, opened a copy of The Wall Street Journal and handed it to Santiago. “Does your request for a warrant refer to this Mrs. Eleanor Keeler?”
Santiago read the article quickly. “I believe so,” he said.
“Play me the tape recording,” Warren said, placing his feet on his desk and leaning back in his chair.
Santiago played the recording.
Warren smiled. “I compliment you on the thoroughness of your questioning and the quality of your recording,” he said. “I did not see any reference to the discovery of the murder weapon or any physical evidence connecting Mrs. Keeler to the murder of Mr. Cross,” he said. “Did I miss something?”
“No, sir. I believe Mrs. Keeler may still be in possession of the weapon, though, and a search warrant might bring it into our possession.”
“Lieutenant, are you aware that the Feds have procured an extradition warrant for Mrs. Keeler, and that as soon as she is arrested, she will be returned to prison in Mexico?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Well, rather than involve this office in what would be an incredibly long and hideously expensive trial against the kind of defense team that only large sums of money can provide, and without the weapon or any physical evidence, I think it is in our best interests to let the Feds return Mrs. Keeler to Mexico to serve out her sentence. Perhaps during her twenty years to life there you will develop other, stronger evidence that can be used to prosecute her here when she gets out, should either of us still be alive when that occurs.”
“Yes, sir,” Santiago replied, getting to his feet.
Warren stood and shook his hand. “Good day.”
ON HIS ARRIVAL in Mexico, Raoul Estevez checked into his hotel, dined in his suite with the beautiful young woman associate he had brought with him, screwed her thoroughly and got a good night’s sleep.
The following morning, having phoned the previous day for an appointment, he breakfasted with the deputy minister of justice, a civil servant who had run his ministry with an iron hand through many governments over many years, and who was routinely deferred to by the political appointees above him, who were happy to deal with the trappings of office instead of the responsibilities. Their conversation took place in the garden of the deputy’s home in a Mexico City suburb and was conducted in elegant and nuanced Spanish.
“Raoul, it is good to see you,” the deputy said, embracing the lawyer warmly.
“Benicio, it has been too long.”
A large breakfast was brought by servants while the two men chatted amiably about fast horses and brave bulls. When the garden had been cleared of servants the deputy sat back, folded his hands and simply nodded.
“Benicio,” Estevez said, “I wish to bring to your attention a very serious matter which could cause a great deal of trouble both domestically and internationally for your ministry.”
The deputy made a concerned face and nodded again.
“More than three years ago two American women made the acquaintance of a young man who subsequently beat and raped both of them. One of them got her hands on a knife and killed him, then removed the penis from the corpse.”
“Ahhhh,” the deputy said, nodding.
“I knew you would know of this, Benicio. The woman who wielded the knife is now dead, but her sister, in the midst of an angry divorce, was kidnapped by operatives of her husband and taken aboard a yacht into Mexican waters, where it was met by a police boat. After a brief and highly prejudicial trial the woman was convicted and sentenced to a prison term at the El Diablo prison in Tres Cruces, run by a Capitán Pedro Alvarez.
“There she was raped and otherwise sexually abused by Alvarez on nearly a daily basis. Finally, unable to bear further ill treatment, she managed to drug the capitán and escape through a window from his apartment. She eventually made her way back to El Norte, and now her former husband, who has political influence, has intrigued to have her extradited from the United States and returned to prison.
“The woman, formerly known as Barbara Eagle and now as the recent widow of Walter Keeler, a very wealthy man from San Francisco, has inherited his wealth and is in a position to fight the extradition in the most public and time-consuming manner. Once her story is told and retold ad infinitum by the media on both sides of the border, both our countries will be faced with the worst sort of publicity, and in the end, she might well avoid extradition.
“I believe it would be to the advantage of both your ministry and Mrs. Keeler if you could suggest a discreet resolution to this affair. Mrs. Keeler understands that such a resolution would involve considerable expense and would see that your ministry does not suffer the costs.” Este
vez sat back in his chair and waited for the deputy to speak.
“Where is the woman at this time?” the deputy asked.
“It is my understanding that she has left the United States, possibly for Italy.”
“So, that would complicate even further any attempt to return her to Mexico.” It was not a question.
“I am very much afraid that it would.”
“The prison warden, Alvarez, has already been dealt with,” the deputy said. “He is now supervising a prison work program in the jungles in the south of the country, and all records relevant to the woman have been removed from his former office. It is as if she was never there.”
“I see,” Estevez replied.
“I believe the simplest solution to our mutual problem would be if our president issued a pardon.”
“My client would be extremely grateful if that could be effected, Benicio.”
The deputy produced a notebook. “What is your client’s full name?” he asked.
“Eleanor Eagle Keeler,” Estevez replied.
“What time is your flight home?” the deputy asked.
“At one P.M. from the general aviation terminal,” Estevez replied.
“And the aircraft registration number?”
Estevez gave it to him.
“I calculate that the costs of this transaction will come to”—the deputy did some quick counting with his thumb against his fingers—“two million, seven hundred and fifty thousand dollars.” He wrote something on a page of his notebook, tore it off and handed it to Estevez. “Here is an account number.”
“Will you excuse me for a moment while I telephone?” Estevez asked.
“Of course. I will go and put on a necktie for the office while you call.”
Estevez made the call and waited for the deputy’s return.
“The funds will be in the account by the time you reach your office,” he said.
“Oh, good. Upon verification the pardon will be prepared, signed and delivered to your aircraft in time for your departure. Come, walk with me to our cars.”
Estevez fell in step with him, and the two men linked arms. “There is one further step I would be very grateful for,” Estevez said.
