by Jim Beegle
Mark figured that the best thing to do in order to keep his mind off of Amy was to simply find something else to occupy his time.
He had put his plan into play, and now all he could do was follow it through. Still, he had concerns. What if he had misread the situation? He didn’t think he had, but what if he was wrong? That’s why you have gone detailed all the steps you’ve already completed and more besides that you have yet to go through before this is over, he told himself. A lot of things had to happen before establishing the actual arrangements for handling the exchange. In fact, the entire process was beginning to remind him of playing poker.
Up to this point, it appeared that the game had been played against him with a marked deck. With the first steps of his plan underway he would at least now know the cards that everyone was holding. How he would control that process was really very simple but dependent upon exactly how the other players involved read their hands. The only thing he had to make sure of now was that, if the dealer changed during the course of play, no one demanded a fresh deck.
He picked up the keys to the rental car from the front desk, along with a map and a gentle reminder from the clerk that the Bahamas were a long-time possession of the United Kingdom. Implying that, in addition to the very British, and at times, annoying tradition of ceasing all activities at four in the afternoon for tea, they also drove on the opposite side of the road than what Mark was accustomed to. He considered this for a moment, trying to decide if it was really necessary to have a car. In the end, he decided that having mobility was worth the risk, so he took the car keys and the map along with his briefcase and made his way through the casino and out the front door of the Atlantis Resort.
He quickly discovered that it was harder than anticipated to remember which side of the road he needed to use. After thinking through several right-hand turns that were made to the left, he finally got the hang of it.
His first stop was a large, open-air market that Jon had told him about before they parted after breakfast. He could see that whatever else his banker was good at, advice about shopping was high on the list.
He spent an hour going from stall to stall. First buying the basics: socks, underwear, a belt, and comfortable loose-fitting shoes that were a cross between loafers and sandals. He added several pairs of cotton pants, a handful of pullover shirts, a pair of jeans, and a travel bag to carry everything in. From the market, Mark drove several miles toward the airport before stopping at a shopping mart that closely resembled the Albertson’s grocery store he frequented in Dallas. He bought shaving supplies, a toothbrush and toothpaste, deodorant, and other toiletry items.
Pulling out of the parking lot Mark continued in the direction of the Lynden Pindling International Airport. When he entered the airport compound instead of turning into the commercial passenger side he continued to the west side of the airport that was used obsessively for private and charter flights. It was in front of the office of one of these charter companies, the one Mr. Roddy had recommended to him over breakfast, that he parked his rental car.
Briefcase in tow, he went into the building that served as Bahamas Vacations main business office and hangar. He spoke to the receptionist, mentioned Mr. Roddy, and asked for the owner of the company. She was gone only a moment before returning with a medium-sized black man dressed casually as was the custom of the majority of business people not employed by the banks on the island.
“Sure, sure Mr. Vogel,” the man said offering his hand. Mark shook it while the man continued to talk. “Jon, he called me this morning and said you would be by. Come with me,” he said while opening the hinged gate in the fence that divided the lobby from the receptionist. “We talk business in my office man.” Mark followed him into the cramped room that served as an office and, from what Mark could tell, doubled as a parts warehouse for the assorted aircraft used by Bahamas Vacations.
They spoke for thirty minutes, during which time, Leon, the owner, took out several air navigation maps and pointed out different things to Mark. At the end of their discussion, Mark took out the envelope of cash Jonus had brought him when they met earlier and counted out fifty one-hundred-dollar bills onto the desk. Leon did not let the money sit there long before raking it into the center drawer of his desk. He got up to show Mark out of the office. They shook hands again at the office door, while Leon assuring Mark that everything would be taken care of as he had ordered.
Mark would have loved to have been able to spend the trip back to the hotel going over some things in his head. However the new surroundings that he found himself in, coupled with the annoying feeling that he was driving the wrong way on the wrong side of the road, demanded all of his. It was now almost six o’clock; eighteen hours until everything would come to an end. Or so Mark hoped.
He ordered the seafood special from the limited room-service menu when he got back to his room. While he waited for his meal, he changed into one of the new shirts and the jeans. It felt nice to be in different clothes, especially the jeans. By the time he had dressed and put away his new clothes as well as the pieces of his suit that he had worn that morning, the waiter was knocking on his door with dinner.
The food had been delivered with a copy of the USA Today on the tray. Mark glanced through it, more as something to do while he ate than for any real interest in the news. He was struck by the normalcy of the things that were going on in the rest of the world while he was so intently focused chaos in this world. Life really does go on with or without you, Mark decided. He finished both his dinner and the paper. The used dinner tray was put back on the cart and he wheeled the whole thing into the hall. He tossed the paper he tossed into the wastebasket.
Mark stood in the doorway for a moment and considered making another pot of coffee. His body was craving something, but he didn’t think that coffee was it. Finally, the answer came to him. It had been hours, maybe even a day, since he’d the chance to sit down and enjoy a smoke.
Like a kid waking up and remembering that it was the first morning of summer vacation, he felt a sense of joy. Mark tried to recall what he had done with his pipe and tobacco. Once located, he walked out onto the balcony, and sat in one of the white wire chairs, and pulled the other one close by for his feet.
He situated his body and began ministering to the pipe. He put tobacco into the bowl and tamped it down, then repeated the process three times until he was happy with the amount of leaf in the pipe. Before lighting it, he put the stem in his mouth to test the draw of air through it. He packed the bowl one more time with his finger before lighting it and pulling in deeply of the smoke from the burning mixture. This was indeed the first moment of pleasure he had experienced in quite some time.
He sat there for almost twenty minutes, the picture of a man in thought. The only movement of his body was the slow in-and-out motion of his cheeks, inhaling and exhaling the smoke. But his mind wasn’t on the issues of the moment, nor on the tasks that he would engage in tomorrow. No, he was thinking, seriously for the first time, about the day after that and the week after that.
Almost an hour later, having stilled his body’s need for a smoke, he tapped the pipe against the railing on the balcony, emptying it of it spent ash, and walked back into the room. Night had fallen while he sat outside and the bedroom was void of any light except for the LED display on the bedside clock. Mark stood motionless while his eyes adjusted from the dark night to the darker room. When he could see the faint outline of the lamp by the bed, he walked over and turned on the light. Now with a newly found determination, he sat down and pulled out his laptop and power cord. It was time to start working on the things that he anticipated he would need to do after he met his wife’s captors.
He worked right up until midnight, stopping then because he knew that it would be best to have a clear head for later in new the day. He was pleased with what he had accomplished. It was a good beginning. He would need help with some of the other aspects of his plan, but there would be time for th
at when it happened. He was sure the things he had worked on for those last hours of Tuesday would get lots of scrutiny before it was all over. He quickly fell asleep, still thinking of what life would be like at the end of the next day.
The coffee was brewed when he got out of the shower. It would be his only sustenance this morning. He didn’t have time, nor did he have any real interest in anything more. He dressed quickly in one of the new pairs of khaki pants and another of his new shirts. He walked to the door of his room almost straight up at nine o’clock. He toyed with the idea of calling Sandy and checking in before he left, but he knew that there would be a flurry of questions about where he was, what he was doing, and when he would be back. All of which he really couldn’t answer at the moment.
Remembering, while he shaved, how difficult it had been to adjust twenty-four years of driving habits the day before, Mark opted to use more experienced local transportation for today’s outings. It would benefit no one if he got himself killed by absentmindedly turning the wrong way into an oncoming bus. There was no particular hurry anyway.
His meeting at the bank with Jon would not happen until ten. He asked the bellman at the desk to please call him a cab. As the bellman placed the call, Mark walked into the coffee shop and ordered coffee to go. While the waitress filled his order he looked casually through the glass wall that divided the coffee shop from the casino/lobby area behind the desk clerk. A series of old-fashioned cubbyholes, evenly spaced, held messages and other documents for the guests in the hotel. The slot allocated to his room was empty, but he had not expected to find anything there this early.
The cab arrived twenty minutes later and Mark made the trip in silence, sipping his coffee and lost in his own thoughts. The driver deposited him at the front steps of the Commonwealth International Bank just a few minutes after ten. Mark asked the driver to wait for him, explaining that it could be as much as an hour, but that he had to be back to the hotel quickly for a meeting. He paid for the fare on the meter and added more to the money he gave the driver as a down payment on the wait.
Unlike his first two visits to the bank, Jonus Roddy was waiting for him inside the front door. They exchanged greetings and handshakes before Mark was ushered into Jonus’ office. For the first few minutes, Mark described the things he had done the day and night before. He restated his desire to continue with things just as he had outlined them yesterday. Jonus gave him a look that communicated his hope things would go as Mark had foreseen.
“Is everything on this end finished?” Mark asked him.
“Yes, I believe so,” Jonus responded to him. “The last account was transferred just a little before midnight. All the money has been deposited in the bank here. The accounts have been set up just as you instructed.”
“Good. And the rest of it?” Mark inquired.
“Yes.” Jonus looked at some papers on his desk before continuing. “Everything else was also done just like you asked. Although I must tell you, there are a number of people questioning your wisdom. The transfers have cost you dearly.”
Mark smiled slightly at this. “I imagine there are. Just a few more hours and everyone will know as much as I know.” The smile faded from his face as the truth of what he had just said came home to him. “Either way, this mess will be done and over in a little while.”
“Well, that will surely be so.” Jonus picked up a folder, extracted a piece of paper from it, and handed it to Mark. “These account numbers are the only things that grants you access to your money.” Mark nodded his understanding. He was already in the process of committing the information to memory. It was a welcome exercise and would give him something to do in until he could see Amy.
“I thought,” Jonus began again, opening a drawer in his desk as he spoke, “you might also want to take out some insurance.” He removed a Walther PPK automatic pistol from the drawer and held it out to Mark. From where he stood, Mark could see that a full clip was already loaded into the butt of the pistol. He looked at the gun for a long moment before speaking.
“I understand and appreciate your concern, but I think I will be fine. I am not saying that I wouldn’t feel better with that,” he said, nodding toward the pistol. “As long as I have control of this,” he waved the sheet of paper he had been studying, “I am safe. If I take that with me it could make people jumpier then they already are. I think it’s best if you keep that for now.” Jonus just shrugged and started to replace the pistol into his desk. “But … ah …” Mark said as an afterthought, “You might want to keep it handy, just in case.”
The two men continued to talk for another twenty minutes. They reviewed what Mark thought would transpire and the sequence in which he thought it would happen. He was pleased to see that Jon had given it some serious thought and had, on his own, improved the plan the two men had discussed the morning before.
Mark surmised, and not for the first time, that there was more to this banker than what he could see from the outside. He genuinely liked the man. In fact, Jonus reminded him a great deal of his friend and former partner, Pat. Mark was sorry it had taken this crisis to discover someone like Jon. He was glad, though, that in this crisis Jon was on his side.
Mark looked at his watch and was shocked to see that it was already eleven o’clock. He jumped up from his chair and told Jon that he had best be making his way back to the hotel. He wanted to allow extra transit time to make sure he was there on time. Jonus got up from his desk and began to move with Mark towards the door. They reached it at the same time but, before Jon could open it, Mark put his hand on the man’s arm, stopping him.
“I want to make sure I have time to let you know how much I appreciate what you have done and are doing for me and my wife. I wish there was some way that I could thank you.” Mark said.
“No thanks are necessary. It has been my pleasure,” the banker said in an even tone of voice.
“You’ve done things you didn’t have to do. Jon, I really want you to know how much I am in your debt.”
“You know,” Jonus said, reaching again for the door. “Mr. Lawrence could not have made a better choice for his heir. It has been an honor to be of service to you sir.”
All the way back to the hotel Mark went over the numbers in his head and checked them against the paper in his hand. He even went so far as to say them backwards just to make sure that they were firmly embedded in his memory. Just before the cab pulled into the hotel drive, he tore the paper into several small pieces and pushed them out the window.
He stopped at the bell captain’s desk and spoke briefly with the man there. The man wrote something down and handed it to Mark. Mark thanked him and walked across the entrance of the casino and straight into the coffee shop.
It was eleven thirty-five by his watch. Ten minutes. He ordered coffee and glanced again at the cubbyholes used for message storage. In the slot for his room was a business envelope. The coffee came and Mark drank it quickly, signing the charge to his room. He had one last thing he knew he needed to do. It was something learned early in his career; when you’re going to an important meeting or giving a big presentation the very last thing to do before hand is visit the men’s room. He didn’t need the rent coming due on his bladder distracting him just now.
The clock on the wall behind the front desk said exactly eleven forty-five when Mark asked the desk clerk if he had any messages. The young woman retrieved the envelope and handed it to Mark after glancing at his pre-offered room key. He took the envelope, walked to a place away from the desk, and opened it.
Inside was a folded piece of stationery from the Atlantis Hotel with the number 9 1 3 written on it in what appeared to be Amy’s handwriting. Folded inside the paper was an electronic key that looked identical to the one he had been using to gain access to his room. Amy was here in the Atlantis. He put both the note and the key into his pocket and walked to the elevator bank.
There was a couple who had just checked into the hotel already waiting wi
th a bellman, pushing a cart full of bags. He let them into the elevator first and then, as if he had forgotten something, told them to go ahead—he would have to take another. The door closed and Mark immediately pushed the button to summon another car. This time he managed to get into the elevator alone. As soon as the door closed he pulled the cellular phone Jonus had given him the day before out of his inside coat pocket and pushed one of the speed dial numbers he had programmed into the device.
To his surprise, he managed a normal stroll down the hall from the elevator to the door of room 913. He assumed that because he had been given a key he was expect to let himself into the room and without knocking. He slid the card through the lock and immediately heard the door click open at the same instant a green light on the panel flashed. He pushed the door open, slipped inside, and closed it behind him before turning to face the interior of the room.
Amy was seated in one of the four chairs positioned at the small round worktable. She looked up at him and immediately jumped up and ran into his arms. She held him tightly and he could feel her sobbing into his chest.
“It’s OK Amy.” He said stroking her hair. “It’s OK. I’m here now. It’s going to be all right.” He heard a noise and looked up in time to see a pistol coming out from behind a dividing wall, followed by Mr. E. Hamilton Hunte, most recently of Dallas, Texas.
“A very touching reunion,” Hamilton said, coming into Mark’s full view. “Amy dear, would you be so kind as to take your seat again.” Amy looked up from Mark’s chest at Hamilton. He waved the end of the gun toward the chair she had been sitting in when Mark had entered the room. “That’s right, nice and easy now.” Amy let go of Mark and did as was told.
“Mr. Vogel would you be so kind as to step into the room, face the wall over there, and lean against it with your palms flat.” Mark looked at him for a moment before moving to comply. When he was positioned against the wall Hamilton came up behind him and, while still holding the gun, used his free hand to pat Mark down. He found nothing in his search. As soon as Mark left the elevator he had tossed the cell phone into the trash can before coming to Hamilton’s room.
