Purely by Accident

by Jim Beegle

  A cool, damp towel was being placed on the back of his neck and he could smell fresh coffee from somewhere very close. “Here drink this, it may help.” He looked up to see Marin holding a coffee mug out toward him.

  “Surely it couldn’t hurt,” Mark said taking the cup and offering her a weak smile in return. She took a seat to his right and gave him a patronizing smile—the kind nurses give patients when they patient are doing something stupid that is against the doctor’s orders and best advice.

  Smithy, a doctor with a thriving practice not far from the Paradise Beach Club but, more importantly, the fourth player in Jonus Roddy’s regular bridge group, had been summoned by Jonus soon after Mark had arrived from the Atlantis Hotel.

  Smithy had pronounced Mark no the worse for his experience and said that he could be up for a while, but for no more than four to six hours. Not really for any other reason than, in that timeframe the pentothal would eventually overpower the amphetamines Smithy had administered into him, and his body would go back to sleep.

  The one piece of the whole plan that had most concerned Mark was the one piece that he didn’t have any control over: where the meeting was going to take place. He and Jon had assumed that it would be somewhere close to the Atlantis Hotel where he would pick up the instructions, and somewhere that was also close to the bank. They finally concluded if the meeting did not take place in the Atlantis, it would have to be somewhere close by and, more than likely, in a hotel.

  Jon and Mark knew that Hamilton and Amy would want to keep Mark nearby and restrained while they confirmed that the account was valid. Jon and Mark had assumed that Mark would simply be tied up or handcuffed and left unattended while the account was verified and transferred. They did not figure that he would be chemically restrained.

  The only other thing Mark considered a possible problem was rescuing him from the meeting place and getting him to safety after he had given up the account information.

  Mark didn’t believe Hamilton and Amy would have had time to employ anyone locally to watch the meeting place while they were at the bank but, he didn’t want to assume anything. Jonus had reassured Mark, when he laid the plan out to him over breakfast the day before, that he would take care of extracting him out of wherever the meeting took place. Mark had to smile to himself, remembering what Marin had told him about Jon’s improvisation on Mark’s original idea of getting him to the Paradise Beach Club

  Jonus had dispatched two of his uniformed bank guards with Marin to the Atlantis just as soon as Mark had called in from the elevator with the location of the meeting place. They had waited in the hotel lobby until they saw Hamilton and Amy leave for the bank.

  Jonus had already called the hotel manager, also an acquaintance, and secured a key to the room for Marin. Then he made sure that Hamilton and Amy were occupied long enough at the bank for Marin to get Mark out of the Atlantis. While anyone looking closely would have realized that the two men semi-dragging Mark out of the hotel were not police, it was still a very convincing act. Besides wearing official-looking uniforms, they were both big men who could very likely hurt you with a disapproving glance. Marin had reported that they had no trouble on the trip to the Paradise Island Beach Club.

  There was a sudden movement from of the corner of his eye. Mark looked up to see Jonus seating himself directly across from him.

  “They are gone,” he reported to Mark without explaining who ‘they’ were.

  “Together?” Mark asked weakly. The sound of his own voice sent a shock wave through his head.

  “No,” Jonus said, shaking his head. “Mr. Hunte left the hotel hastily after they discovered you were gone. He went to the Lynden Pindling International Airport and caught a KLM flight to Frankfort. Mrs. Vogel left twenty minutes or so later. She appeared quite distressed when she passed through the hotel lobby.”

  Jonus looked at Mark to gauge what his reaction would be to this news. There was none from Mark, but he was surprised to see his comments had a noticeable effect on Marin. He fought to control a smile at this discovery and decided the best way to handle this was to keep talking.

  “She went to the airport and took the charter flight you had arranged for her. The pilot radioed Leon and said he was filing a flight plan for Dallas. Leon also said he needed an additional two thousand dollars to go that far. I assured him you were good for it.” Jonus was now unable to control his smile.

  “Thanks Jon,” Mark told him looking up from his coffee. “For that and so much more. You saved my life.”

  “Oh, it was indeed my pleasure,” Jon said, broadening his smile. “You are, after all, a customer of the bank. It is simply a good business practice to do everything we can to keep our depositors alive.” Mark laughed even though it made his head feel like it was coming off his shoulders.

  The drugs Smithy had injected into Mark had revived him enough to the point that he was now very aware of how truly bad he felt. He took a long drink from the coffee. While he continued to sip, he gave serious thought to taking a shower just to see if that would improve things, but that train of thought was interrupted when the door to the sitting room opened and Winston Lawton stuck his head into the room.

  “Mark?”

  He looked up when he heard his name called, “Everybody’s here now,” the lawyer from Dallas said. “You sure you feel up to this? You still don’t look so good,” he commented after taking a good look at Mark.

  “Thanks, Winston. I have felt a lot better many if not most of times in my life. As to your first question, No, I don’t feel up to this,” Mark said, standing and stretching, “but I want to get it over with, and the sooner the better as far as I’m concerned.”

  “OK then,” Winston said, swinging the door open “let’s get on with it.” Marin moved to Mark’s side and took his arm assisting him into the next room. He didn’t think he needed the help but decided it was nice to have whether he needed it or not. She led him through the double French doors and into the living area of the suite.

  Once again Jonus’s attention to detail was evident. And Mark yet again realized how fortunate he had been to confide in this most unusual of bank presidents. Mark had asked Jon to arrange for a place where Winston and Marin could stay that would also be suitable for use as a meeting place.

  Jonus had booked them into the Paradise Island Beach Club, which was comprised of forty-four two-bedroom suites, each consisting of a spacious living area divided by bedroom/sitting rooms. Each suite also had a dining room as well as a full kitchen.

  Seated on the sofa and in over-stuffed chairs scattered around the living room, was a group of serious white men and one serious looking white woman, all of whom had arrived in Nassau throughout the previous day. All summoned to Nassau by Winston’s very persuasive, and at times, very, pointed invitation.

  Winston Lawton was one of the people Mark had called when he had first arrived at the Atlantis Hotel. The group of people who were now seated in the room had been on a list Mark had dictated to Winston. Mark had explained that it was important to have every one of them in Nassau and asked the lawyer to convince them to please attend this small gathering. In point of fact, they needed very little convincing. The guests gathered in the room were all joined at the hip by one commonality David Albert Cameron, AKA Cecil Lawrence, and the money he stole from the Southwest Bank of Houston.

  Mark immediately recognized Alan Ketchem, president of the Intercontinental Commerce Bank, sitting at one end of the sofa. They had met on several occasions when Mark accompanied Amy to various social gathering for the bank. He was a study in contrast to Hamilton Hunte. Thin and lean, a runner’s body Mark thought, with wire-rimmed glasses and quick steel-gray eyes that missed nothing. On seeing Mark enter the room, he went over, said hello, and shook his hand.

  Winston, in addition to other duties he would have to perform that night, was also acting as host and making introductions for and to Mark as they moved down to the other end of the sofa.


  The first of the two men seated at the opposite end of the couch from Alan Ketchem was John Robertson, Assistant Federal District Attorney for the state of Texas and was accompanied by an assistant who was not high enough on the organizational chat to warrant an introduction.

  On the other side of the room was a middle-aged man, still wearing his suit coat. He had the same kind of body language of Mr. Ketchem. Winston introduced him as Michael Dunn of Texas Mutual Assurance, the insurance company that had bonded David Cameron and covered the loss for the money he stole.

  Of all the people in the room, Mr. Dunn had the most to gain; and he acknowledged it by the warm greeting and handshake he gave Mark. He also had a assistant, a Ms. Heather Burns, whom he introduced as one of Texas Mutual’s in-house lawyers.

  After the introductions Mark slowly took a seat and positioned himself so he could see everyone in the room and they could see him. “I hope you have already met my associates, Mr. Jonus Roddy, president of the Commonwealth International Bank here in Nassau and Ms. Marin Yates of IBC’s international banking division in Dallas.”

  When Mark said this, Marin stole a nervous glance at Alan Ketchem, but if he was concerned that she was here he gave no indication of it as he as he focused his attention on Mark. “And I know that all of you are acquainted with my legal counsel, Mr. Lawton.” The room, almost in unison, nodded.

  “Good. First, I would like to thank you all for making the trip here on such short notice.” Again the occupants of room seemed to respond as one, assuring Mark that it was their pleasure to be there. “I would also like to assume that all of you have heard the story of why I have asked Mr. Lawton to bring you all here?”

  “Yes we have.” replied Robertson, the DA, “but I’m not sure why you have asked us to be here. The statue of limitations has expired on this crime. Surely Mr. Lawton told you that? There is no outstanding warrant for Mr. Cameron or, for you regarding the original robbery.”

  “I hoped that might be the case, but I needed to be sure,” Mark told him, trying his best to speak without moving his aching head. “But there could be something else involved here that might be of interest to you. However, if you don’t mind I would like to hold off on that for the moment if I could?” Robertson nodded his agreement.

  “Thanks.” Mark took a deep breath, which seemed to make every part of him hurt more, and began speaking again. “Through a course of events,” Mark began, shifting his gaze around the room. “that I think you all are aware of, I came to be the sole surviving beneficiary of money stolen in September of 1983 from the Southwest Bank of Houston. Southwest was later merged into what is now the Intercontinental Bank of Commerce, headquartered in Dallas.” If anyone in the room was unacquainted with these facts, no one indicated it to Mark.

  “After realizing that the money had been stolen, and therefore not rightfully Mr. Cameron’s to give to me, I decided that the best course of action for me to take would be to give the money back to it’s rightful owners. Since the Southwest Bank of Houston no longer existed, the next best thing was to give it back to IBC.”

  “And just exactly how much money are we talking about?” Mr. Dunn asked.

  “Fifteen million dollars, less what Mr. Cameron spent but including the accrued interest on what was left,” Mark told him. Both assistants, who had produced iPads when the conversation began, wrote this down.

  When Mark said this, he looked straight at Alan Ketchem. However, Ketchem wasn’t looking at Mark but at Michael Dunn.

  “And in round numbers just how much of this money and it’s interest is left?” Mr. Dunn pressed.

  “Oh, I can do better than just round numbers.” Mark turned to Jonus, who was already in the process of opening a folder and looking at his notes.

  “At the close of business today, the balance in Mr. Vogel’s account stood at $50,873,356,” Jonus Roddy announced in his best formal British tone.

  “At what rate of interest is that money working?” Dunn asked.

  Jonus did not look at Mark before answering. “The bank is currently paying six and one-half percent on it’s deposits, sir.”

  “But that won’t tell you anything,” Mark interrupted.

  “Why not?” It was the first time that Alan Ketchem had entered the conversation.

  “Because,” Mark said, shifting his attention from Dunn to Ketchem, “I have no idea how much of it Cameron spent and on what. He was in control the money for over twenty-five years and to the best of my knowledge never worked another day of his life after he stole it.” Once again the room approved en masse to this explanation.

  “So,” Dunn continued, taking on the role of self-appointed spokesperson for the group. “Am I correct in assuming that you want something from us,” he swept the room with his hand, “In exchange for giving the money back?” Mark just nodded. “What kind of deal are you looking for Mr. Vogel?”

  “Nothing much,” Mark said. Marin, who was still hovering close to Mark, realized that this whole conversation had been orchestrated to guide the group to this point all along. The other people in the room believed that through clever cross-examination they had cornered him into finally reveal what they wanted. Mark, she now understood, had been waiting for the rest of them to catch up.

  “All I want from you,” he said, speaking directly to Dunn, “is an agreement stating that, whatever claims that Texas Mutual Assurance may have over this money, that they pursue them directly with IBC and leave me out of it.”

  “And just like that you will turn the money over to IBC?” Dunn asked in disbelief.

  “Well not exactly,” Mark said as Dunn started to ask another question. Before he could speak, Mark cut him off. “I need to work out a few other things with some of the rest of the folks here.” Indicating the others in the room. “None of their contributions will be any more demanding than yours but, yes, as far as Texas Mutual and IBC are concerned, that’s pretty much the case.”

  There was a stir on the couch as other voices joined the conversation. “Look folks,” Mark said, sweeping his eyes around the room. “I want to give the money back. The only thing I want out of any of this is simply to be done with all of it. I want to leave here and never have anything to do with any of you ever again.” Mark paused and smiled before continuing. “No offense meant.” Dunn nodded his head to indicate, again for the whole room, that none was taken.

  “So now can you tell me where we fit in?” This question from Robertson again.

  “Yes sir, I can and thank you for you patience,” Mark nodded toward the man from the DA’s office as he shifted his gaze. “‘First I would like something, in writing, from your office, assuring me that I will not be prosecuted over this matter. Second, and more important to me, I would like for your office, in concert with IBC and Texas Mutual, to intercede on my behalf with the IRS.” Robertson looked at him questioningly way.

  “I want you” Mark began anew, “to persuade the IRS to issue a ruling, that I will not be held responsible for any of the taxes that could be involved with my temporary ownership of the money. If you cannot secure that for me, then whatever tax liability that the IRS determines I owe will have to be deducted from the total amount of the money that I will return to IBC before it is transferred.

  Already he could see that Mr. Dunn was working on ways to make sure that Mark got what he wanted from the IRS.

  “You mentioned that the DA’s office might get something out of this in return for our assistance,” Robertson reminded him.

  “I did,” Mark said, trying to move only his eyes instead of his whole, aching body. “I will let the DA’s office have all the ink that comes from solving a twenty-five-year-old robbery.”

  “Huh?” Dunn said. But Mark could tell that Robertson knew exactly what he was referring to.

  “I will let the DA take full credit for recovering the money,” he said both to Robertson and Dunn. “In fact, I would prefer that my name be kept totally out of it.” He c
ould see Robertson was quickly warming to the idea.

  Getting enough of the ever-shrinking federal pie was harder and harder for any government agency. The competition was very intense between regions like Texas and California, where the population and the rate of crime were constant increasing. This, as compared to a state like Rhode Island, where the population and crime rate did not vary that much year to year, but supported a well-oiled lobbying machine that saw to it that they got more than their share and then some of the federal money earmarked for law enforcement.

  No, being able to stand up and claim that he instrumental is recovering over $50,000,000 in stolen money made it much easier to get the funding he needed for his office.

  “I don’t see a problem with either of your conditions,” Robertson said, thinking as he spoke. “As I told you before, the statute of limitations has run out on the original crime. You didn’t personally steal the money from IBC nor did you steal it from Mr. Cameron. As far as we’re concerned, there won’t be any filed; you have my word.” Now he paused and put the tips on his fingers together under his chin.

  “As far as the IRS is concerned, I don’t see that as a problem either. Have you had any of the money transferred into the United States since it came into your possession?”

  “No,” Mark replied.

  “So, the money has been out of the country since it was stolen?” The DA asked, making sure he was now covering all the exposed bases. “You have not attempted to bring it into the United States?” Mark painfully shook his head.

  “I don’t think we will have a problem there either. Technically, I am not even sure they can get you for taxes. The banking laws in the Bahamas are designed specifically to help you avoid the IRS.” He put his hands down, signaling that he had come to a conclusion. “We can get the IRS to play ball.”

  “Good,” Mark said, trying to smile despite the increasing pressure in his head.