“We’re going to pull a classic ‘bump and dip’ maneuver, with one variation. Timing will be everything. I figure we’ll have thirty seconds.”
Now we had to wait again. We took turns monitoring the bugs at the villa. I hoped we’d get some warning when Boynton decided to visit the bank. It took three days. The waiting was hard on the others, except for Glenn and me. We were the only ones with an acquired sense of patience. I was at Aunt Tilly’s when the phone rang. She answered.
“Mr. Mike! It’s Mr. Glenn.”
Glenn was in the van, “Mike, he’s going to the bank, alone. He’s just getting ready to leave.”
“Right... OK! Showtime, everyone!”
We all headed down to the bank and took up the positions I had assigned. Boynton arrived about twenty minutes later. Thomas followed him into the bank while Robin and I window-shopped. We waited another ten minutes. Thomas came on over the handi-talkie, “He put the booklet in the right front cargo pocket of his bush jacket. He is leaving now.”
Boynton came out of the bank and turned right, toward his car. Robin and I fell in close behind him. Robert was waiting with Aunt Tilly just around the corner in the alley. I dropped back a few paces and cued my lapel mike. “OK, Robert, he’s fifty feet from you, get ready.”
Boynton had just reached the alley when Aunt Tilly came barreling around the corner carrying a dozen bunches of tropical flowers in her arms. There was a spectacular and colorful collision. Aunt Tilly went down. Boynton went down. Robin landed on top of them. Robert came up and was jumping around talking like a machine gun gone berserk, being of no help whatsoever and adding to the scene of chaos.
While the injured parties were trying to sort themselves out and get upright, I picked Boynton’s pocket. I turned around, opened the booklet, and photographed the first page with the miniature camera I was carrying. I flipped the page and copied the variable code words, put the camera away, turned around again, and was in time to slip the booklet back into Boynton’s pocket as he stood up. We helped Robin to her feet.
“Dear, are you all right? Is everything OK?”
“Yes, Paul. I’m afraid I wasn’t looking where I was going. I hope this gentleman isn’t hurt.”
Boynton was checking himself over, patting pockets. He looked a trifle confused. “No. I’m fine. That was a pretty good crash though. Are you sure you’re all right, Miss?” to Robin. “You came down awfully hard.”
“Yes, thank you. Oh, I’m Bridget Stephens and this is my husband, Paul.”
“It’s nice to meet you. My name’s Bill Goldman. Maybe we’ll run into each other again.”
Robert had a friend who, he said, operated a photographic emporium. She let us use the darkroom. Two hours later we had our answer to question number one. My shots wouldn’t win any prizes. They were canted, a little out of focus, and the contrast was lousy, but we had Boynton’s account number and code words. We were definitely in business.
Now it was time to hurry things along. We had to get Boynton and Kristi out of the country, preferably for a week to ten days. I checked in with Glenn that afternoon.
“He got back a little after twelve. He told the girl about the accident; he doesn’t sound suspicious. About twenty minutes ago he made reservations for dinner at the Grand Old House for eight-thirty.”
At 8:45 Robin and I walked into the restaurant. Our reservations were for 9:00 P.M. As we walked to the bar I saw Boynton, “Well, well. Mr. Goldman. I hope you are no worse for wear tonight?”
“Ah, Mr. and Mrs. Stephens?”
“Stephens, right. Paul and Bridget.”
“And this is my wife, Pat, and I’m Bill. Hey, why don’t you two join us for dinner?”
The dinner was superb. Bill had the lobster, the girls some local fish dish, and I chose the shrimp curry. The wine was excellent. We learned that Bill and Pat had been on the island about six weeks and were enjoying an extended holiday. They were planning to travel around the Caribbean with Grand Cayman as a home base. So far they had been to the Bahamas for a week. Pat really enjoyed the traveling.
That made Robin’s task easy. She told Pat and Bill about our trip to Curasao and Aruba in the Netherlands Antilles and how Willemstad, the capital, was just like an old Dutch town set in the tropics. She enthused over the people, the food, the sights, things to do. By the end of the evening Pat was sold.
Now we had to wait again and hope our sales pitch had taken hold. It took another three days. Robin and I spent our free time on the beaches.
The beaches were the best part. They’re pure white sand, clear blue-green water, warm with a steady breeze. Robin had bought a bathing suit that was all the rage on the French Riviera. It did things for her that shouldn’t be done in public. It also did things to me. I spent a lot of time swimming.
I was coming back from the store when Robin came running down Aunt Tilly’s steps and started dancing around, laughing, “They went for it, Mike! They’re going to Curasao on Tuesday. Robert just called. They made reservations and everything. Oh, Mike! It’s going to work! It’s going to work!”
Tuesday morning started as another perfect, beautiful sunny day in paradise. Mr. and Mrs. Paul Stephens drove down to the Inter-Island Overseas Bank, Ltd., on Edward Street and waited.
“Mike.” The handi-talkie came to life. “This is Robert. Over.”
“Go ahead, Robert. Over.”
“Mike, the plane just took off. Our voyagers are well gone. Over and out.”
A secretary showed us into Mr. Griffin’s office. Good morning. This is my wife, Mrs. Stephens. Pleasure to meet you, Mrs. Stephens. And how could Mr. Griffin and the bank be of service today? Mr. Stephens’s company was thinking of sending him a sizeable stock of bearer bonds and other negotiable securities. Did the bank offer safe-deposit boxes? Yes. Could he see them? Of course! The vault was in the basement. Would they come this way? Would it be all right if Mrs. Stephens waited in Mr. Griffin’s office? Quite all right.
I hurried Robin into the car, “Did you get it?”
“Yes, you gave me more than enough time. I punched up Boynton’s account on Mr. Griffin’s terminal. I got the balance — five million four hundred thousand, and the next variable code word. I even got a printout. It’s in my purse.”
“That’s beautiful. Did I ever tell you that I love you?”
“Oh, once or twice, I think.”
That afternoon we were in the office over the grocery store. Robin was sitting in front of the telex machine. I looked at everyone. “Are we ready?... OK, Robin, send the first message.”
She typed in the bank’s number and then:
TO: INTER-ISLAND OVERSEAS BANK, LTD., DEBIT ACCT: #37867452-SRBES-TWWON, 305,295.00 US DOLLARS, TRANSFER BY INTL. WIRE TO ACCT. #888742, MID-FLORIDA TRUST CO., MIAMI, FL, USA, TELEX 264–771.
We sent two more messages before the bank closed. Now we waited again. While we had been in the Cayman Islands, Bob Johnson, with Naughton’s help, had opened two accounts in Florida banks, one in the Bahamas, and one in Santo Domingo. He had also opened an account in Basel, Switzerland. Boynton had stolen the money by sending it around the world by telex. We were going to steal it back the same way.
On Wednesday morning I called Bob. He was in Miami.
“Hi, let’s put this on the scrambler.” I plugged the handset into place, punched in the code reference, and picked up the scrambler’s telephone equipment from the case.
“You still there, Bob?”
“Mike, it’s working. Three money wires in yesterday and they’ve been deposited to our accounts. I’ve already verified it. How are things there?”
“Fine, Bob, just fine. We’ve been keeping our fingers crossed since last night. We’ll continue as planned. Talk to you tonight, 7:00 P.M., right?”