Such maneuvers were not entirely unusual at a Grand Cayman bank. What would have been unusual was for the bank officer to ask what Summit was doing and why. It was entirely none of his business.
As soon as she finished closing out the first five bank accounts, she hung up, called back and got another bank officer on the line, and went through the same procedure for the second five accounts, while Alex was in the process of emptying everything into the fourteenth and fifteenth accounts. This was to make sure no single account ever showed a total that matched the money they had taken from Markov’s original account.
She was falling far behind Alex, but neither he nor Beck cared. Alex was confident that the first set of closed accounts would create a good deal of work for anybody trying to find out where the money had gone. Each successive set of closed accounts would only add to the complexity.
Beck’s eyes had never left the monitors once Alex and Olivia had started moving the millions. They were now ready for the last move. The final capture of over $116 million.
This last move would take the most time to accomplish. But if they managed it before anybody at the Cayman bank caught up with the money, they were home free.
Well, thought Beck, at least free to finish this goddamn mess once and for all.
80
Markov stared at the final figure on the screen for thirty seconds. The readout that confirmed that over $116 million were in his hands. Or about to be. The money was still in his cash account that Summit had set up for him in their Cayman bank. Markov wanted the money in a personal account, in a different bank, that only he controlled.
Crane stood motionless at his kitchen counter. He could see that the full amount was still in Markov’s account. What the fuck was going on? All this time and trouble, all this risk, and Beck still hadn’t made his move?
Markov took one more look at the screen, then picked up the computer case he’d placed near the worktable Anastasia’s men had moved for him, and set the case down. He had already ordered the wire transfer. Now all he had to do was to confirm it by fax. Inside his computer case was a fax he had already prepared. All he had to do was fill in the final figure. As he wrote the number with his right hand, he picked up his cell phone and speed-dialed the Cayman bank with his left.
He yelled to Crane, who was already opening a second beer in his kitchen area.
“Where’s your fax, Alan?”
Crane pointed to a built-in shelf above a row of half-height file cabinets along the wall opposite the kitchen. Amidst a bunch of electronic office equipment on the shelf was a high-speed fax machine set up on the far end.
“Make sure you put the page facedown,” Crane said with a smirk.
Markov was already talking to a bank officer, reciting his name and credentials and answering security questions as he fed the fax into Crane’s machine and punched in the bank’s fax number.
He told the officer the amount he wanted to wire transfer to a bank in Prague. He waited for the officer to confirm that he had received the fax. And he waited.
Crane stood behind his large kitchen counter watching Markov. He looked over at his computer monitor. He couldn’t see the numbers from where he stood, but he could tell from the tone of the phone conversation that if Markov refreshed that screen, the account would show the money had disappeared.
He felt his stomach clench with a combination of fear and excitement. This was it. He would either survive the next few minutes, or he wouldn’t.
He watched Markov waiting. He took another swig of his beer as he casually opened a drawer built into the long countertop work area.
He pushed aside the contents of the drawer as if he were looking for something, slid aside the top of a fake bottom section and uncovered a fully loaded 9-mm Beretta.
He heard Markov yell, “What?” And then shout at whoever was on the other end of the phone, “The amount is what it says on the fax. One hundred sixteen million, four hundred twenty-seven thousand.” Markov rushed over to the computer screen to read out the rest of the numbers. He leaned down to look at the screen. He moved the cursor and clicked enter. For a moment, he remained absolutely motionless, and then he slowly straightened up.
A calm had suddenly come over him. What was happening, couldn’t be happening. He slowly and precisely said to the bank officer at the other end of the phone, “Who am I speaking to?”
Markov listened.
“All right Mr. Beloit.” Markov checked his watch. “Less than five minutes ago there was precisely one hundred sixteen million, four hundred twenty-seven thousand, one hundred seventy-nine U.S. dollars in that account. I want you to begin tracing where it went. Do not leave the bank until you find it, or until I call you back.”
Markov cut the cell call and turned to Crane. He said very calmly, “You know, Alan, I was actually going to let you live.”
81
Alex Liebowitz slapped the enter key for the last time and closed his eyes. The exhaustion crashed down on him. He realized his jaws were so tight that he had to slowly open his mouth wide, close it and open it a few times. He tried to take a deep breath and couldn’t. The tension had stiffened and immobilized him. Even if he had wanted to, he knew he wouldn’t be able to do anything on his computer for some time.
“That’s it,” he said. “I gotta figure you have at least a half-hour head start, minimum. More likely a couple of hours. How many accounts do you have left to close behind me?”
“Three,” answered Olivia.
“Okay,” said Beck. He grabbed the back of Alex’s desk chair and slowly wheeled him away from the computer keyboard. He gently lifted Alex onto his feet and said, “Go sleep. Nobody else could have done that. It’s over.”