Markov said nothing.
“What the fuck have you been doing while I was in here busting my ass to save your money? I thought you had an army of assholes led by that maniac Gregor. You fail to do what you’re supposed to, and you blame me?”
Markov said nothing.
“What about Kolenka?”
Finally Markov spoke. “He is dead. And many of his men. And Gregor. And many of his men are dead, or captured by police. It’s been all over the news for hours.”
“What? How?”
Markov leaned forward. “Never mind. I want to know, if you didn’t take my money, how did they? You are the one who controls everything. It’s your computer. Your brokerage firm. How can they do this?”
“Jeezus Christ, Leonard, I understand your concern for the money, but aren’t you worried more about Beck?”
“Never mind Beck. How did they get my money?”
Crane turned to his computer, talking to himself. “Shit, even with Olivia Sanchez helping him, I don’t know. I have to figure this out. You’re sure the bank isn’t just fucking something up?”
Markov picked up his cell phone to call the Cayman bank again.
Crane started shutting down all his programs. Then he rebooted his computer. He listened carefully to Markov pressing the bank officer. When he paused, Crane asked, “What is the bank saying?”
“They say it’s impossible to transfer out that much money without anybody knowing it. He swears it has to be in the bank. They’re tracing it. What the hell is going on?”
“If I knew I’d tell you. Since I haven’t been near a phone or a computer or a fax since I gathered everything in your account, clearly I can’t tell you what’s going on.”
Crane started a scan with his security software programs, but when the program tried to go online to first update, he couldn’t connect. “What the fuck?”
He stood up, walked over to the shelf where his router sat, and rebooted it. Once it cycled through the reboot, he was able to get back online.
“I don’t understand this.”
“What? What are you talking about?”
Crane yelled, “Maybe if I figured it out, it would help the bank.”
Markov yelled back, “Figure out what?”
Crane started following the fiber-optic cables that connected his modem. He’d play this out. Tell Markov he had to check the transponder connection in the basement. That would give him the evidence that somebody, presumably Beck, had compromised his Internet connection. Which in turn, would give Crane a way to explain how somebody, presumably Beck, had tapped into his computer and taken Markov’s money. More important, it would provide him an opportunity to get Olivia’s text and start the process that would get Markov’s money out of the Belize bank to his and Olivia’s account in Switzerland.
He’d sit with Markov long enough to show him the evidence that Beck had his money, send him after Beck, and then get the hell out of town with his newly hired bodyguards making sure nobody stopped him.
In twenty-four hours, he and one of the hottest women he’d ever met would be in Geneva, rich enough to disappear, travel the world, fuck in the best hotels ever built, and indulge whatever desire that might interest them for the rest of their lives.
83
Olivia didn’t have to fake being exhausted.
She had concentrated on filling out the last fax that would wire transfer the final block of money from the Cayman bank to the Belize bank. Then she sat back and watched Beck carefully fax the order to the Cayman bank while he talked it through with the Krebs bank vice president in Belize in charge of Summit’s affairs. The Krebs VP promised to follow through with HSBC in Cayman.
When he was done, she gave Beck a wan smile and let out a long slow breath of relief. At that moment, they were the only two people who knew the account number and passwords for the Belize bank account. The money was safe.
Beck nodded his acknowledgment.
Olivia felt the attraction that had existed between them like an electric current. She wondered if Beck would survive Markov’s next attempt to hunt him down. This time Markov would have even more motivation.
“I’m fried,” she said. “I’ve got to lay down. I don’t care where. Anywhere is fine.”
“Use my bedroom,” said Beck.
“What are you going to do?”
“Finish up and crash on one of the couches.”
Olivia resisted the urge to invite him upstairs. She nodded and headed for the stairwell.
When she got to Beck’s bedroom, she closed the door behind her. Then for added security she went into his bathroom and locked that door. While writing out the last fax, she’d copied the bank account number, customer ID, and access codes of the Belize bank account on a separate piece of paper, which she’d slipped into her back pocket. Now she texted them to Alan Crane’s phone.
She had no idea if he had freed himself from Markov and his guards, but he soon would. From then on, it was up to him to get the money out of Belize and into the Swiss bank account they had set up two months prior.
She was too tired to shower. She was down to her last change of clothes anyhow. She tore up her notepaper, flushed it down the toilet, washed her hands and face, and settled onto Beck’s bed, fully clothed except for her shoes. She checked her watch. Two minutes after twelve. The plane for Switzerland left at 7:10 p.m. She had plenty of time. Grab a couple of hours sleep. Tell Beck she had to go home. She would catch up with him later. Don’t ask about money. Don’t ask for a cut. Just ask for her car. Say good-bye to Manny. Thank him as if he’d saved her life. Get her Porsche back and leave.
Her bags were already packed. Shower, change, close down the apartment, store the car as planned, take a limo to JFK and meet Alan.