CHAPTER 23
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I had an excellent breakfast in the hotel's dining room the following morning. I waited until ten o'clock then drove to the Naismith Basketball Hall of Fame. I paid $23.00 for my ticket and wandered around for more than an hour, enjoying the sight of the players and coaches I remembered from my youth. I often recalled my dad telling me about when the New York Knicks had their golden years in the late sixties and early seventies when they won their only two championships. I left just after noon after asking at the information desk for the nearest Starbucks. There I ordered a hot chocolate and a small box of fruit. I only drank coffee in the morning. At this hour the restaurant was almost deserted so I had no trouble finding a table at the rear where I sat with my back to the wall.
It was a breeze entering the internet service provider and keying in O'Neill's IP address. From there I began the sales I had investigated last night, cleaning out each and every account. Three of the five were done by four that afternoon so I moved the money to an account at another site where I doubted Margaret or anyone else would be able to find it. Then I went into the bank's site, easily locating Margaret's CD's, which like most investments these days existed not on paper, but as magnetic blips on a computer disc. That money—almost $375,000—disappeared in a flash. I also sent that to the special account.
This was the reason why I wanted a computer that couldn't be traced to me. Should Margaret complain, and I was sure she would, the financial records would show that the transaction had come from her computer. It would be difficult, if not impossible, to prove that she had not made the sales and trades herself. All of the information—the passwords and internet information would point straight to her computer, and nowhere else and I'd had another idea, one I'd address just before leaving town.
I didn't care if I ever sold my software to Tom's bank, but bringing and giving him a sales prospectus gave me a legitimate reason for being in Springfield. I anticipated a visit from either local police or the FBI sometime within the next few months and I wanted to be prepared.
I stayed there all afternoon and by five I was able to move the rest of the money. I packed up my laptop and went to the counter where I asked if they knew of a burger kind of place that had wi-fi." They sent me to a restaurant just about a half mile down the street.
Once there I asked for a booth in the back and, once again, I sat with my back to the wall. Like old-time gunslingers I had learned way back in junior high to shield my computer screen from prying eyes. Of course, in those days most of those eyes belonged to my parents or to the staff of the public library. This time I used their wi-fi as my base before logging into a server in Israel where I moved the money to Switzerland. I had finished my salad when I moved it again to South Africa. Next step was the Cayman Islands. They have excellent security and privacy laws so I was pretty sure that any trail would run cold from there.
I had finished my bacon cheeseburger and fries when I moved the money again, this time to the Central Bank of Russia. After dessert—a banana split—I made the final move to a different bank in Switzerland. All told I had moved roughly four million dollars seven times—twice to locations where I knew from experience that any transfer would be completely untraceable. Almost three hundred thousand had been paid in bank fees, a bargain so far as I was concerned. I returned to my hotel from there where I retired to the sports bar for a cold beer then to my room for a shower and a good night's sleep.
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I had checked out by ten the following morning, driving to a Salvation Army drop box I had passed several times over the past two days. After cleaning up the drive with a special program I had brought with me I wiped the plastic surface of the laptop with a wet-nap—an alcohol and soap laden slip of paper that would remove both my fingerprints and any DNA I had left behind even though I doubted the machine would be traced to me. That's the beauty of buying used equipment without a warranty. There was no record of the laptop's serial number. I was just back in my car when I phoned Tom O'Neill's cell. "How did things go with your lovely wife yesterday morning?"
"It went exactly as you said. She had a whale of a headache when she woke up. She couldn't even sit up without pain. Then she asked me how she had gotten to bed and I told her she had a little wine and said she was feeling poorly so I helped her into bed before going to the guest room to work and sleep. I told her I had to go to Montreal tomorrow morning and she gave me my passport so I wouldn't disturb her any more today. Then she went back to bed. I'm tempted to leave now."
"Don't—you don't need her calling the cops to look for you. Stick to the plan. You'll be able to take some clothes and your toiletries and she won't worry about you for the next week. By then you'll be in Montenegro and you'll be free. I hear it's beautiful there. I'll wire you some money even before you're settled in. I'll send you an email with the details. Incidentally, I've moved everything—every red cent—and, best of all, the records will show all the activity originated at her computer while you were at work. Of course, examining the drive won't show much, but anyone with a modicum of computer experience could handle that. I do plan to address that before I leave.
"Moving it in and out of all those banks cost you about three hundred grand, but there's still plenty left, even if you decide not to invest it in securities. I think that CD's, especially in a bank in Montenegro, will be safe." He agreed and I left Massachusetts, happy to catch the 3:30 ferry back to Long Island. After a seafood dinner in Port Jefferson I drove home arriving around 7:30.