jg.thefirm-第83部分

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ty　cash　on　a　Bendini　plane；　usually　with　two　or　three　lawyers　on　board　to　legitimate　the　trip。　With　dope　pouring　in　by　land；　air　and　sea；　U。S。　customs　cares　little　about　what's　leaving　the　country。　It　was　a　perfect　setup。　The　planes　left　dirty　and　came　back　clean。　Once　the　money　landed　on　Grand　Cayman；　a　lawyer　on　board　handled　the　required　payoffs　to　Cayman　customs　and　to　the　appropriate　banker。　On　some　loads；　up　to　twenty…five　percent　went　for　bribes。
　　Once　deposited；　usually　in　unnamed；　numbered　accounts；　the　money　became　almost　impossible　to　trace。　But　many　of　the　bank　transactions　coincided　nicely　with　significant　corporate　events。　The　money　was　usually　deposited　into　one　of　a　dozen　numbered　holding　accounts。　Or　〃super　accounts；〃　as　Mitch　called　them。　He　gave　the　jury　these　account　numbers；　and　the　names　of　the　banks。　Then；　as　the　new　corporations　were　chartered；　the　money　was　transferred　from　the　super　accounts　to　the　corporate　accounts；　often　in　the　same　bank。　Once　the　dirty　money　was　owned　by　a　legitimate　Cayman　corporation；　the　laundering　began。　The　simplest　and　most　mon　method　was　for　the　pany　to　purchase　real　estate　and　other　clean　assets　in　the　United　States。　The　transactions　were　handled　by　the　creative　attorneys　at　Bendini；　Lambert　&　Locke；　and　all　money　moved　by　wire　transfer。　Often；　the　Cayman　corporation　would　purchase　another　Cayman　corporation　that　happened　to　own　a　Panama　corporation　that　owned　a　holding　pany　in　Denmark。　The　Danes　would　purchase　a　ball…bearing　factory　in　Toledo　and　wire　in　the　purchase　money　from　a　subsidiary　bank　in　Munich。　And　the　dirty　money　was　now　clean。
　　After　marking　Exhibit　MM4292；　Mitch　quit　the　deposition。　Sixteen　hours　of　testimony　was　enough。　It　would　not　be　admissible　at　trial；　but　it　would　serve　its　purpose。　Tar…ranee　and　his　buddies　could　show　the　tapes　to　a　grand　jury　and　indict　at　least　thirty　lawyers　from　the　Bendini　firm。　He　could　show　the　tapes　to　a　federal　magistrate　and　get　his　search　warrants。
　　Mitch　had　held　to　his　end　of　the　bargain。　Although　he　would　not　be　around　to　testify　in　person；　he　had　been　paid　only　a　million　dollars　and　was　about　to　deliver　more　than　was　expected。　He　was　physically　and　emotionally　drained；　and　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　bed　with　the　lights　off。　Abby　sat　in　a　chair　with　her　eyes　closed。
　　Ray　peeked　through　the　blinds。　〃We　need　a　cold　beer；〃　he　said。
　　〃Forget　it；〃　Mitch　snapped。
　　Ray　turned　and　stared　at　him。　〃Relax；　little　brother。　It's　dark；　and　the　store　is　just　a　short　walk　down　the　beach。　I　can　take　care　of　myself。〃
　　〃Forget　it；　Ray。　There　is　no　need　to　take　chances。　We're　leaving　in　a　few　hours；　and　if　all　goes　well；　you'll　have　the　rest　of　your　life　to　drink　beer。〃
　　Ray　was　not　listening。　He　pulled　a　baseball　cap　firmly　over　his　forehead；　stuck　some　cash　in　his　pockets　and　reached　for　the　gun。
　　〃Ray；　please；　at　least　forget　the　gun；〃　Mitch　pleaded。
　　Ray　stuck　the　gun　under　his　shirt　and　eased　out　the　door。　He　walked　quickly　in　the　sand　behind　the　small　motels　and　shops；　hiding　in　the　shadows　and　craving　a　cold　beer。　He　stopped　behind　the　convenience　store；　looked　quickly　around　and　was　certain　no　one　was　watching；　then　walked　to　the　front　door。　The　beer　cooler　was　in　the　rear。
　　In　the　parking　lot　next　to　the　Strip；　Lamar　Quin　hid　under　a　large　straw　hat　and　made　small　talk　with　some　teenagers　from　Indiana。　He　saw　Ray　enter　the　store　and　thought　he　might　recognize　something。　There　was　a　casualness　about　the　man's　stride　that　looked　vaguely　familiar。　Lamar　moved　to　the　front　window　and　glanced　in　the　direction　of　the　beer　cooler。　The　man's　eyes　were　covered　with　sunglasses；　but　the　nose　and　cheekbones　were　certainly　familiar。　Lamar　eased　inside　the　small　store　and　picked　up　a　sack　of　potato　chips。　He　waited　at　the　checkout　counter　and　came　face…to…face　with　the　man；　who　was　not　Mitchell　McDeere　but　greatly　resembled　him。
　　It　was　Ray。　It　had　to　be。　The　face　was　sunburned；　and　the　hair　was　too　short　to　be　stylish。　The　eyes　were　covered。　Same　height。　Same　weight。　Same　walk。
　　〃How's　it　going？〃　Lamar　said　to　the　man。
　　〃Fine。　You？〃　the　voice　was　similar。
　　　Lamar　paid　for　his　chips　and　returned　to　the　parking　lot。　He　calmly　dropped　the　bag　in　a　garbage　can　next　to　a　phone　booth　and　quickly　walked　next　door　to　a　souvenir　shop　to　continue　his　search　for　the　McDeeres。
　　
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　　〃ARKNESS　brought　a　cool　breeze　to　the　beach　along　the　Strip。　The　sun　disappeared　quickly；　and　there　was　no　moon　to　replace　it。　A　distant　ceiling　of　harmless　dark　clouds　covered　the　sky；　and　the　water　was　black。
　　Darkness　brought　fishermen　to　the　Dan　Russell　Pier　in　the　center　of　the　Strip。　They　gathered　in　groups　of　three　and　four　along　the　concrete　structure　and　stared　silently　as　their　lines　ran　into　the　black　water　twenty　feet　below。　They　leaned　motionless　on　the　railing；　occasionally　spitting　or　talking　to　a　friend。　They　enjoyed　the　breeze　and　the　quietness　and　the　still　water　much　more　than　they　enjoyed　the　occasional　fish　that　ventured　by　and　hit　a　hook。　They　were　vacationers　from　the　North　who　spent　the　same　week　each　year　at　the　same　motel　and　came　to　the　pier　each　night　in　the　darkness　to　fish　and　marvel　at　the　sea。　Between　them　sat　buckets　full　of　bait　and　small　coolers　full　of　beer。
　　From　time　to　time　throughout　the　night；　a　nonfisherman　or　a　pair　of　lovebirds　would　venture　onto　the　pier　and　walk　a　hundred　yards　to　the　end　of　it。　They　would　gaze　at　the　black；　gentle　water　for　a　few　minutes；　then　turn　and　admire　the　glow　of　a　million　flickering　lights　along　the　Strip。　They　would　watch　the　inert；　huddled　fishermen　leaning　on　their　elbows。　The　fishermen　did　not　notice　them。
　　The　fishermen　did　not　notice　Aaron　Rimmer　as　he　casually　walked　behind　them　around　eleven。　He　smoked　a　cigarette　at　the　end　of　the　pier　and　tossed　the　butt　into　the　ocean。　He　gazed　along　the　beach　and　thought　of　the　thousands　of　motel　rooms　and　condos。
　　The　Dan　Russell　Pier　was　the　westernmost　of　the　three　at　Panama　City　Beach。　It　was　the　newest；　the　longest　and　the　only　one　built　with　nothing　but　concrete。　The　other　two　were　older　and　wooden。　In　the　center　there　was　a　small　brick　building　containing　a　tackle　shop；　a　snack　bar　and　rest　rooms。　Only　the　rest　rooms　were　open　at　night。
　　It　was　probably　a　half　mile　east　of　the　Sea　Gull's　Rest。　At　eleven…thirty；　Abby　left　Room　39；　eased　by　the　dirty　pool　and　began　walking　east　along　the　beach。　She　wore　shorts；　a　white　straw　hat　and　a　windbreaker　with　the　collar　turned　up　around　her　ears。　She　walked　slowly；　with　her　hands　thrust　deep　in　the　pockets　like　an　experienced；　contemplative　beachber。　Five　minutes　later；　Mitch　left　the　room；　eased　by　the　dirty　pool　and　followed　her　footsteps。　He　gazed　at　the　ocean　as　he　walked。　Two　joggers　approached；　splashing　in　the　water　and　talking　between　breaths。　On　a　string　around　his　neck　and　tucked　under　his　black　cotton　shirt　was　a　whistle；　just　in　case。　In　all　four　pockets　he　had　crammed　sixty　thousand　in　cash。　He　looked　at　the　ocean　and　nervously　watched　Abby　ahead　of　him。　When　he　was　two　hundred　yards　down　the　beach；　Ray　left　Room　39　for　the　last　time。　He　locked　it　and　kept　a　key。　Wrapped　around　his　waist　was　a　forty…foot　piece　of　black　nylon　rope。　The　gun　was　stuck　under　it。　A　bulky　windbreaker　covered　it　all…　nicely。　Andy　had　charged　another　two　thousand　for　the　clothing　and　items。
　　Ray　eased　onto　the　beach。　He　watched　Mitch　and　could　barely　see　Abby。　The　beach　was　deserted。
　　It　was　almost　midnight；　Saturday；　and　most　of　the　fishermen　had　left　the　pier　for　another　night。　Abby　saw　three　in　a　small　cluster　near　the　rest　rooms。　She　slipped　past　them　and　nonchalantly　strolled　to　the　end　of　the　pier；　where　she　leaned　on　the　concrete　railing　and　stared　at　the　vast　blackness　of　the　Gulf。　Red　buoy　lights　were　scattered　as　far　as　she　could　see。　Blue　and　white　channel　lights　formed　a　neat　line　to　the　east。　A　blinking　yellow　light　on　some　vessel　inched　away　on　the　horizon。　She　was　alone　at　the　end　of　the　pier。
　　Mitch　hid　in　a　beach　chair　under　a　folded　umbrella　near　the　entrance　to　the　pier。　He　could　not　see　her；　but　had　a　good　view　of　the　ocean。　Fifty　feet　away；　Ray　sat　in　the　darkness　on　a　brick　ledge。　His　feet　dangled　in　the　sand。　They　waited。　They　checked　their　watches。
　　At　precisely　midnight；　Abby　nervously　unzipped　her　windbreaker　and　untied　a　heavy　flashlight。　She　glanced　at　the　water　below　and　gripped　it　fiercely。　She　shoved　it　into　her　stomach；　shielded　it　with　the　windbreaker；　aimed　at　the　sea　and　pushed　the　switch　three　times。　On　and　off。　On　and　off。　On　and　off。　The　green　bulb　flashed　three　times。　She　held　it　tightly　and　stared　at　the　ocean。
　　No　response。　She　waited　an　eternity　and　two　minutes　later　flashed　again。　Three　times。　No　response。　She　breathed　deeply　and　spoke　to　herself。　〃Be　calm；　Abby；　be　calm。　He's　out　there　somewhere。〃　She　flashed　three　more　times。　Then　waited。　No　response。
　　Mitch　sat　on　the　edge　of　the　beach　chair　and　anxiously　surveyed　the　sea。　From　the　corner　of　an　eye；　he　saw　a　figure　walking；　almost　running　from　the　west。　It　jumped　onto　the　steps　of　the　pier。　It　was　the　Nordic。　Mitch　bolted　across　the　beach　after　him。
　　Aaron　Rimmer　walked　behind　the　fishermen；　around　the　small　building；　and　watch