Fool Me Once

None of that money was anywhere near where it had been sent initially of course, and investigators were going to find the trail quickly went cold. It was going to be all but impossible to track the money beyond the first or second deposit account. All the anonymous men and women who had emptied one account only to put the money in another account had done their jobs and were gone. They'd already melted back into the faceless mob in a double dozen of Caribbean cities, putting away their best suits and dresses for the next time they would be required.

They could not testify who had given them their instructions, even if they could have been coerced into doing so, because the instructions had been given them by other, unnamed and unidentifiable people, who also faded away into the population. By the time the funds had been moved a third and fourth time, there was no way anyone could trace their destination. There were just too many cutouts.

The money disappeared into the enormous pool of wealth floating between the banks in the Caribbean without making the slightest of impressions on anyone. The banks in Cayman Islands alone boast assets of over $800 billion and similar amounts rested in the remainder of the offshore banks. Nine million dollars didn't even make a ripple as it was dropped in.

Each time the money was moved, of course, little nibbles were taken out. It didn't matter. Even after everyone took their slice and Great-Uncle Roberto took his, there was still more than seven million dollars left over. That was plenty for Ryan and Consuela. The bank was burned...bad. They were sure that much of a loss was going to hurt. The funds began to arrive in Mexico City buried in routine transactions on accounts Roberto controlled.

The amount was phenomenal, considering Consuela had had to stay under ten thousand dollars on each transaction. They hadn't wanted to start raising red flags by filing bogus Currency Transaction Reports, required for wire transfers of greater than ten thousand dollars.

Consuela had even managed to set up a vast number of automatic transfers that occurred after she went off line. Indeed, after the first day, this was how most of the work was done. It was all so simple. It was marvelous what one login name and a twelve-character password could do.

Oh, yes. When someone caught on, there was going to be a minor explosion down there inside the business district. It was only a matter of time. Ryan and Consuela continued living their lives as they always had. They had only to wait.

Chapter 5

"Hi," came the tinny voice. The pre-paid cell phones didn't have the best of components.

"How ya doing?" Ryan replied. He knew Consuela's voice by now, even distorted as it was by the cheap phone. It was the time of day they'd set up to talk to each other, a thing they did nearly every evening now. They liked the contact, tenuous though it was.

"Good, real good...how 'bout you," she answered.

"Doing great...tired of waiting, but good otherwise," Ryan remarked.

That was as far as he would go. They would say nothing that anyone listening could interpret as being associated with the biggest bank robbery in Texas history, as they thought of it.

Today, he was in his pickup and driving on the southeast side of town, well away from his office and residence. Yesterday he'd called her from near his house. It wouldn't do for calls from these numbers to be carried by cellular relay towers in every section of the city except those close to home or office. They were careful to plan their normality down to the last detail.

"Me too," she said. There was a long pause and some muffled noise in the background.

"Hi, Mister Ryan." Ryan's features softened.

"Hi, Belinda. How are you?" he said gently.

"Fine," the little girl answered. "When are you gonna come to see me?" she asked plaintively. It had been a while since Ryan had found an excuse to leave the city to go to her mother's house.

"Oh, I think I'm going to be there on Sunday," Ryan answered. He had a couple of crews that were going to go to the small town again on Monday. Several businesses along the main street had negotiated a special price with him for remodeled storefronts, a group rate of sorts.

He'd already told his wife he was going to go out a day early to survey them. Carrie didn't mind. She was glad to be rid of him.

He talked to the four-year-old for a few minutes. He enjoyed conversations with her and she loved them because he didn't talk down to her. Both of them looked forward to his clandestine visit Sunday evening.

"Are you still there?" Consuela asked when she finally was able to pry the cell phone from her daughter's small hands.

Ryan chuckled. He'd heard the exchange that occurred while Consuela had been in the process of regaining possession. Belinda was not happy at having lost control of the phone.

"Uh-huh," he replied, "I think she needs to be taken out to Baskin Robbins for an ice cream cone or something like that Sunday." It was one of Belinda's favorite things to do.

"Baskin Robbins?" Consuela said a little louder than she needed to. That was for Belinda's benefit. "I don't know...do you think she's been a good enough girl for that?" The fussing in the background died away quickly. Ryan chuckled again. There was a small pause.

"I saw an interesting TV show last night," Consuela said casually.

"Oh?" Ryan responded.

"Yeah, on channel 16," she said, "at ten o'clock...it's on every weeknight at that same time."

"What's the name of it?" Ryan asked curiously. He and Consuela talked about anything that came to mind, but she wasn't usually so circumspect. He could sense something in her tone.

"It's called 'Busted' and I think it's a show taped up in Dallas...maybe Houston or somewhere like that," she said a little nervously.

"Oh? What's it about?" he asked.

"I'd rather you just take a look at it and tell me what you think," Consuela countered.

Clearly, she didn't want to discuss it on the phone. Ryan gave up trying to get anything from her and agreed to take a look at the show. They talked for another ten minutes and then ended the call when Ryan got into heavy traffic. They would see each other day after tomorrow. It would have to be soon enough.

********

He watched the television show in his study. With the door closed, it couldn't be heard upstairs and he'd recently moved a new Lazy Boy recliner in. He wasn't sure Carrie had even noticed. These days, she seldom visited any part of the house where he might reasonably be found.

Carrie had gone to bed early with yet another in an unending series of headaches. He could tell she was beginning to feel a little uneasy about Ryan's continued lack of interest in sex, but she wasn't alarmed enough to do anything about it yet. For now, she was content getting her needs for security taken care of by Ryan. Sean Michaels saw to her sexual and most of her emotional needs. She had her cake and was eating it too. There really was nothing about her life she wanted to change.

The TV program opened with information about a private investigation firm based in Houston. Ryan didn't know the name of the agency but that wasn't surprising. Anyway, this episode was taped in Austin and was about a young woman who'd become suspicious of her live-in boyfriend. They had a baby born only a few months ago. It seemed he was displaying a sudden irresponsibility and had grown distant with her. She thought he might be cheating on her and wanted "Busted" to investigate.

She was right. The boyfriend had found another girlfriend and was already sexually involved with the new woman. The host met with the girl one evening to show her video clips of her boyfriend kissing, hugging, and disappearing behind a motel door with the other woman. After a period of crying and obvious distress, the host took the girl and a film crew to the outdoor restaurant where the straying boyfriend and the woman were having dinner.

The boyfriend looked like a deer caught in the headlights when the camera crew's started taping. He never recovered and meekly took a considerable amount of verbal abuse from both his significant other and new girlfriend for some time. The host said they would reveal the outcome of the confrontation later.

The second episode concerned a man in Houston who thought his wife might be having an affair with a man she'd met at the gym. Except for the changed roles and slightly different specifics, this one was a virtual repeat of the first installment. The final credits said the investigatory service the PI firm offered was open to anyone and, if they used the participants' case on the TV show, it was free.

Ryan thought for ten minutes past the point where he was sure of what he was going to do, just to make sure it was the right decision. Then he picked up the phone to call the number shown on the screen.

Tomorrow morning he'd call an attorney and tell him, or her, he was sure his wife was cheating on him and what he'd done to expose the adultery. He knew what the TV show's detectives would find out. The long wait was nearly over.

********

The night was dark and there was lightning building up off to the northwest. A storm was gathering strength up in the hill country and it was about ready to lash out at the big city in its path. It was warm...Indian summer had held on particularly long this year...with unusually mild days and cool nights. Everyone was in a light jacket or shirtsleeves, with raincoats or ponchos close to hand.

The host motioned to the camerawoman and she assumed a strong stance, setting her feet wide apart and making sure her knees weren't locked. She'd seen a number of guys and gals working behind the camera fall flat on their faces when they passed out from decreased blood circulation. It was a revelation to her that people who faint invariably fall forward. She hadn't known that. She would have been amazed to learn military personnel were regularly counseled to not lock their knees while standing at attention in formation and it was for the same reason she avoided the practice.

Once everyone was set, the host took Ryan by the elbow and tugged him close so they would both be in frame. He began to speak. He was sorry they'd had to ask Ryan to come back early from his business trip, he said. They had information on the case Ryan had brought to them. He was sorry, but tonight he had to tell Ryan his wife was indeed straying from her marriage vows.

Ryan was visibly dejected. He thought he did it very well but, on the chance it wasn't working, he turned and walked away from the host and the camera for a moment. There was only his broad back to watch for a long moment.

Not wanting to overdo it, Ryan cleared his throat and went back to the host. He nodded a slow yes to the host's question about seeing the video taped evidence he had with him. The tiny cameras the show's detectives had shown him how to install in his bedroom had been exceptionally high-quality devices. The scenes of his wife having sex with her lover were sharp and clear. They were at least a full magnitude better than the videos he'd made with his own spy cameras.

Showing distress while he watched the tiny digital camcorder's view screen, Ryan tugged on the beard he'd recently grown. The beard and a nice mustache were on his face to change his appearance. He'd grown them, and was wearing the Texas Rangers baseball cap, so the spy shop owner in Dallas wouldn't recognize him. It was one of the myriad of "just in case" things he and Consuela had done over the past few months in the interests of securing their secret from others.

The beard and mustache would also serve to disguise his face from the people in the little town fifty miles outside San Antonio. He and Consuela hadn't been together in the café or anywhere else in public, for that matter, for a couple of months but it didn't hurt to be just that little bit more careful.

The host had known already Ryan was open to seeing the video, of course. The producer who'd called Ryan in Memphis two days ago had been properly apologetic but they were hoping Ryan could meet them Friday evening when they could get a full film crew down to San Antonio.

Ryan had told the producer on the phone he would come and agreed to the show taping him viewing the graphic videotape. The conference he was attending in Memphis wasn't at all critical to Ryan. In fact, he'd only gone out of town to give Carrie a sense she was free to do whatever she wanted anyway. He quickly agreed to come home.

When the host asked the question he'd earlier told Ryan he would ask--the one about asking for an explanation from his wayward wife--Ryan had a sudden inspiration. He signaled frantically at the camera and the producer behind it.

"Wait...wait...I got an idea," he told them.

The annoyance on the faces of the host and producer faded as Ryan explained what he had in mind. They knew he'd recognized Sean Michaels in the videos. He'd said so on camera. They hadn't known Ryan was well enough acquainted with Michaels' wife to phone her. They smiled broadly at his suggestion they call her and invite her along for the "confrontation," as they called it. Someone handed Ryan a cell phone with the top already flipped open.

"Mrs. Michaels?" Ryan asked.

"Yes?" the feminine voice answered uncertainly.

"Sharon, this is Ryan Gilchrist," he said somberly.

"Oh...hello Ryan," she replied. There had been no pause. She'd remembered his name immediately, though it had been some time since their last meeting. Her voice didn't sound happy though. Ryan decided to get to the point without sugarcoating anything.

"Sharon, I'm just as sorry as I could be to tell you this but your husband and my wife have been having an affair," he said bluntly. There was the sound of a sharply inhaled breath but Sharon didn't offer an immediate comment.

"Sharon?" Ryan said finally.

"Yes...yes, I'm here," she said. There was a fatalistic note in her voice. "How long have you known?" she asked.

"I've suspected for months, but I saw proof of it this evening," Ryan answered. He'd expected some form of that question and had an appropriately ambiguous answer ready.

"I see," Sharon Michaels said uncomfortably. "Well, I can't say it's a big surprise," she said with a deep sigh. "Damn him," she added.

"Sharon...the thing is..."

Ryan didn't quite know how to raise the next point.

"Well...I'll just blurt it out," he told her. "Sharon, I'm with a film crew from a TV show out of Houston...and...uh...we're about to go surprise them on a date in a restaurant down on the Riverwalk." There was silence on the other end of the line for a long while.

"Oh...wow," Sharon breathed into the phone. Abruptly she giggled like a schoolgirl into the phone.

"You're going to do a number on my dumb ass husband, aren't you?" She laughed more heartily. "Serves him right, the jerk."

"Yeah...uh...Sharon, I don't know if I should say it this way, but I'm going to destroy him and my wife tonight," Ryan told her. "I can't imagine he'll be able to keep his job and I'm sorry for what that will do to you." There was a short silence.

"Nah...don't worry about it," Sharon replied. "He's got a big ol' golden parachute in his contract and he'll get a nice settlement even if they fire him tomorrow morning. I'll have all of that, and my pound of flesh too, before I'm through with him," she added.

"Hah!" Ryan said explosively into the phone. He was grinning broadly. "I don't blame you a bit, but...listen, Sharon, the last thing I have to say is...do you want to come with us and drop a double bombshell on these two...jerks?" Sharon was quiet for a moment longer.

"I...I hadn't thought about that. I'm not sure I want my face plastered all over...you know what? I think that's exactly what I need to get a little closure on this. Yeah, I'll go with you. Where are you?"

"Let me have the producer tell you all the specifics about where it's going happen and stuff like that," Ryan said.

When she said okay, he handed the cell phone to the producer and let him set things up. It didn't take long. When she got to where they were setting up, they would sign her to an agreement to use her voice and image on the TV production. Then they'd outfit her with a battery-powered lapel mic like the one Ryan had clipped on his shirt collar. The power pack was hooked on his belt in the small of his back. It had sharp corners; he had to be careful not to lean back against a solid surface.

********

There were four big cameras and it apparently took a crew of three to work each one. In addition to the man or woman operating the heavy video camera, there had to be someone to guide him or her around. Tugging on their clothing or guiding them with a hold around the waist, they made it unnecessary for the cameraman or woman to take their eyes from the viewfinder. The third individual carried a big boom mic he, and in one case, she could thrust close overhead to pick up everything the people in front of the camera were saying.

A group of guys and two women the producer identified as licensed private investigators accompanied the cameras and host. There were almost as many of them as there were people to record the event. The host kept referring to them as "security" and "detectives."

The producer had gone into the rowdy nightclub beforehand and buttonholed the manager to tell her what was happening. The manager had seen the show before and knew the excitement it was going to bring to the club. She had no problem with it. Excited people were happy people. They ordered lots of drinks and that's what she was in business for.

She told the bouncers what was happening and instructed them to stay out of the way and arranged for the camera crews to come in a side door. She turned off the automatic alarm opening that door would normally set off so they could get to the table near the dance floor that much quicker.

The host and Ryan walked swiftly from the door into the club's interior. The camera operators and their handlers were right on Ryan's heels, almost pushing him ahead in their eagerness to be ready to tape the action they knew was coming. As the club patrons recognized them, a raucous roar went up but the couple sitting at the side table didn't notice. Carrie had her back to the approaching group of men and women while Sean Michaels was twisted around in his seat talking to a waitress in a short skirt, apparently signing a receipt. Neither noticed anything unusual until the primary camera crew turned on the big floodlight.

Carrie jumped in her seat and swiveled around to see what was happening. She was momentarily blinded and couldn't see a thing.

"Hello, Carrie...what's up?" Ryan said loudly. He did his best to keep the maliciousness he felt out of his voice. It wasn't easy. This day had been a long time coming.

Carrie's jaw dropped. Her eyes opened wide. She was caught off-guard, startled worse than she had been when Ryan walked in on her and Marshall more than four and a half years earlier.

"Carrie, I'm Johnny Waterfield from the TV show 'Busted," the host told her. She looked at him disbelievingly, not apparently comprehending his words. She seemed barely aware he was there.

"What?" she said faintly. The boom mic picked it up clearly though.

"Would you like to explain to Ryan what you're doing here with this man?"

"I...we're just friends," she choked out.

"No, that's not true and you know it," Johnny retorted. "We have video tape of you and Mr. Michaels having sex in your own home on several occasions," he told her. "Do you have anything to say to that?"

She shook her head. Her eyes were beginning to grow wild. She was a trapped animal. She wanted desperately to get away but she was hemmed in on every side by club customers and the camera crews. She could only stare in horror into the camera lens. She couldn't seem to look away.