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Mike Smith Is Dead—Pt. 3

Christian lite - Fiction

By Dub WrightPublished 5 years ago 19 min read
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Jorge Salas seemed genuinely pleased to see Kip when he knocked on the banker’s office door. “Mr. Smith or is it Mr. Waller? Who are you now?” he said cheerfully. “It’s been awhile since you’ve been to the bank. With the new electronic banking we are beginning to lose touch with so many old friends.” Salas was a short man in a tailored blue suit and matching tie. A thin mustache covered his upper lip and Kip was always amused that Salas sat on a cushion on his office chair.

Kip laughed. “Business keeps me hopping, but I am always happy to visit my old banker friend.”

“Indeed,” he said. “But I don’t know about the old part.” He chuckled and motioned to a side chair. “So, how can I help you today?”

Long ago Kip had chosen this bank to be his, for want of a better phrase, money-laundering center. His job entailed making certain contacts in Latin American governments and brokering funds to specific individuals or groups as was directed by supervision. Great quantities of American cash were used in the program. Without public scrutiny, or for that matter knowledge, huge amounts of cash was forwarded to special entities to be paid upon demand. A change in administration in Washington DC, and Kip was stuck, holding $1.475 billion in a slush fund, these monies had accumulated over several years. Add to that there was little if any accounting for these taxpayer funds. However, to simply return said monies would result in questions being raised about why the monies were covertly paid in the first place, no Congressional oversight. He was told to hold on until a suitable solution could be devised. So, the money sat there, a number in an account. Many countries and people would all like a piece of it. The United States might someday figure out that they had made these payments and look for a return of the money, but until then, Kip was to keep quiet, out of sight, and importantly away from US authorities who might want explanations. Fortunately, even his former supervisor had no inkling of the real amount as the payments had accumulated and no records were kept or audited. Additionally, the location of the money was a well kept secret even from supervision. Multiple millions were paid out, governments were overthrown, often before significant payments could be made or in most cases a determination about who exactly should receive the monies. Decision makers faded away so other than Kip and Jorge Salas nobody in the world knew exactly how much Publica Bank was holding, Kip and Salas had expertly engineered interest bearing banking investments to cover the total cash amount. Interest had been accumulating for years, untouched by Kip or anyone else—and with Jorge’s help, the interest account was foreign in any relationship with the principal amount.

Jorge Salas had been Kip’s confidant over the years and guarded Kips investments jealously. “Jorge, if we can ever find a way to give that money back to the Americans without incrimination we gotta do it.”

The banker nodded to Kip and appeared to look over Kip’s shoulder. “I have an idea that we might be able to get. I should get a call any day. When I get it I’ll put the paper in the special account. You’ll like it but I can’t say anything right now.”

Rosa chose to accompany Kip to the bank and was seated in the air-conditioned lobby just outside of the banker’s office door.

“My friend and landlady Rosa is seated in the lobby, I hope that is okay; she said it was better than sweating in the car waiting for me.” An unaccompanied woman in San Jose is not regarded with much respect. Prostitution was legal in Costa Rica, and single women who did not want to be treated as courtesans dressed sharply and walked quickly from place to place, usually carrying briefcases or multiple shopping bags.

“No problem my friend, if you want to bring an attractive woman like her to my bank I applaud you.” He laughed. “Maybe I should do business with her.” His sexist chatter blew past Kip who was concentrating on business. Jorge even stood from his chair to get a better look at Rosa. “Yes, my friend you pick your landlords well.”

Kip figured Jorge could infer from that anything he wanted. Rosa apparently would rather stay with Kip in the air conditioning, than with her brother Paulo, who had gone to a Morlas Home Store to buy parts for various projects including the chair in the apartment.

“I depend on Publica Bank to help in my work.” Kip nodded to the banker. “We have done well.”

Jorge grinned. “Indeed.”

Kip leaned across the desk. “The Americans will undoubtedly soon start looking for lost cash. It’s theirs if they want it, but we are just holding it, uh, less the interest and gains.”

“Of course. Like I said, the new special investment may solve all of our concerns.”

Kip took a key from his belt. “First, my friend, I need my primary box, then I want to convert some monies.”

Jorge handed Kip a keypad attached to his computer. “Code please. All these new gadgets are troublesome. Remember when we did business by a handshake with a client.”

Kip obliged. “Hope I remember the code.” He typed in his pin number. Actually, it was easy, it was the combination to his father’s old safe, which he was forced to memorize as a child.

Salas in turn typed something on his PC and then smiled. “I see a lot of recent activity on your interest account, several major deposits. Very nice. And your large account is doing nothing but gathering dust.”

“I trust that dust is the interest dust you mentioned, and no I do not plan on moving any of that money, unless you find a way to give it back covertly,” he chuckled. “Just the interest and dividends into my regular account.” Kip knew he had a growing seven figure total in his own personal account the primary investment account was separate, indeed he and Jorge had it under another pen name and completely alien account—Kip considered it like a pseudonym of actors and writers. As an American citizen the income was taxable, but listed as a Tico, the account stayed hidden. The interest and dividends were being handled separately. “Jorge, I need a favor. Take five million from the interest account and put it in two prepaid Visa Card accounts. The address will have to be here cause I never know where I will be, but when the cards come, please hold them for me.”

He looked over his glasses. “Very well, the other account is well. It is still centered in Bank investments. And with it and our special interest account here at Publica, your residence in Costa Rica is assured. Though, you might think about a benevolent investment sometime—that would put you a long way towards citizenship. Our special arrangement on the interest and dividends continues and I will get the cards for you.” He printed out a report and handed Kip the paper. “How long will you be here this time?”

“I don’t really know, it’s just sort of an extended leave. You know, a semi-retirement. I will probably do some traveling though. You know the routine. Oh shred this for me please.” Kip handed the paper back.

Salas nodded. “Ah yes.” He grinned. “We have worked together many years, I understand.” He stood. “Let’s get your box. I assume you want box number 101, you once told me to never open the others once they were filled, though I added one more box this year under our special name. The key is in my desk, don’t let me forget to give it to you and I’ll hold one.”

“Right, the others are full and need not be bothered unless there is a new market trend. You know the routine.”

Salas took Kip’s key and led Kip out of the office through a low swinging gate and into the vault.

As Kip walked by Rosa she gently touched his hand. Kip looked down, “We’ll just be a minute.”

Salas inserted Kips key, and punched in the bank code on the keypad next to the box and then slid in a bank key. The large box automatically slid out of its metal holding. Jorge pointed to the large box. “You’ll need a room, yes?”

“Absolutely. And, could I have three large envelopes please.” Kip took a deep breath and hoisted the heavy box onto a rolling metal table and followed Jorge to a small room near the vault door.

After Kip moved the box to the conference type table he waited until a young woman came into the room and handed him three brown envelopes. “Mr. Sals said said to give you this.” She held out a key to Kip. Her name printed on a tag was CeCe. “Thank you CeCe.” He took the key. She grinned and blushed then quickly departed. Kip closed and locked the door. “Cute young lady, good bank type, she looks pretty straight laced,” he laughed to himself. The clerk wore an A-line gray skirt and tucked white blouse with a ruffled neck. A single gold cross hung around her neck. Although dark skinned her facial features had little definition. And had it not been for the wire rimmed glasses she might be totally undistinguished.

Opening a bank box that hadn’t been touched in several years was like Christmas morning. Kip knew what was there, but was always expecting a surprise.

He had $1,500,000 in United States currency, mostly hundreds and five hundred dollar bills stored in the bottom of the box, along with several passports and several floppy discs and data chips plus miscellaneous papers. Of the passports-one had his birth name. The rest were assigned to Kip Waller or various pseudonyms. Kip pulled out a French passport and another US passport and stuck them in his jacket. He put five thousand cash into an envelope with several visas and other official documents and credit cards. In the second envelope he put another fifteen thousand cash. Kip unzipped the lining of his jacket and pulled out a series of floppies and discs, which he put in the third envelope, along with several documents. These contained all the records of transactions in which Kip had been involved with over the last decade. The last envelope he folded and put back into the box along with the new box key.

Kip opened the door and motioned to the clerk, CeCe, who had brought him the envelopes earlier.

“Ready?” she chirped.

“I am.” Was his solitary answer. Kip moved the box to the cart.

She led the way back to the bank vault and watched as he pushed the box back into the slot, closed the metal hatch, and then she removed Kip’s key. She followed this action by typing in a code until a blue light shined on the keypad. She pressed enter and the light disappeared. She pulled out the bank key. It was Kip’s guess that the box was electronically locked.

Kip walked back to Jorge’s office and noticed he was chatting with another client.

Rosa looked up. “Are we done?” Once again, Kip was taken aback by her wide, almost pouting eyes, and overt beauty.

Kip took a deep breath. “Here put this envelope in your purse and fasten it.” Kip then folded another envelope and put it in the inside zipper of his jacket.

“What’s in it?”

Kip smiled. “Rent and utilities for an apartment.”

“You don’t know how much I charge for the apartment, utilities included; or, even if I’m going to rent it to you. You might have to ask for it back and go looking.”

He held out his hand for her to stand. “I guessed, and if it’s more than what I put in there, I’ll will have to go elsewhere.” Kip chuckled and started toward the cashier.

“Well, okay. You don’t have any more business here?”

Kip looked back at Jorge’s door. “Not today. We need to go to Walmart. Can you call Paulo? Don’t we have to see your lawyer?”

She caught up with Kip. “Paulo’s in the parking lot, he texted me. I called my lawyer while we were waiting. I will see her later.”

“Cool, but I have to convert some dollars to Calones.”

A few minutes later they headed out the door, Kip waved at Salas who just smiled as they walked by. “He’s smiling because he is holding all of my money, well much of my money anyway.”

“What are you talking about?” She pulled on Kip’s sleeve.

“Oh, just banking business.”

Kip decided that there was little danger in a gringo riding in the backseat of a real estate vehicle, driven by a large man with a pretty woman in the passenger seat. If someone wanted to get to him they would be following now. He glanced over his shoulder several times, but saw nothing out of the usual. Finally, they got to Walmart where he purchased everything from sheets to a laptop computer and virus protection. Kip also purchased a burn phone registered to the account of Sandy Shores. Rosa led Kip to the men’s wear section and helped him select several sets of clothes including underwear and toiletries.

Additionally, Kip purchased a WiFi router. “It’s for for Paulo’s computer. Soon as I get it installed we can all share, the password-protected link.” Paulo looked back at Kip and grinned.

Shopping and banking done the three headed back to the family compound in Quepos.

Paulo put the router upstairs in his house on the apartment side of the property. “Here,” Kip handed him a couple of hundred dollar bills. “For use of your internet service. I’m going to spend the rest of the day basically setting up housekeeping.”

“Okay, this will pay for everyone’s service for four or five months.”

“Let me know when the bill comes I’ll supplement it.”

Paulo turned and walked to his house without thanks.

Five years crept by. Kip stayed close to the apartment and only ventured to the bank once per month. Rosa sold properties and Paulo seemingly sat around his house reading viral news, playing solitaire and keeping a watchful eye on the gringo next door. Every Friday night Kip shared dinner with Rosa, her brother and his plump overly happy wife, who spoke no English and apparently did not want to learn any. One evening when Paulo and Maria had headed home Rosa told Kip, “Paulo was injured in a construction accident in New York City, and he’s now getting scheduled insurance payments. He met Maria in New York.” She took a breath and looked around in case someone was listening. “She was undocumented in the United States and more than happy to move back to Costa Rica even though her home is in Mexico.”

Nearly every Friday after dinner Rosa and Kip walked back to Kip’s apartment chatting as they traveled, but Rosa always broke off the trail long before they reached Kip’s cottage.

During the World Cup finals Paulo invited Kip to watch on his small television. Maria had a generous table of food available and Rosa often carried plates to Kip. She also regularly hugged and high fived Kip when a goal was scored or a great play performed, however the hugs were no more than the high fives which occurred on a non regular basis. Except one special win by the home team and Rosa had kissed Kip on the lips in the excitement. From that point on Rosa periodically kissed Kip when Paulo wasn’t watching during the games. And on one of their Friday night walks Rosa held his hand and walked closer. But, all that had suddenly come to a close. Kip figured that she broke off the practice because Paulo had said something to her.

Kip dared not contact any of his own family members as he knew their phones were likely tapped and with technology their computers and cell phones were probably being watched. Of his family members remaining, only a younger sister lived in Kansas City and his mother lived in the same house she built when his father retired from the Army, forty years earlier—in a village a hundred miles north of the city of Kansas City, Missouri. Kip was thinking about all that because of the message and the manner of delivery he received one early fall morning.

Kip was truly surprised when he saw the unlikely form of Father Luis approaching up the pathway. He opened the door quickly to greet him, but the priest only handed Kip a note and tottered away. On the road sat the Suzuki. “I didn’t think he could drive.”

Kip stood in light of the doorway and read the note which was obviously written by the priest. The note read, “Mother need you. Dying. Come home. Maghi Verde inferma. Please. Mag.”

“How in the world did Maggie find me? I know there was a death certificate. That concerns me as much as I think it means mother is very sick.”

Rosa was seated in her kitchen reading when Kip knocked on the back door. “I have to go to the States.”

Her head jerked up. “I thought you said you couldn’t go.” She almost shouted. “So how you gonna pull this off?” She cocked her head and her long hair dangled at the side of the table.

Kip leaned against the door jam. “I have a friend, if his number is still good. But, I can’t call him; this new voice recognition stuff scares me. And, I don’t know if perhaps he’s being watched by the same people who are trying to find me. I need a favor. If I give you the number would you call him? His name is Marcos.”

Rosa’s eyes widened. “Oh, this must be more of your spy stuff. You want me to do what?”

“Call Marcos for me, I’ll tell you what to say.” Kip handed her his burn phone.

Rosa looked at the small cell phone. “Okay, English or Spanish?”

Kip grinned. “He speaks half a dozen languages. But, use English so I can understand.”

She shook her head. “You’re here almost five years and your Spanish is not much better than the day you arrived. You should be ashamed.”

“Dial please.” He handed her a card with Marco’s business phone number.

She dialed the number and then looked at Kip. “It’s a recording.”

Just say “Rosa, about a flight. Trente, Trente ami.”

She repeated what Kip said, clicked off and then asked, “What’s Trente, Trente?”

“Thirty-Thirty in French. It means to him ‘rush.’ And he’ll know it’s me, I’m the only one who uses that code.”

She sat on a kitchen chair. “Spy stuff.”

Kip shook his head. “No just caution.”

“Well, quit dancing around and sit, you think he’ll call back?”

“I certainly hope so, it’s been five years, but.” Kip didn’t finish his sentence when the phone buzzed.

Rosa grinned and picked it up. “Trente, Trente.” She glanced at Kip.

He nodded.

“Yes. To the US.” She smiled and looked to Kip and seemed to watch his expressions. “Okay, yes we can do that. Two of us.” She paused. “Okay. See you in four hours.” She turned to Kip. “He said he would bring a Citation, cause he has to deliver it to Miami, but he will drop us in St. Thomas, he didn’t say why, but it’ll be expensive, and he’ll meet us at San Jose private service airport in four hours. He said he’d refuel there, if we’re there we ride, otherwise he goes on. I’ll get Paulo to drive. Hurry and pack he called from an airplane.”

Kip saluted. “Yes ma’am. I didn’t know I would have a partner in this spy stuff you so happily call it.” Kip had pulled forty thousand out of the bank and had it hidden in the apartment, and he knew that carrying more than nine thousand in US cash would arouse a few eyebrows. He put four thousand in his belt and wallet and carried four thousand to Rosa. Two thousand he folded into his pocket.

“Oh, cool, spy assistant pays well,” she quipped.

Additionally, Kip put thirty thousand in a large envelope to deliver to Marcos. He thought out loud. “Truthfully, it wasn’t difficult to bring large sums of cash into the United States, but very difficult to take it out, unless the State Department is handling the money.” Kip laughed. Rosa looked at him curiously.

“Can I assume you’re not going all the way to Maryville, Missouri with me?”

“That’s right. I’m going to go see my daughter.” She turned and Kip didn’t see her 'til they walked out to the real estate car and Paulo opened the trunk. Rosa still didn’t talk just got in the front seat.

Three and a half hours later they were standing inside a hanger on the private plane portion of the airport. A dot appeared on the horizon and Kip pointed. “I bet that’s him.” They watched and gathered up their bags as the Citation pulled up to the hanger.

“I’ll get some fuel here,” Marcos said. “Then I have filed a route to Miami via Aruba, San Juan, and Nassau. With an incidental stop in St. Thomas. You’ll go through US customs there. It’ll be clear soon enough. Then when you get to wherever you’re going there’ll be no hassle. Oh, hi, I’m Marcos.” He removed his glasses and held out his hand to Rosa.”

Paulo looked on disapprovingly until Marcos walked up and said hello. Paulo shook his hand and they conversed in Spanish for a few minutes.

Rosa bumped Kip. “Our pilot I assume, since he’s the only one who stepped out of the airplane.”

Kip laughed. “Welcome to Air Argentina or Marcos Air, whichever you elect.” He turned to Marcos, “Okay, we’re ready.”

Marcos handed a notebook to a man who approached the aircraft. “Inspections.”

“Cool. After the inspection people go through the Citation I have a package for you.” Kip nodded at his briefcase. “Then on to the US.”

Rosa grinned. “I lived there twelve long years.”

Marcos watched the inspector, “Really, cool?”

“And, I have both a French and US passport, so I should be okay.”

Marcos turned away from the aircraft. “What name today, Mike Smith?”

“Mike Smith?” Rosa looked at Kip.

“He’s dead.”

“Yeah, I forgot.” Marcos laughed.

Kip grinned. “Kip Waller here. Smith, body was never found” Mike Smith had supposedly died it was reported, in a botched raid during events in El Salvador. It was said his body was never recovered. But, a lot of people disappeared in those days. Kip always termed it crocodile feast.

An hour later Kip handed Marcos the brown envelope. “Hope this pays our way.”

He looked in the envelope. “You must expect round trip. Be in Dallas, Texas, within ten days plus or minus a day, and you can probably ride back in style. I have to repossess a Gulfstream for my financial institution in Buenos Aires, Argentina. I don’t have enough Gulfstream hours, nor am I qualified for a lot of the mechanical work, so I’m having a co-pilot/mechanic fly up to help me return it. No problem stopping in San Jose cause like today, we’ll need fuel for the final leg.”

“Sounds good to me.” Kip figured ten days would cover everything he needed to do.

“My co-pilot is a tad different, but a good mechanic on a Gulfstream and has more than enough flight hours. I understand it has some intentionally induced mechanical issues once the owners discovered it was being repossessed. Plus apparently some inventive storage parts, that now have to be rebuilt.”

To be continued...

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About the Creator

Dub Wright

Curmudgeon; overeducated; hack writer; too much time in places not fit for habitation.

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