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      “The silly bitch has visions of becoming a director of the bank. She is a vile, pushy tart, and I’m going to enjoy putting her in her place, which is behind bars. She will be implicated. The physical evidence will be overwhelming, but it must be done quickly before anyone looks too closely. That is why we have you Harrison and of course, Judge Forster. With the FBI loop closed,” he nodded toward Patterson, “and my people at the bank we have an unbeatable team.”

      George smiled with satisfaction. “Good, she’ll never know what hit her. Getting the money out of the system is the tricky part.”

      The man with the gold-rimmed glasses removed several folders from a briefcase beside his chair.

      “George, you have the European connection. Be sure everything is ready. Go there and handle it personally if you have to.”

      He passed a folder to Arthur and one to each of the others.

      The fifth man, Major Pauley, said nothing. He was uncomfortable with these men. His education had stopped with a GED high school diploma acquired in the army, and he didn’t play golf.

      The only reason Pauley was present was because his boss ordered it. He understood obedience and orders. He would have preferred staying home working on his stamp collection. His base of power was limited to guarding the physical security of the bank and running errands for Elleston Howard, in the course of which he’d been instrumental in creating the inside people at the bank.

      “Be certain you know exactly what you’re supposed to do. When the action is complete, destroy the records. And, gentlemen,” Elleston’s voice held menace, “don’t keep any insurance. I have everybody by the short hairs and I won’t hesitate to use that option if needed.

      “Ahhh, here comes Mr. Kinsai now.”

      Kinsai didn’t look like a man with ninety million dollars in cash. You might have found him in any good hotel in any major city in the US. He was tall for a Japanese, dressed in a dark suit and tie; the uniform of the ubiquitous Japanese businessman. They truly are everywhere: Japan’s financial soldiers going forth to fight the sacred battle of dominion.

      Elleston stood to greet him. The others did not. George was still smarting about their ownership of the Pebble Beach Golf Course.

      “Welcome to the U.S., Mr. Kinsai. Please, have a seat. May I have the waiter bring you something?”

      “Whiskey and soda, please.” His accent was clear, American. He had no problem with his R’s and L’s.

      When his drink arrived he got right to business. He had none of the Oriental’s love of misdirection and ceremony.

      “Is the operation ready to go?”

      His voice was harsh and demanding. Besides being direct he wasn’t long on good manners.

      Elleston introduced the other members of the group. Kinsai was impatient and made it plain he didn’t care about them. His contact was Elleston. Subordinates should be just that. It was interesting that he came alone. Usually Japanese businessmen travel in packs like wolves chasing a wounded elk: Deadly in groups, less capable as individuals.

      “To answer your question, Mr. Kinsai, yes. Has the money arrived?”

      “It is being loaded into two vans right now from one of our ships. I need only to know when and where you want it sent.”

      “Good, good. Where are you staying?”

      “The Hilton, room 415.”

      “Fine. I will call you tomorrow afternoon with the particulars.”

      “My principals want to know the details of the operation,” Kinsai demanded, “exactly how it will be carried out and by whom.”

      Elleston sat back and smiled his gray, cheerless smile.

      Harrison couldn’t restrain himself. “You can tell your principals,” he sneered, “to pound sand. That was never part of the agreement. We’re taking all the risk. The only thing you need to know is that we can wash your money clean as a new bed sheet and return one hundred percent of that money to you. How we do it ain’t any of your goddamned bidness.”

      Kinsai grunted and snarled right back in the Texan’s face.

      “It is our money. If we want to know something you will tell us you stupid little man.”

      George started across the table only to be grabbed by Harrison and pulled back to his seat.

      “That’s enough,” Elleston ordered. “The meeting is over. Mr. Kinsai, call your principals and tell them the operation is off. Put your money back on the ship.” Elleston started to get up.

      Kinsai held up his hands nervously. “Wait, this is not necessary, we don’t have to do that.”

      The ice in Elleston Howard was there for all to hear.

      “Unless you change your attitude, Mr. Kinsai, believe me this meeting is adjourned. I will not be dictated to by you or anyone else. My agreement was made with your leader, your Oyabun. If he wishes to know anything about the operation he may call me direct, otherwise it goes as planned, which doesn’t include me telling anybody the particulars. Are we quite clear about that, Mr. Kinsai?

      “Hai!” Kinsai bowed fractionally. Elleston ignored the bow.

      “The only way this will work is by sticking to the plan. I am the only one who knows all of it. These gentlemen each have a part; they do not know what the others must do. You, Mister Kinsai, are a buyer. We are the seller. We provide the product, the service if you will. That is the full extent of our relationship. If you want a guarantee, buy a Toyota.”

      Elleston drank the last of his fancy water and picked up his brief case.

      “That is all, gentlemen. We know what has to be done. Let us each concentrate on getting our part of the operation right. There won’t be time to practice. We only get to do this once. The alternative can cost us a lot more than ninety million dollars.”

      Chapter 2

      The Japanese came silently in the night in an unmarked van. They didn’t come stealthily out of the rising sun, screaming Tora! Tora! Tora! As has happened in the past, they had an invitation.

      They came to the underground entrance of Intercoastal Bank headquarters in San Francisco, where they were let through steel doors that could have stopped a medium tank. Why bother to attack if the enemy will open the gates? Another tragedy in a Comic Opera world.

      The man who let them in wore a military style uniform and was coldly polite.

      The Japanese unloaded ten large cartons. Each weighed nearly a hundred pounds. These were carefully opened by two employees while a third oversaw the operation.

      As this was taking place, a second van arrived, was passed in and unloaded another ten cartons. Altogether they contained more than a ton of US currency. Most of the bills were in denominations of one hundred dollars each. The total was over ninety million dollars. The uninformed criminal often thinks robbing a bank is pretty simple: walk in, grab forty or fifty million dollars and leave. They seldom think about the problems of moving anything that weighs a ton rapidly.

      As soon as all the cases were unwrapped the bank employees began the tedious process of counting the money, twice.

      When they were done the third man went inside the building and sent a wire to Japan confirming the deposit, in the correct amount. Subsequently a ninety million dollar adjustment was made to the sender’s account.

      By the time the employees who unloaded, unpacked and counted the currency went home it was almost five o’clock in the morning. On the surface of things it seemed an ordinary transaction. Banks, after all, are in the business of handling cash.

      However, two other people were in the bank, using a computer which should only have been accessed by another person who was not there. The account,

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