After a pause, she said, “Okay, let’s word this for my boss so I can run it by him and I’ll make a call.” She poised her pen over the little notebook she always carried in her pocket. Michaels cleared his throat and began. He dictated clear, concise sentences, like Dani had read in many official government incident reports. Dani noted the way his dark gray eyes narrowed as he drew to a close. “If those funds are meant to support terrorists, we need to make sure that doesn’t happen. I mean to make certain it doesn’t.”
His last sentence brought back some doubt to her. Was he a glory seeker trying to get his name in the papers by making up some fictitious plot? All the agencies got scads of those. So many they were now having to prosecute the “witnesses” when fraudulent intent was clear. False claims tied up too many people in useless investigations and took time away from real cases.
Or did Michaels really have something? It was never wise to consider any citizen’s suspicions frivolous, no matter how outrageous they sounded. And, unfortunately, his sounded feasible.
“What if this was just a little more sophisticated than your everyday bank job?” she suggested. “Our boy probably knew all the tricks about tracing stolen money when a thief actually carries it out in a sack, like the dye, the tracking devices, marked bills and so forth. Crooks do watch a lot of television.”
He acknowledged with a wry smile. “Add to that the fact that few banks actually keep three million in cash lying around. And even if we did, extremely large bills are too hard to spend without raising questions. And a cache of small ones in that amount would be too damned heavy for one thief to carry.”
He dropped the smile and looked away. “Besides, I haven’t mentioned the clincher, the thing that convinced me this was no regular heist. Make sure this is in your notes.”
Dani turned the page in her notepad and clicked her pen.
Michaels met her gaze with one of pure fire. “He muttered something immediately after the transfer, just before you acted. Did you hear it?”
“Sounded like a curse,” she replied. “To tell you the truth, I was too busy concentrating on what I was doing.”
“It was a phrase in Arabic,” Michaels told her. “He said Death to America. Then the rat bastard smiled.”
Dani’s eyes widened and she sat silently for a moment. “You speak Arabic, Mr. Michaels?” Now this seemed a lot less far-fetched than it had before.
He shrugged. “That particular phrase is one I heard enough times to engrave it on my brain.”
She leaned forward. “And just what did you do in the service?”
If he was surprised that she had guessed he was former military, he didn’t flinch. His beautifully sculpted lips tightened into a line before he relaxed them. He promptly reverted to the stillness that signified his stolid banker image before he replied. “I picked up phrases like that one.”
“Ah. Okay,” she said, clicking her pen rhythmically, watching his eyes. “Did you mention your theory to the chief?”
“No, it’s not within local scope. That’s why I wanted to speak to you about it.”
She nodded her approval. “Could you step out and give me a few minutes to make a call?”
He stood, then paused before leaving the room. “Just so you know, I plan to follow through on this. Nobody…I mean, nobody, rips off my bank and gets away with it. Especially not for the purpose of bankrolling the bin Ladens of the world. I can track the money.” He shook a finger at her. “You tell your people that. They can work with me or around me, I don’t really care—but there’s no way I’ll be camping out behind some desk while someone else tries to straighten this out.”
Whoa. The man didn’t come off like a mild-mannered banker when he got his dander up. But Dani knew what her boss would say to having a civilian muddying up the waters of an international financial investigation. “We have experts who follow up on things like this, Mr. Michaels.”
“And by the time they decide who and how many to send, get the travel approved, orders cut, run everything through their computers and bureaucrats, and settle on what to do first, the money will be spent. And if I’m right, people will die.”
The fire in his eyes told her he’d had some experience with that. She could also see that her words would have little effect on his actions. Plus, he was right about the systemic delays. That was one reason her own team had been formed.
Whoever investigated this would certainly need the cooperation of a banking expert, and Ben Michaels did have all the particulars of the transaction and perhaps knew how to trace it, if that were possible. She would at least call the boss to see what he thought about Michaels, his suspicions and his plans to pursue this. Maybe the investigating operatives could use him.
“How are you with team work?” she asked, suspecting that he might have a lone wolf personality.
“Depends on the team,” he replied. “But I can work alone.” He paused, again with that narrow-eyed glare that hinted at hidden hard edges and left Dani assured of his resolve. “And I will if need be.”
Dani took out her cell phone and raised her chin to indicate he should leave her to make her phone call in private.
“Ben Michaels, you are one lucky son of a gun,” Mike Talbert said with a roll of his eyes. “Guess you been living right lately.”
“Has Mary Ruth calmed down yet?” Ben asked, changing the subject. He was concerned about the young, newly hired teller who had thrown up all over the inside of the vault and fainted. Her every waking moment since this whole thing started, she had spent crying. She looked about the same age as Agent Sweet. He couldn’t help comparing the two women and wondered what had forged Sweet’s ironclad nerves.
“Aw, Mary Ruth’ll be okay,” Mike said. “Probably need some counseling, though. Doc gave her a little something to take the edge off and I sent for her daddy to come get her.”
“And George?”
“He’s fine. Gave us the details on what happened right up until the vault clicked shut on him.” Mike smiled. “George is good with details. Prob’ly already writing a book about it.”
Ben tried to smile back.
“Where’s our little agent?” Mike asked, then peeked around Ben’s shoulder. “Oh, there she is. This COMPASS team she’s on? I’ve heard of it through channels. Started out as one of those secret, specialized forces called Sextant, which has branched out to include this new one.”
“Not so secret now?” Ben asked.
“Publicly, they are, but in law-enforcement circles they’re growing their legend. See, they took the best of the best, so I’ve heard, from the Bureau, CIA, NSA, ATF and the like. Supposed to stimulate cooperation between the agencies. Must be working because that first bunch has made quite an impact, heading terrorists off at the pass. COMPASS was involved in some real dicey deals with stolen missiles, bombs and such.”
He nodded toward the office and smiled. “Hard to believe Miss Sweet’s up to things like that, the way she looks and all. Kinda dainty.”
Ben clicked his tongue. “You didn’t see her disarm the robber. She’s gutsy. And quick.”
“Like a bunny,” Mike said, laughing. “Yeah, she whipped our asses on a car theft thing here a couple of years ago. Made us look like a buncha yokels. It was all over before we even knew what was going on…. I ought to be mad at her for that, but I never been one to hold a grudge. Besides, she’s a real looker.”
A real looker. “And you’re a real master of understatement,” Ben said with a laugh. Agent Sweet was a natural beauty with a perfect, tawny complexion, clear amber eyes and rich dark hair so shiny it reflected her red sweater. She filled that out magnificently, even