Fool Me Once

When he turned back to Sharon, a ghost of a frown was just fading from her face. There was a sadness in her eyes she couldn't hide. Ryan didn't know what to do. He didn't know her well enough to say anything about what he knew. He wasn't sure how she'd take it and now was not the right place or time to chance it.

All of the contrived interest in being with Carrie...Ryan thought of it as a smokescreen and bait for a trap...slowed in the second week. It had served its purpose. Carrie and Michaels were so spooked, they didn't eventry to arrange a rendezvous for fear Ryan would show up somewhere unexpectedly. Ryan did come by the bank again a couple of times, as he'd done the week before, just to keep the adulterous twosome off balance but they were short visits he made to and from other destinations.

It worked. By the end of the second week, Carrie was clearly frustrated and anxious. It was assumed Sean was in the same state of sexual dissatisfaction. Ryan and Consuela congratulated themselves. The pump had been primed.

********

It was even easier than Ryan had estimated to get into the house on Carrie and Sean's first "date" on his first Monday back at work. Ryan had been able to orchestrate almost the exact time the time the pair of lovers would leave work for the afternoon by making a point of taking Carrie to an early lunch. He set it up on Sunday, telling Carrie he would come by to pick her up on his way out of town for a business appointment in Austin. She'd agreed--she could hardly say no the way Ryan put it to her--and suggested a Taco Bell near the downtown bank's location. Ryan knew the proposal of a "fast food" meal was made to get it over with quickly and get Ryan out of town speedily.

That was fine with him. His only goal in eating lunch with her had been to make sure she and Sean Michaels couldn't leave work in the morning. Ryan and Consuela wouldn't have to wait all day near the Gilchrist residence waiting for something to happen.

*******

Instead of renting cars to travel back and forth, Ryan and Consuela borrowed nondescript vehicles from Consuela's family. They were in Consuela's cousin Alfredo's car today. The rest of the week they would have the loan of automobiles--a different one each day--from other individuals in Consuela's family and friends of the family.

The way it worked was that Consuela's Aunt had spoken with a number of people she trusted. She arranged for a gassed up, smooth-running vehicle to be sitting in an out-of-the-way parking lot with the keys under the mat each morning by 7:00AM. Consuela and Ryan, though Consuela's Aunt had no knowledge he was part of this, had full use of the vehicle all day. When it was returned to the parking lot, it was understood there would be an envelope under the mat with the keys containing a few hundred dollars in twenty-dollar bills. No questions would be asked, and none answered.

Ryan had told his senior foremen he was going to continue his time off and go out to the deer lease he'd had for years up near the little town of Marble Falls. It wasn't unusual, even though he'd already been away from the job for two weeks. Ryan always got some deer tags about this same time each year and took a little vacation time to drive north of San Antonio up to the cabin on the lease near Marble Falls. It wasn't remarkable enough to even comment on. The business hadn't been making enough money in prior years to permit the three-week vacation. Everyone wished him good luck in the hunt.

Consuela was sick. It was that crud going around, she told her boss...or maybe it was the flu. She really hoped it wasn't a new strain because she hadn't gotten a shot this year. Anyway, she was going to use some sick time. She hoped she'd be back in tomorrow or maybe the day after. The bank manager wished her the best and hoped she'd soon be feeling better.

Ryan and Consuela talked about anything that came to mind while they waited in the small BBQ restaurant's parking lot. It helped pass the time and they were slowly coming to realize they enjoyed just sitting and talking. Just being with each other for any reason was beginning to be important to them.

Ryan had left one bug in place, a sensitive listening device taped to the back of a small table in the foyer that would tell them when Carrie and her boss came in. Consuela had gone into the restaurant and brought out a bag of pulled pork sandwiches. She and Ryan had each eaten a couple--he was still hungry after his rushed lunch with Carrie--but the primary purpose of the purchase had been to establish a reason for the thoroughly unremarkable auto to be parked in the restaurant's parking lot.

"Well, it's about damn time," Ryan commented. He'd just glanced at his watch, thinking his wife and Michaels should have had enough time to set up their excuses after lunch and leave for a few hours of licentious pleasure. The key rattling in the front door lock was clearly audible coming from the speaker of the portable receiving unit resting on the dash. The excited voices that followed almost immediately made it a certainty. Carrie and her lover had arrived.

Consuela and Ryan got out of the big gray Ford quickly. They had no time to lose, but they were careful. Taking a slow look around to make sure no one was watching, Ryan led Consuela into the scrub oak and brush to the west of the restaurant. It was the same stand of stunted trees and heavy underbrush that ended just behind Ryan's home.

They'd talked about dressing in black and maybe drawing a mask over their faces or something, but they'd quickly discarded the idea. Going about dressed like ninja wannabe's would draw attention from everyone in sight. Instead, they settled for a wig to conceal Consuela's true hair color; plain, faded baseball caps; and dark sunglasses, and thoroughly unremarkable clothing.

The colors in their shirts and pants were muted greens, browns, and dark grays. Their footwear was unremarkable, and dark colored. The sizes on the shoes and boots they'd bought for this job were varied. On one day, they could put up with too tight shoes for the short time they would need to. Another day, they would wear multiple pairs of thick socks in shoes that were too big.

Everything they wore was clean, but well used, and had been obtained from Salvation Army and Goodwill stores in Austin, Dallas, and Houston. Nothing had been purchased locally. Each of the six sets...the five they thought they'd need plus a spare...of clothing and footwear would be burned at the end of the day in which they were used. The metal zippers, other bits of metal, buttons, sunglasses, etc., would be scattered in the deepest part of several regional lakes.

********

It took only ten minutes...maybe a little more...to negotiate the couple of hundred yards through the tangle of brush and undersized trees. They could have done it in less, but Ryan deliberately led Consuela on a roundabout route through places where they wouldn't leave tracks. Actually, it wasn't difficult to find stretches of hardpan soil, or stretches of bare rock where their shoes wouldn't leave any tracks. They would come back the same way and Ryan would use a branch to sweep across the sections where theydid leave a trail. They would use this particular path only this once. Nothing they could control was being left to chance.

At the edge of the woods, they took disposable latex gloves from their pockets and pulled them on. They checked each other's appearance carefully to make certain their disguises, such as they were, remained intact. Ryan gave Consuela a thumbs up gesture and she returned it with a nervous smile. Without waiting any longer, the pair hopped the fence and walked purposefully to the patio door. They didn't run. They'd planned their walk to appear as natural as possible.

They kept their eyes moving behind their dark glasses. They saw no one at the windows of the house they would be entering and nothing alarming from the houses to either side. Three steps into the yard, tall shrubs on both sides of the Gilchrist house hid them very effectively from anyone who might have been at the windows in the neighbors' homes.

Ryan opened the patio door with the ease of long familiarity and slid it open in one sure movement. As he'd predicted, Carrie had not thought to make sure the house was secured when she came home in the middle of the day. Seconds later, the glass door was closed softly behind them. He and Consuela moved to the side, where they'd be out of sight from anyone outside and stood close together. They hardly dared to breath for a long moment.

Ryan looked at his watch and showed the face to Consuela. They'd decided they would be out of the house at the twenty-six minute mark no matter what they'd accomplished or left undone. The woman nodded her understanding. Ryan started the stopwatch function and let his arm drop to his side.

They spent a moment longer just listening. They were amateurs. Their hearts were in their throats and had been since they got out of the car. Their bodies had dumped quantities of adrenalin into their bloodstreams and their pulse rates were skyrocketing. They needed the moment just to focus on what they were about to do.

The moaning from upstairs told them the adulterers were already hard at it. The wet, smacking sounds of naked flesh slapping against flesh were clear.

"Oh, God, Sean," Carrie screamed, "do that...it's been so long, darling."

Ryan's forehead was suddenly creased with deep lines. He stood stock still in the kitchen doorway. The fury he'd felt to a greater or lesser extent since he'd discovered Carrie's second infidelity had ebbed over the past couple of months while he and Consuela were working on this plan. The anger came flooding back as he listened to the pair of lovers up the stairway in front of him and down a short hall. This was too much.

He'd already shifted his weight to his left foot and was preparing to step off on his right to go up the steps when he felt the weight of Consuela's hand on his forearm. He looked around. Consuela's eyebrows were raised in question. They'd agreed they would not speak a word until they were safely back in the car. Her touch brought a measure of sanity back to him.

Suppressing the rage, Ryan gave her a strained smile and a weak smile. He took a shuddering breath. It wasn't easy, but he settled back squarely on his feet and set himself to listen only for signs his wife and Michaels were about to come downstairs.

He checked. He was not aroused. The sexual activity in which his wife was engaged upstairs was not keying the primitive response he'd learned about. He'd beaten it.

He grinned at his partner and gave her a firm nod. Reassured, Consuela looked around the living room, spotted the laptop on the sofa, and walked carefully across the living room carpet to retrieve it. Ryan had taught her to walk the way his grandfather had showed him. It was the way Comanche warriors walked when they were stalking game or enemies. After some practice at odd moments over the past two weeks, someone walking beside her couldn't hear her footsteps as she crossed a creaky hardwood floor. Ryan grinned wolfishly.

Consuela took the laptop into the kitchen and sat down at the table. In another minute, she was logging in to the bank's server and entering Michaels' password. They were mildly surprised when it worked. They knew the bank regulations called for all users on the institution's server to change their passwords no less than every sixty days. Sean Michaels thought himself above all that though. He hadn't bothered.

Flashing Ryan a smile, Consuela laid out the pages of a printed spreadsheet of account numbers set up by Great-Uncle Roberto on the table beside the laptop. The sheets of paper would be burned sometime tonight, along with the clothing they wore. They would rely on the digital version on the laptop cousin Richard was guarding and the backup Great-Uncle Roberto had. They had other printed spreadsheets, with other account numbers, hidden in Ryan's pickup for the raids they would conduct on the bank during the rest of the week's visits.

Consuela went to work locating the accounts of a number of very, very rich people who'd entrusted their wealth to Sean Michaels and Carrie Gilchrist. Soon she was typing commands into the system as fast as her fingers could move.

********

Back in the car, they couldn't restrain themselves. They laughed wildly at each other's comments, no matter how weak the humor was. Consuela kept reaching out to touch Ryan's hand and forearm. She couldn't help it. They'd conspired, and had now committed a serious crime. They needed the closeness to reassure each other. After a while, the adrenaline wore off and they were quiet. Her hand was still protected in his though. It was a comfort for both of them while the enormity of what they had done sank in. By the time they got to where they would exchange cars, holding hands just felt good, period.

They left the BBQ restaurant's parking lot immediately, making a point of driving well within the speed limit along a route they'd mapped out a week earlier. It had been difficult, but they'd found a path through the city that dodged around all the places they could see had security cameras pointed at the street, or places they would reasonably expect such devices but couldn't immediately find them.

With their dull, uninteresting car, their wigs, caps, dark sunglasses, and carefully unremarkable clothing, they didn't think they'd catch anyone's eye even if the tapes from every private home and business along that routewere examined. They kept their caps pulled down and brought a hand up by their face whenever they could, just in case. There was always the incredibly remote chance someone either of them knew might see them as they drove by.

Back at the lot where Ryan and Consuela's cars were parked, they stripped down to their underwear and put everything they'd used this day into a big trash bag. The bag went into the back seat of Ryan's pickup.

They were mildly embarrassed at their partial nudity before each other. This was, after all, the first time they'd seen each other undressed. Neither noticed the other's discomfiture. Each thought the other was calm and businesslike. Neither thought the other was in the least self-conscious.

They dressed quickly and departed in different directions. Consuela left to pick up Belinda from daycare and Ryan raced to get to the hunting cabin he was using in the hill country near Marble Falls. Tonight, he would burn everything in the bag and the ashes sifted for metal parts, buttons, etc.

Sometime around sunrise, he would get in the flat-bottomed 16-foot fishing boat he kept up there and dump the ashes and metal parts in the deepest parts of the nearby lake. He might even catch a bass or two for breakfast, who knew? There would be no evidence of anything he and Consuela had done left behind, though, and that was the important thing.

********

By Friday, it was a well-settled routine for Ryan and Carrie. It was almost boring. They had to work hard at reminding each other to not relax on the tight security measures they were practicing. They parked at different locations each day, somewhere close to the BBQ restaurant because the only good place to enter the brush was just off the restaurant's parking lot. Their disguises, and carefully staged changes in their pace and posture, ensured no one would notice the same couple wandering around all week long.

Sean Michaels and Carrie Gilchrist found time to sneak off to the Gilchrist home every day that week. The times of their meeting varied, but they always made their rendezvous and it was always at the Gilchrist home. Ryan thought it was sad that Sean Michaels never sprang for a motel room, just for a change of scenery. The man was cheap; that's the best that could be said about him. Consuela thought that there was nothing better to be said about the man was particularly sad.

Changing to their disguises on Friday took Ryan and Consuela less than half the time it had Monday. Parking just down the street from the BBQ restaurant, they strolled slowly toward it arm in arm...and walked past without stopping. Ryan let the earpiece from the remote portable receiving unit slip off his ear and tucked it into his breast pocket.

The two Bexar county sheriff's patrol cars parked nose out in the parking lot were almost certainly there only because the officers were inside working their way through a big plate of ribs. There was no officious bustle of law enforcement officers coming and going...and no activity around the place that hinted of an ongoing investigation inside the restaurant or in the little patch of wilderness nearby. No one showed any interest as they passed by and no one pursued. None of that mattered in the least.

"Wave off?" Ryan said in a low voice a block away from the place. Consuela wasn't familiar with the term, but it's meaning was clear enough. She nodded imperceptibly beneath the floppy army surplus bush cap she wore today. At the corner, she turned back, seemingly to check the traffic before they crossed the street.

"No one coming," she murmured. "Still..."

"'Tis the better part of valor," Ryan remarked.

"It's an omen," Consuela said decisively.

Ryan didn't question her appraisal. Without appearing to hurry, they walked completely around the block and back to the borrowed car they had for today, got in, and left. They filled their last black trash bag with the clothing they'd just removed, added the sets they hadn't used, and put the bag in Ryan's pickup.

He put an envelope with three hundred dollars under the seat--there was no floor mat in this car--and got out of the area quickly, parting with a quick kiss both badly needed from the other. There was an urgency to their movements that hadn't been there before. They told themselves nothing had changed from yesterday's adventure, but the threat they felt from the inoffensive patrol vehicles gave the lie to their words. They were relieved this phase was over.

The next day, after "returning" from his supposedly unsuccessful hunt, Ryan removed the audio pickup near the front door. He crushed it under his heel on the concrete garage floor and carefully picked up all the pieces. They were placed temporarily into a trash bag and were dropped individually that night into a handful of dumpsters across the city.

That same Saturday evening, an hour after a late evening phone call from Consuela, Great-Uncle Roberto began spreading the word. The next Monday, at a myriad of banks all through the Caribbean, men and women with imminently forgettable faces and nondescript appearances began emptying accounts using passwords the banks "knew" only the true account owners could possibly know. They took the cashier's checks, sometimes cash, and made their way to other private banks where they made deposits according to their instructions.

Secondary accounts suddenly flush from cashier's check deposits were looted almost as quickly as computers could process the transactions. None of the accounts had a positive balance the next afternoon. From that point on, every deposit and withdrawal was in cash. Eventually, thousands of comparatively small amounts...generally in U.S. dollars...began to find their way to Roberto's special number accounts in private banking houses.

********

Three weeks passed without a cry being raised. Ryan was sure he'd see something in the paper or on the radio as quick as something hit the fan. It would be the most significant event to hit down there in the history of the bank. He knew that because when Consuela totaled everything up, they found they'd sent just short of nine million dollars out of the country into offshore accounts.