“It’s almost nine p.m. Good time to avoid the crowd,” he said, laughing, as we headed out. “So how’s your old man?”
“I spoke to him the other day,” I said. “He said something about wanting grandkids.”
“Did you explain that’s not something you can do on your own?”
He made small talk as we drove, never asking me what went down on the cruise boat or what was in my duffel bag. It’s something you learn in the corps. Respect the other guy’s personal boundaries.
The bank was next door to an Indonesian restaurant on a wide, busy street. Kino parked directly in front. “I’ll wait here till you’re inside,” he said.
“You don’t need to do that,” I said. I thanked him for his help, unzipped the duffel, and pulled out a stack of bills.
He waved me off. “What do I look like, a mercenary?”
“I came into some serious money,” I said. “I want to spread it around.”
“Put it in a college fund for those grandkids,” he said.
“Thanks.” I opened the car door and got out.
“Semper fi, bro,” he said.
“Right back at ya,” I said.
The lobby of the bank was well lit, and I walked up to the double glass doors and rang the after-hours bell.
A young man in khakis and an open-collar shirt unlocked the door.
“I’m Matthew Bannon,” I said.
“We’ve been expecting you, Mr. Bannon,” he said. “I’m Jan Schoningh. Come on in.”
The bank was twenty-first-century techno architecture — mostly steel and glass — and completely devoid of old-world charm. But they still adhered to that old-world banking tradition that states, “We’re always open late for a guy who shows up with a shitload of cash.”
I expected Schoningh to escort me to a private office where I’d meet some venerable old guy in an expensive suit, but I guess these days it’s the young bankers who get to stay late and service the late-night clientele.
There was a cashier waiting to count the money.
“This is Katje,” Schoningh said.
Katje was blond with a knockout smile and a no-nonsense approach to handling seven million bucks.
She dumped the money on a table, unbanded the packets, and ran the bills through a machine.
Then she ran them through a second time.
The total came to $7,024,362.18. The exchange rate had shifted a few tenths of a point in my favor.
I guess you’d say I was rich. Mr. Schoningh did not seem overly impressed, though. “Do you want to deposit the entire amount?” he asked.
“Everything but eighty thousand euros.”
Katje counted out the money and put it in a pale yellow bank envelope for me. We spent another twenty minutes filling out papers, and then Schoningh escorted me to the front door.
Kino was still parked outside.
He rolled down the window and called out to me. “Hey, Matthew, you need a ride to the airport?”
“You didn’t have to wait. I could’ve caught a cab.”
“Cabs are expensive,” he said. “Get in, kiddo. I’m damn happy to do it.”
And he was. I think the only thing that would have made Kino happier was if Marta Krall had still been around, taking shots at us.
Chapter 72
THE NEXT AVAILABLE flight to New York wasn’t until two o’clock the next afternoon. That left me with seventeen hours to cool my jets at the airport.
But life changes when you have money. Maybe it can’t buy happiness, but it sure as hell can get you where you want to go in a hurry.
Kino dropped me at the General Aviation Center. Two minutes later I was walking across the tarmac with Captain Dan Fennessy, pilot of the Falcon 900EX jet I had chartered.
By the time we got to the plane, I knew everything I needed to know about him. He’d been a pilot for thirty years, got laid off by Delta two years ago, and was happy to give me a bargain rate of only seven thousand dollars an hour so he wouldn’t have to deadhead back to the States.
I paid cash.
The copilot was in the cockpit. “Where would you like to land?” he asked. “JFK, Newark, or Teterboro?”
“For forty-nine thousand bucks, I’d like to land on the corner of Bleecker and Perry in the West Village,” I said.
The two flyboys laughed, and I opted for Teterboro, a small general aviation airport in New Jersey used mostly by corporate jets and small private planes.
“Good choice,” Fennessy said. “Much less hassle with customs.”
He gave me a short tour of the aircraft, pointing out the amenities and explaining emergency procedures.
“You have fourteen seats to choose from, Mr. Bannon,” he said. “Too bad there’s only one of you.”
I’m sure it was his standard icebreaker. I didn’t correct him, but as far as I was concerned, he had two passengers — Matthew Bannon and the Ghost. And Vadim Chukov was determined to kill us both.
I sat down in a window seat and buckled myself in. Five minutes later we were wheels up.
If the Ghost had been calling the shots, we’d have been heading anywhere but New York. The Ghost was hardwired to be as emotionally detached as humanly possible. With the Russian mob after him, and seven million dollars in the bank, he would gladly disappear and start a new life elsewhere.
On the other hand, there was Matthew Bannon, the passionate, caring, wannabe artist, whose mission would be to fly home, win back Katherine’s heart, and live happily ever after.
But there was a third choice. And after a lot of soul-searching, that’s the one I finally made.
I was going back because I had screwed up the best relationship I’d ever had and I needed to apologize.
I was going back because, even though Chukov would be gunning for Matthew Bannon, I had put Katherine’s life in danger, and I had to make sure that she was okay and that she stayed that way.
The old me never would have been on that plane. I was always so careful, so self-involved. But something had changed me. Actually, someone had changed me. Katherine. I loved her desperately. I didn’t want to lose her. I wanted to set things right, and then maybe, just maybe, start my life over again.
Was that too much to ask? Probably, yeah.
Chapter 73
THE FALCON TOUCHED down at Teterboro at a few minutes after 10 p.m.
The customs and immigration agent who met our plane checked my passport and asked me why I went to Paris, Venice, and Amsterdam.
“I’m an artist on tour,” I said.
He stifled a yawn. My name wasn’t on his watch list, so he stamped my passport and sent me on my way.
