The Four Corners of the Sky_ A Novel - Michael Malone [206]
Annie and Dan waited in chairs that looked like they’d been taken from a 1950s restaurant. “I’d love to get a couple of these chairs,” Dan said, bending down to check out the curved aluminum legs. “Don’t look now but there’s our FBI buddy Willie. He really ought to work out more. Man’s a mess.”
Annie glanced behind her. The chunky FBI agent was leaning against a counter by the wall, filling out a bank form. He was sweaty in the heat, even in his white Cuban shirt, open-collared, short-sleeved.
The younger muscular man wearing all black stepped inside the bank. Dan grinned. “Look at his shoes. Now look at Willie’s shoes. Same. Why don’t the Feds work on their shoes?”
The two agents ignored them.
The assistant manager of this small branch of the Banco Central appeared out of the back and introduced himself in Spanish as Teofilo Ramirez. He asked, ¿Donde está Rafael?”
“No clue,” Dan admitted with a shrug. “Oswardo said to come ahead anyhow.”
Nodding, Ramirez led Annie and Dan to a sitting area near the rail separating the lobby from offices. Slim, youthful, courteous, he apologized for any tardiness. There had been none. Ramirez wore a blue suit with a blue tie. His hair was a short neat version of his cousin Rafael Rook’s glossy black ponytail. His dark eyes were far less trusting than Raffy’s, in fact they were rather cynical. But he began with polite pleasantries; they lasted longer than they would have in America. To Annie’s surprise he brought out a color copy of her official Navy identification photo. He showed it to her, then returned it to his pocket. He smiled. “No soy un tonto. Soy un banquero.”
Dan nodded. “He says he’s not a fool, he’s a banker.” The whole conversation took place in Spanish, with Dan translating for Annie, although she had the clear notion that Ramirez could understand English perfectly well.
Raffy’s cousin said they would not waste one another’s time. There were certain passwords necessary to access the account. “Démelos por favor.”
Annie spoke slowly from memory, reciting the numbers whose meaning she had figured out on a night that now seemed to have taken place a lifetime ago, during the flight to St. Louis in the King of the Sky. The alphanumeric stood for her birthday and her birth weight and her time of birth, for Lindbergh’s plane and her father’s plane: She looked directly at Teofilo Ramirez. “The passwords are 362484070N and 678STNX211. I’ll repeat those.”
Dan translated each number and letter slowly and carefully. With a polite compliment to Annie’s memory, Señor Ramirez wrote everything down. “Tres seis dos cuatro ocho cuatro cero siete cero N. Seis siete ocho S. T. N. X. dos uno uno.” He asked Annie to check what was written for accuracy.
She did so. “Yes, that’s right. Thanks.”
He nodded at her.
“Muchas gracias,” said Dan and handed him discreetly, but with a courteous tilt of his head, a sealed business envelope. The envelope contained twenty thousand euros in cash. The assistant manager took it nonchalantly. He told them he would return momentarily and stepped backward, disappearing behind a door at the far end of the bank marked Privado.
Annie and Dan waited nervously on a rattan couch. They kept their hands on the shopping bag between them. Two old loud-ticking round metal clocks on opposite walls showed different times in the vicinity of 4:45 p.m.
Finally the private office door reopened. Ramirez returned, this time carrying a blue zippered pouch the size of a large book; it was embossed with the name of the bank. He told Dan in Spanish that he would now need to ask her (he referred to Annie throughout as ella–“she” or “her”) to provide him with answers to three questions that the signatory on the account (he never mentioned the name, Jack Peregrine) had added as a security check. Annie said that she would answer the questions as best she could. “Did my father prepare the questions? Mi padre?” She pointed at the pouch. “Mi padre?