Fun With Ill-Gotten Finances

Back from Tucson, and with some time on my hands, I began to delve into Conrad Black's life of Franklin Roosevelt. Curled up on the sofa in my study, sipping a Grey Goose over ice, I began to read. Goodness, I thought, the man can write, and I thought it a pity that Lord Black of Crossharbour had not made a career of teaching and writing history, rather than grubbing around in finance, raiding pension funds, and sneaking financial records out of buildings facing dimly-lit alleys. Oh well, as my mentor once observed, this also applied to Hermann Goering, an acknowledged expert in the poetry of John Keats. Would that he had stuck to nightingales rather than Messerschmitts! Can't have everything, though.

I had barely started when my secure phone line rang. It was Sister Cecelia of a charity I support, the Little Sisters of Poverty and Pain, a gathering of atheistic nuns that have appeared in these pages before. The good Sister is in charge of the organization's finances, and wanted to thank me for the most recent, very large, donation.

"What donation?" I asked. I have a good head for where my money goes, and the Sisters had already received their 2011 allotment.

"Why the funds that you transferred to our account," said Cecilia. "About $300,000.00 dollars. In fact, we've gone ahead and purchased two Cessna Skylanes, and have contracted with a very good mechanic to help us out. The planes will do wonders for our Can Do Program. A woman who can control and fly an airplane... well, just think about it. [See entries for July 15 and 22, entitled Employing Empowerment]. And you didn't have to indicate that the donation was anonymous. After all, since Holy Mother Church withdrew their financial backing, you are our main supporter, although the women who have turned their lives around give us what they can."

What was she talking about? I had done nothing to -- and then realization struck. The funds had obviously been transferred electronically, and I had a very good idea how it had come about. I wished Cecilia well, rang off, and headed downstairs to the computer room.

There I encountered Rachel, hunched over one of her machines. (She has six of various capabilities).

She looked up, said "Hi" and continued to type God knows what on the keyboard.

"Rachel," I said firmly, "we must talk."

"OK," she replied. "I needed a break anyway". She shut her machine down, rose, and stretched her six foot frame, then settled back into her chair. She really was an imposing woman.

I sat down beside her. "Where is Irving?" Lately, they've been inseparable.

"He strained his back. Not serious, but he needs to rest. We were working out in the gym, and he tried to counter Arrow Over The Mountain with Cactus Frozen In Ice. Not a good move."

"No, he should have used Cactus In Coriander. But that's not what's at issue here. What's with the donation to the Little Sisters of Poverty and Pain?"

"Oh, you found out."

"It wasn't rocket science. You do have a reputation."

"Well, this whole thing began with a suggestion from your friend, Matilda Hatt. She thought that if it were possible, it would be of benefit to many if funds obtained illegally could somehow be extracted from their 'secret' accounts, and then given to those who do good work. I thought about this a bit, worked on some code, inserted it into the WRAITH software, and went to work."

"What 'work?' Specifically."

"I took over accounts housed in places like Switzerland, Liechtenstein, the Grand Cayman Islands -- places like that. I then transferred sizeable chunks of cash to Medicins Sans Frontieres, the Red Cross, UNICEF, and other organizations that do positive things. I mean, no point in the money just sitting there, doing no good for anyone."

I paled. "And just who had access to these accounts?"

"Ah," replied Rachel sweetly. "Here's the beauty. The owners of the accounts would be the last to raise an outcry, because they have all publicly denied having such accounts. People like Robert Mugabe, and a slew of other African so-called leaders. People like some hedge fund managers who did a nice skimming job during the recent financial mess. Oh, then there's Tunisia. I just finished taking a rather hefty debit from Ben Ali's account. He'll get a surprise when he taps into his holdings from wherever he has fled to."

"Saudi Arabia. But Rachel, I want you to stop. To be sure, the owners won't scream, but the bankers will be frantic, and banks have very deep pockets. Deep enough that over time they will crack your code, and then this place becomes vulnerable. I already have Al-Qaeda breathing down my neck. I don't want the gnomes of Zurich as well."

Rachel thought for a moment, sighed, and said, "I take your point. But it was fun while it lasted."

"It's always fun until someone loses an eye."