"I'd like to introduce Mr. Rimsat," said Kevin De Ruse, as the two other committee members looked at Kevin with disapproval, wondering why a stranger was present. The Off-Broadway Angels met at Tse Yang, New York’s finest Chinese restaurant, at 8:00 P.M. on the first Monday of each month. Prior to each meeting, the committee convened in the bar to discuss proposals from aspiring, often unknown, would be producers of new plays. Projects which passed muster were presented to the members, mostly professionals with money and theatre people without money. Those who wished to invest, primarily to help the arts while obtaining a tax write-off, could sign a subscription agreement.

    "He's not exactly a stranger to the theatre," said Kevin De Ruse, a slender man of 58-years with small glistening white teeth and a long nose that wandered to the left before it ended. "Mr. Rimsat has appeared in a few clubs, does a magic act."

    "He's still an outsider," said Harry Doyle.

    "Please bear with me," said Kevin De Ruse. "Mr. Rimsat has a rather unusual proposal; I want him to present it in person. It's not something you put in writing. You'll see what I mean once you hear it."

    The other committee member, Alex Bowman, a prune-faced CPA, always ready to remove his jacket and roll up his sleeves before reviewing a proposal, was not happy with an oral presentation. He looked skeptical, but suggested that Mr. Rimsat be allowed to speak as he was already here and it was pouring rain outside. "Is this a comedy or a drama?" he asked.

    "Neither," said Rimsat, sitting erect. He displayed a lean figure, close-trimmed beard and dark features that displayed a nationality of many possibilities.

    "It's a musical then," continued Alex Bowman.

    "No," said Rimsat.

    "Enough questions," interjected Kevin De Ruse. "We're talking about a $80,000 investment that's going to return $6,000,000." That got their attention.

    "Must be illegal," said Alex Bowman, looking at Harry Doyle.

    "Who cares, if it works," said Harry Doyle, the twice-disbarred twice-reinstated lawyer.

    Rimsat made his presentation, responded to queries put to him by Alex Bowman and Harry Doyle, and said he could arrange an early meeting with Mr. Roo at the Consulate. Satisfied, they thanked Rimsat and dismissed him, saying they would get back to him after polling the members to see if there was any interest.

    Harry Doyle's expression became serious as he looked at Kevin De Ruse and Alex Bowman. "Of course we can't present it to the members," Harry said. "This deal is clearly illegal, and too profitable; we should keep it for ourselves." The bartender looked over as the three broke out in a fit of laughter.

    The next day they squeezed into a cab, got out on the corner of Second Avenue and Forty-ninth Street in front of a noodle shop and headed east on foot.

    "He's expecting you," said the secretary. "Follow me." She was heavy set and moved like a bulldog, leading them down a narrow hallway. A set of double doors opened to reveal Mr. Roo seated behind a large mahogany desk. In the corner a red, orange and green flag drooped from a pole. As the quartet traipsed across an expensive looking Oriental carpet Mr. Roo rose to greet them, revealing his five feet four inches and stocky build. The host seated his visitors around a square red lacquer coffee table, which disappeared from view as he unfolded a large document.

    "It's a map," said Kevin De Ruse. They all looked at Kevin, then focused their attention on the map.

    "This is the South China Sea," said Roo, running his index finger across the map in a downward swipe from China to Indonesia, then resting it with a thud at his target. "These are the Spratly Islands."

    "Never heard of them," said Alex Bowman.

    "Can't even see them," said Harry Doyle, putting on his reading glasses and leaning forward for a closer look. "Says they belong to the Philippines."

    "It's an old map," said Roo. "These days the Spratly Islands are claimed by China, Malaysia, the Philippines, Vietnam, Taiwan and Brunei," each emphasized by a jab of Roo's index finger at its location on the map. China claims to have built a series of shelters for Chinese fisherman on several reefs in the Spratlys."

    "Looks quite far from China," said Kevin De Ruse, "must be good fishing there."

    "Not that good," said Roo. "Since 1992, when the U.S. withdrew the Seventh Fleet, the Chinese have been expanding their military presence in the area. Philippine aerial reconnaissance photos reveal anti-aircraft guns, a communications satellite and naval docking facilities on reefs the Chinese occupy in the Spratlys."

    "Interesting," said Alex Bowman, "but who cares about a few reefs in the South China Sea."

    "Offshore oil!" said Harry Doyle. "That's it, isn't it?" he said, looking at Roo.

    "Yes," Roo confirmed. "Palau Sungei has abundant oil reserves and it's thought that the Spratly Islands may contain substantial reserves. Beijing has recently done some sabre- rattling to intimidate Taiwan, conducting war games nearby involving heavy-duty weapons, missiles and live artillery. Some of us in the government, including the Finance Minister, have been preparing for a possible Chinese invasion for some time."

    "How are you going to defend your island against China?" asked Alex Bowman, looking perplexed.

    "We're not," said Roo, walking to his desk. He continued talking as he held up a black leather briefcase. "We have been converting foreign exchange earnings into U.S. dollars, actual cash. It's right here in New York, $12,000,000." Roo placed the black case on his desk and snapped it open. "This contains $100,000; the rest is in safe deposit boxes in various banks around Manhattan."

    The four visitors, Rimsat, Alex Bowman, Harry Doyle and Kevin De Ruse, stood and walked toward the desk, mouths open except for Rimsat, until they saw the contents of the case.

    "Where's the money?" asked Kevin De Ruse. "All I see is black paper."

    "That's how we got it out of the country," said Roo. "We coated each bill black to conceal its true nature. Let me demonstrate."

    Roo removed a small metal tray from the desk and placed it next to the briefcase, then produced a glass bottle and emptied half of its clear contents into the tray, being careful to coat the bottom evenly. Next Roo picked up a stack of black paper and said, "I'd like one of you gentlemen to select one of these pieces of paper for a demonstration." Alex Bowman reached forward and made the choice and handed the piece of black paper to Roo. He turned and handed the bill to Rimsat. "Please do the honors," said Roo.

    Rimsat placed it in the tray and covered it with the remaining liquid.

    "Now what happens?" asked Harry Doyle.

    "Watch," said Roo. He removed two latex gloves from the desk and pulled one on each hand. As he rubbed the contents of the tray the liquid took on a black color as the paper changed color. Roo held up a picture of Benjamin Franklin, a one hundred dollar bill, patted it dry with a paper towel and handed it back to Alex Bowman. After scrutinizing the bill he handed it to Kevin De Ruse for his approval.

    "It's real," said Roo, "you can take it to your bank for verification."

    Harry Doyle snatched the bill from Kevin, put his reading glasses on and inspected it, front and back. He was certain the bill was genuine, having seen fakes on various occasions, but put on a look of concern. "That's a good idea," he said, "We'll take it to the bank just to be sure." Harry Doyle placed the bill in his wallet; he figured he had already made one hundred dollars on this deal.

    They looked at each other, Alex Bowman, Harry Doyle and Kevin De Ruse, Harry Doyle spoke first. "What's our cut?"

    "Half," said Roo. "$6,000,000."

    "What about Rimsat?" asked Harry Doyle.

    "He gets a finder's fee from me," said Roo.

    "Sounds interesting," said Alex Bowman, thinking of a new summer home in the Hamptons his wife had been pestering him to purchase. He thought it was too good to be true, must be a scam, but waited for one of the others to say something.

    "Absolutely," agreed Kevin De Ruse, ready to place an order for a sleek new Rolls Royce. He too wondered if it was a scam, but waited to see if his associates had any doubts.

    "Subject to confirmation by the bank as to the authenticity of this hundred dollar bill," said Harry Doyle, patting the wallet inside the breast pocket of his jacket. "We'll get back to you Mr. Roo."

    Outside they huddled on the sidewalk. "How do we know this guy in Switzerland will come through with the chemicals?" said Alex Bowman.

    "Always the pessimist," grumbled Kevin De Ruse, thinking of his new Rolls Royce.

    "Keeps me out of trouble," said Alex Bowman.

    "The guy in Switzerland is Roo's cousin," said Rimsat.

    "Oh," said Harry Doyle. "Tell you what, I'll meet you fellows at Chase Manhattan, across from Alex's office, at 2:30 this afternoon and we'll check out this hundred dollar bill, see if it's genuine."

    "Maybe there's a bank on the corner," said Alex Bowman. "Why don't we go there?" He started walking back to Second Avenue and the others followed.

    "I didn't notice a bank when we got out of the cab," said Harry Doyle; Kevin De Ruse agreed.

None of the four corners at 49th Street and Second Avenue had a bank. "Told you so," said Harry Doyle.

    "Maybe we can walk up Second Avenue and find a bank," said Alex Bowman.

    "I've got to see a client; I'm already late," said Harry Doyle. "Besides, it's better to go to a bank where they don't know you, just in case there's a problem."

    Once back in his office Harry Doyle dialed a number, told Johnny Orman what he needed. "Can you get me one in an hour?" Harry asked. "It has to be top quality."

    "Make it two hours," said Johnny Orman. "I gotta stop and report in to my parole officer first."

    Rimsat and the committee members met outside Chase Manhattan at 2:30 and went inside together. Harry Doyle handed the hundred dollar bill to Alex Bowman and said, "Looks genuine to me, but we've got to be certain."

    Kevin De Ruse, Harry Doyle and Rimsat waited inside the lobby until 3:15. Alex Bowman returned, his step a mere shuffle, shoulders drooping and looking like a child who had just been told that there was no Santa Claus.

    "There's no Santa Claus," Alex Bowman said. "No free lunch, and worst of all, no summer home in the Hamptons."

    "What happened?" asked Kevin De Ruse and Harry Doyle in unison.

    "It was counterfeit," said Alex Bowman.

    "That’s impossible," said Rimsat.

    "No," said Alex Bowman. "They asked me a lot of questions, where I got it and so forth."

    "They kept the phony bill?" asked Kevin De Ruse.

    "Of course," said Alex Bowman.

    "What did you tell them?" asked Kevin De Ruse.

    "They bought it?" asked Kevin De Ruse.

    Alex Bowman shrugged, and said, "Maybe we should call the police."

    "Brilliant idea," said Harry Doyle, " and just what would you tell the police?" 

    "Oh!" said Alex Bowman. Just then an empty cab stopped in front of them at a red light. "Come on," said Alex Bowman. He and Kevin De Ruse jumped into the cab as Rimsat said, "Wait a minute."

    "That hundred dollar bill was genuine," said Rimsat, looking at Harry Doyle. "You substituted a phoney bill."

    "It’s a scam," said Harry Doyle, "but I just made $100."

    "Of course it’s a scam," said Rimsat. I couldn’t tell you before or your friends wouldn’t have acted like nothing was wrong in front of Roo. He’s tried this scheme before, but we can’t lock him up unless we catch him red-handed. Here’s my ID." He handed Harry Doyle an official photo ID indicating that he was an Investigator for the Department of Treasury for Palau Sungei.   

    "The United States can’t arrest Roo because he has diplomatic immunity," said Rimsat, "but I can arrest him and return him to Palau Sungei if I have an ironclad case."

    "You need my help," said Harry Doyle, sensing money.

    "Yes," said Roo."We need to give Roo $80,000 in cash. I have $40,000 and I need you to put up the other $40,000."

    "What do I get out of this?" asked Harry Doyle.

    "You get to keep the whole $80,000 as a reward from our government," said Rimsat. "I’ll meet you at the consulate in one and a half hours."

    "Then you’ll arrest him," said Harry Doyle.

    "No," said Rimsat. "He’ll ask you to come back on Monday to see that the chemicals have arrived. That’s when I’ll arrest him."

    "What if he skips?" asked Harry Doyle.

    "He won't," said Rimsat. "Roo wants to buy time before you call the police. He’ll have his cousin ship some fake chemicals by air to show you. Then he’ll say it will take two weeks to clean all the bills. When you come back to collect your share Roo will be gone."

    "But what if..." said Harry Doyle.

    "I've got to wait so I can arrest Roo's cousin in Switzerland," said Rimsat. "I need him to send the fake chemicals to New York."

    "Yes, but what if..." repeated Harry Doyle.

    "Roo will be holding my $40,000 also," said Rimsat. That seemed to settle it. 

    "Where are your associates?" asked Mr. Roo, looking at Harry Doyle.

    "Wait," said Harry Doyle. "I'd like to test another one of those pieces of black paper before I give you $80,000."

    "Certainly," said Roo. He retrieved the black leather briefcase, placed it on the desk and opened it, then produced a metal tray and a small bottle.

    As Roo opened the bottle of chemicals and coated the metal tray, Harry Doyle eyed the contents of the briefcase and picked up a stack of black paper, fanned it and replaced it. He selected another stack and repeated the process three times before finally removing a piece of black paper from the middle and handing it to Roo. Once again Benjamin Franklin peered out from behind the cloud of black paper and Roo removed a genuine $100 bill from the tray. Harry Doyle told Roo he was satisfied.

    "Why don't you drop by Monday afternoon, say three-thirty," said Roo. "The chemicals should be here."

    "See you Monday," said Harry Doyle. "Have a nice weekend."

    "I certainly will," said Roo.

    Harry Doyle avoided Alex Bowman and Kevin De Ruse over the weekend. On Monday morning Harry Doyle hailed a cab and said, "Second Avenue and Forty-ninth, far left corner." His exit from the cab was interrupted as a bicycle messenger sped past on the curb side, temporarily separating Harry Doyle from his briefcase, empty but not for long.

    The wind picked up, a nice spring breeze, as Harry Doyle walked east on Forty-ninth Street, lined with bare trees that thought it was still winter, unlike the yellow daffodils that encircled them or the chirping birds. Harry continued until he reached First Avenue, and was hit with a blast of wind off the East River; the United Nations building towered ahead on his right. Harry turned around and slowly retraced his steps, looking for the dumpster in front of the consulate. No dumpster in sight, that's why he'd missed it, but there it was, the four story building with small dirty bricks.

    Harry Doyle entered the structure, now nicely remodeled, tourist office on the left, gift shop on the right. He trudged up the flight of stairs. The reception area was empty. Harry Doyle was too important to wait. He approached the double doors down the hall and knocked softly, then harder until the doors opened. The secretary was not there. Mr. Roo was not there. Neither was the furniture. Harry Doyle felt sick. He dragged himself back to the stairway, short of breath.

    "May I help you?" asked a petite Malay woman with long black hair and a pretty face, as she descended from the third floor.

    "I certainly hope so," said Harry Doyle. "Where is everybody?"

    "Where's the secretary who was here last week?" he asked.

    "We had a temp here the last two weeks to handle things," she said.

    "I'd like to see the Consul," said Harry Doyle.

    "Your name?" she inquired.

    "Harry Doyle. I have an appointment at three o'clock."

    "I don't see it here," she said, looking through an appointment book. "Are you sure it was for today?"

    "Of course I'm sure," said Harry Doyle. "I made the appointment with the Consul myself last week."

    "Oh," said the secretary, no longer smiling. "Please wait here."

    She returned and said, "The Consul will see you now, but he can only spare a few minutes."

    The secretary ushered Harry Doyle through a set of double doors, then closed them. Harry relaxed a little as he gazed at the furniture, same large mahogany desk, Oriental carpet, red lacquer coffee table, flag drooping in the corner.

    "Where are you?" asked Harry Doyle.

    "I dropped my pen on the floor," said the Consul as he sat up in his chair.

    "You're not Roo," said Harry Doyle.

    "Of course not, who is Roo?"

    "The Consul," said Harry Doyle.

    "I'm the Consul for Paulau Sungei," the white-haired man insisted.

    "No. Mr. Roo is the Consul," insisted Harry Doyle. "I talked to him last week in this very office, except it was on the second floor."

    "I have been on vacation for two weeks," said the white-haired man. "The Consulate was closed for renovation." He studied Harry Doyle and said, "You don't look so good Mr. Doyle; why don't you sit down."

    Harry Doyle was pale and his vision became blurred. "Dizzy," he said, "the money, chemicals."

    The Consul reached for Harry's arm to assist him across the room, eased him into a chair facing the red lacquer coffee table. It couldn't get any worse, thought Harry, holding his hands to his temples until the light-headed feeling had subsided. Slowly, Harry Doyle's vision returned and everything became clear, first the smooth red lacquer coffee table, then the face of the man who wasn't Mr. Roo, the real Counsel.

    "What is this about money and chemicals?" asked the Counsel.

    "I've been cheated," said Harry Doyle. "Roo stole my money."

    "Shall I call the police?" asked the Consul.

    "Is Kevin De Ruse here?" asked Harry Doyle. No, the doorman reported but Kevin would return soon and Harry could wait in the lobby. Harry went inside, paced back and forth on the black and white checkered floor, got tired of pacing and sat on a worn leather sofa. He looked at his watch several times, pulled out his reading glasses and glanced at the back page of the newspaper resting next to him, the New York Post, and finally turned it over.

     Harry read the headline: "KILLER-BANK ROBBER SHORTY LYMON ESCAPES FROM PRISON."

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