The Flying Bandit: Bringing Down Canada’s Most Daring Armed Robber

Now that Heyerhoff and Snider were convinced that Tommy Craig was, in some way, directly connected with the Birks Bandit, they were also confident that someone close to Tommy would know enough to lead them to the Bandit himself. The person they had in mind was Peter Bond.

But Bond could be a problem. Ever since Snider had released him from his burglary arrest in Munster Hamlet, Bond had been playing games with him. While George waited patiently for Bond to give up the “big name” he’d promised, Pete had not delivered. Every time they got together, Bond stalled. He said he needed more time to get his facts right and put it all together. He kept assuring Snider that the wait would be worth his while.

Although he was getting tired of Bond’s run-around, Snider knew there was great potential here. He didn’t want to play too rough and ruin a good thing, so he kept his cool and went along with him.

But he never did and that started to eat away at Snider. He felt he was being abused. But still he waited.

Others in CAFE were not so patient. Because Bond was still active criminally, it wasn’t long before his name began to show up on progress reports at CAFE meetings. When the reports showed that Bond’s illicit activity was second only to Tommy Craig’s, some of the CAFE members were determined to take him down as soon as possible. As a consequence, Mel Robertson, who was in charge of CAFE surveillance, ordered that Bond be followed on a daily basis.

But Bond, who was always sensitive to the potential for police surveillance, continued to be difficult to track, even with relay surveillance. Several times CAFE had a five-car relay team on his Bronco and, more often than not, they lost him.

On one occasion in rural Quebec, Bond led Heyerhoff down a dead-end road, swerved his Bronco around and went flying past Ralph in the opposite direction. In disgust, all Heyerhoff could do was radio the other four police cars: “Bond has U-bolted and is now Stevie to me.” “Stevie” was police parlance for Stevie Wonder. In other words, Heyerhoff had lost sight of him.

On another relay surveillance, Snider was following Bond. He lost him momentarily when Bond, who was ahead, circled onto a ramp of the Queensway. Moments later, when George started circling up the same ramp, there was Pete, standing beside his car smugly waving at Snider. Not only did he wave at Snider, he jumped back in his Bronco and began chasing him. George was then put in the embarrassing position of trying to lose the car he was supposedly trying to tail. As he did so, the CAFE cops in the other four cars had to listen to George curse and swear over the radio as he tried to lose Bond in the traffic.

Even with their lack of success, CAFE kept up their futile pursuit of Bond for ten days. But things didn’t get any better. Sometimes Bond got away from his apartment in the morning without CAFE seeing him leave. Unaware he was gone, they spent half the day waiting for him to come out. On the days they did see him leave he led them a merry chase all over western Quebec and eastern Ontario. He took them to places they had never seen before, to back roads along beautiful lakes and rivers they never knew existed.

Snider was getting angry. He knew CAFE was wasting their time chasing Bond and he knew Bond had valuable information which Snider wanted immediately. One morning at a meeting with his CAFE counterparts, George let his feelings be known.

“I am getting pissed off with this asshole,” George said. “Pete Bond is just fucking us all around and I’m tired of chasing him.”

“It looks entirely possible,” Snider replied. “Every time we go after him, things end up going sideways.”

Mel Robertson was annoyed. “You want me to call off the surveillance on Bond?” he asked.

“If we call it off, then what the hell are we going to do?” Heyerhoff asked.

“I’ll tell you what I’m NOT going to do,” George snarled. “I am not going to follow that big motherfucker one more day. I’m going over to his place and arrest him for that outstanding B & E that he’s got on the books.”

“That’s a menial property crime, George. You’re not going to hold him with something as trivial as that.”

“Mel,” Snider snapped back, “I know it’s a piece of shit, and YOU know that, but HE doesn’t know that. I’m not waiting any longer. He already owes me for that Munster Hamlet job and it’s time he paid up.”

Robertson didn’t agree with George’s idea. CAFE’s plan had been to let Bond lead them to his source. Mel wasn’t convinced he wanted to give up on Bond’s surveillance so soon. He turned away from Snider and began to discuss the Bond situation with the other CAFE members at the table. Most of them agreed with what Robertson had been doing.

While they were debating the issue George got up and went over to a desk in the corner. He phoned Bond. The others in the room couldn’t hear him speaking.

“Because I’m sick and tired of chasing you all over the fucking country and I want us all to start our morning together so we know what we’re doing for the rest of the day.”

“I’ll see you at Harveys in ten minutes,” George said, “Be there!” Then he hung up.

When Snider rejoined the CAFE group Robertson asked him, “What was that all about?”

George said, “I invited Bond to breakfast at Harveys, so we could set our itinerary for the day, and save all this fucking around.”

Now Robertson was really angry, but always the gentleman, he kept himself under control. He knew his surveillance order had just been countermanded by a detective with a lower rank, but since Snider had already set up the meeting with Bond, there was little he could do about it. Maintaining his composure, Robertson directed Sergeant Bill Van Kralingen, one of the Ottawa Police representatives on CAFE, to go with Snider.

This was one of the few times there was any friction on the CAFE team, and it is a credit to Robertson that he handled it the way he did.

At Harveys, Snider and Van Kralingen enjoyed their breakfast. Bond didn’t show, but Snider hadn’t expected he would. When the two detectives were finished eating, they took a leisurely stroll over to Bond’s apartment on the corner of Donald Street and St. Laurent Boulevard.

Snider led Van Kralingen directly to the apartment where he knew Bond was living with an ex-stripper named Debbie Rainville. After knocking on the door and getting no response, Snider went down to find the building superintendent. George identified himself as a police officer and brought him back to Bond’s apartment. They knocked repeatedly on the door, but got no answer.

“I know you’re in there Bond,” George bellowed, “now open the Goddamn door.”

There was no response. Van Kralingen, a greying, slender, distinguished-looking man in his late forties, let George do all the talking.

“You’ve got a key for this place,” George said to the superintendent. “Open it up.”

At that point Debbie Rainville’s voice could be heard on the other side of the door.

“You know what I want,” George replied. “I want Pete Bond and I want ...”

“”No,” she answered, “you can’t come in, Snider. You got no right to come in here.”

“I know there’s a warrant for his arrest,” George yelled back in all his fury. “You don’t open this fucking door, I’m going to kick it down.”

“Jesus, man,” the super said, “don’t do that. Don’t wreck the door.”

“Give me a minute,” Debbie yelled. She ran to the phone and called the OPP Kanata Detachment and spoke to Corporal Gerry Gibson, the man in charge of the OPP Kanata detectives. After identifying herself, she told him, “I’ve got one of your cops outside my door and he’s threatening to beat it down.”

“Well,” Gerry said in his philosophical way, “why don’t you let him in?”

“I don’t want to. I don’t have to. He says he’s going to kick the door down.”

“Well, if you don’t want to open it you better stand back and get out of the way, because if George says he’s coming in, he’s coming in.”

“No,” Gibson said. “When that door comes off its hinges, you better watch out for flying splinters” Then he added, “I guess that’s about it.”

While George searched out on the balcony for Bond, Van Kralingen found him hiding among Debbie’s dresses in her closet.

As soon as Snider sat down with him to talk, Bond tried to bargain his way out of his arrest by offering weapons.

“Look,” Snider replied, “you are not catching on. I want a name. I want a body. Nothing else will do. You don’t come up with a name right now, you’re going to jail. Don’t try to buy me off with any fucking guns. You can give me a nuclear submarine and you’re still going to jail.”

There was a pause while they stared at each other. George spoke slowly to make the point he was serious.

A rush came over Snider. He knew he had just hit the jackpot. Although he wanted to jump up and down for joy, he didn’t want to reveal his elation at the significance of what Bond was telling him. Looking as disinterested as he could pretend, Snider said, “So what’s his name?”

“Peter, I’ve been waiting for information from you for months now. I think you’re just trying to fuck me around.”

“No, I’m not. I don’t know the guy. I hardly see him any more. Give me some time and I’ll get you his name. I’ll find out for sure.”

George knew that management would be furious if he let Bond go again, but now he definitely figured it was worth the risk. If Bond could give him the Birks Bandit, George was willing to leave him out on the street and give him more time.

After that encounter in his apartment Pete Bond performed more acceptably. He didn’t come up with the Bandit’s name but he gave them some information on several small contraband shipments. It was always just enough to hold George off but not enough to satisfy him. The situation was precarious for both Snider and Bond. Neither wanted to call the other one’s bluff. Bond would end up in jail; Snider would lose his shot at the Birks Bandit.

As time wore on, Bond’s performance began to deteriorate again. He became unreliable – missing appointments, skipping meetings, ignoring telephone messages. George was starting to lose his patience. He phoned Lyle MacCharles who knew about Bond’s potential as an informant on the Birks Bandit. As they talked the situation over it was clear that MacCharles was fed up with Bond too. Both MacCharles and Snider knew that Bond was wanted on a series of B & Es in Hull, but the Quebec police didn’t have sufficient evidence for a warrant to bring him out of Ontario.

“Hmmm,” MacCharles pondered. “It’s too bad the Quebec police couldn’t get their hands on him.”

MacCharles continued, “Maybe if he spent a week with our friends over there he could make an educated choice of who he wants to deal with.”

Snider immediately made arrangements by phone to meet Bond in Ottawa on Eastern Parkway. When George pulled up beside him in his unmarked cruiser, Bond cautiously checked the back seat to make sure the detective was alone then slipped into the front seat beside him. After a brief conversation with Snider, Bond saw the headlights of a second car pull up behind them. Suspecting it was more police, he opened the car door. Before he could get very far, Ralph Heyerhoff and Jack Richard, another CAFE member, grabbed him and hustled him into the back seat of their cruiser. Snider followed them to the car and climbed in beside Bond. Richard sat up front with Heyerhoff behind the wheel. With the doors still closing as the car pulled away, Ralph raced the cruiser across the bridge and through the streets of Hull. Within minutes he was pulling into the parking lot of the Quebec Provincial Police.

“If you don’t want to deal with us,” George said, “then you can deal with these guys.”

Bond thought they were kidding, but he became concerned when Snider got out of the car and went into the station.

“Yeah,” the lieutenant said, “we sure are. We don’t have enough for a warrant, but if we catch him over here he sure as hell is not leaving.”

“Good,” George replied, “because there’s a blue Bonneville in the parking lot outside and Pete Bond’s sitting in it.”

The lieutenant sent two officers outside with Snider. They promptly removed Bond from the car, took him inside, and locked him in the cells.

“We are definitely going to leave you here,” George replied. “Enjoy your stay.” He turned and walked out.

Bond thought Snider was bluffing, but after a week in the Quebec cells he’d had enough. He knew they held over forty B & E charges against him in Quebec and they could hold him in dead time for months while he waited for trial. At the end of the week, Bond used one of his few phone calls to contact Snider in Kanata.

He pleaded with George to get him released and bring him back to Ontario. Snider said he would try, on one condition: he wanted better cooperation from Bond, more reliability, more information. Bond promised that would happen. He said he’d give George the name he was waiting for.

When Snider returned to the Hull police station he had a very difficult time getting the Quebec police to release Bond to him. It took over an hour of negotiation before Snider finally convinced them to let him go.

While Snider and Bond were driving over the bridge on the way back to Ottawa, Bond gave him what he had been wanting for so many months.

“Whiteman,” Bond said. “I heard that the Birks Bandit is an American guy named Robert Whiteman. He lives in Pembroke.”

On the inside, George was ecstatic. On the outside, with difficulty, he remained calm.

As they drove, Snider’s mind connected the facts: Tommy Craig, stolen jewellery, the Chrysler 5th Avenue seen around the Playmate, the car registered to Janice Whiteman in Pembroke, her husband Robert Whiteman. It was a perfect fit.

The next day Snider called OPP Detective Shawn Smith in Pembroke and asked him for his help in getting some information on a local resident named Robert Whiteman.

Although George didn’t know Shawn Smith well he’d heard that he was a good investigator who had a solid reputation around Pembroke. He was friendly and helpful with anyone who needed a hand, had lots of patience working with young people, and was known for giving first offenders a break. Smith had a free and easy style and a good sense of humour. He used to joke, “You better not mess with me because I belong to the biggest street gang in the world.”

But he had a tough side. His patience could run out very quickly if he found someone was abusing his tolerance. He had little sympathy with hardened criminals and he could get physical if he had to. Ruggedly built, “Smitty” was a feisty hockey player and an avid fastball pitcher who never missed a season playing either sport.

As soon as Smith hung up the phone he called a friend of his with the Pembroke Police, a sergeant named Issie Radke. He asked Issie to see if they had anything in their files on a Robert Whiteman.

Radke began searching through their card file. While he was working his way through the Ws, Constable Jim Toop passed by and asked, “Who you looking for?”

“Some guy named Robert Whiteman. You had any dealings with someone who drives a Chrysler 5th Avenue?” Radke asked.

“Yeah, maybe,” he said. Toop thought the name rang a bell. He checked his notebook and found his notes on the domestic complaint at 450 Dominion Street. “Yeah, I had a Whiteman ... Robert Whiteman.”

“He doesn’t drive a 5th Avenue, his wife does. He doesn’t have a licence.”

“He better have one, because, from what I understand, he’s been driving all over Ottawa with that Chrysler.” They checked with the Ministry of Transport again for his driver’s licence and his name still wasn’t in the system.

When Radke phoned Shawn Smith and gave him the information, Smith drove over to Dominion Street in an unmarked car to have a look around. He enjoyed the intrigue of investigating; he’d been doing it for the last seven years.

Being a policeman hadn’t always been this much fun. He’d started with the OPP in 1970 and served in northern Ontario for the first ten years. Those were disappointing years because, although he had always wanted to be a detective, issuing traffic tickets and responding to domestic disputes was not his idea of policing. He got the chance he’d been waiting for in 1980 when he was transferred to Pembroke as the only detective in the detachment.

Like many detectives, Smith’s personal life was troubled. His heavy workload and long hours had played havoc with his marriage. He and his wife had been separated for three years, and since then, he’d been living on his own. Even though he was away from his wife, he tried to keep in regular contact with his two children. Every Tuesday night without fail, he would take his daughter, Andrea, to the movies. Whenever his son, Shawn, needed to be taken to a game or a practice, he was there.

But right now the focus of his energies was on a man he’d never met: Robert Whiteman of Dominion Street.

On April 1, Robert flew to Regina and booked a room in the Sheraton Hotel. The next day at 12:20 p.m., he walked into the CIBC on Scarth Street, went behind the counter, pulled out his gun and emptied $10,930 from three tellers’ drawers into his bag. As he left, he hollered, “Don’t follow me.”

Robert returned to his hotel, changed outfits and briefcases and went down to the hotel bar for a quick drink. At 1:00 p.m. he went to the Sheraton’s parking garage, changed into his disguise and walked across Broad Street to the Royal Bank. He robbed it of $8,736. This time, as he left, he shouted, “Don’t follow me or you’ll take a bullet.”

After leaving this bank, Robert returned to the underground parking lot, discarded his disguise and took off his outer clothes, leaving himself dressed in a suit. When he walked out of the garage, he saw that the street was filled with police cruisers.

Strolling past one of the uniform policeman he asked, “What’s all the commotion, officer?”

Robert’s whole body was shaking with excitement. Doing two banks in less than an hour was a special thrill. It ranked right up there with his million-dollar heist in Vancouver. The rush it gave lasted for hours. He was still savouring the feeling that night when he got back to Ottawa and went to a prearranged meeting with Tommy Craig at the Chimo Inn. But not long into their discussions, his mood changed.

“Do what you got to do,” Tommy said. Although it sounded as if he was agreeing with him, Tommy really wasn’t so sure this was a good thing for him to do. He had no idea how Janice would react. Maybe she’d end the marriage. Maybe she’d turn him in. That could pull the whole thing down on a lot of people.

Tommy had always thought Janice was a strange woman, kind of emotionless and cold blooded. He had never thought she was the brightest woman in the world but he often wondered how she couldn’t figure out that something was going on with Robert. It was like she had lost touch with reality. How could she be so naive? Tommy could only conclude she was so in love with Robert and their family life together that she simply closed her eyes and ears to what Robert was doing. Tommy figured she just didn’t want to know that anything was wrong. The more he thought about it, Tommy concluded it would be a very bad idea for Robert to tell her what he was doing.

In the end, Robert’s dilemma was purely academic. When he got home to Pembroke, Janice greeted him with the news that she was pregnant again. Once she told him that, he couldn’t tell her anything about the criminal side of his life. It would have destroyed her.

He had mixed feelings about them having another baby. In his heart, Robert had only planned on having one child in their family but he was not about to tell his wife that, either. He tried to appear excited and happy, but he knew this was just complicating an already complex situation. He certainly wasn’t going to respond to Janice’s joyous news by telling her he was a bank robber. At that point he decided his best move was to take her out to dinner and celebrate.

For the rest of the month Robert stayed home except for two expensive trips to Ottawa. On one jaunt, he chartered a helicopter and flew there. While the pilot waited at the airport, Robert took a cab to the Playmate where he picked up what he needed, had a few drinks and took the helicopter back home. The bill for the flight was $200. When his buddies at the club found out they were truly impressed. It added a new dimension to his already legendary status, which was precisely what he had intended.

Later in the month Robert chartered an airplane to take him to Ottawa. The plane was ten minutes in the air when Robert asked the pilot to turn back. He gave no reason except to tell the pilot he had changed his mind. That aborted trip cost him $399.96. His turning back in mid-flight has never been explained.

While Robert was engaged in these strange pursuits in Pembroke, Mel Robertson was getting to know him better in Ottawa. He had checked out Robert Whiteman and found that his business documents – such things as bank accounts, income tax, and credit cards – went back only three years. Prior to that no such man existed in Ontario. He requisitioned Whiteman’s credit card records and began checking the location of his purchases and accommodations against the dates and locations of the Birks robberies. Finding an amazing similarity, he then began to check them against some of the more recent bank robberies across the country. He found even more incriminating connections.

In Pembroke, Shawn Smith kept up his surveillance on Whiteman’s movements and had a local informant, who lived on Dominion Street, keep an eye on Whiteman’s car. Smith wanted to know every time it left the driveway. CAFE undercover officer Jim McGillis was sent to Pembroke with a surveillance van to surreptitiously take some photos of Whiteman. McGillis stayed for two days and came back with some good 35mm colour shots of Whiteman standing in his driveway with his wife, talking to the neighbours. Their Chrysler 5th Avenue was parked in the background.

Shawn Smith began following Whiteman’s car around and asking questions wherever Whiteman stopped. Most of his activities were very innocent. He liked to take his little girl for rides in the car. Often they ended up at Wally’s where he drank Crown Royal and she munched on bread dipped in gravy. Smith soon discovered that anyone in Pembroke who knew Robert thought he was a travelling businessman. And they all thought he was an excellent person.

Now Smith wanted to meet him face to face. On Wednesday morning, June 12, wearing plainclothes and riding in an unmarked car with OPP Constable Tim Sheppard, he pulled Whiteman over in his car on Henry Street in downtown Pembroke. Robert had little Laura buckled in beside him. Shawn identified himself as a police officer and advised Whiteman that he’d stopped him for having tinted windows on his car, which, at that time, was illegal in Ontario. He asked to see Whiteman’s licence.

Robert Whiteman and friends in his run-about on the Ottawa River, 1987

OPP surveillance photo of Robert and Janice with a neighbour on Dominion Street. Their Chrysler Fifth Avenue is in the driveway.

Robert said he didn’t have an Ontario driver’s licence. “I’m from Alberta and all I have is an Alberta licence. I left it at home.”

“That’s OK,” Smith said. “There’s no problem. I’ll drop by your house later to have a look at it.” Then Smith left.

As Smith’s cruiser pulled away Robert could feel anxiety tugging at his stomach. The officer seemed nice enough, but Robert wondered what was going on. Why would a plainclothes policeman stop a Chrysler 5th Avenue for such a trivial traffic violation?

That afternoon, Smith went back to Dominion Street to see Whiteman. He was going to use an old police ruse to get his fingerprints. He would hand Whiteman a photograph and ask if he could identify the subject in the picture.

When Smith got to Robert’s house he wasn’t invited in. The two men stood out on the porch and talked.

“I’m not so concerned about your driver’s licence. What I really want to know is if you have any information about this guy down the street.” He handed Robert the photograph.

Robert took the photo by the edge, careful not to leave a full fingerprint on the picture.

Smith let it drop out of his hands, hoping that Robert would pick it up. But he didn’t; he let the police officer bend over and pick it up. Right then Smith suspected he was dealing with a crafty and experienced criminal. Smith said goodnight and they parted. He didn’t want to say anything that might alert Whiteman that he was under suspicion.

“I don’t know. But there’s no damn way I’m helping the cops with anything.” Robert poured himself a drink and went back to watching his video.

The day after Smith’s visit to the house, Robert phoned Mick Daglish overseas. While Robert was in England they’d had several conversations during which Mick told him that he was ready to change jobs and get out of the country.

On the phone Robert said, “What would you think about being partners and opening a bar in the Turks and Caicos Islands?”

“I can’t believe you said that,” Mick replied. “I’ve just been studying some maps and brochures about the islands. I’ve been thinking of maybe buying a charter boat down there and hiring it out for tours. I wouldn’t mind going down there with you and looking around. If we find something good, you can count me in fifty-fifty.”

Both were excited about a joint venture in the Caribbean. They set June 16 as a date to go on a scouting mission in the islands. Everybody, including Janice and Mick’s wife, was ecstatic about the idea. Robert was on cloud nine. The idea of running a little business down there was very appealing. He figured a few more bank jobs and he should have enough money to make the financing work out. He couldn’t wait to tell his buddy Danny Belland about his plans.

Robert had developed quite a friendship with Danny and had continued to go to Wally’s regularly. On one of Robert’s visits there, he’d offered Danny a free trip to Las Vegas.

“I got to go there on business,” Robert said, “and I can bring you along without any cost to you.”

“Ah, thanks anyway,” Danny replied, “but I got too much to do right here. And I got nobody who can take care of the place when I’m gone.”

“Hey, no problem. If you don’t want to do that, we could go to Newfoundland later in the summer and do some fishing.”

Danny laughed at that. “No, I can’t do that either. I can’t get away for months. Not until the fall, at least.”

“Geez, I never saw a guy who could travel so much,” Danny said. He looked at a new gold bracelet Robert was wearing. “That’s nice. Where’d you get that?”

“Ah, I picked it up in Vancouver. Hey, if you ever want to buy some gold jewellery cheap, let me know. I can get you a good deal on stuff like this.”

Wally’s was a strange place for Robert to frequent because it was a regular hangout for policemen. Located just outside the city limits, it was a popular spot for OPP officers to drop in for a coffee. Wally’s was particularly popular for breakfast on the weekends. On Sunday morning it wasn’t unusual to find four or five uniformed men in Wally’s having something to eat before or after their change of shift. The police presence at the restaurant never threw Robert at all. He’d sit down beside them and talk to them just like he did with everybody else. None of the police in Pembroke had any idea that Shawn Smith was investigating Robert for George Snider. None of them knew of the existence of CAFE.

In Ottawa, CAFE kept trying to check out Robert’s background, but in every direction they pursued him, he only went back three years; then he completely disappeared. Although they were sure that he was connected to a number of bank and jewellery store robberies, they had to proceed with extreme caution. They could not afford to let Whiteman know they were on his trail. Even if they had enough evidence to get a warrant to search his place they couldn’t afford to do it.

Lyle MacCharles warned them, “Don’t spook this guy whatever you do.” He knew if they ever spooked a bright, connected guy like Whiteman, he would disappear so fast they would never find him. Then they’d be left with nothing: no stolen goods and no arrest.

On the strength of information received from informants, RCMP Customs and Excise executed a search warrant on the Playmate Club on May 7 and a considerable quantity of contraband was seized. CAFE members were in attendance, and when the RCMP was finished, they executed their own warrant in a search for weapons. A number of unregistered handguns and several rounds of ammunition were found.

Robert heard about the raid on the Playmate from Tommy and they both began to realize that some kind of special attention was being paid to the club.

“Somebody wants me bad,” Tommy told Robert. “There’s undercover cops in here all the time. They think I can’t smell them but I can. They’re all over the place.”

Five days later, using his En Route credit card which made air travel so much more convenient, Robert flew out to Vancouver. He intended to rob the CIBC on West Georgia Street which he had hit twice before, but the next day, he changed his mind at the last minute because he suspected he was being followed. Instead of robbing the CIBC, he changed course and went into the Bank of Montreal at 385 Burrard Street. Dressed in blue coveralls, he walked directly behind the service counter and pushed one of the tellers, Cindy Gardner, aside.

As he was rifling through her cash drawer, Cindy said, “What are you doing?”

When he was finished there he went over to John Bishop’s teller position and pushed him out of the way and began taking money out of his drawers. All Bishop could do was hold his ground and stare at him. Robert pushed him again and said, “Don’t give me any trouble or I’ll blow your fucking head off.” He emptied two more drawers and was gone. Back at the Westin Hotel he counted his money, and figured $5,840 would make a nice contribution towards his proposed business venture in the Turks and Caicos Islands.

In the limousine on the way to the airport Robert marvelled at the beauty of Vancouver; the mountains, the ocean, the harbour. It was easily his favourite place in Canada. He had visited more than a dozen times in the last three years.

When the Boeing 747 lifted over the water and circled back towards the mountains, Robert strained to have one final look at the city. The sun, shining from the east, glittered off the ocean and sparkled on the dramatic skyline.

Tired but thoroughly contented, Robert closed his eyes and settled back for the long flight home. He thought about life in the islands. The future looked promising.

CHAPTER 14

Rolling Over