CHAPTER 31
It was after 5am when Mark Dobson arrived back at the hotel.
They’d returned the two motorcycles to where Sannan had taken them, found a taxi, dropped Sannan off at the sweltering Lat Krabang flat, Ritchie at the Sabaidee and Mark at the Survanabhumi Suite.
He emailed Colin Asher with the ISP address of the warehouse computer, then called Pascale in his room upstairs to say they’d found Bio-Kal products in the warehouse. Pascale wanted to know what more he could do to help. “Just hang around for a while,” Mark said.
Colin Asher then texted ‘Ritchie’s available’ so he called Ritchie and they arranged to meet at the usual coffee shop at eleven. “If Olga turns up here at the Sabaidee what shall I do?” Ritchie asked.
“Does she know where you’re staying?”
“I had to tell her.”
“Then I suppose it depends what she wants,” Mark said. “Use your initiative. If you think you’re about to lose your honour tell her the air conditioning in your room is broken and it’s too hot for energetic sports”
“I wish I was old and experienced like you, Mark.”
Mark called Colin Asher again to tell him to contact Kenny Tan in Taipei. “Tell him we’ve cracked the source of his problem, that it’s Russian mafia and wrapped up in money laundering and other rackets and we need to tread carefully. Tell him I’ll be in touch soon but, meanwhile, to do or say absolutely nothing to anyone.”
That, he’d decided, was the best way to deal with Kenny for the time being. Otherwise he’d be flying down to Bangkok, running to the Taiwanese embassy and involving the Thai police. They weren’t ready for that yet.
He then left for the coffee shop to find Ritchie already there.
“What’s in the bag?” Ritchie asked, pointing to a small plastic bag Mark had brought with him and placed on the table.
“Don’t be so impatient, Ritchie. I’ll show you in a minute. Your turn first. Did Olga pay you a visit?”
No, Olga hadn’t called. If she had, Ritchie’s ready-made excuse was that he was out shopping for his London girlfriend, a six-foot Kenyan model and Olympic marathon runner.
Mark called the excuse ‘pathetic’.
“But what we’ve got here is counterfeiting, drug dealing and other crimes mixed with high end money-laundering, Ritchie. You’re seen as a useful addition to the team: an enabler and Olga’s bit of fun on the side. Tell me what happened last night.”
Ritchie started with his arrival at the apartment and being left, once again, to sit on a sofa.
“All they did was wander between the kitchen and the living room drinking beer, smoking and talking in Russian. If there’s one thing I hate, its people discussing me in foreign lingo. I was so bored, Mark. I was left there to breathe stale tobacco smoke, was offered beer or vodka every five minutes and given a KFC Zinger burger to eat. Ho never left the kitchen because he doesn’t speak Russian, they don’t speak Chinese or Malay and so the only way they can communicate is in English and they didn’t want me to overhear. At one point I went to the kitchen and told them I’d had enough and was leaving. ‘Fucking enough is fucking enough,’ I said.
“I was told to sit down. Cool it. Big things were being discussed. Stay calm. Big investments and big money required big decisions. Olga tried stroking my arse as if I needed that sort of distraction. If she even sat on me, I’d die of asphyxiation. And Yuri was drunk and even the KFC stank of his cigarettes.”
Mark sat and listened, putting Ritchie’s angry explanations down to lack of sleep. Kung, the teenage waiter seemed to enjoy watching Ritchie’s animated anger but his English was only as good as his menu so Mark let Ritchie spit it all out for a while until he took a deep breath and started on detail.
“They say they want me to set up Bio-Kal Ltd, UK, listing Bio-Kal Italy as a partner to trade in cosmetics and energy drinks. I think that’s the cover but I’m not sure. They argue too much in Russian. Finally, they said they’d issue a pro-forma invoice in the name of the SCATTO company...”
“Which we suspect is Scatolifici Santo,” Mark butted in.
Ritchie nodded. “The pro-forma will show very low prices for a container load which I pay for with a letter of credit. I sell some of the stuff with real invoices to keep the books looking legit and sell the rest of the stuff for cash. They said they’ve already got contacts looking to buy bulk. Cash will be split and somehow paid into offshore trading accounts which they say they’ll add my name to.” He paused. “You understand how all this operates?”
“Yes”, Mark said which was a lot easier than trying to list the many ways it could be done and the many pitfalls.
“And it’s not just buying and selling counterfeit cosmetics but other business. Inter-trading Medinski called it. I think it means we invoice each other for nothing, receive cash and generally move the cash around. Understand, Mark?”
“Yes.”
“Good. Then perhaps you can also explain about Maxim Novak, because that’s the guy I’m to liaise with in London.”
“Maxim Novak?” Mark repeated “They actually spoke his name?”
Ritchie nodded. “Apparently I’m to work with a lovely Russian guy wanted by Interpol? What have I done to earn such an honour?”
“You’ve earned their trust. Trouble with these sorts is that trust can be very short-lived. Are you seeing them again?”
“I think they expect me to return to London to start work, but Olga’s phoning me or maybe visiting me. I’m more worried about her turning up than meeting Maxim Novak.”
“You’re a big boy.”
“But I’m not as big or as heavy as Olga, Mark.”
“Yeh, right. I saw her. Legs like tree trunks. But you can do it, Ritchie. Duty calls. I’ll talk to Colin about a one-off bonus. Where’s Ho by the way?”
“Going back to KL today. He came all the way to Bangkok just to see me. That makes me feel so important, you know? I feel very special.”
Mark nodded. “You are special, Ritchie. With a company called Lollipop and a bank balance like that how can they not treat you with respect?”
“Please. My company is called Pollitop Limited. Please don’t forget that.”
“My apologies. But I’m also a director.”
“But I’m the majority share holder and I run it. Got it?
Mark sat back, his own thoughts visibly moving in a new direction. “I need to call Jeffrey,” he said.
“Does that mean you’ve finished with me?”
“Maybe. Maybe not. Stay sitting. Listen in.”
Mark pressed numbers and then held the phone to his ear. Ritchie did as he was told and listened as Mark gave Jeffrey a quick summary of Ritchie’s night’s work.
Then it was Jeffrey’s turn. “What about Peter Lester? What do we do about him?”
“Keep on his heels,” Mark replied. “Pascale will fly back to KL and join you. Keep following messages.”
Mark then stuffed his phone away and Kung, the waiter, sensing an opportunity to get them to order lunch, arrived.
Ritchie grabbed the menu because it sounded like a good idea but Mark took it from his hand and put it back, next to the ketchup bottle.
“Iced tea for two,” Mark said and Kung shuffled away disappointed.
Mark then turned to Ritchie. “Don’t tell, Kung,” he said, “but I’ve already brought some iced tea with me.”
He opened the plastic bag that still lay on the table and took out an empty can. He pointed to the label: ‘Bio-Kal Iced Green Tea’.
“From the warehouse?” Ritchie asked.
Mark nodded. “I was thirsty so thought I’d give it a try,” he said. “But never drink something you’ve stolen without first checking it, Ritchie. OK? You must first give it a smell test, then a dipped finger test and finally a colour check by pouring a few drops into the palm of your hand.”
“Did your hand dissolve?”
“It didn’t even pass the smell test, Ritchie. You try.” He held the small ring pull can to Ritchie’s nose. “Tell me if that smells like green tea.”
Ritchie took a sniff and shook his head. “Nah. It’s not green tea.”
“I agree. Neither does it look like green tea. It’s a clear liquid.”
“So, what is it?”
“I’m not sure but I know someone who might know or could tell us where we can get it checked.”
“Eddie?”
Mark nodded and was already putting the can back in the plastic bag when Kung arrived with their iced green tea in a plastic cup with a lid and a plastic straw. “Should we test this first?” Ritchie asked.
“No need. You go ahead because my phone’s ringing again.”
This time it was Isobel in the Istana in Kuala Lumpur with a similar story of what Eddie had found. “He says it’s ephedrine, Mark, but I’ll now pass you to Eddie because he’s found something else.”
“So where can we get some tests done that won’t involve the police?” Mark asked Eddie.
“Maybe my friend, Buss, “Eddie replied. “I’ll talk to him in confidence.”
“And what else have you got?”
“A bottle with some white powder,” Eddie replied.
“What is it?”
“It’s not talcum powder,” Eddie replied, “But exactly what it is I’m not sure.”
Ritchie’s phone then rang. He checked the number and put his hand over the speaker. “It’s Olga,” he whispered to Mark Dobson. “What shall I say?”
Mark shrugged. He needed to decide for himself.
“Hi, Olga sweetie. Where you been?”
Ritchie looked at Mark Dobson and drew a line with his finger from the corner of his eye to the corner of his mouth as if about to burst into tears. “I’m not there, sweetie. I waited and waited and then decided to do some shopping before I go back to…Yeh, I hope to be back by then - I suppose.” He drew a finger down from the other eye and looked distraught. “Peacock? Yeh, why not? See you later my…” She was gone and Ritchie stared at the silent phone. “Bloody hell.”
“Duty calls, Ritchie. The Peacock again? What about little On?”
“Yeah, that’s what I was thinking. Perhaps I should really do some shopping.”