CHAPTER 47
Jeffrey’s hidden sound recording bug triggered first with a door being opened and shut, then a voice. “Take a seat. You want a drink?” Lester asked.
“Any beer?”
As Jeffrey and Pascale listened a few blocks away, there was a sound of the mini fridge being opened and a hiss as a can was opened just a metre or so from the bug.
“Just the can,” Enzo’s voice said as if Lester had offered him a glass. “Chin chin.”
There was more rattling, rustling and someone coughed. “So, who the hell was it?” Lester was talking as if continuing a discussion that had started in the Polo lounge downstairs. “He was Italian I tell you.”
“I cannot believe that. But you forget his name?”
“I was in a hurry, I told you. But it was the same man, believe me. Roman described him. How did he know where I was? What’s he doing? It’s making me nervous, Enzo.”
“It is nothing. Forget it. Maybe you told him where you were going. You forgot. Too stressed.”
“I forget nothing Enzo. Jesus Christ. He even persuaded Roman to let him in the factory. To look around. Something’s wrong. I know it.”
“Mmm. I cannot believe.”
“You better believe, Enzo. I’m nervous. And then two people came to the PJ office in KL. After I left. A man and woman. Old man and a well- dressed woman. I told Ho many times to fix the CCTV. Something’s going on.”
“No, no. You’re too stressed. Calm it. And slow down on those pills.”
There was silence for a few second. Then:
Enzo: “So, when is the next shipment?”
Lester: “Ask Ho.”
Enzo: “I don’t trust Ho.”
Lester: “And I don’t trust Valeri.”
Enzo: “Nor me.” A long pause. “I think they’ll close Trieste. That is my problem. They will move packaging to Croatia.”
Lester: “But we’ll still keep the trading. We can’t lose that.”
Enzo: “Ha.” It was as if he didn’t believe it. “How can you be sure? Mean bastards.” There was another silence broken by the sound of a can being put down on a hard surface. “I told you, before, go slow on those pills. Just ‘cause they’re free.”
Lester: “Fuck it. You get paid for France?”
Enzo: “No, they say wait. I don’t trust Marcel. He’s another bastard. A drunk French bastard.”
The sound changed as if Lester had moved further away. “So, who the fuck do you trust Enzo?” It sounded mocking.
“Myself. Only myself.” Perhaps Enzo also got up because the sound of his voice increased. “This is a fucking Russian and Chinese business, Peter. We do the shipping the selling, the invoicing and then we pay them. If we don’t pay them, we get nothing. If we do pay them, we still risk getting nothing. We take the risks. They take the money. They are bastards. You know how much I got for the last load of Go-Go Juice, Hot Ice and Dust? Less than half I expected. Why? You know how much it cost me to persuade the fucking customs at Trieste to let it through because that cretino, Ho, the stupid bastard, that figlio di puttana, forgot to send the analysis certificates for the coconut oil it was packed in? Twenty thousand Euros. I can’t pass it on so I lose it.”
Enzo paused. “And did you know I lost thirty thousand Euros of Ampicillin and Floxacillin from India because some fucking Thai in Bangkok made a mistake and customs confiscated it? I paid them but it cost them nothing. For them it was free. Why? Because Yuri’s gang got it free for threatening to expose the Thai gang importing the fake medicine. “
Jeffrey looked at Pascale. “So, that’s it. Amphetamines, drugs, narcotics and counterfeit medicines. And they’re packing it inside drums of oil for the cosmetics industry? And the oil is contaminated, low grade but priced like it was pure, top quality?”
Pascale nodded but didn’t reply. The recording was still running and Enzo was talking.
“And fucking Red Power is another one. They sell direct to China which is the big one, but for Italy I have to buy from them, reserve them a commission and pay that into one of their banks.”
Lester spoke but he was starting to repeat himself and the words sounded slurred as if he was drunk. “I know how they work. Work. I set, set, up most of their Middle East business for the Indian mm....medicine. It was good business for a while but now the, they, they go direct. And I got big trouble with Vital. I’ve been thinking a lot. Maybe it’s time to jump. Jump. Make a break. You know? I’ve got the contacts now. Net, networks. So, have you. Maybe I don’t need Vital and you don’t need Bio-Kal. Close it. Go s-s-s solo. Work together.”
There was a long pause punctuated by the sound of a glass bottle on a hard surface as if Enzo was thinking, considering things. Then: “And how does my rich cousin Maria fit into that?” he asked.
It was Lester’s turn to pause and Enzo seemed to lose patience. “Well?”
“Maria?” Lester asked.
“Yeh, you heard? You and Maria. You and that puttana still got it together? Only I’ve not heard either of you mention anything for a while. Where, the fuck. is she, Peter? Oxford? Trieste? Singapore?”
Listening-in a block way, Jeffrey nudged Pascale. “Who’s Maria? Italian?” Pascale shrugged, but then neither of them yet knew what Colin Asher had found on Lester’s home computer.
“Maria?” Lester repeated yet again as if stalling and unsure what to say next. “A few problems. Personal ones, you know.”
“Che cazzo, Fuck. So why don’t I know?” Enzo said crossly. “I warned you. I warned her. Business and private should be separate. Manache! Hell and fuck! Don’t you realise? Jesus, what a fucking mess. Maria and Maxim Novak and Medinski and Olga are in it together. Upset Maria and you upset Maxim and that upsets me. Have you forgotten? Maria runs SCAZ. SCAZ is my source and your source. No SCAZ means no business. Santo Cazzo Madre di Cristo.”
Noises in the background suggested Enzo was walking around and getting madder by the minute. One minute he was loud, next minute soft. What Lester was doing was difficult to imagine. But then Enzo struck something hard like a table. Then he shouted. “Merda! That’s it. Figlio di puttana! The fucking Italian. Tall. Black hair? Fancy gold watch?”
Lester: “The g - g guy I met? The g – g - guy Roman met?”
Enzo: “Si., si. That’s old man Perillo’s son. I thought he was back in USA.”
Lester: “P-p-p-perillo? He’s still alive? But, that’s not who called at Pee, pee J Beauty Supplies. That man was old and grey haired and the woman was smart, B – B - Bella said. Very smart. Her name was Josephine from - what was it? - Beau Cosmetics in London. I’ve never, uh, heard of them. The old man was the, uh, tech - technical adviser.”
Enzo: “What was his name?”
Lester: “Uh, Higgin something.”
It was now Lester’s turn to shout and it far exceeded Enzo’s efforts.
“Oh, my fucking Christ. That’s Lady bloody Isobel and that old dog, Higgins. When I ph - phoned Don McVie at Vital this morning no-one knew where she was.”
There was a sudden noise of scrabbling as if Lester was packing a case, rushing around, panicking. “We gotta move, Enzo.”
Enzo: “Where, man? Calm down. Think. Che cazzo dici? Maybe it wasn’t Perillo’s son. Maybe it wasn’t the people you know.”
Lester: “Something’s going on, I don’t like it. And you’re telling me Valeri’s not happy. Why is he not happy?”
Enzo: “Problems in Bangkok and Pattaya. Thai staff run away like they’re scared or know something. It makes the Russians nervous. It’s nothing. Ignorarlo!”
They were quiet for a while until Enzo spoke again. “Any more beer in there?”
“Help your - self. I’m ch - checking out.”
“Checking out? What now? It’s midnight.”
“In the morning. I’m f – f- finished here. And, anyway, Maxim wants to see me in London. They’ve found a guy with money to put into the business. Maybe I can offload some of the s - stress.”
Another silence followed until Enzo spoke again, softer this time. “So, you want to go alone? Fuck the Russians? Keep the profits rolling in the right direction?”
There was no reply from Lester. Maybe he was pondering on how utterly complicated the whole business had become and, making his life even more depressing, was the divorce. The recording went quiet. Voices were lower as if they’d moved away. A door then closed. Enzo, it seemed, had gone and Jeffrey pulled the USB plug on the bug he’d placed in Lester’s room. “Let’s try Enzo’s,” he said.
The bug in Enzo’s room was triggered by the door closing, then the flushing of the toilet. There was shuffling, the sound of walking around, then the TV was switched on: Malaysian TV, a change of channels to Singaporean, then BBC, Chinese, CNN, Fox. Then there was a noise like a chair being dragged and Enzo spoke for the first time. “Merda!”
There was a loud noise from the bug. It was battery charged so still worked even when pulled from the mains plug, but that was clearly what Enzo had just done. “Cazzo! Merda! Dispositivo di ascolto.”
“He’s found the bug,” Pascale said.
Jeffrey nodded. “Pity. Colin will need to make another.”
“What can Enzo do with it?”
“Nothing without the software and, anyway, I think we’ve heard enough.”
But if Enzo thought that by unplugging it from the mains, it wouldn’t work he was mistaken. There was a short delay before he spoke on his phone. “Peter. Check the fucking plug under your TV. My room’s been bugged. Peter? PETER! Stronzo! Are you there, asshole?”
There was a short silence then a grunt as if Peter was struggling beneath his TV. “Yeh. W-w-what is it? Is that a f-f-fucking listening device? Someone’s bugged our rooms. Fucking Russkies.”
Less than a few blocks away Jeffrey looked at Pascale. “Ah well,” he said resignedly “Ah well. They won’t know who fixed them and Lester’s already blaming the Russians. But we’ve got our evidence. Lester sounds like a man on the edge of a nervous breakdown.”
Mark had just finished talking to Colin Asher when Jeffrey phoned. He told him to upload the recordings so Colin could decide if it was enough to start formal action in the UK. “Get it here pronto, Jeffrey. It might be just in time to ruin Keith Nolan’s lunch.”
“So, what now, boss?” Jeffrey asked.
“Keep a track on Lester and Enzo and talk to your friend, Datuk Abdul Rahim. Play him the recordings but don’t, for God’s sake, give any names or tell him where the recording was made. See how he takes it. We still don’t want things compromised by clumsy police action. If in doubt, ask him to call me.”
When Sannan joined Mark at the Bangwua Garden Resort in Bang Pakong, a low, red sun had just appeared and was making its way up into a clear, pale blue sky streaked with high, pink clouds. “Have you eaten?” Sannan asked perching on the end of Dobson’s bed.
“Not recently. You?”
“Not recently. Are we staying here or moving to Bangkok?”
Mark wasn’t sure. In reality he needed an hour or so of quiet reflection but as his stomach was demanding priority, they walked into the town following an aroma of barbequed chicken. The source was a motorcycle and side car fitted with a charcoal fire throwing clouds of smoke into the morning air. The owner of this early morning eatery also served drinks so they chose green Fanta and ate breakfast sitting on the roadside next to the vendor.
During mouthfuls Dobson gave Sannan a summary of Jeffrey’s overnight discoveries. “So, it’s drugs hidden inside raw materials for the cosmetics industry,” Sannan suggested.
“That’s part of it,” he said just as his phone rang. He pulled it from his pocket with greasy fingers. “Eddie.”
“Good morning, Mark. I hope you slept well. A lovely morning here in Kuala Lumpur. How’s the weather in Bangkok?”
“Looking good so far,” Mark said pulling the flesh off a chicken bone through his teeth.
“You’ll be pleased to hear that I have been released from detention and am raring to go again.”
“Good news. And the after effects of your experiment with narcotics?”
“Fully recovered, thank you, and my thinking as clear as a bell and benefitting from a good night’s sleep. I’d recommend a sniff of Angel Dust for anyone with blocked sinuses but not for the hallucinations. At one point I was convinced I could fly back to Oxford just by flapping my arms.”
“Where’s Isobel?”
“Probably preparing herself to face the world. That could take until this afternoon. She has a suitcase with enough clothing for a world cruise and enough cosmetics to fill the shelves of Selfridges. Did you know she uses a pot of something called Regenerist 3-point Treatment Cream Fragrance Free which is available for a mere £29.99 a pot. Alternatively, you might prefer to donate £29.99 to provide a Kenyan family with enough food for a month or put one of their children through secondary school pending a University place. By the way, the word ‘regenerist’ doesn’t exist so how can a company sell something that doesn’t actually exist?”
“You sound in excellent form, Eddie. A day spent talking yourself out of the death penalty has done you a power of good.”
“I agree. What should I do next?”
“Make sure Isobel is with you, then ask Jeffrey to play the recording of Peter Lester and Enzo sharing private thoughts in Johor last night. Then return to Bangkok. We’re making progress but things are not over yet.”