"I'm fine."
"Did you meet your friend?"
"Yes."
"Good meeting?"
"We reminisced."
"Well, that's good, so it is. But I've not been busy socialising. I rang a friend who phoned someone else and I now know more about Polly. She's Pollyanna Andersen and she lives in Stockholm."
"So quick?" Jim's sad-looking eyes widened.
"Did I not tell you I was more cut out for investigative reporting than camping outside politician's apartments?"
CHAPTER 49
"I'd like to introduce Tom Hanrahan," Jim said.
It was late morning, Saturday, and Jim and Tom had been waiting in the lobby of the big, anonymous hotel near Heathrow Airport for Jonathan and Jan to arrive - Jan from Amsterdam, Jonathan from north London. Preliminaries over, Tom spoke to Jan.
"I thought Jim said you lived in Brussels not Amsterdam."
"Yes," replied Jan, "But I'm being watched and checked. I thought if I told as many people as possible that I was going to Amsterdam for the weekend and then got in my car, drove there and caught a flight from Schiphol, it might just put off any followers."
It was Tom's first understanding of the risks Jan was taking.
"Who is checking on me is a mystery," Jan continued. "He or she could be sat at the desk next to me - a totally innocent employee fed on such a diet of suspicion that you are required to spy on work mates."
"It's as bad as that?" Jim asked.
"Sure. It happened to me in my first week. I was called to a meeting with four or five others for a two-hour session on security, secrecy and confidentiality. Vigilance was the word they wrote up on the white board. And it works. Someone knows what I do, where I go and who I see socially. It's probably passed along a chain. Guido even knew about my meetings with Katrine. She spent the night with me - just once. Days later, Guido knew."
"Dear Mother of God," Tom said.
Jan shrugged. "I'm trying to appear just as trustworthy to my corrupt handlers as my official employer so I'm living a lie."
Tom again: "Tell me about this Italian - the Guido fellow."
"A short, fat, sinister little guy in a suit who should sing soprano parts in Italian opera. Guido sits close to, or at, the centre of the web. But there are others, maybe many others involved. He calls them 'members' but who the members are is another mystery. But I think he's key to unravelling the whole organisation. Eischmann might be untouchable, at least to start with, but the organisation is international with individuals - the so-called 'members' - not necessarily aware of the structure behind it. But once you've got the structure in place........" Jan opened his arms.
"There are thousands of people out there looking to take bribes, commissions or big, fat fees for fixing things," he went on. "They are the ones with suits, shirts and ties. Then there are those who get their hands dirty, those who steal equipment, food, medical supplies or anything else and sell it for cash."
The discussion between the four men took in lunch and went on until well into the afternoon.
"So where do we take it, Jim?" Jonathan finally asked. "That's the dilemma. Since you, Jan and I first met in Amsterdam I still feel we're at the stage of gathering evidence. I'm risking my business but Jan is risking his life. Jan and I had a few ideas about using the Sierra Leone bid as a test case, but we'll just have to wait and see. We're using mobile phones that only the two of us know about, but I live in dread of late-night calls from Jan when I'm supposed to be cozying up to my wife. She already thinks Puff and Slush are a couple of exotic dancers at an African night club I've started going to with a Nigerian man called Jacob."
Jim had listened for almost three hours. It had been mostly for the benefit of Tom to see at first-hand what was going on. But then the conversation moved on to what they should do next.
"If it was action to issue arrest warrants," Jim said, "we could go to the Home Office and get Interpol involved. But we still don't have enough evidence. And if they saw me sitting behind it like a ghost from the past you can just imagine the ridicule.
"So that approach is a nonstarter at present but I'm wondering whether an organisation like the ICC - the International Chamber of Commerce's Commercial Crime Services and the Financial Investigation Bureau or even the Serious Fraud Office - the SFO - might help. Their role is just what we're talking about here - commercial crime; fraud in international trade, financial instrument fraud, money laundering, shipping fraud. It might be worth checking the ICC out Jonathan. Join them - it's a membership organisation. Joining might also help deflect any future suggestions that you are involved in fraud yourself. Come clean with them, say you suspect fraud linked to some of the innocent help and advice you are giving. No need to be specific.
"And one reason for me coming back is to start more covert investigations. Tom and I will deal with that and we'll start with Guido - perhaps travel to Holland, check the Delft apartment."
Tom jumped in.
"Careful Jim. Think what you're saying." He turned to Jan and Jonathan. "Here speaks the man who I only met because I watched him collapse on the floor just a few days ago. And I'm still not so sure if he knows what the diagnosis was. It was me who scooped him up but he really needs a proper check up with a cardiologist."
Jim waved his arm dismissively.
"I'll just keep taking the medicine, Tom." Then, to the other two: "So what do you think of our new recruit, Mr Hanrahan? Do you think he'll enhance the team? It's his big chance as an investigative journalist and he's sworn to secrecy until we've got a sound case. His job is the undercover work, but his CV isn't good. He's already failed once. What is it you call an incompetent Irish paparazzi? A green reporter?"
Tom, fortunately, laughed. "Ah, yes. But beware if someone gets in my way and I don't like them."
"That's true. It's why he became a friend. I've known him for almost two weeks and, fortunately, we've not yet fallen out."
"So how long are you staying here?" Jan asked Jim.
"As long as it takes, I suppose. I have one private matter to sort out but this business is my top priority."
The three other men watched him as, his rare humour died as quickly as it had arrived. He glanced away and appeared to shake his head and frown.
Amongst the wispy strands of the grey beard, his lips were clearly moving. Yes, I know, Margaret. I've said it now. But you must understand, Margaret. It is about professional reputation and integrity. I have to prove I was right - before it is too late. He looked up, saw the others watching and snapped out of it.
"But I'd like to meet your FBI friend, Jonathan - Scott Evora," Jim said. "At least he won't be part of the local establishment."
CHAPTER 50
As Jim, Tom, Jonathan and Jan continued their meeting in London, somewhere in Italy Guido was taking a bath. As he wallowed in deep, white foam listening to Pucchini's Tosca he heard his phone ringing. Turning the opera volume down with a remote, he leaned over to retrieve the phone. Then he lost his soap.
"Yah." There was a pause as Guido switched on the loudspeaker function and, still searching frantically for the lost soap with one hand, listened with the other short, white arm holding the phone above the thick layer of scented bubbles.
"So why has Mr Moses phoned you, Toni? And why do you phone me when I am in the bath? It is very inconvenient. The soap gets into my phone and it echoes like the Duomo di Milano in here. I can sing opera here - Puccini, Tosca, La Boheme - because the acoustics are like La Scala, but I cannot always hear the bloody phone.
"OK, wait. I am getting out of the bath. I feel very naked when I am in the bath and speaking on the telephone. Where is my towel? And my bottle of Sassicaia Yes, now I have it. Mmm. Now, what is the problem, my flower."
Guido was sitting, wrapped in a vast white towel with his short legs crossed on a stool next to the bath and a white table with his bottle of wine. First, he sipped but then he spat.
"This, Toni, is gross incompetence. We cannot upset customers like Mr Moses. How has this happened? It was quite clear. Mr Moses was to receive the boxes of water purifiers, valued at a mere 34,300 dollars as part of his much larger contract with us. It was just a small shipment. Easy. Simple.
"Why is it that we can successfully ship pharmaceuticals and baby foods worth over 365,000 dollars to him that have cost us nothing except the cost of an invoice and on which he will make at least thirty percent when he sells it to Liberia and yet a few boxes of water purifiers.........fuck! It is a mess, Toni. And we must sort it quickly. I do not want to lose our water purifiers to bastard thieves at Freetown customs. The thieves are supposed to enjoy the fruits of their thieving by reading old copies of the Corriere della Sera. That was the plan. Someone is to blame, Toni. Mr Moses does not want old newspapers."
There was a pause as he listened, his spare hand playing with bubbles.
"Yes, Toni. You must sort it. Immediately. But do not go away, Toni. I have something else to ask you. What has happened with Cherry Picking? I have heard nothing from you............They are still not answering your calls? This is very bad. We must not lose this Sierra Leone project you understand? Guido hates failing. There is a stigma attached to failure. It is as if we are foolish and incompetent. We must not fail on this one, OK? And another thing. Silvester the investor. Have we made contact?...........Good. Well done, flower. Now fuck off and sort out Signor Moses."
Guido unravelled himself from the huge towel and stepped into the bath again.
CHAPTER 51
Jan was ready to leave the hotel to catch his flight back to Amsterdam but Jim was anxious to thank him once again for what he was doing.
"I'm suddenly becoming a rich man, Jim. But it's dirty money and I don't want it. And I still don't fully understand the loan system that Guido explained. It sounds more like a bribe with strings attached, like blackmail, a hidden threat. I don't know what to do with it. It's sitting there in my account and each time I look at it I wish I'd never offered to help. But then I think again and I know exactly why I'm doing it. Do you understand?"
Jim nodded.
Standing behind them, Jonathan's mobile rang. He excused himself but was straight back. "FBI - Scott Evora," he said. "He wants another chat. I said I was tied up at present but I'd call him back. And Jacob Johnson has left a message so I might need more excuses to give Claire for another night of debauchery with my Nigerian friend."
With that, Jan left in the taxi, the others returned to the lobby and Jonathan made his phone calls as Jim and Tom listened First up was Jacob Johnson.
"You still in London, Jacob?.........Yes, everything is OK. We've already submitted the Sierra Leone bid and we've had a formal acknowledgement. My contact there thinks we might be required to present more information but........yes, yes, this is quite normal........As for the bid for your Lebanese associates - the Education funds bid - this still needs some more work. Give me a week or so on that, OK? And please chase your letters of support from Beirut. We'll get nowhere without those."
Jonathan finished the call and nodded to Jim and Tom.
"He seems content enough. And Jan might get to see this Sierra Leone, Sulima Construction bid on Monday as he's on duty with the Economic Aid West Africa - EAWA - committee. But it's too early yet to decide how we might use it to prove anything fraudulent on the funds side. I admit, though, it's me who has misbehaved. I've submitted the bid knowing full well that documents are questionable."
Jonathan paused.
"The name of the unheard-of consultant in Sierra Leone is Cherry Pick Investments," he went on. "But the documents they sent over look convincing enough. It's a Lebanese company, registered in Singapore, headquarters in Beirut, offices in Sierra Leone, Lagos and Holland. They've provided a list of projects already completed but I've not had time to check them out. My bet is they'll look feasible on paper but are actually fictitious. Documents show it's been trading for fifteen years but I think it's a start-up. The Minister's signature also looks convincing - so convincing it may be the only thing that's not forged."
Tom shook his head in amazement. Jim looked unfazed.
"Let's now phone the FBI - Scott Evora. Listen in," said Jonathan. He pressed the numbers, waited until the American accent came on and turned on the loudspeaker.
"Ever come across a guy called Silvester Mendes, Jonathan?" Evora began.
"No."
"He's never called you any time?"
"Not that I'm aware of. The staff also take calls."
"Ever advised on overseas aid for Pakistan?"
"Yes, once."
" Afghanistan? Bangladesh?"
"Bangladesh, once or twice."
"Was it European money?"
"Yes."
"And you told me you've never had anything to do with USAID, right?"
"Correct."
"OK, listen up. I'm about to tell you some things that are a bit, what shall I say, unusual. OK? I don't normally say things like this on a phone but we're a bit concerned about this guy, Silvester Mendes - have been for some time. He's black, probably runs around on a couple of US passports that look legit, nice and clean, so he comes and goes as he pleases. He actually runs a private detective agency with a few staff who check hundred percent clean - he's an ex New York cop, by the way, so he knows a few tricks.
"But he was in Islamabad a few times a year or so back - our guys got wind. He met up with a Mullah or two, the CIA were watching. He also met a few Pakistani government members and Central Bank officials. No names, OK - but it was about the time some USAID poured in. Our friend Mendes was posing as someone he wasn't. No names again. But he now seems to know the system well. He's learned a lot by rubbing shoulders with influence in some very foreign places. Not nice influence, get my drift?
"Anyway, then there was another load of USAID money went in, none of it ended up where it was supposed to. Mendes goes to Islamabad again. We watched him quite recently but still got nothing that'll stick. Mendes then gets on a plane for Dubai and disappears from the radar for a while, six months or so. Turns up back in New York. Says he was on a case down in Miami for nearly six months, undercover - problems with a drug syndicate that involved Afghan and Pakistani taxi drivers - that was the excuse he gave for going to Islamabad when asked. A plausible story as it turned out so, yet again, nothing gets pinned on him. I could tell you more, Jonathan, but I've already said more than I should.
"Now - reason for call. We know he's in London. Right now, he's staying at the Intercontinental Hotel, Park Lane - been there three days already but not doing a lot - spending money, eating, drinking, womanising a bit. But we're planning a few tricks of our own. One of our team is getting close to him. Feedback we're getting is vague - he's clever, wary, keeps cards close to his chest. He's still just an innocent, private investigator on his holidays, or that's his line. But we've tempted him with a few thoughts about international aid funds being available - thrown in mentions of huge sums like 75 million Euros and he's starting to realize that Euros are bigger than dollars and that over here they don't seem so bothered about money going astray." Scott Evora paused. "Are you getting the picture, Jonathan?"
"Yes," Jonathan said, nodding for the benefit of Tom and Jim.
"OK. Will you help us?"
"What on earth can I do?"
"You know this business better than anyone. Jonathan. If you're willing, what we'll do is try fix a meeting for you with him to explain what you do. Suggest in a roundabout way you are very flexible in the way you work - get my meaning, Jonathan?"
"Yes," Jonathan replied thinking he was becoming well used to flexibility since meeting Jacob Johnson. He winked at Jim and Tom.
"You sure you're OK with this, Jonathan? Any problems for you and we'd back you up. OK?"
"Yes, I understand, but, uh, how..."
"But what?" Evora asked.
"Don't you feel you're tinkering a bit with the official role of a Legal Attaché, Scott? I thought the role was co-ordination with host countries not pro-active investigation and intelligence gathering."
"Hmm. Been reading us up?"
"I always research my clients."
"What? I'm now a fucking client of yours?"
"Not a normal one."
"So, what are you saying, Jonathan?"
"I suppose I'll turn a blind eye to your methods in the interests of continuing to build relationships between our two great nations."
"Now who was it said that? So, you're still on?"
"Yes. I help you. You help us."
"Good man. OK, listen. Thanks a million. Sorry to mess your weekend. Where are you? With the family? I'll call you back soon, OK?"
CHAPTER 52
Freetown, Sierra Leone.
Mitchell's boss Mr Suleiman, having said he smelled bad fish and dead rats, was now pulling strings by calling upon friends and acquaintances. He started with a manager at Standard Chartered Bank.
"There is no Daisy Children's Charity in Sierra Leone," said the manager, "Neither is there a charity called Schools Aid, but we checked and there is a charity called Schools Aid for Africa in England. They send second hand laptops to Africa."
Suleiman noted it and went on his way. His next stop was his old school friend Seymour at the Pyramid Bank because he knew they had a branch in Sulima.
"Sulima Construction?" Seymour scratched his head. "I'll phone Wesley in Sulima."
Suleiman sat and waited until: "Wesley says there is no company called Sulima Construction and he has lived in Sulima since he was born."
"Let me speak to Wesley," said Suleiman and took over Seymour's telephone. "My driver has been there so there must be a Sulima Construction. It is by the river, across from the boatyard, a concrete building with a tin roof."
"Ah, no sir, I know that building. It is owned by Cherry Enterprises. It is a warehouse for storing goods before they are put on the boats."
"And who owns Cherry Enterprises, Mr Wesley?" asked Suleiman.
"It is a man called Mr Moses."
"Aha," said Suleiman, smiling and nodding towards Seymour. "And the office of Cherry Enterprises is also in the concrete building?"
"Oh, no, no, sir. Cherry Enterprises has an office in the town. There is Cherry Trading, Cherry Transport, Cherry Industries, Cherry this and Cherry that, sir. So many cherries I cannot remember."
"And Mr Moses owns these companies?"
"Ah well, sir, that I cannot say. Maybe he owns all of them or just some of them, but all of the Cherry companies trade in Liberia and Nigeria and they own many boats by the river."
Suleiman thanked Seymour and Wesley, returned to his office and checked his watch. It was late morning in London - a good time to phone his cousin, Cole.
Cole Harding, distant cousin to Suleiman, a lawyer and senior partner in Fitzgerald, Waterman & Harding was, just as Suleiman imagined, at his desk in his smart office in Brighton, England. Born in Sierra Leone but educated since the age of seven in the UK, Harding had made money for his practice by becoming known amongst the West African community. But he had long ago ditched immigration problems in favour of commercial advice to the increasing numbers of West Africans with businesses. But Harding was selective. He had a nose for a rogue and deeply disliked the fraud and corruption that was rife across West Africa. He had been outspoken about it. "It is the hard-working poor who create the wealth," he had once written in a commercial law magazine, "So why should they be the ones who then suffer from greedy politicians, thieves and corrupt big businesses?"
The keen sense of smell, especially of bad fish and dead rats, ran in the extended Suleiman family and if anything made Cole Harding drop everything for a day or so it was when he smelled something rotten. He quickly understood what Suleiman was saying and noted names, companies and charities. By mid-afternoon he had also spoken to the Charity Commission and the National Fraud Authority about the level of charity fraud. The information, as he had expected, was shocking with the National Fraud Authority estimating that fraud against the charity sector cost over one billion pounds a year.
He spoke to Schools Aid Africa, a small English charity in East Anglia that took free gifts of old laptop computers from the public, made them fit to use, boxed them up and sent them to places like Sierra Leone. "Do they reach their destination?" Harding asked. They didn't know. They hoped so.
"If I told you a consignment you recently sent to Sierra Leone was stolen and resold in Liberia and Nigeria for tens of thousands of dollars what would you say?" They were shocked.
"So who do you deal with in Sierra Leone?" he asked. That was easy. It was Daisy Children's Charity who were not just in Sierra Leone but had branches in Liberia, Nigeria and Ghana. Had they checked Daisy Children's Charity out? Well, no, not thoroughly, after all it was a name given to them by the British Embassy and so was bound to be legitimate. And had they ever meet anyone from Daisy Children's Charity? Oh yes. A nice man called Mr Moses had met them in London two years ago to explain how his charity worked. And how did they send their computers to Sierra Leone when the airport was well known to be a little unreliable. That was easy, also. They had been told to use an Italian freight forwarder who worked with Swiss Air. All they had to do was send the computers to Freeways Freight Forwarding in Milan and they did the rest. They were, after all, a charity, so couldn't be expected to check everything. Resources were thin on the ground.
Being Friday, Cole Harding decided to leave it over the weekend to decide what to do next. By two in the morning on Saturday, though, his thoughts had already moved onto theft of international aid. One report stuck in his mind because, for once, it had been properly investigated - Cambodia and millions of dollars of funds for mosquito nets. The kickback had been fifteen percent with two officials pocketing $500,000 each and the director responsible getting $351,000. In the end, the nets were useless because they had not been treated with insecticide.
But fraud like that was widespread and organised. He had seen it himself - double invoicing, false accounting, fictitious trading histories, tenders submitted before they were officially released. By three in the morning he had concluded that the businesses run by the man Moses - Rocki General Supplies, Sulima Construction and a whole list using the name Cherry had all the hallmarks of professional scam organisations. By four in the morning, Harding was at his computer researching fraud in charities and international aid and by Sunday morning he had found a company that, according to their website, specialised in advice on international aid - Walton Associates.
CHAPTER 53
“I'm going to Bristol tomorrow morning.”
"Margaret?" Tom asked, hesitantly.
Jim nodded. They were having breakfast and, on advice from Tom that he needed to put on weight, Jim had tried a full English breakfast for the first time for years. The eggs, bacon, sausage, beans and fried tomatoes were already lying heavily.
"What about the paintings, Jim? Any thoughts?"
"Leave it with me." Jim grimaced.
"So," said Tom, getting up, "I'm off to Stockholm."
"And I'm off to be sick," said Jim, but he managed a faint smile.
"Go into Windsor," Tom suggested. "Buy some iced coconut juice and fresh bananas from the side of the road, Jim."
In north London, Jonathan was trying to be helpful around the house. He had a long list - fix a plug, replace a light bulb, sweep the dead leaves. He was sorting trash for recycling when he felt his mobile vibrating in his back pocket. It was Scott Evora.
"My apologies for calling so soon and on a Sunday, Jonathan, but we've got movement on what I spoke to you about yesterday. Can you talk?"
"Sure." Jonathan dumped the trash on the kitchen floor and leaned against the refrigerator as Claire washed dishes from the night before.
"Silvester Mendes. Yeh, him again. Our man got him talking last night. They were in a nightclub somewhere - don't ask, OK. Anyway, our man starts talking European aid money again. Mendes had clearly been giving the subject some thought because he brought the subject up. He then starts asking questions - the who, how, what, where and when. Our man does what he can but he's no expert, right? Admits it. 'Anyway,' he says to Mendes, 'I know a guy who knows this stuff inside out.' He mentions no names, but Mendes is all ears again. His first question, 'Is this guy official or is he loose?' Know what that means, Jonathan?"
"I suppose he was asking if I'm really a crook," offered Jonathan, feeling Claire's eyes.
"Yep, that's right - means is he as honest as the day is long, is he already a clever, white collar crook like Mendes himself or, if not, could he be tempted to become one. Our man probably shrugs and smiles, says nothing. Let’s the smile work. Mendes starts asking more questions - where's all this aid money go, what for, who decides etcetera. Our man mentions Afghanistan, Pakistan, West Africa 'cus he already knows that's just the sort of places Mendes likes.
"Anyway, cut to the chase, Mendes starts getting excited. We already know he's running a bit scared of the US at present -