Whistleblower by Terry Morgan - HTML preview

"We have met once or twice for a drink." She paused. "Is there anything wrong, Mr Eischmann?"

"We need to be careful," he said, turning back towards the window. "We deal with sensitive matters. All staff are warned about mixing with people who think they can be influenced."

What was he playing at, thought Katrine. Eischmann, probably the worst offender, looked worried. She decided to say nothing and Eischmann turned again.

"If Kerkman contacts you, ask him where he is and let me know."

"Do you think he's left his job, Mr Eischmann? Just walked out without giving notice?"

Eischmann wasn't looking at her, just standing, stroking his chin. Then: "If that is so, then it is not good to just walk away, Miss Nielsen. It is unprofessional. Matters of a confidential nature may be put at risk. We need to find him. It is very urgent."

Precisely what matters of a confidential nature he was referring to were uncertain, but an unnatural sign of panic sounded in Eischmann's voice. It quivered. "We need to resolve outstanding matters, uh, relating to his employment. You will tell me immediately if he contacts you. That is all." He turned his back.

Katrine stood up. "Yes, thank you Mr Eischmann." Five minutes later she was back at her desk.

 

CHAPTER 78

Jim was sitting upright, cross-legged on his bed in the Windsor hotel staring at the screen of his old lap top. "Where the hell can we take this? Who the hell will listen and who the hell will then do something? Sorry for the language, mother."

He fell back with his head on the pillow and spoke to the ceiling. "Should I have tried to forget about it? Let them carry on milking the system? Stayed where I was to paint just for the satisfaction and enjoyment? Moved somewhere else, a bit closer to civilisation perhaps?" He paused and his thoughts jumped. "I thought I was seeing blue sky for the very last time during that bicycle ride, mother."

He sniffed, tugged on his beard, shook his head and then, with his eyes closed, muttered aloud.

"Police stated that the unidentified elderly man, whose body was found on the moors of the Derbyshire Peak District has been identified as former Independent Member of Parliament, James William Smith. Despite severe criticism over his political naivety and the accusations he made of corruption in the corridors of power, Smith was well known for unrelenting stubbornness and his apparent disregard for personal hygiene and dress sense. Having been hounded from office and deserting his long-suffering wife, Margaret, Smith's body was found next to a rusting bicycle not far from where he is thought to have been living like a recluse in a cave. The coroner has been informed."

Jim's quick flight of fantasy was deliberate. It was a ploy to distract himself, just briefly, from what he thought he had just seen on Jan's video recordings. He had needed to look again. And, when he re-ran it, there it was again - an almost unnoticeable flash on the screen in the half second it took for the money transfer to happen.

He sat up again, ready to check it once more.

He'd first seen the screen flicker as Jan dealt with the CAHA Fund and ignored it. But it had happened again minutes later with the Rural India fund - a black flash that would not have bothered anyone without a suspicious mind. What was it? He ran it through again and saw it once more.

"My eyes rarely deceive me, mother. I'm very observant. It's the artist in me. Other parts might be breaking down but the eyes still work. There it is. What did they used to call single pictures on a video - a frame? There it is, as if the computer suddenly went into safe mode. Black screen, white lettering."

He watched it yet again. What's more, if he stopped the video at the right frame he could actually read it. It was bank account details. The bank - the Dubai Asia Investment Bank, an account number, a few other letters, numbers and codes, an amount - 150,000 Euros - and then a name - Acosta Freeway Investment Holdings.

He tried the second transaction, the Rural India fund. Moving the video forward second by second, frame by frame, he again found one, perhaps two, frames showing a black background and white lettering. The bank - Banco de Credito de Milano, Panama, an account number, more letters, numbers and codes, an amount 185,000 Euros and then a name - P.U. Eischmann.

Jim left the screen on just at that frame, picked up his mobile and rang Jan at the hotel in Zurich where it was past midnight.

"Jan, sorry for the late call. When you researched Dirk Eischmann's background, what was his wife's name?"

"Paula. Why?"

"And her second name?"

"Ursula. Why?"

"Your video shows where the money went."

In Zurich, Jan was now wide awake. "How, the hell......?"

Jim explained. Then: "Guido's newest version of Puff and Slush has an error, Jan. But it is only visible on the screen on the treasury computer, not on your computer. You might like to warn Guido when you catch up with him."

 

CHAPTER 79

"Yah, Toni. It is...........Ah, it is not Toni. Guten tag, Mr Eischmann. Wie geht es dir?"

Guido was in his Milan warehouse when Dirk Eischmann phoned. He listened, then stood up from his chair, a look on his face that would have curdled fresh milk.

"Verdammte Scheiye! When did that fucking blonde prick go? Where did he go?"

He listened again. "Yah, the money was transferred. It is in Panama. I checked......There is no problem. Guido's new version of Puff and Slush works perfectly and the blonde prick Kerkman did his job on Monday morning as instructed. So why has he gone?"

A pause.

"Yah, yah. Of course. It is possible to check if he takes money from his account, but we will empty it first. He will have nothing. But it is not the money, it is whether he has decided to talk. I never liked that prick ever since you found him......very sorry Mr E, but.... Yah, he was too... too serious... too big.... too much muscle, like a policeman. But do not panic Mr E, we will find him.........How?.......I'm not sure, Mr E. I will need to think."

Another pause.

"We are checking on this Walton company, but they have a website so the world knows about them. They cannot be serious competitors." Guido now chuckled like a child. "I was upset with their Sierra Leone bid but that was because they were tempted by a Nigerian. They can do nothing, Mr E. We have stuffed them one hundred percent because you did your part and we bought the Cherry Picking business. Those two Lebanese bastards are also stuffed because.... what shall we say......? their local management is gone."

Guido, strutting in circles around his desk, continued to listen to Dirk Eischmann talking, but he hated listening to anyone and Eischmann was talking far more than he had ever done before. It was continuous, without a break. With the phone tucked beneath his soft chin, Guido's strutting became heavier and heavier until he was stamping his feet. His hands flapped around his head desperately trying to cover his ears. And still Eischmann talked. Guido marched to his chair like a scolded boy, sat down heavily, sniffed, his hands trembling, now playing with the cap from the old can of blue spray paint on the desk. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"Si, si. I am still here," he said. "Mi scusi, Herr Eischmann, but why do you speak to Guido like that? It is not normal. We are amico del cuore, good friends These little problems they come and they go. Problems are normal in business and we have good news as well, Herr Eischmann.........Yah, very good news...........Silvester the Investor." Guido tried to giggle again. "He is on our side now, you will see. The expansion plans are in place...."

But Eischmann interrupted again and Guido's pig-like eyes widened. He bit his trembling lower lip and was forced to listen for another half minute.

"Yah, I am here. How so many people, Herr Eischmann.... Mr Dirk? I did not know there were so many...........Ahhh, that is many too many...... too many staff are now Members of our club. How can we keep control over that many? Who pays them? It is not through Puff and Slush........So it is cash from senior Members........But that is very bad management, Herr Dirk...........not to say it is your bad management, but someone else, I cannot think who. But a good business is a simple business, Mr E........Yah, very sorry, Herr Dirk."

Guido stood up again, listening, pounding noisily across the steel floor of his mezzanine office, the sound echoing through the warehouse. "The politicians? Yah, Guido deals with some of those, but in your organisation, how many are members?...........Wah! You don't know? How is this so? Why you not tell me so before. This is also not so good, Herr Dirk. "

He circled once, twice, still listening, his free hands clenched into tight little fists. Then he stopped, perfectly still and took a deep breath. "We must find Kerkman before he talks, Mr E, but.......but I do not know where to start."

Guido only just withstood another two minutes of Eischmann's voice. When he finally stopped, he slid the phone across his desk and screamed like a spoiled child. But then he retrieved it and pressed a single key.

"Yah, Toni. We have some problems, my flower. Where are you?.......Why are you still in London?.........Has Silvester agreed yet?...........Why not?............Why don't you like him? This is not a time for childish stupidity, but if you don't like him, leave him and come here immediately. We need to talk."

Guido was losing control.

CHAPTER 80

The door of Ashton Art Gallery was opened as Jim was still standing outside, shaking rain drops from his new umbrella. Melissa had seen him coming. She smiled. "Hello Mr Smith, Hugh is waiting for you. It is cold today, yes? Not at all like home."

"I'll be glad to get back to the sun, Melissa," Jim replied as he wiped his shoes on the mat.

Hugh McAllister was sitting in the small office where they had, on Jim's last visit, examined his paintings, eaten pizza and drank white wine. "Hello, Jim," he said, standing up, "You know, the more I look at your work, the more I like it."

Jim smiled, pushed the long, damp strands of grey hair away from his forehead and nodded. "So how are the arrangements going?"

"Everything is booked. We now need to decide where and how to promote it. You must advise me."

"No name, Hugh. That's the first advice. They'll find out soon enough. For a while I'll just be the unknown artist. There's nothing like creating a bit of mystery. "

"I've never heard anything quite like it before. I suppose Banksy manages it in his own unique way so a mystery element might enhance the marketing effort."

Twenty minutes later and the plan was taking shape. Ten days was not long. Was it long enough? Jim had no idea. Should he postpone it? No.

"I've got a few more questions, Hugh," Jim said as Melissa brought tea.

"Go ahead, Jim."

"You might find them personal."

"Try me."

"It's about Anne, your ex-wife."

Hugh shrugged. "Time has healed the wound."

"She was careless."

"And ruthless and ambitious, Jim."

Jim dug inside his jacket pocket, withdrew a brown envelope and pulled from it a single sheet of white paper. "This is an email that Anne was sent by someone in Brussels," he said. "It is an offer of a job with a salary three times as much as she was getting as a researcher. She was careless enough to leave it amongst some other papers on my desk. Whether she went in search of it afterwards I don't know, but within a week of the date on the email she'd left London. The job description was vague but enough for me to subsequently add two and two together and make four. The job was described as Media Co-ordinator." Jim paused. "Do you know who offered her the job?"

"Yes. Dirk Eischmann."

"You know that?" Jim wasn't too surprised.

"Oh yes. She deliberately edged close to him when she worked in Brussels. Dirk said this, Dirk said that. She was entranced. He already had a wife, but that didn't stop her forcing her way into his life and that of others who were already close to him. And that included the one she eventually set up with, Daniel Acosta - one of the richest guys in Spain. You know him? The newspaper owner, the director of the Spanish aid organisation and other high-profile jobs? Up until the divorce I had never heard of him but I soon did, along with a long list of others she was involved with. They were all the same type, Jim - businessmen, highly paid civil servants, some were politicians and others were ex government ministers who had pushed their dubious credentials and got themselves jobs as highly paid advisers. Of course, they all had their own circles of friends and contacts and all of them loved the lifestyle and were desperate to be seen as rich and successful. I hate that scene, but Anne loved it. The divorce came and I tried to forget about it."

"Daniel Acosta," Jim said thoughtfully. "Of course. That now makes perfect sense. And there's a recent co-incidence. Have you ever heard of a company called Acosta Freeway Investment Holdings, Hugh?"

"No - I steer clear of anything with words like investments or holdings in it, Jim." he laughed. Jim nodded.

The rain had stopped and a watery, autumn sun was drying the street as Jim hailed a taxi from outside Hugh's gallery in Kensington. His next stop was Alfredo's cafe bar, Brook Street. Scott Evora arrived ten minutes late and was full of apologies.

"You must excuse me, Jim," Evora panted. "There's a lot going on. I only just got out of a meeting. We've got Senator Colin Stafford over. Not sure if you saw it in the paper, Jim, but Stafford has an interest in international aid - the fraud side of it. He's just in from Pakistan. We knew it was rife but, hey, Jesus. You got coffee already, Jim? Getting to like the espresso here? Want another? Hang on." He shouted inside. "Marie - two more. Got it? OK. And a refill of sugar, OK?"

They were sat outside at the same rickety, metal table as last time but Jim had his own agenda this time. There were things he wanted to say and to ask and Pakistan seemed a good starting point. He began immediately.

"This chap Silvester Mendes," Jim said, "The one Jonathan met. Are you still monitoring him?"

"Nope. He flew back to the US yesterday. He's off our patch now."

"I understand he had a visitor before he left?"

"Yeh, someone representing that guy, Guido."

"Toni. Do you have a description? A photo?"

"Yeh, we got a photo."

"Could you share it?"

"Mmm," Scott Evora stroked his chin, smiled. "You got anything for us in return? Jonathan said you might."

"Evidence of sophisticated computer hacking that can cream off aid funding straight out of ring-fenced accounts," Jim announced. "Would that interest you?"

"Jesus. You got that?"

"Yes, but we could still do with some help. And what does Senator Stafford want?"

"Like all politicians, he needs to deliver something - a few big arrests would be useful."

"Did Silvester Mendes crop up as the likely target for an arrest?"

"Yep, because he's still our focus for checking US citizen involvement in international aid fraud. But he's slippery."

"But he seems to know Guido."

"Sure, but who the fuck is this guy Guido?"

"We're trying to track him down and that's where we need your help."

"What sort of help?"

Jim pulled on his beard. "Money laundering is a priority for the FBI, isn't it?"

"Sure."

"In that case a few discreet investigations of the Dubai Asia Investment Bank might be useful for us. We have an account number, a few other encrypted codes and a name - Acosta Freeway Investment Holdings. Secondly a check on Banco de Credito de Milano. They are in Panama. Again, we have an account number, more codes, evidence that 185,000 Euros was paid in a few days ago and we have a name - P.U. Eischmann."

"P.U. Eischmann," repeated Scott Evora. "Isn't that the guy you upset a few years back?"

"No - it's his wife."

"Phew! You getting that close?"

"Yes, but Eischmann is nothing without Guido. Guido is still the kingpin. So can we count on some urgent help to look into these accounts. Like by tomorrow?"

"I'll do what I can, Jim. Do we know what Guido looks like?"

"That's another problem. Our mole is the only one who has met him face to face. So we have a good description and a voice recording, but no photo. We've also had sight of a woman associated with Guido. This might be the one called Tony or Toni spelled with an i. Our mole thinks it's Toni with an i because of how Guido pronounces it. But we've got no photo except from the back which doesn't help a lot. She's tall, maybe five nine, five ten, maybe long black hair, that's all we know, but that's why your own photo would be useful. Is this the same person?"

Scott Evora had listened intently and scribbled notes. Then:

"OK, Jim. Listen. We've had our ears thoroughly burned this morning. Evidence is piling up about aid fraud. Let me give you some examples. The Majid dam project - the supplier of one item shipped via Dubai was a French company, the goods declaration states the value at 55,000 Euros but the receipt on the actual consignment showed 4,500 Euros - someone benefitted to the tune of over 50,000 Euros. But it's a drop in the ocean. Colin Stafford showed us total losses now into seven figures and we reckon Silvester Mendes knows a thing or two about some of that.

"Another one, Jim. The Pakistan Disabled Children's Fund - generous US taxpayers have given several million US dollars for specialised equipment. Who the fuck would feel OK about stealing from that? Well, someone has. Estimated losses are over two million dollars.

"The special anti-fraud hotline is red hot, Jim. It would help if the EU had one. We sometimes identify small time operators but even if they talk, they know so little and are so scared, we get nowhere. It's the organisation behind it that's hard to get a fix on - we're talking politicians, government ministers, gangsters - but you already know all that. But we'd definitely like to get a few characters like your friend Guido out of circulation. That would send a few very strong messages."

"Your Senator Colin Stafford," Jim said quietly. "Has he spoken to the UK or other European governments?"

Scott grinned. "I was coming to that, Jim, but understand this. I can't tell you everything. We've got our own sniffers out there and things happen behind closed doors, but Prime Ministers talk to Presidents, Senators talk to Ministers. The US is doing something about aid fraud, but we can't act alone. That, I understand, was the message Senator Stafford delivered to your own Home Office today and in Germany yesterday. They are, we think, now listening. And, trust me Jim, no-one knows you're back here and have dug up that dirty old bone to have another gnaw at. I've told no-one. Jonathan is known to a couple of my buddies but that's it."

Jim just listened intently. An idea had been simmering in his head for a day or so but he'd not even mentioned it to Jonathan, Jan or Tom. But with Scott Evora showing signs of a willingness to help, he went for it.

"So why not deliberately lift a few stones and watch what crawls out?"

Evora sniffed and smiled. "Hmm. What have you got in mind?"

"A few years ago, when I rattled a stone but failed to lift it, nothing crawled out. Nevertheless, all hell broke loose as if I'd seriously unsettled what was living underneath it. I'm just wondering if a few names whispered in ears - and since Senator Stafford has met the government here you could start with our Serious Fraud people - it might, this time around, tempt a few creatures to crawl out. Even a few tongues might loosen up. I don't really know how it all works but can't you bring a few people in for innocent questioning on the back of suspicions raised elsewhere. Failing that, mention a few names to national police forces through your FBI European offices and see what happens?"

"And ruin any chances of clean arrests?"

"Perhaps," Jim said, "So leave the key players in place. Aim wider and see if you find someone who'll talk. We could work on a short list of people to prod with a sharp stick if you like."

Jim knew he was pushing ideas that probably went way beyond what was possible, but time was running out. He had always wanted international law enforcement agencies to sit up, take notice and then act, and this was the best chance yet. They chatted it through a while longer. In the end, Jim knew he had convinced Evora to give it a try.

"So, who would be on your short list of names to mention in high places?" Evora asked.

"Try Daniel Acosta," Jim replied knowing full well the name would mean nothing. "He's a media mogul, one of the richest guys in Spain and, not by coincidence, president of the Spanish aid agency HAED - the Humanitarian Aid and Economic Development organisation. He also touts himself around the globe as a very well connected private consultant. Then try his wife, Anne Acosta, nee Anne McAllister."

"You know this guy?"

"Not personally. I knew his wife and then found out about him. Just to remind you I ran a company that manufactured water purification and sanitation equipment. Many of my contracts depended on aid funding. The HAED had a particular interest in that business. It specialised in Latin America and the Caribbean, right on your door step. Acosta has some very powerful friends in the USA."

"Jesus Christ!". Scott Evora scribbled the names as Jim sat back. "Any others?"

Jim was not short of names. Some had been on his mental list for years. Some had moved on but others - he knew because he had checked - were still there. He gave the names as Evora scribbled.

"These are just a few, Scott - secretive but wealthy bureaucrats who enjoy their wealth but hate publicity. I suggest leaving the politicians and private sector alone at present. They both depend on the incompetence of the bureaucrats or their willing involvement in fraud and corruption.

"OK, let's take them one by one. Who's Dimitri Castellanos?" asked Evora.

"Director of Finance."

"Jesus! The top guy? You sure?"

Jim nodded. "Almost the top man. Directors also have bosses."

"And Pierre Augustin?"

"Humanitarian Aid - Head of Policy."

Scott raised another eyebrow. "And Ahmed Majoub?"

"Central Asia - Head of Policy."

"Joseph Campos?"

"Economic Development, West Africa, based in Luanda."

"Philippe Eijsackers?"

"Environmental Policy."

"You sure about these guys, Jim? This would be like opening a huge can of worms."

"Worms also live under stones, Scott."

 

CHAPTER 81

In Zurich, Tom and Jan were at breakfast in the hotel.

As Tom filled a glass with orange juice and brought it back to their table, his mobile phone rang. It was Jim, first checking that Jan had now joined him and then with an update on his meeting with Scott Evora. But it was his next piece of information which caused Tom to look at Jan, nod his head and point to the phone he was holding. "A possible lead from Jonathan on Guido," he whispered across the table. Jim was still talking.

"It's come on a tortuous route from Sierra Leone," Jim was saying. "According to Cole Harding, the two Lebanese who ran Cherry Picking met Guido in Milan. He met them off a plane from Amsterdam some months ago, picked them up in a black Mercedes, whisked them off to a restaurant in the centre of Milan and then dropped them at the Park Hyatt Hotel. Apparently, Guido seemed well known at both the restaurant and the hotel. It's only a thought, Tom, but maybe you should both head on down to Milan once you've done all you can in Zurich."

Tom and Jan agreed but, for now, their plan was to look at Zurich companies using the name Freeway. Over fresh coffee, they sat with Jan's laptop. On the screen was a long, long list of companies with that name.

"Cut and pasted from publicly accessible sites," Jan said.

Jim looked. The list went on for pages and pages - innocuous sounding companies like Freeway Car Washing (Panama), Freeway Electronics SA (Spain), Freeway Pharmaceuticals PLC, Freeway Management Ltd. Then there were others: Market Freeway (Gibraltar), Express Freeway and, the longest name of all, Atlantic and Pacific Ocean Freeway Finance SA (Mexico).

"Daunting, huh?" Jan said. "But I've already put in hours of work on it on this laptop which, by the way, I don't keep at home but in a locker at the gym I use."

Jim looked at Jan and shook his head. "Unbelievable."

"I'm just being careful," Jan answered, still scrolling down. "It's a long list but we can dismiss over ninety nine percent. I've marked the one percent in red. See? There's one interesting Freeway - the one Jim uncovered when looking at the video of my crime." Jan tried to laugh.

"The Puff and Slush money movement?" Tom asked.

"Correct. Using Puff and Slush I moved 150,000 Euros to a beneficiary called Acosta Freeway Investment Holdings. See it? There. Now, if we click on the internet link we can find more on Acosta. There. It's based in Panama and that figures because we've also got evidence that the money that I moved went to Banco de Credito de Milano in Panama and Jim has already asked Scott Evora if the FBI could check this out as well as a bank in Dubai. We're gathering evidence, Tom. We're doing OK."

He paused and scrolled down further as Tom watched.

"But what I'm particularly interested in is this batch here - six co