Jaws of the Tiger Page 17
“Hello?”
“Zabin.”
“I told you not to call me at home,” said a voice in hushed tones.
“Tariq survived. He’s out of intensive care. They’re going to send him to London.” Silence. “Did you hear me? They’re going to…”
“Damn. Anything we can do at this end?”
“I’ m getting on it now.”
“You realize that Tariq must never reach British soil.”
“Fully. There’s also other bad news.”
“Yes?”
“The hit man screwed up the Binagro operation.”
“What do you mean?”
“Binagro was terminated, but the hitman was interrupted by a San Jose police officer patrolling the building. He had to leave before destroying the data on Binagro’s computer.”
“Who has it now?”
“The Costa Rican police. They gave copies to an Interpol agent by the name of Daniel Lescop. He’s back in Lyon. We checked the line of authority structure. He reports to Thierry Dulac.”
The man in the raincoat hung up, turned up his collar and went to his car.
Chapter 47
Centre de Rééducation Fonctionelle Port-Royal, Paris, October 27th
During his flight from London to Paris, Dulac realized he had just enough time for a quick visit with Karen before taking the TGV to Lyon for his meeting with Arlberg that afternoon. Holding an assortment of flowers he’d bought at the hospital gift shop, Dulac entered the elevator and pressed the button for the fourth floor. Moments later, he stepped out and followed the arrows down the corridor to Room 419. He peered into the room discreetly before making his presence known. Karen, dressed in a blue hospital sat propped up in her bed, reading a glossy magazine. Dulac knocked gently on the doorframe and walked in. “Bonjour, it’s me.”
Karen put down her magazine, took off her reading glasses and turned towards Dulac. “I think I know you, don’t I?”
“Okay, okay, so I should’ve phoned earlier.”
“Not unless you wanted to.”
He proffered the bouquet. “Amends.”
“How sweet of you.” She smiled, took the flowers and smelled them.
He bent over and kissed her. “How’s my girl?” “The doctors say I’m making great progress. I can walk for 10 minutes now. Want to see?”
“Sure.”
Karen put aside her magazine, threw back the covers and swung her legs onto the floor. “Help me put on my slippers.”
Dulac knelt down and put the slippers on her feet. He couldn’t help noticing her calf muscles had shrunk considerably.
“Pass me my dressing gown, will you?”
Dulac handed the robe to Karen. She got up, slipped it on, and steadied herself on the metal bed frame. “Here goes,” she said. Hesitantly at first, she started towards the doorway. Dulac reached out and took her left arm, but she shrugged free. “Thanks. I must do this on my own.”
“Okay. Dulac letgo of her arm and walked beside her.
“Enough of me. What about you?”
Dulac took a deep breath. “More loose ends.”
“Any news from Lescop?”
“He’s back from San Jose. I’ll be seeing him in Lyon. He’s got some info on the ransom money transfers.”
“Sounds promising.”
“Wouldn’t count on it. The hijackers had all the time in the world to launder that money squeaky clean by now.”
Karen started to lose her balance and Dulac grabbed her left arm.
“Easy now.”
“I’m, I’m good. Just a little wobbly at times.”
They reached the end of the corridor and Dulac spotted a parlor to the right.
“Why don’t we rest here for a moment?”
“Fine.”
They walked over to a small sofa and slumped into it, sitting in silence for a moment, neither of them seemingly knowing what to say next.
“Penny for your thoughts?” said Karen finally.
“It seems every time we see each other, it ends up in a minor disaster. Last year I dragged you into the investigation of the Pope’s kidnapping. Before that, I pulled you into the murder investigation of two archbishops. Now this.”
“Never a dull moment with you around.”
“Except this time you end up in the hospital. I can’t help thinking I’m responsible for you being here.”
“Aren’t you being a bit hard on yourself? After all, I invited you.”
“If I had only listened to Hank—”
“Thierry, there is no way you could have done more than he did. We never saw the guy until he started shooting.”
“I might have seen him first.”
“And maybe not. No, I think we’re both skirting around the main issue, Thierry, and I think you know that.”
“Meaning?”
“I’ve been giving our relationship some serious thought, Thierry. And though I’m very fond of you, somehow I still have the feeling I hardly know you.”
Dulac scratched the back of his nape. “Fair enough.” He paused or a moment before continuing. “I’ve been meaning to ask. Did taking the post at La Sorbonne, did that have anything to do with…?”
“With wanting to live nearer to you? Partly, yes. It’s also a great opportunity to work with Professor Levasseur. He’s the world expert on Greek animal mythology.”
Dulac took Karen’s hands in both of his “Now that you’re back in Paris, it’ll be lot easier to get to know each other better.”
She leaned her head towards him. “I hope so.”
An elderly woman using a walker shuffled into the room, smiled at them and slowly let herself down into one of the leather seats facing them.
Karen whispered into Dulac’s ear. “Let’s continue this later.”
“Sure.”
He looked at his watch. “I have to catch the 11 am. TGV to Lyon. Arlberg is ready to bust a gut.”
“It’s time I got back to my room anyway. I’m feeling a little tired.”
He helped her up, put his arms around her hips and pulled her close. “Don’t worry. We’ll work this out.”
Chapter 48
Lyon, Interpol Headquarters
As he left the elevator, Dulac suddenly felt the oppressiveness of the overheated room. He took off his jacket, slinging it over his right shoulder and walked across to the far corner, to Arlberg’s office. The door was open. She looked up from the papers on her desk as Dulac entered, her face a scowl of disapproval and reproach.
“About bloody time.”
“I got called into the Yard by Wade. It was worth it.”
“I’ll be the judge of that. Before we join Gina and Lescop in the conference room, I received a call from Hays yesterday. Care to guess what about?”
Dulac scratched his scalp. “Probably says I’m on a fishing expedition, and although I’ll never admit it, I wouldn’t say he’s entirely wrong.”
“He says you’re interfering with Wade’s investigation and—”
“Not so. At first, I was surprised when Wade called me in, since he hadn’t been very cooperative. Now I know why. Wade’s leading me into territory he’s chicken to go into all by himself.”
She leaned back in her chair. “Explain.”
“The Yard has discovered a possible lead on insider trading by Hays and Bolding. Wade called me into his office to let me in on it. It’s obvious Wade doesn’t want to investigate his boss unless he’s damn sure he has a bulletproof case against him. So he’s leaving it up to us to follow up.”
Arlberg got up and started pacing in front of the window. “Might be interesting, but you know as well as I do financial matters such as insider trading are out of our jurisdiction.”
Dulac looked askance at Arlberg. “Even if it leads to crimes under our jurisdiction?”
“You’re treading a fine line, Dulac. And at this point that’s pure speculation, isn’t it? In the meantime, Hays has requested that we, meaning you, confine yourself to a sup
port-only role in the British investigation.”
“Hays is in direct violation of Interpol’s charter.” Dulac sensed some lack of support from Arlberg.
“I know, I know. But you’re missing the point.”
“Which is?”
“The Britain-Interpol Cooperation Agreement is up for renegotiation next month. I don’t have to remind you that Britain is a heavy contributor to our budget. This is not the time to rock the boat.”
“You aren’t suggesting that—”
“Let me be clear. I don’t agree with Hays’s position. All I’m asking you is to tread carefully, at least until the agreement is signed.”
“I’ve been known to do that. Sometimes.”
Arlberg turned and headed towards the door. “Let’s see what Gina and Lescop have to say.”
As Dulac and Arlberg reached the conference room, he spotted Daniel Lescop, seated, his bald pate reflecting the rays of the ceiling light. Beside him, bespectacled Gina Marino was immersed in reading a thick document.
They rose in unison as Arlberg and Dulac walked in.
“What do you have, Gina?” Arlbergsat down at the conference table and reached for the glass of water in front of her.
The petite Italian turned and pointed to the large monitor behind her. “I was able to partly reconstruct CD number four and get some—and only some—of the video back.” She pressed the enter key on the laptop and the video screen flickered to life.
“Here you see Tariq on the bridge, speaking in his VHF radio. I’ll fast-forward to the part that was erased. Here.” The video screen flickered, then again showed Assirgan,speaking into a phone.
“He’s got a satellite phone,” said Dulac. “And from what I’m seeing, it’s not mine.”
“What do you mean?” said Arlberg.
“Short of it is, we lost it while escaping from below deck.”
“As far as I could make out from the timing, Tariq was on his way back from the amphitheater,” said Gina. “If you look closely at the picture before—I’ll back up a bit. Here. He doesn’t seem to have one here. He’s not wearing one on his belt or anywhere else.”
“So he had to have picked one up somewhere around the amphitheater,” said Arlberg.
“What’s important,” said Dulac, “is that he’s communicating with a third-party, presumably on land. Otherwise he would’ve used his VHF.”
“Could be his Baluchistan Tigers brothers.” Lescop squinted at the video.
“Or someone else,” said Dulac. “Any way of tracing that call, Gina?”
“Not unless we can pinpoint the make and serial number of the phone and the exact location and timing of the phone call. Even then it’s nearly impossible. There are over 100,000 satellite phone calls made per day. Ten thousand from the Atlantic region alone. I can refine the search with Lat-Long algorithms and probably narrow that down to, say five hundred or so.”
“Sounds a lot better already. Get on it, Gina,” said Arlberg.
“Yes ma’am.”
“Anything else?”
“No.”
“Thanks. That’ll be all.”
Gina rose to leave, and Arlberg turned to Lescop.
“Your turn.”
Lescop opened his laptop.
“I’m still retrieving emails from Binagro’s computer. He had some self-erase software which we were able to trace and the software people have helped us resuscitate most of them.”
Arlberg looked at her watch. Lescop got the message and pressed the enter button on his laptop. The video screen came to life and a chart with arrows and dollar amounts showed on the screen.
“I was able to retrieve the paths of $15 million in ransom money from the Costa Rica Bank through layers here, then finally through to Bank Eghestad Nivin in Tehran.” Lescop pointed at another path of arrows on the chart. “Another $15 million here through Neveran Bank, then through to the Bank Keshanage, also in Tehran.”
“Are you sure these amounts are part of the ransom money?” said Arlberg.
“Relatively sure. Binagro’s modus operandi was that he usually dealt with one file at a time until he closed it. Speed and untraceability are essential components for these so-called ‘investment advisors’, read money-launderers like Binagro. All these amounts went through the Swift system of clearance on the same day.”
“Why banks in Tehran?” said Arlberg.
“Probably because the Baluchistan Tigers don’t trust the Pakistani banks, controlled by Islamabad,” said Dulac.
“Exactly,” said Lescop. “Plus the Iranian regime is favorable to the Baluchistan rebels, who destabilize the pro-western Pakistanis, and which means the Pakistanis are not able to devote more time and money building their war arsenal against Iran.”
“And it guarantees the money will never be looked at or seized by any pro-western authority,” said Dulac.
Arlberg took another sip of water. “Sounds reasonable. What else? Where did the other $30 million go?”
“This is where it gets interesting.” Lescop pressed the forward key on his laptop. “The other $30 million is transferred first through Hana Bank, a South Korean bank, then Binagro orders Hana to send $10 million in two transfers of $5 million each. One to Bank Itex, the other to Bank Julius Baer, both in Zurich.”
Arlberg peered at Lescop’s computer screen. “And obviously we don’t know the account holders,” said Arlberg.
“Numbered companies.”
“Standard procedure. So what’s your point?” Impatience crept into Arlberg’s voice. She glanced at her watch again.
“If I can speak for my colleague,” said Dulac, “the point is, why would the hijackers not send all the money to Iranian banks, where it is totally protected from potential investigation?”
“You’re implying that all of the money did not go to the hijackers?” said Arlberg.
“If you’re a westerner, you don’t want your money sitting in a Tehran bank, for fear of the authorities freezing your account as a reprisal to Western sanctions,” said Dulac.
“Interesting theory,” said Arlberg. “The hijackers could also be using prête-noms in the Swiss accounts.”
“It seems odd” said Dulac, “that they would go through all that trouble when they could have just transferred the entire sums in, shall we say, friendlier jurisdictions.”
“So you’re suggesting that $10 million was transferred to accomplices. Western accomplices?” said Arlberg.
“We can’t exclude the possibility,” said Lescop.
“The problem is it’s going to take forever to access those Swiss accounts, if at all,” said Dulac, “and only if we can link the transfers to the crime. By then, the money will be gone.”
Arlberg got up to leave. “We’ll see about that. Time to give my friend Hans Marti a call.”
“The Swiss Minister of justice?” said Dulac.
“The very same. Anything else gentlemen?”
“As a matter of fact, there is,” said Dulac. “I’m going to try and access the emails and telcons of the P & W officers, especially Bolding’s.” Dulac looked at Lescop, then Arlberg. “Just giving everybody a heads up.”
“Good luck,” said Arlberg. “You’ll need a court order from a UK court, supported by the local police. Whom you’ve not especially endeared yourself with, as I recall.”
“There are other ways.”
“What other ways, Dulac?”
Dulac smiled wryly. “You probably don’t want to know.”
Chapter 49
P & W Headquarters, October 28th, 9.15 am.
Bolding sat at his desk and read the latest avalanche of cancellation notices from travel agencies. He deposited the papers on his desk and gazed across his office to the far wall at the oil painting of his grandfather, Sir Jeffrey Bolding. The founder of P & W’s unsmiling, reproachful glower boreed right through Sir Adrian’s soul and reminded him of his current disastrous predicament. He picked up the phone and called his secretary. “Any news from Hays?”
“No sir.”
Twenty minutes went by and the phone rang. It was his secretary.
“Is it Hays?”
“It’s Hugh Walters from the bank, sir.”
“Put him through,” said Bolding wearily.
A moment later, the monotone voice of the Berkeley’s Trust Managing Director of Head Office came on line. “We’ve given you a moratorium Mr. Bolding, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time. Unless we receive the funds by noon tomorrow morning, I have instructions to start foreclosure.”
“I told you yesterday. I’m awaiting news from Sir Terence.”
“You must understand. We cannot jeopardize our privileged creditor status. We—”
“He has to go to Cabinet. Surely it’s not in the bank’s interest to destroy my business.”
“We’ve already given you an extension.”
Bolding got up, trying not to let despair leak into his voice. “For which I’m grateful. A few more days won’t make a great deal of difference to the bank.”
“That’s what you said last time. I’m sorry, Mr. Bolding. I have strict instructions. Payment before noon tomorrow or we seize the ships.”
The line went dead.
“Bastard.” Bolding slammed down the receiver. He picked it up again and dialed Hays’s personal number. “Terry, Adrian. How did it go at the meeting?”
“I was going to phone you, Adrian. We didn’t get around to it on the agenda, but I discussed it informally with members of the exec. They’re far from thrilled with the idea of another bailout. I’m afraid—”
“Listen, Terry. I’m going under. Walters has given me till noon tomorrow, otherwise he seizes the ships. But I have another idea.”
“Which is?”
“Let me buy you lunch at Giovanni’s.” Bolding looked at his watch. “Assuming the traffic is still light, I can make it for, shall we say 1 pm.?”