Whistle Blower (38 page)

KATRINE'S FOURTH MEETING deputizing for the usual chairman, Dirk Eischmann, had just finished. Out of five economic development aid bids on the agenda, only one had been passed for final assessment and signing off, whilst the steering group had asked for more work and information on each of the remaining four. It was unprecedented. But without Eischmann's presence, Katrine felt the whole group had been more critical, outspoken and demanding. The meeting had also gone on far longer than normal. It was now nearly 5:00 p.m. She returned to her office with a smile to find staff already preparing to leave for the day. Computers were being shut down and files put away when her internal phone rang.

"Kat, it's Stephanie in Treasury. I'm sure we've been hacked again. A huge amount of money disappeared this afternoon from the Humanitarian Aid for Syrian Refugees Fund. Twenty million Euros. I've checked everything, but it's as if someone, somewhere knew all the codes necessary to instruct the transfer of the money. Despite all the encryption the fund now shows a twenty million shortfall, but I have no idea where it went. That part of the entire transfer has been wiped leaving no trace."

"Did you record everything like I suggested?" Katrine asked.

"Yes, but this time there was no rebalance after the money went out. The IT guys are looking at it, right now. But, Kat, there's something else. Financial Controller Castellanos, the head of my line management, has not been seen for two days."

"That makes six then, Stephanie."

"Six?"

"Eischmann, Philip Eijsackers, Pierre Augustin, Joseph Santos and Kamal Mahmoud from Central Asia Policy and now Dimitri Castellanos."

"And don't forget Jan Kerkman," said Stephanie.

"Yes, I suppose Jan makes it seven," said Katrine. "It looks like we've got a few internal problems on our hands."

"MR. SMITH? JIM? I'm truly honored to meet you."

Senator Colin Stafford was a tall, well groomed and smart-looking middle-aged American. His handshake was fierce, his eye contact direct and Jim wondered if he should have shaved and perhaps worn his suit jacket and tie instead of the damp sweater. But he hadn't planned on finding himself in a plush office somewhere in the heart of the US Embassy with a Senator. Jonathan, Scott Evora and the man Scott reported to, the Legal Attache Stephen Lockhart, were already present when Jim was shown in.

"Scott's given me the rundown," Stafford continued. "A short but painful experience of politics, huh? You were given a hard time, Jim—ridiculed you might say."

"Yes, indeed," Jim said, "that's why I went away to think, instead."

"But still with the bit held firmly between your teeth."

Jim now worried about his dentistry. Stafford's teeth glistened like white piano keys. He nodded with his mouth shut.

"And you've built yourself a small team, I understand," Stafford went on.

Jim took a deep breath. He had already decided that the so-called small team could not carry on much longer. It needed help and recognition for what it had already done. It needed immediate, top level action to support what Jan and Tom were doing right now in Italy. It was time to ask for it.

"Right now, Senator, we have two guys, one an ex newspaper reporter who so disliked what he saw happen to me that he tracked me down and offered to help, and someone who has been working undercover as a mole within the system. This guy is at particular risk because he is known to some powerful people, but both men are, as we sit here, putting themselves in acute danger."

Stafford nodded. "OK, Jim. Let me tell you where the US stands right now. It began with basic concerns about fraudulent use of USAID. Yeh, we've got hotlines and suchlike that pick up odd bits of petty fraud, but what we needed were the bigger fish. For me it started with my involvement in Central Asia. I've just got back from Islamabad and I can tell you that, only a few weeks ago, we listened in to a Government Minister with bank accounts scattered around from Dubai to the Caymans talking with a director of their Central Bank about how to steal millions from international aid donations. We know they have already used every trick in the book from tendering fraud to false invoicing. An American citizen was also involved. That's why I went and we've now arrested him. But our attention turned to the wider organization. There were signs of sophistication creeping in—serious organizational crime, big players using small ones to do the dirty work. You'll know one name—Silvester Mendes—that's who we've just taken in, but we know darned well that even he was only living on the edge of the more organized crime. Through Mendes though, we've got wind of others—including this mysterious guy known as Guido. We've also got to understand a little more about European aid fraud. Jonathan has already helped a lot. We could usefully use everything you've now got, Jim."

"How long have you got, Senator?"

"I'm here till Sunday. It should have been Saturday but, hey, my wife is with me and she always wanted to see Windsor Castle. But let me tell you this before you have your say and because I know you spoke to Scott about this. Your government is starting to listen now, Jim. You got booed out of the country once. No one wanted to hear what you were saying. Others decided they needed to silence you. But you were right all along and things are now starting to change. I met with your Home Secretary the day before yesterday, I was in Germany and Holland and this morning in Brussels. And tonight, after our discussion, I'm meeting the Director of your SFO—Serious Fraud Office. OK, it's US stuff I'm stuck with as my remit, but we're all in this together. None of us can afford this amount of corruption and theft of taxpayers’ money that's happening right under our noses. We want the SFO's cooperation to support action and anything I take to them tonight will be enhanced by what you tell me."

So began Jim's long explanation with Jonathan adding bits from his own experiences. Jim, sure that the conversation was being recorded, ignored the likelihood. As he talked, Senator Stafford sat and listened.

Finally. "This guy Guido," Stafford said. "We still don't know who he is. Right? " Jim nodded. "But you've got a few leads now, addresses, some possible bank details and now a link with Lake Como. Correct?"

"And Tom and Jan are driving there as we speak"

All three Americans looked at one another but it was Scott Evora who spoke for the first time. "Jim, you mentioned you had some photos of Guido's Mercedes."

"Yes, taken by Tom on his mobile from a distance and at night in an underground car park in Antwerp."

"Does the registration number show?"

"It's impossible to read because they're on Tom's mobile phone but I can ask him to send them over."

Stephen Lockhart spoke. "Let's have a look at them, Jim. Urgently. You never know."

Stafford looked towards Stephen Lockhart. "And get onto Milan, will you Steve. Tell them we're now gonna need some local support—urgently—and tell them the Italian Government are about to issue some guidance."

Scott Evora seeing his cue, nodded at his superior and left.

Stafford continued. "Now. Explain Puff and Slush again, Jim. Is he for real, this guy Guido?"

Jim did as best he could.

"It's clever," Jim concluded. "There's Puff and there's Slush but there's also Flush. One can only assume Guido developed it himself but it's not at all certain. One or more computer wizards might well be involved somewhere. But it has flaws, as we noticed when we looked at the video. That video will be strong evidence."

With that, as everyone watched, Jim edged forward in his seat, reached behind his damp jumper and struggled with something deep inside the tight back pocket of his trousers. He eventually extracted a crumpled envelope and then took out the memory stick inside. He handed it to Stafford.

"This is a copy," he said, pushing his hair back behind his ears and desperately wishing he could remove the jumper.

Stafford took the memory stick, exchanged glances with Stephen Lockhart and laughed. "You sure you aren't the magician, Jim. That looked like a real clever trick.”

"I'm damp from the rain and it got stuck in my pocket," Jim apologized.

Jonathan then spoke. "Jim won't mind me telling you, Senator, that outward appearances disguise a highly successful businessman who could and should have made a huge contribution to politics. He won't, however, thank me for saying he's not only an excellent magician but a brilliant artist."

Jim smiled and shook his head in embarrassment, but an idea had suddenly come to him.

"Yes…uh, my first London exhibition is Friday, next week, Senator. Any chance you could come along? Introduce the artist, then the reasons behind the exhibition."

"And what are the reasons, Jim?"

"It's payback day, Senator. Let them see that Jim Smith was telling the truth all along, that he is not the politically incompetent old fool he was made out to be, that stories about a liaison with a nightclub hostess were fabrications designed to destroy both him and his marriage, that he never ever gives up if he believes something's wrong and needs to be put right, and that Jim Smith is also not a bad artist."

Stafford smiled. "OK, here's the deal, Jim. If we can find and arrest that weirdo Guido and get perhaps some Interpol action on Eischmann and a few others between now and a week Friday I'll be there. That's a promise."

THE LITTLE BLUE Fiat 500 driven by Jan and with Tom alongside as navigator was on the outskirts of Como at a fuel station.

"I'm almost out of cash," Jan admitted. He had earlier reminded Tom that Guido's technology might extend to tracking credit card use so he wasn't keen on using his card. He was also quite keen to check his current bank balance.

"No worries, Jan. I'll pay. We'll make a fortune selling a story if we catch Guido." He smiled and looked at Jan's face. The Dutchman seemed to have grown visibly more nervous the closer they got to Como. But, car refuelled, they set off again. As they passed the Ospedale Valduce, Tom's phone rang. It was Jim.

"I'm at the American Embassy, Tom. Did you ever get a clear shot of Guido's car registration number?"

"No, Jim. I wasn't feeling brave enough to get that close."

"But you photographed the Mercedes?"

"From a distance and in the dark."

Jim quickly explained his reasons and what he wanted.

They were now on Via Torno and had picked up the SS583 and, as Tom played around with his mobile phone pictures library, Jan stopped the car to look down to the Viale Geno and Lake Como. "Nice view, Tom."

"Yes," muttered Tom, engrossed in the phone, "Guido's fat little backside and Eischmann's dark shadow. But there's the Mercedes and Eischmann's BMW. Jesus it's much too dark. I should have been braver, gotten out and taken a close-up. Anyway, let's send it."

They sat and waited. Fifteen minutes later, Jim phoned again.

"OK, Tom, we've got them. Let's see what the FBI's technical experts can make of that. I'll phone you as soon as we have anything."

The Fiat 500 moved away into growing darkness but the mood of the two men was also getting darker.

"It's all too vague, Tom, and it'll be dark soon. Remember what we're looking for—a big villa with trees
on the lake road to Blevio and Torno. We could have passed it already.
Shall we leave everything until morning? Find a hotel?"

"It's not a long road, Jan. Six miles? Let's drive slowly from here to Torno, then turn back. If nothing, we'll try again in the morning. Then, if still nothing, we give up. Leave it to Jim, Jonathan and the FBI or whoever."

"It's too dark already."

"Nah. Lights everywhere. It's like daylight."

"With fucking dark shadows. What is it you English say about clutching at straws?"

"I'm not bloody English, Jan, I'm Irish. The Irish are more optimistic. Anyway, turn off here," Tom said, checking the map on his phone. "Via Roma. The road twists down towards the lake and heads into Torno." 

Jan turned off. Tom continued to mutter. "What was it the forklift driver said? Beside the lake, he said. There's the lake. Boats. See the lights?"

"I'm fucking driving."

Tom was craning his neck. "And there's a Mercedes."

"We've passed a hundred today."

"But that's the first I've seen behind a gate. A big house with trees. Lights were on in the driveway. At least one other car."

Jan drove on. "Are you telling me it must be Guido's car?"

"No, but there was also what looked like a big BMW."

"So Dirk Eischmann's paying a visit?" Jan was still driving, peering into the darkness.

"What car did that woman drive? The one called
Antonia Goretti
who we think might be Toni?"

"The lack of food is affecting you." Jan kept driving.

"I'm testing you to see if you're awake because I've got the registration number of Toni's BMW."

"You're right," Jan admitted. "I saw her in the car park in Brussels. It was a black BMW like Eischmann's."

"Turn around."

"Coincidence, Tom. Man and wife. His and hers—matching, big, black cars."

"Turn around, Jan."

"You sure?"

"Didn't you hear me? I've got the registration number. It'll be easy to check.”

"Straws, Tom."

"Fuck you. Turn around."

"OK, OK."

Jan stopped, reversed into a gap, started to retrace the route.

"Keep going, it's on my side now." As he said it, the phone on Tom's lap rang. "Yes?"

It was Jim. "Your photos, Tom. They're good enough. We've got a number and the Italian police are being asked to help. Where are you?"

"Near Torno. We’re checking a car right now, but it's dark. We're relying on streetlights and lights from houses—big houses—along this, ah…slow down, Jan. There it is. That one. Pull in. You were saying Jim?"

"We've got a number for Guido's Mercedes. It's registered in the name of someone called
Antonia Goretti, at an address in Monza, near Milan."
Jim gave the number. Tom wrote it down.

"That's the woman we know as Toni, Jim."

Tom heard Jim relating that to someone else.

"Who you talking to Jim?"

"The FBI."

Tom nodded at Jan who stopped the car. "OK, then can you now ask the FBI to check another number?" He then gave Jim the number on the Belgian registered black BMW he had followed from Delft. "If I'm right," Tom said, "then that number should also be registered in the name of Antonia Goretti."