“It occurred to me in the shower just now,” he said, kissing her cheek, “perhaps we shouldn’t disturb them yet?”
“Whatever makes you think that?”
“Just that they seem to get along extremely well, if you know what I mean.”
She smiled. “If you’re referring to the possibility of them sharing a room then that’s none of our business.”
But before they could develop the conversation, they heard footsteps, and the objects of their discussion entered the kitchen. The judge was the first to mention last night.
“Phillip seemed to get along well with Abbie.”
“Yes, I noticed that,” Charlie teased.
“Unfortunately, she likes her wine just a touch too much,” Royle suggested, reaching for the toast.
Each in turn then outlined the more important elements of the evening’s various conversations.
“What we appear to have gained, then,” the judge summarised, “is that Gus Winnings is considering taking himself off to the Far East, we know not why, whilst his wife seems unlikely to go with him; in fact, the marriage is in serious trouble.” He took a sip from his first coffee of the morning. “There’s also a suggestion that Dan Morgan and Pat Winnings were emotionally involved. And unlike her husband, Pat did not know Dan appears to have been murdered.”
“I don’t suppose Dan was killed because he was seeing Pat,” Charlie wondered.
The judge was shaking his head. “We’re not sure. But that part of your investigation could perhaps prove more complex than you realise.”
Eleven
At the Department’s Washington headquarters the pair took the lift to the third floor, where they were escorted to a large polished wooden door. It crossed Royle’s mind that it was a long time since he had last stood here. He knocked and a male voice said, “Come.” Pushing the door open he followed Charlie into the office of Warren Garcia, Federal Head of Enforcement, and sitting at an enormous desk overshadowed by the Union flag was the man himself. He rose and came towards them, the two men shaking hands as if remembering old times.
“Good to see you again, Phillip.”
Royle introduced his partner to Garcia, noting that he seemed particularly pleased to meet her.
“I know your father, Charlie, heard a lot about you over the years. I’m pleased you and Phillip are working together on this Dan Morgan business.”
Royle found himself beginning to wonder how many more people knew Charlie’s father.
“We’ve fifteen minutes for you two to update me on your case,” Garcia explained, “before I’m due over at the White House for the President’s weekly briefing.”
As requested, then, the two Florida-based special agents outlined the complexities surrounding Dan Morgan’s recent mysterious death, including what had occurred since finding his gruesome remains. Whilst the amount of effort they were putting into the smuggling side of their inquiry obviously had Garcia’s approval, they got the impression Dan’s murder tipped the balance.
“I understand the complexity of the parrot smuggling, but where do we stand with catching those responsible for Dan’s murder?”
Royle knew this was neither the time nor the place for avoiding the truth. “We’ve always been struggling with Dan’s death, though we’re certain now that it’s connected with parrot smuggling. In which case, get inside the smuggling ring and we’ll hopefully find our killer.”
“That’s pretty much how Doug Whitland explained it,” Garcia admitted, having heard them through. “He also outlined what you said in support of the expenditure in cost and time. And I agree with you, no money can buy the government the kind of publicity a case like this generates. I also like your point about it all boiling down to the misuse of government permits around the world.”
“You approve of our inquiry continuing, then?”
Garcia nodded, but then hesitated. “We’re reviewing the Department’s resource priorities. The kind of investigation you’re into fits our revised thinking. In which case,” he continued, addressing himself specifically to Royle, “might you be interested in heading up this new team, here in DC?”
Although surprised by this unexpected turn of events, Royle was aware of its significance. “Obviously I’ll give it serious thought, Warren. How much time do I have?”
“It’s still early planning, so consider at leisure. Though personally I can see it happening.”
However, at this point they were interrupted by Garcia’s secretary transferring a call from the White House Chief of Staff’s office, in speaker-mode.
“Warren, the President’s had to move things around some; any chance you can get across here for our meeting right away?”
“Sure thing. I’ve got Charlie Lacey and her partner, Phillip Royle, with me. They’re just going.”
“Great, Warren, see you in a minute. Oh, and tell Charlie be sure and give my regards to her father.”
Garcia turned towards them, holding out his hand. “And remember me to your father too, Charlie. Now, if you two don’t mind I have to go see the President.”
They were the only people in the lift going down.
“I was taking my cue from you,” Charlie explained. “Waiting to see if you mentioned Gus Winnings.”
“I decided we had too little on him to start making allegations at Washington level.”
She leaned across and touched his hand. “Question is, will you take this new job?”
“To be honest I’m not sure. I understand the compliment behind the offer, and I like the sound of it. But if it’s primarily a desk job then I’m not interested.”
Royle never felt good after long-haul flights and their early-morning exit from London Heathrow’s Terminal 3 was no exception. He, though, was back on home ground, whereas Charlie was experiencing her first taste of the world outside of America. Inevitably it incurred a long wait, first at immigration and then for their luggage to be offloaded, enabling Charlie to point out the presence of armed police officers within the airport.
“I thought you Brits kept your firearms hidden away?”
“I promise you’ll see no more weapons after we leave the airport.”
Royle’s so-called London property was situated in a quiet village deep in the Surrey countryside, overlooking the village pub, cricket pitch and Norman church, an hour’s drive from central London on a good day. He left Charlie to carry out a brief inspection while he took their bags upstairs. Arriving later with the coffee percolator and cups, Royle suggested she might perhaps like to catch up with some sleep whilst he sorted out a few things in the office, further suggesting they later grab a meal over at the pub.
That evening Royle had a long phone conversation with his German contact, Dieter Schwartz. Like Royle, Dieter worked as a consultant in the wild animal trade, though mainly in Central Europe. He had been doing some checking regarding the Big Experience’s Belgian operation.
“They deal in all manner of wildlife, from dangerous large animals down to birds and snakes. They pretty much sell anything that breathes,” Dieter confirmed.
“Do they use their own vehicles to and from the airport?”
“My guess is yes. Probably Dusseldorf or Cologne, though Holland’s Schiphol may actually be nearer.”
Royle noted what Dieter said, aware that these, virtually uncontrolled cross-border movements between EU countries were just one of many issues helping drive the illegal wildlife trade.
Dieter called back later that evening. He had spoken with Dutch customs, who confirmed that livestock shipments from Big Experience Belgium regularly exited Europe via Schiphol Airport, including several bound for Miami.
“And it gets better,” Dieter continued. “All Miami-bound consignments went to Big Experience USA, variously shown as deer, buffalo, leopard and, interestingly, tiger. Plus numerous crates listed as live birds.”
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They were booked to fly out to Australia late the next day but over breakfast Royle had a suggestion for Charlie.
“It occurred to me we’re an hour away from a world-class bird-skin collection, including all the birds we expect to bump into during our Australian enquiries. You need to see this.”
He made a few telephone calls and by mid-morning they were inside the British Museum’s impressive Hertfordshire Bird Room. He first spent a while showing Charlie the range of bird species involved in the collection, before moving to the parrot section. And he was immediately impressed as she pointed out birds they had already encountered, both in Cordero’s aviaries and out at the California desert site. Next, he showed her several skins of a stunningly beautiful parrot, small with an unmissable turquoise belly and startlingly crimson shoulders.
“These are paradise parrot skins. Collected where it then occurred in Australia. No one has seen it alive since 1927; it’s now officially extinct.”
She was silent for quite some time. “It’s easy to talk about extinction. But to hold something this beautiful, and know it no longer occurs anywhere on earth… That almost defies understanding.”
“There are still occasional claims of it being seen,” he admitted. “And bearing in mind Australia’s size, we perhaps shouldn’t dismiss the possibility.”
He worked his way through a further selection of birds but then, conscious that time was slipping by, he opened one final drawer. Roughly the size of the extinct paradise parrot, these had prominent gold-coloured markings.
“This one’s important. It’s a golden-shouldered parrot and it’s endangered. All one thousand remaining wild birds are confined to Australia’s Cape York Peninsula. Right where we’re heading.”
Twelve
Royle had warned Charlie how landing at Sydney was one thing, whereas getting out of the airport complex was entirely another matter, this having much to do with how vigilant Australia is when it comes to protecting its borders from unauthorised entry – not just by humans but also animals and plants, one inevitable consequence being long queues at both customs and immigration. Therefore, just as they were entering the crowded customs hall, they were both pleasantly surprised on being approached by a uniformed airport official.
“Phil Royle. Gidday, mate, fancy a cuppa along in the office?”
The source of this timely invitation was a middle-aged man whom Royle introduced as his brother-in-law, Erskine.
Erskine unlocked a door in the wall separating the public and restricted areas. “Come on through.”
He led them along a corridor and through a door marked ‘Customs Officers Only’, where a somewhat imposing lady came forward and introduced herself to Charlie as Erskine’s sister, Angie Watts.
“I thought we should have a quick word before letting you two loose in Australia,” she explained, giving Royle a welcoming hug. “How long you here for, then?”
Charlie took an instant liking to Angie, a well-built woman who, although clearly used to exercising her authority, nevertheless retained an air of approachability.
“We’ll presumably know more about that once we start work on this end of the inquiry,” Charlie suggested.
Angie was obviously anxious to be somewhere else. “Anyway, can’t stop now, Phil. How about a barbecue at my place this evening, to discuss what brings two US special agents halfway around the world?” And with that she was gone.
“Busy lady,” explained Erskine. “Why don’t we go and find your luggage, and get your passports stamped?”
Royle spent enough time in Australia to justify keeping an apartment in the fashionable Annandale suburb, overlooking Sydney’s inner harbour and just ten minutes from the city centre. The property belonged to his sister Christine, who leased the upper floor to him, the ground floor being rented to a single lady by the name of Madge Broome – Royle’s secretary-cum-assistant when he was in Australia, and his house minder when he was not.
Royle explained how it was not by chance he had teamed up with Madge. “She can fix a busted vehicle under true outback conditions, communicate with the most reclusive Aborigines, or find water where it’s not rained for years.”
They slept until midday before taking the train to the harbour’s Circular Quay, where they dined in the shadow of two of Australia’s major icons – the Harbour Bridge and the Opera House.
“When we’re done here,” Royle explained, “I want to show you just one of the many things that make this such an exciting country.”
Later, then, in the city’s Botanic Gardens, a stone’s throw from the harbour, he steered Charlie to where several walkways met. There, in a tall metal cage, stood a tree. And as trees go it was full of interest, with strange feathery branches unlike anything she had seen before.
“It’s one of the world’s true modern wonders. A biologist recently visited a valley in the Blue Mountains, an hour from the city, where he found a handful of these trees. Until then it was only known from a 200 million-year-old fossil. Unbelievably, these seriously prehistoric trees were hiding themselves away just a hundred kilometres from Sydney.”
Charlie said nothing as he paused.
“So, if they can lose a small forest almost within sight of the city’s three and a half million inhabitants, how can we possibly be sure there are no paradise parrots left in the thousands of square kilometres of uninhabited outback?”
“Why’s it in a cage?”
“Presumably so it can’t be stolen. Though enough seedlings have now been cultivated for us all to afford a Wollemi pine for the price of a cheap phone.”
Early evening the pair took the train across the Harbour Bridge, heading for Angie’s house over on the north side. Royle was obviously familiar with the house’s layout, quickly navigating them through to the rear garden, already full of people holding glasses and talking noisily.
He introduced Charlie to his sister Chris.
“What do you think of Australia, Charlie?”
“It’s nowhere near as wild as I expected.”
Chris laughed. “Drive west an hour or so from here and you’re into some serious dry country.”
At this point, though, their hostess Angie Watts appeared, dragging Charlie away to meet other guests. But then, catching sight of Royle over by the pool, phone clamped to his ear, she excused herself and went to join him.
“Finish sorting it out and call us back when you’re ready,” he was saying. “Great news, though.”
“What news?”
“That was Mindy. The DEA just arrested Cordero’s two alleged Columbian relatives aboard a yacht entering America via San Diego. They seized a load of parrots and other birds, and guess who else was on board?”
“Cordero?”
“Absolutely. The DEA has already proved some of the birds glow under ultraviolet light.”
“Are they searching Cordero’s place?”
“Mexican-based US agents are at this very moment helping police turn over his house and all the aviaries, while another crew are at the Columbians’ place. Nothing we can do now but wait.”
Royle had just finished updating Charlie as Angie reappeared, glass in hand. She pointed them towards a stylish garden house, suggesting they wait inside whilst she fetched a fresh bottle and two more glasses.
The so-called garden house also served as additional guest accommodation, so in comfort the two agents updated Angie on the events of the past few weeks – from the recovery of Dan’s remains to what they had subsequently discovered in Miami, California and Mexico. And more importantly, the developing connection with the Australian illegal bird trade.
“What you’re suggesting, then,” Angie summarised, “is that these people are receiving birds from Australia, but especially parrots. Probably from up north in Queensland. What you’re not sure of is how they’re doing it?”
Royle shook his head,
casting a brief glance in his partner’s direction.
“I can probably tell you exactly how they do it. Trapped birds get smuggled out to nearby Indonesia, where they get false captive-bred permits authorising shipment to anywhere in the world. Meanwhile, hatching eggs are somehow hidden in crates used to transport larger animals. What we don’t know are the who, where or when bits.”
Angie remained tight-lipped, except for the occasional sip from her glass.
Royle was aware there was no great revelation in what he was saying. Angie and he both knew that despite all the effort Australia put into safeguarding its wildlife, people still managed to beat the system.
“Most authorities seriously underestimate the extent of the wildlife trade problem,” he suggested, “including some who should know better.”
Angie still said nothing.
“The truth is, there are some extremely sophisticated scams operating, including the lot Charlie and I are investigating.”
Their host leaned across and refilled their glasses. “I can’t argue with that. But what makes you think these people are smuggling birds out of Australia?”
“Dan seemed to know a bit; I found a note of his concerning a dealer’s wife giving information. He also seemed to think eggs were involved.”
Angie paused before responding, long enough for them to wonder whether she still needed persuading. “Bugger it, Phil. If you’re right, and I fail to cooperate, then that makes me partly responsible for whatever’s going on.”
They sensed Royle might have just won the day.
“I’ll give you the information, but strictly on the understanding you keep me informed,” Angie said, stamping her authority on the deal. “Plus, Australian customs get a share of any credit.”
“We wouldn’t want it any other way,” Charlie confirmed. “We can’t get anywhere without your support.”
Angie reached behind a cushion and threw Royle an envelope. “Should find everything you need in there. It’s for your eyes alone, though, and Charlie’s of course.”
The Consequences of Finding Daniel Morgan Page 13
