Whistle Blower

by Terry Morgan

  "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 Coordinator." 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 organization 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 coincidence. 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 sitting 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 benefited 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 specialized 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 organization 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 mes
sage 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 organization. He also touts himself around the globe as a very well connected private consultant. Then try his wife, Anne Acosta, née 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 specialized 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 Eighty-One

  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 center 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.

  Tom 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."

  Tom 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 I moved went to Banco de Crédito 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 companies calling themselves Freeway Consultants or variations on that name. And why? Because I am, once again, feeling guilty about using Guido's system—this time to replace Walton Associates with Freeway Consultants as the consultants on Jonathan's Sierra Leone bid."

  "And Freeway Consultants are based in Zurich?" Tom asked, checking his understanding.

  "Yes, or so the paperwork said. And, if my suspicions are correct, both Dirk Eischmann and Guido have links with Freeway Consultants Zurich. But no one has ever checked them out. I asked Katrine about it. You know what she said? Freeways were Swiss and they were 'prequalified.’

  "That seemed to be enough as a measure of their legitimacy and ability to deliver. How they got prequalification status in the first place is unknown, but it automatically short cuts their approval rating and grants them legitimacy on the basis that they're seen as having performed OK in the past. The fact is the original paperwork was probably forged, but no one—at least no one with clean hands and a critical eye—has ever bothered to go to Zurich to check. But the name Freeway is well known to me and Katrine and others in the organization. Freeway Consultants often crop up in bids in Pakistan, Afghanistan, Bangladesh, Somalia and elsewhere. I know because I checked. So let's make them our first target."

 
; Tom interrupted. "But doesn't someone representing Freeway Consultants show his or her face from time to time? Surely a name is known to someone, somewhere. A figurehead to give it that continued legitimacy."

  "I asked Katrine the same question. And yes, there is a sort of vetting team that grants prequalification certificates. When I mentioned this to Jim and offered some names, he recognized one. Did Jim ever tell you about meeting a Dutchman offering to guarantee successful bids from Jim's company in return for a commission?"

  "Yes, and he also mentioned the tape recording. He was expecting to meet a guy called Philippe but another guy turned up."

  "Yes. Philippe Eijsackers was the guy who we think failed to turn up. Instead, he sent a sidekick—perhaps so he himself could stay in the background and claim innocence if anything went wrong. At that time, Eijsackers was the head of the vetting team. He's now moved onwards and upwards into Environmental Policy, but Jim thinks he's still involved with Eischmann."

  "So where do we start with Freeway Consultants?"

  "With this one," Jan said, pointing at a company he'd highlighted in green.

  "Why that one?"

  "I dug out past correspondence and bid submissions. They all show the company registered in Luxemburg but with an address in Zurich. If we draw a blank with them, there are three others we can try with Zurich or Geneva connections."

  "OK. So what about the other Freeway name we picked up—Freeways Freight Forwarding?"

  "There we have a problem," Jan replied. "I found three possibilities—Freeways Freight Forwarding, Freeways Freight Forwarders and Freeway Shipping but there is nothing to connect them with Zurich or Milan."

  "Mmm," Tom mumbled and sat back. "A pity…but where did we get the name Freeways Freight Forwarding from?"

  "Sierra Leone…from Jonathan via Cole Harding again…it was just a name."

  "Then let's see if Cole Harding can find out some more. I'll phone Jonathan to ask him. Meanwhile let's go in search of Freeway Consultants."

  "Seeing a name plate on an office block in a side street will mean nothing, Tom."