Revenge Of The CEO: White Collar Crime Financial Thriller

by Peter Ralph

  He set the laptop up and then ordered dinner from room service. He would find out everything he could about those who had ruined him, and by the time he boarded a plane for Australia he would have foolproof plans, ensuring the demise of each of them.

  Chapter 15

  IT WAS PAST NIGHTFALL and Bangkok was bathed in artificial light as Chatri eased the van out of car park and aimed it toward Aspine’s desired location, the red light area of Pat Pong. The roads were crowded and the footpaths were bustling with a pulsating energy.

  “I’m not staying long,” Aspine said. “I just want to experience some night life. We’ll have a couple of drinks and then head back to the hotel.”

  “As you wish,” Chatri replied. “You know there are cheaper places in Bangkok than the night market…for everything”

  “I’m not buying, just looking.”

  “The bar girls will expect you to buy them drinks.”

  “I can live with that.” Aspine laughed. “It’s been a long time since I had a drink with a girl.”

  Chatri parked the van Thai style in a spot that was far too small by giving the car in front of him a few bumps, and then doing the same with the one behind him. It was hot and humid but Chatri was wearing a jacket and Aspine wondered whether it was because he was carrying a gun. He was standoffish and surly and Aspine sensed that he really didn’t like driving him around. As if I give a fuck whether he likes me or not. He’s getting paid for his time and I’m the one who coughed up the big dollars to pay him.

  It was as if time had frozen the night market. It was exactly as Aspine remembered it when he had last been there more than ten years earlier. There was a police van at the top of the first lane for the protection of tourists and to ensure they weren’t outrageously ripped off.

  “Let’s just walk the two lanes,” Aspine said, pushing his way through the teeming masses before stopping to look at a stall selling imitation high class watches and handbags. The vendor typed the price into a calculator and then handed it to a would-be-buyer who typed in a lesser price. This resulted in much head shaking by the Thai vendor who typed in a higher price. Aspine enjoyed the pantomime but knew it could be five minutes before a sale was consummated, so he moved on, stopping at the front of a bar in which there were more bikini clad girls than there were patrons. One of them in a revealing black bikini smiled and beckoned to him, but he shook his head and kept walking.

  “Are you looking for a girl?” Chatri asked.

  “No, I’m just enjoying the atmosphere,” Aspine said, wiping perspiration from his forehead.

  “Well, do you want to see a show?”

  Aspine knew how rough the shows could be and he briefly thought about it but the heat, crowds and confinement of the upstairs rooms did not appeal. “No, let’s just do a circuit of the lanes,” he said, picking up a Louis Vuitton branded leather belt.

  “You’re not looking for a boy are you?” Chatri asked, without a trace of judgement.

  “Hell no,” Aspine laughed. “I’m no fucking faggott.”

  “Yet you don’t want a girl and don’t want to see a show. You’re not like most Farangs.”

  Yes I am, but what am I going to do with a weeping scrotum? Besides, my body looks old and disgusting.

  Ten minutes later Aspine stopped in front of a bar where the girls were wearing white blouses, mini schoolgirl skirts and stilettoes. “Let’s have a drink in here,” he said, ordering a whisky as two of the girls approached him.

  “You want to buy us a drink?” one of them asked.

  Chatri responded in Thai and the two girls went back to join the others.

  “What did you say?”

  “I told them to leave you alone.”

  “You did what?” Aspine snarled. “I don’t mind buying them drinks, just so long as they don’t try and sit on my lap. Get them back.”

  They were soon surrounded by young, happy girls and Aspine ogled their nubile bodies and thought about what might have been. Chatri sat slightly away from them, sipping mineral water. “I don’t understand,” he said. “I know what westerners want when they come here. What do you want?”

  “I know you can’t understand but I’m getting what I want,” Aspine muttered, through tightly compressed lips. “I wanted to experience what was stolen from me. The good times, the girls, the drinks and my freedom. The only thing that kept me alive in prison was the thought of paying back the bastards who put me in there. A night like tonight just adds to the hate. They’re going to pay, oh how they’re going to pay. I’ve had enough, let’s get back to the hotel.”

  Chapter 16

  THE RECOVERY PHASE OF the stomach procedure was bloody and painful but Aspine could not have been more pleased with the result. The loose skin was gone and replaced by a finely stitched incision below the waistline. Chin had been right, Sonchai was a surgical magician. As he recuperated he had scanned the net looking for pressure points that could kill but that would leave no bruising or trace. He soon became convinced that they were a figment of the imagination of movie script writers.

  He had better luck with timers, detonators and remote controlled explosive devices. The amount of information was overwhelming, but with his engineering background he had no difficulty in comprehending it. HIV was something different in that he knew that it could be contracted by needle but had no idea how long it took to appear after infection. It was perfect for what he had in mind. He spent days researching recreational drugs before narrowing them down to just one – ice. Finally he Googled Chin’s Melbourne and Sydney contacts – there was one in Melbourne and two in Sydney all of whom were described as colourful personalities.

  Aspine would have preferred it had his hair and eyebrows been dyed black but instead opted for medium brown. He looked and sounded nothing like his former self and could easily pass for forty-five, the age he would show on his passport and other supporting documentation. His only facial feature that hadn’t changed was the colour of his eyes and they were so dark they could pass for black. He paid for two sets of documentation in different names including a Victorian driving licence which in total set him back twenty thousand and confirmed what he already knew, Chin had ripped him off. His Australian passport in the name of Charles Adderley was supposedly issued in 2004 prior to the advent of E-passports while his Canadian passport was dated January, 2009. He planned to be out of Australia before the Australian passport expired, but if he wasn’t, he’d have the Canadian documentation as insurance.

  Aspine’s last appointment with Sonchai was brief and the Americanised doctor did a final check of his surgery. “I am the Da Vinci of plastic surgery,” he boasted, as he carefully checked Aspine’s face. “Drop your pants.”

  “That part’s fine, doc.”

  “Now is not the time to be modest.”

  Aspine reluctantly unbuttoned his pants. “Perfect, what a tight little scrotum, it could pass for that of a teenager. And the incision on your lower torso is healing beautifully. In six weeks it’ll just be a fine line. When are you leaving Bangkok?”

  “I’m heading off at the weekend. Doc, I’ve been reading about pressure points and how martial arts artists and commandoes use them to kill.”

  “Yes, what’s your question?”

  “Can you kill someone by applying minimum force to a pressure point and do it without leaving a trace?”

  “You’ve been watching too much television.” Sonchai laughed. “Do you know what a full nelson is?”

  “Of course.”

  “Well, you can kill someone by asphyxiation or by cutting off the spinal fluid to the brain using that hold. If executed properly there’d be no external trace and without an autopsy it might well pass for natural causes.”

  “That’s interesting”

  “You mean promising.” Sonchai grinned. “But there’s a downside. If the victim struggles and you have to apply more pressure you’ll break his neck.”

  “Were you the court jester in medical school?” Aspine snarled. />
  “Ah Mr Cobram, don’t be angry and let me offer you a word of advice. I don’t know what you have planned and nor do I want to know, but whatever it is, don’t do it yourself, use pros who know what they’re doing.”

  It was a hot and sultry Sunday afternoon when Chatri dropped Aspine at Suvarnabhumi Airport. They shook hands and Aspine gave him all of the Thai currency that he still had in his wallet. The Thai was expressionless and Aspine thought that he would kill you as soon as look at you. He had wanted to book first class but all of Chin’s talk about insurance and being careful had played on his mind. If for some reason his cover was ever blown and his flights were checked, flying first class would be a giveaway that it was him. It would have been clever to book economy because Douglas Aspine would never fly cattle class, but the thought of queuing with the plebs had been too much for him, and he’d opted for business. He had a small carry-on-bag, the laptop and eight thousand dollars. Very few pages of his passport were stamped and the last entry was in early 2005 when he had supposedly landed at Don Muang. He had extensive documentation indicating that he had been employed as an engineering consultant in Thailand and if any of his many references were checked they would be confirmed. He cleared Thai immigration and customs without query and five minutes later he was in the Qantas Club sipping a Jack Daniels.

  QF24 departed at 6.25 P.M. arriving in Melbourne at 10 A.M. Aspine was concerned about the passport stampings, and the forgers had tried to convince him to travel on the passport of another country, but he had wanted an Australian passport. He knew that once he cleared immigration and customs it would be far easier for him to open bank accounts and organize credit cards without being subject to questioning about his background. Surprisingly there were a number of empty seats in business class and he breathed a sigh of relief when he found that no one was sitting next to him. He had been dreading the small talk some travellers indulge in but now he could relax with a Jack Daniels, his laptop and his plans.

  The immigration official took what seemed to be an eternity to check Aspine’s incoming passenger card and passport. “You’ve been away a long time, sir. What were you doing in Thailand for so long?”

  “I’m an engineering consultant. I went up there on a three year assignment and somehow it stretched to nearly nine.” Aspine laughed. “It’s good to be home.”

  “You never wanted to visit?”

  “My parents have long passed away and I have no siblings. There really wasn’t a reason to return. Besides, I was immersed in my work.”

  “You’re staying at the Hyatt.”

  “Only for as long as it takes me to find something less expensive and more permanent.”

  The official looked at the passport and at Aspine’s face once more. “Welcome home, Mr Adderley.”

  As Aspine sat in the cab on the way to the Hyatt, his groin and underarms were wet. He’d been certain that bloody prying immigration official had found something on his computer that wasn’t kosher. I’m home and now it’s time for revenge.

  Chapter 17

  ASPINE WOKE TO A beautiful Melbourne morning and after a leisurely breakfast and reading the dailies he wandered the streets until he found an Apple store and bought an iPhone. On his return to the Hyatt he booked a rental car and just before midday he was heading toward Armadale. Cars had changed a lot since he’d last driven but he had no problems and quickly inserted Harry Denton’s address into the Satnav. Harry had been the CEO of Mercury Properties immediately prior to Aspine’s appointment and had then become a non-executive director. He’d made no secret of the fact that he didn’t like Aspine and thought his scruples and ways of doing business were unethical and dishonest. When Aspine had been stitched up by property developer, Vic Garland, costing Mercury fifty million dollars, Harry Denton had led the lynch mob. Later when Mercury’s financial controller, Kerry Bartlett, committed suicide, Denton had vociferously blamed Aspine.

  As Aspine drove along Toorak Road he thought about Harry and his wife of nearly sixty years, Mary. He’d spent years dreaming about killing Harry and seeing the terror in his face before he met his maker, but on reflection, thought that was too quick, easy and painless. The research about pressure points had been all about murdering Harry who was now in his early eighties, so it would be no surprise if he were to suddenly die. Harry, before I finish with the person nearest and dearest to you, you’ll wish you were dead.

  Aspine parked the car two hundred metres from Harry’s house and then casually strolled toward it. The house was old but well maintained and its manicured lawns were surrounded by beds of roses of every colour. Red and yellow flowering gums were complemented by glorious deep purple Bougainvillea’s running along the side boundaries. As luck would have it, Harry and Mary were in the front garden admiring their roses that were in full bloom. The garage door was open and Aspine could see a white Holden and a blue Corolla, the same cars they had driven before he went to prison. Harry was a wealthy man but not prone to wasting his money on cars. He was dressed in overalls and had a small spade in one hand and a pair of secateurs in the other.

  “Beautiful day,” Aspine said.

  “That it is,” Harry replied. He was older but his face was full of character and his piercing blue eyes had never aged.

  “You have a stunning garden. A kaleidoscope of colours.”

  “Thank you,” Mary said. “My husband is a very fine gardener.” She was hunched over and frail and hadn’t aged as well as Harry.

  “He certainly is. Congratulations, sir, you have created a truly spectacular garden and you should be very proud.”

  Harry couldn’t understand it but for some reason his antennae was on full alert with this stranger. Why is he wearing leather gloves when it’s so warm? “Thanks, you’ll understand if I get back to my pruning.”

  “Of course. I’m looking for ideas for my garden. Do you mind if I take a few photos?”

  Harry was about to say no when Mary said, “I’d love to see more gardens like ours. Please, take as many shots as you like.”

  By the time Aspine got back in the car he had a dozen photos including four close-ups of Harry and Mary.

  Mick McHugh was the Melbourne contact on Chin’s list. He was a well-known underworld figure who liked to boast that he had a blemish free record. Guilty of numerous crimes but convicted of none. He was also big into supporting charities and his photo appeared regularly in the social pages of the Melbourne dailies. His associates didn’t like his desire for publicity and called him the plastic don behind his back, a sarcastic reference to the infamous John Gotti.

  It took two phone calls before McHugh returned Aspine’s. “Do I know you, Mr Adderley?”

  “It’s Charles, and no, but we have a mutual friend in Asia.”

  “Who might that be?”

  “I’d rather not say over the phone. I need your help. Can we meet face to face and then I’ll tell you more? I’m probably being paranoid but it’s just a little insurance.”

  McHugh laughed. “Insurance? Has our mutual friend just returned from an extended holiday?”

  “Yes.”

  “Why don’t you meet me in the bar of The Birmingham in Fitzroy at midday tomorrow? You can buy me a steak and beer. I’m guessing you know what I look like.”

  “Yeah, I’m looking at a pic of you on the net.”

  Aspine made one more phone call to a Melbourne estate agent who had a fully furnished two bedroom apartment in St Kilda Road for lease and organized to inspect it later in the day. He would have far preferred to stay at the Hyatt but that was what those who knew Douglas Aspine would expect him to do, and while he wasn’t worried, if something did go awry, he did not want to draw attention to himself. Chin’s words of caution had impacted his psyche far more than he realized. He had instructed the Royal Bank of Canada in the Caymans to create a corporation in the United Kingdom, and to open a bank account with HSBC that he could access. He would transfer funds from the Caymans into the HSBC account, and then transfer them t
o the Australian account that he would establish in the next few days. Again he wasn’t worried, but funds transferred from the UK would naturally attract far less attention than those from an international tax haven like the Caymans.

  As he had done many times since his escape, Aspine Googled Fiona Jeczik and got more than ten million results. She had done very well while he had rotted in jail, and was now not only Channel 16’s star performer, but sat on the board as well. He stared at her photos, her jet black hair, fine features, olive skin, full lips and eyes as dark as his own. She had pursued him relentlessly and night after night on her top rating television program, Your Family Today, had attacked and pilloried him. He felt physically sick looking at her, and the pent up rage tightened in his chest and welled up in his throat. He pushed the computer away and lay on the bed and stared at the ceiling. His original plan for the bitch had been to pay someone with no moral scruples to win her confidence and get close to her. Close enough to spike one of her drinks and then infect her with HIV via an addict’s needle. The beauty of this plan was that it could take up to six months to be diagnosed and when it was, she would have no idea how she’d contracted it. That’s far too good for you. I want to humiliate you, to make you wish you’d never been born.

  Chapter 18

  MICK MCHUGH WAS WHAT Aspine had expected, a little brawnier than his photographs and a little older. He was mid-fifties and while traces of his once red hair could still be seen, he was greying rapidly. There was a long scar running down the right hand side of his face from his temple to his jawline, his forehead was wrinkled and his jowls were heavy. He was sitting on a stool in the corner of the bar with two others when Aspine approached.