“How long have you got before the FSA comes in?” asked Sarah.
“Only four weeks.”
“You can’t delay any longer, John. You have no choice now. You must go to the authorities. The alternative is you lose control of the whole situation and it becomes really ugly.”
“I agree. I’m already there. It’s the only choice I have left.”
I’ll go to Merriman. He wants what I have so I stand a chance of laying down some conditions. Kent made his way to the back of the restaurant while they waited for their coffees to arrive. In the corridor just outside the toilets was a payphone stuck to the wall. He stopped at the phone, retrieved a business card from his wallet, and dialed the number. He recognized the US ring tone when it connected. He felt his stomach muscles tightening.
“Merriman,” said the voice from the other end of the line.
“It’s John Kent. I’ve decided to help.”
“Okay. We’ll be in touch.” The call ended.
Kent shook the handset to check the phone was still working. That’s it? “We’ll be in touch”? We’re putting our lives on the line and that’s all he has to say? Is this some kind of game to him? Kent took a few deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down. Maybe he was just being cautious, not holding a long conversation over an unsecure phone line. How long will he leave it to make contact? We’ve only got four weeks before this becomes public. Merriman better well make it quick.
“You were a long time,” said Sarah when Kent returned to the table.
He whispered in her ear. “I’ve done it. I’ve made the first contact. I used the payphone in the corridor.”
Sarah squeezed his hand and smiled at him. “You’re doing the right thing, John.” He hoped she was right. He’d never been more frightened in his life.
Three days later, Kent was on his way to the office, driving down the A1M motorway, when a police car raced by, lights flashing. Instinctively, he hit the brakes. He hadn’t seen the car in his mirror; he’d been in a world of his own, thinking about Merriman and whether he ought to call him again. He was certain he’d been speeding, but no more than eighty miles per hour, surely?
As the police car passed him, its lights lit up the words Pull Over.
“That’s all I need,” said Kent, under his breath. “A bloody speeding ticket.”
He slowed down behind the police car and came to a stop on the hard shoulder of the motorway. The police officer sauntered up to Kent’s car window. Before he could say anything, Kent said, “I’m really sorry, officer. It’s not like me to be racing along the motorway. How fast was I going?”
“Too fast, I’m afraid, sir.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Can I see your driving license?”
Kent reached into his briefcase and handed his license to the police officer. The officer examined the document carefully then compared the photo on the license with Kent. He’s making a meal of this.
“Mr. Kent, I’d like you to follow my patrol car as we cannot deal with this safely while we’re on the motorway. It’s too dangerous here.”
“I hope this won’t take too long, officer. I have a meeting at the office shortly.”
Kent did not have any meetings that morning, but he wanted the policeman to know he was dealing with a busy executive, who didn’t have time to waste. Why don’t the police concentrate on the real criminals, like Tritona and their backers?
“Just follow me in your car, sir.”
The officer jumped into the patrol car and drove off the motorway and onto the A14. Kent followed at a safe distance behind. After half a mile, the patrol car took the first exit.
“Where’s this bloody idiot taking me?” said Kent.
As the cars approached the crossroads at the end of the exit, the patrol car went straight across the junction and toward a large set of metal gates. Kent read the sign to the right of the gates. It said: “USAF Alconbury.”
I get it. I’m being led to a safe location for a meeting with Merriman. What could be safer than a US air force base?
Kent followed the patrol car for a few hundred yards until it stopped outside an old redbrick building. The police officer led him inside.
“Please wait here, sir,” he said, pointing Kent to a small waiting area with two worn out leather chairs. Kent took a seat. A few minutes later, he heard footsteps coming down the corridor.
“John, please forgive the cloak and dagger arrangements,” said Merriman as he shook Kent’s hand. “It was necessary to protect you, just in case. I don’t think you were followed. Our instructions were to hold you for long enough on the motorway to ensure no other car slowed down behind you. If the police officer was less than certain, he wouldn’t have led you here.”
“Don’t worry. I understand the need for precautions more than anyone,” replied Kent.
“Follow me.” Merriman led Kent to a small, windowless meeting room. The place looked shabby. Special Agents Whitlock and Young were already sitting at the folding wooden table in the middle of the room.
“Nice place,” said Kent.
“Take a seat.” Merriman pointed Kent to the seat at the head of the table so they could all see him.
These Americans don’t get wit. “I need to call the office to let them know I’ll be a little late.”
“My guess is we’ll need a couple of hours,” replied Merriman.
Kent took his mobile phone from his suit pocket and rang Tara. He said he’d be coming in midmorning. He gave no reason and ended the call before she could ask any awkward questions.
“So, you’ve decided to help us, John. What changed your mind?”
Kent decided not to share his concerns over Wright’s impending FSA investigation. He wanted Merriman to believe he was doing this because it was the right thing to do. That way, he’d be able to extract certain commitments from him in return.
“On reflection, I just thought it was the right thing to do. I realized I needed to put aside my professional concerns as there was more at stake. This wasn’t entirely clear to me when I first learned about all of this in London. It was a lot to take in.”
Merriman smiled skeptically at his two colleagues. “It is the right thing, and I understand the risk this represents for you personally.”
“Do you?”
“You’ll be helping us in our war against some of the most dangerous criminals in the world. Only a fool would think that would be risk-free.”
Special Agent Whitlock poured them all a coffee. Merriman checked the e-mails on his phone then took off his jacket and slung it over the back of his chair. He stayed on his feet and started pacing the room.
“We need quite specific help from you, John. Obtaining the information we need is going to put you at some considerable risk. I won’t lie to you. We’ll try to minimize that risk, but we can’t eliminate it entirely.”
At least he’s not feeding me bullshit. “What do you need me to do, exactly?”
“As we said to you in London, we’ve good evidence to link Tritona to the drug proceeds coming from the Caruana cartel through the Mexican banking system.”
“I know nothing about that.” Kent wanted to remind Merriman of his innocence in all this.
“We understand that. You’ve been duped by the cartel into helping them. We know that.”
“Make sure you remember it.”
Merriman raised his open palms. “Hey, we’re on the same side.”
“That’s not how it felt in London.”
“But you’ve come to the right conclusion now. Let’s move on.”
“Okay.”
“You’re uniquely able to provide the last link in the evidence we need. Once the monies leave Tritona, our documentary evidence trail runs cold. We know from our intelligence reports that CBC plays a key role in acquiring assets for the cartel, but we lack hard evidence. Without that evidence, we can’t seize these assets and neither can we make money laundering charges stick against the senior cartel members.”
Kent wriggled about in his chair. The use of the word “unique” worried him. If I’m the only person able to provide this evidence, then it would be obvious to the cartel that I’m the one who talked. Don’t like this already.
“Exactly what do you need me to do?”
Merriman nodded to Special Agent Young as he sat. Young pulled his chair closer to the table and retrieved a note from his jacket pocket. “We need original signed documents establishing the SPVs being used by Tritona to acquire the assets you manage for them. We need the constitutional and title documents to the corporations and trusts which have been set up by Oakham Fiduciary Services. Finally, we need the share certificates linking those entities to the investee companies you’ve been acquiring at CBC,” he said, reading from his list.
Kent sat upright. These guys are not mindless muscle-heads, after all. They know what they’re talking about.
“Is that all? Sure you don’t want a signed photo of all the people at Tritona while I’m at it?”
“I know. It’s a big ask, John,” said Merriman.
“Copies won’t do?”
“No. They must be original signed documents,” said Young. “Otherwise, they won’t stand up in court. Copies could be dismissed as fake documents.”
“How am I going to extract original documents without being noticed? This isn’t going to work. You’ll have to think of something else.”
“Calm down, John. We’ve thought this through,” said Merriman. He poured them all a refill. “When you deliver the original documents to us, we’ll prepare and return to you fake replacements within forty-eight hours. You’ll be able to replace the originals with the fake ones on each file. Your exposure is just forty-eight hours at a time. These files can’t be in constant use.”
“The files you need are not in regular use, which is precisely why I’ll struggle to access them without raising questions.”
“You’ll think of something,” said Whitlock.
Merriman nodded to Young, who continued, “Once you’ve extracted the documents we need, we’ll arrange a safe location for you to drop them ready for our collection. You’ll be able to collect the replacements from the same place.”
“Where is that location?”
“We’ll get to that. How long will it take you to extract the original documents?” asked Young.
“This won’t be a simple matter. I’ll need to get hold of files from Oakham’s offices as well as CBC’s. A couple of weeks, at least.”
“Take as much time as you need,” said Merriman. “We’re in no hurry. We wanna get this right.”
Fine for you to say, but we don’t have much time. The FSA are coming. “My accessing these files is going to raise a lot of awkward questions.”
“You’re the CEO. You can demand to see any file you want,” said Young.
“It’s not that simple. It would look unusual for me to request so many files myself.”
“You must do this yourself, John. We cannot risk involving anyone else,” said Merriman.
“I need to think about this.”
Kent stood and walked around the room.
This is an enormous personal risk. It would take just one person to see me extracting files and to ask why I needed them for me to be exposed. But, Wright’s visit is imminent. He’s bound to find out about the letter to SOCA. If I don’t go along with his plan, Merriman wouldn’t hesitate to use this as a reason to have me extradited to the US. How long would I last in prison? The cartel won’t take any chances. They’d certainly have me killed to prevent me from making any deals. I have to cooperate with Merriman; it’s the best of a bad choice.
“Okay. I’ll do it.”
“The right decision,” said Merriman.
“But there are conditions.”
“What do you mean — conditions?”
“When all this is over, I want complete immunity from prosecution.”
“No problem. You’ve done nothing wrong. Remember?”
“I want it in writing before I release any documents.”
“You’ll have it. What else?”
“I need you to find a way to draw the cartel’s attention away from me as the source of the evidence you’ve asked me to provide. Without this, there’s no deal.”
Merriman thought for a moment. “We could put you in our witness-protection scheme.”
“That won’t work. I want a life after this. The evidence can’t be seen to have come from me. If you can’t find a way to fix this, then we don’t have a deal.”
“I can understand that, John. We need to think this through a little more to get it right. What if we put a public message out, after we’ve seized the assets? Something along the lines that the key evidence came from one of the cartel’s own senior lieutenants. They’ll think one of their own talked. That’ll help deflect attention away from you.”
“Something like that might work. Whatever happens, I can’t ever be called as a witness and can never be attributed as the source of the evidence. Is that agreed?”
“You have my word. I’ll do whatever it takes to draw attention away from you as our source. If you get hold of the documents we need, there’ll be no need for you to become a witness. They’ll stand up as evidence on their own.”
That’s probably the best I’ll do. At least, now there’s a plan of action which might just work. It’s not risk-free, but it’s a way forward, a chance to take some control back over my life.
“I have one more question.”
“Not another condition, I hope.”
Kent glared at Merriman. “Does Dieter Baumgart know about all this? Does he know he’s working for a drug cartel?”
“Of course. He’s been working for the cartel for many years.” Merriman laughed. “They’re all involved.”
“I thought as much.” Bastard.
“Why are you asking about Baumgart and not Kulpman?”
“Because Baumgart’s the main man.”
“Wrong. Kulpman’s on the cartel’s direct payroll. He’s Caruana’s man on the ground at Tritona. Nothing happens without his say so. He runs the show at Tritona, not Baumgart.”
There was always something weird about Kulpman, Kent thought. I bet that animal organized the DVD and Anton’s hit and run.
The rest of the meeting was taken up with a detailed discussion about the specific documents Kent needed to obtain. They agreed a safe place for him to drop the documents and to collect the fake substitutes.
As Kent drove to his office, he called Sarah. “I’ve finally been in to see the dentist.”
“You’ve done the right thing, John. That filling was not going to get better on its own.” She knew not to say anything more on an open line.
“I love you.” While Kent was worried about the threat to his own life, he was much more concerned about the risk for Sarah. He wanted to make sure she was safe, but he knew she was at risk. It was eating away at him.
“Love you, too.”
Chapter Forty-Two
Kent managed very little sleep over the next few days. The worst thoughts came to him in the middle of the night when Sarah was asleep. He’d wake up and stare at the ceiling for hours. How was he going to access both the CBC and Oakham files without raising awkward questions? He imagined being caught with sensitive files in his briefcase and having to explain why he was taking them home. Worse still, what if the cartel’s people following him or bugging his offices picked up his unusual activity and realized he was gathering evidence? He envisaged all manner of torture and violent threats to him and Sarah. The plan had sounded quite logical in the meeting with Merriman and his colleagues but, in the cold, dark loneliness of the early hours, it seemed like a certain route to a shortened life. Was he still doing the right thing?
Exactly one week after his meeting at USAF Alconbury, Kent thought of the solution. He was driving to work when he realized Wright’s imminent FSA investigation was not only a threat, but also a way out. He could use the investiga
tion as a cover for why he, as CEO, had to take a fresh look at key files. He had to make sure CBC and Oakham were properly prepared for the FSA’s visit. Johnson had said the investigation was a completely new type of review and that CBC was the first firm in the private equity sector to go through one. The more he thought it through, the more the plan came together. It would be wrong for the CEO not to be closely involved in a high-level investigation into his own firm, particularly one being headed up by Wright. He decided to implement the plan that day. There were only three weeks until the inspection visit; there was no time to waste.
When Kent arrived at the office, he called a meeting of the partners. He asked Johnson to explain the significance of the FSA’s investigation. With Kent’s encouragement, Johnson played up the reputational risks to the firm and Tritona if all of the files were not in good shape. Johnson laid it on thick, as if the very survival of the firm was at risk. After all, it was unusual for his compliance function to play a central role in the activities of the firm. Normally, he’d quietly get on with his back-office compliance work while the other partners got to do all the exciting deal activity. This was Johnson’s moment in the limelight, and Kent did all he could to egg him on.
Kent emphasized to the partners that the head of the new investigations team at the FSA was none other than Doug Wright. He reminded them Wright was far from being a friend of the firm, having been removed from his CEO position at Henderson Wright by CBC. He was telling them what they already knew, but he wanted the hidden microphones to pick up his reasons for being closely involved with reviewing the sensitive files. He was doing his best to protect CBC and Tritona, by making sure everything was in good order for the regulator’s visit.
“Here are the first few files,” said Johnson as he delivered some of the documents to Kent’s office right after the meeting.
“Great. Leave them in that corner. I’ll bring them back to you in a few days once I’ve finished with them. Don’t worry. I’ll make sure my office door is kept locked when I’m not here.” Johnson looked relieved; his compliance files would normally be locked away as they contained sensitive personal information on investors.
Martin Bodenham Page 19
