Cassidy

by Morris West

  ‘You told me to call you in daylight… you wanted the answers to two questions. The first is “yes, I trust you”. The second –’

  She laid a cautionary finger against my lips.

  ‘The second lands us both in trouble. Let’s save it for another time, eh?’

  ‘Just so you know –’

  ‘Just so we both know we’re walking tip-toe through a minefield… I’m hungry. Let’s eat. Will you pour the wine please, darling?’

  Because I had either to make talk or make an adolescent fool of myself, I asked, ‘When is your father coming to Sydney?’

  ‘He’s not. If you want to see him, it will have to be somewhere else.’

  ‘Where, for instance?’

  ‘Hong Kong, Bangkok, Hawaii –’

  ‘He said he wanted to see me.’

  ‘Not exactly that. He said, “Until we meet, as now we must”.’

  ‘Is there a difference?’

  ‘Yes. He’s waiting for you to make the first move; which is what Cassidy provided in his will.’

  ‘Then could you get in touch with him and ask him when and where a meeting could be arranged?’

  ‘Certainly. Is there any other message?’

  ‘Tell him I’ve read Genesis 2. I have eaten of the tree of knowledge – and I’m suffering from acute indigestion.’

  ‘Not at my table, Martin Gregory! Wipe that grim look off your face and enjoy your lunch!’

  I did enjoy it. I enjoyed the easy talk we made, the cautious affection we exchanged. Of course it was a pretending game: let’s pretend there isn’t any time but now, that we can be just good friends, that I don’t have a wife and two children and that, here in this room, I can hardly remember their faces. I remembered something else, however. An old uncle, who was very kind to me, made one day a strange kind of confession: ‘Martin, I’ve been lucky. I’ve never met a woman I wanted more than my wife. I’ve often wondered what would have happened if I had.’ Something of what I was thinking must have shown in my face, because, quite abruptly, Laura asked the question: ‘What really brought you here, Martin?’

  I had said I trusted her. Now I was being asked to prove it.

  ‘I needed to borrow some courage. I’m scared.’

  ‘You should be. I told you that last night.’

  ‘The stuff I took from Cassidy’s safe… I’ve decided it’s too hot to handle.’

  ‘Why so?’

  ‘There are albums of porno pictures of prominent citizens, bought by Cassidy from a woman who was later murdered. There’s a kilo of heroin, a pistol that could be hot, a lot of assorted currency, gold bars and some very precious stones. There are also reams of paper I haven’t even glanced at.’

  ‘What are you going to do with the stuff?’

  ‘Declare its existence first; have an official inventory made and certified; then sort out what belongs on my desk and what the Government has to handle.’

  ‘Does that include the material my father wants to buy?’

  ‘No. That’s a briefcase full of microfiche records. I’m only at the beginning, but my guess is that it duplicates all the material in the safe, but includes a great deal more.’

  ‘Are you prepared to sell it to my father?’

  ‘I can’t answer that question yet.’

  ‘I should tell you, Martin, my father won’t bargain.’

  ‘I’m not concerned with the price. I’m concerned about the ultimate disposition and use of the records. So, until I’ve spoken with your father, I’ll retain my option to sell or hold.’

  ‘Martin…’ She held out her glass to be refilled. ‘I have to explain something to you.’

  ‘No, you don’t.’

  ‘Yes – yes, I must. We’re not children. That’s the only reason we’re sitting here at this table instead of being in bed together on the other side of that door. We fit, you and I. The chemistry works for us. We both know it. But we’re not halfway people. It’s all or nothing. So we’ve still got our clothes on and you can face your wife without lying and I can face my father and tell him I’ve done what he asked – kept a check on you. He’s an old-fashioned man. I’m an old-fashioned woman. But if you were my husband, I’d tell my father to go to hell and follow you to the world’s end. Your wife did that years ago. She walked away from Cassidy and went with you. You couldn’t get so lucky twice in a row. Not even if you wanted to.’

  ‘Don’t you think you’d better tell me the rest of it?’

  ‘If you fall out with my father, I stand with him, not with you.’

  ‘I understand.’

  ‘No, Martin, you don’t. We’re talking about another world – Cassidy’s, my father’s, mine. You’ve strayed into it or, rather, Cassidy dragged you into it as his final joke. But nothing here works by the rules you’ve learned… Take this hotel, all the Melmar hotels. We do well, because we’re known as safe houses. Every room is swept every day for bugs and surveillance mechanisms. Our security system is the best in the world. It filters out not only criminals, but the police, industrial spies, any category we choose to exclude. We have bodyguards, escorts, lawyers, doctors and any other service you want… If you wanted, you could live here for a month and nobody would know you existed. When you went to another Melmar hotel, your requirements would be known and respected to the letter…’

  ‘Why are you telling me all this?’

  ‘I’m afraid for you. You know too much and too little. I can’t help you because you don’t belong to me… and you’re not sure where you do belong anyway. Forgive me! I didn’t mean that the way it came out.’

  ‘Then what do you mean?’

  ‘Martin, you can’t see this; but I can. The centre of your life is not your wife, not your family – it’s Charlie Cassidy. Oh, I’m not saying you don’t love them, of course you do – otherwise I’d have picked you off the tree like a ripe apple. But ask yourself: why did you make a runaway marriage? Cassidy! Why did you settle in Europe? Cassidy! Why are you here with me in this room? Because you’re retracing Cassidy’s steps and trying to sort out the mess he’s left… Don’t tell me it’s the inheritance, I wouldn’t believe you. Any lawyer in the world can handle a probate job. No! This is something different. It’s a grudge fight – or a love game; but one of the players is dead and the other is matched with a ghost!’

  She was near to tears and I could not find it in my heart to be angry with her. I went to her and took her hands and squatted in front of her and tried to put a smile into the question: ‘So you want me to break off play, is that it?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘And how exactly do I do that?’

  ‘Make your peace with the Government, if you must. Apply for probate on Cassidy’s will. Sell the briefcase to my father – and take the first plane home!’

  ‘All the wise monkeys rolled into one. See nothing, hear nothing, say nothing.’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘Take the money and run.’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘That’s the third warning you’ve given me.’

  ‘It’s the last, Martin, absolutely the last.’

  ‘And what do I say when I look at myself in the mirror?’

  ‘You say: “I’m rich. My wife is beautiful. My kids are healthy. And thank God I’m alive to enjoy it all!”… Now kiss me and go before I make a damn fool of myself and hate you for it!’

  11

  Outside the hotel, the air was oven-hot and laden with exhaust fumes. For a moment I stood irresolute on the kerbside, debating whether to give the rest of the day a miss and take myself surfing for the afternoon. Then I heard two businessmen behind me discussing the bank rate, which had risen half a per cent that morning. I looked at my watch. It was twenty minutes to three. I went back into the hotel and asked the concierge to find me the address of the Sydney office of U.B.S. – the Union Bank of Switzerland. The doorman whistled a taxi to get me there.

  I was lucky. The manager, punctiliously Swiss, was back from lunch. My card gained m
e entrance, my driver’s licence confirmed my identity, the name of Paul Henri Langlois lent me added grace. Thus prepared, the manager was only a little frigid when I asked whether he would access me to his headquarters in Zurich. He could, of course – in principle! In fact, he would need more information than I had so far given him. On the back of another visiting card I wrote in German ‘coded access’ and handed him the card.

  He warmed noticeably as he read it. He composed his own access code on the desk computer, then turned the instrument towards me. I punched in the code from Cassidy’s files – DRACO 35124 RUBER. I waited in silence until the great brain had done its work.

  The manager asked politely: ‘Have you found what you wanted, Mr. Gregory?’

  I took time to answer him. It is never a good idea to be too complaisant with the custodians of money. You pay their salaries. You must make them aware they are as liable as you to misfeasance, malfeasance and simple human error.

  Finally, I nodded and told him: ‘Thank you. This is what I wanted.’

  The luminous symbols told a fantastic story. The Rotdrache trust had, in short-term deposits, in bonds, in gilt-edged equities, in metals, in prime real estate, a net asset value of 584 million US dollars. The Rotdrache series of companies showed an additional net worth, reported daily, of another 150 million. The details were displayed on five ensuing frames. On no frame was there any mention of liabilities, either actual or contingent. What I was viewing was a vast repository of wealth, daily augmented, hourly augmenting itself.

  The manager prompted me gently: ‘There is no problem, I trust, Mr. Gregory?’

  ‘No problem.’

  ‘If there is any transaction you wish us to execute…’

  ‘For the moment there is none.’

  ‘We are at your service at all times.’

  ‘Thank you. I’ll be in touch.’

  ‘Before you cancel the access, would you like to make a print-out?’

  ‘No.’

  The manager permitted himself a small nod of approval.

  ‘Then you simply press “Cancel”.’

  I waited until the screen was blank again, thanked the manager for his courtesy and walked out again into the oven-heat of Sydney. For one dizzy moment I wondered if I were going mad or whether I were anchored in some interminable nightmare, enveloped by a thousand cobwebs.

  A passerby jostled me back to sanity. I began walking swiftly back to the Banque de Paris. Now it was absolutely imperative that I finish my first scan of the microfiches in Cassidy’s briefcase. Then, please God, I might begin to have some clue to what were, on the face of it, the crazed caprices of a dying man. Then, as I walked, I recalled phrases from Cassidy’s last handwritten note to me:

  …given that infamy is always predicated of politicians, I decided long ago to come to terms with ill-repute and, wherever possible, turn it into profit…

  …let me give you fair warning. All of it is dangerous, some of it lethal, material…

  God knows, the figures I had just seen were lethal enough, a high temptation to terrorists, extortionists, blackmailers! Then he had offered me options:

  …get rid of the stuff, at a nice profit… deliver all the material to the Attorney-General of New South Wales… make your own decision as to its use or its destruction. You’ll be the potent one then… You’ll be the rich one – if you want to be…

  By the time I reached the Banque de Paris I had convinced myself that Charlie Cassidy had been acting with total, if tortuous, rationality. He had made a fortune out of the ungodly. There was no joy in the possession if he had no heir. There was no point in having an heir who was not prepared to defend his possession. Which brought me bang up against Cassidy’s valediction: ‘That’s why I’ve made you a backhanded gift of the worst side of myself.’

  Then I remembered another Sibylline saying, this time from Pornsri Rhana, mistress, confidante, mother of Cassidy’s child:

  ‘Don’t be too hasty, Mr. Gregory. Take a good look at the kingdom before you abdicate the throne.’

  Where better to study the kingdom than in Charles Parnell Cassidy’s Doomsday Book, a briefcase full of microfiches? The trick was to discover how to read the book to best effect. The root document, which I had not yet found, was the deed establishing the Rotdrache trust. This would name the trustees, the beneficiaries and the conditions under which assets would be administered and benefits would flow. After that, I had to find the chain of command which held the hugely profitable network together. I could not imagine that the mere possession of an access cipher would put me in possession of an Aladdin’s cave of treasures.

  However, the manager of U.B.S. had clearly presumed that it did. He had offered to honour any transaction I cared to make; but I could not believe in any arrangement so simple and vulnerable. On the other hand, Cassidy, the most convoluted of men, had a saying: ‘Dazzle ‘em with flashing lights, all around the horizon. While they’re waiting for Moses to appear with the tablets of stone, they’ll miss the key inscription right under their noses.’ All in all, I could never say I hadn’t been warned.

  My most important find during the rest of the afternoon was a memorandum headed simply ‘Schedule of Requirements, C.P.C. to M.M.’ It was, on the face of it, as arid as a shopping list:

  Transmission of information: Telephones can be tapped, documents lost or stolen, speech distorted or misunderstood. Codes can be deciphered, meetings monitored. Cut-outs for casual employees are needed in the style of intelligence operations. Training in information security is necessary for permanent personnel.

  Transport of commodities: We buy into the container business. We buy into road transport and shipping agencies. We set up deals with maritime, road haulier and airport unions.

  Banking services: Should be handled only through large international institutions. In high finance, fringe dwellers are dangerous.

  Travel agents: We will look to purchase established agencies.

  Customs and Excise clearance: Again, we buy our own Customs agency, which cultivates its own contacts in the service.

  Accommodation for personnel: You’re the hotel man. This is your business!

  Legal and fiscal counsel in all jurisdictions: These are my pigeon, at home, in South-East Asia and in the United Kingdom.

  Relations with law enforcement agencies: We should exchange experience on this matter.

  Buffer zones: We have to establish need-to-know rules, a code of discretion and a mechanism of enforcement.

  To this he had added a postscript:

  …I can set up the Australian organisations with affiliates in New Zealand. In Manila we have in place an organisation of expatriates with established connections. In Indonesia we have some skills and contacts. Thailand, Hong Kong and Malaysia are good for us. Singapore is tight as a drum and dangerous for the outsider. The same applies to Japan. Deals can be done, but only through a local entrepreneur. In any case, my notion is to build a secure commercial base to confirm the confidence of our suppliers and our clients…

  It was all as bland as butter. You could cite the documents in any court and argue them as the proper guidelines for a sound international commercial enterprise, working in a variety of jurisdictions. The most interesting piece of information was contained in a later memo from Marius Melville, easily identified as a reply to Cassidy’s comments:

  M.M. to C.P.C.: Agree general lines your thinking. Agree also your efficacy for Australia and New Zealand. Our criteria for other territories are simple: who can best establish a local corporation; who has best access to appropriate staff; who has best mechanism of control? Since we are dividing our net down the middle, I don’t have a problem with any management that delivers an acceptable profit.

  The last missive seemed to indicate that the companies in the Red Dragon chain were controlled jointly by Cassidy and Marius Melville, but that the trust was Cassidy’s personal base. It would also explain Melville’s need to remove the microfiche collection from public circulation
. If, on the other hand, I were to take Cassidy’s place in the enterprise, then clearly I would have to prove myself an acceptable partner – or be eliminated. By now, it was nearly five o’clock; time to call Loomis at the Attorney– General’s office. He sounded frayed and short–tempered.

  ‘The Premier has to leave here dead on six–fifteen. He can take us both at five-thirty, O.K.?’

  ‘By me, splendid.’

  ‘Can you bring any material with you?’

  ‘No. This is procedure, remember? What happens if and when…’

  ‘I remember. Don’t be late. The Premier has a busy night.’

  It seemed I was going to be busy myself. I dialled the number of Pornsri Rhana. She seemed pleased, but hardly surprised, to hear from me.

  ‘Thank you for calling, Mr. Gregory. What can I do for you?’

  ‘I think we should meet again, as quickly as possible. Are you free for dinner this evening?’

  ‘I can make myself free – if you’ll let me provide the dinner at my house. We need to talk. It is private here.’

  ‘I didn’t mean to put you to trouble.’

  ‘On the contrary. It will be a pleasure. Oh, and dress very casually please. It’s much too hot for collar and tie.’

  ‘What time would you like me there?’

  ‘Eight o’clock.’

  I had to deal with one other matter. On the bank notepaper I wrote out a certificate, to be signed by Paul Henri Langlois, that, just after midnight on the date specified, he had received from Martin Gregory four large canvas sacks for deposit in his strongroom. He had not inspected the contents. He had closed the bags with the bank seal and had them transported the following morning by security truck to the bank. They would be held there pending instructions from Martin Gregory or his lawful delegate.