“That is why we have to put an end to what they are doing. I’ve burnt my bridges, I’m more an enemy to Felicity and CHC than any of you are. I can help you. I know far more than Felicity thinks, but you are going to need to trust me.”
Before anyone had time to react to Jemima’s words Ben added,
“I think I might have an idea how they import the cocaine into Europe. This is all supposition at the moment. But it’s possible, maybe probable. Let me explain. Pure cocaine is prepared by forming cocaine hydrochloride, which is water soluble from the base, which is insoluble in water. To extract pure cocaine at the other end, you neutralise its compounding salt with an alkaline solution, which will precipitate to non-polar basic cocaine. It is further refined through aqueous-solvent Liquid-liquid extraction. Wikipedia is a wonderful thing … the cocaine hydrochloride is dissolved in water, two hundred grams per hundred millilitres of water; this is the stage at which they export the cocaine. Remember, the Cortez’s as well as being Colombian, and cocaine producers have a legitimate business that moves products, liquid products, between South America and the rest of the world. The volume of bioethanol that CHC declare on arrival in a European port would be, point zero zero zero zero one per cent less than the tankers were designed to carry. I’ve managed to acquire a copy of the plans of CHC’s tankers and they all have a gross cargo capacity larger than they declare. Modern tankers are designed and built with a double skinned hull. I can’t be sure without examining one of their tankers, but I think that they have incorporated a narrow third skin between the inner hull and the cargo tanks. On a Panamax tanker, which is the majority of their fleet…”
Annabel interrupted,
“Panamax? What’s that?”
“The largest size tanker that can travel through the Panama Canal fully laden. This is the quickest route from Colombia to the Caribbean and on into the Atlantic Ocean. Their markets are east and west coast United States and Europe so their tankers transit the Panama Canal all the time. A Panamax tanker with a capacity of seventy thousand deadweight tonnes will have a Bioethanol or oil capacity of five hundred thousand barrels. A barrel is one hundred and fifty-nine litres. That’s seventy-nine million five hundred thousand litres. Point zero, zero, zero, zero, one per cent of that is seven hundred and ninety-five litres.”
Jemima shook her head at this supposition,
“That doesn’t sound anywhere near enough. On a ship that size they could hide ten times, a hundred times that amount.”
Ben grinned enjoying defending his theories. Before he could continue William said,
“Whether you’re bringing in ten thousand litres or seven hundred isn’t the risk the same. In this case more is better. More cocaine solution gives a better return for the same level of risk.”
Ben opened his laptop again and typed into a search engine looking for the data he had found yesterday.
“The Cortez’s are very bright, don’t forget that. ‘Sniffer dogs are shown to be less than thirty per cent accurate on very low concentrations of a drug.’ The odour of the bioethanol in such a large volume will mask the very low volume of the Cocaine hydrochloride solution. Also, I’ve done the maths. Cocaine hydrochloride is dissolved in water at a rate of two kilograms per litre, that’s one thousand five hundred and ninety kilograms in our seven hundred and ninety-five litres. However, this is only forty per cent pure, so when it is extracted at our destination, we get six hundred and thirty-six kilograms of pure cocaine. The pure cocaine will be cut with other drugs or inert powders to a purity of say fifty per cent, though it’s often less. This gives us one thousand two hundred and seventy kilograms of cut product. With me so far?”
William, Annabel and Jemima nodded, entranced. Ben continued,
“Cocaine is sold in one gram wraps, so this gives us one million two hundred and seventy-thousand wraps. These are selling on the streets for about fifty pounds each. That my friends is a cool sixty-three million five hundred thousand pounds. The beauty is that the seven hundred and ninety litres of Cocaine hydrochloride can be transported in a compartment of a tanker carrying bioethanol without anyone being any wiser. I haven’t looked at how many shipments of bioethanol are moving around the world at anyone time, but you don’t need many to get very rich. The Cortez family has been doing this for at least forty years. The one thing I haven’t worked out is how they have eluded suspicion let alone capture for this length of time. This is just supposition at the moment; I can’t prove a thing, but …”
He left the sentence unfinished.
They all sat in silence considering the enormity of the numbers. Jemima broke the silence first,
“I had no idea, none at all. There is nothing Charles or Felicity wouldn’t do for that amount of power, nothing. This has to stop.”
***
William and Annabel’s journey to Cambridge was easier than they expected and they had arrived almost an hour before their appointment with Penny Morton. They had both spent the first part of the journey absorbed in their own thoughts. William was struggling with the picture Tiny and then Ben had painted of the Cortez family as major players in the European drug market. Other than Jonas and Ernest’s having been killed by cocaine they had little actual proof that the Cortez family were involved. Jemima’s Uncle Alexander was a blowhard who loved the sound of his own voice. Was his assertion that they had been killed with ‘Cortez marching powder’ to be believed. If Jonas’s diaries could show the Cortez family were involved in drugs, would that be enough to involve the police?
Annabel eased the Audi into a space in the visitor’s car park of Newnham College. She turned the ignition off before she said,
“I think we all need to be careful, in particular Jemima. As we get closer they’ll try to stop us. We don’t know what his diaries contain at the moment but we mustn’t forget that whatever is in Jonas’s diaries killed both him and your father. It’s time to see Penny Morton.”
They walked up the gravel drive to the impressive entrance to the Old Hall of the college and announced themselves to the porter. When Penny Morton came to collect them, William could see why Jonas had fallen in love with her. She was a fine boned attractive woman with long chestnut hair and a slender figure. When she had served them tea in her rooms and the required pleasantries had been observed, William said,
“Thank you for meeting with us and agreeing to tell us a little about Jonas. Jonas was my uncle, his brother Ernest my father.”
An expressive harrumph sound erupted from Penny Morton and she scowled at him, struggling to control her annoyance. William paused looking at Annabel, who smiled, and then at Dr Morton. Continuing he said,
“As you know Jonas was an enthusiastic diarist and to be frank a rather cryptic one. I was hoping you might be able to shed some light onto the code Jonas used in his diary. I’m afraid there is no easy way to explain why I need to read Jonas’s diary, I apologise if I upset you.” William looked across the coffee table at Penny Morton and smiled at her. She stared back with a flinty expression, unsmiling and cold.
“As part of my bequest from my father I have been tasked with proving that his brother Jonas had been murdered, he was. He had a huge amount of very pure cocaine in his system that induced a heart attack.” William stole a quick look at Penny Morton to judge her reaction to the news that her fiancé had been killed. Nothing. Just the same cold stare.
“I have to prove who committed his murder, identify what they are involved in and stop it. I think Jonas’s work at CHC was the reason he was murdered. I hoped that his diaries would give me an indication of what he was working on and any concerns he might have had while he was employed by CHC…”
“The sanctimonious bastard. The perfidious shit.” Said Dr Morton, fury thickening her words as she bellowed at him.
“You come here with your weasel words, begging for my help to prove the only man I’ve ever loved was killed, murdered by CHC or whoever. Of course he was murdered, murdered by the person who recruited him to that den
of thugs, those unscrupulous people who terrified him. He was leaving that evening. Just one more collegial event he was forced to attend. Then they killed him. He had been dead from the day he walked into that company. I’ve never read his diaries, I couldn’t bring myself to decrypt more than the letter that was included. I didn’t want to know or be involved. Jonas was gone, what good would it do.” Her tone had quietened to a dull monotone that revealed the years of loneliness and loss.
Annabel said,
“Who recruited him, who do you believe was responsible for his death?”
Her answer was coated in her fury at the loss of Jonas and his betrayal,
“Ernest Sanderson, his brother.” A flood of grief wracked her body as she sat sobbing and moaning.
“Leave, just leave. I would never betray Jonas. I will die before I help his brother.”
***
Ben came downstairs from the office in the bookshop to see Jemima sitting on a chesterfield sofa reading ‘Diarmaid MacCulloch’s: Christianity, The First Three Thousand Years.’
“Interesting?” Ben said as he sat on the sofa opposite Jemima.
“Fascinating, but not what I’m here to discuss. William and Annabel are in Cambridge, it’s a beautiful day, so I thought we needed a break from the Cortez family and should spend a few hours away from work. What do you think?”
“Wonderful idea,” Ben said, “but before you entice me with your feminine wiles can I ask your opinion on something?”
Jemima looked suspicious,
“Will this take long?”
“Moments. Come up to the office and let me show you something.”
Ben sat at the desk his MacBook connected to the two twenty-two inch screens nestling on telephone directories to bring them up to eye level. He clicked on the wireless mouse and then typed on the Bluetooth keyboard bringing up the original of Jonas’s diary he had scanned in earlier.
“This is the original gibberish in Jonas’s diary as he wrote it. I then converted it to a more readable format,” he clicked and the handwriting was replaced by a clear typed text, but still gibberish.
“Now I had to attempt to decipher the coded words and get to clear text that makes sense.” He clicked the mouse again and a different page of gibberish appeared on the screen. The text was set out in columns, two letters; followed by three numbers each separated with a comma.
“Deciphering the original was straightforward, a simple substitution cipher. Jonas was clever. He knew the first code would stop most people. If it didn’t, then the second would stop even more. If I manage to crack this code, I might then find he has led me down the garden path and left me with another and another code to unravel. Help.”
Jemima studied the screen looking at the columns of letters and numbers. She scrolled forward through the document and then back to the beginning, staring at the groups of letters and numbers.
“It looks like they’re identifiers. Locations in a document used to show where specific letters or words are. Only one problem, you’ll need to know which book he was using and which edition of that book.”
Ben looked thoughtful as he stared at the screen,
“Jonas was a scientist, a chemist. Could these refer to Chemical symbols? Atomic weights? Number of electrons? Isotopes? You’re right, we need a key if we’re going to get anywhere.”
Ben typed an email to William and Annabel asking if they had any idea what book Jonas might have used as he had broken the first part of the code, but was left with a lot of raw data to decode. He attached the decoded diary file and pressed send.
“So Jemima, you said we needed a break from all things Cortez, what did you have in mind?”
Jemima leaned across Ben, opened the MacBook, clicked on ‘Safari’ the internet explorer program and then selected ‘Private Browsing.’ Blushing as she typed, she opened a website and then turned the screen around to face Ben. The look of astonishment on his face that turned to lust made the next bit easy.
“Shall we go back to your house and practice some of their moves?” she said, pointing at the screen.
***
The Audi sped out of Cambridge towards the M11. Annabel was driving and William was in the back trying to control his anger with Ernest before he spoke to him. He had been incandescent since Penny Morton had revealed his involvement with CHC.
“Ernest,” said William with forced calm, “I need to speak with you. NOW.”
“You bellowed. What’s the rush?” turning to Juanita, Ernest continued, “Did you hear him shout?” Ernest looked at Juanita and saw she was looking at William with a worried expression.
“What? What?” he said, unsure what was wrong.
Annabel started to say something, but nothing came out. William put a hand on her shoulder and then said,
“CHC. Anything you might have forgotten to mention? Anything Penny Morton might know that we should have known? Anything at all?”
Ernest squirmed looking embarrassed,
“Ah, ah, umm,” he stammered before continuing, “CHC. Right. How is Penny?”
William looked unto the roof of the car as if searching for divine intervention or to calm himself.
“Penny, as you predicted wasn’t interested in co-operating. Now I know why she wasn’t happy to help us. Why Ernest did you not mention, when you knew we were going to meet Penny, that you had worked for CHC and had been the person who recruited your brother into the company?”
As William had spoken Ernest had lost his embarrassed look and this was replaced by a hardness that William had not seen before.
“Penny Morton is still wracked by grief at Jonas’s death. She knows that he was killed by CHC. Jonas applied and was accepted on his own merits. I was there as a project accountant, involved in the costing and budgeting of some of the research projects. Soon after Jonas joined, a few weeks, I left to start my own consulting firm. I was invited to tender for contracts at CHC, but by then was working for an American electronics start up that ended up defining the worldwide computer industry. I became very wealthy and worked with them until I retired when Jess became so ill.”
Annabel, who had been listening to William and Ernest’s conversation while she drove, asked,
“Why didn’t you say anything to us? If we had known that Penny Morton was so set against you and why; we wouldn’t have gone to Cambridge”
Juanita interrupted wanting to move away from vilifying Ernest to more productive ground.
“To business, as we’re here, we should update each other. On our side, Helena and Charles are still around. I haven’t as yet managed to get a grip on their activities, but I’m sure it is related. Ernest is going to be flying solo to act as a decoy so that I can get behind them and assess what they know and what they plan on doing. I’ll know more by tomorrow night. How are you progressing with the diary?”
William replied as he could see that Annabel was still fuming and wanted her to concentrate on driving.
“A few telling developments. First, while I was at Yeovil hospital for a check up I spoke to the nurses who were on duty when Ernest was admitted. They received a vitriolic phone call from Felicity, or rather Ernest did which they answered. When she was told you were dead, she said it saved her a job. They decided to take a blood sample for analysis as they were worried what had looked like a routine heart attack might be more than that. She chased the technician who had forgotten to forward the results to her.”
William looked straight at Ernest as he gave him the results of the blood test. He wondered how he would react if someone told him he had been killed, murdered.
“Your heart condition was irrelevant in this instance. The amount of cocaine your blood contained would have guaranteed death in anyone. Also the drug they used was pure and could have been Colombian”
Ernest blanched, appearing even paler than he had moments before. William continued telling them about Tiny’s theories on CHC and the imminent arrival of medicinal grade cocaine into the UK.
J
uanita answered, as it was clear Ernest was still in shock.
“That Ernest was killed is interesting, but no more. What we need is why, and that will come from the diaries.”
Annabel said,
“Ben has looked at ways that they could be importing the cocaine without being suspected. His most viable theory is in a very thin skin, which surrounds the bio-ethanol tanks. By his calculations, this would enable them to import millions of pounds worth of cocaine with little chance of detection. He’s trying to access up to date plans for the ships to check if what he thinks is possible.”
Ernest smiled and said,
“That sounds feasible and shows the ingenuity of the Charles Cortez.”
“It’s a guess. Perhaps an educated one, perhaps even an accurate one, but until it can be shown that this is how they import the cocaine then just a guess. We need more than guesses if we are going to stop them.” Juanita continued talking to William and Annabel now,
“Until you can prove the ship theory concentrate on the diaries.”
Annabel said,
“I agree. Why have we got your diaries Ernest? Jonas’s I can understand, but yours?”
“When you read through them they show what little success I had in decoding Jonas’. I didn’t want to forget to tell you anything that might be helpful. If you had my diaries, then you had all of my jottings from the last forty years.”
Chapter 32
Gerald Thrasher looked at the sharp, crisp images on his iMac desktop computer once again with relief. Now the evidence was before him, it made perfect sense. Ernest was a shrewd individual who had realised that Thrasher was being paid by Felicity. Why, he wondered, had Ernest Sanderson ever come to his legal practice?
Had he known that the prestigious practice of Thrasher, Thrasher and Braebourne was the legal department for CHC Industries, set up by his father and James Cortez, the other Thrasher in the title referred to himself, though when the firm was incorporated he was only three? If Sanderson had succeeded in following the labyrinthine paper trail that led nowhere, deduced that the majority of the litigation and corporate work was for well hidden shadow companies owned by CHC and concluded that this was a front for the nefarious side of the business. He could have assumed that by becoming a client he might be able to find out what the Cortez family were like. Wrong, wrong, wrong.
Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) Page 24
