“I think its title speaks for itself,” said Penny.
“Why would they be involved?” Soderman asked. “You told me when you called that they deal with domestic fraud.”
“What does it matter?” Penny said. “What does matter is that they’re coming to Nigeria to look at our books, and that only means potential trouble for you.”
“Me? Hey, pal, you’re in as deep as I am.”
Penny allowed the comment to pass. “I recognize the potential problem this poses. You didn’t mince any words during our phone chat.”
“Let’s start with our buddy Agu.”
“Oh, him. Yes. I understand that he’s a most unsavory chap.”
“Call him what you want, Manford. The truth is that he runs things in this part of the delta. Every thieving native who taps into our lines pays a fee to Agu Gwantam, and he spreads the money around where it does the most good.”
“A good businessman,” said Penny.
“A warlord, you mean. That’s what good businessmen are called here, warlords. He’s got his finger into every drop of oil that’s stolen.”
“And he’s posing the sort of problem you eluded to when we spoke?”
“You’re damn right he is. He wants a bigger cut of our oil-bunkering money.”
“And he’s a greedy man, too. I assume you’ve told him that he’s already amply compensated for overseeing the poaching of the oil lines. Besides, as I understand it, he doesn’t need more money. He’s already rich from those dreadful financial scams he runs.”
“Of course I’ve told him that,” Soderman snapped, “but he’s a conniving bastard like everybody else in this country, hands out, always with their hands out. ‘Gimme more, gimme more,’ is all they know to say, everybody, government officials, local warlords like Agu, everybody!”
“And what did he say when you reminded him that his request for a bigger cut is unreasonable?”
Soderman guffawed. “You want to know what he said, Manford? He insinuated that the authorities might be interested in how you and I benefit from the bunkering of crude.”
“That sounds like blackmail to me,” Penny said.
“Does it?” Soderman said. “I never would have known that if you hadn’t pointed it out.”
Penny ignored Soderman’s sarcasm. “As annoying as this may be,” he said, “I’m certain that you’ll know how to handle this when dealing with the auditors.”
“Handle it? How? Do you want me to increase Agu’s cut? If I do it’ll mean less for you and me. I’m way out on a limb with this as it is, Manford. I’m supposed to protect XCAL’s interests in the delta. That’s what XCAL pays me for. It wouldn’t look good for you if people knew of your involvement.”
It was obvious to Penny that Soderman was himself engaged in a bit of blackmail, but he resisted pointing it out. Instead, he said, “I fully understand.”
“There’s more,” Soderman said. “I had drinks with Fournier.”
“Our French compatriot.”
“He’s slime,” was Soderman’s response. “He says that other oil companies are putting pressure on SureSafe to stop MEND from poaching their oil. He’s getting nervous about ignoring our activities, says it’s being rumored that more than locals are profiting.”
“So?”
“So, he wants more money from me in return for continuing to turn a blind eye on our activities.”
Penny looked away from Soderman while considering what the big man had said.
He’d known from the first days of their moneymaking cabal that people like Max Soderman, Agu Gwantam, and Alain Fournier could become a problem. The fewer people involved in a nefarious undertaking, the less chance of someone fouling the works. He understood why Agu Gwantam had to be included. The warlord had control of myriad local tribes and gangs who siphoned off XCAL’s oil to resell to a variety of shell corporations and local hoodlums, business as usual in the Niger Delta. These gangs and tribes stole as much as two hundred thousand barrels of oil a day, and government authorities, including politicians, had enriched themselves through the bribes they enjoyed, money passed from the gang and tribal members through people like Gwantam, who distributed the spoils to others, including Max Soderman and, farther up the feeding chain, Sir Manford Penny. Certain members of SureSafe were also on the receiving end of those bribes, paid for their willingness to look the other way while the crude oil was illegally sucked from the pipes, Alain Fournier among them.
Penny tired of the conversation. He made a show of yawning and stretching. “Is there anything else that we should be aware of, Max?” he asked.
“Plenty.”
“You say you met with Mr. Fournier of SureSafe. What did he have to say aside from wanting more money?”
“He talked about that Brit Portland, the one whose kid was killed here.”
“Yes, I’ve met with Mr. Portland. I wouldn’t be surprised if he was diagnosed as a psychopath.”
“He’s been sticking his nose in lots of places, trying to pin his kid’s death on somebody from XCAL. Fournier tells me that Portland met with a former SureSafe guard who told him that Fournier killed him.”
“Did he?”
Soderman’s lack of a response answered the question.
“Mr. Portland claims that Mr. Fournier shot his son upon orders from someone here at XCAL. Who might that be?” Penny asked.
“What are you looking at me for?” Soderman asked testily. “You know damn well who I got the word from to get rid of the kid and others like him. Christ, how can any white guy get in bed with MEND and the rest of the savages here?”
“What else did Mr. Fournier tell you?”
Soderman shrugged and uncapped another can of beer. “He claims that big-mouth rat from Nigeria, the one who left for the States to head up a charity there, is no longer a problem.”
“That’s good to hear,” said Penny. “It’s been a lovely evening, Max. Thank you for your hospitality.”
“The guest suite is made up for you.”
“I’ll be leaving in the morning, the first flight out to Lagos and then on to London.”
“So,” Soderman said as Penny prepared to retire to his guest quarters, “what have we accomplished? The auditors will be arriving and—”
“I suggest that we both have a good sleep,” Penny said. “When I get back to London I’ll take care of things. Not to worry, old chap. There are many ways to handle this problem.”
Penny thought of Elizabeth Sims and of her marauding husband, David Portland, and the unpleasant scene he’d had with him in London. What a shame, he thought, that people like that existed, uncouth, godless men who didn’t understand the way things worked in the real world. What had Elizabeth ever seen in him? She’d obviously been a callow youth impressed by his macho, strutting self.
Oh, well.
Before dozing off into a deep sleep—Sir Manford Penny always slept well—he said his nightly prayers, which he’d done since a young student at the private boys’ school he’d attended in England.
“Now I lay me down to sleep … I pray the Lord my soul to keep.…”
CHAPTER
38
That same night, Cameron Chambers, head of investigations for Cale, Watson and Warnowski, deplaned his British Airways flight at London’s Heathrow Airport.
He hadn’t expected when he’d arrived that morning at CC&W’s corporate headquarters that he’d be on a plane five hours later. He’d just poured a cup of coffee and was settling in when Walter Cale summoned him.
“What’s up?” Chambers asked the senior partner.
“I want you to leave immediately for London.”
“Immediately?”
“That’s right. Is there a problem with that?”
“Well, no, it’s just that I hadn’t planned for it.”
“Throw some things in a bag and head for the airport. Here.” He handed Chambers a coach ticket on British Airways. “The travel office made the arrangements.”
Chambers’s expression mirrored his confusion.
Cale also handed him two sheets of paper. The hotel at which he’d be staying, a smaller venue on Gerrard Street, was noted on one of them. The second contained a series of instructions for Chambers to follow up on, the first of which was David Portland’s London address.
“I’d appreciate some explanation, Walter,” Chambers said as he scanned the other comments.
“You’ll be given all the information you need by Rufus Norris.”
“SureSafe’s London chief? Why him?”
“Because he’s fully aware of the reason you’ll be in London and can point you in the right direction.”
Chambers worked hard to keep his frustration in check. This was typical of Cale, issuing orders without clarification, demanding compliance sans justification.
“Go home and throw a change of clothes into a bag. Don’t miss the flight. Keep Norris informed of everything you uncover.”
Uncover?
What was he supposed to uncover?
Cale stood and picked a dead leaf from one of many plants in his office, a signal that the meeting had ended. He said over his shoulder, “Travel safe, Cameron.”
Chambers returned to his office and told his secretary that he’d be in London for the next few days. She wondered why the last-minute trip had been scheduled but didn’t ask. He gathered up materials, took a taxi to his apartment, told the driver to wait, hastily packed an overnight bag, returned to the cab, and checked in at the British Airways desk at Dulles Airport.
It had all happened so fast that he didn’t have time to process his thoughts beyond the practical demands of making the flight. But now, settled in his seat and waiting for takeoff, he was able to review the information contained on the papers Cale had given him.
It was obvious that the reason for the trip was Elizabeth Sims’s ex-husband, David Portland. Not only was the address of his London flat mentioned; the name of his favorite pub and its location were also included. There was a name noted that was unfamiliar to Chambers, Matthew Kelsey, in a town called Barrow-in-Furness. “Check with Norris” was written in parenthesis next to his name.
What had Portland done to pique Cale’s interest to the extent that he had dispatched the firm’s chief of investigations to London? It occurred to Chambers that he didn’t know whether Portland was in London or in Washington, D.C., although he assumed the latter. He’d see him leaving the Watergate’s Aquarelle Restaurant with Elizabeth Sims the night before, which didn’t mean, of course, that Portland hadn’t caught a flight to London the following morning. He hoped that wasn’t the case. Having Portland in London would complicate matters.
During the flight and the long, tortuously slow taxi ride from the airport into the city, his thoughts kept returning to Elizabeth Sims. Had this trip resulted from the tap on her phones? He’d done as Cale had ordered and engaged the tech-savvy, insufferable Marvin Baxter to tap not only Elizabeth’s line but David Portland’s and Robert Brixton’s, too. What was especially galling was that Baxter felt free to deal directly with Cale and to bypass Chambers. What information had Baxter passed on to Cale that prompted this trip? He, Cameron Chambers, had been effectively cut out of the loop, and the more he thought about it the angrier he became.
The hotel he’d been booked into was clean and relatively Spartan, but Chambers wasn’t interested in opulence. His pique at being told to travel to London at the last minute stayed with him as he unpacked his belongings and surveyed his surroundings. He splashed cold water on his face in the room’s small bathroom in an attempt to wash away his growing resentment.
He’d called Rufus Norris upon arriving at Heathrow and they’d agreed to meet for a late dinner in a Chinese restaurant not far from the hotel. Despite not having met Norris, Chambers had had a number of phone conversations with him and came away with a negative impression of the man and the firm he worked for. Chambers had been on the receiving end of a number of stories about how SureSafe did business, none of them mitigating his view.
Norris arrived late at the restaurant, adding to Chambers’s annoyance. He’d developed a mental picture of what Norris would look like based upon their phone conversations, which turned out to be wrong. He’d pictured him to be short and squat, balding, and possibly with a handlebar mustache. Instead, Norris was a tall, handsome man, expensively dressed and self-assured. His handshake was strong. “Good flight?” he asked as he joined Chambers at the table.
“It didn’t crash,” Chambers replied glumly.
“Not like flying used to be, hey? The airlines are in the cattle car business these days.”
Chambers agreed, although he wasn’t interested in Norris’s take on aviation. He was there because he’d been ordered to be, and his only thought was to get the dinner over with, do what had to be done in London, and return home.
Norris ordered a glass of white wine: “I happen to prefer vodka martinis,” he said, “but not the way Chinese restaurants make them. You?”
Chambers ordered the same.
“How much did Walter Cale tell you about why you’re here?” Norris asked.
“Virtually nothing, although it’s obvious that it has to do with David Portland.”
“You are, of course, correct,” Norris said. “Tell me, how do you like your post with the esteemed law firm?”
“I, ah—I’m quite happy with it,” Chambers replied, wondering why the question was asked.
“The law firm is tied in quite tightly with XCAL.”
“I’m certainly aware of that. XCAL is its biggest client.”
“The law firm has a vital stake in whatever happens to XCAL, just as SureSafe does.”
A waiter arrived to take their order, which Norris gave. Chambers nodded his approval of the choices, not caring what food would be served.
Norris continued. “Back to Mr. David Portland. Portland has become a royal pain in the bum, Cameron,” he said. “The man is obsessed with what happened to his son in Nigeria and he seems hell-bent on pointing a finger at XCAL and SureSafe as the culprits.”
“Cale has filled me in on that,” said Chambers. “What I don’t understand is why so much focus is being placed on what Portland believes. He claims that his son was shot in Nigeria by someone connected with SureSafe on orders from an unnamed person at XCAL. But that’s all it amounts to, his misguided claim. As far as I know, he hasn’t gone public with his charge, hasn’t hoodwinked some newspaper reporter into writing a story about it.”
“Are you aware that Mr. Portland plans to go to Nigeria to confront those he’s convinced are behind his son’s death?” Norris said.
“No. How do you know that?”
Norris’s smile was catlike.
Their first course was served and Norris didn’t waste time digging into the platter of spicy shrimp, transferring a sizable amount to his plate. “Don’t let it get cold,” he said. “Eat up.”
Chambers put a small portion on his plate but didn’t touch it. As Norris tasted the shrimp and grunted his approval, Chambers asked again how Norris knew that Portland planned to travel to Nigeria.
Norris looked up, a piece of shrimp halfway to his mouth. “You, of all people, should know the answer to that, Cameron.”
“Phone taps,” Chambers said bluntly.
“Handy little things, aren’t they?”
“And against the law unless authorized by a court.”
“If conducted by a government agency. Privately? Well, that’s a different story, isn’t it?”
Chambers had had enough small talk about the niceties of phone taps. He said, “What is it I’m to do while here in London? Cale told me that you’d be the one with the answer.”
“We want you to find out everything you can about David Portland.”
It was Chambers’s first laugh that day. “What’s to find out? And why me? You head up SureSafe here in London, a worldwide security firm. You have the resources to find out anything you want about Portland.”
Norris’s sour expression wasn’t caused by the food. He leaned across the table and said slowly and deliberately, “It should be obvious that SureSafe must not be connected to whatever happens to Mr. Portland.”
Norris’s careful use of words emphasized the seriousness of his tabletop message. Whatever happens to Mr. Portland? It sounded to Chambers like a direct threat on Portland’s life. Was it? He decided to not pursue an answer, certain that whatever Norris would say next would be couched in equally vague terms.
“You have information about Portland’s flat here in London,” Norris said, pushing back from the table enough to allow him to cross his legs.
“Yes.”
“I suggest that you pay it a visit. My best information is that Portland is in Washington, so he won’t pose a problem.”
“You’re suggesting that I break into his apartment?”
Norris laughed. “I assume that you’ve done that in your previous career as a Washington, D.C., policeman. Of course, you might be able to sweet-talk your way in with Portland’s landlord. It doesn’t matter how you do it—just do it!”
“And what am I looking for?” Chambers asked, feeling impotent at even having to ask.
“Anything that might indicate what evidence Portland has at his disposal to validate the absurd claim he’s making.”
“What about this Matthew Kelsey character? I was told that you’d fill me in on him.”
Norris finished his wine before answering. “Matthew Kelsey,” he said absently, as though saying the name would refresh his memory. “Portland paid Kelsey a visit recently, a psychopath visiting a drunk. Make contact with Kelsey and see what he told Portland about his son’s demise. My information is that Kelsey claims to have been there when the son was shot. He’s not to be believed, of course, but even drunken liars have credibility in some quarters.”
“Anything else?” Chambers asked.
“I’d say that this should keep you busy for a few days, Cameron.”
Norris paid the check and they parted in front of the restaurant. “Keep me informed on a regular basis,” Norris said, shaking Chambers’s hand. “Among many things I dislike are surprises.”
Margaret Truman's Allied in Danger Page 19
