Grave Island

by Andrew Smyth

  I thanked him as best I could and took it back to my room and tested it with the Truscan. Finally, a result! It showed less than twenty-five percent of the proper active ingredients – the same as the sample from Greg Satchwell’s flat. The correlation was so close it could even be from the same batch.

  I realised that there was no point in going back to the shop without Ranish to translate so I pulled out my phone and called him. It took him a while to answer but when he finally did so he said he’d made little progress. I told him about my discovery and he said he’d be back with me within the hour.

  When he got back to the hotel, I briefed him on my progress and took him back to the grubby shop near the hotel. ‘What we don’t know,’ I told him on the way, ‘is whether the reduction in active ingredient in the Oxaban is because it’s past its sell-by date, or whether it’s been deliberately manufactured that way to save costs.’ I paused to think about it. ‘Perhaps it doesn’t make any difference. It was passed off as something it wasn’t and far from helping patients, it would probably cause them harm. Anyway, if we’re able to track down the distributor we might find out which it was.’

  We stopped outside the shop. ‘Tell him that I’m researching for a UK company and ask for the names of his suppliers. He’s got no reason to hide it.’

  We went in and it soon became clear that the old man didn’t want to co-operate. Even though I didn’t understand exactly what was being said, I could tell from his attitude that he was very suspicious about our motives and wasn’t giving much away.

  ‘Try money,’ I said finally.

  A little can go a long way in India and Ranish brought out his wallet and put some notes down on the counter. The old man looked at them for a moment as if deciding whether it was enough. He then reached under the counter and pulled out a huge book which looked like a Dickensian ledger. He opened it and turned it around so Ranish could read it.

  He flicked through the pages quickly. ‘These are dating back years,’ he said. ‘What exactly am I supposed to be looking for?’

  ‘Ask about the Oxaban,’ I said. ‘Can he show you who it came from?’

  Ranish discussed this with the man who took the book back and turned through the pages until he stopped and passed it back to Ranish. ‘Here it is,’ he said, running his finger down the columns. ‘I hate to say this, but it’s supplied by Bakaar, from here in Mumbai.’

  I took a moment to consider this. ‘It can’t be,’ I said finally. ‘Bakaar took us around their factory yesterday. They wouldn’t have done that if they were making counterfeits. We saw their quality control systems and they couldn’t have faked a set-up like that; there’s got to be another explanation. Assuming the drugs were at full strength when they left Bakaar, by the time they got here, to this shop, the active ingredients had somehow dropped by three quarters.’ I looked again at the old man who couldn’t have had anything to do with this. ‘Ask him who delivers it,’ I said.

  I waited until Ranish had translated the question and I heard the answer but instead of translating, Ranish went silent.

  ‘What is it?’ I asked. ‘Did he say the company’s called Comar?’

  Ranish finally turned to me. ‘Yes. Comar Transport. That’s one of the companies I saw yesterday at Bakaar’s. It’s one of the transport firms they use.’

  ‘If they’re being supplied by Bakaar then wouldn’t they make the delivery?’

  ‘Not necessarily,’ Ranish said. ‘I looked at Comar’s website back in the office, and it seems that their speciality is international forwarding. It doesn’t make sense that they should be making local deliveries – least of all here in Mumbai’s market which is usually supplied by rickshaw.’

  ‘Bashara told me they have a separate division. A separate contract with Bakaar for Mumbai customers. They said it was only a small part of their sales so it wasn’t very significant.’

  ‘Perhaps, but it wasn’t mentioned on the Comar website. I wonder why they’re keeping quiet about it.’

  ‘If they do have a local service then they could introduce other people’s drugs into the supply chain and pass them off as Bakaar’s. Comar looks promising.’

  14

  I was getting increasingly anxious about the impending East African vaccination programme so back at the hotel, I phoned Ken Maxwell at MI6. We agreed that the UK office of the FDA were probably in a better position to monitor it than Sally, and he told me that an announcement would be made in the next week about the successful bidder, which didn’t leave much time for us to locate the source of the counterfeits. It was frustrating to feel so close to the likely source, but unable to discover where they were being made.

  Ranish was waiting for me downstairs, and we went into the bar and ordered a couple of Kingfisher beers. I told him that the vaccination programme was about to start any time and that we were up against it.

  ‘It would explain where they’re coming from,’ I said when we’d sat down. ‘They infiltrate the genuine supply chain with counterfeits. That could be how the fake Oxaban arrived at Holden Healthcare – it slipped through. Perhaps there was a mix-up in the Bakaar facility in Mombasa.’

  ‘But that would mean that Bakaar is a part of this and I don’t see that. If they wanted to counterfeit drugs they could do it easily and they certainly wouldn’t show people around their facilities if they were.’

  ‘Not necessarily.’ I picked up my bottle and poured some beer into my glass. ‘Whatever’s going on, it seems likely that Comar’s involved somewhere along the line.’ I drank some of the beer before continuing. ‘We’ve identified the fake drugs in a pharmacy supplied by them and they’re the common denominator between that and Bakaar Pharmaceuticals. It could make the perfect cover. Have you ever heard of them?’

  ‘Comar? Only what I found out on the web. Their warehousing facility is in Bhiwandi, between Bakaar’s facility and central Mumbai. There are lots of companies opening up distribution centres there including pharmaceutical distributors.’

  ‘I suppose the best place to hide a distribution centre is in the middle of other distribution centres. But we can’t turn up and knock on their door; we don’t even know what we’re looking for yet.’

  ‘This might help when we find it.’ Ranish brought out a device from his pocket and put it on the table in front of me. ‘It’s a GPS satellite tracker. We can track anything anywhere around the world with this.’

  I picked it up. It was about the size of a matchbox, but finished in a matt black. ‘So that’s what you people get up to – and you’ve invented one that actually works? But it won’t be able to transmit a position inside a shipping container, will it?’

  ‘No, but we can pick up the signal as soon as it’s unloaded. It’s magnetic as well.’ Ranish took it from me and held it close to his steel watch strap. It jumped out of his hand and stuck firmly to his wrist. ‘All we have to do now,’ he said, pulling it off with some difficulty, ‘is find the shipment we need to track.’

  ‘Ahmed Bashara told me they’re running a consignment of Oxaban to East Africa the day after tomorrow. Perhaps if we looked into Comar’s operation we might find a way of smuggling that into the shipment.’

  Ranish frowned. ‘I don’t see how.’

  ‘Don’t be so negative. Let’s go back to Bhiwandi this afternoon when the drivers clock off. See if one of them can help us.’

  Yet again, we headed north from Mumbai to the developing businesses in Bhiwandi.

  Comar Logistics, to give it its proper name, was a ramshackle affair compared with the gleaming new industrial units which surrounded it. It had obviously been there for some years but didn’t seem to be sharing the economic boom enjoyed by its neighbours which included a new centre for Jaguar Land Rover and a massive 560,000 square-foot DHL facility. There were about a dozen trucks lined up alongside the rows of loading bays.

  ‘I don’t see how we’re going to get inside,’ I said. ‘My cover as a pharmaceutical wholesaler isn’t going to carry much weight with
a transport company.’

  ‘I don’t know about that. You could say that Bakaar’s general manager, Ahmed Bashara, suggested you visit them on your way back from seeing them. There’s no secret that they work together.’

  ‘We don’t know whether they’re delivering or collecting. They might be employed by someone else who has nothing to do with Bakaar.’

  ‘I told you, their trucks were in the despatch bays. They were collecting, not delivering.’

  ‘It’ll look a bit suspicious. Just walking in off the streets?’

  ‘You’re English. Indians aren’t often surprised by what the English do. We think most of you are eccentric. We often wonder how you ever managed to get an empire.’

  ‘It might explain why we lost it. No, that’s not going to work. If they’re involved they’d be immediately suspicious about a westerner turning up on their doorstep and asking about Bakaar.’ Even though Ranish was probably right and that many people in Asia thought that most Europeans – particularly the British – were a spanner short of a toolkit, it would be too risky. ‘Let’s wait and see,’ I went on. ‘See if we can talk to one of their drivers. I’ll move the car out of sight.’

  I found a place where we could watch Comar’s entrance and the trucks arriving and departing.

  After about an hour, we watched as a truck pulled in and reversed into one of the loading bays. The driver got out and went inside and about fifteen minutes later we saw him come out of the front entrance; he’d changed out of his uniform and appeared to be heading home. ‘You go and speak to him,’ I told Ranish. ‘I’ll follow behind. Tell him you’ve got a proposition for him. Do you think more bribery will work?’

  ‘Sure, why not?’ Ranish got out of the car. ‘Have you any idea how little these drivers earn?’

  I watched Ranish come up behind the driver and walk in step with him. I stayed where I was until they turned around a corner and went out of sight. Cautiously, I followed and again waited as they headed towards the centre of Bhiwandi.

  Eventually, I saw Ranish stop and turn back towards me. I leant over and opened the door for him as he slipped into his seat. ‘Well? How did it go?’

  ‘He said he didn’t want to talk to me on the street. He told me to come by his house later. He gave me the address.’

  We decided to kill time by taking a further look around the estate which was still being developed as a centre of distribution for the Mumbai area.

  After about an hour, we thought we’d left it long enough and Ranish got out his mobile phone map and directed me to the address the driver had given him. We headed into the centre of Bhiwandi and the streets got narrower, and there were more and more people milling around on the pavements. Some of the women were carrying tall baskets on their heads showing amazing balance while others were holding umbrellas to shade them from the evening sun. The air was smoky with the exhaust of the motorcycles thronging the street and the road was becoming too congested for me to drive much further.

  ‘Stop here.’ Ranish looked up from his phone. ‘He told me he lived above that mobile phone shop. Park over there and we can go up together.’

  ‘No. You’ll have to go in there alone. It would excite too much attention if he saw a westerner was involved. We’ve got to keep this as low-key as we can.’

  ‘What do you want me to ask him? How much should we offer?’

  ‘I’ll leave that up to you. You know the value of money here better than I do. Ask him specifically about consignments picked up from Bakaar. Find out whether the trucks pick up from anywhere either before or afterwards. I’ll wait here.’

  In the event, I went for a short walk and examined the extraordinary range of shops that lined the dusty street and found it almost as colourful as the Crawford Street market. I looked across and saw Ranish come out. He looked both ways and then headed for the car. I caught up with him and unlocked the door and we got in. ‘So?’ I asked.

  ‘He told me he doesn’t do the Bakaar collections. Their speciality is international groupage. They collect from their customers and consolidate the consignments into containers which they take to the docks.’

  ‘What about the Oxaban delivery to our friend back in Mumbai? Did you ask him about that?’

  ‘He simply repeated that all their work was international. He didn’t know anything about Comar making local deliveries. I asked about East Africa and he said that there’s a regular driver who makes the daily collections from Bakaar.’

  ‘Does he pick up from anywhere else at the same time?’

  ‘He didn’t know, but he said that when all the collections are brought back to the warehouse, they’re broken down by destination and held over until the consignment is complete and then they’re taken to the docks the next day.’

  ‘So Bakaar’s next pick-up for Africa is tomorrow. Does he know what time the driver leaves?’

  ‘It seems the first shift starts at six in the morning.’

  ‘That must mean that Comar operates a night shift.’

  ‘Must do. They’d have to if they’re to get the containers packed for despatch in the morning.’

  ‘So you have an early start. How are you going to know which truck you should follow?’

  ‘He told me he would phone me and give me the registration number.’

  ‘Oh, the power of money. Is there nothing it won’t buy?’

  ‘You can afford to be cynical,’ Ranish said with a note of bitterness. ‘You don’t have to live off Indian wages.’

  Ouch! I thought. ‘Sorry but I don’t imagine you do too badly yourself, working for SIS.’

  ‘It’s not something I advertise,’ Ranish said. ‘My wife thinks I’m an accountant.’

  ‘And I’m sure with your training you’d be very good at cooking the books.’ I looked at my watch. ‘With reasonable traffic we’ll be back at the hotel not too late. I’ll drop you off on the way back but I’ll stay here tomorrow and wait for you to call in.’

  ‘You’re not coming with me?’

  ‘No, I’d be too noticeable. You follow the truck and let me know what happens.’

  The next day dragged by. It was frustrating not to be involved, knowing that somewhere nearby there could be a factory sending out potentially lethal medicines. To kill time, I put in a call to Ali to see if he’d heard anything from Sayed. He was about to go into a meeting and couldn’t really talk, but as far as I could make out Sayed still thought that something was being planned, but didn’t yet know what. He told me he’d reported the contact to MI5 who were prepared for me to continue to liaise with him – for the moment at least.

  I finally met up with Ranish in the hotel bar later that afternoon, and the bartender brought out two Kingfishers without being asked. Perhaps it was because of the tip I’d left him the previous evening.

  Ranish explained that the driver had been as good as his word and had phoned him with the details of which truck to follow and although Ranish reported that it had made three stops before Bakaar and several afterwards, he said that none of them was anything to do with pharmaceuticals – one was a car parts supplier, another an electronics manufacturer and all of them were well known in India.

  ‘So we’ve got nowhere?’ I asked.

  ‘Looks like it. If Comar are introducing fake pharmaceuticals into Bakaar’s supply lines, then it has to be by another route. They may not be the smartest outfit around, but they’re used by some pretty impressive names.’

  We drank our beers and considered the situation. It was frustrating that every time I thought we’d got a solid lead, it seemed to melt away.

  ‘Time to use that gizmo of yours,’ I said. ‘We’ve established that Bakaar is not the source of the fakes, we’ve checked out their transport company and can’t find anything wrong with them either.’

  ‘We haven’t ruled out Comar. Although if they are involved I can’t see how they’re doing it.’

  ‘We’ve got to look further along the supply chain but I’m afraid we’re running out
of time.’

  ‘So what do we do next?’ Ranish asked.

  ‘We’ll go back to your driver. Wave some more money at him. Tell him they’re running some Oxaban tomorrow and see if he can somehow attach your device to the consignment and we follow it from there.’

  Ranish shook his head. ‘It’s one thing asking him about delivery runs, but asking him to interfere with the consignment is something else. He’s likely to refuse.’

  ‘Have you got any better ideas?’

  ‘You could do it yourself. Bashara said you could go back to watch the Oxaban manufacture.’

  ‘No. Let’s try the driver first.’ I checked my watch. ‘If we leave now we should get there before it’s too late. Let’s go and see what he says.’

  ‘Okay, but I think I know what that’ll be. It wasn’t easy persuading him to give me the information in the first place.’

  We finished our beers and Ranish took over the driving and we made it to Bhiwandi in record time.

  I waited again in the car outside the mobile phone shop but this time I didn’t have to wait so long before Ranish emerged looking grim. ‘I managed to persuade him eventually, but he’s not happy with it. He said it was one thing telling him about deliveries, but interfering with them could get him sacked without a reference.’

  ‘You told him what to look out for?’

  ‘I think when I landed this job they must have thought I had some brains.’

  ‘Sorry, but it’s our only lead. If he screws it up we’ve got nothing left.’

  ‘Despite his reluctance, he seemed like his head’s screwed on. I think he’ll manage it okay.’ Ranish put the car in gear and drove off. ‘All this effort and we end up reliant on one man.’

  I looked at my watch for the hundredth time. Ranish had left me in the hotel while he went back to the driver’s house to get his report. I’d spent the day researching vaccination programmes around the world. I was interested in what they were doing in Afghanistan where it seemed that the various UN agencies were also planning wide-ranging programmes – there had been so many years where the country had been effectively closed to them that they were making strenuous efforts to catch up. But it seemed there was still a long way to go, particularly in rural areas where it was hard to reach them.