Falling Into Queensland

by Jacqueline George

  “So? We just have to go to the right person in your company and tell them all about it. Who would we go to?”

  “The Anti Money Laundering Officer.”

  “The what?”

  “The Anti Money Laundering Officer. All the banks and brokerages have them.”

  “You"re kidding.”

  “Oh no,” he said, as if he could never kid about anything so serious. “We"re regulated to the ceiling. They bully and control us nowadays, and commonsense doesn"t have a place anywhere.”

  “So this laundry man

  – what does he do?”

  “Checks the papers mostly, and does due diligence.”

  “Due diligence? You guys still speak English over there?”

  “Look, it"s not my fault. He just has to ask all the questions. You know, things like whose money is it, where did it come from, is the person real. He"s got a really big office. He"s about the only person in the office who is still working with paper. He knows about

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  every transaction over ten thousand US, and we get heaps of those every day. The whole thing"s stupid anyway. I"m sure we don"t catch anyone important. Actually, I don"t think we catch anyone at all. It"s just box-ticking really.”

  “That"s alright then. We just have to get him to tick our boxes, and we"re right.”

  Rupert was not hopeful. “It might be OK if I was a partner or something. I mean, they could approve the papers, and pass them on. I suppose if you were a friend or a politician or something, they might be able to help you along. Old school networks, each other"s sons, things like that. I don"t think they make friends with people like Japan.”

  Marilyn chuckled at the thought. “I don"t think anyone makes friends with Japan. I bet his mother kicked him out as soon as he could walk. Good, anyway. We"ll just have to make friends with one of these – what did you call them? Partners?”

  “What? You don"t understand. They"ll never let you see a

  partner. I don"t think I"ve ever seen one. They don"t come into the normal office. They"ve got a floor of their own, and the normal lifts don"t even go that far. If they want to see one of the managers, he has to go all the way down to the ground floor and the security man lets him into the special lift. I don"t think they ever talk to people like me.”

  Marilyn was feeling better now. If the problems in London could be fixed by talking to people, she thought she could probably manage. “Don"t you worry. You tell me where to go, and Marilyn will sort things out. Now, want some bacon? We may as well eat it, because I don"t want to leave it until I get back.”

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  Chapter 13

  Next day in Cairns, they were picked up from the back entrance of their hotel by a sexy black Mercedes 4WD with smoked windows. As it slid to halt beside them, the rear hatch clicked open. They loaded their bags and went forward. The man in the front passenger seat had opened the rear door for them. Rupert climbed in and Marilyn settled beside him.

  The man in the front spoke to the driver. “Straight to the airport.” He swivelled in his seat to look at them both. He was gaunt and square headed. His black hair was cropped very short at the sides, and he wore dark glasses. The glasses settled on Marilyn.

  “So, you"re Marilyn.”

  “Yes, mate. And you"d be..?”

  “Right. Japan said to give everything to you, because he doesn"t trust the Pom. Take this.” He passed over a manila folder. “Open it. You need to see what he"s given you.”

  When she opened the folder, Rupert"s passport lay on top. It was clipped to some sheets of printed paper.

  “That"s his passport, and your tickets. Out and back for you, one way for him.”

  “Where"s the tickets?” She turned the passport over but

  there were no tickets.

  “Electronic tickets. Those bits of paper. Jesus, when did you last catch a plane? Just hand them over at the check-in, but take them back and keep them safe.

  “Next, that"s his courier stuff. Means he"ll be run through passports and security separately. Perhaps they might get you through with him, if you"re lucky. If not, meet him on the other side. They know he"s carrying cash. At least, they know he"s carrying something, but it"s legit and has papers. They"ve been told not to worry, but you look after those papers carefully. There"s two sets, just in case. You have to leave the top sheet with security, the one with the stamp and signature.

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  “What"s next? Yes, that"s a lot of stuff about the owner of

  the money. Not Japan. Someone you don"t know. It"s all business stuff saying the money"s good and legal. Let him read that, and tell him to remember it. He met this guy at the Marriott yesterday, and today he was given a lift to the airport and presented with the money. The guy looks like Fred here, if anyone"s interested. OK? Don"t get too involved making things up. He met the guy once, and was asked to help.”

  At the back of the folder were the details of six men. Marilyn recognised them from the copies of their driving licences. Mongo was there, and Japan. His name was Walter Michael Dressler. She had not known he had another name. These would be the pensioners. Each one had copies of his licence and his signature, all signed for as true copies of the originals by someone at the Cairns Courthouse. Just crap, she thought, there was no way Japan could have produced all this for real so quickly. He must have a friend or two in the wrong places. All the same, it was impressive if you believed in documents.

  “That all?”

  “There"s this.” He passed a thick aluminium briefcase into the back seat. “Six hundred thousand. A hundred each. Japan will be upset if any of this goes astray, so watch out.” He fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a shiny set of handcuffs. They were heavy and clinked ominously as he dropped them into her hand. “For the briefcase. I wouldn"t use them, if it was up to me. Just an invitation to get your arm cut off, and they"re as good as a neon sign for telling everyone what you"re carrying. But suit yourself.”

  They were turning off Sheridan Street onto the airport road. Coconut palms stood on either side, with mangrove swamps beyond. Marilyn"s heart lifted. She liked to fly, and this trip was going to be really interesting. Best of all, someone else was paying.

  Suddenly, she remembered. “Hey, Japan was going to give us some money. I"m broke.”

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  “Shit, I almost forgot.” The man reached into his jacket and pulled out a long envelope. “Here. It"s two thousand dollars cash, and a credit card. Open it.”

  The money was in fifty dollar notes. At the bottom of the envelope was a MasterCard in the name of Tolga Corporate. There was an indecipherable signature on the back.

  “It"s good to take cash from any ATM, or you can use it in shops with the PIN number. Hang on, I"ll write it down for you.” He opened his wallet, brought out a business card, turned it over and started writing.

  When he handed it over, Marilyn saw a string of numbers on the back. “Listen, the pin number starts at the sixth figure, right? Take those numbers and add one-two-three-four to them. You

  know, one to the first, two to the second. Now you work it out.

  What"s the number?”

  Marilyn struggled to do the calculation. It was difficult without writing anything down, but she did it slowly.

  “Good. That"s right. The easiest way is to remember it, but keep the card just in case. All the usual stuff, of course. Don"t keep your passport and credit card together. Don"t keep your credit card and cash together. You can let him carry the PIN number around if you like.”

  They came to the international terminal and pulled up. Their guide got out with them. “I"ll wait while you check in, and then I"ve got to drop you off at security.” He turned to the driver. “Just goof around, Fred. I"ll call when I"m through.”

  They were early and the check-in lines were short. While they waited,
Rupert opened his own hand luggage, passed a sponge bag on to Marilyn and started to force hand luggage into his suitcase. He would travel carrying only the money.

  Once they had checked in, the man in dark glasses made a quick call from his mobile and led them upstairs. He stopped at the top of the escalator. Ahead of them was the entry to the departure area. “Got everything? Boarding passes, passports, the security papers? OK. Your man is waiting over there. He"ll take you through.

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  Don"t fuck up!” He turned to one side and leant on the railing, apparently studying the crowds below.

  Marilyn showed their boarding passes, and a uniformed security guard came up to Rupert. “Mr Tyler? Come this way, please, Sir.”

  They followed the guard into the passport control area. He skirted the roped off queues and went to a door at the side. It was marked Authorised Entry Only. He entered a code into the button pad and pushed it open.

  Inside was a normal airport x-ray unit, and they swung their bags onto it. To the side of the machine were some simple desks. A group of airport employees and people in uniform were chatting beside one of them. “Passports, please, and boarding passes. Wait here, I"ve got to switch this on and clear your passports.”

  Rupert looked nervous. If Marilyn had been Customs or the drug squad, she would have picked him out in a crowd. She tried to calm him down. “So, that all went pretty easy. We"re getting the five-star treatment. Do you think Japan got us business class seats?”

  “Er – I didn"t look. I came out business – I had a lot of air miles to spend. Are we sitting together?” He was not paying attention to her, but looking around the room.

  “Rupert, if you don"t slow down, I"m going to give you a great big kiss.”

  “What?” That slowed him down. “What..?”

  “I said, if you don"t relax and stop worrying, I"m going to give you a great big kiss. That"ll give you something to worry about.”

  Rupert reddened and came nearer. “I don"t think... I mean – Shirley,” he started in a low voice.

  Marilyn pulled him nearer. Behind him, the belt started to move and the x-ray machine swallowed their bags. “What"s wrong? Don"t you want to kiss me?”

  “No. I mean, well...”

  “Jesus, some sort of gentleman you are. Look, our bags are ready. Pick them up and I think your man"s going to want this.” The

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  guard was returning with their passports and she held out the stamped courier certificate Japan had provided.

  The guard took it with a smile. “That"s what I need. Thanks a lot, and have a good trip. Just carry on through there.”

  It was early morning when they arrived at Heathrow. Marilyn peered through the aircraft window at a grey, pre-dawn world and the truth of the stories she had heard about England shocked her. She felt hung-over, dog tired without being particularly sleepy. Beside her, Rupert looked more gaunt than normal, unshaven and with shadows under his eyes. Thank God, or Japan, they had travelled business class. At least she had been able to stretch out and get some sleep. She sat back in her seat and waited for the interminable taxiing to end.

  The walkways from the plane into the terminal were endless and gave views only of wet concrete and the industrial architecture of an old airport. Around her, the other passengers moved forward like zombies into the web of passport control. She drew Rupert with her into the lines for foreigners. They inched forward until a bored immigration officer in a turban glanced at their passports, stamped hers, and waved them through.

  Baggage pick-up was untidy. Yesterday"s unclaimed baggage was stacked in the centre of the carousels, and wear and scuffed paint gave everything an air of neglect. They had a long wait until their belt kicked into life and their bags appeared at last.

  Next would be Customs, their last hurdle. Marilyn took

  charge. “Here, you push the trolley. I"ll carry the briefcase. That way, if anyone gets nosey, I"m the one with the problem.” Rupert pushed his way around the screens at the entrance of the green channel. The desks on the other side were unmanned and they simply carried on into the crowd of welcomers beyond.

  Marilyn steered them over to an island of quiet by the wall. “Right, you need to get me some English money. Two hundred bucks be enough? How much is the taxi?”

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  “Two hundred – that"s around eighty pounds. It will get us a cab easily, but you"d better take a bit more. London"s expensive. Give me five hundred. You"ll spend that fast enough.”

  While he was gone, Marilyn dug in her bag for her leather jacket. In spite of her sweater, she was feeling cold.

  Outside, it was windy and a thin rain swirled around the buildings. Rupert guided her to an old-fashioned black cab that she could walk into without bending, and they rattled off towards London. It was slow going, and Marilyn saw more cars around her than she had seen in a life time. Her mind was drifting into oblivion when they finally pulled up in a small square, and Rupert led her down to his basement flat.

  “What do you want to do now?” he asked as soon as the door shut.

  “A shower, and then we go into your office, I suppose.”

  “We"re too early. It doesn"t open for another two hours, and the important people don"t get in until ten o"clock.”

  “Ten o"clock? Shit! Day"s half done. Oh well, shower and an hour"s kip, I suppose. I guess I have the sofa? OK, you make it up, and I"ll grab a shower.”

  “Bath. I don"t have a shower.”

  “Bath? Oh well - got a washing machine? I"ll drop my stuff

  outside the door. I need to get the jeans done, because I only have my leathers for today.” She made for the bathroom, carrying the briefcase with her.

  Rupert"s alarm wrenched her awake after only moments. She sat up and, feeling even worse than before, pulled her leather

  trousers on. She went to shake Rupert out of bed. They had a heavy day coming.

  He appeared wearing a grey suit, complete with a striped tie and silver cuff links. If she did not know him, Marilyn might have been impressed.

  They took another cab into the office, to an address in Old

  Jewry. The cab crept forward, stopping and starting, sometimes

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  travelling faster than the pedestrians. As they went, Marilyn prepared herself for the next step.

  “This laundry man. He"s really important, right? He a partner?”

  “Oh no. The Anti Laundering Officer is important, but he"s just part of the system. I suppose he reports to one of the managers, and they report to one of the partners. All the sections have their own partner up there, but we never see them.”

  “Mh – so who"s your partner?”

  “That"s Mr Bradley-Smythe.”

  “What"s he like?”

  “Well, I"ve never met him, but I"ve seen him in The Times a couple of times. He likes yachting.”

  “Old? Young? Married? Gay and loving it?”

  “I don"t know. He doesn"t look very old. Not like some of the others who have to be helped into their lift. Anyway, it makes no difference. We can"t get to the seventh floor anyway. Not without an invitation.”

  “What floor are you on?”

  “The third. The higher you go in the company, the higher your floor. Except for the fifth. It"s the canteen and office services there.”

  “Stairs?”

  “No. Well, that"s not true. The fire escape stairs are next to the lifts. We have a clerk on our floor with claustrophobia, and she always goes up and down on the stairs.”

  The cab swung into a narrow lane and stopped. Marilyn stepped out onto a worn stone pavement, clutching the briefcase to her. Steps led up into a shadowed entrance with a revolving door. Rupert started up, but she held him back.

  “Look, mate. There"s no future in screwing around with the laundry man. He just works there, r
ight? We"ve got to see your Mr. Bradley, or we"re wasting our time. So I think what we"ll do is, go up to the sixth floor. We get out of the lift and, if anyone sees us, you just say sorry, wrong floor. Then we get onto the stairs and carry on

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  up. They don"t lock fire doors, do they? No, so we just walk out onto the top floor and you ask for Mr Bradley"s secretary. I"ll take it from there.”

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  Chapter 14

  The lobby was no more than a narrow corridor. A security guard waited behind a counter to the right of the door. Beyond him, along the marble corridor, Marilyn could see the entrances of the lifts.

  Rupert breezed in. “Morning, Wilson,” he said. “Keeping

  well?”

  “Tolerable, Sir, tolerable. Weren"t expecting you until next week, Sir.”

  “That"s right, but something"s come up. Back early.” They were past him and Rupert pressed a button for the lift.

  Tolerable, Sir, tolerable, thought Marilyn. So that is how things go in the Old Country. She did not comment. Now they were nearly home, she was feeling nervous herself. This place belonged to the Poms, and specifically, to very rich Poms. She was out of her depth in every way.

  The lift stopped far too early and a cheerful blonde with a ring in her nose trotted in. “Hello, Rupert. Back so soon? How was Australia? Ride any kangaroos?”

  “Hi, Mel. Yes, it was great. Really good time. Loved it.” He was blushing, and as the girl got out on the next floor, she seemed to have a special wiggle to her hips.

  Marilyn looked at Rupert. “She"s one of the Administrative Assistants,” he said.

  Looks like a bad girl to me, she thought. Interesting. The lift shuddered to a stop again and the doors opened. She followed Rupert out into a richly carpeted room. On either side of the corridor, padded partitions formed small offices and she could see women working quietly and seriously. They all wore white blouses and dark skirts. None of them showed any interest in the new arrivals.