“I’ll let you know. I’m still working on it. Anything from Homeland?” Steven inquired.
“They called my friend back on Friday – said they were investigating you in a matter of national security. My friend pushed back and demanded to know what matter, and they indicated you were being sought in connection with possible funding of terrorist-related entities. ‘Possible funding?’ my friend asked. They wouldn’t say anything else, and my friend pointed out you’d been reported as killed in the paper; true as far as he’s aware.” Stan looked at Steven. “Sounds like someone framed you with data we won’t be allowed to see. That’s part of the problem with this. They can accuse you of anything they want and justify their behavior with the whole ‘national security’ thing.”
“So the net is my hundred fifty thousand’s gone for the duration?”
“Once they figure out you weren’t on the boat – and they will, Steven, you can count on that – we should expect a full court press to take you into custody for questioning. You’re being lumped into the same category as a terrorist financier. It’s an incredible abuse of the system, but one in today’s political climate that’s all too common. The money’s the least of your problems,” Stan advised him.
“I don’t expect anyone to miss Todd until his rent comes due in another couple of weeks, so there’s not a big risk of me coming back to life for now,” Steven reasoned. “In the meantime, I’m going to look through this package and figure out my next move. I’ll stay in touch, and I’ll call before Thursday so I can coordinate getting the passport. I appreciate everything you’re doing for me, Stan.” Steven owed Stan big time. Huge time. They both knew as much. And Steven wouldn’t forget it. Ever.
Stan looked at him carefully. “Steven, if your theory about the CIA being involved is correct, they’re probably the ones who got Homeland Security to pull you in on a pretense. These are big dogs. Now, I’m not saying I buy your idea, but I did want to say if you’re right, you might want to consider the scope of what you’re up against.”
“I get it, Stan, however it’s a little late for regrets.”
“I agree. But I still don’t completely understand why they’d be in the mix.”
“I’ve been thinking about that. Maybe with the number of ex-bankers in Washington, someone figured out that with Wall Street they had the perfect black box to generate income for their ops; you know, we’ll look the other way if you’re manipulating ABC Corp – as long as some of the profits stick to us. That’s the likely explanation, and it fits with why there’s no regulation or any attempts to stop manipulation when it happens.”
“That would require a lot of folks colluding, Steven.”
“Not necessarily. The SEC never goes after large industry participants, so it’s not like they’re chomping at the bit; just look at their track record with Madoff. Or look at all the obvious fraud in the mortgage derivatives meltdown – where not one of the obvious thieves in that crooked little dance has even been charged. Hell, Stan – they don’t even have the ability to prosecute. They’re limited to civil suits, and they hardly even do those, except to small fry who are too small to matter. So really we’re only talking about co-opting a few key people at the top; and who’s going to buck that sort of trend from on high? Are you telling me you can’t see that as realistic, with the kind of money we’re talking?”
Stan nodded. “I guess after TARP and the way the banks screwed the taxpayer nothing would surprise me…I suppose anything’s possible, but you’d figure there are safeguards against that.”
“Think about it. The SEC is a revolving door between million dollar jobs on Wall Street and putting in grunt time going after small timers. You really think anyone there is going to stick their neck out and risk going after a potential future employer? Besides, haven’t you noticed that even with all the obvious fraud in the 2008 meltdown, nobody went to jail? If you were a kid in South Central and you’d sold a few grams of crack to an undercover cop, you’d be looking at hard time. But if you’re a Wall Street criminal who’s set up the system for a meltdown, and then made billions plunging the country into economic purgatory, you get a wing of a hospital named after you. Face it, Stan, big crime pays big.”
Stan took off his spectacles and shook his head. “This just keeps getting worse the more I learn.”
“Welcome to my world.”
Steven drove back to the motel, and once in his room he pulled the tab across the top of the package Stan had given him. He examined the contents.
Another envelope.
He extracted it and opened it. Inside were Xeroxed copies of FBI files, including several photos.
He started at the beginning. A photo of Jim Cavierti came first. Not a great-looking guy. Weak chin. Bags under his eyes. The image looked like an enlarged passport photo. Next came his CV: Born James Augustus Cavierti, 1960, in Tom’s River, New Jersey. Educated at Columbia University in New York. Business Degree. Worked at Goldman Sachs out of school. Became a founding partner at Griffen Ventures in 1983. Spoke fluent Italian and Spanish.
Next, a photo of Patricia Cavierti, who looked like a solid ‘Ten’ in the shot. What a bombshell. Then came Jim’s financial breakdown, with an estimated net worth at time of death of $25-plus million. Not bad. And that was after-tax money. Apparently Wall Street wasn’t a terrible place for a kid from NJ to wind up. $4.4 million house, four cars, second homes in Sicily and Connecticut.
As the afternoon wore on, he waded deeper into Cavierti’s history. The family had suspected mob ties via the father, who had a rap sheet for assault, trafficking in stolen goods and weapons possession while on parole. Young Jim had apparently decided not to follow in his twisted footsteps.
Towards the end of the documents was testimony from a government informant, code-named Dash. Steven’s interest became aroused at this. Dash raised a lot of doubt about the funding sources for Griffen Ventures’ initial rounds. He alleged that Jim had strong ties with the Gambino and Genovese mob, and that much of Jim’s success was as a result of financial support and laundering for those groups – in addition to a number of other questionable sources. Part of the testimony was redacted; blacked out. Steven wondered what could have been so sensitive to make an internal FBI file redacted. An ominous turn, to say the least.
At the end of the deposition, Dash indicated the newer dirty money was being hidden offshore, with many Caribbean islands the preferred gateways for laundering – hence the connection. He stated Cavierti had offshore private accounts worth many more millions of illicit dollars – Cavierti had initiated a laundering facility for arms traders out of the Middle East as a side business, by way of Switzerland and then ultimately through Anguilla.
Then more blacked-out areas.
A few company names suspected of being involved with Cavierti were listed. Apparently the FBI had been building a case against Cavierti with the objective of going after him within the year – until Cavierti met his untimely end…
After reviewing the documents again it seemed like all arrows pointed to Anguilla for answers. So he had a destination at last. All he needed now was a plan.
Easier said than done, he supposed; the plan thing.
Steven spent half an hour practicing his new signature. Not bad. Looked like a squashed bug. It would do – after all, he was a PhD. He signed the back of the Visa card. He was in business.
Now he just needed to figure out exactly what business he was in.
Focal Point: Chapter 8
“When you tryin’ to catch a rat, you need to getchou a rat trap,” said the voice outside the curtained window of Steven’s room. “One a those little mouse traps ain’t never gonna do tha trick. No, what you need is a rat trap!”
Steven listened to the maintenance men as they continued past his door, still discussing the challenges of pest control in the hospitality industry. He was about to head over for yet another hotel breakfast, but he stopped dead as the two men walked by – now debating baiting techniques.
/> Of course the older man was right.
To catch a rat, you needed a rat trap.
Steven grabbed his gear and made his way to the motel restaurant. He’d actually started looking forward to the pancakes.
Stockholm syndrome, no doubt.
He picked up his cell phone and dialed the international number in Anguilla Peter had provided for him.
“Good morning, Larkin and Reese.”
“Good morning. I’m trying to reach Alfred Reese,” Steven said.
“Certainly, sir, and who may I say is calling for him?” The receptionist had an island lilt to her voice.
“An associate of Peter Valentine. He’s expecting a call from me.”
After a few moments pause a deep British-accented voice came on the line.
“This is Alfred Reese.”
“Mr. Reese, thanks for taking my call. I’m a close friend of Peter Valentine. He told me he’d spoken to you and you could probably help us? My name’s Steven,” he said, hoping they could leave it on a first name basis for now.
“Yes, I recall the discussion. Peter comes strongly recommended, and he speaks highly of you. He intimated there are certain sensitive matters for which you need assistance.” The deep voice gave nothing away. Alfred had managed to say much while saying very little.
“Correct. It will require expertise in a number of areas, such as banking, company formation, and so on.” Steven could also play the discreet game.
“As I indicated to Peter, I’ve top-drawer resources in all of those areas. I can certainly get the ball rolling for you via correspondence – however, I think for ultimate discretion there’s no substitute for conducting one’s business in person, if you follow my reasoning.” Alfred Reese already reminded Steven of Stan Caldwell. He wondered if they taught obtuse communication in law school.
“I don’t disagree. Perhaps you can e-mail me an engagement letter so we have a formal relationship, and then I’ll get you more information and plan a visit.” Steven had learned the value of attorney-client privilege.
“Excellent. What’s your e-mail address?” Alfred asked.
Steven gave him his new Hotmail account.
“Send me the agreement, and I’ll sign it and fax it back to you,” Steven instructed.
“Very well, Steven. I should probably advise you my ordinary fee schedule is circa three hundred and fifty U.S. dollars per hour, but for the nature of assistance Peter and I discussed, I invoice on a project basis. Is that acceptable?” Alfred wanted to make sure he had a client who wouldn’t choke when he got the bill.
“You can rest assured we’re comfortable paying on a project basis, and also amenable to paying a premium for superior results.” Steven figured that should address the money question.
“I suspect, then, we’ll hit it off famously, Steven. I only deliver superior results.” Nice comeback, Alfred.
“I assumed as much.”
“Keep an eye on your inbox,” Alfred said. “I look forward to hearing from you.”
Steven got a good vibe from Alfred. He seemed polished, conservative, and expensive.
He’d learned paying top dollar wasn’t a bad idea when you were looking for professional help of a serious sort. You don’t want the cheapest heart surgeon, you want the best.
To catch a rat you need to getchou a rat trap.
Steven paid his bill and went to his ‘office’, as he now considered Starbucks to be. He ordered the usual and settled into his corner. The website was now up to 16,800 hits. He checked his new e-mail account and retrieved the document from Alfred. Switching over to his Group, he posted a greeting:
[Hey gang, it’s Bowman. Who knows anything about Anguilla?]
A few minutes later a response popped up:
[Little island next to St. Martin. Small population. One or two main roads. It’s hurricane season right now. What else do you want to know? Spyder]
Steven wanted to know as much as possible.
[If you were going to do some offshore banking, why would you pick Anguilla? What’s there? – Bowman]
Response from Spyder:
[Barclays, Scotiabank and CaribeWest. But I’d probably do most of my business in St. Martin. Way bigger, much more developed, not far. Can’t think of many reasons to choose Anguilla. Didn’t I read on some questionable website that a certain investment fund had its corporate charter in Anguilla? Spyder]
Steven fired back:
[I thought I read that, too. Always had a hankering to visit. What a coincidence. Any travel tips? – Bowman]
[I’ll e-mail you some thoughts later. Spyder]
He spent time surfing the web, researching flight schedules and hotels. Checking Hotmail, he saw a message from the same anonymous re-mailer Spyder used last time.
[First off, I still think you should plan on going through Cuba to get off the US flight log systems. I’d catch a flight from Tijuana to Mexico City or Cancun, then a flight over to Havana. Do a layover for a few days, then to St. Martin, and take a private plane to Anguilla. The more you avoid commercial flights, the better off you’ll be. Pay for the Tijuana flight in cash. If you’re going to carry over ten grand, change some money into Euros or Canadian dollars, and use a money belt. If you can, buy some gold Maple Leafs too – they’ll look like a roll of quarters on an X-ray machine. Carry-on bags only. Buy what you need as you go, and travel light. Hope this helps. Keep me abreast of your adventures. I’ll assist however I can.
I’m also digging at the government connection, formulating a theory I’ll share with you when I have more meat on the bones. You won’t be reassured, if I’m even close to correct on this. – Spyder]
Wow. More to worry about, but a lot of good info. This guy really knew far too much about going covert to be a civilian. He’d never have thought about Cuba or Cancun as a gateway, or using private planes to get around the Caribbean. Or carrying Euros. He checked and found a flight on one of the Mexican airlines from Tijuana to Havana on Friday evening, arriving in Havana Saturday afternoon after a long layover in Mexico City. Perfect. Six hundred fifty bucks. A bargain. Apparently he could get a Visa for Havana at the Mexico City airport seeing as he was Romanian; as an American, it would have been longer and more complicated.
He’d hang out in Havana for a day or two and then catch an island hopper over to St. Martin, then a ferry or plane to Anguilla. Kind of amazing what a little cash and a non-U.S. citizenship could achieve.
He disconnected and packed his laptop and went in hunt of someplace with a copy machine. There was one up the hill. He printed out the Alfred document and signed it with his new signature. Steven had the clerk fax it back before shredding it. Satisfied, he went out to his car and placed another call to the right honorable Mr. Reese.
“Good day, Larkin and Reese.” Same lilting island voice. Almost a musical quality to it. Not unpleasant.
“Hello again. This is Steven calling for Mr. Reese.”
“Yes, sir. One moment, and I’ll see if he’s available.” She put him on hold.
Alfred came on the line. “I’ve just received your fax. What can I do for my newest client?”
“I’ll be coming to the island Monday,” Steven said, “if all goes well. I could use some help in finding a discreet location to stay for several days where I won’t have to bother with a lot of paperwork; more of a cash-and-carry place, if possible. Can that be arranged?”
“Of course. I’m acquainted with some of the better resorts here and can easily arrange a room for you on our business account. Rest assured, you won’t be troubled with petty demands – identification and such like – I realize how tiring travel can be.” Alfred was definitely his man for the job.
“I’ll also need a cell phone for my stay. The rest we can discuss when I arrive.” Steven didn’t want to let too much info get out until he was there and had met Alfred in person.
“Consider it done. I can meet you at the airport or ferry when you arrive, and drive you to the hotel. Just give me su
fficient notice. I’ll look forward to meeting you on Monday.”
“And I’ll look forward to seeing the island. I understand it’s beautiful,” Steven said.
“We tend to like it. Let me know if there’s anything else I can do for you in the interim.” Alfred signed off.
So the ball was in play. Now all he needed was his passport and he was good to go. He debated doing a currency exchange, but decided to get fifteen or twenty gold Maple Leafs instead. The Maples would be quickly convertible into cash anywhere in the world, and he rather liked the idea of having something besides paper money to barter with. He’d done some research on the web and figured he could easily walk through airport security anywhere in the world but the United States with thirty or forty grand in hundred dollar bills in his pockets without triggering any alarms, so he wasn’t particularly worried about carrying cash. But sometimes gold had more cache value, and considering he didn’t know where he was going to wind up or what he’d need, it couldn’t hurt.
Focal Point: Chapter 9
Griffen sat with Sergei in the Russian Tea Room on 57th Street. Sergei was treated like a rock star there, and he basked in the glow of attention the staff lavished upon him. They had one of the private rooms off the main four dining rooms, used by visiting dignitaries and similar VIPs.
“I have no information that would lead me to believe your original problem wasn’t solved,” Sergei said casually as he sipped his pepper-flavored vodka.
“Have you noticed the website’s back up?” Griffen said. “That creates substantial difficulty for me.”
“Ahh. That is a different and more nagging problem this time around. The level of sophistication of the operators is considerably greater. We have been unable to locate the server yet. We continue to investigate.” Sergei looked at Griffen. “At the end of the day, we handled the root cause. This appears to be a different person or group that has picked up the baton and is tormenting you. I’m not sure you can effectively silence this now it has been out for a while. Too many are familiar with the story.”
Zero Sum Page 16
