by Jason Dean
Bishop took another long gulp of cola and said, ‘I take it you don’t think Klyce is doing it all for purely humanitarian reasons.’
Arquette smiled. ‘Well, I guess I became suspicious when I learned Artemis isn’t actually Klyce’s baby at all. The company is in fact a subsidiary of LCT. A very well hidden subsidiary, I might add. I lost count of how many overseas shell companies I had to discard before I got to the real owners. And even then there’s still some room for doubt. But I’m about as sure as I can be that Klyce is still working for his old employers.’
‘So it’s a tax write-off.’
‘Oh, I’m sure that’s part of it.’
‘And the rest?’
‘I believe LCT are also using the company as a cover for illegal arms trafficking.’
TWENTY-SEVEN
Bishop stared at Arquette. ‘That’s quite a jump. How’d you arrive at that conclusion?’
‘With the help of a disgruntled ex-employee of Artemis named Cesar Hernandez. He was a researcher who was fired about a year ago as a result of a sexual harassment charge. He approached me not long after, claiming it was all a frame-up to discredit him. He said it was because his bosses had found out he’d been looking in places he shouldn’t and discovered the real reason for Artemis’s existence.’
‘International arms trafficking.’
‘Think about it, Bishop. Most security firms would jump at the chance to be associated with a humanitarian enterprise like Artemis, wouldn’t they? So if LCT are keeping their involvement totally hidden, then that says something about what must be really going on behind the scenes.’
‘I guess,’ Bishop said. ‘I’m just trying to figure out why Hernandez approached you. Unless the law’s changed since I last looked, the FBI only deals with crimes committed within US borders.’
Arquette shrugged. ‘That’s right, but Hernandez said he’d been given my name by a friend of his who’d met me during a RICO case I headed up. To be honest, I got the impression he just wanted to talk to somebody senior in law enforcement and get advice on what to do next. But I soon found myself very interested in what he had to say and tried looking for reasons to involve the agency. Even if we only ended up a small part of a joint investigation with another agency like Alcohol, Tobacco & Firearms.’
Bishop frowned as he fiddled with the pull tab on his Coke can. Something about that didn’t add up. But he let it go for now. ‘I’m also trying to figure out why you’re telling me all this. Care to enlighten me?’
‘Why don’t you just listen to what I have to say first?’
Bishop shrugged. He’d learned long ago some people had to be allowed to explain things their own sweet way. Sometimes just as a way to show off their knowledge. And that trying to speed things along would often just slow them down. He decided to remain patient.
‘Now this trafficking scheme of theirs is really very simple,’ Arquette said. ‘See, LCT are often contracted by overseas buyers of US weaponry to have trained men guard the shipments and make sure everything arrives safely. They’re also contracted to accompany certain large arms shipments to US troops stationed in war zones.’
‘And I guess some of these shipments don’t actually make it to their final destinations.’
‘Most do, of course, or they’d soon go out of business. But a few shipments might get unexpectedly waylaid along the way and diverted to other destinations. Specifically, to countries on the arms blacklist. Three years ago, LCT were responsible for guarding a shipment of new automatic weapons being sent over to the remaining ground troops in Iraq. Turns out none of the fourteen crates arrived. It was like they just vanished into thin air. Yet nobody kicked up a stink about it other than a few pissed off commanders on the ground. And it wasn’t long before they became very quiet about the whole thing, too.’
‘Somebody high up in Washington was paid to hush things up.’
Arquette nodded again. ‘And that’s just one example. But you can see where the FBI would come in. High-level corruption is something we take very seriously.’
‘So where do Artemis fit in?’
‘Hernandez said they, and Klyce in particular, act as a middleman between LCT and the buyers. They deal personally with the buyers, arrange the contracts, take receipt of the fees, falsify the end-user certificates, and handle the payoffs to the various export-control authorities in the region. And probably a lot more besides.’
Bishop finished his Coke and took a new one from the fridge. ‘Got anything to back that up?’
‘I’ve got bits and pieces, that’s all. Hernandez handed me printouts of email communications between Klyce and several of their customers for shipments ranging from small arms to the latest surface-to-air missiles. All coded, of course, but easy enough to decipher. And the recipient email addresses were all from blacklisted countries.’
Bishop opened the new can of soda and jutted his chin at the papers beside Arquette. ‘Is that them?’
Arquette leafed through the papers, pulled out several and passed them across.
Bishop scanned them quickly. As Arquette said, they were all written in code. And not a very complex one, either. In one, a representative from a manufacturing company in Belarus wanted certain guarantees regarding delivery dates for his aeroplane parts. And he also wanted to renegotiate the prices for some items. Except the prices he was being quoted far exceeded what those particular parts would be worth on the open market. The second email came from a buyer in the Ivory Coast. Another blacklisted country. It contained more of the same. The third was from a representative in Myanmar.
He handed them back to Arquette. ‘Pretty thin. And emails can be faked.’
‘Agreed. But these were just supposed to be a taster. Basically what Hernandez had been able to take with him before being fired. But he said that if I were to personally back him up, he’d be willing to go back in there and get more. Enough to enable me to set the official machinery in motion and initiate a full scale investigation into the company. I was hesitant at first, because I knew he could only do it by breaking and entering, but I eventually agreed.’
‘And did he go back?’
Arquette’s expression looked strained. ‘I can only assume so. Because that turned out to be the last I ever heard from him. After that, Hernandez simply disappeared off the face of the earth. No trace whatsoever. Just gone. And believe me, I’ve searched. He also left a wife and a young boy, and neither of them have heard from him in a year.’
Bishop frowned. ‘Doesn’t bode well, does it?’
‘No, it doesn’t. And while I’m pretty sure he was killed by Klyce or one of his men, there’s no possible way I can prove it. Not without a body.’
Bishop took a sip of his drink and thought about how all this might connect with his particular problem. Which was all he really cared about. ‘You think Amy found out what was going on, too, then? And that she arranged to meet somebody and hand over the evidence you’ve been hoping to obtain?’
‘That’s what I think, yes. But if you’re going to ask me who she was planning to pass it to, then the answer is I simply don’t know. Yet.’
‘And your involvement in all is still unofficial?’
‘Right. I try to keep up with Klyce’s movements as much as I can, but I can only do it outside my normal duties, and I don’t have any additional manpower to fall back on.’
Bishop motioned behind him. ‘What about these two?’
‘They occasionally help me out with surveillance, but mostly they have their own assignments to keep them busy.’
Bishop shook his head. ‘I don’t get it.’
‘Don’t get what?’
‘This obsession you’ve got with Roger Klyce.’
‘Obsession?’ Arquette lowered his eyebrows. ‘It’s hardly that. A decent man trusted me to help him find justice and he was killed for his trouble. I want the man responsible.’
Bishop set the second empty can on the floor of the car. ‘That’s not what I meant. How com
e you even entertained Hernandez’s story in the first place? Other than the vague possibility that a state official is taking backhanders, this kind of case has nothing to do with the FBI. But you listened and you stayed on board. And the only reason you’d do that would be if you had a personal stake in bringing Klyce down.’
Arquette turned his face to the window. Bishop figured he’d either answer or he wouldn’t. He didn’t really care either way. Outside, he saw they were now moving west on Queens Boulevard, heading for the 59th Street Bridge into Manhattan. The traffic was still thick and the going slow. But since they weren’t really going anywhere, what did it matter?
Finally, Arquette turned back and said, ‘Okay. If you must know, Klyce was instrumental in destroying the career of my partner, Larry Ratner. I can’t go into specifics, but there was a big money laundering case we were helping the NYPD with. LCT was one of the companies who came under suspicion, if only peripherally. One of the LCT employees Larry interviewed was Klyce, and he was usually pretty heavy-handed with suspects. LCT was cleared of any wrongdoing fairly early on, but Klyce must have taken exception to how he was treated. He accused Larry of trying to extort money from him, and got a couple of his underlings to back him up. Didn’t matter that my partner’s rep was spotless up until that point. The agency chose to dismiss him rather than risk a public backlash. He lost everything, his wife sued for divorce, and his life quickly went downhill. A few years later he died of alcoholic poisoning.’
‘Okay, that would explain it,’ Bishop said. ‘But I’ve got another question for you.’
Arquette gave a ghost of a smile. ‘I thought you might have.’
‘Was it Klyce who was behind Amy’s assault?’
‘This will surprise you, but I don’t think so.’
‘No? Who, then?’
Arquette reached down for his paperwork again and flipped through until he found three large photo prints. He passed them over and said, ‘I think it was the man in these pictures.’
Bishop studied the top photo. It was in black and white and clearly taken from long-distance, but the details were still pretty sharp. It was a daylight shot of three men as they talked outside a nondescript warehouse. It could have been anywhere. But the time code in the corner gave the date as October 11, just under three weeks ago.
One of the men was Roger Klyce, wearing an expensive overcoat and carrying a thin black briefcase in his right hand. The other two men were both black. Both wore dark, functional suits. Using Klyce as a gauge, Bishop estimated the first man to be about six-two or six-three, and weighing about two hundred and thirty pounds. None of it fat. His face was indistinct in this particular shot. The other man was about six foot and probably about two hundred pounds. His profile showed deep-set eyes and a straight nose.
Bishop turned to the next shot. It must have been taken just a few seconds later. All three participants were in similar positions, except the larger man’s face was now turned towards the camera.
Bishop studied that face. It had a lot of hard edges, as though somebody had sculpted it out of granite. The small eyes were hidden under the man’s prominent brow. Bishop couldn’t be sure. Not really sure. The distance had been too great. But it looked like the same man he’d seen outside Angelo’s Pool Hall this afternoon.
TWENTY-EIGHT
‘Who is he?’ Bishop asked.
‘His name’s Rapulana Bekele,’ Arquette said. ‘Currently chief security officer at the embassy for the People’s Republic of Konamba, in Washington, DC.’
Bishop kept his face a mask, but it seemed his patience with Arquette had been rewarded. Finally, the Konamban connection he’d been seeking. He briefly considered mentioning the surveillance log he’d found on the CD, but the impulse passed quickly. He’d never been in the habit of sharing information with the law, and he wasn’t planning to start now.
‘Go on,’ he said.
‘He’s ex-army, with a reputation for extreme ruthlessness. I don’t know the other guy’s name, but it’s likely he’s a member of his security team. Possibly his deputy.’
‘How did you make him?’
‘Their car was parked nearby. I traced the diplomatic plates back to the Konamban embassy and got a contact over at the State Department to send me photos of their senior staff. My contact also informed me that Bekele very rarely sets foot outside the embassy grounds, which makes this meeting all the more remarkable. Apparently, he even sleeps on site. Probably in one of the rooms down in the basement.’
‘Who took these shots?’
‘I did. I had a couple of free days and spent most of them parked outside the Artemis building in the hope that Klyce’d finally give something away. On this particular Sunday morning, I got lucky. He drove to an industrial park a few blocks south of the offices for this meeting. It was pretty deserted out there, but I found a good vantage point.’
Bishop turned to the last shot and immediately realized he’d gotten them out of order. This one showed Bekele handing the black briefcase to Klyce.
‘I remember reading about Konamba,’ Bishop said, frowning at the large man’s profile. ‘They gained their independence from Ethiopia in the late eighties, right? I seem to recall the maniac who took charge made a pretty good attempt at slaughtering as many of his countrymen as he could before he was finally overthrown.’
‘Self-proclaimed president-for-life, Erasto ‘The Scythe’ Badat,’ Arquette said, nodding. ‘They say almost half a million innocent civilians lost their lives thanks to him and his militia. It’s been almost fifteen years since he disappeared, but Konamba is still on most countries’ blacklists, ours included, because of him. The current coalition government are steadily trying to rebuild their image, but they’re finding it a long hard road, especially with all the civil unrest back home. They’ve made it clear to the world media that to bring any kind of lasting peace to the region they need up-to-date weaponry, and I guess if they can’t get it legitimately . . .’ He waved a hand at the photo.
Bishop tapped a finger against the top one and said, ‘What makes you think they’re buying arms here? For all you know that briefcase contains Klyce’s lunch.’
Arquette smiled. ‘Like I say, I can’t prove anything. But I do know that three days after these photos were taken, another arms consignment failed to turn up at its final destination. Afghanistan, this time. And once again, the shipment was overseen by a large team of heavily armed LCT bodyguards.’
Bishop handed the photos back to Arquette and sat back in the seat. He was well aware this kind of thing went on all the time, and would most likely continue to do so for years to come. If LCT and Artemis were involved, and he wasn’t convinced they were yet, then they were merely a drop in the ocean. But if Amy had found out about it, Bishop was fairly sure she wouldn’t have been able to sit back and just forget it. Not Amy. It wasn’t in her nature. Out of the pair of them, she’d always been the one with the high ethical standards and sense of duty. But he still had a few more questions.
‘Why would this Bekele want Amy out of the way?’ he said. ‘What would he gain?’
Arquette shrugged. ‘For a deal like this to go through, there’d have to be heavy involvement from high-ranking Konamban government officials. And that would undoubtedly include some senior people stationed at the embassy. If your sister found out somebody high up was involved over there, then that could be reason enough to want her gone. These people may be blacklisted, but they still maintain a diplomatic presence here as they try to claw their way up to respectability. To have diplomats expelled from the US as undesirables would set them back years. They couldn’t risk the chance of that happening.’
‘But how would they even know Amy was aware of what’s going on?’
Arquette reached down for his paperwork again and leafed through until he found a specific sheet. He passed it across to Bishop, who saw it was another itemized telephone bill. It was for a 202 number, but a different one from that listed on Amy’s CD. The page covered inco
ming and outgoing calls for October 18. There were a lot of them. Bishop quickly scanned the list of numbers and stopped halfway down when he recognized the number for Amy’s cell phone. She’d called the 202 number at 13.23. The conversation had lasted for thirteen minutes. Then, at 14.17, the Washington number called Amy back. That conversation only lasted four minutes. After that the list continued with more numbers that meant nothing to Bishop.
He said, ‘I take it this number belongs to somebody in the embassy?’
‘Not just anybody. That’s the office number for the ambassador himself, Mwenye Byakagaba. I think it’s entirely possible that your sister found out some of what was going on between Bekele and Artemis, and decided to take her suspicions to their top man over here. Maybe they talked it over on the phone, or maybe Amy arranged to meet Byakagaba and discuss it in person the next day. After all, DC’s only a short train ride away.’
Bishop pursed his lips. ‘Why go to him? Why not take what she had to the law?’
‘Well, that depends on what she’d discovered, doesn’t it? Maybe she only had a few pieces of the jigsaw at that point. I really don’t know. Only your sister can say for sure, and she’s not talking right now. But I’m pretty sure she discovered the rest at some point, then found somebody with influence who was willing to take it further with enough proof. At which point, Bekele decided to act.’
‘So you’re suggesting the Konamban ambassador’s in on this, too?’
Arquette shook his head. ‘Not necessarily. It might be that he simply talked over Amy’s accusations with his head of security, who then decided to deal with the problem himself. He probably kept a close watch on her until he figured out a game plan. I do know it wouldn’t be that hard to find three men capable of making her death look like a mugging, though. Especially if the money was right.’
