The Water Rat of Wanchai

by Ian Hamilton

“That’s how we set it up. We never had that much in the account until last year, so it was never a problem.”

  Ava picked up the Barrett’s file from the kitchen table. She leafed through it, taking out the monthly statements and the attachments, and read them more closely than she had upstairs. Patrick watched her, confused about what had just transpired.

  After ten minutes she said, “There was a withdrawal eighteen months ago of $335,000, and then another ten months ago of $200,000, and then a third just three months ago of another $400,000.”

  “How many are there for $25,000 or less?” he said.

  “Admittedly, a hell of a lot more.”

  “Anything under $25,000 I did electronically. I was sending money to George’s accounts in Atlanta and Bangkok and to my account in Seattle. Those other three withdrawals I did in person.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I went to the BVI. I went to the bank. I presented a written request for a certified cheque along with my American passport and one other form of photo ID, usually my driver’s licence. They drew up a release form and I signed it. They photocopied my passport and driver’s licence and dated the copies, and I signed those too. Then they gave me the cheque.”

  “Who does that anymore?” she said.

  “The account was opened before Internet banking took off,” he said. “And Barrett’s is a conservative bank. They’re paranoid about money laundering and gave me a hard enough time just opening an account.”

  “What if you dropped dead?”

  “George has the power of attorney, and that is recorded at the bank. He would need to show up and go through the same shit I did.”

  “Can’t you request a change in the amounts?”

  “Only by doing it in person.”

  Seto was telling her the truth. She knew he was — there was no reason for him to lie. But that didn’t help quell her anger: anger about making too many assumptions, about thinking the deal was closed, about having dared google Tommy Ordonez. She had jinxed herself. She had broken one of her own rules and now she was paying for it. The only mistake she hadn’t made was to tell Andrew Tam his money was on the way.

  “Patrick, look after him for me,” she said abruptly. “I have to go upstairs for a minute.”

  He looked at her questioningly but she was already halfway out of the kitchen.

  She went upstairs and checked in on Anna on her way to Seto’s office. She was curled on the bed, crying softly to herself. Ava closed the bedroom door so she wouldn’t have to listen.

  The computer was still on. Ava typed WATERRAT and the screen opened up. Then she tried to access the Internet and was told it wasn’t currently available. She waited. On the fourth attempt she finally got online.

  She went to the Barrett’s Bank’s home page and clicked on ACCOUNTS. She input the account number and then the password. The S&A bank account came to life. She checked the balance: $7,237,188.22. There was a list of options for her to pursue, and one of them was WIRE TRANSFER. She clicked on RECIPIENT DETAILS. She was going to type in Andrew Tam’s bank information until she realized she had left her notebook downstairs, so she typed in her own bank data. Under amount to be sent she requested $50,000. Then she hit the send button. The request was immediately flagged.

  Ava appeared calm and focused when she walked back into the kitchen.

  “What the hell happened to you?” Patrick asked.

  “I have a problem,” she said.

  “I guessed.”

  “I need to think about it for a while.”

  “I have good ears if you want to talk it through.”

  She was about to dismiss the idea when she realized that she was going to need help no matter what she decided to do, so she might as well bring him on side sooner rather than later. “Let’s go into the living room,” she said.

  They sat side by side on the leather couch, which smelled of cigarette smoke, and she told Patrick about her problem. The only thing she didn’t — and wouldn’t — tell him was the total amount of money involved.

  “It sounds to me like you’re going to have to take him to the BVI if you want to get that money back,” he said. “Or spend the next few months transferring $25,000 a day, though I can’t even begin to imagine the things that could go wrong with that idea.”

  “It has to be done quickly or chances are it won’t get done. Is there any other choice?”

  “What do you think?”

  “I think I’m screwed,” she said.

  “How’s that?”

  “As I said, the quicker you move, the better your chances are to succeed. In my business you strike when guys like Seto are vulnerable, scared, and within your control. The longer the process takes, the more they begin to think they can find a way out. But how do I get him to the BVI without getting their Customs or police involved? All he has to do is open his mouth and scream bloody murder. And believe me, it will occur to him — if I can get him there. He’ll talk himself into thinking he can get away with this. He’ll figure if he can lose me, he has enough money to hide somewhere we can’t find him. We always do find them in the end, but the problem is that the money is often gone by then.”

  “And if you can get him there, how do you deal with the bank?”

  “There’s no point worrying about the bank unless I can get him to the BVI.”

  “You need to talk to the Captain,” Patrick said.

  “What can the Captain do?”

  “I’m going to call him,” he said. “Don’t go anywhere.”

  She sat in the kitchen while she waited for Patrick to return. Seto kept rotating his head as if he had a stiff neck. She felt like snapping the fucking thing.

  The front door opened and Patrick stepped back inside. “I have to go meet with the Captain. I’ll be back in a while.”

  ( 27 )

  PATRICK DIDN’T COME BACK UNTIL AFTER TEN O’CLOCK. Ava hated the thought of the two men discussing her business without her. The longer he was gone the more irritated she became, and by the time the door opened again she was really angry. Patrick walked in with the two men from outside Eckie’s, the cops who had taken Ng.

  “You and I are going to see the Captain,” he said. “The boys will look after things here until we get back.” He saw the look on her face and said, “I tried to call. Your cellphone was off.”

  She realized he was right about the phone, and bit back an irritable remark. Then she picked up the Barrett’s file and forced it into her kitbag. She wasn’t leaving anything behind for them to look through.

  “What did he say?” she asked as she climbed into the Toyota truck.

  “Who?”

  “For God’s sake, Patrick, you know who.”

  “He said he wanted to see you, that’s all. I explained the difficulty and he said he wanted to see you. Nothing more than that.”

  “So this could be for nothing?”

  “I can’t say for sure, but normally the Captain doesn’t waste his time on nothing.”

  She felt a twinge of hope. “Where are we going?”

  “The doughnut shop. It’s close by.”

  The entire area was in utter darkness except for the odd flicker of a candle or flare from a flashlight. The shop, though, was lit up like Times Square. The massive figure of the Captain filled its window, a plate of doughnuts in front of him.

  “I’ll wait here,” Patrick said as he parked the truck.

  The Captain gave her a little wave when she walked in. “I ordered you coffee,” he said, pointing to a cup. “Patrick said you liked it.”

  In the bright light he looked even whiter than she remembered. And in the small confines of the shop he looked even larger, a mountain of a man, and she was again taken aback by how startlingly blue his eyes were. If she had been meeting him for the first time, the impression would have been overwhelming.

  She steadied herself and sat down. “We have to stop meeting like this,” she said.

  His eyes twinkled, amused maybe, c
urious certainly, involved most definitely. “We have a problem, I hear.”

  She noticed his use of we. This was, at the very least, going to cost her money. “We do,” she said.

  “Unfortunate.”

  “For no one more than me.”

  “Seto was either rather clever or rather stupid. Patrick wasn’t sure which because he said you spoke to him in Chinese.”

  “It was necessary for him to understand that I had been sent from Hong Kong.”

  “And all that entails, implied or otherwise.”

  “Implied.”

  “But still effective.”

  “Normally.”

  “So you got what you wanted except for a minor twist?”

  “If you want to call it minor.”

  The Captain bit into a chocolate-coated doughnut. “I eat these every day and then rush home to take my cholesterol medication,” he said.

  “Do you have a way to resolve this minor twist?”

  “Yes, I probably do. But as I said to Patrick, what’s the point of exerting all that effort — and spending all that money — getting you and Seto there if the bank won’t cooperate?”

  “I’ll handle the bank.”

  “You sound so confident.”

  “Just get me and Seto there and I’ll find a way to handle the bank.”

  “You will find a way or you have a way? The difference is not inconsequential. I mean, you’re asking to us spend a considerable amount of capital — both financial and personal — assisting you to get to the British Virgin Islands. What if you fail? How do we get compensated?”

  “How much do you want?” she asked.

  “No, no, no,” he said, looking offended by the question. “You’re going about this in entirely the wrong way. This is not just about money. This is about making use of friends and contacts whom I don’t want to embarrass if things go awry. Friends and contacts whom I don’t want subjected to questions from their lords and masters. Friends and contacts I still want to have five years from now.”

  “So this isn’t about money?”

  “I said this is not just about money.”

  “What do you want from me?” she asked.

  “A plan. I want you to give me a plan for extracting the money from the bank. If I think the plan can work, then we can move on to the other details.”

  It was, she thought, not an unreasonable request. It was even, she thought, a perfectly sensible request. He could have demanded more money, found a way to shuffle her and Seto to the BVI or somewhere close by, and then washed his hands of them both as he pocketed the funds. The only problem was that he was now becoming a partner, and the cost of business had just skyrocketed. It was a good thing Seto had that extra two million in his account.

  “I’ll have something by tomorrow,” she said, having no idea how.

  “Good. Tell Patrick when you’re ready to chat and I’ll make myself available.” He waved his arm at the shop. “We meet here more often than not — we own it. There’s a camera overhead and microphones dotted about here and there. I like to bring my political friends here. They think I’m slumming,” he said smoothly.

  Ava wasn’t sure she believed him. If it was true and he thought sharing that confidence with her would earn trust, he was going to be disappointed. In her eyes the Captain was now more dangerous.

  “I’d like to go back to the hotel; I don’t need the distractions at the house. Can you leave your men there overnight?”

  “Consider it done.”

  ( 28 )

  AVA BOUGHT A BOTTLE OF WHITE WINE AT THE HOTEL bar and carried it in an ice bucket to her room. The air conditioning had been turned off again. She swore as she restarted it. Then she poured herself a glass and settled into the rattan chair. “Time to think,” she said to herself.

  It took her an hour to create a scenario that just might work. She called Patrick. “Where are you?”

  “At Seto’s house.”

  “Could you come and get me?”

  Ava was quiet in the truck. She could tell that Patrick was anxious to ask her questions. But there was nothing to be said until she had a firmer grasp on the plan, and when she did it would be the Captain she would speak to first.

  Seto was sitting in the kitchen, still handcuffed and taped to the chair. She thought he was sleeping until he raised his head at the sound of feet crossing the tiled floor. She touched him on the arm and said in Cantonese, “I need your email password.”

  “Waterrat.”

  The man has no imagination, she thought. She had the Barrett’s Bank file in her hand. She opened it and looked at some of the most recent correspondence. Several names and email addresses were involved.

  “Who is your primary contact at Barrett’s?”

  “Jeremy Bates.”

  “Is he the manager?”

  “Yeah. It’s a small staff. Jeremy handles most of the clients.”

  She climbed the stairs to his office. One of the cops sat on the floor outside the master bedroom. “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “The woman started wailing a while ago. I had to shut her up.”

  Ava didn’t ask how.

  The computer was still online. She accessed Seto’s email account and brought up his address book. There was a Jeremy Bates listed. She checked it against the email address she had in the Barrett’s file. They matched. She then hit messages sent, typed in bates, and requested a search. There were close to twenty emails that had gone back and forth. She took notice of Seto’s style. His tone was more formal than she had thought it would be. Also more candid — Seto hadn’t been reluctant to discuss his financial affairs.

  She began composing an email to Jeremy Bates.

  Hi, Mr. Bates,

  I’m coming to Road Town on February 26 or 27. I will be making a wire transfer to Hong Kong in the amount of $7,000,000. I would appreciate it if you could have the paperwork organized for me.

  I will be bringing a Ms. Ava Lee with me to the office. She is the accountant for the firm in Hong Kong that we are doing business with. Ms. Lee is there to confirm the wire transfer in the amount specified. You have my permission to share any and all information regarding the S&A account with her.

  Once our travel arrangements have been confirmed I will contact you to set a date and time for us to meet at your office.

  Yours sincerely,

  Jackson Seto.

  She clicked the save draft icon.

  It was lunchtime in Hong Kong. She phoned Uncle. “I’m still in Guyana and I’m still working on getting this project finished,” she said quickly. “It’s going to be two days more, maybe three, maybe four. I’m getting there, but progress is slower than expected.”

  “Any specific reason for the delay?”

  “I have to go to the BVI.”

  She could almost feel his grip tightening on the phone. “That wasn’t the plan,” he said.

  “The plan had to be changed. The outcome will be the same.”

  “Are you going alone?”

  “No,” she said. “Seto is coming with me, and I’m going to bring Derek down to help.”

  “Is it that complicated?”

  “I just need an extra pair of capable hands,” she said. Uncle would be even more nervous now, knowing she had to bring Derek Liang into the picture. He had worked with her on five other occasions, and every one of them had been problematic or worse.

  “If you think it is necessary,” he said quietly, after a pause.

  At the very outset of their relationship, Ava had been present at a meeting between Uncle and a Macau businessman who wanted to hire them. Despite his need for their assistance, he played his cards close to his chest, giving them the absolute minimum amount of information. Uncle had grown impatient with the man’s vagueness and began asking questions that became more and more pointed. Finally the man threw up his hands and said, “Believe me, you have enough information. Trust me, trust me — you have everything you need.”

  Uncle had re
fused the assignment. As they rode the hydrofoil back to Hong Kong he said to Ava, “Whenever someone says, ‘Believe me,’ or ‘Trust me,’ and can’t give you a reason to do so that you can wrap your arms around, run the other way. For me they are the most dangerous words anyone can utter; they are the refuge of the weak.”

  In all the years since, those words had never crossed her lips. The day she had to ask for his trust would be the day she was no longer working with him. And she liked to believe that the same was true in reverse. Even if Uncle was full of reservations, he would never express them. His confidence in her was complete, and even if things went horribly bad — which they sometimes did — he never second-guessed her.

  “Yes, I do think it is necessary.”

  “Is there anything else?

  “Do you remember the time I used Fong Accounting as a cover?”

  “Yes.”

  “I need to do it again.”

  “Do you still have the business card?”

  “I do.”

  “What are the circumstances?”

  “When I get to the BVI, I’ll be calling on Seto’s bank, Barrett’s, and I’m going as an accountant. The bank may call Fong to confirm my identity. It’s a long shot that they will, but it’s better to play it safe.”

  “What name is on the card?”

  “Ava Lee.”

  “Okay, I’ll talk to Mr. Fong and we’ll set it up. Is there anything you’d like the office to tell any callers?”

  “I’m travelling in the Caribbean — on business, mind you. And you could tell them to offer to provide my cellphone number if the caller wants to reach me.”

  “Is that all?”

  “No. We’ll need to send more money to our friends in Guyana.”

  He didn’t react right away. She could only imagine the questions that were raging through his head. They were already out of pocket more than $100,000 and now she was asking him to send more. Bringing Derek in would cost at least $10,000. If she didn’t collect from Seto, how big a loss would they be looking at?