Whistleblower

by Terry Morgan

CHAPTER 85

  Katrine received the phone call from Dirk Eischmann at her morning coffee break.

  "I have been called for another meeting. Please give my apologies and chair the EAWA steering group meeting this afternoon."

  He had made the phone call from his office but left immediately and headed to Brussels airport and the Sheraton Hotel. Once inside, he walked direct to a corner. Already sitting on a sofa beneath a large, contemporary print with white cups of coffee on the glass topped table in front of them, was a smart, greying, middle aged man in a dark suit, white shirt and red tie. Alongside him, sat a much younger woman with long, blonde hair, red lipstick, a white blouse and a short, flower-printed skirt. Around her neck was a gold necklace and, on her fingers, rings with several large stones. As she leaned towards the man, talked quietly and straightened his already immaculate tie, her skirt rose up to expose long, tanned legs and thighs.

  As Eischmann approached the man placed a finger to his lips to put an end to the woman's attentions and stood up. The woman straightened her skirt, uncurled her legs and stayed sitting down, looking at her red nails. There was no handshake. Instead Eischmann beckoned him return to the sofa and then nodded at the woman who smiled. He then took the black, patterned upright chair opposite and leaned forward. But whatever their meeting was to be about, it was immediately interrupted.

  Eischmann had barely opened his mouth when two men, both wearing dark suits and ties walked towards their corner. The woman saw them coming first, her partner then looked up and Eischmann turned around.

  "Sorry to interrupt your meeting," said one of the suits. "Inspector Hendrickx, Belgian Federal Police. This is Inspector Verstraeten."

  Eischmann stood up. "What is this?" The other man also stood.

  "Sorry, sir, but we're just checking identities Could I have your names please? Are you staying at the hotel?"

  "No. Why? What is this?" Eischmann asked again, his face turning red. "What is the problem?"

  "No need to worry, sir. Do you have any ID? A passport? A driving licence?"

  Eischmann just stood.

  "You sir? You madam? Do you have any ID?"

  The woman crossed her legs once again and fumbled in a tiny, brown leather handbag. Her partner touched her hand. "There is no need, mi amor. What do you want? This is my wife. We arrived here this morning from Nice." he said. The accent was Spanish.

  "So you will have your passports with you," said Inspector Hendrickx and he nodded to Verstraeten. Verstraeten moved forward, his hand outstretched. Eischmann moved back behind his chair, his hands rubbing his face nervously.

  "I am Dirk Eischmann," he announced. "I am Director General at the Commission. There is no need for this fuss."

  Hendrickx raised an eyebrow. "You have some proof of ID, sir?" he asked. "Just your driving licence will do. We're just doing our duty."

  Eischmann, fumbled in an inside pocket, removed a wallet then a credit card sized driving licence and handed it over. Hendrickx glanced at it. "Thank you. No problem, sir." He handed it back.

  "You sir?" he looked at the one with the Spanish accent.

  "My passport." He handed it to Verstraeten. Verstraeten glanced at it. "Mr Daniel Acosta - Spanish passport. Thank you." He handed it back. "You madam?"

  The woman fumbled in her bag once more, handed over a maroon passport. "Thank you. Anne Acosta - British passport. Thank you."

  Both Verstraeten and Hendrickx stood back.

  "Thank you Messieurs, madam. That is all. Sorry to interrupt your meeting. Have a nice day."

  It was Eischmann who spoke next. "I don't see you asking other guests for their ID. Why us?"

  "Instructions, sir. We obey instructions," Hendrickx replied. He saluted casually and started to walk away with Verstraeten, but Eischmann followed.

  "Instructions from where? In my position I have a right to know."

  Hendrickx turned, looked at him straight in the eye. "In your position, sir, then you can know that it is part of a cross-border, international fraud investigation. Money laundering, that sort of thing, sir." Then he walked away.

  In London, Scott Evora got the message that three more names on his list had been found and a small dent made in their normally untouchable self confidence. Jim's stone was being lifted.

  In Milan, Guido was standing naked in front of one of the four mirrors in the bathroom when he heard the phone vibrating on the shelf beside a vase of purple orchids. With white foam around his mouth and running down his arms, he continued brushing his teeth with one hand and picked the phone up.

  "Ya. Toni?" he gurgled through the foam. Then he stopped brushing, ran to the white sink, rinsed his mouth from a glass of mineral water, gargled, spat, sat on the stool beside the bath and put his hand to his mouth. His eyes widened.

  "It's that asshole, that piece of shit, that faccia di merda, Toni," he shouted, the shrill sound enhanced by the mirrors and white ceramic floor and walls. "How do you know this?"

  There was a pause.

  "Two people?.........Who was the second one? How do you know it was the asshole?.... Who said he was tall and handsome?.....A girl in the office?......And the other man?........Big? Red hair? What man can have such a colour?.......There is no-one called Richard Muller. It is only a name.....he is the impostore. And what did the crazy people in the office tell him?.......A bank? The Milan address? Mio Dio!"

  The scream was almost enough to shatter the bathroom mirrors.