Whistleblower

by Terry Morgan

CHAPTER 87

  When Katrine arrived for work, an office rumour was rife. She had now chaired three meetings that Eischmann normally chaired and was actually enjoying it. Preparing herself for a fourth, she was sat at her computer when her phone rang.

  "Kat?"

  "Jan? Is that you?"

  "Yes, listen. Can you do something for me? Please ask your friend in Treasury to continue to monitor all the international aid fund movements from now on. Tell her to do exactly what she did last time. It worked, Kat. We've been able to see what happens, where the money goes and to whom."

  "Where are you?"

  "I can't tell you, Kat. Not yet, anyway."

  "Something's happened here, also," Katrine said. "Dirk Eischmann's disappeared. He has not been seen for three days and no-one knows where he is. The press, too, have got wind of something."

  "Stay in there, Kat. I sense some career progression for you very soon." Jan laughed and rung off. He was sitting in Tom's room at the Holiday Inn hotel near Linate Airport, Milan. Tom was on the laptop checking maps.

  "Via Como, Civesio," he said. It's not far away. It looks industrial. Shall we take a look?"

  "Yes. Then, we'll head into central Milan and check the restaurants around the Park Hyatt hotel. And can we print off the photo you took of the back of Guido in Antwerp? I can describe him very well from the front, but any photo might help."

  They hired a car through hotel reception and after it was delivered set off with a more detailed hard copy road map. It was a cool overcast early afternoon with no wind. Their car was a small, blue Fiat 500 that Jan drove as Tom sat hunched in the undersized passenger seat with the map on his lap. Via Como was, as he had noted, in the Civesio Industrial area, a triangular patch of older warehousing, small industrial units and repair shops. They drove around the triangle, noting a few names.

  "How's your Italian?" Tom asked.

  "Parlo un po' di Italiano," said Jan.

  "I'm impressed," said Tom.

  "Don't be. That's all there is. Stop a minute and I'll ask my mobile phone for help. We'll start with the Italian for 'do you know this man?'"

  It took half an hour of driving, stopping and then walking around the area until Jan finally stopped a man on a fork lift truck. "Mi scusi. Parla inglese?"

  "A little," said the driver.

  Jan showed him the photo. "You know this man? It is not his face but he is a very small man."

  "Si, certamente. I see him sometimes. He drive big Mercedes. Ometto."

  "Ometto?"

  "Si, very small."

  "You know his office? Is it near here?"

  "Si. I think so." He pointed to a narrow driveway between two buildings.

  "Do you know his name?"

  The man shrugged. "He comes and he goes."

  Jan thanked him and, with Tom now talking to someone else, walked along the narrow road between two empty looking warehouse buildings. The road ended in a small, untidy concrete parking area littered with weeds and lumps of concrete, but no black Mercedes. In the far corner, though, was a double door with a smaller metal door cut into it that looked as if it was used regularly. The weeds were flattened down, the door itself freshly painted in black. Jan walked up to it, listened. There was silence, but the door handle was smooth, worn. He tried it. It was locked. There were no windows and no way of seeing inside. He retraced his steps to find Tom now talking to the same fork lift driver.

  "I think this is it, Tom. He comes here sometimes."

  The forklift driver listened. "The guy is crazy," he said, "One time I see him on car phone crying. Next minute he laughing."

  "That sounds like him," said Jan.

  "You polizia?"

  "No," replied Tom, "But we need to find him. You know where he lives?"

  "I think maybe in Como beside the lake on the road to Blevio and Torno. My boss, on vacanza, see him one time. See Mercedes. Tell me."

  "He saw him driving the car?"

  "No, no. Mercedes behind the cancello, the porta. It is a big villa with albero, many trees."

  "And this is Via Como, Civesio," said Tom, "Does he like the name Como?"

  The fork lift driver shrugged and grinned, "Maybe." Then he started to reverse his truck. "Small man, big money," he said and drove away.

  Jan looked at Tom. "What do we do now? Drive to Como?"

  "What would we do if we see him? What might he do if he sees you? And maybe he's not in Como at all. And don't forget we still need to check out restaurants around the Park Hyatt in Milan - and the hotel itself. Let's first update Jim and then head into the centre of Milan.

  Jim was on the train to London to meet Jonathan and Scott Evora when Tom phoned with the latest news and it only re-enforced Jim's conviction that the time was now right to explain in detail what they were doing. He told Tom.

  "But Jan's getting very nervous - and quite understandably." Tom warned him.

  "Just try to keep out of harm's way until we know how we're going to deal with it. By all means go up to Como but don't do anything silly and just keep me posted."

  "And there's another interesting development," Tom went on. "Eischmann's disappeared."

  There was a momentary silence from Jim. "Are you sure? We knew where he was two days ago. He was in Brussels with Daniel Acosta and Acosta's wife Anne."

  "Nee Anne McAllister, Jim?"

  "Correct. And looking very well cared for apparently."

  Tom and Jim headed into central Milan, found a place to drop the car and then walked to the Park Hyatt hotel.

  "Well this is a fine place for the spending of money," was Tom's first comment as they went inside. "Do you think Guido also lives here?"

  Showing the photograph and trying to describe Guido to reception, however, got nowhere.

  "I am sorry. It is possible he is here but we have many guests, sir. But it is against our policy to divulge information on our guests. Are you police?.........No, you see sir, it is not possible. I am very sorry. But if you think your friend is staying here you can perhaps wait for him, take a coffee or something in the Cupola Lounge......yes, that is it, sir, beneath the glass dome, the cupola.........perhaps some afternoon tea, a glass of champagne?"

  Tom thanked the receptionist. "Perhaps another day"

  Jan's mobile phone showed over fifty restaurants nearby. "We can miss out McDonalds and Burger King," said Tom. It looked a hopeless task but they started walking and an hour later at the expensive, Le Nuit, they got something.

  "A table for two, sir," suggested the black suited man behind the desk inside already grabbing menus.

  "No thank you. We're just looking for someone. His name is Guido. He looks like this." Tom produced the photo. The man stared, his eyes opened perhaps a little wide. "You know him?" pursued Tom.

  "Ah, no sir, it is, ah, very small photo. It is not possible."

  "Does he come here?" Tom pushed.

  "Ah," the man looked away as if looking for support from somewhere. "Ah, no sir, I do not think so. Ah, let me think... ah..... si.....maybe."

  "He comes here?"

  "Yes, I think so. Sometimes. You are police?"

  "Yes, Interpol," Tom said to Jan's shock.

  "Interpol? Ah, let me see, maybe you should speak to Giuseppe, but Giuseppe he is not here. He will arrive later. Is, ah, this, ah Signor Guido, is he a problem? "

  Tom, with nothing official on his person to confirm he was working for Interpol replied, "Perhaps, sir, but thank you. We will return later."

  Once outside, they both agreed, Guido was probably known there. If nothing else, if the real Interpol was asked to intervene at any stage, it might be a good lead. For now, they'd head towards Lake Como.

  In London, Jim was the first to arrive at Alfredo's. It was cold and raining again, but he ordered coffee and sat at the usual outside table. Then his phone rang. This time it was Jonathan.

  "Change of plan, Jim. We're to meet, instead, at the US Embassy. Scott wants us to meet someone who's just got
back from Brussels."

  "Senator Stafford?"

  "This is it, Jim. Let's give it to them."

  Jim drained his coffee cup, put down a note as payment and left.