Chapter Twenty-Five
Shafer and Connors decided at the debriefing session after Bob’s trip to Mexico City that meeting casually in bars would no longer do. Too public, too visible, too much risk of being overheard. Their solution was to take a room at a hotel conveniently located close to his office to permit him to meet them there during the day, if necessary.
They also gave him a small video camera and listening device the size of his fingertip to plant in the conference room where Murat, Ozmen, Comooglou, and Alvarez would be meeting the day after Labor Day. A van would be parked outside the Ottoman Trading Company office building to monitor and record the meeting.
Connors seemed keenly interested when Bob told him about Alvarez’s imminent arrival in New York. “Alvarez hasn’t been in New York for years. He is not a Los Zetas kingpin, but he is a senior official in the cartel, a front man to set up deals. But we have never been able to pin anything on him.”
Clearly, a big deal was brewing. Murat seemed nervously excited on Tuesday morning. He reserved the main conference room from 2:00 p.m. for the remainder of the afternoon. Bob overheard Murat’s secretary making dinner reservations for that evening.
What drove Bob to despair was that the doors to the conference room were kept locked all morning so that he did not have an opportunity to plant the camera and listening device. A new bodyguard, Dimitri Rostov, stolidly sat outside the conference room to ensure that no unauthorized personnel entered. He had replaced Buzz Malone, who had mysteriously disappeared. According to Murat, he had gone on a fishing vacation in Canada and then had announced that he would not be returning. Bob suspected that a police inquiry was the real reason, but in the short term, he had a more pressing problem: how to get into that conference room.
Murat, a meticulous planner, came to the rescue. He asked Bob to find the Best Shoes file and place it on the conference room table, in case Alvarez had any questions about how Middle Eastern heroin had entered the US market. Ten minutes before the meeting began, the doors to the conference room were unlocked, providing him the opportunity to slide the spyware underneath the speakerphone in the center of the table.
Bob sat at his desk for several hours, staring at the closed doors of the conference room until the participants in the meeting departed for dinner. After retrieving the spyware and making a photocopy of the Best Shoes file, which had been carelessly left on the conference table, Bob Bigelow walked past the Hilton Garden Inn on Thirty-Fifth Street West once, twice, three times before slipping through the front doors. Room 219 was on the second floor, away from the elevators, so that it would not be too obvious who was entering or leaving. He had one of three keys to the room.
Shafer and Connors were already waiting in the room when he arrived. “Want to see what happened at the meeting?” Connors asked, pointing to the screen of his laptop computer.
Bob pulled up a chair.
The meeting began on a disconcerting note. Murat explained to Alvarez the reason for Bob’s exclusion. “He is relatively new to our organization, so I think it might be best to be careful. But we wanted you to meet him because we intend to use him as our courier with you.”
Alvarez nodded his head in agreement. “I was surprised to learn last week that you had entrusted him with delivering important instructions from Demir Ozmen. But then when I opened the envelope, I understood. It was only a simple message: Let us meet soon in Veracruz to renew old trading ties. And it was signed A Friend of Abdullah. It was not a message that would incriminate anyone, yet I understood its meaning.”
“You received the envelope in good condition? No sign of tampering?” asked Ozmen.
“Everything has worked out perfectly. Tell me, Demir, how did you get to know Abdullah Catli?”
“He was my mentor who got me my job at Ottoman Trading Company when I graduated from university. Since then, I have worked my way up in the company and am now vice president of special operations.”
“Ah yes, a good person to know in our business in the nineties. So what kind of new business are you suggesting now? I talked to Recep by telephone, but he said that you would provide the details.” Alvarez’s earlier smiles had faded. He was now looking steadily at the dour Ozmen, sizing him up.
“The Syrian civil war is causing some disruptions in our normal supplies of heroin from Afghanistan. Police action has also messed up our distribution network in northern Europe, notably in the Netherlands and the United Kingdom. We would like to establish an alternative source of supply from Mexico.”
Alvarez nodded his head. “That should be possible. Heroin and cocaine fetch much better prices in Europe than in the United States. There is only one problem.”
“What is that?” Ozmen looked apprehensive.
“Some Middle Eastern heroin has been getting into the New York-Philadelphia market in the United States. My sources have traced much of that heroin to Ottoman Trading Company.”
Murat protested, “It was only a small shipment, hidden among an order of Turkish shoes destined for the French market. We got a tip that the French police had been alerted and were ready to seize the shipment in Marseille, so we redirected the shipment to New York. Once it got here, we had to sell it into the local market. It was no big deal, not part of a plan to make major inroads into the US market.”
Pushing the Best Shoes file across the table toward Alvarez, Murat added, “See for yourself. Some of the invoices had to be doctored for the benefit of US Customs, but it should be obvious what the intended destination for the shipment was.”
Alvarez flashed a smile. “Wonderful! If we are to do business, there should be no misunderstandings. Europe is for Ottoman Trading Company, North America is for us and our Mexican compatriots.”
“Absolutely! We agree!” Slapping the table for emphasis, Ozmen looked meaningfully at Murat to squelch other ideas that he might have. “Any internal discussions that we have had about gaining a share of the US drug market were preliminary and will not be given further consideration.”
“You can trust our word!” It was the voice of Omer Tilki, connected to the meeting via teleconference. This was the first of the two times he spoke during the entire meeting.
“Good! Let me give you a little history. Since 2000, heroin production in Mexico and exports to the United States have increased sixfold. Despite that growing pie, competition for market share among Los Zetas and our compatriots—Sinaloa, Gulf, La Familia, Tijuana, Knights Templar, and Beltran Leyva—has been savage. Deaths run into the tens of thousands. There is no room for a new competitor. Understood?”
“Understood!” echoed Ozmen and Comooglou. Murat nodded his head but without enthusiasm because conceding the American market to the Mexican gangs would mean a diminished role for him.
“Besides, the American market is saturated. Most of the drug trade used to be on the Atlantic and Pacific coasts and along the border with Mexico. In recent years, we have penetrated Chicago and the Midwest.”
“Diego, we are familiar with some of this history,” Ozmen said dismissively. “We have done our own research.” Then he went on the offensive. “Tell me, how stable is Los Zetas? Was not your leader, Miguel Morales, arrested last summer? We want a long-term relationship with a stable organization.”
Alvarez grinned, holding up his crossed fingers for all to see. “The successors to Morales are as close as this.”
“At Ottoman Trading Company, I can assure you, we have no succession problems either. At the top, we are family-owned and operated.” That was, again, the voice of Omer Tilki.
“Family ties are also very important in Mexico,” Alvarez responded without further elaboration.
“Then let us get down to business,” Ozmen urged, eager to move ahead. “How would you propose to ship heroin and cocaine to the British market?”
“That should not be a problem. My daytime company, Veracruz Sugar, frequently exports ref
ined white sugar to the British market via Liverpool and Glasgow. It should not be difficult to hide some brown sugar—as we like to call it—in the hold of the cargo ship.”
“Liverpool or Glasgow would suit us perfectly. The Port of London gets a disproportionate amount of police scrutiny. Our distribution network extends throughout the United Kingdom, and our agents could be present in either city to accept shipment.”
“Of course, we would expect payment prior to the transfer of the shipment. How would you propose to make payment? Which banks do you use?”
“In the past, we have relied on Europa Bank because of their worldwide presence, but they are under investigation by the US Department of Justice. In future, we will rely more on smaller British or Cypriot banks and on Turkish banks as well. We also have an account with a Swiss bank in the Cayman Islands. It might be useful for you to establish an account there, if you do not already have one.”
“I will check into what we have in the Cayman Islands,” said Alvarez.
Comooglou, who had barely spoken until now, asked, “If, in future, a problem were to develop with sugar shipments, do you have alternative channels?”
Alvarez smiled confidently. “The possibilities are infinite. The only limit is your imagination. We have hidden our merchandise among boxes of tomatoes and avocadoes being trucked across the US-Mexican border.”
“One possibility might be Turkish chemicals for the processing of amphetamines in exchange for the finished product hidden in a shipment of Mexican cement,” Murat suggested. “We have some expertise in altering invoices to disguise transactions.”
Ozmen then proceeded to discuss price. “Can we agree on price? We will split the difference between the American and European prices for heroin and cocaine, net of shipping costs? Does that sound reasonable to you?”
“It does,” a beaming Alvarez replied. “That will create an incentive to make this joint venture successful.”
“One more thing, Diego. Comooglou and I will be spending a few days in Mexico City to explore opportunities for our normal trading business. We intend to set up a regular trading office there, which should make contacts between our organizations easier in future.”
“Excellent!”
“Would it be possible to use this opportunity to see what precautions you take when you are planning shipments to the United States? Maybe one of your smaller shipments. It would reassure us that proper security procedures will be followed with our big shipment to Liverpool. We do not want to risk our firm’s reputation. Perhaps we could also learn some tricks that could be applied in our European distribution.”
“Why, of course! We would be flattered. You will be my guests in Veracruz.”
Ozmen seemed visibly relieved. He even smiled. “Well, that completes our business discussion for this afternoon, does it not? Murat, you have a dinner planned for us tonight?”
Everyone stood up to shake hands. Murat handed out typed directions to the restaurant where they would be meeting for dinner at 7:30 p.m. He extended his arm, ready to usher his guests out of the room, when Alvarez halted and moved back to the table.
“I almost forgot the Best Shoes file.” He flipped through it casually and put it back on the table. “Everything seems to be as you said.”
Turning off his laptop computer, Connors asked, “What was in that Best Shoes file?”
Bob pulled out the photocopy that he had made. “It shows how invoices were altered to disguise a shipment of Middle Eastern heroin into the United States. The shipment was originally heading for France.”
Connors smirked. “Middle Eastern heroin—probably some of the stuff that you were peddling. Some coincidence, wouldn’t you agree?”
Bob flinched. Shafer and Connors never missed an opportunity to remind him of the leverage they held over him. Someday he would get even and make them pay for their arrogance.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Bob arrived at the office expecting a routine day. He was called into a meeting with Murat to discuss the monthly financial report when the telephone rang. Murat answered brusquely, his voice betraying irritation over what he assumed would be an unnecessary interruption of the meeting.
The volume was loud enough for Bob to hear the voice of Murat’s secretary. “It is Mr. Tilki, calling from Istanbul about an urgent matter.”
Bob rose from his chair, prepared to leave, but Murat waved to him to sit down as he switched lines, his voice unctuous and eager to please. “Omer, what a pleasant surprise to hear from you!”
Bob could not decipher the agitated staccato of Tilki’s voice—who was probably speaking in Turkish in any case—but he noticed Murat’s face flush and his large eyes bulge in excitement. “No!” he exclaimed.
Then turning on the speakerphone, Murat interrupted Tilki. “Omer, could we speak in English? I have someone in my office—Bob Bigelow, the chief financial officer of the New York office—who should hear this.”
Bob had never met Tilki before but had been introduced to him via telephone shortly after he joined the company. They had had little direct contact since then.
Tilki was fluent in English and readily complied. “We have a crisis in Mexico. Comooglou has been killed, and Ozmen has been kidnapped by a drug cartel.”
“In Veracruz, of all places! What kind of country is Mexico?” Murat cried out, conveniently forgetting how recently he had described it as a wonderful country to visit.
“Murat, do not interrupt me when I am speaking,” Tilki reprimanded him. Murat contritely apologized. Tilki continued, “Alvarez called me yesterday to alert me to this outrageous attack! Ozmen also called me from captivity—and this you must never tell Alvarez, who does not know. The kidnappers want a five-million-dollar ransom for Ozmen. Otherwise, they will cut off his head!”
Bob gaped in disbelief at Murat, who asked the question on the tip of his tongue. “But how could this happen? Didn’t they have protection?”
“They had a bodyguard and driver. Both were killed. Alvarez was not with them when it happened.”
“But who are these kidnappers? Do we know?”
“Alvarez thinks they are the Knights Templar retaliating for incursions by Los Zetas into their territory. They are allies of Sinaloa, the main rivals of Los Zetas in Mexico. From what Ozmen told me, I think differently—that they are Los Matas Zetas, who are also believed to be allies of Sinaloa.”
Bob kept silent, deferring to Murat, who said, “So how do we contact the kidnappers if we are unsure who they are?”
“That is the problem. We are new to Mexico, and finding the right channels to communicate with Sinaloa and their allies will take more time than we have. The kidnappers want the money within a week.”
“Can’t we get the Mexican government involved, Mr. Tilki?” Bob finally spoke up. He neither liked nor disliked Ozmen but recoiled at the thought of his execution.
“Alvarez already has. He called the Turkish embassy, which has brought this matter to the attention of the highest levels of the Mexican foreign ministry, pointing out that this kidnapping could endanger approval of the Turkish-Mexican free trade agreement. The Mexican military will try to find the kidnappers, but we cannot rely on the police. Alvarez complains that the police have been corrupted by informers beholden to the drug cartels, especially to Sinaloa.”
“Then we have no plan, Omer?” Murat reasserted himself.
“That is what I would like to discuss with you. My father too. He has just joined us for this teleconference. One moment please and I will patch him in.”
Emir Tilki was the chairman of the company, with whom Bob had no prior contact. After Murat had greeted him, the teleconference continued.
Omer spoke deferentially to his father. “I have a rather daring proposal to make, Father. Ozmen’s kidnapping could be a godsend. Ozmen has angered us over his careless behavior with a woman. Murat does not kno
w the details, and I will not repeat them now. However, if we do nothing and Los Matas Zetas kills Ozmen, then the police investigation in Istanbul will quite literally come to a dead end. There will be no awkward questions about the kind of business Ozmen and the Ottoman Trading Company are in. What do you think?”
“Give me a moment to consider,” Emir Tilki intoned.
Bob stared aghast at Murat. The suggested disloyalty to a company employee—and not just any employee, Ozmen was the vice president for special operations—shocked him.
Trying to sound sincere, Murat rushed to Ozmen’s defense. “Demir is a devoted and experienced employee of the company who could not easily be replaced.”
Bob was tempted to laugh. Murat was an ambitious man who would eagerly replace Ozmen if he were sacrificed by his employer.
Having mustered his thoughts, Emir Tilki now cautioned against Omer’s proposal. “A potential obstacle to a neat resolution of our problem is this woman. Do we know the status of her health or even where she is being kept?”
“I do not know, Father, but I will use our contacts in the Tilki Foundation to determine her status. I am furious over the publicity that Ozmen’s kidnapping by a Mexican drug cartel is receiving in the Turkish media and do not want the crisis to blow up further, especially if this woman talks.”
“Have you also considered that the involvement of the Mexican and Turkish governments reduces our chances of controlling the outcome?”
“I agree,” Omer responded glumly.
“I think we should take the long-term view in deciding whether to ransom Ozmen. I have built up this business empire over several decades. Someday it will belong to you and your brother. The kidnapping of Ozmen should be viewed as a potential opportunity rather than a disaster. One of the guiding principles of my long business career is that alliances are temporary. Only the interests of our family are permanent. Thus today’s enemy could be tomorrow’s ally and vice versa.”
Accidental Encounters Page 10
