Sunstroke

by Madge Swindells

  He got no further for Miss Bach came in, wanting to haul him off to deal with a problem.

  ‘I’m not here, remember?’ David threw up his hands in mock defence.

  ‘It’s the message you were waiting for.’

  ‘Oh! Okay. Sorry, Naomi. Make yourself comfortable here. Won’t be long.’

  As the door closed behind him, I sat gazing at his computer. Chance had given me the perfect opportunity. David was talking on the telephone in his secretary’s office as I sat down at the keyboard. My hands were shaking so much I kept making mistakes, but it took only thirty seconds to transfer all the data on FOU to an e-mail document and only a split-second to despatch the information to Father.

  Hurry, Nina, hurry! My fingers sped over the keyboard. I disposed of the money routes and all David’s research. FOU research covered several documents. I found Martha’s name and address, memorized it, quit the programme and disposed of it. Then I keyed around for back-up documents and trashed them, too. Finally, I trashed the trash. Triumph surged.

  Shaking visibly, I stood up and moved to the window. David was still talking on the phone. I ventured a deep breath, but I needed much more air, a tankful of oxygen. His secretary bustled into the room with a pile of mail.

  David was coming. I braced myself, pretending to be admiring the view.

  ‘David,’ I turned and held out my hand, ‘it’s been interesting meeting you, but I can’t see any point in wasting time. You wall not share your information. As for your absurd plan to trace the route of the laundered money, you could spend your life trailing after Anselmo’s conjuring tricks. You’d be as effective as a car with its headlights shining backwards, seeing where you’ve been but not where you’re going. I don’t have that much time. Thank you for lunch. It was great meeting you.’

  I fled before David had time to recover from my rudeness.

  I called a cab, threw my things into my suitcase, checked out and drove to the airport. Once safely there I relaxed enough to put through a call to Martha Newton-Thomas in Boston and made an appointment for the following morning.

  Waiting in the first-class lounge for my flight, I tried to quell a feeling of regret. I don’t usually waste time with thoughts of the ‘if only’ category, but this time I allowed myself to feel a shaft of self-pity. I wrould take care never to meet up with David Bernstein again.

  Chapter 44

  Every city has a Martha Newton-Thomas running its charity drives, minding its business and declaiming on public morals. Naturally she lived in the oldest and most exclusive part of Boston, in a tall, narrow villa tucked away in a crescent overlooking Boston harbour among bankers and brokers. I was shown into a modern office where I came face to face with a woman of majestic proportions and imperious features, incongruously dressed in pink chiffon.

  Mrs Newton-Thomas touched hands briefly while she explained that she deducted twenty per cent from every fund drive as her management fee and an extra five per cent if she had to appear on the board. Her spectacles and rings glittered as mercilessly as her eyes, and her many chins swung pendulously with the effort of listing the number of charity boards she chaired. She reminded me of a voracious starling, mercilessly picking at every titbit for her twnety per cent cut.

  ‘This is where I plan my fund drives.’ She showed me graphs and advertisements and explained how her excellent computer system worked.

  ‘Now tell me again, Miss Hunter, what it is that you want? I couldn’t quite understand on the telephone.’

  ‘Dr Anselmo has malaria, I’m afraid. He asked a colleague at the mission station to check with Bernstein’s Bank and find out whether or not they had received a cash transfer to send you, to initiate another fund drive. It hasn’t been received at our end, but perhaps it came straight to you. Have you heard anything about it?’

  ‘No. I haven’t heard from Dr Anselmo at all. The drive was so successful, quite honestly I was expecting his thanks. Silly of me, I suppose.’

  ‘Now we have the job of tracing it, but with Dr Anselmo being too sick to be questioned we’re having difficulties. Mr Bernstein asked me to see you. He needs a few details to get moving.’

  ‘I’m sorry to hear about his illness. I wonder why he’s sending funds when we have so much cash in the bank?’

  ‘Actually, Mrs Newton-Thomas, investors’ and bank funds have been transferred to London to buy the medical supplies and armoured vehicles Unita need.

  ‘Mrs Newton-Thomas, did you have any written contact with Dr Anselmo in the form of a letter, a fax, a telegram or cheques? Who or what paid for your original fund drive? No doubt his latest cash transfer took the same route.’

  For her bulk, she was remarkably agile. She rose without effort, sat at her computer and began searching through the index.

  ‘Early on I received two cheques from him. Ah, here we are. It was eighteen months ago, to be precise. Naturally, they weren’t Anselmo’s cheque. They were from one of those many seemingly innocuous aid organizations, the ones where you never know if they’re Catholic-or Communist-backed. Here we are, the Trans-African Development Foundation, based in Sarajevo, Yugoslavia, of all places. Dr Anselmo seems to like living dangerously. The transfer was to pay for the initial advertising campaign. You get nothing for nothing, my dear, you should know that.’

  I could hardly control my excitement. I stood up and leaned over her shoulder to memorize the account number. I had last seen that name on Wolf’s computer when I searched his office the night Brigit died. At the time, the account had been based in Lubeck.

  ‘Which bank issued the cheques?’

  The keys were tapping away and I blessed her for her efficiency. ‘The Bosnaskandia, a private bank, with sub-branches in Austria, Hungary and Bulgaria. I checked them out.’

  Her triumph rang loud and clear. Mine, I hoped, was less obvious.

  ‘I distinctly remember thinking that it was a strange place for a Catholic mission to keep its cash. There was a signature and a printed name on the cheque. I made a note of it somewhere. Here we are, Gunther Mannheim.’

  I was feeling breathless at my good fortune. That was the confidence trickster Father had mentioned, who had operated in the States in the early eighties. Just how many millions had Wolf scammed worldwide? Was Sarajevo the final base for all his loot? Did he live there? Was Nicky in Sarajevo? I said a silent prayer of thanks as I dredged up a smile.

  My joy was short-lived when I realized that David Bernstein would soon be asking Martha the very same questions I had asked. What else could she tell him?

  ‘Could you give me a description of the doctor, Mrs Newton-Thomas?’

  ‘No, I never saw him. I’ve spoken to him on the telephone and he seemed to be a caring, concerned person. Very wide awake. I was looking forward to meeting him.’

  ‘But I’m sure you could describe his voice?’

  ‘Deep, but soft. Foreign base, American intonations. He probably studied in the States.’

  She had described Wolf’s voice exactly, but the description probably fitted millions of men. Nothing for David in that.

  ‘So no one actually saw him?’

  ‘No one here, but in Africa scores of people must know him. I really had nothing to do with him. I was contracted by the Friends of Unita organization to handle their funds collection. My commitment was to them, not him. But why are you asking these questions, Miss Hunter? There’s something wrong, isn’t there?’

  ‘No. There’s nothing wrong, other than the doctor’s serious illness. It’s one of these new strains that are resistant to all known antibiotics.’

  Her eyes narrowed and the look she shot me was pregnant with suspicion. ‘David Bernstein would have told me,’ she muttered.

  It was time for me to leave.

  ‘You’re very efficient, Mrs Newton-Thomas. You’ve been extraordinarily helpful,’ I said, meaning it. ‘I mustn’t take up any more of your time.’ I stood up.

  She glanced at her watch.

  ‘Oh, my dear,
you can’t go now. Coffee’s coming. You must stay and keep me company. Now where is that maid? Wait here, Miss Hunter. It’s coming now.’

  She went outside, shutting the door behind her. Mrs Newton-Thomas was not the type of woman to waste her time with nonentities like me. Panic surged. She had gone to call David Bernstein. And then? I had to get out of there, but a grim-faced woman was hovering with coffee and cake.

  ‘Do sit down,’ Mrs Newton-Thomas’s housekeeper commanded.

  I stood up, fending her off. ‘Please thank Mrs Newton-Thomas. Tell her that unfortunately I have a plane to catch, so goodbye.’

  ‘What about transport, my dear? Sit there while we ring for a cab.’

  ‘I have a car waiting,’ I lied.

  I heard her calling to Mrs Newton-Thomas as I fled.

  Chapter 45

  It was close to midnight by the time I reached home. When I walked into the living room Father’s face lit up, which gave me a warm glow.

  ‘I’m sorry I’m late. I did some shopping and met an old friend for dinner.’

  ‘I got your message.’

  I took off my raincoat and hung it on the back of the door. ‘Feel my hands. They’re frozen.’ I thrust them at Father and to my surprise he rubbed them hard until the circulation came back. ‘It’s good to be home.’

  ‘Glad you’re safe and sound.’

  ‘I could do with a drink. A vile and terrible day. Ugh!’ I shuddered.

  ‘Get me one, too. I was waiting for you. Let’s have the whole story. I know it’s late, but it’s important.’

  I went through my two days, step by step. ‘The truth is, I feel such a failure.’

  ‘Don’t. The most you can expect from each investigation is to get a lead. Don’t hope for more than that, Nina. Imagine a row of dominoes. One falls and knocks the next one down. That’s what Intelligence is like. You follow each domino to the end of the row. So what’s next?’

  ‘You know as well as I do, it’s Sarajevo.’

  ‘Yes.’ He sighed. ‘I was afraid you’d say that.’

  ‘It’s possible that Wolf comes from the former Yugoslavia. The bankers might know him. I can’t ignore this lead.’

  Father frowned. ‘It’s extremely dangerous and, anyway, I don’t suppose you’ll get a visa. Sarajevo is undergoing an uneasy truce, Nina. With two peace plans discarded, all sides are bent on terrorizing the government-controlled areas. There have been hundreds of one-off shell attacks. A mortar shell killed sixty-eight people in the Sarajevo market in February. Now the Russians have moved in and they, with American troops, are keeping the peace. It’s a very uneasy situation. The Slavs are touting for cash. In return for the two-year use of it, they give you fifteen per cent a month.’

  ‘So much? That’s incredible.’

  ‘They have to have Western currency for armaments. Paying the kind of interest they pay is an expensive business. They use the cash to do drug deals, which in turn pay for weapons to support their civil war. The money is washed through Austrian shell companies and these companies buy the arms they need from Hungary or Bulgaria. The transactions are disguised as legal deals and protected by total banking secrecy. The last thing the bankers want is people asking questions about these accounts.’

  ‘Nevertheless, I must go. Wattling could help us. I’ll call him in the morning.’

  ‘I suppose it’s inevitable. Now, I’ve got pews for you, Nina. You created quite a stir. Rule one of this game is: always leave things as you find them. You should not have destroyed Bernstein’s research.’

  ‘True. But you must see that I have to stay one step ahead of the remarkably astute David Bernstein or I might lose the chance to find Nicky. How would it help us if Wolf were brought to justice? Or if Wolf suspected that I’d played a part in his arrest? David is my enemy and that’s the way it has to be.’

  ‘Perhaps you’re being over-anxious. After all, Interpol, the CIA, even the South Africans have all been after Wolf and no one has come near to discovering his nationality, let alone his lair.’

  ‘David’s different,’ I mumbled.

  Father shot me a perceptive glance. ‘Your disappearance has been noted by the media. Martha Newton-Thomas called in the police and the press found out. She gave a statement this afternoon. It was on CNN. She told them about the missing cash and disclosed that a certain Miss Hunter had made a lightning visit to her headquarters to find out how much she knew about Dr Anselmo. It sounded as if you, together with the bogus Dr Anselmo, created the entire hoax and conned American investors of four million dollars. It didn’t take the media long to find out that the real Dr Anselmo had died.

  ‘Of course, Mrs Newton-Thomas wanted to make sure no one put the blame her way. She blamed Bernstein’s Bank for transferring the cash to London before they had investigated the fund properly. She made Bernstein look foolish. He had to act fast. He held a press conference and promised investors that it was only a matter of days before the entire sum was recovered. Meantime his bank is bridging the loss. Probably be in the newspapers tomorrow.’

  ‘Oh, God. Not a very good start.’

  ‘Depends which way you look at it, Nina. Some might think that Naomi Hunter is an acknowledged expert in conning and money-laundering. That was our original plan, wasn’t it? Notoriety might be just what Naomi Hunter needs.

  *

  On Sunday, Mrs Peters drove to the village to buy fresh croissants and half a dozen newspapers. Father settled down to devour both with his usual enjoyment. Soon his eyes were sparkling.

  ‘Why, Nina, listen to this! Your David Bernstein held a press conference. He claimed that several of his clients were caught by a certain Naomi Hunter and an unknown accomplice, and he issued a warning to other investors. I’ll read it to you: “Naomi Hunter is at the forefront of a new era in crime. Once upon a time we had to look out for the guy with a gun. Nowadays it’s the woman with the latest computer technology. With her youth, beauty and undeniable charm, it’s easy to see that for Naomi Hunter the world is her oyster. She is brainy, well educated, she has the latest technology at her fingertips. She uses her laser mind to zone into the weaknesses of our financial systems. She preys upon the gullibility of the public and their woeful lack of financial expertise. She takes calculated risks, but she knows the odds.”’

  I frowned at the offending article. Did he really think I was beautiful? I pushed the paper aside. I hated having to be Naomi Hunter to David.

  ‘David Bernstein is a shrewd man.’ Father chuckled. What’s he like?’

  ‘Pompous, smart, arrogantly intellectual.’

  ‘You don’t like him?’

  I shrugged. ‘He doesn’t think much of me. Why should he? He thinks I’m Naomi and he doesn’t trust me.’ There was a hint of mockery in Father’s shrewd eyes, but there was also anxiety. I longed to comfort him. ‘Wait here, Father. I have something to show you.’

  I ran upstairs to the attic, knowing exactly which crate my photograph album was packed in. I felt a need to share Nicky with Father.

  ‘Look, here’s Nicky on the day Wolf brought us home from the nursing home. And here he is on his first outing in his pram. There’s Nicky in his cradle. And here he is in his high chair. I took this one because his face used to screw up like a little monkey when he was sad or thwarted. In the mornings, when I took him out of his cot, he was so happy to see me that his brown eyes glowed, so I snapped him just like that. He loved to play with Brigit. That great, clumsy dog was so gentle with him.’

  We paged on. Father said very little, but I could see that his eyes were glistening. We reached the end and I placed the album on the table. ‘It’s the first time I’ve had the courage to look at those pictures. At last I feel that we’re moving forward.’

  ‘It’s going to be dangerous, Nina. Perhaps worse than you realize.’

  ‘Let’s not think about the danger. I’ll just keep going.’ I knew that my love and my hatred would give me strength. I would hang on to both with equal intensity.
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  Chapter 46

  ‘Clive’s a good man. Dependable. Lucky to have him on our side.’ Father slid some papers across the table to me.

  I examined the coveted visa, plus permission to visit Sarajevo as an Oxfam observer, which Wattling had organized.

  ‘How did he get this letter from Oxfam?’

  ‘You have to work for it, Nina. Research, mainly. Most of their work is done by unpaid professionals. You’ve joined the ranks. Wattling agreed that you will visit major orphanages in three main former Yugoslav cities and send back details of budgets, subsidies, to what extent they rely on local and overseas charity, the children’s diets, their state of health, that sort of thing. They’re sending you some questionnaires. They’re pleased with the arrangement.’

  ‘What if…? Father, are you still contacting the orphanages as an on-going process? I know you said…’

  ‘Yes, of course. We started two years back. Our missing persons’ bureau handles it. They send out monthly news-sheets with Nicky’s description. Perhaps we could give them another photograph. Our search is only one of many on their files. I seem to remember you’ve been to Sarajevo.’

  ‘Yes. When I was in the university skiing team we toured Eastern Europe.’

  ‘It’s one of the few places I’ve never visited.’

  ‘It’s a strange city, part Turkish, which is fascinating, then there’s the graceful old Austrian quarter, and right next to it the ugliest proletarian city you can imagine – high-rise buildings with nothing to commend them.’

  ‘I doubt if much of that is still standing. Nina, I still think you’re wasting your time. I’ve already explained that the Slavs needs foreign currency. It’s their lifeline. Consequently they offer total banking secrecy as a matter of national policy. They won’t tell you a damn thing about Wolf’s accounts.’

  ‘You’re probably right, but I have a plan. There are just a few details to attend to before leaving. I’ll leave the day after tomorrow if I can get a flight.’