PINOT NOIR
AN INTERNATIONAL BANKING
SPY THRILLER
A LOUISE MOSCOW NOVEL
BOOK 2
LORRAINE EVANOFF
PINOT NOIR
AN INTERNATIONAL BANKING SPY THRILLER
Copyright © 2019 Lorraine Evanoff
Kindle Edition
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
First Edition: March 2019
ASIN: B07YRYY8K1
United States Copyright Office Case Number: 1-8022495281
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
NO PART OF THIS BOOK MAY BE REPRODUCED IN ANY FORM, BY PHOTOCOPYING OR BY AN ELECTRONIC OR MECHANICAL MEANS, INCLUDING INFORMATION STORAGE OR RETREIVAL SYSTEMS, WITHOUT PERMISSION IN WRITING FROM THE COPYRIGHT OWNER/AUTHOR
Printed in the United States of America on Acid-free paper.
To join my mailing list for new releases, please sign up here:
www.louisemoscownovel.com/newsletter
To my husband Robert Lane Levy
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To Patrick “Ubercritic” McDonald for your affirmations, and invaluable edits. To Karen Widess for your fastidious and insightful proofreading. To my family and friends for your enthusiastic support. To my mom for the brilliant title suggestion for Book 2. To LuAnn Kulpaka for your continued encouragement and remarkable creativity.
“Seek not outside yourself. For all your pain comes simply from a futile search for what you want, insisting where it must be found. Do you prefer that you be right or happy?”
A Course in Miracles (T-29.VII.1)
CONTENTS
Title Page
Copyright Page
Dedication
Acknowledgments
Epigraph
Prologue
PART I: TROUBLE IN PARADISE
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
PART II: SECRETS TRAVEL FAST IN PARIS
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Eighteen
Nineteen
Twenty
Twenty-One
Twenty-Two
Twenty-Three
Twenty-Four
PART III: ALL ROADS LEAD TO BELGIUM
Twenty-Five
Twenty-Six
Twenty-Seven
Twenty-Eight
Twenty-Nine
Thirty
Thirty-One
Thirty-Two
Thirty-Three
Epilogue
Notes
Endnotes
P R O L O G U E
October 19, 1994
It was all over very quickly.
In many ways the Federal Reserve is the most powerful of U.S. government agencies. Although it does not have the power to subpoena or bring indictments under U.S. law, it is politically independent and therefore can move swiftly, unilaterally, and with decisive force within its own domain.
At 1:00 p.m. on July 5, 1991, a worldwide financial scandal erupted with regulators in eight countries shutting down the Bank of Credit and Commerce International (BCCI), charging it with fraud, drug money laundering, and illegal infiltration into the U.S. banking system. The scandal had raised significant questions about why American regulators, who had long had evidence of problems at the bank, failed to act quickly. Officials who worked under George Bush including John Sununu, chairman of the Senate Judicial Committee Joe Biden, and the CIA had refused to follow up on reports of corruption. Only after Senator John Kerry had enlisted New York County official Jack Blum to investigate were charges brought.1
Investigators had characterized the scandal as the largest financial fraud in history. As much as $20 billion that had been officially on the bank’s books vanished when bank regulators around the world shut down BCCI’s operations and accused it of fraud. Ultimately, more than $12 billion was believed to have been lost by depositors.
In June 1994, thirteen BCCI officials were tried in an Abu Dhabi court. Twelve were convicted and sentenced to jail and civil damages of $9 billion. On October 19, 1994, BCCI’s chief executive – and Louise Moscow’s former boss – Swaleh Naqvi, 62, was sentenced to 11 years in prison and ordered to pay restitution of more than $255 million for his role in the bank fraud that eluded regulators around the world for a decade.
For more than 20 years, Naqvi, a native of Pakistan, had been second in command after Aga Hasan Abedi, the founder of BCCI. Abedi had started BCCI in 1972 with the goal of developing a Third World Bank that would gain international respect. Both Naqvi and Abedi had been indicted by Federal and New York grand juries on charges of fraud, theft and money-laundering. Abedi was too ill in Pakistan for American officials to extradite him. But Naqvi was handed over to the US authorities to help them in their own BCCI investigations.
In addition to charges of bribing foreign officials and bankers, Naqvi had been indicted on charges of helping the Medellin cartel to launder millions of dollars in cocaine profits in the 1980’s. The bank had long been identified as the leading financial institution for the illegal drug-smuggling activities of Panama’s former leader, Gen. Manuel Noriega, and as a vehicle for concealing and moving illegal cocaine profits for the Medellin drug cartel. Even the CIA finally acknowledged that it had used the bank for routine activities, which it has never spelled out.
Louise Moscow was a key witness during the tense hearings. She had been sequestered under witness protection shortly after the bank was seized in 1991, to ensure her testimony would be heard. Under protective custody Louise had been given a new identity: Karen Baker, a schoolteacher living in Arlington Heights, Illinois, complete with a government-issued U.S. birth certificate and passport. She had assimilated into an entirely new background story with no public appearance by Louise Moscow until the trial.
The hearings had been held in secret with armed guards at the doors. Now the trial was over, Naqvi was found guilty, and it was sentencing day.
The U.S. District judge addressed Naqvi, “In addition to your sentence, you swear to continue to cooperate with United States government officials who are trying to unravel how BCCI had come to illegally own four U.S. banks.”
“Yes, your Honor,” Naqvi calmly replied. “I promise to continue to cooperate with government officials.” As he was taken into custody, Naqvi gave Louise a faint conciliatory smile.
Louise had willingly fulfilled her star-witness responsibilities throughout the trial. Nonetheless, she was saddened to see her former boss – who had always treated her well – in this subjugated state. She breathed a sigh of relief and turned to leave, flanked by her bodyguard, a tall imposing black man named Big Steve, and FBI agent Michael Fuentes. The courtroom emptied and Louise walked toward the exit. In the hallway, suddenly two hulking men brazenly approached and stared menacingly at her. She stopped, Big Steve on her right, and Michael on her left.
“Have you met my friends, Big Steve and Michael Fuentes?” Louise defiantly asked the two men. Michael and Steve both placed their hands over their concealed sidearms in silent warning. The two thugs nodded slowly and smirked, then turned and walked out of the courthouse.
“That was a threat,” Michael said under his breath.
They continued out of the courthouse and Big Steve opened the rear door of the Lincoln Town Car. Louise and Michael go
t in the back and Big Steve got in behind the steering wheel then drove off. Louise sat quietly, fuming. People like those thugs only fueled her anger. She was not one to cower, for better or worse.
“You know those guys were from the Black Network, don’t you Louise?” Michael asked rhetorically. “I’m going to recommend to George Moscow that your security be increased.”
Louise took a deep breath, then her frustration flared. “There’s no way I’m living in protective custody anymore. It’s going on four years.”
Michael reached for his locked briefcase. “Do I need to show you the dossier your father and I compiled on your connections to the case? You are a direct witness to criminal behavior by powerful people all over the world. There’s no telling what you know that could link any number of people to other crimes not under investigation. We don’t even know half of what your historical knowledge could mean to others in the world of banking and finance. In the US there is no statute of limitations on fraud. There’s no way you’re returning to Chicago with no security detail.”
“What did you have in mind? Should I marry a Big Steve and have him move in?”
“Something like that.” Michael said. Big Steve shot him a sardonic look in the rearview mirror. “I’ll tell George we’re going to plan B.”
“What the hell is plan B?” Louise’s voice conveyed dread.
“Louise, we have to reach a compromise.” George Moscow, a New York City detective in charge of white-collar fraud, and Louise’s father, had his game face on. “You’ll need to move completely off the grid until we can be sure that you’re safe.”
“It had better be somewhere more exotic than Arlington Heights, Illinois,” Louise said.
“Well, then you’re going to love this idea,” Michael said. “In fact, I’d go if I could, but Big Steve here is the lucky one assigned to your security detail.”
“Somewhere warm, I hope,” Big Steve said.
“Definitely not the Midwest,” Louise agreed. “I am willing to pay with my own money if necessary.”
“After extensive research, we have found an ideal location for you. The area is secure enough that you’ll be able to live without a constant sense of hiding. Big Steve will be your security detail, but undercover working as your Guy Friday. He’ll have a new identity too, which we have already prepared. Since you have often asserted that you would be willing to use your own funds to improve your living situation, you will have to do that. This can’t all be funded through the witness protection program.
“What’s the catch?” Louise asked.
“It’s geographically remote,” George replied.
“What’s the weather like?” Big Steve asked.
“It’s paradise,” Michael said.
“So much for paradise,” Louise said, draining the last sip of wine in her glass. This place is for the birds! Literally!” She threw a half-eaten shrimp and it landed on the beach were a seagull promptly swooped down and gulped it up.
“Y’all need an attitude adjustment, Karen,” Big Steve said, addressing her by her undercover name. He stood on the other side of the bar from her rinsing and drying glasses. The mention of her fake name got her blood boiling.
“Oh yeah, Étienne?” Louise mockingly emphasized his undercover name, Étienne, which was the French version of Steve.
“Don’t be callin’ me Étienne. It’s too girlie. Y’all can call me Éti, like we agreed.” He enunciated the shortened version, ay-tee. Louise rolled her eyes, picked up the bottle of wine and walked out of the Tiki bar. “Them dive boats be here soon. Y’all get back here and help a brotha’ serve the customers.”
Louise ignored him and walked down the path of the private island to the secluded beach. Her mind was spinning unnaturally through a feeling of helplessness, which had been building for the last six months. When she had arrived on the island, the transition had gone smoothly. The witness protection program – mostly her father – had found the remote island for her, and she managed to negotiate the purchase for one of the few businesses in the area, a Tiki-themed bar that served the tourist divers, who were the main visitors to the area. Her witness protection identity, Karen Baker, dovetailed with her background story: she had used an inheritance to escape from cold Arlington Heights, Illinois, to a warm island paradise in the Caribbean.
Big Steve had become her Guy Friday and for the first six months of paradise, “Éti and Karen” quickly became the mainstay of the curious natives and visiting divers, establishing a first-class party bar. The thrill of the new life began to soften around month seven of the adventure, as the bar owner started to become her own best customer. The main island distributors who stocked her inventory were always accommodating, leaving an extra case or two of her favorite wines and potables. Even Big Steve started to notice her indulgence.
The last week had been the most challenging. Her head was spinning, either from another hangover or the feeling of one even when she wasn’t drinking. It felt like her body was trying leave her skin, and there had been a couple times when she looked longingly at a dive boat, yearning to stow away on it and get the hell out of this straitjacket of an existence.
She laid down on a lounge chair and started to read a mystery novel a customer had left behind. But the words danced on the page, and her focus seemed to be falling into a black hole. She didn’t as much fall asleep as pass out, as if trying to escape consciousness of everything around her.
“Karen, the dive boat’s all gone,” Louise heard Big Steve say, but it was if his voice was underwater. “I didn’t want to wake y’all so I handled everything myself.” She managed to lift her head toward the direction of his watery voice, and as she did Big Steve immediately knew something was wrong. She was pale and drawn. “You okay Lulu?” he asked, dropping all pretense of her fake name. She just stared at him, so he bent down and put his hands on her shoulders. “Girl, you shakin’ like a leaf.”
Big Steve helped her up and led her to her bungalow. “Lulu, what’s wrong with you?” Louise began to cry uncontrollably, and he put a giant arm around her and patted her head. She continued to shiver involuntarily. “You cold? It’s hotter than hell out.”
“I can’t help it,” Louise said. “I think I’m having a panic attack.” It was then that Louise fainted dead away.
When she awoke, she was in her bed. The simple island décor of her bungalow had a color palette of blues, greens, and whites. A mosquito net hung from the ceiling and draped over her bed made with crisp cotton sheets and plump down pillows. As her eyes adjusted, she saw one of the divers from the night before consulting with Big Steve. They turned their attention toward her when they noticed she was awake.
“I’m Dr. Blake Jenkins, Ms. Baker. I don’t think I added the ‘doctor’ when we met last night. Éti called me back in from a dive to take a look at you,” he said using both their locally known names.
“I remember meeting you,” Louise managed to say.
“Éti described what happened,” the doctor said. “I took your vital signs, and everything was fine, except maybe a bit of a fast pulse. Have you been eating?”
“Sure,” Louise lied. She found that often once she drank her supper, she didn’t really need breakfast.
“There doesn’t seem to be anything physically wrong with you, that maybe some hydration and good meal wouldn’t cure. So, I was just saying to Éti…”
“Y’all got rock fever,” Big Steve interrupted.
Louise couldn’t help but laugh. “Rock fever?”
“Your daddy warned me to be on the look-out,” Big Steve said. “I was lookin’ for it and I see it. Rock fever. Feelin’ trapped. You gotta stay busy and do something, go out on the boat or something.”
“Most likely that diagnosis is the best explanation,” Jenkins added. “You may just need a change of scenery for a while. Take some time away from here.”
Her thoughts were of frustration knowing that leaving was impossible.
“I’m too tired now,” she
murmured to the two men. “Just let me sleep.” Louise snuggled up with her pillow and fell back asleep. Big Steve and Dr. Jenkins left her to rest.
Louise opened her eyes and saw the silhouette of a man.
“What happened?” Louise asked.
“You’ve been asleep for 24 hours,” Big Steve said, standing just outside her door. Louise kept her eyes on the silhouette.
“Sri Sri Ravi Shankar?” Louise muttered unconsciously.
“No, I don’t have that honor,” the man said. Louise realized she wasn’t dreaming. The man looked of Indian descent, lanky but sturdy, with a head of unruly hair and a gray beard. “My name is Iqbal Singh.”
“I called him up for a consultation,” Big Steve said.
“Are you a doctor?” Louise asked.
“No,” Iqbal replied. “I’m a spiritual healer of a sort.”
“You told me this type of healing helped when you were going through the trial,” Big Steve added. “Dr. Jenkins told me that Mr. Singh runs a retreat on a nearby island.”
Louise was still in a drowsy daze. “What time is it?”
“Time to get up,” Iqbal said. “Dress in something comfortable and come out to the beach.”
They left her and she drank some water, brushed her teeth, and put on shorts and a tee shirt. She walked down to her private beach of chalk-white sand open to steady sea breezes but protected by mangroves and sea grape bushes, which sheltered it from occasional hurricanes. Iqbal was waiting for her there.
“I’m starving,” Louise said.
“Perfect,” Iqbal said. “The best time to do yoga is early morning on an empty stomach.”
“Yoga?” Louise asked.
“Your efforts will be rewarded 10-fold,” Iqbal said. “I’ll teach you the basics to help clear your chakras and get you on the path to healing. Soon you will be prepared to handle anything.”
Iqbal talked Louise through repetitions of a sun salutation, which was basically a continuous series of yoga poses. She started out wobbly, but soon found a rhythm and felt the positive effects of how each pose opened a different emotional focal point.
Pinot Noir Page 1
