by I A Thompson
Hardy turned to Zach. “Wanna join me? A little extra manpower couldn’t hurt.”
“Don’t you think that would be a little weird?”
Hardy shook his head. “Not really. If someone asks, we tell them we bonded while I was your guide up at the lodge, and now you’re back in town, Regina wanted a day off to recoup from our expedition and you don’t want to be stuck at the hotel, so, I offered you to tag along for a day of job shadowing.” He grinned. “Because your daytime job as a reporter has never before offered you the opportunity to see anything as fascinating as a Caribbean port operation up close and personal.”
Zach’s face lit up. “If you say so. I definitely prefer being out there with you over being cooped up in this room.”
They left, and while Regina waited for their return, she began a background search on Alonzo Batista, Ronaldo Duerte, and Silas Redmond to see what kinds of connections she could find between them. The CIA had files on Batista and Duerte, but not on Redmond. She skimmed over the documentation.
Batista was a dyed-in-the-wool left-wing nationalist, born to an affluent family in the port city of Santa Marta in 1953, little was documented about his early childhood. His political views were shaped by the likes of Castro, Bolívar, Marx, Engels and Lenin. He joined the FARC at a young age and worked his way up the ranks, had been vocally opposed to the recently signed peace deal and broken ranks with the remaining FARC leadership. When he defected from the group, he took with him several thousand men fiercely loyal to him, along with his significant knowledge and influence over Columbia’s cocaine production and trade. He was accused of atrocities against the Columbian population and a bounty of five million U.S. dollars had been issued for his apprehension. True to his beliefs, he didn’t have a dime to his name. Every penny he made with his illicit activities went straight to his lifetime cause.
Duerte wasn’t much better. Now age 55, he grew up on a farm in rural Suriname and joined the army after school. During Suriname’s civil war, he led a militant rebel group who tried to overthrow the government. Like FARC, the group engaged heavily in drug trafficking and associated crimes, and after the end of the conflict, Duerte and his rebels were integrated into the army and Duerte given the rank of colonel. President Janssen made sure he kept his enemy close by and controlled his every move. As the years passed, Duerte became known as Janssen’s enforcer. Duerte had a wife and two grown sons, who all stayed out of the public eye as much as possible.
And then there was Redmond, 59. A thirty-year career with Royal Dutch Freight Lines. Educated at the U.S. Merchant Marine Academy. He was married but had no children, owned a palatial brick home in Paramaribo that traced its history back to colonial days. There wasn’t so much as a speeding ticket on his record. Instead, Regina found a few newspaper articles talking about his exquisite art collection, especially two paintings, one by Vermeer, the other one by Van Gogh, both purchased at a Sotheby’s auction. That was definitely above the paygrade of a shipping executive.
Regina’s phone vibrated and she looked at the display; It was the Ghost Coms notification that a message was waiting for her. Quickly, she opened the application and started smiling.
“Thank you, guys. Great job, exactly what I needed,” she said to the message, as she looked at five crystal clear pictures of shipping container markings.
She entered the information in her computer and within seconds got the information they had been looking for. The three RDFL containers were on the shipping manifest for the RDFL ship ‘Nijmegen’, bound for the port of Rotterdam. The other two containers were on the manifest of the CMA-CGM ship ‘Aida’, bound for the port of Dunkirk. Both ships were scheduled to leave Paramaribo in two days. The ‘Aida’ would stop in Guadeloupe and arrive in France thirteen days later. The ‘Nijmegen’ would go straight to Holland and arrive a day before the ‘Aida’.
Regina replied back to Zach and Hardy, “Got them. Come back. Time to update HQ.”
An hour later the guys were back. Regina had already prepared a write-up, summarizing the activities of the past three days and asking for further instructions. Neither Hardy nor Zach had anything to add. They submitted their report and settled in for however long a wait it would be until they heard back from Director Hernandez.
The response was fast and short. “Good job. Take next available flight to Amsterdam. Check into the WestCord Fashion Hotel. Advise once arrived.”
“Nice!” Zach exclaimed and rubbed his hands together. “I always wanted to visit Amsterdam. I hope we’ll have some time to do some sightseeing.”
Hardy added, “There are daily flights from here to Amsterdam. They usually leave in the late afternoon. If we get lucky, we might be able to get tickets for today.”
“Let me check.” Regina started typing. “Yes, KLM 714 is leaving at 7:30 p.m., arrival at 8:15 a.m. the next morning.” She checked her watch. “We should have plenty of time if seats are available. And, yes, we’re good. Plenty of seats available. It would be cheaper if we left tomorrow though, just want to point that out.”
Hardy laughed. “Yes, because tomorrow’s flight is operated by Suriname Airways. Let’s try and get on today’s flight, shall we?”
“In other words, KLM is worth the few extra bucks?” Regina asked.
“I would say so,” Hardy replied.
“Alright then, I’ll get us on tonight’s flight.” Regina kept typing. “Hardy, do you happen to know your passport information? Zach, I need yours too.”
Hardy got up from his seat. “I guess, I’d better go and pack. Can you guys pick me up on the way to the airport? Let’s say in two hours? Here’s passport info and my address.” He scribbled quickly on a piece of paper and handed it to Regina.
“Sure thing,” Zach answered. “Get out of here. We’ll pick you up shortly.”
After Hardy left, Regina completed booking their flights. She and Zach finished packing the things they had left at the hotel during their trip to Sonari River Lodge. They checked out of the hotel, flagged down a yellow taxi, picked up Hardy, and made it to the airport just in time to check in and make it to their gate before boarding began.
33
Amsterdam greeted them with a light, but cold rain. Exhausted from the long, uncomfortable flight, Regina had just enough energy left to clench her teeth together so they wouldn’t chatter. She would have to buy some warmer clothes sooner than later if she wanted to avoid getting sick. Neither she nor Zach had packed for weather like this when they had left Washington a few weeks earlier.
Thankfully, the cab that took them to their hotel was warm and toasty. She listened to Hardy making small talk in fluent Dutch with the cab driver; a fringe benefit of having grown up in a former Dutch colony. Tall, brown, and grey apartment houses lined the four-lane road they were on, occasionally interrupted by industrial areas and a few parks.
Ten minutes later, they made it to their destination. While they were waiting to get checked in, Zach called Hernandez to let him know they had arrived.
“Yes sir, I will let them know, sir. We’ll see you later.” Zach hung up the phone and turned to Hardy and Regina with a wide grin. “Looks like the old man needs a time out. He gave us the day off and wants us to meet him for drinks at the Skyy Bar on the 10th floor at 6 p.m.”
Hardy sighed. “Good, I’m crashing. I need some sleep.”
“Me too,” Regina agreed. “And then I’ll have to go shopping. I need clothes; I’m freezing.”
Hardy nodded. “Yeah, I could use a sweater and at least a windbreaker myself,” he smirked. “And I want to see one of those famous coffee houses.”
Zach high-fived Hardy. “Hell yes, can’t go to Amsterdam without visiting one of those, right? I’m in. Shall we say noon? Maybe it’ll warm up some by then.”
They got rooms on the same floor as Regina’s, facing a large park with winding walkways. Had she not been so tired, she would have probably appreciated it more, but in her current state of physical and mental exhaustion, all she real
ly paid attention to was the spacious bed. She set the alarm on her phone for 11 a.m. local time, stripped off her clothes, slipped under the covers and was asleep the second her head hit the pillow.
When the alarm went off, she felt even groggier than before her nap; her head hurt, her eyes burned, and her throat felt scratchy. She grabbed a coke from the mini bar, regular, with all its sugary goodness. “I’ve earned it,” she defiantly told her image as she walked into the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
An hour later, she felt and looked considerably better as she knocked on the doors of Zach’s and Hardy’s rooms. After thirty minutes under the steaming hot shower, another coke and the warmth of the blow dryer on her hair, she was ready to explore a city she had wanted to visit since her high school days. While she waited, she googled ‘Amsterdam Center’ to see if there were any recommendations from recent travelers.
“We should grab a cab and go to this place called ‘Nine Streets’,’ she advised her partners when they finally showed up. “Lots of shopping, food and authentic Amsterdam atmosphere.”
They started out with lunch at a quaint artisan Bistro called ‘Greta’s’. They ordered three different lunches and split them; vegan eggplant and quinoa casserole, Dutch meatballs with mashed potatoes, bami goreng, apple tarts, and double chocolate brownies rounded out a feast that left them stuffed and content.
Upon Hardy’s insistence, they stopped at a coffee shop and marveled at the display of different marijuana products and patrons freely consuming them. It was just as they had imagined and seen in countless movies. Before returning to the hotel, they raided a few clothing stores and stocked up on clothes suitable for the climate.
At 6 p.m. sharp, they walked into the Skyy Bar at the hotel. Director Hernandez sat at the bar, an Amstel beer in front of him, and watched the entrance. When he saw the team, he got up and waved them over.
“Good to see you guys,” he said. “Get yourselves something to drink and then we’ll find a table where we can talk.” He turned to the barkeeper. “On my tab please,” he instructed the young man, then his focus shifted back to the entrance. “Ah, here are the others.”
Through the door walked Lena, Finn, Jonathan and Martin, the remaining members of task force ‘Identity’. This ought to be interesting, Regina thought as she said hello to the new arrivals. She glanced at Hernandez whose facial expressions didn’t reveal anything as usual and then looked around, taking in the details of her surroundings, wondering about the strange location for bringing them all together. Why not a local Interpol office? She was about to get her answer.
Hernandez led the team to a secluded table at the back of the bar. They ordered heavy appetizers to go with their drinks and once the food arrived, he got down to business.
“Over the last few weeks, we’ve all found significant pieces of information related to our case. It’s time for us to reconcile what we know and plan the next steps. While you all have access to the written reports, I want to make sure that every one of you has the opportunity to ask questions and contribute ideas. Our combined brain power may reveal something that we individually may miss. We’ll go around the table and share; Mister Jones, please begin.”
Zach gave a high-level overview of everything he and Regina found, both in Florida and Suriname. Regina and Hardy filled in details where needed while the four Europeans stayed more or less quiet, except for a few clarifying questions.
“Thank you.” Hernandez took control of the conversation after Zach concluded his report. He turned to Lena and Finn. “What has your investigation yielded so far?”
Lena, having seniority over Finn, spoke for both of them. “I don’t think we’re at a point yet where we can definitively say we know all the parties involved. What we do know is that RDFL works regularly with ‘Trans European Cargo’, a freight company based out of Milan, Italy. A few years ago, this company was under investigation for its ties to Italian lobbyists and possibly organized crime. They were cleared of all charges, but the cloud of suspicion remains to this day. With the containers from the ‘Nijmegen’ and the ‘Aida’, we will hopefully be able to get the evidence we need if they are truly involved or get the leads we need to dig elsewhere.”
“Good work, stay on it.” Hernandez nodded appreciatively. “That leaves the flow of money for now. Anything from your end, gentlemen?” His eyes wandered to Jonathan and Martin.
“We may have found something that falls into my wheelhouse,” Martin said. “We took a long hard look at the financials of all the players we know so far. Birmingham, Mondello, Amante, Rutherford, Redmond and all the businesses they are affiliated with. Nothing stood out at first. Their day to day financial activities were all above board with reputable financial institutes that followed all proper procedures for their countries, as well as international banking regulations, but once we started looking into their personal investments, we found a common thread. All parties have serious money parked in one or more funds managed by a Swiss Private Bank, which in itself, is weird.”
“How so?” Regina asked.
“Well, this particular bank, Maximian, typically deals with customers of a much different caliber. Industrial tycoons, nobility, old family money and the likes. It’s like a super exclusive country club; you can’t just walk in and open an account.”
“While they wouldn’t print it on paper, everyone knows that you have to be introduced by an existing client. Someone who vouches for you. And so far, we have not made that connection yet,” Jonathan added.
Hernandez folded his hands and looked around the table. “Then that’s what we’ll have to do next. Livingston, Jones and Haas, you’ll dig into that bank. Voss and Van Baak, you’ll stay on the ‘Nijmegen’. Mertens and Ailesbury, you’ll cover the ‘Aida’. Questions anyone?”
Regina held her breath, hoping nobody would speak up about her continued field assignment; she had no desire to babysit a bunch of shipping containers and was quite certain she wasn’t the only one, but none of her colleagues said a word; the orders were clear and the agents were trained to follow them.
34
The headquarters of Maximian Private Bank in Zurich was an elegant, glass, steel and marble palace overlooking the Limmat river. Its prominent location at the Limmat Quai had caused quite a controversy with the locals when it was first built. Although in all fairness, the architects had created a structure that complemented the old merchant houses that were tucked together tightly.
Martin had given Regina and Zach a quick tour of Zurich’s old town since he got them set up in the tradition filled Storchen Hotel in the heart of the city. Regina still marveled at the fact that almost five hundred years prior to their visit, the scientist, doctor and philosopher Paracelsus had slept under the same roof. She loved history and in this ancient city, it was visible at every corner.
“It’s almost comical that they’re only a few hundred feet away from a police station.” Regina leaned against the guard rail of the Rathaus Bridge across the river Limmat, looking over to the glistening windows of the bank; the police station was fifty feet to her right.
Martin laughed. “Only in American dimensions. In a city like this one, everything is on top of each other. You can’t dig a trench around here to lay new pipes without tripping over thousands of years of history.” He pointed up a hill to his left. “Up there is probably one of the best spots in town to take it all in, short of climbing up to the top of the bell tower of the Gross Muenster church, which is a serious workout by the way.”
“Cool!” Regina took out her phone and snapped a picture of the narrow houses framing the river and hillside. “Can we go see that during lunch or after work? Would be a shame to miss out on at least some sightseeing while we’re here.”
“If it makes you happy, sure.” Martin shrugged his shoulders. “For now, we should be going. Our local team is waiting to meet you two.” He led them to the police station and into a meeting room at the back of the building.
Two men and a woman
turned their heads to the door when they walked into the room; a heavyset man in his sixties with dark colored hair and a thick mustache got up and walked towards them.
“Haas! Have your globetrotting days finally come to an end?” He patronizingly patted Martin’s shoulder and at the same time inquisitively looked at Regina and Zach. He continued in heavily accented English. “And you brought along some friends, huh? Well, go ahead and introduce us.”
Martin grinned. “Nice to see you too, Zumbach!” He turned to Regina and Zach. “Guys, meet Detective Urs Zumbach, my mentor and tormentor. He taught me just about everything I know about police work. And at the table, we have Detectives Mark Zehnder and Gabi Meier. all three are part of the organized crimes’ unit of the Zurich Cantonal Police. Gabi, Mark and Urs, meet Zach Jones and Regina Livingston from Washington, DC; we’ve been working a case together and we’ve come here to investigate a lead.”
Regina and Zach exchanged a surprised and concerned look while everyone got seated. While Martin hadn’t exactly called them Interpol agents, he certainly implied they were members of the same organization he was part of. But did the Swiss cops even know of Martin’s Interpol work? All they could do at this point was wait until they had an opportunity to speak with Martin in private.
“How can we help?” Gabi Meier asked. “By the way, help yourselves to some pastry and coffee.” She pointed at the refreshments in the center of the table.
Once they had equipped themselves with coffee and croissants, Martin explained the reason for their visit. “So,” he ended his high-level overview. “We have reason to believe that someone at Maximian is at the very least, laundering money for the Amante organization, if not more.”
