The Karl Lehman Affair

by Jonathan R Hayes

  The senior lawyer soon broke the silence and made an offer to pay Prof. Lehman and Dr. Philips five million dollars each if they immediately put on hold all research in this area for a period of six months.

  Lehman initially looked quite bemused. He was not expecting such an offer. Dr. Philips also looked surprised but on the other hand, had a faint expression of someone who had just won the Lottery. Beads of sweat appeared on his forehead. Philips was by no means financially independent like Lehman and would have jumped at an offer like this.

  Lehman shrugged his shoulders with slight irritation. ‘You brought me and Dr. Philips over here to New York to make an offer such as this. Ostensibly, your client’s offer is very generous. Don’t get me wrong. However, we were expecting a more conventional offer of a buy-in to our company indicated in your meeting agenda you posted to us. Now you are asking us to stop all work. Unfortunately, things are not that simple,’ continued Lehman. ‘You see we are coming to the end of a very long and successful research campaign. We have reached a vital stage of development involving many people including a large team of clinical professionals and patients from the local University Hospital in Zurich. To stop now and restart in six months’ time would delay us a further three to six months after that to get back to where we are right now.’

  The senior lawyer frowned. ‘I see! Well gentlemen, how about continuing unabated with your work and delaying its publication for a mutually agreeable period, typically six months?’

  ‘Again, nothing is that simple’ explained Lehman. ‘There is a Russian team of researchers, working in the same area as ourselves and are hot on our heels. We believe they are about six months behind us in their research. We cannot afford to stop and allow them catch up. Besides, the Swiss Government has made a large investment in this project and we are already in negotiations with a large multinational drug company.

  As the meeting progressed, Lehman became increasingly turned off by the company represented by Westland-Fitzgerald’s. ‘Something about them doesn’t add up’ thought Lehman. ’They appear to be middle-men in it for the fast buck.’ He made up his mind there and then he would not be doing business with this organization under any circumstances.

  The senior lawyer seeing his earlier offers to slow down developments was falling on deaf ears finally said, ‘Gentlemen, my clients have advised they are willing to make a competitive offer to buy out the entire patented technology at a very generous price.

  ‘Your client we now understand is a private equity company. We however would rather collaborate directly with a large multinational medical device company to purchase the exclusive rights to manufacture and market the new iDrug when our development work is complete in the very near future. Indeed, negotiations are at an advanced stage with one particular company.’

  After a further round of suggestions and offers by the law firm, all of which were rejected by Lehman, the meeting ended. Prof Lehman stood up, thanked the law firm executives for their professionalism and hospitality and left the room, followed out by Dr. Philips.

  While on-board the return flight home, Lehman reading a copy of the New York Times, turned to Philips and spoke in a hushed tone.

  ‘Martin, we must be extra vigilant about the security of our files containing highly sensitive information. We must immediately password protect all these files and store them away securely on CDs. Nobody other than you and I must know the password, not even Nicole. Understood?’

  ‘Why exclude Nicole?’

  ‘I‘m not sure about this organization that Westland-Fitzgerald represent. They obviously have a lot at stake or they would not have been so ‘generous’. Who knows what they might resort to? Clearly Martin, in the unlikely event of anything happening to you or me, Nicole would be safer not being privy to this confidential information.’

  ‘Understood’ agreed Philips before returning to read his book.

  3

  Overlooking a blue oval shaped swimming pool, Zoran Bartoch lay on a sun-lounger in the middle of a large south facing terrace, another icon of opulence in his vast isolated mountain castle in Switzerland.

  Wearing swimming trunks, and a striped T-Shirt, he closely studied papers laid out in front of him. Ships’ navigation charts rested on a white patio table beside him. He scrutinized the documents as if his life depended on it.

  The sun was beaming down from a late spring blue sky while the temperature hit the mid-twenties.

  Zoran snapped his fingers and a young man in a white coat came running to his side.

  ‘Palinka on ice.’

  ‘Yes, at once Mr. Zoran,’ stammered the young domestic, gesturing in a pathetic servile manner while he scurried back to the pool-side bar to fix his master a drink.

  Zoran, true to form, remained completely detached from his surroundings. He gazed at the documents through gold rimmed circular spectacles, doing nothing to compliment his overly round countenance. With a small black marker pen in hand, he grabbed a navigation chart and encircled an area, a large sea port in the Middle East.

  His mobile phone started to vibrate, floating close to the edge of the patio table. Lifting the device to his ear, he listened in silence for some time.

  ‘Congratulations,’ replied Zoran resolutely. ‘You have successfully passed your induction.’

  4

  Stepping off the twelfth-floor elevator shortly after 7:00 p.m., Parker returned to his hotel room after a long day. His work was done. The conference would run on for three more days without him. His paper was well received. The level of questions raised by delegates certainly reflected a keen interest in the subject matter. Removing his jacket and shoes he went to the writing desk and pressed the switch on a small plastic kettle. Within minutes the water was boiling. He made coffee and sat down at the desk to make entries in his diary. He clicked the mouse on his laptop and accessed his e-mail; no urgent messages received from his company in London where his highly profitable medical devices company was based. He still had consulting rooms adjoining his offices where he once treated his private patients. The suite was now lying idle. Parker curiously gave up private practice when he returned from Angola some years back, concentrating instead on his other business interests. He hired a small team of dedicated professionals to run his affairs. His PA, Jane Harrison was extremely efficient. She kept everything tightly managed particularly when Parker was away from the office, which lately was becoming a much more frequent occurrence.

  He found Lehman’s phone number in his diary and decided to offer his belated condolences to Nicole. No answer! ‘She must be in bed asleep; it would be close to midnight in Switzerland,’ reflected Parker as he stretched out on the bed and closed his eyes. He could not get the image of Lehman out of his head. The Professor had so much to contribute and many things left unfinished.

  He had intended getting a power nap for ten or fifteen minutes before joining a group of American heart consultants from the Mayo clinic for dinner. It was no good. He couldn’t rest. He got up and took a shower to freshen up before going down to meet his associates. While he was dressing, his cell phone rang.

  ‘Doctor Parker? Raoul Durand. I’m ringing you from Paris.’

  ‘Ok! What do you want? How the hell did you get my number?’ snapped the Doctor, believing the caller to be another journalist from the Media looking for a story.

  He had been swamped with interview requests ever since it became public he was a senior medical advisor to the British Government.

  ‘I am an E.U. licensed private investigator Dr. Parker. I and formerly a member of the French police force. I’m also a close friend of Nicole Lehman,’ replied Durand speaking in a strong French accent.

  ‘Oh! I see!

  ‘I must be careful what I say to you on an unsecured line.’

  Parker with new found respect asked, ‘Monsieur Durand, what did you say your first name was again?’

  ‘Raoul, Raoul Durand.’

  ‘Raoul, please how can I be of help? Karl Lehman w
as a close professional associate of mine. I met Nicole several times with Karl, charming woman.’

  ‘D’accord!’

  ‘I’m only after finding out this morning about Karl’s tragic death. I feel totally gutted by this news, not to mention missing his funeral.’

  ‘Do not feel so bad. Nicole insisted Karl’s funeral was to be strictly a private family occasion. The whole affair was kept very private. So please don’t be too upset you didn’t hear of Karl’s tragic death. I contacted your London office earlier today to try and catch you, but your PA told me you were in Las Vegas attending a medical conference?’

  ‘That’s correct. How is Nicole?’

  ‘Naturally she is still very traumatized and distressed. As I already pointed out, I am extremely limited for security reasons discussing anything further with you on an open phone line. Believe me, it would be a matter of life or death for certain individuals if information got into the wrong hands.’

  Durand’s concerns completely mystified Parker. ‘Do we need to meet face to face?’

  ‘As time is of the essence Dr. Parker, could you by any chance call into the local regional FBI offices in Las Vegas, get ID clearance and ring my number on a secure line. The Feds have my contact details. Then I can explain everything in greater detail.’

  ‘I would be a stranger to the FBI just walking in off the street.’

  ‘Don’t worry. They know of your bona fides and are expecting you. They’ll check your passport and confirm your ID before providing you with a secure ISDN line.’

  ‘What’s all the fuss about a secure line? ‘Why yes, ok,’ agreed Parker reluctantly.

  ‘Take a cab to West Lake Drive. When you arrive there, ask to speak to agent Kevin Mahoney.’

  He suppressed the urge to ask a million questions but knew under the circumstances he’d have to wait until morning, replied, ‘Ok! We’ll talk again tomorrow.’

  5

  In a backstreet premises in Marseille, France, a mechanic in a blue boiler suit was working at a bench in a greasy workshop. The room was teeming with motor parts stored on metal shelves bolted to walls on three sides of the room. A small office in the corner was screened off by dowdy half-glazed panels covered in cobwebs and grime. A wall mounted phone started ringing close to where the mechanic was working.

  ‘Bonjour,’ whispered the caller. ‘I trust everything’ is going to plan?’

  ‘Ah, oui!’

  ‘The device retrieved from the car, have you still got it hidden away?’ enquired the voice in a cold, deliberate tone.

  ‘But of course. Me and my twin brother always hold on to things. You never know when they might come in useful again.’

  ‘Did anybody see you removing it from the automobile?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Excellent! Await further instructions. I may have further use for this.’

  The line went dead and the man in the boiler suit replaced the receiver.

  6

  At the headquarters of Cordalis-MC Holdings Corporation, Henri Lazare sat at his desk on the 42nd Floor of his Manhattan office building in N.Y.C, peering at his computer screen and monitoring equity share prices on the New York NASDAQ 100. Cordalis-MC Holdings was a medium sized private equity company controlling some 120 billion dollars of assets under management (AUM). Lazare was executive Vice President for corporate investment strategy. He was responsible for the company’s current significant positions in drug company stocks, built up over the previous six years. Lazare made the correct call on property portfolios in early 2005 and sold off large real estate investments in Europe with perfect timing before the global property market collapsed. This earned him considerable credibility with his peers in the industry and with his corporate bosses. He was promoted to his present position three years later with a six-figure salary plus bonuses. He was appointed to the board the following year.

  Where he was raised was a far cry from the plush executive surroundings that he now enjoyed. He grew up in New York City in a rough neighborhood on the Lower East Side before gentrification changed it into a sought-after trendy suburb with wealthier residents, upmarket businesses and rising property prices. His father wrestled with drink problems all his life, trying to hold down a clerical job at the city’s sanitation department. His mother was a Call Centre operator and worked at night. They were poor and eked-out an existence in a predominantly black neighborhood. Lazare was an only child. He was a bright kid and progressed well in high school. He later won a scholarship to attend University where he studied Business and Law. Make no mistake; while Lazare portrayed himself as a respectable business man, working for a very reputable Wall Street firm, underneath he was a hoodlum, thinly disguised by a pin stripe suite. He got out of the ghetto but took much of it with him. Violence, murder, were not beyond him. They were his tools of choice that enabled him in his ruthless drive to succeed. More recently he hired trusted associates to do his dirty work.

  Lazare looked nervously at share prices, in some of his key stocks, drifting south over the last two weeks. He would need to track these tightly. He believed while the market was holding up well, it was a fragile environment. A sizeable chunk however of Lazare’s AUM portfolio included a very large ‘well laundered’ investment by a leading figure in organized crime from NYC’s underworld. His investment client, Martinetti, was the head of a large mafia crime gang, a fact he hadn’t shared with his business colleagues in Cordalis. This investment in Cordalis catapulted Lazare up the ranks, ahead of his peers and put him on a steady career path to the very top of the organization.

  While the investment was a real game changer for Lazare’s career, it put enormous pressure on him to continuously ensure the stock stayed on the positive side. This client would treat any downturn in his investment as ‘personal,’ which could mean Lazare ending-up in the Hudson River ‘sleeping with the fishes’.

  7

  Parker awoke the following morning early, had a shower and packed his suitcase, ready for his return to London that afternoon. Following a ‘healthy’ full English breakfast with a good nourishing portion of bacon and eggs, he went to reception and checked out. He took a cab to West Lake Boulevard. When he arrived at the FBI offices, he went to the reception area as directed by the signage and approached the desk manned by a pretty female officer with a large FBI security badge.

  Size 36 C, 24 in. waist or I’m losing my touch….

  ‘Hi. I‘m Doctor Parker. I have a 9:00am appointment with agent Kevin Mahoney.’

  The FBI officer raised her eyes on hearing a mellow Oxford accent. Men with English accents always turned her on. There stood a six foot-two, hunk of a man who was holding her gaze with his broad shoulders, strong chin and deep blue eyes. She felt her cheeks redden under her makeup. She gazed at him for about three seconds too long, revealing her obvious physical attraction towards him.

  ‘Ok Doctor Parker. Can you sign here please?’

  He duly obliged and the woman completed the form and handed him a badge.

  ‘Please sit over there in the waiting area while I contact Agent Mahoney.’

  Taking his seat, he wondered what might unfold in his conversation with the mysterious Raoul Durand. He glanced around the Atrium Style Foyer and could see it was a modern open plan building with a wonderful airy feel. He picked up an FBI brochure off the table in front of him and scanned its contents. On the inside cover he read the introductory paragraph, ‘The FBI works around the globe to combat the most dangerous criminal and security threats facing our country—from international and domestic terrorists to spies on U.S. soil, from cyber villains to corrupt government officials, from mobsters to violent street thugs, from child predators to serial killers.’

  ‘A very impressive list of criminals’ thought Parker smiling to himself. He casually looked around the room and then towards the security desk. The pretty female officer glanced up and made eye contact with him momentarily before averting her gaze towards her PC.

  With fake indiffe
rence, all the while staring down at her screen, she called out, ‘Doctor Parker! Agent Mahoney will be with you shortly.’

  ‘That’s fine.’

  Two minutes later a man emerged from the elevator sporting a friendly smile. ‘Good morning Doctor Parker. I’m agent Kevin Mahoney.’

  They shook hands before entering the elevator. They ascended four floors and walked down a long corridor, with rows of offices on each side.

  ‘In this way,’ gestured Mahoney.

  The Doctor followed the agent into a small interview room sparsely furnished with a table, a telephone and six chairs. A white board was affixed to the wall.

  ‘Would you like some coffee?’

  ‘No thanks. I just had breakfast.’

  ‘Raoul Durand, I believe wants to talk to you.’

  ‘I got a call late last night from him and was told to show up here this morning. We have never met face to face.’

  ‘Well just to put you straight, we have had a number of dealings with Durand in Europe over the last couple of years. We can certainly vouch for him and assure you he is a trusted private investigator, highly thought of by this Agency.’

  ‘That’s reassuring to hear. So, what’s all this about, Agent Mahoney?’

  ‘I can appreciate you may be puzzled by Durand’s call and his request to attend here this morning.’

  ‘The thought did cross my mind.’

  ‘I would prefer if you speak with him first and listen to what he has to say. Then we can talk briefly afterwards. Did you bring your passport Dr. Parker?’

  He handed the Agent his passport. Mahoney checked it and handed it back along with a post-it note with a French telephone number scribbled on it.

  He glanced at the number while agent Mahoney stood up to leave the room.

  ‘Call me on Ext. 944 when you’re finished.’