Cassidy

by Morris West

  ‘He won’t, because he doesn’t dare set foot in Australia,’ said the Commissioner. ‘He’ll send a couple of his collectors.’

  ‘And what am I supposed to do?’

  ‘Nothing. You’re giving me access to Cassidy’s records. I’m giving you a day and night minder. Agreed?’

  ‘Agreed – and thank you. Now tell me about Marius Melville. My wife and family are his guests. I’m friendly with his daughter. I’m meeting him in Bangkok – and I know damn-all about him.’

  ‘Ah! Well…’ The Commissioner warmed to this subject, like a don delivering his favourite discourse. ‘Marius Melville,… formerly Mario Melitense. Old Palermo family with connections in Malta, small but ancient nobility, men of trust for generations. Melville himself is a phenomenon. He has degrees in architecture, structural engineering and business administration. He has also studied hotel administration in Switzerland. He has no criminal convictions. F.B.I. files record that he has connections with all the big Mafia families but that he does not belong exclusively to any. It’s the historic pattern again. The noble is a man of trust to all but exclusive to none. He seems to have established himself as chief laundry-man, washing hot money and investing it in legitimate enterprises, of which the Melmar hotel chain is the principal one. It’s a brilliant conception. Melville holds twenty per cent of the shares. He farms the rest out among the families in equal shares, while he remains the arbiter of policy. He has no direct association with low-life activities, gambling, drugs or prostitution, but he supplies lodging, facilitates travel and moves funds for mobsters. That’s what he offers, you see – facilitation – and there’s nothing criminal in the service per se. Allied with the travel business there’s transport, trucking, materials supply, international transmission of monies, you name it. No country excludes him, because he’s a big developer and investor. Also he’s a very good diplomat. So he keeps the peace between the racial groups. He understands that everyone needs a slice of the pie. When he’s here, for instance, I monitor his movements and his contacts, but none of our villains get near enough to taint him. Everything’s done at arm’s length. He even snubbed Gerry Downs because of his gambling connections with Harry Yip Soong… That, in brief, is the man you’ll be dealing with in Bangkok. You won’t be able to bluff him. You’ll have to treat with him eyeball to eyeball. So you’d better be fully briefed before you leave.’

  ‘Can you help with that, Commissioner?’

  ‘I can give you my best man: between him, you and Arthur here, you should be able to make sense of the documents. After that, of course, you have to make your own decisions, which will have longer consequences than you imagine at this moment.’

  ‘Pay me a courtesy, Commissioner. Concede I may be an honest man. Say, straight out, what’s on your mind!’

  He hesitated a moment, obviously reluctant to show his hand. Finally, he consented.

  ‘Very well. This is my opinion, for what it’s worth. Cassidy was a brilliant rogue who died before his villainies caught up with him. He saw you as his natural heir. In a strange way, your defection confirmed him in that idea. You challenged him and beat him at his own game. So now he’s put his empire – most of which is offshore – within your grasp… But first you have to want it enough, and then you have to be strong enough, to reach out and take it. It’s a classic psychodrama, part revenge and part amends. His Thai mistress is yours for the taking – though my guess is that if she’d borne him a son, you’d have been out of the picture altogether… Then there’s Marius Melville. He has no son, so his daughter’s on offer for a traditional family alliance. Your wife and children are rich enough now so that you won’t feel too guilty about leaving them… If you do, that settles another score for Cassidy. His daughter finally realises she left a good father for a faithless husband… How do you like my scenario so far, Mr. Gregory?’

  I hated every line of it and said so. But I had to admit that it was vintage Cassidy. The old bastard knew me better than I knew myself, and I had already felt the prickling of the sexual temptation. The other had not touched me yet and I could not judge how potent it might be. It was then that the Commissioner showed what sort of an intelligence man he really was. He spelt out the rest of the scenario for me.

  ‘There’s a half-billion trust fund, already in place. There are company structures to feed it. But even if those structures are criminal, the fund is already laundered into respectability. So you could get rid of the criminal elements and function as a potent but respectable businessman. Of course, if you wanted to go further and actually reverse Cassidy’s villainies, you could retain everything, but make an alliance with us and with other enforcement agencies and literally put a large part of an enemy empire in our hands. It would be an intelligence coup of the first magnitude… and we wouldn’t grudge you a cent of what you made out of the operation. Think about it for a moment, Mr. Gregory.’

  ‘It sounds like a prescription for instant suicide.’

  The Commissioner shrugged off the objection.

  ‘High risk, big profits. It’s the name of the game.’

  ‘Your game, Commissioner. Not mine.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said the Commissioner calmly, ‘and of course it may never be; but I’d be delinquent if I didn’t explain the opportunities it offers.’

  ‘I’d like you to explain something else. How come you can operate on this global scale and you can’t do anything about that little nest of vipers in Macquarie Street, Sydney, in the State of New South Wales?’

  That touched a raw spot. He flushed, sat bolt upright in his chair and picked up the kukri again. Arthur Rebus became suddenly absorbed in a speck of lint on his lapel.

  ‘I am doing something – but it’s obviously not half enough. There are three reasons. First: I’m dealing with elected members of Government and high civil servants in a sovereign state. That state has its own police force. I cannot invade its jurisdiction. Second: I’m a public servant, limited by the policies and the funds given me by my masters here. Third: I was a soldier before I became a policeman. I learned very early that you don’t win a war simply by killing the enemy’s soldiers. You win it by cutting off his access to food, water, fuel and ammunition, by restricting his movements, blockading his forage routes – until you can starve him into surrender. I’ve learned the same lesson as a policeman. Our prisons are full to bursting – with petty recidivists, one-time felons, crazies, three-time losers. Things are so bad that it pays a State Government to wink at parole rackets, just to provide space in the cells. But the big boys – Arthur can list ’em for you – the big boys are still free and piling up the loot. I can’t touch ’em until I can cut off their supplies, break into their communications systems, access their bank accounts and distrain their criminal profits.’ He grinned and spread his hands in deprecation. ‘That’s why I’m being so nice to you, Mr. Gregory. You can key me into their system at a new point. So which is it to be, yes or no?’

  ‘Don’t rush the man, Commissioner.’ Arthur Rebus raised a warning hand. ‘Let’s take this very gently. Let’s look at worst and best cases. The worst is that Martin here has no access to the trust at all. The trustees are in place. It’s a watertight administration now and for ever more. Then my advice would be that he follow the implied intent of the testator and sell the microfiches to Marius Melville. You will have had all the access you need, so Martin will have done his duty as a citizen and earned his right to a legitimate profit… Are you reading me?’

  ‘Loud and clear,’ said the Commissioner. ‘Now I’d like to hear good news. What’s the best case?’

  ‘That Martin has access to and authority over the trust fund.’

  I said I couldn’t for the life of me see how I could have such authority. The trustees were in place. The trust deed was a frozen document. Arthur Rebus chided me like a benevolent schoolmaster.

  ‘…You’re not thinking straight, Martin. Let’s get back to basics. What is a trustee?’

  ‘One to whom prope
rty is entrusted for the benefit of another.’

  ‘How is such property administered?’

  ‘With such due and proper care as the trustees would devote to their own interests and affairs.’

  ‘Next question. The trustees may choose to administer the property directly or… ?’

  ‘Or by delegation to fit and proper persons or institutions.’

  ‘Good man! Now, so far you’ve discovered from the microfiches that you have access to the accounts of the trust. My guess is that as we go further into Cassidy’s records, we’ll find that there’s a document of delegation to you from the trustees.’

  “Why should there be?’

  ‘Because, if my guess is right, Charlie Cassidy himself held the original delegation, and you, as his executor, are the natural successor.’

  ‘You’ve lost me, I’m afraid.’ It was the first time I had heard the Commissioner admit to human frailty. ‘Charlie Cassidy set the whole thing up. How could he be a delegate in his own interest?’

  ‘My dear Commissioner…’ Arthur Rebus jumped at the chance to deliver a little homily. ‘Let me try to make amends for all the damage I’ve inflicted on a whole army of Crown prosecutors… The purpose of a trust is to protect the interests of the beneficiaries and especially to protect them against the gatherers of taxes. So someone, not Charlie Cassidy, settles a trust, not to Charlie’s benefit, but to the ultimate benefit of his grandchildren, or a home for delinquent women or destitute alcoholics. Charlie can swear on a stack of Bibles he doesn’t own or control the trust funds. He can’t be taxed on them. He can’t be called to account for them. The trustees are responsible… But there’s nothing to stop the trustees delegating Charlie to perform any act on behalf of the trustees. He’s using their authority, not his own. He’s subject to their direction, like any servant. If there are queries about his actions, he simply refers them to the trustees… Meantime, of course, he can milk the thing dry if he chooses, because the trustees have given him the key to the milking machine.’

  ‘Beautiful!’ said the Commissioner softly. ‘A sweet, sweet fiddle! Why didn’t someone tell me all this years ago?’

  ‘It’s never too late,’ said Arthur Rebus in his amiable fashion. ‘I’m sure Martin would cut you in for a share of the loot.’

  The Commissioner was not amused.

  ‘I’m not sure that’s a very good joke, Mr. Rebus.’

  I wasn’t amused either. These were two very bright fellows and they were working me, like a pair of sheepdogs, into a very tight corner. I decided it was time to do some manipulation of my own. I told them: ‘Let’s talk plain business, Arthur, and cut the jokes. The Commissioner wants his man to access Cassidy’s files, with us. I agree that. I agree to the copying of any and all relevant microfiche material. I make a point here: I have already been warned by Marius Melville that if, in his view, the value of the material is debased by premature circulation, the deal is off. So, by going this far, I am putting five million at risk.’

  ‘Point taken,’ said the Commissioner. ‘But why tell him?’

  ‘Because I don’t like dealing under false pretences.’

  ‘Very laudable,’ said the Commissioner drily.

  ‘What other help can you offer him?’ asked Arthur Rebus blandly. ‘He’s more at risk than I expected.’

  The Commissioner thought for a moment before he answered.

  ‘I think he should be armed. I can get him a licence to carry a pistol, provided he knows how to use the weapon. I can give him contact numbers in Sydney, Bangkok and other places. I could, if a sufficient degree of mutual trust existed, swear him in as a special constable under the Act and endow him with limited police powers. That, however, would place him squarely under my jurisdiction and I’d have his head on a dish if he fouled up. I have to point out, however, that there’s no way I can cover him while he’s abroad. I can give him local contacts among our foreign staff. I can suggest a couple of reliable minders who do freelance work; but he pays ’em and briefs ’em himself.’

  Arthur Rebus pursed his lips and shook his head slowly from side to side in theatrical disapproval.

  ‘It’s not really very much, is it, Commissioner? He’s got his own life and the lives of his family on the line now.’

  ‘What is he?’ asked the Commissioner curtly. ‘Honest John Citizen or a bounty hunter? We’re talking about international crime, not a dingo shoot on a sheep run. You have to tell me, Mr. Gregory, do you feel you have any entitlements other than those we’ve agreed?’

  ‘There’s one – straight answers to straight questions.’

  ‘You’ll get them, Mr. Gregory. Let’s hear the questions.’

  ‘Do you trust me, Commissioner?’

  ‘Not completely.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘I don’t know how you’ll react when you know for certain you’re worth half a billion dollars. I don’t know either how far I can bet on your sexual morals. Straight enough for you?’

  ‘Yes, thank you. Next question: Cassidy had a pistol in his safe. What do I do with it?’

  ‘Give it to my man. He’ll arrange ballistic tests to see if the weapon is linked with any crimes. Then he’ll give it back to you.’

  ‘I’m staying at the Town House. Melville’s daughter has suggested I move to the Melmar Marquis. She says it’s more secure. What’s your advice?’

  ‘If you can stay out of her bed, by all means move to the Melmar. The Town House is harder to police. It caters to show business folk, so there’s a lot of coming and going. At the Melmar you’ll have house security as well as ours. But don’t leave any significant papers lying around; keep them at the bank. Next question?’

  ‘Cassidy’s mistress, Pornsri Rhana.’

  ‘Ah!’ The Commissioner beamed satisfaction across the table. ‘I was beginning to wonder why we hadn’t talked about her. Her father’s a general. She’s well connected to the Embassy here and obviously to high circles in Thailand. She runs a company called Chao Phraya Trading Company, in which she is a substantial shareholder. That company interests us, principally because, among its activities, is the manufacture and distribution of pharmaceutical products in South-East Asia. This means it is legally entitled to buy and process raw opium for medical use. More importantly, however, there is an increasing exploitation of synthetic substitutes, compounds quite legal in themselves, by illegal drug traders right around the world. The only way we can trace this kind of activity is when local agents for legitimate companies begin importing large quantities of certain products like barbiturates, psychotropic compounds and so on… Any increase in this traffic means that there’s a glut of raw opium in the producing countries, which is snapped up cheaply by the criminal trade. So Pornsri Rhana interests us… In this connection, does the name Red Dragon mean anything to you, Mr. Gregory?’

  It gave me great satisfaction to spell out the connection for him.

  ‘Red Dragon, English translation of the German Rotdrache, which is the name of the trust we’ve been talking about. That trust holds one-third of the Chao Phraya shares. The other third is held by Marius Melville.’

  ‘How come you didn’t tell me that?’ Arthur Rebus sounded aggrieved. ‘We’ve been talking about the goddamned trust for half an hour.’

  ‘Sorry, Arthur, but that’s the silly thing that happens. We get so absorbed in the substance of an argument that we forget the significant details.’

  ‘Thank you, anyway,’ said the Commissioner. ‘Now things begin to make sense. Red Dragon has shown up in other areas too. We may be able to correlate these with the information in Cassidy’s files.’

  ‘Take note of something else, Commissioner. I’m meeting Pornsri Rhana in Bangkok. Apparently her interests in Chao Phraya are being threatened. She wants me to help her defend them.’

  ‘Which you’ve promised to do?’

  ‘Not yet. I’ve promised only to assess the situation and then make a decision.’

  ‘Chivalry is not yet dead,’ s
aid Arthur Rebus. ‘But may I suggest that this is a very dry argument. I’m hungry and thirsty.’

  ‘I’ll lunch you at the Commonwealth Club,’ said the Commissioner.

  ‘Are you sure you want to risk your reputation by being seen with us?’

  ‘No problem at all.’ The Commissioner rose happily to the lure. ‘We’ve got a slush fund for the entertainment of likely informants. You two come in the category of supergrasses. I’m happy to lay out the money.’

  Which seemed to me to make game, set and match for the Commissioner. I liked him; he had a solid, gritty granite feel about him. I resented the fact that he could not, or would not, express a full trust in me. It reminded me of the small but threatening shadow that, ever since the night of her father’s death, had lain across my relationship with Pat. I was Martin the Righteous. I would settle for nothing but the whole loaf and the best love and the completest trust. The thought that I mightn’t merit any of it was galling as a pebble in my shoe.

  ‘You’re sore,’ said Arthur Rebus, as we washed up in the men’s room at the Commonwealth Club. ‘I warned you he’d put you through the wringer.’

  ‘I’m not sore at him, for Christ’s sake! I’m sore at me for letting myself get embroiled in this whole lousy game. I should have shut my ears to everyone and gone about the straightforward business of being an executor according to the rules.’

  ‘No way you could have done that, sweetheart,’ said Arthur Rebus, as he ran a comb through his unruly hair. ‘This is war. Big men in white hats, big men in black hats, all the villains and suckers in between. They all want what you’ve got and if they can’t shill you into handing it over, they hang you up by the thumbs until you change your mind. By me, the Commissioner’s your best bet.’