“I’m sorry. Relax, okay? I was woken up by your call,” said Merriman.
“I’m putting my life on the line for you. It’s not worth it.”
“What’s happened?”
Kent explained the circumstances of Wright’s death and how he was due to lead an investigation into CBC’s files the following week.
“And you didn’t think to tell us about the FSA investigation?” shouted Merriman. “Big mistake.”
“I’ve had a million and one things to think about with all this going on. I’ve not had time to give you a running commentary. I’m not cut out for this.”
“I don’t give a squat. An investigation by the FSA could wreck all of our plans. You should’ve told me.”
“What do you want from me? I’ve told you now, haven’t I? That will have to do.”
“This changes everything. We need to finish this process faster than we thought. We can’t allow an FSA visit to fuck up our plans.”
“Are you listening to me? I told you I’m not doing this anymore. Wright’s death was no accident. I don’t intend to be the next victim. I’m out. Finished.” Kent was shaking as he shouted down the phone. People were beginning to stare at him, but he didn’t care.
“Calm down, John.”
“Don’t tell me to bloody well calm down. It’s not you in the firing line. I’m not doing it. Go find some other mug.”
“Look, we already have the CBC files. All we need now are the Oakham documents and we’re done. It’s only a couple of days’ work. You can’t pull out at this point. You gotta finish this thing.”
“You’re still not listening to me. It’s over.”
There was a long pause. “Let me be clear, John. If you pull out now, we’ll still seize the assets we know about then we’ll quietly let Caruana know you helped us. Do you understand me? We are that close to breaking the cartel. Do you really think you’re gonna fuck this up for us? That ain’t gonna happen.”
“You wouldn’t dare do that. We have a deal. Remember?”
“Try me, John. We have nothing to lose. You do. The deal was we protect you as our source only if you see the whole thing through.”
“That’s not how I saw it.”
“I’m telling you as it is. Your call.”
The duplicitous bastard has got me in a corner. I’m a dead man if I don’t help him. Kent was a shrewd negotiator and recognized that Merriman had the upper hand. He’d already provided enough help to guarantee his own death should the cartel find out. He realized he had no choice but to see through the end of the process. Merriman had no real interest in anything other than bringing down the Caruana cartel. That much was clear. He’d feed me to the cartel if it suited him.
“Okay. I’ll finish it. You’d better keep to your side of the bargain when all this is over.”
“We’ll keep to our side of the deal. Provided, of course, you meet all of your obligations,” replied Merriman, menacingly.
Kent slammed down the phone. Merriman had shown his true colors; he was not an ally. Kent knew he’d need to take as many precautions as possible to protect his own interests from now on. He couldn’t rely on Merriman. I don’t trust him, and I owe him no favors.
He arrived at Oakham Fiduciary Services just after eleven a.m. He made his apologies, blaming the train for his delay. Gateley set him up in a large meeting room where he had many files already waiting for Kent’s review.
“Did you see today’s Financial Daily piece on Doug Wright?” asked Gateley, as they sat down for a chat over coffee before Kent started his work.
“I did. What a dreadful accident,” replied Kent.
“An awful way to go. Can you imagine falling twenty-two floors to your death?”
“I can’t even begin. At least it would have been quick.”
“Do you think our FSA investigation will still go ahead?”
“It’s hard to say. We ought to assume it’s still on, but we shouldn’t be surprised if they postpone it. I’m down here now so I might as well complete the file review as planned, just in case.”
“That sounds right. I’ll leave you to it, John. Let me know if you need any drinks or whatever bringing in. If there’s anything you don’t follow, just let me know. Some of the corporate structures are a little esoteric, shall we say.”
“Thanks. I will do.”
Kent closed the office door. Strange that Gateley never mentioned the police and the suspicious circumstances surrounding Wright’s death. He was very matter of fact about it. Does he know more than he’s letting on? I’ve always assumed he’s an innocent in all this.
He started wading through the files. Most of them had original documents which were signed by Baumgart. The documents were those needed to establish offshore holding companies and trusts which were then used to hold both the direct investments made by Tritona and those made through CBC and its funds. They would definitely provide the documentary link Merriman needed to tie Tritona to the underlying assets. He looked around the room, checking for CCTV cameras before dropping the relevant original documents into his briefcase. What if Gateley checks the files before I can place the fakes on them? There’s no choice.
At the end of the day, Kent took a cab over to the Marriott Hotel on the south bank of the Thames, overlooking the Houses of Parliament. Tara had booked him in there for the few nights he estimated it would take to complete his review. After checking in, he made his way to the top floor where there was a large gym facing out over the river. He left his briefcase in one of the secure lockers in the changing room and went for a run on one of the many treadmills. He built his pace up quickly while he stared down at the commuters making their way back and forth across Westminster Bridge. He envied them for their steady, predictable lives. At least they’re safe and can sleep at night.
Kent was a few minutes into his run when Special Agent Whitlock finished his workout on an adjacent treadmill and left the gym. There was no eye contact between the two men. Whitlock returned to the changing room to get dressed, using the locker next to Kent’s. When it was clear that he was not being watched, he used a special key to open Kent’s locker and removed the contents of the briefcase, slipping them into his holdall.
Chapter Forty-Five
Kent sat in the bar of the Marriott Hotel having a quiet drink after dinner. He stared out of the window as he ran over recent events in his mind. The city lights were reflecting off the Thames, and late night revelers were making their way across Westminster Bridge to the tube station on the opposite bank.
He was no longer sure about Gateley, but the plan appeared to be working and the dangerous part would soon be over. He’d got over the initial shock of Wright’s murder, and now felt more angry than fearful — angry he was being used by Merriman as a pawn in his vendetta against the cartel, angry he’d been duped by the cartel into their money laundering scam, and angry about the future that had been stolen from him. His future was uncertain and as far removed from the one he’d originally expected as it could get. He’d worked years to perfect his skills in investment management, and now that counted for nothing. Once the publicity came out about Tritona and the cartel, he knew there would be no future for CBC. The whole market knew Kent’s firm handled all Tritona’s investment activity. Even if it was made clear that CBC was a victim in the whole affair, no sane investor would commit new investment funds to the firm. The reputational risk was simply too high for them. Once Merriman had seized the cartel’s assets there’d be nothing left, not even a portfolio management role to play. He’d once been counting on the management fees and carried interest on Tritona’s vast portfolio to make his fortune, but that would soon be gone. He’d have nothing, and his dreams of becoming private equity’s first European billionaire would be ruined. It would never happen and he’d have no opportunity to make it all again. His personal reputation was about to be put through the shredder.
Kent ordered another glass of wine and thought about what he might do with his life if an
d when he could ever put the Tritona mess behind him. He really wanted to continue investing. It had been his life, and he was good at it. He didn’t have any hobbies or passions outside of work. My whole life’s been fucked up.
He continued staring out of the window. A train ran across Waterloo Bridge, and then another passed in the opposite direction. That’s it! The answer’s been staring me in the face; the HS1 rail investment. He hadn’t yet provided Merriman with the original documents in relation to this new deal. It hadn’t even been completed when he was pulling the documents together at CBC. Why let that ungrateful bastard grab the asset? It’s of no particular value to him. He’s got enough evidence against the cartel with the files I’ve already given him. What difference would one more asset make?
Kirkland had mentioned earlier in the day that Kent had been appointed a director of the holding company used to acquire the asset. He could use that position to transfer ownership from Tritona’s SPV to one of his own family trusts. He had the power to sign it over. The cartel would assume Merriman had seized the asset along with all the others. Merriman would know nothing about the deal; he’d never been given the documents. He had no way to pick up that it was missing unless CBC told him. It’s ingenious. The perfect, victim-less crime. He ordered another glass of wine to lubricate his thinking.
The following morning, Kent was back at Oakham’s offices to continue the file review. He spent a few hours collecting documents for Merriman then asked for the HS1 file. On the file was a record of the cash movements from Tritona’s various offshore accounts and a thick section on the ownership structure, including an intermediate Tritona holding company, the SPV on whose board Kent was now a director. That company was held by a new Tritona trust. Several corporate layers below the holding company, was the actual HS1 rail operating company.
Kent examined the investment paper setting out the acquisition’s financial structure. There was debt finance from a syndicate of lenders amounting to thirty-six billion pounds. The loans sat in an intermediate holding company, below the vehicle on whose board Kent was a director. Tritona had provided equity finance of forty billion pounds, taking the total financing to seventy-six billion pounds.
He filled in the necessary transfer paperwork. It only required the signature of a properly authorized director, of which he was one. At the stroke of a pen, one hundred percent of the forty billion pound equity capital investment in HS1 passed from the SPV to Sarah’s offshore trust in Guernsey. He kept most of his wealth in Sarah’s name in case he was ever sued; at least they could protect their assets that way. He decided he’d take the whole file away with him. With a bit of luck, it wouldn’t be missed for some time — hopefully, not until after the seizure of the cartel’s assets, when it would be assumed to have been taken by the DEA. If it was noticed before, then he’d simply say he was still reviewing it.
The plan’s not only ingenious, it leaves no trail. Kent calculated that the forty billion pound equity investment would generate income of three point two billion pounds each year, as the financing structure stipulated an eight percent running yield. He planned to set up the payment details for this once he was back at CBC. Normally, during the first few days following completion of a new investment, the CBC team would need to set up payment arrangements with the management team at the investee company. That way, the operating company would know where to transfer interest and dividend payments as they became due. The HS1 management team would have no idea in this case that the recipient bank account was the one used by Sarah’s offshore trust. The team would have no reason to doubt the payee information provided by CBC. They’d do as they were told. One day, the investment would even be sold. Kent would be happy if all it did was repay the forty billion pound original investment cost, but it was likely to do better in the long run.
This is going to work. I’ve just ripped off both the cartel and Merriman, and neither of them will be any the wiser. In that fleeting moment, Kent became one of the ten richest people on the planet.
Kent spent the next few days going back and forth to the Marriott’s gym, dropping off documents and collecting the fake substitutes for the files. The whole process was finished just four days before the FSA’s scheduled visit. When he returned to Cambridge on the Thursday afternoon, Tara told him she’d just received a telephone call from the FSA canceling their visit and apologizing for any inconvenience.
Inconvenience. The threat of their visit allowed unfettered access to the HS1 file. Thank God for Doug Wright. His timing was perfect.
Chapter Forty-Six
Merriman drove up to the entrance gates and let down his driver window. The armed guard asked him for details of whom he’d come to see and for two forms of photo ID. Nothing was taken as read. His car was screened for explosives. All visitors to the Department of Homeland Security’s Washington D.C. headquarters were carefully screened before being allowed through the security gates. Merriman was allowed through and instructed to park his vehicle in a specified space. When he entered the building, he had to show his ID once again before being shown to a waiting area, where he took a seat.
He faced a blank wall. The only things breaking up the monotony of the decoration were a photo of the sitting president and the American flag. As he sat in the waiting area, he thought about the big day ahead. This will be the making of my career, the moment I entered the big leagues. If only my parents were alive to witness this moment.
“Madam Secretary is now ready to see you, Mr. Merriman,” said a smartly dressed female intern as she collected him. He followed her along the corridor. Hanging on the walls were photos of previous presidents. At the end of the passageway, he entered a spacious, bright office with a large mahogany desk next to a French window. On one side of the room were two sofas. He sat on one of them and waited. One day, not so far into the future, I’ll hold a similarly powerful position in central government and will enjoy an office like this.
“Sorry to have kept you waiting, Mark,” Ann Laudel said as she returned to her office. Secretary Laudel was only the second person to head up the Department of Homeland Security. Like Merriman, still in her thirties, she was young to hold such a senior position in a key government department. She was also ambitious and was never one to miss a moment of success in front of television cameras. “I was being prepped for the press conference.”
Merriman stood and thrust out his hand. “Good to see you again, Madam Secretary.”
“Are you all set for the conference?”
“Yes. Ready to go. I sent over my presentation last night. Were you happy with it?”
“Yes. It reads well. Obviously, I’ll introduce the session and round up at the end, but the meat of today’s press conference is your presentation. Shall we go up?”
“I’m all set.” Merriman tightened the knot in his tie.
Laudel led Merriman from her office, up a flight of stairs and through to a large conference room. It was packed with journalists and TV camera crew. The room quieted as Laudel and Merriman walked out and approached the podium.
Laudel was smiling from ear to ear. “Good afternoon, everyone. Welcome to the Department of Homeland Security and to today’s press conference.” Cameras flashed and the live television broadcast started. “I’ve said it many times before, one of the most significant threats to the US and the American way of life is the proliferation of illicit drugs and the associated violence. In recent years, the vast majority of drugs on our streets have entered the US across the southern border with Mexico. Today, one massive drug cartel, the Caruana cartel, controls an estimated ninety percent of organized drug activity in this country. It’s the most successful and most threatening organized crime group ever faced by the US. This afternoon, we are announcing a significant success in our fight against this evil organization. As a result of what we are about to announce, all Americans will be much safer from the threat posed by the illegal narcotics trade. I’d now like to hand over to Mark Merriman, who is the Head of Intelligence a
t the Drug Enforcement Administration.”
Merriman stepped forward to the microphone. “Thank you, Madam Secretary. Good afternoon, everyone.” The cameras flashed as he launched into his presentation. This was his moment. He inhaled deeply, puffing out his chest and holding in his stomach muscles. “Secretary Laudel has already stressed the magnitude of the threat to the US represented by the Caruana cartel. To give you some idea of the size and strength of this criminal organization, if it was listed on the New York Stock Exchange it would figure in the top-five public companies in this country.” He looked around the room as he paused for effect. Journalists scribbled furiously while others relayed the information quietly over their cell phones.
He continued, “Historically, we’ve focused our activities on securing the border to the south and confiscating drug shipments when we’ve identified them. Unfortunately, this had only limited success. The plain truth is we can’t monitor the whole of the border all of the time. There will always be shipments that escape our net, no matter how much resource we devote to this problem. In recent months, we shifted the emphasis of our intelligence activities, devoting more attention to the proceeds of illicit drug sales. We started by seizing physical shipments of cash crossing the border back into Mexico and escalating our electronic surveillance, so as to trace the movement of the cartel’s funds once they entered the international banking system. Today, we are able to announce a major breakthrough.” He paused to drink some water, but his real objective was to raise the level of anticipation in the audience. They’re in my hands.
“In the last few days, we have seized cartel assets to an estimated value of four hundred billion dollars.” He paused again to allow his audience to absorb the figure. “We believe this represents some ninety percent of the Caruana cartel’s assets. In effect, we’ve killed off this threat to our nation’s security by chopping off its head. Without access to its massive financial resources, the cartel is no longer able to acquire and distribute illicit drugs, nor is it able to control its vast network. We’ve seized the rewards of the last ten years’ work by this criminal organization. It has been emasculated, if you will.”
The Geneva Connection Page 21