The second part of the process was layering, a series of increasingly complex financial transactions designed to distance the assets from their original sources. They typically included loans, investments and the buying and selling of a whole range of assets.
The final step was integration, the re-introduction of the proceeds into legitimate ventures, such as the buying of commercial or residential property. Structured correctly, the law enforcement agencies would face an insurmountable task in attempting to trace the money back to the Delph’s shady dealings. And unlike most chains, this one was as strong as its strongest link.
Jack Hobbs reveled in the challenge. The proceeds from the Oceana operation had travelled around most the known universe before being invested in luxury apartments in downtown Atlas Central. Not only was the capital still intact, it was now generating a healthy and legitimate income.
Since Hobbs had been involved in this side of the business he’d set up dozens of companies and subsidiaries; he’d created holding companies, front companies, import companies, export companies… The Delph even owned – through intermediaries – their own banking houses. It would take a very determined effort on the part of the authorities to untangle the web that he had so painstakingly constructed.
He was, of course, obliged to divulge the workings of his scheme to his employers, who, like any other proprietors had their own team of auditors who would, on occasion, study the accounts and make their own assessments. Every transaction was listed, every purchase, every sale and every investment, both large and small. Listed too were all the companies and institutions with which the Delph did business… including a small investment house known as Tristar Holdings.
The accounts listed Tristar Holdings as a trusted institution, one employed to transfer funds to any one of a dozen different locations during the layering phase. Like any other institution, Tristar Holdings charged a modest fee for their trouble – small when compared with the capital, but large enough to make it a very profitable enterprise for its owners. As per the auditor’s instructions, the names of the board members were all listed in the official accounts – names that could be verified through birth certificates, social security numbers and scrutiny of the electoral roll.
In reality, none of the board members existed; at least, not in flesh and blood. They were phantoms, created purely out of necessity. Tristar Holdings employed no staff and its premises existed only in the virtual world. Impossible to trace, the electronic passwords and access codes necessary for its operation resided only within the mind of its architect.
Jack Hobbs considered it far and away his finest creation. Tristar was the perfect vehicle for shunting the Delph’s assets around the galaxy, and was at the same time a super-highway for creating considerable personal wealth for himself. The creamed off proceeds were hidden away in numbered accounts far from prying eyes, but in truth, the money was secondary. He embezzled simply because he could. It was thrilling. It was exciting. It was dangerous. He’d played the system and beaten it, always staying ahead of the game and more importantly, always staying several steps ahead of his adversaries – whichever side of the law they happened to be on. Strangely, the thought that he might one day be caught never once entered his head.
* * *
Atlas Central Police HQ
Burns and Mullins spent the morning interviewing and collecting statements from everyone who might have had access to Lenny or the food that he’d been given that morning. Burns was unsurprised to hear that nobody knew anything, nobody heard anything and nobody saw anything. Just as they finished the last interview Burns received a call from the toxicologist.
“As suspected, your friend Leonard was poisoned,” he said. “The agent used was a synthetic compound called Acromex. Colorless, odorless and tasteless, it’s highly toxic and lethal even in small doses. The effects are very similar to cyanide poisoning; it prevents the body from assimilating oxygen and once ingested death generally follows within seconds. It’s quick, but not particularly pleasant. I can certainly think of easier ways to go.”
“Easy to get hold of?” asked Burns.
“Yes and no. It’s widely used in the chemical industry but not something you can get over the counter.”
“Understood. Anything else you can tell me?”
“Yes, there is one important fact to consider. The food we collected from the victim’s cell was all tainted with Acromex. All of it.”
“Which suggests that it was murder rather than suicide.”
“Certainly wasn’t a suicide pill, if that’s what you mean, but I’ll leave the detectoring side of things to you.”
“OK. Thanks, Doc. Let me have the written report as soon as possible.” Burns cut the connection and turned to Mullins. “Did you get all that?”
“Yeah. I never figured it for a suicide, anyway.”
“Me neither… The only question is, was it an inside job?”
“Has to be,” said Mullins. “The canteen staff came on at six thirty and Lenny was served his breakfast at eight. Nobody reported seeing anyone other than the normal station staff, and if someone had come in off the street they’d have been spotted by the security cameras.”
“Within the given time frame, how many people would have had the opportunity?”
“Too many,” said Mullins. “The day shift begins arriving at about seven thirty. We’re looking at thirty to forty people.”
“At least… But I was just thinking. Do you remember when we talked to Alice Villiers? She said that when we pulled Chumly in for questioning, Hobbs knew about it even before Chumly was picked up.”
“So whoever tipped him off must have been in the station at the time the orders went out.”
“Exactly,” said Burns. “That should narrow it down a bit. I want you to do a bit of cross referencing. Go through the station logs and see who was on duty when Chumly was picked up. Then compare it to who was in the station between six thirty and eight today. See what comes up.”
“Will do,” said Mullins. “Does this mean the Clive Donaldson case is closed?”
“Not quite – we still have to find Larson. I’ve a mind to charge him with being an accessory to murder and even if we can’t make that stick, he’ll still have some information we can use.”
“If they had Lenny killed, don’t you think they might have done the same to him?”
“Perhaps, but my gut instinct tells me no,” said Burns. “I think his body would have turned up by now. When the uniformed branch searched his apartment there was still food on the table, but no sign of a struggle. It’s my guess that he left in a hurry but of his own accord. I could be wrong, but either way, we keep looking until he turns up – either dead or alive. And… in addition to searching for Larson, we also have a case of attempted murder to look into.”
“Chuck…”
“That’s right. While you’re checking through the police logs, I’ll head over to O1 and see what I can find out. He’s one lucky man, that’s for certain. Another five seconds and I’d be going over to check the funeral arrangements. Anyway, time for lunch. Think I might try that new diner just down the road. I don’t know about you, but I rather think I’ll give the police canteen a miss for a few days.”
CHAPTER 11: An Officer and a Gentleman
Orbital One
“You’ll be better off here, they said. It will be safer, they said.”
“Sorry, Chuck,” said DCI Burns. “We really thought it would be. How are you bearing up, anyway?”
“Could be worse,” said Chuck from his bed in O1’s infirmary. That much was true. Apart from a few cuts and bruises and a slightly scorched face, he bore few signs of his ordeal.
“Could have been a damned sight worse,” said Commander Jacobs. “If you’d been standing in front of your door when that charge went off, it would have cut you in two – literally. We’d have been scraping you off the walls with a trowel.”
“Oh well,” said Chuck lightly. “You know what they say
– a miss is as good as a mile.” He reached up and touched his face gingerly. It felt as if he’d shaved with a broken bottle and his once bushy eyebrows had completely disappeared.
“They’ll grow back,” the medic from Phoenix had assured him. “Well, probably. And apart from that you seem to be fine. Nothing broken and no internal damage. Your hands and face will be tender for a few days but that’s about it. I’ll give you some ointment and you’ll be right as rain in no time at all. Any problems, just give me a call.” He’d given Chuck a smile, O1’s antiquated infirmary a distinctly derisory look and then scuttled off back to Phoenix without looking back.
“I think he was afraid the whole station might go bang,” said Chuck.
“Are you sure it won’t?” asked Burns.
“No guarantees, but we had the Bomb Squad over from Phoenix last night,” said Jacobs. “They sent their sniffer robots over every inch of the station. All the tests came up clear. We’ve also been going over the logs and the footage from the internal cameras.”
“Have you come up with anything?”
“Unfortunately, no. There were people going in and out of Alpha Section all day. It could have been anyone. Whoever it was, they passed through a security checkpoint manned by one of our marine detachment. Captain Norris, the head of Phoenix’s marine detachment, isn’t at all pleased about that, I can tell you. They’re still going over their own security footage. We’ll give you a copy of that too if you want.”
“Appreciated,” said Burns.
“So where do we go from here?” asked Chuck.
“Ah,” said Jacobs slowly. “You know, it’s funny you should ask.”
“I know that look,” said Chuck. “You’re about to tell me something that I’m not going to like.”
“The thing is, Chuck,” said Burns. “You weren’t the only one targeted. Admiral Giles and Judge Basham–”
“Judge who?”
“Judge Basham, the one that sentenced Jacks to two hundred and five years…”
“Ah, that Judge Basham.”
“They’re both dead, Chuck. Admiral Giles and Judge Basham. You were very much the lucky one.”
“What?” said Chuck aghast. “Admiral Giles? He’s dead?”
“I’m afraid so. Car bomb. Judge Basham was blown up on his boat. We’ve analyzed the residue from all three incidents – all three devices were made from the same batch of Tetranox.”
“Same MO?”said Jacobs.
“Not quite,” said Burns. “The bombs that did for Giles and Basham were large – in Basham’s case especially so. The Bomb Squad estimates that it must have contained several kilograms of explosive. On the other hand, the device planted in your quarters was in the order of just one or two hundred grams.”
“Enough to do the job…”
“Certainly,” said Burns. “It’s probable that it was the largest device they could smuggle past security.”
“Which brings us back to the present, Chuck,” said Jacobs. “DCI Burns, Captain Norris and I had a meeting earlier today.”
“What about?”
“About security, Chuck, and the possible ramifications if you remain on O1.”
“A few weeks back you told me it was better to stay.”
“Well, now we’re not so sure.”
“The thing is,” said Burns, “I’m assured that if the device deployed in your quarters had been as large as the one they used to blow up Basham’s yacht, it’s quite possible the whole station would have been compromised. The blast would have blown a gaping hole in Alpha Section and might even have knocked O1 off its orbit.”
“With catastrophic results,” said Jacobs.
“Jacks will soon find out that you survived,” said Burns pointedly.
“And you think he might try again?”
“I don’t know. He might… he might not.”
“Either way,” said Jacobs. “Captain Norris wants you off the station.”
“Norris? He’s the clown who got rid of Dolores. Now he wants to get rid of me too? It’s not my fault that Jacks turned into a psychopathic murderer, it’s definitely not my fault he escaped from jail, and it’s absolutely not my fault that one of his henchmen got on the station with a bloody great bomb.”
“No-one’s saying it is, Chuck,” said Jacobs. “But you can see Norris’s point. O1’s past her prime – the security systems are far from perfect, and including all the Titan guys, there are nearly two hundred people here at any one time. Their safety is his primary concern. He feels it would be best if–”
“If I was fired?”
“No, not at all, not at all... Temporarily reassigned. Just until this all blows over.”
“Reassigned…? Like where?”
“Well, luckily for you, the perfect assignment has just come up.”
“Oh yes...?” said Chuck doubtfully.
“Since you’ve been lying in bed for the last thirty six hours, I guess you won’t have noticed what turned up yesterday.”
“Here?”
“Yes. Well, outside. It’s a bit big to dock directly.”
That at least piqued Chuck’s interest. “I’ll get dressed,” he said.
A few minutes later, Chuck, Burns and Jacobs were gazing out into space from one of the large windows set in O1’s hull.
“What do you think?” said Jacobs.
“That… is one big ship. What is it?”
“That,” said Jacobs, “is the Artemis, a collaborative project between the fleet and the Titan Corporation. She’s a comet buster, designed to intercept celestial bodies – comets, asteroids and that sort of thing. Anything that might pose a threat to any of the colonies. She’s brand new, Chuck – fresh out of the dockyard. They’re doing the final checks as we speak and she’ll be leaving for her shake-down cruise in a couple of days. The idea is that you join the crew as a systems officer. That will be kept secret, of course. The official line will be that having survived the attempt on your life, you have decided to move to pastures new and naturally request that your privacy be respected.”
“That makes sense, I suppose. Is there anything else I should know?”
“Yes… a couple of other things… Firstly, I’m sure you’ll be pleased to hear that Penny will be joining you on the Artemis. Captain Norris thought it best to get her out of the way as well. I’m not quite sure of his reasoning on that one, but still.”
“Good so far,” said Chuck. “And…?”
“The other thing is… with the Artemis being a collaborative project between the fleet and the Titan Corporation, in order to serve on her you’ll need to be either an employee of the Titan Corporation or a serving officer in the fleet.”
“Which means what, exactly?” said Chuck suspiciously.
“Well, since you’re not employed by Titan…”
“Yes..?”
“Well, to cut a long story short, your commission in the fleet was reactivated yesterday, Chuck.”
“Oh, you have got to be kidding me. After what happened last time?”
“It’ll be better this time, I promise you. You’ll be a full lieutenant, no less, with only the captain to answer to.”
“An officer and a gentleman,” Burns chimed in helpfully.
“I think I’d rather stay here and take my chances with Jacks.”
“Sorry, Chuck, orders are orders, and let’s face it, you’ll need somewhere to stay while we fix up your quarters. Half got frazzled by the blast and the other half got soaked by the sprinklers. And look on the bright side – the Artemis is brand new. Everything will work, she’ll have first class accommodation and you’ll have the chance of saving mankind from Armageddon thrown in at no extra charge.”
“Lucky me,” said Chuck, gazing at the ship floating off in the distance. He’d got very used to life on O1 and was in no hurry to leave – especially as a serving officer in the fleet. On the other hand… it had been a few years since he’d served aboard an interstellar vessel and the change might well do him goo
d – certainly more good than another dose of Tetranox up the chuff when he was least expecting it. The vague recollection of a mushroom cloud erupting from his front door suddenly made the Artemis look very appealing – and at almost a kilometer from stem to stern, she was certainly a very imposing ship. “Fine… OK,” he said, nodding his head in resignation – or perhaps in surrender. “And you say this is just until everything blows over? Which I presume to mean when Jacks is back in custody… or he’s caught up with me and I’m dead.”
“Yes, and I’m sure it will be the former,” said Jacobs. “And rest assured we’ll keep your job open until then. Don’t worry, Chuck. It’ll be fine.”
“Of course it will,” said Burns “Everyone has your best interests at heart, you know – even Captain Norris. And, in light of your new rank, congratulations would seem to be in order. Well done, Lieutenant Poulson. I’m sure you’ll do the uniform proud.”
* * *
The Reaper
“What do we have?” said Jacks.
“A vessel is entering scanning range now, sir,” replied Tully.
The Reaper was sitting in high orbit above the planet Orlov 5, home to an agrarian colony at the absolute edge of explored space. So remote was the region that when first colonized, the star chart might well have read ‘Beyond this point, there be monsters’.
As far as the five hundred or so colonists were concerned there were indeed monsters at large. Not mythical beasts or alien predators, but monsters in human form; mere mortals to be sure, but mortals with weapons and a capacity for wanton violence. They were raiders, brigands who plied the fringe worlds in search of easy pickings, and with no security forces to contend with, Orlov 5 had been an easy mark.
The colony’s entreaties for protection resulted in a government patrol vessel being dispatched. It stayed for a week and was then called away. Predictably, the raider turned up soon after and demanded further tribute. A scuffle ensued, shots were fired and the newly hallowed ground of Orlov 5’s graveyard received its first permanent resident.
The Blunt End of Oblivion (The Blunt End Series, Book 2) Page 16