The revelation of Perumal’s alleged involvement in the Southern Stars fixing ring underscored the laissez-faire approach that international law enforcement applied to fixers, rather than to players. Fixers and their financiers were more difficult to catch and prosecute than the players who served as their pawns. But the news of Perumal’s alleged activity was too galling to ignore. Here was a fixer who was allegedly perpetrating crimes while in the control of law enforcement. Only three days after the arrests in Melbourne, as if in response to the news, Singapore finally spoke.
Singapore police arrested fourteen people in match-fixing raids. Investigators claimed that between 2008 and 2011, this collective had manipulated nearly seven hundred games, mostly in Europe, including World Cup qualifiers and Champions League matches. Among those arrested were former Perumal associates Anthony Raj Santia and Gaye Alassane. Singaporean authorities were cryptic about their haul. But anyone who had been following the international match-fixing story knew what Singapore police meant when they announced that they had captured the “mastermind” behind the entire operation.
The maneuvers that Dan Tan had initiated in Rovaniemi had now finally come back to haunt him. Dan Tan was in jail, and for an unknown amount of time. Singaporean authorities quickly released ten people of the fourteen arrested. But Dan Tan and Anthony Raj Santia were among four held under a section of the Singaporean penal code that allows the state to detain a suspect—without charge—on suspicion of drug trafficking, money laundering, immoral living, or organized crime activity. It was unclear if Singaporean authorities were prepared to charge Dan Tan, release him for extradition to Italy, or simply hold him indefinitely, which was a permissible result under local statutes. Whatever the outcome in Singapore, these were important days in the fight against match-fixing. The tide appeared to be turning.
The night of the arrests, Chris Eaton can be found in an Italian restaurant in Melbourne. Three of his daughters have joined him, two of them with their husbands. Unlike some daughters, whose attitudes toward their fathers complicate and sour with time, Eaton’s girls radiate gratification in his presence, feeding off his spirit and vitality. They spar with him, and he good-naturedly returns fire. But when the topic turns solemn, or he has something he’d really like to say, they all stop with the kidding and turn an ear to his authority.
The restaurant is full, and Eaton’s party orders their dishes, mostly pasta. A man ambles around the restaurant, an accordion strapped to his torso, playing for tips. Eaton wants to discuss the Southern Stars investigation. “This case is a wonderful example of organized-crime-fighting techniques,” he says, leaning in, speaking in confidence, his hands emphasizing his points. “If they had gone the traditional prosecutorial route, they would have waited months to get this information. And these guys would have been back in England, playing for another team. But it’s still not good enough. That is the whole problem with this. They are still looking at it locally. Their stage of heroism is in their own country.”
The Australian authorities initiated their arrests while Jason Jo Lourdes and Krishna Ganeshan—Perumal’s alleged associates in the Stars fixes—were out of the country. Without having these two in custody, using the threat of a prison sentence to cajole them into divulging their operational details, Eaton fears that it may be difficult to lasso Perumal from Budapest, leaving him free to operate.
“That’s the most insulting part,” Eaton says. “He sticks up his middle finger. I want to break his fucking finger. You can see how careless he is. It got him some wins. But combined with his gambling addiction, it scared Dan Tan into trying to get him locked away. He’s always confessed just enough to keep himself off the plane to Singapore. But he’s so stupid. He’s gonna spend the rest of his life in prison. I got a good feeling in my gut that the cunt’s gonna go this time.”
The musician roams over to the table, and a general groan comes over Eaton’s party. But not Eaton. He sits back in his chair and watches as the man leans into a rendition of “Que Sera, Sera.” Eaton knows the lyrics. He joins the musician in singing them. “Whatever will be, will be,” Eaton loudly vocalizes. “The future’s not ours to see.”
CHAPTER 39
Ralf Mutschke, FIFA’s new security chief, lacked finesse in his dealings with the press, especially in comparison with his predecessor. He got off to a rocky start in Zurich. One month into his duties, Mutschke uttered the following public comment: “It’s not possible to defeat criminal activity altogether, and match-fixing is clearly such an activity. I hope we can minimize the problem and restrict it. But we won’t be able to completely eliminate the problem.” Mutschke appeared to confirm what many observers had feared about FIFA, that the organization ultimately considered match-fixing an acceptable part of the global game, simply a new component of doing business.
This rejuvenated the debate. Was anyone accountable for eradicating fixing from soccer? If so, who? “FIFA has a role to play,” says Michael Hershman, of the Fairfax Group. “It’s an issue of leadership and priorities. Match-fixing is enough of an issue for the reputation of the sport that organizations like FIFA have a responsibility to address it aggressively. Since Chris Eaton left, I really don’t see as much of a concentration on the issue at FIFA. Unfortunately, there has been a loss in momentum. At some level, it’s been left to the ICSS.”
As Eaton rotated through the global sports and security conference circuit, often in the role of featured lecturer, he proposed a new agenda, one designed to provide sports organization with the tools to eradicate fixing. He cited the need for cooperative international agreements between sports, police, and gambling institutions. He advocated the creation of an agency charged with collecting and analyzing relevant intelligence, a multinational, multiagency body that could provide timely advice to governments and sports bodies. He recommended the formation of a task force designed to disrupt organized criminal groups that are involved in the manipulation of matches and betting. A global fund, administered by Interpol, would provide operational financing.
The plan sounded impractical to many people in sports, security, and government. Eaton admitted that it was ambitious. But he wasn’t dealing in fantasy. As a model for this new organization, he cited the Financial Action Task Force on Money Laundering (FATF), which the G7 nations had developed in 1989. Administered by the Organisation for Economic Co-operation and Development, in Paris, FATF had been instrumental in establishing international standards and coordinating governments in the fight against the financing of organized crime and terrorism. Eaton suggested establishing his proposed body through UNESCO, which had developed the World Anti-Doping Agency.
Provocative, recognized as an effective, occasionally captivating speaker, Eaton spoke at the European Union, in Brussels. His invitation was a signal that governments were beginning to understand the dangers and severity of match-fixing. In Brussels, Eaton outlined the fundamental reasons for the inability of policing bodies, currently disposed, to defeat it. “Sport is global,” he said. “Betting on sport is global. Match-fixing conspiracies are global. Betting fraud conspiracies are global. Transnational organized crime is by definition global. But policing is largely nationally contained. Here lies the root of the problem, and therefore to a large extent the solution. Global sport, globally gambled on, is corrupted by globally roaming criminality. Conversely, there is no equivalent global prevention or investigation.”
Eaton’s proposed apparatus sounded a lot like the early FBI, a cooperative agency designed to face down criminal enterprise on newly expansive terrain. A cogent, convincing salesman, Eaton sounded a lot like a young, idealistic J. Edgar Hoover, the zealous believer in fundamental restructuring.
Like Hoover, Eaton had his targets, Perumal chief among them. In the aftermath of the Southern Stars arrests, Eaton made the rounds with the press. Victoria Police officials made no public comments linking Perumal to events in Australia. T
his privilege fell to Eaton, and in repeated interviews he pointed the finger at Perumal, whose free Hungarian living insulted Eaton’s belief in the way things should be. “One has to assume from what we know that Perumal is involved,” he said publicly. “It is absolutely shocking. It shows how arrogant and how fearless these people are.” In private discussions about Perumal, Eaton would go further. “This fucker needs to go to jail. End of story.”
Eaton’s press tour brings him to New York City. Match-fixing has succeeded in making soccer front-page news in the United States, where the sport seldom rates broad attention. Earlier in the day, he completed an interview with CNN. After several hours speaking with Bryant Gumbel for the HBO program Real Sports with Bryant Gumbel, Eaton has the rest of the day free.
He takes a cab downtown to the East Village. It is sunny, one of those perfect afternoons that come to New York in either spring or fall. Walking down East Seventh Street, Eaton reflects on what he has accomplished, how he has managed to emphasize the issue of match-fixing, communicating its importance to international decision-makers. “We certainly have a seat at the table now,” he says. That may have to be enough for one man. As he moves swiftly down the sidewalk, and through his thoughts, Eaton admits that the extensive international travel and general pressures of the last several years have grown tedious. He understands that retirement nears. “I’m on the last throw of this dice, mate.”
After buying a collapsing doll for his son at a Ukrainian knickknack shop, Eaton crosses the threshold of McSorley’s. It’s time to blow off some steam at the oldest bar in New York. The barman deposits a beer in front of Eaton. McSorley’s is busy for a weekday afternoon, a sunny one at that. The place is noisy with loud voices, as people try to make themselves heard over one another. The shrill sound of clinking beer mugs is all that penetrates the blanketing din.
It is so loud that Eaton doesn’t hear the alert from his phone. At some point, however, out of habit, he pulls the phone from his pocket, making sure that he hasn’t missed any critical messages. And, in fact, he has received an email of particular interest. His face contorts joyfully as he reads it:
Hi!
Why do you poke your nose in everything looking for publicity.
You are an ex and not a present FIFA security officer.
You now work for a worthless organization and earning blind salary.
If anyone who has the right to implicate and charge me for match fixing in Australia then it has to be the Mebourne [sic] Police force not you.
I hope FIFA will take away the World Cup from Qatar and you will be kicked from your job.
For your information you are not a well liked person among the encorcement [sic] departments Europe.
You yearn for publicity and sell vital informations [sic] that were meant to be secret.
I wish to see you kicked from your job as nuch [sic] as you look forward to my downfall.
Wilson Raj Perumal.
Eaton tosses his head back. He laughs so loudly that, for a moment, the chatter in the bar subsides, and all that can be heard in McSorley’s is the sound of a man getting an unruly kick out of something. “Mate, isn’t that something,” Eaton says. “He just can’t keep his mouth shut. It just shows he’s not an international roaming criminal. He’s a lucky thug.” Eaton places his beer mug on the bar. “I love these penultimate acts.”
He types an email in reply: Wilson, you’re scared, and you should be!
Eaton tucks his phone back into his pocket, then lifts his glass in salute. “The fun of the chase,” he says.
CHAPTER 40
MANCHESTER, ENGLAND, NOVEMBER 2013
The chase would continue. In November, a thirty-two-year-old Singaporean man named Chann Sankaran walked into a pub in Manchester, England. It was his third trip to the United Kingdom at the invitation of an Englishman who called himself Joe MacArthur.
MacArthur claimed that he represented an Indonesian mining magnate who was interested in match-fixing. He wanted to fund a fixing operation on English soil. MacArthur had contacted Sankaran over Facebook, and here they were now in England, working out the details. Sankaran told MacArthur that he could fix matches involving three clubs. He claimed that he could arrange for scores of 2–0 or 1–1 in the first half, with an ultimate outcome of either 3–2 or 4–0, depending on how they would structure their betting. He would facilitate wagers on the illegal Asian market. It would also be easy, Sankaran said, to pay a player £5,000 to take a red card at a certain point in the match, in a typical spot fix.
Several elements of the plan didn’t hold up under scrutiny. MacArthur said that his backer was prepared to provide €60,000, but this was not enough to fix a match in England. One would need €100,000 minimum to accomplish the task. And although Sankaran was an associate of the Singapore fixing syndicate, he was a fringe player. He had limited experience with fixes. One more detail wasn’t right. Joe MacArthur was an alias, the cover for one of Chris Eaton’s former FIFA investigators, who was now operating as an independent contractor.
“MacArthur” had sold his services to the Telegraph, and video recordings of his meetings with Sankaran subsequently appeared on the British newspaper’s website. Britain’s National Crime Agency opened a criminal case, arresting six men, including Sankaran. Also arrested was a man named Delroy Facey, a player agent who had played striker for fourteen different English clubs in his professional career, making it as high as Bolton Wanderers, then in the Premier League. This marked the first case of match-fixing in England in decades. The fixing epidemic had finally reached the home of the sport.
A related revelation may not have been so shocking. During one meeting in Manchester, Sankaran suggested that “MacArthur” perform a search on Yahoo. “You search Wilson Raj Perumal,” he said. “Kelong king . . . He’s the king. . . . He’s my boss. Everybody in the world know him, man.”
CHAPTER 41
BUDAPEST, DECEMBER 2013
It is quiet in the Muvész café, on Budapest’s Andrássy Street, save for clattering plates and the frothing of the cappuccino machine. These noises don’t unsettle Wilson Perumal. It appears as though nothing does. The Australians have identified him as the mastermind of the Southern Stars ring. British authorities have compiled evidence that appears to link him to Sankaran’s activities in the United Kingdom. But Perumal is as relaxed and as talkative as ever.
“This guy Chann,” he says. “This guy, I know him from prison time.” Perumal explains that he met Sankaran while he was serving time for credit card fraud. Perumal taught him the rudiments of both fixing matches and defrauding banks. They kept in touch over the years since each gained his release. Perumal claims that Sankaran had begun to dabble in fixing, though unsuccessfully. In April of last year, Sankaran was stranded in Cyprus, out of luck after several matches went against him, living proof that fixing’s no cinch. “Then he called me. He said, ‘Wilson, I am broke. I only have about fifteen euros in my pocket. Can I come and see you?’ ” The two enjoyed the nightlife in Budapest. Perumal posted several photos to his Facebook page, he and Sankaran pictured in dance clubs.
A waiter in wire-rimmed glasses appears at the table, and Perumal orders a cappuccino. Then he continues explaining.
In the fall, Perumal says, Sankaran contacted him again, following the approach from MacArthur. Sankaran explained that MacArthur had flown him from Singapore to Manchester, covering his expenses. MacArthur made his pitch, and Sankaran was calling for advice. The numbers didn’t add up for Perumal. Just €60,000 for a fix?
“I say, ‘Chann, are you fucking this guy?’ ” Perumal says. “ ‘Because I don’t believe he’s serious about match-fixing.’ ” MacArthur invited Sankaran for a second trip, and this time demanded to meet the players personally before handing over the money. Sankaran again phoned Perumal. “I said, ‘Chann, you’re wasting my time. This motherfucker is not going
to give you one penny if he don’t see the players.’ ” This necessitated a third trip, and Sankaran phoned Perumal from England in a panic. He couldn’t find any real players to present to MacArthur.
Perumal suggested that Sankaran contact an old associate: Delroy Facey. Facey’s mother was Grenadian, and he represented the national team in the 2011 Gold Cup. Fixers compromised this tournament, as they did most Gold Cups, and investigators surmise that the syndicate made Facey’s acquaintance at that time. Perumal knows him, but he claims that he inspires little confidence. “I don’t trust Delroy Facey,” he says. “One moment, he will say he can do this, the next moment he will say he can do that. He was never good to his word. So I’ve given up on him.” But Perumal thought Facey might be useful for something still. “I said if you want fake players who look like real players, you get Delroy Facey. He can help you. So Chann linked with Delroy.”
Sankaran phoned Perumal following the final meeting with MacArthur. When Sankaran said that MacArthur had handed over the €60,000, Perumal was surprised. “Chann started to brag with me, that he’s a match-fixer. ‘I’m doing this game. I have this team. I have three teams.’ I said, ‘Chann, you fucker, you went there for three days and you have three teams?’ It’s not possible.” In gratitude for his guidance, Perumal says, Sankaran wired £2,000 to him in Budapest through Western Union.
The night of the first fixed match, Perumal says that Sankaran called him, excited about the bets he had placed on the outcome. In the end, the match didn’t turn out the way that Sankaran had planned. There were no more phone calls. The next day, Perumal learned of Sankaran’s arrest from an associate in Singapore. “I said, ‘Fuck, this is a setup.’ ”
The Big Fix Page 19