The Big Fix

by Brett Forrest

  Perumal tells a convincing story, of a sort that he has told before. He supplies just enough detail to explain his presence in the event—­as a disinterested friend—­though not enough to pin a charge on him. “Wilson’s version is the version of a man treading water and scared for his life,” says an investigator with operational knowledge of the Sankaran case. “Every conversation he made to Chann is recorded. He was talking to Chann. He was talking to him in partnership. He’s now trying to be smart after the fact. At the time, he was in it. There’s no way he steps out of this. They will come and get him.”

  Perumal says that he has relocated to Debrecen, Hungary’s second-­largest city, 150 miles due east of Budapest. All the same, where he lives and where he goes, these are not closely guarded secrets. Two men enter the café. They sit several tables away, and they don’t say much to one another. They just stick around and pretend not to watch.

  Perumal says that he has come to Budapest to meet with his attorney. But he claims that recent events do not unsettle him. “Because they cannot trace down to Wilson Raj,” he says. “They can’t pin it on Wilson Raj. My attorney is not bothered. I am not bothered. If it doesn’t trace back to your name, it’s a question mark. If Chann says ‘yes, he is my boss,’ it’s hearsay. It’s not enough. It’s a very complex thing.”

  Australia appears to present a simplified picture. By now, Perumal has accepted the fact that Victoria Police investigators possess recordings of phone conversations between himself and those involved in the Southern Stars conspiracy. Confronted with this fact, Perumal again is ready to give a little.

  “All right, these guys asked me how the predictions can go, how a match can be done,” he says. “My opinion. I’ve given my opinion. ­People ask me for ideas. I say, ‘Throw some good players in an amateur league. It’s not necessary that you have to lose the ball game.’ Because ­people know. How many football games can you lose in a season? If I put five good players on Southern Stars—­that’s what I told these guys. The idea was perfect. But these were not good players. The person who was there running the show felt that these boys had to lose these games. So at some point in time, they were on their own. I said give me a percentage, and I give you my advice.” Perumal pauses. He sips his cappuccino. “When the game is going on, this guy might have called me. ‘What do you think? What should we do?’ I gave my advice.”

  Just as Perumal appears to admit to his involvement in the Southern Stars scheme, he pulls back. “But I don’t know any of those players,” he says. “I’ve never seen their face. They’ve never seen mine. This guy, Gerry, I never seen him in my entire life.” Perumal claims that a Malaysian syndicate arranged the Southern Stars fix, handling the funding and management of the project. Although he may be dissembling, Perumal understands what all of this must look like to the outsider.

  “A lot of ­people are thinking, ‘Fuck, Wilson Raj is dead this time. The motherfucker is dumb.’ I’m sitting here having a cappuccino with you, and I say I don’t give a fuck, because I’m not involved. Ten ­people can go and say, ‘Wilson Raj is my boss.’ But can you substantiate how is Wilson Raj your boss? If somebody caught a conversation in Australia, what number? Is it tracing to who? For the Australian police to approach, they must have some form of evidence. Not a tape recorded, ‘I’m listening to this voice, and it sounds like Wilson Raj.’ I know they don’t have anything. Otherwise, they would have been at the doorstep by now. Whatever happened in England, England can try to extradite me. Even Australia, I’m not worried about Australia. I did not send any money to anybody. It’s difficult to implicate me. ­People can say Wilson Raj is involved, but where’s the link? Maybe to a certain percentage, I may have been involved. But whether they can extradite me, I don’t know.”

  There may be more yet to hang on Perumal. Just a week after the Sankaran affair came to light, another incident rocked English soccer. Sam Sodje, an ex-­Portsmouth player, told a reporter for the Sun that he could organize a ring of players to instigate the handing out of yellow and red cards during a match. The price: £50,000. Implicated in the eventual National Crime Agency roundup was D. J. Campbell, a former Premier League forward with Birmingham City and Blackpool, who was on the roster of Blackburn Rovers of the Football League Championship. The last name Sodje appeared among the Facebook contacts of Odira Ezeh, a Nigerian, whom investigators have tied to the Singapore syndicate and who once worked with Perumal.

  A lot has changed for Perumal since last summer, when he was unpopular. Once again, he is a favorite of investigators and prosecutors in Europe and Asia. All he claims to think about is minding his business locally. His girlfriend is pregnant. She is expecting twins, due in the spring. “I’m already a daddy in March,” he says. “I am comfortable here. I don’t have to move. I don’t want to go anywhere. But I don’t think they will give me citizenship. With a reputation like mine, I don’t think they want a citizen.” Where will he end up?

  Perumal steps onto the street. The door to the Muvész café closes behind him. He doesn’t know it, but great movements are happening behind the scenes. Three detectives from Victoria Police are due in Lyon in a ­couple days. At Interpol headquarters, they will brief counterparts from Colombia, Finland, Germany, Singapore, and the United Kingdom. Australian investigators are pressing for Perumal’s extradition on match-­fixing charges. (Even Patrick Jay, from the Hong Kong Jockey Club, visited Lyon, in December, where he lectured Interpol cops about the Asian betting industry. Match-­fixing is only growing in importance for policing agencies worldwide.) The key to their efforts is whether or not they can positively identify Perumal’s voice on the phone conversations that they recorded as part of their case. Finnish authorities have agreed to share audio files of the interviews that they recorded with Perumal while he was in their custody in Rovaniemi.

  The maximum penalty for match-­fixing in the Australian state of Victoria is ten years in prison. A sentence of five years awaits Perumal in Singapore. And now British authorities have their own motivations for laying their hands on the kelong king. Colluding against Perumal, the police agencies meeting in Lyon are blocking his escape routes. It’s not hard to imagine Interpol, Europol, and a quorum of European and Asian governments levying such political persuasion on the Hungarian government that Perumal loses the protection he now enjoys. After time spent in English and Australian prisons, he may end up back home in Singapore, ultimately spending the rest of his life in custody. All for fixing a few games.

  But could there be an alternate ending for Wilson Perumal? Australian investigators believe that the Southern Stars operation generated more than $2 million in betting profits. Where the money sits, they don’t know, for the betting world remains dim to them. Such a sum could facilitate an exit from Budapest, especially for someone so familiar with crossing borders. As national governments and police forces have regularly demonstrated, once a match-­fixer absconds from their jurisdiction, he may as well have disappeared.

  The days are short now, in the Hungarian winter. A chill has set in. The sun has gone down early, leaving the street in its lonely darkness. On the sidewalks, ­people hustle to their destinations, wrapped in winter layers. The traffic light at the intersection turns red, and cars collect in a long line. Perumal zips up his coat, and then he extends his hand. “Okay, goodbye,” he says. We shake hands, and I hold tight to his. “Wilson,” I say, “someone is waiting across town.”

  “Who is that?”

  “Eaton.”

  Perumal’s face goes blank. “Eaton?” he asks, surprised.

  “You want to go see him?”

  “Chris Eaton.” He says the name like he knew it all along, as though he should have expected Eaton to be here, on his tail.

  “He’s at the Buddha Bar. We could take a cab over there right now.”

  A grin crosses Perumal’s face. “Chris Eaton,” he says again. He takes a breath, thinks about it. Then he speaks. “You kno
w the scene in Heat?” The traffic light at the intersection turns green, and the cars pass by in a loud rush of sound. “It’s a very interesting scene between Al Pacino and Robert De Niro. Face-­to-­face. And there’s one sentence Al Pacino will say: ‘You do what you do; I do what I gotta do.’ It’s the thing. We both have a responsibility. Chris Eaton has a duty. I will try to beat the system. That’s what I’m best at.” He pauses. Then he says, politely, “Say hi to Chris Eaton.” Perumal turns away and walks into the winter.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Appreciation chiefly goes to Chris Eaton, who alerted me to this essential issue, then expended the effort necessary to illuminate it; thanks also to Fred Lord and Javier Mena. Wilson Perumal earns my gratefulness for his courteous recollections. Without Oscar Brodkin and Darren Small, I would have slipped up while navigating hang cheng. Zai Mohamed graciously provided early general schooling.

  This book began as original reporting for ESPN The Magazine. Commitment and imaginative input in Bristol shaped the notes into a worthy product. Thank you: Chad Millman, J. B. Morris, and Donnie Kwak.

  The ideal agent, Joe Veltre, was vital in every aspect; thanks, Alice Lawson, for holding together the operation.

  Adam Korn at William Morrow in New York. Rory Scarfe at Harper­Collins in London. Indebted to you both for your patience and close attention to the manuscript.

  As always, Robert Koenig was there with indispensable advice and guidance. Thanks are due to the following for further professional counsel: Megan Abbott, Neal Bascomb, David Friend, Rufus Fruit, Tony Romando, Christopher Stewart.

  Thanks to Angus and James Roven, and to the Truesdales. Deep gratitude to Dad and Craig, the most dedicated readership. And a bow to Dashenka, for inopportune distraction.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  BRETT FORREST is a contributing writer for ESPN The Magazine and has written for Vanity Fair, National Geographic, the Atlantic, and the New York Times Magazine. He has lived in Russia, Ukraine, and Brazil.

  Visit www.AuthorTracker.com for exclusive information on your favorite HarperCollins authors.

  CREDITS

  Cover design by Adam Johnson

  Cover photograph © by Lewis Mulatero/Getty Images

  COPYRIGHT

  THE BIG FIX. Copyright © 2014 by Brett Forrest. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

  FIRST EDITION

  Designed by Jamie Lynn Kerner

  Photograph on title page © by Helder Almeida/Shutterstock, Inc.

  Soccer player on chapter openers © by Christos Georghiou/Shutterstock, Inc.

  ISBN 978-0-06-230807-8

  EPUB Edition May 2014 ISBN 9780062308092

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  Footnotes

  * Chaibou has denied any involvement in match-fixing. He retired from refereeing in December 2011.

  * Rushwaya has denied any wrongdoing. ZIFA fired her but she has never been convicted of any charges arising out of Perumal’s account of their dealings.

  * Meganathan claims that while he knows Perumal, he has never been involved in match fixing, that he is a simple taxi driver in Singapore.