Obscure Intentions

by Anthony J Harrison

  “Did you tell him?” Louis turned to Hector and inquired.

  “You mean about Ochoa?” Gregory answered. “Yes, Hector told me.”

  “And how do you propose to handle him?”

  “Why should I worry about handling Ochoa?” Gregory asked. “For the moment, he’s not our problem. But, like Francois trying to run his own drugs, this Spaniard will learn there's more to pilfering a kilo and making a sale for a few extra euros.”

  Louis continued. “And if he talks about his time on the Joan of Arc and her operations, then what?”

  “Then we’ll take the necessary steps to protect ourselves,” Gregory explained simply, looking out across the marina, the masts of sailboats swaying on the tide. “We may have a more important item to consider, though. Phillip Gaston called yesterday and mentioned the Italians are looking for a policewoman with connections to Nazim Aziz.”

  “Nothing more was mentioned?” Louis asked.

  “Phillip also heard them discussing Nazim’s cousin. Seems he was last seen at the airport in police custody. Now, he can’t be accounted for by anyone. It was all he heard of their conversation,” Gregory replied. “Still, I’m curious though. I’d like to know more about this discussion Giuseppe had, and who it was with. I don’t like the idea he’s playing both sides of the field.” He wrote a quick note on his tablet. “Who knows? Information from their talk might be something we can use against Nazim.”

  Turning his chair to face his partner, he continued voicing his nervousness with the situation. “My other concern is Claire. She’s provided us with valuable information on police activities affecting our operations over the last three years. I want to make sure she’s protected,” he said, alluding to his brother’s wife. “Depending what we learn from the Italians, we might use Hakim’s past affair with the socialite from Nice to our advantage against them.”

  “Ok, but can we get back to our current business?” Louis asked.

  “You mean Pierre’s demand for more money?”

  “Yes. We can’t afford to lose him and his position in the bank. It took over a year of negotiating with him to open the ghost accounts. And another six months to deposit our money from off-shore,” Louis pointed out. “We’ve been very fortunate. Papillion Transport is being accepted as a legitimate business in the eyes of banks and businesses here in France; we don’t want to jeopardize it over one man.”

  Gregory picked up his cup and stared into the bottom. “You’re correct on all accounts mon ami, but we need to make sure Pierre understands we are the one in control, not him. How much more is he demanding?”

  “He wants twenty-five hundred more euros a month,” Louis said.

  “I’ll inform him we intend to increase his ‘salary’ by a thousand euros over the next four months beginning in September. And then we’ll add one more thousand beginning in January,” Gregory said. “While we appease him, we’ll look for another suitor. Banque Palatine may be the oldest in the Mediterranean region, but it doesn’t mean it’s the safest.”

  “And whom do you plan on approaching? Catching Pierre having an affair with the harbor master’s wife was pure luck, you know?”

  “I’m fully aware how we conned him, but I’m sure we can find someone else with a few skeletons. Maybe we should try bribing a woman this time,” Gregory said with a chuckle.

  “Oh, and who do you plan to use for the recruiting effort?” Louis asked.

  “Since you brought it up, I was considering Julien. I’ve never seen him hurting when it comes to the ladies. He might just swoon over a lonely bank executive enough to learn of her past,” Gregory suggested. “Besides, we’ve contrived issues in the past; we can do so again. Now, if there’s nothing else, I need to plan to see Claire and discuss this meeting Phillip mentioned and let her know Sophia is doing well in Toulon.”

  Chapter Five

  Just as the elevator doors slid open, Geneviève stepped out nearly running headlong into her colleague Nicolas Berger, who was sauntering down the hall from the interrogation rooms. The brief physical contact confirmed what she said earlier while talking with Francine; Nicolas kept himself in shape, feeling the firmness of his chest and arms.

  “Whoa there Geneviève. What’s the rush?”

  “I’m sorry, Nic,” she replied, blushing at the experience. “I have something for Claude and Captain Duval to look at.” She held the printout Francine provided. “It seems your suspect has someone at INTERPOL’s interest, not just the Spanish police. So, if you’ll excuse me…” she started, brushing past him and towards the interrogation room.

  Opening the control room door, she found Captain Duval, and her fellow detectives, Claude and Guy, in conversation. Through the two-way mirror, she could see the suspect, Guillermo Ochoa, pacing back and forth in the isolation room like an animal on display.

  “It's about time, young lady,” Claude admonished the young detective with a brief smile.

  “You can’t rush progress, Captain Lemieux,” she replied. She turned to Captain Duval and handed over the printout. “Seems the suspect is also on a watch list at INTERPOL.”

  “I would think he is, given the German and Spanish police agencies are tracking him. It says the information can only be provided via an access code,” he confirmed, finishing his scan of the paper. “I’ll have to run this up to Superintendent Chevalier. With any luck, he can get a response today and we can build our case against our guest.” He absentmindedly waved his hand at the glass. “Let’s move him into a single cell so we don’t have to worry about escorts to the men’s room,” he added before walking out the door.

  “You heard the good captain,” Claude said, motioning to Guy and Geneviève. “I’ll call the attending officer to get the cell number.”

  Guillermo was speaking as soon as the detectives entered the interrogation room. “You need to release me. I’m going to miss my cruise.”

  The two officers looked at each other before Guy spoke. “You’re our guest for a little longer, I’m afraid, Monsieur Gomez,” he answered, using the alias on Guillermo Ochoa’s passport.

  “But I’ve done nothing wrong. I mean, you haven’t even charged me with a crime. You can’t keep me here,” Guillermo rebutted, trying not to sound panicked. “I wish to see my representative from the consulate.” If the ship sails, I might never find my target again, considering the outcome of being in lockup.

  “Well, it seems your passport has raised a few questions which still need to be answered, such as your proper name for one. Now, if you’ll follow this nice young woman, we’ll show you to your new accommodations,” he said.

  Geneviève stepped out of the interrogation room and headed towards the holding cells, with Guillermo and her partner, Guy, following behind. Within a few moments, she stopped in front of the watch officers’ station, “You've got an opening for our guest?” she asked.

  The police sergeant staffing the desk looked up from his work to answer., “To the right; we’ve reserved lucky number 13 for him, Detective Benoit.” Pushing a binder through the window, he added, “Just sign the entry log admitting your ‘guest’ and we’ll see room service is made available,” the officer joked.

  “Of course,” she agreed, filling in the empty spaces. After signing her name with a flourish, she slid it back across the counter. “And there you are, sergeant.”

  Walking away from the window, she started down the corridor towards the vacant cell Guillermo, however, hesitated.

  “Come now Monsieur Gomez. You’re not concerned about your living arrangements, are you?” Guy asked, grasping Guillermo’s forearm while ushering him after Geneviève who stood in front of the open cell, holding the door open. “I admit it’s not the suite onboard the cruise ship, but it is much easier on your wallet.” With a firm nudge, Detective Masson escorted the former seaman into the cell. “I’ll let the officers know to be civil with you. Oh, and I’ll discuss your appeal for counsel with my captain.”

  Closing the door, Geneviève waite
d to hear the security bolt latch before releasing the handle and turning to her colleague. “You will really tell Claude the suspect wants to see someone from the consulate?” she asked, wandering back to the elevators.

  “Of course. At some point in time, I’m sure it will come up in conversation,” the officer said with a crooked grin on his face.

  ***

  Detective Berger approached the communications office hoping to have at least one message from his Spanish counterpart. Wandering through the doorway, he caught Sergeant Claire Dubois from the Detainee Processing office by surprise as she reached for the door.

  “I’m so sorry,” he said, catching the officer before she fell to the floor.

  “It’s not your fault, detective. I should have been more careful,” Claire said. “It seems we're getting a greater number of detainees since your departments' investigation began.” She held up a list of suspects being processed for their initial court appearance to prove her point. “There were seven new arrests in the last two weeks specific to drug sales along the waterfront alone.”

  “Well, it is what we police officers are paid to accomplish,” he said, stepping to the counter.

  “Can I help you, detective?” the communications supervisor asked.

  “Yes, I was wondering if there was a communique from Captain Garcia of the Guardia Civil office in Madrid.”

  “Just a moment and I’ll check.” Walking over and grabbing a clipboard from the wall, the supervisor scanned the first two pages for the name Detective Berger provided. “Sorry, but nothing’s come in over the last twenty-four hours.”

  “Thank you, I appreciate you checking,” he said.

  The detective made his way back to his office catching Detective Lemieux holding open a folder. The file turned out to be the situation report submitted by the SWAT commander, Captain Pierre Georges, stemming from the raid on a drug processing facility. Though there were no glaring accusations of poor communication, the SWAT commander cited the lack of foresight by him and Detective Benoit about the possibility of explosives being present.

  “You look mildly upset, Claude,” the detective noticed, closing the door. “Something not to your liking in the report?”

  “Oh, it’s nothing serious. The good captain noted in his report that Benoit, and I didn't consider the building being booby-trapped,” Claude said. “But on the bright side, he mentioned how well she performed on such short order with his team. Seems Captain Georges even included an open invitation for Benoit to be added as time allows in future activities.”

  “Seems she’s made a friend, then,” Nicolas said, pulling the file on Guillermo Ochoa from the desk drawer and grabbing the phone. “By the way, the Spanish didn’t leave a message overnight, so I’ll be giving them a courtesy call.”

  “Don’t let them know we’ve detained him, just mention he’s under surveillance,” Claude warned.

  “Why should we keep this from them?”

  “I believe he may know something which could help our investigation into Papillion Transport and their activities,” he replied. “The Scotland Yard inspectors mentioned a crewman from a French vessel being suspected in one of their homicide investigations in Portsmouth. And we found out from the British the vessel in question is owned by Papillion.”

  “Fair enough. We are keeping an eye on him then,” the detective said as he dialed the number.

  ***

  The hum of a ceiling fan pushing the stagnant air was the only sound occupying the veranda of the Moroccan crime boss. With a view of the pool, Youssef Raif was waiting for his visitor to arrive. “Have you heard from our driver?” he asked his aide, Imad Chakir.

  “Yes, both he and your guest are on their way,” the aide responded. Peering at his wristwatch, he added, “They should be here in less than thirty minutes.”

  The lean tanned figure of Youssef’s other guest came ascended the steps and sat at the table, pouring a glass of water. “How much longer must I wait?” The lack of patience was clear in his question.

  “Our guest will be here shortly captain,” Youssef answered.

  “Youssef, I've but a day to see my cargo loaded before leaving Tangiers. Missing this departure time is not an option,” the captain of the Southern Warrior, Adem Coetzee said. “At this time of the year, I don’t want to deal with the storms building off the coast of Senegal. Last year I lost four containers due to a rogue wave and the insurance companies in Cape Town took their loss from my profits.”

  “Captain Coetzee, I don’t expect you to be unduly delayed,” the Moroccan replied. “My guest wants to make sure you’re willing and able to undertake his shipping requests. And if all goes as we discussed last month, you’ll have 100,000 euros added to your account for a single voyage.”

  Youssef didn’t tell the captain he and Omar Khalid had earlier negotiated a fee of a quarter-million euros for moving drugs between North Africa and France. The part of the transaction worrying him the most was exposing the financial facet of his clandestine operations to both Omar and the South African captain.

  The sound of padded footsteps on the mahogany flooring alerted the men sitting on the veranda that Omar Khalid was joining them. Both men turned as the screen door creaked while Imad was escorting Omar to the table.

  “Good day, my friend,” the Algerian said, greeting Youssef with a handshake instead of the traditional kiss on each cheek.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again,” the Moroccan replied. “May I introduce you to Captain Adem Coetzee?” He motioned to the South African merchantman.

  “A pleasure to meet you, Captain,” Omar said, shaking hands with the seaman.

  “Yes, it is,” Adem replied defensively.

  While the members of the meeting were exchanging pleasantries, their table was prepared. Imad was already refreshing the drinks for Youssef and Adem while preparing one for Omar as the three men took their seats. He also oversaw the house staff as they brought out a platter of fruits and sweetbreads and laid them on the table.

  “I don’t wish to be rude, but my time is valuable, as you might expect,” Adem started, setting the tone. “Our guest has told me you wish to contract my ship for a transaction... is this true?”

  Omar looked across the table at the South African, picking up his glass of water and letting the cool liquid moisten his throat before speaking. “Yes, I've got a shipment I wish to schedule for movement ever three months. It would originate in Algiers and end with delivery in Marseille.”

  “A single shipment, just one container is all?”

  “At this time, yes. With the possibility of added containers on future dates,” Omar explained.

  “To undertake this task, my ship would burn over 200 barrels of fuel, costing at least 75,000 euros,” Adem figured. “If you want my ship to move your single container, the fee is 200,000 euros. Unless you can increase the number of containers to make the voyage worth the effort, my price is non-negotiable.”

  Youssef fought hard to stay quiet as he listened to the exchange between Omar and Adem. Sensing a lull in the conversation, he soon added his opinion. “If I add, let us say, three containers to the shipment to Marseille, would you be willing to negotiate a lesser fee?”

  Omar looked at the Moroccan crime boss, wondering what he could move to Marseille and how it might influence his and Nazim’s drug smuggling efforts. “Captain Coetzee, I understand your reluctance in moving just one container, but I hope you realize the cargo you would handle is unique,” he pleaded. “My associates in France and I are a fledgling enterprise and moving with caution as we attempt to grow our business venture. I'm sure you understand that we can’t flood the market with goods too soon.”

  Youssef was listening in the hopes his negotiations with the captain were not being wasted over the number of shipping containers between ports.

  Pulling out a cigarette, the freighter captain lit it without concern of the others. “Gentlemen, if each of you can guarantee five containers to be shipped each
quarter, I’ll consider your offer of 200,000 euros for both transactions,” Adem said. He let his offer hang in the air, just like the smoke from his cigarette.

  Youssef looked over at Omar, whose expression was neutral, but he sensed his mind was digesting the offer presented to him. “Omar, I believe this to be a fair demand by the captain,” he said. “You and I can discuss the details and allow the captain to return to his ship.”

  For what seemed to be the first time in 30 minutes, Omar blinked while holding his sights on the South African captain. “You’re absolutely right, my friend,” he said. Pushing up to his feet, Omar extended his hand to the captain. “I believe we have a deal, Captain Coetzee.”

  The captain responded, shaking hands with Omar. “Yes, I believe we do. I’d appreciate seeing your schedule for picking up the containers by the end of next week. Youssef has the means for contacting me.” Turning to Youssef he said, “Goodbye, my friend,” shaking hands while Imad stood to see him to a waiting car.

  “Goodbye, my friend,” Youssef echoed. “And may Allah grant a safe journey for you and your crew.” As he followed his aide escort the seaman through the house, he turned to Omar. “Can you have two containers ready in the coming weeks?” he inquired, drawing the conversation back to business.

  “I would be lying to you if I said yes. But it’s not impossible for my partners and me to complete,” Omar responded before turning to Youssef to make his own concerns known. “And you, can you have three containers of goods ready for shipment to France as well?”

  Youssef thought for a moment before responding. “Yes, I can. But, what would you say to collaborating our efforts for the sake of business?”

  Omar was stunned at the offer. He knew Youssef was remarkably shrewd when dealing with his illegal activities, certainly much like himself. Omar’s contacts in both Tangiers and Casablanca had yet to find the extent of Youssef’s illegal operations outside Morocco. He knew of Youssef having an informant boiled in hot oil for jeopardizing his operations in trafficking slaves between Africa and South America. Nevertheless, the Youssef never confided in him on operations outside the country.