Dirty White

by Brian Freemantle

  “Hello, Howard,” said Farr.

  “Hello.”

  “How do you feel?”

  Howard shrugged without interest. “OK, I guess.”

  “Dr. Halpern tells me you’re taking part in some activities.”

  “Trying to stop myself going mad,” said the boy. “Any idea what it’s like, being locked up inside four unchanging walls?”

  “Like prison, I’d guess. Dr. Halpern also said your system’s been cleansed.”

  “The all-knowing, all-wise Dr. Halpern.”

  Farr clenched his hands against a repeat of the outburst that had happened last time. “He doesn’t think you can be allowed out of the secure section yet.”

  “He’s the boss.”

  “What would you do if you could get out?” demanded Farr, abruptly curious.

  “You really want to know?”

  “Of course I do.”

  “Score—as quickly as I could.”

  16

  The sort of approach for which they were looking came a week after Farr’s return from New York and it was Harriet who recognized it: a seemingly vague contact from a Georgetown-based investment service, followed within days by a telephone call and then a personal visit from a Houston accountant, a clearly nervous man named Briars. Farr conducted the interview, self-consciously aware of performing before all the recording devices. There was a lot of discussion about cash surpluses and available liquidity, and Farr did not try to help the Texan, letting Briars set the pace, wondering idly if Becage, his own Texas client, knew of the accountant. It took an hour for Farr to discover that the accountant was acting for a construction millionaire who appeared over a period of years to have creamed cash payments off the top of purposely reduced contracts, and a further thirty minutes to establish the sum at something like five hundred thousand dollars. Farr recommended an interlinked discretionary trust, under which the Houston developer would establish a trustee through the Cayman islands, with instruction to create a holding company in the nearby Netherland Antilles. Only the trustee would be listed on documentation in the Caymans: the directorship of the holding company could be anonymous because the appointment would be the responsibility of the trustee. Once established through the Antilles, the tax-avoiding company could trade with the man’s American corporation, enabling him to claim, through his Antilles holding, American tax relief for foreign investments. It further meant that, if he wanted to invest the five hundred thousand in some building project, then the money was “clean” and represented a disposable asset. Briars took notes and clarified some uncertainties and left promising to be in touch within days. At a later conference, after they had studied the film and the recordings, Brennan said that Farr had made the tax avoidance appear remarkably easy and the investment broker replied that in reality it was. Brennan spent a lot of time in contact with Washington, who checked out Briars through their Houston office and identified the construction millionaire in less than twenty-four hours. Briars came back, as promised, with a named lawyer who had agreed to act as nominee trustee and Farr set up a company.

  “Small time,” judged Brennan. “If it’s an offense, then it’s a matter for the Internal Revenue Service and I guess this is one they’ve lost.”

  The atmosphere between Brennan and Farr was slightly better than it had been upon his immediate return, but only slightly. With the easygoing Batty alone did he enjoy anything like the earlier relationship, because Batty remained neutral. Jones fell in naturally with the unspoken criticism of the other Bureau people; Harvey Mann was the most obviously hostile. Farr realized at once that Mann would attempt to find financial mistakes anyway and was particularly cautious in this situation—Mann’s demeanor became one of almost permanent anger.

  Farr did not give a damn about any of the men but he was concerned at the effect Mann’s behavior might have upon Harriet. She insisted that she didn’t give a damn either.

  “There are times when I really think Harvey would like to punch me out,” said Farr.

  “I think you’re right,” said the woman.

  “Why?”

  “I told you before I thought there might have been trouble for me, from him,” she said. “I think he had me marked out as his.”

  Farr felt an immediate burn of jealousy. “What right had he to imagine that?” he demanded, regretting at once the way it sounded.

  She frowned at him. “None,” she said. “None whatsoever.”

  “I didn’t mean that,” apologized Farr at once. It was the night they had confirmed she was right about the Texas approach, and they’d celebrated, this time at the Grand Old House. He did not want to spoil the evening with an argument.

  “Don’t let it get to you,” she said.

  “I thought the difficulty might be more yours than mine,” said Farr. “They’re guys you’ve got to work with.”

  “So I’ll work with them; and what I do when I’m not working is my business.”

  Was this the time to share with her his thoughts about what would happen when it was all over? Farr felt the temptation but held back. Instead he said, “Could it have any adverse effect on the job? If someone made a report, I mean.”

  “It might have, in the days of Edgar Hoover, I suppose. I don’t think it would now,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t put it beyond Mann.”

  “No,” she agreed. “Neither would I. Brennan would have to be the submitting officer. He’s nominally in charge, after all.”

  “You’d tell me if it happened, wouldn’t you?” he said. “I’d want to know if the bastards tried anything.”

  She smiled gently at his concern. “I don’t know whether I’d tell you or not,” she said. “Whether I’d consider it sufficiently important. And I don’t think they’ve done anything to deserve being called bastards. Just been a bit stuffy, that’s all. And that’s because they’re frightened it might affect what we’re doing.”

  It was Brennan who brought the affair out into the open. At Brennan’s suggestion, the investment broker had driven with him along Seven Mile Beach to the Holiday Inn where a room was permanently reserved for video lectures on how to minimize tax liability—“just in case we can see anything interesting.”

  Farr thought the trip a waste of time but went anyway. Brennan seemed to agree, so they walked to the thatched beach bar, fashioned like the prow of a boat. Brennan insisted upon getting the drinks, and left Farr thinking how out of place he would have appeared here such a short time ago in his stiff and formal business suit. It was instinctive now to dress casually, and he enjoyed it.

  “Maybe today’s the beginning,” said Farr, seeking conversation.

  “Small-time, like I said,” reminded Brennan. “That’s not what we’re after.”

  “At least it’s a start,” said Farr.

  “I don’t like what’s happened between you and Harriet,” announced the FBI man abruptly.

  Farr had been gazing out over the beach. He turned back, concentrating his attention on the other man, aware now that the hotel visit wasn’t as aimless as he had suspected. “I don’t see that it’s got anything to do with you.”

  “Of course it has!” said Brennan. “We’re all here for a specific reason. So it’s a complication we don’t need.”

  “It’s nothing of the sort. Hasn’t had—nor will it have—the slightest effect upon what we’re trying to set up.”

  “It’s unsettling people.”

  “It’s doing nothing of the sort,” said Farr. “It’s upsetting one person and that’s because Harvey Mann had decided he was going to have a relationship with Harriet. If Mann is unsettled, then send him back to the mainland and bring a replacement; someone else can do the bookkeeping just as easily.”

  “If I thought I could, I would,” admitted Brennan. “It would mean too many explanations to Washington. And leave Mann back there, to spread the poison.”

  “So your problem isn’t anything to do with Harriet and me,” pressed Farr. “It’s office polit
ics.”

  “Caused by Harriet and you.”

  “It’s happened. And it’s going to stay happened,” said Farr, annoyed at the revolving conversation. “Bring Mann out here and lecture him.”

  “She had a bad experience,” said Brennan.

  “She told me.”

  “Be unfortunate if there was a repeat,” said the supervisor.

  Farr’s anger at the man leaked away at the sign of sympathetic concern. He supposed that Brennan’s role was to maintain a balance and the affair between himself and Harriet would have caused a tilt. He said, “This time the circumstances are different. We’re neither of us married. There’s no reason why it should turn out bad. And don’t forget I’ve got another personal interest which guarantees it’s not going to affect our plans.”

  Brennan looked steadily at him for several moments. Then he said, “Let’s hope you’re right. For all our sakes.”

  The interception of a second Gomez shipment, of one hundred and thirty kilos, was a stupid mistake on the part of the smuggler, a young man called Alvarrez who had never panicked before. But he did panic that night, en route in a speedboat from a mother vessel to one of the hidden creeks leading into Florida’s Everglades, just beyond Cape Sable. The searchlight was not even from a customs launch but from a punt carrying licensed alligator hunters, who found a drifting, abandoned boat stripped down to carry the maximum amount of marijuana and cocaine in a lightweight hull and with an engine sufficiently powerful to outrun practically any U.S. navy or customs patrol boat.

  Gomez’s initial reaction to the seizure was to have Alvarrez killed, but on reflection he decided that such an action would convey the wrong warning to those who might follow. Racing bicycles is a popular sport in Colombia, on a par with bullfighting and cockfighting—and Alvarrez was a promising rider who was being tipped for some sort of national recognition. Gomez ordered that both the boy’s knees be smashed, and that he then be held captive for a long enough period for them to set naturally. After they had been rebroken and set again, he would have limited mobility, to spread the word, but his career as a bicyclist would be at an end.

  Within two days Gomez replaced the shipment to Scarletti, managing an uninterrupted run through one of the smaller tributaries off Morehead City in North Carolina. But Gomez thought of himself as a perfectionist and felt the Alvarrez mistake important enough to explain it personally to the Philadelphia Mafia leader.

  Scarletti regarded the visit for what it was. An example of complete professionalism. He assured the Colombian that he viewed seizures as nothing more than an unfortunate but acceptable disadvantage of their business—a business which was proving itself to be one of the most successful in which his family had ever been involved. Already almost ten tons of cocaine had successfully entered the United States and a further eight tons had been channeled to Palermo in Sicily for onward distribution throughout Europe.

  “I welcome your confidence,” said Gomez. He appreciated the assurance because the Alvarrez loss had worried him, coming so quickly after the discovery of Rivera’s treachery, which he had naturally kept from Scarletti.

  “We’ve got something good going,” insisted Scarletti with genuine enthusiasm. “I don’t see the problems as any more than teething difficulties—small teething difficulties, at that.”

  Gomez reflected that, as replacement was guaranteed, this was an easy remark for the American to make. The insurance had been offered as an inducement—but he hadn’t expected to lose practically one hundred and sixty kilos of high-quality, uncut cocaine in such a short period. The disadvantage of what he’d established was that he had no insurance. He said, “I’m glad you feel that way.”

  “Gather you’ve seen Lang, in New York?” said Scarletti, who wanted the other man to be impressed at how well informed he was.

  Gomez was glad rather than offended at the American’s knowledge of his meeting with the lawyer: he considered he had kept every part of their bargain and that Scarletti had advised him badly. He was anxious for the other man to know how he felt, but he did not want to anger Scarletti and affect their trading relationship. Gomez said, “I must confess, friend to friend, that I am extremely disappointed. I understood from you that he was a good man, a reliable man. So far he has done nothing for me, apart from getting me to agree to his having power of attorney over affairs I entrust to him.”

  Scarletti’s face clouded. Gomez had impressed him and failed to be impressed in return: which wasn’t the way it should be, ever.

  “Will you see him again, during this trip?” asked the American.

  “Of course.”

  “Give it two days.”

  When Gomez entered the Manhattan office, after the requested period had elapsed, the lawyer was noticeably subdued.

  “I think I’ve found something,” said Lang at once. “It’s taken so long because I wanted to be sure it was absolutely safe. I’ve checked it out, even though I already knew it to be a respectable firm. It’s safe. So safe, in fact, that I’m thinking of recommending it to Mr. Scarletti.”

  17

  When it came, that moment of approach for which everything had been created and planned, it was not recognized as soon as it should have been. There were some excuses for the failure but there had also been mistakes. One of the excuses—which would never have satisfied Washington if they had inquired—was that the Cayman people were investigating two illegal money laundering schemes, one of which involved two million dollars from a group in Chicago; too late it was discovered that the money came not from drugs but from a clever computer theft at the First National Bank.

  Another excuse was circumstance—although that wouldn’t have impressed Washington either. When Norman Lang made contact, he did so, naturally, through Farr’s Manhattan office. Farr was there at the time—gathering original documentation as part of the Chicago investigation—rather than in the Caymans, where he could have discussed it more completely with Brennan. Farr knew of the impeccable respectability of Lang’s firm and of Lang himself, and made the mistake of not thinking anything illegal might be involved. So he mentioned it only in passing on the telephone to Brennan. This created the only produceable piece of evidence from the monitored telephone, but it was hardly worth producing because it came right at the end of a long conversation about Chicago: Farr simply said that there had been an approach from one of New York’s leading legal firms—without mentioning the name—which he thought he would check out while he was in the city, and Brennan said why didn’t he do that.

  Lang requested that they meet at Pearl Street, and they did so the day after Farr’s dismissive conversation with Brennan. Farr was impressed by the discreetly opulent surroundings and by the cherubic, soft-handed lawyer. Lang said that he understood from what he had read and heard that Farr had established himself offshore; Farr went through well-rehearsed responses and a general discussion about the difficulty of taxation ensued. When they progressed beyond generalities, Farr became aware from several of Lang’s remarks that the lawyer knew a great deal about his firm, and had also a better-than-average knowledge of the various tax-haven countries, even for a lawyer.

  “I have clients,” said the lawyer. “Men who have a substantial amount—a very substantial amount—of money to invest. There is, however, a very essential requirement: everything must be done with absolute and utter discretion. I hope you understand.”

  The surroundings—like the lawyer’s reputation earlier—had deceived Farr. The meeting had progressed like a hundred others he’d had in a hundred different offices. Now, suddenly, he realized it was developing into something else. He said, “I think I understand. This would be cash?”

  Lang smiled, pleased. “All cash.”

  “What sort of sum are we talking about?”

  “Millions,” said the lawyer. “And it is not a sum: it would be a continuing investment. The initial investment would be, I would think, in the region of fifty to a hundred million dollars.”

  Farr hop
ed he remained impassive, but he wasn’t sure. Maybe it was too soon to react, but there was only one source from which fifty to a hundred million could be untraceably amassed for untraceable investment. He said, “That’s a very great deal of money.”

  “Which is why I’ve asked for this meeting,” said Lang. He smiled again, an attempt at modesty. “My clients seek the best legal advice, which is why they come to me. And the best investment advice, which is why I have come to you. You must understand that before today I’ve made a very thorough examination of the investment and brokerage firms in this city.”

  “That’s very flattering,” said Farr. Talk on, for Christ’s sake, he thought.

  “I’ve recommended you to my clients and they’ve asked me to see if you would be prepared to act for them.”

  “There are a number of legal requirements concerning currency transactions of which I’m sure you’re well aware,” said Farr.

  “That is why the sort of discretion I mentioned earlier is necessary,” said Lang smoothly. “For such discretion, my clients understand, it may be necessary to pay a slightly higher than normal commission.”

  “Did you suggest any commission figure?” said Farr.

  “I thought fifteen would probably be a fitting percentage,” replied Lang.

  Farr wondered from the ease with which the bribe was offered how many times Lang had made such an approach in the past. With one conjecture came another. If he were not involved as he was, what would his reaction have been to a fifteen-million commission, no questions asked? His mind still on the figure, the broker said, “That would be very generous.”