Ramos waited until the following day, establishing that he was unobserved, before flying up to Riohacha. He sat on the veranda, enjoying the view with Gomez, and said, “I think we did it. I think we killed you.”
“You did well. Very well indeed …” He handed the man an envelope which contained fifty thousand dollars.
“Thank you. What’s it feel like, to be dead?” said Ramos.
“Safe,” said Gomez, after some thought. “Pleasantly safe.”
The Cayman formation of the shell company went as smoothly as that of Farr’s corporation itself. He completed the island formalities, made the approaches to Europe and confirmed the arrangements with Lang, in New York, urged on by Brennan who was anxious to get something recorded at last on their extensive monitoring equipment. He then insisted upon visiting Eastham and Howard’s school principal before accompanying the lawyer on the completion stage of the operation. Green’s completed file—a bulky dossier of reports, obituary clippings and extensive snatched photographs of Miguel Rodriquez—arrived on the night Farr was due to leave the island.
Expectantly Brennan produced the sought-after pictures, offering them to Farr for identification.
A lot were far clearer than the ones the investment broker had been shown before. Farr studied them carefully, as he had before, and then said, “No. I’m sorry, because I know how important it is. But this isn’t the man I met in Lang’s office. This isn’t the man I know to be Jorge Gomez.”
“Fuck it!” said the FBI supervisor. “It’s the wrong one.”
The change in Howard was dramatic—astonishingly dramatic. It was a different ward—not solitary but with three other beds—with no bars at the open windows and flowers adding a smell of freshness to the room. The boy was neat and pressed and freshly washed, his face glowing with health. Farr’s surprise was obvious and for several moments he found any reaction difficult. The boy laughed, not contemptuously this time, and said, “Shocked you again, Dad?”
“Yes,” admitted Farr honestly.
“Shocked myself,” said Howard. “About what I’d done. What I was prepared to become. I’m glad you’ve come. I want to say that I’m sorry. Sincerely sorry. For an awful lot of things.”
“It’s all right,” said Farr. Stuck with cliché, he said, “Everything will be all right.”
“I’d like to think so,” said the boy. “There’s still the court. And the school.”
“I’m seeing Jennings later today,” disclosed Farr. “I’ve written a couple of times but I thought he’d appreciate a personal visit.”
“Which leaves the court,” said the boy. “I really can’t see much point in stringing Jennings along, can you?”
“We’ll see,” said Farr. “Leave it to me. It’s great to see you like your old self.”
And Howard was like his old self, decided Farr. Bright, eager and vibrant, as he had been in the last few months before Ann died and maybe in the immediate years afterwards, before they had drifted apart.
“It’s good to be like my old self,” said Howard. “Although I don’t think Dr. Halpern is completely satisfied, not yet.”
“I’m not,” admitted the clinic director, when Farr met him an hour later, after promises to Howard to come again as soon as he could, and assurances from both of them about new starts.
“Why not?” said Farr, unwilling to have his happiness punctured. “He tells me he’s completely detoxified. Taking part in all the activities. He’s clearly sufficiently trusted to be out of security. And he tells me he’s not interested in drugs anymore. So what’s wrong?”
“I’m not sure that anything is wrong,” conceded Halpern. “Howard has performed a complete turnaround. Textbook reaction.”
“So where’s the problem?”
“I want more time to be satisfied,” said Halpern. “I accept textbooks in theory but rarely in practice.”
“More than the agreed six months?”
“Yes,” said Halpern.
“Howard didn’t say anything about this,” said Farr.
“I haven’t spoken to Howard about it.”
“What do you think his reaction will be?”
“It will be interesting to find out.”
Farr became irritated at the psychiatrist’s perpetual blandness, his refusal to be shocked or upset or outraged, “I think Howard is better,” he said. “I know he is.”
“You asked me for a professional opinion,” said Halpern, refusing to argue. “I’m giving it to you.”
“How much longer?”
“Maybe three months. To be sure.”
“You positive it’s essential?”
“Absolutely,” said Halpern. “Don’t forget we can’t afford one mistake.”
It seemed to be a recurring admonishment in everything he was doing these days, thought Farr. When he telephoned Brennan at the Cayman Islands, asking the FBI supervisor’s help in persuading the district attorney, Brennan said confidently, “No problem. I can convince him on what we’ve got already. Schuster will do whatever we want when he sees the way things are going.”
Farr had to drive back into Boston and then cross the river for his meeting with the Harvard Dean.
“It’s not going well then?” said Jennings.
“The doctors want more time.”
“Is he studying at all?”
Farr shook his head. “He’s not able, not yet. Soon though.”
“There’s nothing more I can do,” said Jennings.
“I thought you should know,” said the broker.
“I’m grateful,” said Jennings. He sighed. “Why do they do it, these little fools!”
“I wish to God I knew,” said Farr, sincerely.
“Try to convince him he has to work.”
“I’m not sure I know how,” confessed Farr.
20
Farr flew to Switzerland with Norman Lang beset by conflicting thoughts. The most positive—because it was the most important—was his increasing awareness of how much everything was his responsibility, with little participation from the professional FBI agents. He accepted, because he had talked it through with Brennan, that at this stage it was unavoidable, but it was still something he hadn’t anticipated—and which he suspected Brennan hadn’t either—and he was anxious to retreat from such prominence. Having constantly to operate alone—and now more alone than ever—Farr was frightened of making a mistake and ruining everything. Farr wished that he had some way of knowing who his FBI watchers and protectors were during the trip. He had been convinced by Brennan’s argument during their Caymans planning that he stood less chance of hinting recognition and alarming someone whom they knew to be hypernervous if he did not know the identity of the FBI task force who would be monitoring them throughout. But now that he was actually engaged on the journey, Farr wished he did know. It would have given him at least a small feeling of security.
Also, he disliked the lawyer. Lang was a humorless automaton of a man, concerned only with the purpose of the journey, unwilling for small talk or any social relaxation, despite their being forced to be constantly in each other’s presence. Farr supposed that the man’s reservation could be a further indication of his caution about disclosing anything other than absolute essentials. Still Farr tried to talk as much as he could about himself—unsuccessfully inviting the reciprocal information from Lang—and did his best to be convivial when they ate or drank, but again the lawyer failed to respond, remaining as he had been during that first lunch, a nondrinker and an uninterested eater.
Farr was also preoccupied by his uncertainties about Howard. He recognized that Halpern was the expert, the man who should know, but Farr believed that the boy he’d seen at Eastham had recovered: things sometimes happened according to textbook formula, despite the doubt of experts. The complication did not stop at whether Halpern was right or wrong. Though Farr accepted there was nothing he could do until his return he still found it difficult to put his worries about it completely aside in an already o
vercrowded mind.
A great deal of that crowding concerned Harriet. In the thoroughly unnatural circumstances, their relationship had settled into some sort of naturalness. And had been accepted by the others with the exception of Harvey Mann, to whose animosity Farr was wearily resigned. Brennan did not seem any longer to oppose it, after the original objection; Jones and Seymour were not interested and Batty was determinedly friendly. Farr wished Harriet would not consistently refuse to discuss what would happen to them when this business was finished. He had openly told her he loved her and she said she loved him. So why did she find it so difficult to make plans? Farr decided she was behaving stupidly, for a reason he could not understand, and that when he returned from Europe he would insist they discuss marriage. Farr was sure everything would become good again—sensible and normal and good. Despite his present, understandable uncertainty, he would do what the FBI wanted and get their conviction for them. Howard would get better: was already better. And he and Harriet would marry. Farr smiled at the recollection of the remark that the Texan, Harry Becage, had made in the Union Club on the day this all began: he would become the complete and satisfied man again. It couldn’t happen fast enough.
Norman Lang embarked upon the European trip with his characteristic attention to detail. Farr had provided him with a choice of financial lawyers in both Zurich and Geneva, because Lang had insisted the selection should be his, and only announced his decision when they were airborne after the Kennedy departure. The man chose Geneva. He had made reservations at the Beau Rivage, suites overlooking the lake, but didn’t until the day of the appointment disclose which of the Geneva attorneys he had preferred. The man’s name was Anton Fabre, senior partner of the most prestigious firm, which had discreet but extensive offices a short walk away on the rue de Monthoux. After they were ushered into the man’s room, Farr decided that there were similarities between the Swiss and American lawyers. Fabre was quiet-talking, about sixty—someone who, after a lifetime in one of the world’s leading financial capitals, had obviously known every sort of approach and suggestion concerning money and whom, now, it would have been impossible to surprise.
Not until they were in the Swiss lawyer’s presence did Lang defer to Farr, and then only slightly. Farr explained the forthcoming Cayman incorporation of the company—which had been named, with intentional blandness, Sealand Investments—but added that its operations were naturally intended outside the island, through an anonymous fiduciary account to be established at the Bank of Tokyo Trust. Fabre interjected, asking about the intended liquidity of the company and its account. Farr said initially one hundred million dollars, but with constant infusions. Fabre’s face remained unmoving and unimpressed. Farr continued that they wanted the Swiss lawyer to act on behalf of the company and, through the fiduciary account, create a second company in Geneva through an omnibus holding at Credit Suisse.
“With myself as the named director?” anticipated Fabre.
“Yes,” confirmed Lang, entering the discussion.
“We would further like a third company, an anstalt, created in Vaduz, once more with a lawyer nominee.”
“Quite easily achieved,” said Fabre. Because it was legally required, the lawyer set out the tax requirements demanded by the Swiss government, details of which Farr had already provided before they left New York.
Fabre then asked if they wanted to specify their own Liechtenstein attorney or leave the choice to him. As with Switzerland, Lang had insisted upon a selection of names before leaving New York and said at once, “I understand that Monsieur Perlion is an experienced man in such matters.”
“We’re most of us experienced men in these matters,” said Fabre, allowing himself the gentle rebuke. “But I will certainly move through Monsieur Perlion if that’s your wish.”
He had it! thought Farr, triumphantly. Not the names of the Swiss and the Liechtenstein companies, but now he knew of Fabre and of Perlion. And certainly Fabre, under Swiss law concerning the financial proceeds of criminal activities, would be required to disclose the company names.
“There will, of course, be need for legal proof of original ownership,” prompted Farr, wondering if he would get more.
“A simple trust agreement, between myself and the undisclosed directors,” said Fabre.
“I have signatory power of attorney,” said Lang.
“How many true directors are there?”
“Two,” said Lang.
So who was the Jorge Herrera Gomez? wondered Farr, inwardly churning with excitement at what he was discovering. Following the wrong identification after the Colombian plane crash, Brennan had carried out an urgent computer check and failed to locate another known or suspected trafficker of that name.
“Signatory powers for both?” persisted Fabre.
“Yes.”
“Then it should be possible to complete all the necessary requirements while you’re here in Geneva.”
“That’s what I hoped,” said Lang.
The preparation and signing of the documentation was spread over days, which gave them a lot of spare time together. Farr tried, and failed, to spot anyone appearing specifically to be interested in them, who might have been one of the FBI surveillance force. Which, he supposed, indicated their expertise as trained observers, for which he should have been grateful, but which he regretted because he would have still liked the assurance of their presence. For the benefit of the Cayman recording apparatus, he telephoned to inquire how the business was going in his absence; he was able to give the name of their hotel and introduce Lang’s name on the record under the pretext of listing the number of their hotel rooms if they needed to be contacted. It was one of the subterfuges agreed upon before his departure. Brennan called later and appeared to ask for the wrong number, allowing a brief conversation with the New York lawyer to be recorded—thus establishing for later court production the definite presence of Lang in Geneva. Farr found the Cayman contact frustrating because it involved his talking to Harriet in a necessarily stilted, business-like fashion and he wanted to tell her he loved her.
Farr worked hard at including himself in every session between Lang and Fabre, never querying whether he should accompany the American—which could have invited refusal or rejection—but attaching himself automatically to the other man. It worked well until just before the end of the visit, when, as he went expectantly toward the hotel exit with Lang, the man stopped him and said that today it was necessary for him to be alone. Farr protested carefully, saying that some financial factor might come up for which the lawyer might need his advice, but Lang said that today’s business was a simple matter of completing and concluding the trust agreement.
Farr remained miserably in the hotel, irritated at having failed. He tried to convince himself that it was a minimal failure when set against everything else that he had achieved, but it was because he had managed to get so much that he felt the anger: he wanted to get it all. Now he wouldn’t know the bank in whose safe deposit section Lang would deposit the document indisputably implicating Antonio Scarletti and Jorge Herrera Gomez. It would have been the last link in the chain. He wondered, hopefully, if a watching FBI man would follow the lawyer from Fabre’s office to one of the banks in the city.
Two days later, Lang decreed that they leave.
“I’m glad everything has gone so well,” said Farr.
“That was how it was intended to be,” said Lang smugly, predictably shaking his head to the stewardess’s offer of in-flight drinks.
Farr realized that, in subsequent encounters with the known Scarletti and the mysterious Gomez, his own part would be minimized and that of Lang promoted beyond its importance. At the thought of those subsequent encounters, he said, “Everything will be operational within a very short time now. There’ll be the need for us to maintain close contact.”
“Contact,” qualified the lawyer at once. “Despite its apparent complexity, the system is comparatively simple. You said as much when we first met. O
bviously the need for meetings will arise from time to time, but I would have thought everything could continue quite adequately if I simply notify you of the infusions and whatever purchases need to be initiated, with advice when the cash will be presented to your Manhattan offices.”
Farr realized that Lang considered he’d served his essential purpose and could now be relegated to his rightful, inferior position. With the flush of annoyance came the recollection that this was exactly what he had been wishing for himself on the outward journey. Wanting to deflate the other man’s pomposity, Farr said, “You approached me in the first place because of my investment expertise. Does that mean, now that things have been established, you won’t need that investment advice anymore? I would have thought it rather essential: what other broker could be aware of your needs or your surprisingly high liquidity?”
Lang flushed, more pink than usual, at being easily caught out. “Of course,” he capitulated. “We’ll be relying upon you for investment suggestions and possibilities.”
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