Dirty White

by Brian Freemantle

  “I must be kept out of it absolutely,” insisted the Colombian. “I’ll provide everything they want … do anything … but I mustn’t be involved.”

  Farr saw the opportunity. “Why don’t I be the liaison? If I’m the link beween you and the Bureau—if there’s no actual contact—you should remain quite safe.”

  “That’s good,” agreed Ramos anxiously. “That’s very good.”

  “There’ll need to be a method of contact.”

  “No.” Ramos wanted as much protection as possible and remembered what had happened to Gomez and Scarletti when they’d permitted a connection as tenuous as Norman Lang. “Nothing must ever come from you. Always from me. I’ve said every month; every month I’ll make contact.”

  “Things will come up in between,” protested Farr, who didn’t like the uncertainty.

  “They’ll have to wait.”

  Don’t lose the chance, thought Farr. Refusing obviously to concede, he said, “We’ll see how it goes; something might be necessary, later.”

  “We’ll see,” agreed Ramos, who had no intention of changing his mind. Remembering the computer printout duplicates and telex monitoring, the man added, “And here. I’ll always make it here.”

  “All right.”

  Ramos suddenly started forward on his feet, the menace almost physically visible. “Don’t try to trap me. Ever,” he said. “I’ll never come unprepared. I’ll watch. For a long time. I’ll know, if there’s any sort of monitor or surveillance.”

  “What purpose would there be for me in trapping you?” asked Farr, scoring. “It’s Gomez I want.”

  “Just so that you understand.”

  “I do,” said the broker.

  “About a month, then?” said Ramos, rising. “I can’t be specific, but that’s what I’ll try: maybe three weeks, maybe five or six. Think about something meanwhile.”

  Arrogant bastard, thought Farr. He said, “Sure, I’ll think of something.” He already had. It needed further, proper consideration. And detailed, extremely detailed, planning. But it could work.

  “You’ll call the FBI?” said Ramos.

  “At once,” said Farr, who was not going to involve the Bureau until it suited him. He remembered how Howard looked in the mortuary. And always would.

  The Chicago meetings went better than Ramos thought they would. The Accadio people were interested but cautious, aware of what had happened to Antonio Scarletti and wondering openly whether it was because of his association with Gomez. Ramos came prepared. He negotiated with Tony Accadio and pointed out that the lawyer who made all the arrangements and all the mistakes was Norman Lang—Scarletti’s lawyer—and not anyone connected with Gomez. It was a convincing point, reinforced by the further argument that, having made the mistake of becoming entrapped by Scarletti’s ineptitude, Gomez was the person who extricated himself and was now fully back in business, while Scarletti—whose appeal had been dismissed—was just beginning an eighteen-year jail sentence.

  “You make a lot of sense,” agreed Accadio, a heavy, fleshy man whose perpetual cigars were always destroyed by his nervous chewing at one end rather than by the glowing heat at the other.

  “We made a mistake,” said Ramos, in apparent confession. “We teamed up with the wrong people and we almost suffered because of it. Which is why we’re making the offer to you. You want it? OK, we’re in business. You don’t, no hard feelings.”

  It approached overconfidence but the Chicago don was impressed. He said, “I think we want it. You’ll be responsible for delivery into America. And Europe, if necessary?”

  “That’s the offer.”

  “It’s good.”

  “Do we deal?”

  “We deal.”

  Conscious of the stakes, Ramos planned his return to Colombia with the care he was giving everything else. He took the train from Chicago across to the West Coast—playing the tourist in the observation car as they crossed never-ending Kansas—and from San Francisco booked the first stage of a Caribbean cruise, which enabled him to disembark in Panama City, beyond the interest or jurisdiction of U.S. customs, and fly from there to Bogotá. It was ironical that Panama was the country in which Farr had decided to establish himself, for what he intended to do. He was actually staying in the Intercontinental, with a view of the canal, when Ramos’s ship disembarked by tender. Ramos, in a hurry, went straight to the airport.

  31

  Farr was sure he had thought everything out by the time he got to Panama. He could remember as if hearing a recording everything that Ramos said during the surprise Manhattan encounter, but remained particularly aware of the warning of Gomez’s nervousness, because of what happened before. Panama, calculated Farr, was the best choice to allay that nervousness. It was, after all, immediately adjacent to Colombia—which, he hoped, would give Gomez the impression of being close to the control of his money. And it was an established and recognized tax haven he was confident he could manipulate. He hoped that, when everything was established, it would be as convincing for Ramos.

  Farr was working backward along the essential chain. He chose first a lawyer named Francisco Zarak, who had an office on the vía España. Farr was reminded, as they talked, of the meeting he had attended with Lang, months before, when he had established the initial company for the Colombian through the Swiss outlets; he decided that what he was doing would not have been possible if Lang were still alive. Farr explained that he wanted a company established for which Zarak would be the named holder, acting on behalf of Colombians. Such an arrangement was perfectly legal under Panamanian tax law, and Zarak, a neat, summer-suited, unresponsive man, dutifully copied down the details. Farr provided Medellin as the city of domicile and explained that, in the early operating stages, he expected the company to be a holding institution, receiving large sums of money for the creation of liquidity to make a major purchase. Farr produced a bank draft—purchased in cash and made out to bearer and therefore untraceable—in the sum of 250,000 dollars for the opening funding and establishment costs. It was his own money and he didn’t expect to get it back—knew he couldn’t get it back—but regarded it as a justifiable expense. It took only a week to prepare the formalities—the most important of which was a verifiable date for the forming of the company—and in the times between the meetings with Zarak, Farr sought out another lawyer, for the formation of the other necessary company.

  The second lawyer’s name was Roberto Meiss, and he had an office on the Plaza Cinco de Mayo, where Farr’s hotel was located. Farr’s approach to the second Panamanian was quite different from that to Zarak. Farr announced that he was on an investigatory visit, acting for clients who were considering setting themselves up in the country but wanted to be sure of its advantages before making any commitment. Meiss was an urgent, plump man who smiled a lot, bulging his cheeks, an immediate contrast to Zarak. The man went carefully through the schemes available and Farr politely listened, as if he were unaware of them, and at the end of the explanation he thanked the man and said that it certainly seemed as if the benefits were better here than in any of the Caribbean islands so far considered; he would have to report back, of course, but he felt that Meiss could expect another visit very shortly.

  Farr initiated other inquiries before flying south, and by the time he returned to New York, the necessary information was waiting. He had chosen Hawaii with the same care as Panama, considering that it fitted what Ramos would expect—and that it would also interest Gomez and whoever else was involved. There were several development schemes on the main island, two of which he marked as possibilities, but he was far more attracted to an elaborate prospectus for the adjoining island of Maui. Farr isolated that as the best choice—because the money-washing opportunities were greatest there.

  Farr was ready three weeks after Ramos’s visit. He was on the lookout for flaws and decided it was feasible—not perfect, but feasible. Now all he could do was wait. He was impatient as he had been before, finding the normal operations of th
e office irksome. It gave him time, at least, to consider the office. He decided he would not behave as he had before—certainly not toward Faltham, who had shown him such friendship during the past few months. Farr supposed that there could be some personal danger. So Faltham and Angela Nolan and all the others who had been so loyal should be protected. He’d go through with the ownership transference after all, so that if anything did happen to him, the firm—and the people—wouldn’t be endangered. Farr realized that he would have to tell Faltham what he was doing.

  Ramos called on the Wednesday of the fourth week from an untraceable pay phone. Farr said he wanted the meeting and the cautious Colombian told the broker not to leave the house for the next few evenings. Farr said he wouldn’t. Ramos came unannounced on Friday.

  They went as before into the main room and the Colombian demanded at once, “You’ve worked something out?”

  “I think so,” said Farr.

  “What?”

  “Panama,” said Farr. “It’s close to Colombia, which I thought important. It’s a bank secrecy country. There’s no tax on foreign-sourced income of either companies or individuals. It permits shareholders’ or directors’ meetings in any location, so Gomez wouldn’t have to leave Colombia. And it allows companies to be established in lawyers’ names. I’ve been down, checked it all out. There’s a lawyer named Roberto Meiss, with an office on the Plaza Cinco de Mayo. He’ll act, if we want him to.”

  “Gomez has got to come out, if the FBI are going to be able to make an arrest,” protested Ramos.

  “What about someone else being involved in the company?” said Farr. This was vital to his plan.

  “I’ve got an idea,” said Ramos. “A Bolivian. I was waiting until today, before taking it further.”

  Farr offered the other man the development details he’d obtained for Hawaii. Ramos looked down and then frowned up, for an explanation. Farr said, “That’s how we get Gomez out, into FBI jurisdiction. Because Hawaii is America. You said the lure had to be big enough and I think this is. There are several choices, but I think Maui is best. It’s a leisure complex, between Hana and Keanae. They’re inviting staged investments, but if we could propose enough money I think we should go for the whole thing. It’s got every advantageous argument, as far as Gomez is concerned. He’d be buying from a foreign company into American real estate, so he’d get tax concessions. And, like I said, Panama doesn’t tax foreign-sourced income, so the profits wouldn’t be touched. He’d be making money both ways. Being a leisure complex, hotels and amusements and bars, there would be dozens, maybe hundreds, of tills. He could wash any money he liked, as if he were in a laundromat.”

  Ramos smiled in admiration at the presentation. “All to set Gomez up,” he said, regretfully. “Seems too good to throw away.”

  There was always the greed, thought Farr. He said. “There are a lot of other things just as good. Maybe even better.”

  Ramos made as if to speak, to make the approach for which the broker was hoping, but then he changed his mind. Farr said, “Well, what do you think?”

  “The bait’s good, like I said,” congratulated the Colombian. “What about the FBI?”

  “I told you what their reaction would be,” reminded Farr, seeing another opportunity. “But there are problems.”

  “Like what?” demanded Ramos, instantly concerned.

  “If we can get him out to Maui, then fine, we’ve got an arrest. But on what charges? Sure I can assemble the details of the currency transactions, like the first time. But then we had Scarletti: evidence of criminal activities within the United States. Gomez would be committing no crime, trying to buy into a real estate development in Hawaii through a foreign company. There has to be the way of showing that the funds of that foreign company were generated from here …” He paused and then reminded the other man, “Last time here you said you could provide evidence … Everything they wanted, you said …”

  Ramos stared across at the broker, considering his response. He remembered giving the undertaking but it had been automatic, without real consideration of what he was saying. He supposed that, to make it work, he had to provide details of the Accadio connection but he had hoped to continue with that after he replaced Gomez and Navarra. He said, “It wouldn’t work without that?”

  “You don’t have to ask the question,” pressed Farr. “Look at it logically. Where’s the criminality?”

  Again there was no immediate reply. Then Ramos conceded, “I suppose you’re right.”

  “They need evidence,” reiterated Farr.

  The demand off-balanced Ramos, who found it difficult at once to see the advantages over the disadvantages. It would be the second organized-crime group in America to be brought down, and this time it would create a tidal wave rather than the ripple that had spread through the families the first time. But tidal wave against whom? Ramos thought, pleased as the answer immediately came to him. Gomez had been involved with Scarletti and, publicly at least, it would be Gomez involved with Accadio—doubling, or maybe tripling, the humiliation, among the Cosa Nostra in the country where Gomez wanted to appear the big man. With no danger to Ramos himself. No danger whatsoever. He would have to be cautious directly afterwards: not emerging too soon, obviously to fill the gaps and pick up the pieces. And he wouldn’t have to emerge too soon. If he deposed Gomez and Navarra at the same time, then the combined operation would be his—the cocaine monopoly would be his—and he would be able to afford to sit back and just wait for the American outlets to come to pay court to him. He looked up toward the broker, his considerations complete. He said, “No problem with evidence. No problem at all.”

  “Who is it this time?” prompted Farr gently.

  There was the briefest hesitation, at the moment of commitment, and then Ramos said, “Accadio. They operate out of Chicago. A known family.”

  “How’s it work?”

  Ramos swallowed, reluctant at the increasing knowledge the other man was obtaining—he supposed there was no alternative, but it made him nervous. “Simple. The stuff is couriered in through all sorts of routes. They distribute.”

  “And you collect the money?” said the broker. Farr thought he knew enough to make the guess but that’s what it was still, a guess that could have been wrong, and he was apprehensive of the reply.

  The now perpetually hesitating Ramos looked silently at the broker for several moments and then said, “Yes. I collect the money.”

  Farr was ready. There was no indication of the inner satisfaction, the fitting of another link into the chain that had begun in Panama. Instead, hurrying the man beyond the admission, he said, “Excellent. Absolutely excellent.”

  “Why?” asked Ramos suspiciously.

  Farr accentuated the frown. “Don’t you think another bagman might have wanted details? This way it stays exactly as it should: strictly between us.”

  Ramos’s face relaxed. “You’re right.” Everything was unfolding far more clearly than he had hoped it would; Farr was a clever, devious bastard.

  Farr hadn’t expected it to be quite so easy. He said, “Everything depends upon you now. You’ve got to persuade Gomez and whoever your Bolivian is to go ahead with the formation of a company. And pass on to the FBI, through me, the connection with Chicago.”

  “You’ll get it,” promised Ramos.

  So, thought Farr, will you.

  “No!” erupted Faltham.

  “That’s the way I’m going to do it,” insisted Farr.

  “You’re mad,” said the other broker. “I really mean that. Mad. You know what happened last time, for Christ’s sake. And the FBI—the professionals—were involved then. Harriet and Howard still got slaughtered.”

  “I never got the impression that the FBI were very professional,” said Farr.

  “That’s crap and you know it,” rejected the other man. “I won’t let it happen.”

  “But I’m going to bring the FBI into it,” said Farr. “I’ve explained that.”

&nb
sp; “Bring them in now!”

  “I want to get the man who killed Harriet and Howard,” reminded Farr. “The only contact I’ve got is someone who takes two days to check out this house before he’ll make an approach. It’s got to be my way for it to have any chance of success.”

  “They’ll kill you,” said Faltham, with forced calmness. “You know that, don’t you? They’ll kill you like they killed Harriet and Howard.”

  “No, they won’t,” said Farr. “It’s a one hundred to one possibility. But because it’s even a possibility, I want the transference to go through. So that the firm and everyone in it will be protected.”

  Faltham sighed at the other man’s obduracy. “When in the name of God is this all going to end?” he said. “And how?”

  “This time,” promised Farr. “It’s going to end this time. And with the proper sort of punishment.”

  32

  Anxious though he was to replace not just Gomez but Navarra as well, Ramos proceeded with the necessary caution, fully aware that just one miscalculation would ruin everything—which meant that the idea must come from Gomez, rather than be suggested to him. Ramos guessed it wouldn’t take long and it didn’t; it happened within days of the first successful shipment to Chicago and the resulting payment, of thirty million dollars.

  “It’s got to be invested,” insisted Gomez. They were in the coastal villa at Riohacha, with four girls they had flown in from Medellin. Gomez insisted that Ramos share the villa and the women, to show the man just how much their old relationship had been reestablished.

  “After last time!” said Ramos, the reaction already prepared.

  “So things went wrong—it happens,” said Gomez. “This time we’ll be more careful. Not take recommendations from the Accadio people, for instance.”

  “You want me to do it?” anticipated Ramos.