Dirty White

by Brian Freemantle

  The trafficker nodded. “But I’ll want to check every step of the way—no mistake like last time.”

  “Sure,” said Ramos.

  “You did well, making the Chicago contact.”

  “Thank you,” said Ramos. “Looks like it might work good.”

  “I’m glad everything’s OK between us now,” said Gomez. “I need someone like you, whom I can trust.”

  “Everything’s going to be fine,” said Ramos, for his own satisfaction. “Just fine.”

  It was a week before Ramos felt he could justifiably go to Bolivia and he let the initial meetings with Navarra proceed as the Bolivian grower expected, restricted to talk about availability and profits and the new tie-up with the Chicago family. It was only on the last day that he brought up the subject of Gomez’s investment and he did so as if the company formation had actually been initiated and Gomez knew about the Hawaiian leisure complex.

  “How much profit?” demanded Navarra.

  “Double, from the prospectus I’ve seen,” said Ramos. He allowed just the right hesitation and added, “Interested?”

  “Would it mean getting into some sort of partnership with Gomez?”

  “Initially,” smiled Ramos. “But Gomez isn’t going to be around for long, is he?”

  Navarra answered the smile, seeing the point. “Which means things could revert to single ownership.”

  “Exactly,” said Ramos. “Why not have your lawyers check Hawaii out?”

  “You could guide me through, to get alongside Gomez?”

  “He’s asked me to coordinate the whole thing,” said Ramos. “So it’s no problem. Still like you to get an independent assessment of the investment, though. Satisfy yourself it’s OK.”

  “We’ll talk further.”

  Ramos flew from La Paz to Venezuela, so he could make the American entry from a country that did not attract as much customs interest as the source countries of Colombia, Bolivia, and Peru. He collected another payment—thirty-three million dollars this time—from Chicago and carefully watched Farr’s house for almost two days before making the approach. The Colombian disclosed Navarra’s identity for the first time, and Farr agreed it had been a good idea to allay any suspicion by suggesting that Navarra should have the leisure complex checked out independently. The broker lied easily, saying the FBI were already creating an operation on the island, and at Farr’s urging Ramos outlined the details of the Accadio connection.

  “How soon can we establish in Panama?” demanded Ramos.

  “As soon as you like,” said Farr. “Could you go down this trip?”

  Ramos hesitated. “I guess so.”

  Farr was alert to the other man’s doubt and hurried on, wanting to get advantage from it. “I’ll come down as well, of course,” he said, as if it had been agreed that he should. “Introduce you to Meiss and make sure nothing goes wrong.”

  “Yes,” agreed Ramos, and Farr hid his relief at the ease with which he’d crossed the one uncertain hurdle: it was essential that the Panamanian lawyer accept him as someone with authority to act for Gomez and Ramos.

  They flew down the following day, on separate planes at Ramos’s insistence, which Farr was glad about because he did not want to spend any more time in the man’s presence than was necessary. Meiss repeated the earlier lecture for Ramos’s benefit, and this time Farr paid more attention than on the first occasion, intent upon Ramos. The Colombian gave a reasonable impression of understanding, but the broker didn’t think he did, not completely, and was encouraged by it. Ramos’s open confusion came when Meiss asked how funds were to be transferred from the United States into the company—which was how Farr had planned it would be and the reason why he hadn’t spoken about it to the man. Farr allowed sufficient time for Ramos’s uncertainty to become obvious and then said it would either be by direct money transfers, through his investment company, or by bearer checks negotiated through money exchanges—and Ramos hurriedly agreed. Farr came in again when Meiss asked about signatures on necessary formation documents, explaining that they would be couriered in and out of Colombia for separate lawyer examination and notarized signatures—and once more Ramos agreed. Meiss took the instruction and undertook to establish the company and the following day Farr flew northward to New York, confident things were going just as he wanted them to, and Ramos flew south to Colombia under the same impression.

  Gomez was still on the coast, so Ramos flew directly to Riohacha from Bogotá. Gomez had brought in different women, two of them black, which was becoming his increasing preference, and when Ramos arrived he heard a lot of laughter and shouting. He entered the room with its panoramic view of the Caribbean and saw the little hill of cocaine at once and then the smaller lots, set out on their individual onyx blocks, already chopped and segregated into sniffing lines.

  “We’re partying,” said Gomez, unnecessarily.

  Ramos went further into the room, recognizing the additional advantage, striving to keep the surprise from showing. He’d overlooked Gomez’s preference for what they produced: once, he remembered, it would have been unthinkable to imagine Gomez doing coke. The man had positively despised the traffickers who became users themselves, sneering at their weakness and stupidity. Ramos wondered how affected the man was. This was good stuff-maybe ninety percent—not cut by glucose or quinine or other shit. Ramos was sure it was going to make easier what he intended. He refused the offer to do a line, taking whisky instead and heavily watering it down. Gomez took both the black girls to bed in the afternoon and so it wasn’t until early evening that there was any conversation between them about the American trip. Gomez was tired after the lovemaking and suffering the immediate post-snorting depression after a cocaine high, so that absolute concentration was difficult. Ramos explained completely the details of the Panamanian company—stressing that Gomez was going to have the chance to decide for himself because all the papers were being ferried into and out of the country—and produced all the information about the Maui investment as if that had arisen through his discussions with Meiss. Tired and as distracted as he was, Gomez still identified the problem, pointing out that the money they had so far earned and could put into Panama for reinvestment fell far short of what was necessary to take over the leisure complex. Ramos saw as his biggest problem getting Gomez to accept the suggestion of Navarra being involved and had tried—and failed—to evolve an argument different from the one that lured the Bolivian.

  “You need a partner,” he said simply.

  Gomez frowned, trying for the point. “Accadio?” he said.

  Ramos shook his head. “Not after what happened with Scarletti. Surely we want to stay out of any American linkup.”

  “We do,” agreed Gomez.

  “What about Navarra?”

  Gomez laughed disbelievingly. “Get involved with that bastard!”

  There was no other argument, Ramos decided. He said, “You’d have the company and the Maui investment and his money if anything happened to him.”

  Gomez laughed again, but differently this time, approvingly. “That’s got a good sound,” he said. “I like that.”

  Ramos thought it would be wrong to press any further. He said, “Why not think about it, when you’ve had chance to read more fully what the prospect is? And had time to consider the company details. You might decide against any of it.”

  Gomez blinked owlishly, in dissipated exhaustion. “I don’t think I do,” he said, “I don’t think I do at all.”

  After the near disaster with José Rivera, Gomez limited his involvement with Colombian lawyers to a wary minimum, briefing them to consider the advantages of a Panamanian corporation—with a possible additional partner—and examined completely the potential of the Hawaiian investment. It took three weeks. Both reactions were favorable. Gomez made his approval into another party—this time at the main Medellin finca—with another carousel of women but, more importantly for Ramos, with miniature pyramids of cocaine in all the main rooms. The sexual, al
coholic and narcotic hangover was such that it was two days later before Ramos was properly able to take their conversation beyond Gomez’s simple agreement. He flew the same day to Bolivia, with instructions to inveigle Navarra, if possible. It was easy because, by the time of Ramos’s visit, the Bolivian supplier had already received an independent report from his own lawyers about the attractions of the Pacific investment. At Navarra’s urging, Ramos—sufficiently aware of the details by now—actually met the lawyers and took them through the construction plans of the proposed Panamanian company. Then he remained unoccupied in La Paz for a further day while Navarra engaged in his separate, private consultations, finally to emerge saying that he wanted to proceed but that he needed his lawyers to visit Panama City, meet the attorney there and fully satisfy himself. With no alternative, Ramos agreed, promising to make the arrangements and summon the men. So good was the encounter that Ramos risked asking Navarra if he would consider visiting Maui if everything went through, personally to examine his purchase. Navarra said that of course he would—that he’d actually insist upon it—and Ramos knew that warm-milk-in-the-veins feeling that comes in anticipation of a complete triumph. It was difficult not to overreact but he managed to resist it by not going up to the United States until his necessary money-collecting visit, but once there he made immediate contact with Walter Farr, needing to boast to someone how successful the planning had been.

  Farr, who in the interim had made three visits to Panama, one essential, the other two simply to get Meiss accustomed to his presence and to accept completely that he was working and acting on behalf of the Colombians, was ready for the approach. It was a simple, mechanical operation although Farr absented himself when the men actually flew in from La Paz, letting Ramos be the intermediary for the introductions.

  “It’s all worked!” exulted Ramos, on the night the lawyers left: he and Farr remained, as had become the custom, to examine the events of the visit, eating in the rooftop restaurant of the International, the lights of the city spread out below them.

  “Not yet,” said the more guarded broker. He was excited as the Colombian but controlling the euphoria better.

  “What’s wrong?” demanded Ramos.

  “Overconfidence, at this stage.”

  “What about the FBI?”

  “They’re ready,” assured Farr. “I still need all the details of every trip. Amounts, couriers, methods of distribution. And, of course, the money; it’s the money details I need, to establish the commission of crime within the United States …” Farr made the pause, as if the awareness suddenly came to him, in an afterthought. “And the authority,” he said.

  “What authority?”

  The broker looked up at the other man, appearing surprised at Ramos’s lack of understanding. “When we met Meiss, the first time, we arranged that the funding of the company would be through me. Either through my own organization or through bearer checks or money exchanges.”

  “Yes,” remembered Ramos, doubtfully.

  Farr produced the Panamanian authorization, to obtain which had been the reason for his last, essential trip to Panama, sliding it across the table toward Ramos. “If I’m going to act, then I need this signed,” he insisted. “It’s my power to act in your name. Without it, Meiss won’t be able to accept from me …” He paused. “And you can see it is in your name. I’m not trying to cheat you.”

  “We didn’t discuss this,” protested Ramos.

  “It’s a detail,” said Farr dismissively. “Read it. It’s a transference document, nothing more …” He waited until Ramos became frowningly engrossed in the paper and added, “If you don’t want me to act, don’t sign. I thought that was the arrangement. Without it we’ve wasted our time.”

  “Of course it’s the arrangement,” said Ramos, irritably. “I just thought we’d covered everything.”

  “Everything that’s important, we have,” said Farr. “This is just necessary officialdom: lawyers protecting themselves.”

  Ramos hesitated a moment longer and then scribbled his signature and Farr knew the last hurdle was cleared and he was running now for the tape.

  Ramos said, “Is that it? We’re all ready now?”

  “Oh no!” said Farr, abruptly. “I’ll deposit for Gomez but there’ll need to be matching infusions of capital from Navarra. We need to build up a liquidity around five hundred million dollars to enable the approach to be made for the complex. I’ll need to be kept in the closest touch possible about how the lawyers are progressing: I’ve got to let the Bureau know blow for blow, don’t forget. And I’ve got to know the moment either of them decide to make a visit in advance of the one we’ve got to set up for them. I’ve got to know your visits to America and I’ve got to receive the money and I’ve got to go on being kept informed about all that happens with Accadio.”

  Ramos nibbled his bottom lip, worried by the demands. “I’ll do my best,” he said.

  “If you don’t do more than your best, none of this is going to work,” warned Farr.

  They shared a car the following day to me airport and Farr watched the Colombian catch the scheduled flight to Bogotá, which left two hours before the New York connection. The broker waited until he was sure Ramos had departed and then emerged from the airport without attempting to check in, hurrying back into the city for a meeting with Francisco Zarak at the vía España office.

  “You know how I feel about this!” protested Faltham.

  “There’s nothing to worry about.”

  “There’s everything to worry about,” insisted Faltham. “It’s madness. Stark, raving madness.”

  “You’ve already said that,” reminded Farr. He offered the signed and legally valid certificate of ownership to the other man and said, “Congratulations. You’ve just become the holder of a pretty impressive brokerage company.”

  Faltham made no effort to pick up the document. “And you know how I feel about that,” he said.

  “I want you to have the insurance,” said Farr. “All of you.”

  “When?” demanded Faltham.

  “Not yet,” said Farr. “There’s got to be the buildup of liquidity. And everything has got to happen in the right sequence, of course.”

  “And if it doesn’t—if one thing goes off at half-cock—then it collapses like the pack of cards it is and they’ll come for you,” warned Faltham.

  “I know,” said Farr, quietly. “That’s why it’s important that I get everything right, isn’t it?”

  33

  Farr utilized two ways to move from America into the Panama company the huge sums of money that Ramos provided, on his cash collection runs. Primarily—because the amounts were so large—he employed the loophole in America’s Currency and Foreign Transactions Reporting Act, which does not require any notification to the authorities of money moved abroad if it is a wired transfer. But he also purchased anonymous bearer checks from banks through the major East Coast cities and made frequent and regular visits to Panama. Increasingly, Meiss extended the visits to a social level, initially lunches and then a weekend visit to the lawyer’s estate at Chitre. It was on the next deposit visit after the Chitre weekend that Farr produced also the power of transfer document that Ramos had provided. On that visit, too, he had a longer than usual meeting with Francisco Zarak.

  As the time passed, Ramos became less nervous, although rigidly maintaining his one way method of contact, during the American visits. Throughout the transactions, Farr kept a meticulous record of the infusions into Panama, knowing from what Ramos told him that Navarra was matching Gomez’s payments and wanting to be able to act when the sum reached what was necessary for the Maui purchase.

  A Ramos collection of twenty million dollars established sufficient liquidity.

  “Sure?” demanded Ramos.

  “Of course I’m sure,” said Farr. He produced his figures, offering them to the Colombian for confirmation. “I’ll move this over the next few days. Providing Navarra matches, then there’s enough. There
’s no reason why the lawyers can’t go ahead.”

  “What shall I do?” asked Ramos.

  “Give me a week,” said Farr. “Then tell Gomez and Navarra there’s no reason why they shouldn’t complete. All the lawyers need do is confirm the Panama balance.”

  “They’ve got to go there!” insisted Ramos.

  “That’s got to come from you,” said Farr, with equal insistence. “The moment you contact me, telling me the visit is on, I’ll alert the Bureau.”

  “I hope no one fouls up,” said Ramos, frightened at the approach of the actual commitment.

  “They won’t, providing your information is accurate,” said Farr.

  “They both trust me, Gomez and Navarra.”

  “So it shouldn’t be difficult?”

  “No,” agreed Ramos, the doubt still obvious. “It shouldn’t be.”

  Farr transferred the bulk of the last payment by wire, as usual, but personally took down one hundred thousand dollars in bearer checks. But this time, as well as making the deposit, he invoked the document that Ramos had signed, explaining to the now friendly lawyer that the instructions were from Colombia, actually from Señor Gomez himself. Farr remained overnight for the meeting with Zarak, but was able to catch an early enough plane back to America still to be able to call the FBI in Washington, seeking Brennan. The FBI supervisor responded the following day. The man was in Washington and because it was so close he was able to get to New York in the afternoon, after Farr told him the information that was available.

  It was late evening before Brennan finished reading everything Farr provided on the Accadio family in Chicago. The balding, neat man stretched back in his chair and nodded agreement to Farr’s offer to freshen his drink and said, “OK. So you want to tell me what this is all about?”

  The broker indicated the disarranged dossier lying at Brennan’s feet. “Evidence of a major drug importation operation,” he said.

  “So how’d you come by it?”

  Farr shook his head. “I went public last time. Look what it cost me. That’s all there is. It’s enough to start an investigation, isn’t it?”