Swimming with Sharks

by Nele Neuhaus

  “What are you hoping to find?” Oliver asked curiously.

  “Some kind of evidence of what they do with the money,” Alex replied. “MPM wasn’t created for their personal enrichment. Neither Levy nor Vitali needs to make money from insider trading. They’re wealthy enough already. There’s another reason why they’re doing this, and I want to find that out.”

  Nick Kostidis turned around in surprise as his assistant charged down the stairs, screaming and waving. Nick registered the expression of terror and panic on Howard’s face, but he didn’t understand why this man—who was usually casual, cynical—was behaving this way. Howard was completely beside himself, chasing after the dark-blue car. Christopher seemed to have spotted him in the rearview mirror because he slowed down the car.

  All of a sudden, Nick was overcome by a terrible premonition, and he instinctively also started to run. He saw Mary’s confused face through the car window as her smile vanished. Howard had just touched the door handle when a bright darting flame sparked from the limousine’s front hood; the car’s hood catapulted several yards into the air like a toy. Just a split second later, an enormous explosion shocked the car and ripped it to pieces.

  Not comprehending what was happening in front of his eyes, Nick saw the explosive flame. The shock wave of the explosion, which even shattered some of the house windows, blew him off his feet and tossed him against the wall. Dazed and shocked, Nick crawled on all fours toward the burning inferno that the bomb had left behind on this peaceful Sunday morning.

  “Mary!” he screamed. “Oh my God, no! Mary! Mary!”

  Frank Cohen appeared in the door and stared uncomprehendingly at this horrific image. Nick had crawled to within a few yards of the burning car, and Frank ran after him without thinking about his own safety. At that moment, the fuel tank exploded, and Frank jumped on his boss, who screamed as if he’d lost his mind. Nick hardly noticed Frank holding him back. He struggled, kicked his legs, and screamed like a mortally wounded animal. He was close to jumping into the flames, although it was too late to save anyone. The three people in the car were long dead. Nick saw Howard stumbling around the burning lawn like a living torch, and white flames were hurling up from the glowing red car wreck into the branches of an old chestnut tree.

  “Mary!” he screamed madly. “Mary! Mary! Oh my God, NO!”

  Nick didn’t feel the scorching heat burning his skin. He didn’t notice that a glowing piece of metal had pierced his arm. He felt no pain, only horror—abysmally cruel horror. The blast of the two explosions had startled the security officers. Devastated, they gazed at the burning pile that had just been an armored limousine. One of the men had the presence of mind to aim a fire extinguisher at Howard as he collapsed on the charred grass, his body jerking and curling up into a ball.

  Carey Lhota lay unconscious at the bottom of the stairs—the blast had thrown him and smashed his head against the steps. The air was filled with dense smoke and the smell of gasoline and burned flesh. The glowing firestorm had burned all the flowers, and the branches of the massive chestnut were now ablaze. Wreckage was scattered everywhere, and the grass on the lawn had turned to gray ash.

  The staff of Gracie Mansion ran outside and looked in shock at this horrible scene that resembled a plane crash. Nick had stopped fighting. He lay on the ground, sobbing, with his burned fingers clawed into the ground; he kept stammering his wife’s and son’s names. Blood ran over his face and poured out of a deep wound on his left arm. He couldn’t take his gaze off the burning wreck in which his entire family had died before his eyes.

  “Get him away from here!” Frank yelled at the security officers. “Move it! Take him inside the house!”

  Someone had called the fire department, and several fire trucks with loudly wailing sirens now sped through the park ahead of police cars and an ambulance. Frank Cohen’s entire body shook. He was incapable of comprehending what had just taken place. The threatening letters were serious. Someone had just tried to kill Nick Kostidis, but they got his family instead.

  And Ray…Frank’s gaze was filled with terror as it wandered to the burned figure. Ray had known it! He was the mole that Nick was looking for. Frank’s legs caved beneath him. He sank to the ground and groped for his broken glasses as mayhem broke out around him. Firefighters, police, paramedics, and security officers screamed at each other. The water hoses were unrolled, but it was too late—much too late—after the water and foam finally extinguished the flames.

  “According to the latest report, Nick Kostidis was not in the vehicle when the bomb exploded at ten after eleven this morning at Gracie Mansion,” the visibly shocked TV reporter said. “Although there are no official reports yet, it appears that at least three individuals have lost their lives in the explosion. According to unconfirmed sources, the victims are the mayor’s wife, his son, and his son’s fiancée. An unidentified man with serious burns was rushed to the burn unit at Columbia Presbyterian…”

  Sergio stared at the TV with a straight face. He slowly turned to the two men standing silently behind him.

  “You screwed it up.” His voice was as cold as a glacier, and there was a deep crease of displeasure between his eyes. “What good is it to us if his wife and son are dead?”

  Luca and Silvio looked down at the ground in embarrassment.

  “Fucking hell!” Sergio suddenly screamed. “Am I surrounded by amateurs? Who had this idiotic idea of a car bomb?”

  “Howard called us,” Luca eventually said. “First we planned to kill him on his way to the subway, but then Howard told us that he would take the limousine from now on for security reasons. A car bomb seemed to be the safest bet.”

  “The safest thing would have been to put a bullet into this bastard’s head,” Sergio interrupted him angrily. “God damn it!”

  “But then it wouldn’t have looked like an accident,” Silvio countered. “And you said—”

  The telephone rang.

  “I know what I said!” Sergio snarled at him. “A bomb doesn’t exactly look like an accident either!”

  He signaled Luca to pick up the telephone.

  “It’s Mr. van Mieren,” Luca said, and Sergio grabbed the phone. Nelson had been in Las Vegas since yesterday.

  “I’m watching the news right now,” Nelson said, not wasting time to say hello. “I hope you’ve got nothing to do with this.”

  “With what?”

  “The bomb attack on the mayor.”

  “Why would you think I had something to do with it?” Sergio controlled his anger, acting surprised.

  “Because you just recently talked about getting Kostidis out of the way.”

  “He’s got a lot of enemies in this city besides me.”

  “I wish I believed you, Sergio.” Nelson sighed. “I’ve never questioned anything that you’ve done before. But this time I’ll only ask you once, and for our long friendship’s sake, I’m asking you to tell me the truth.”

  “Is there someone with you?” Sergio asked warily.

  Nelson was speechless for a moment. How could he be suspicious?

  “Of course not,” he replied in irritation. “I’m calling from a secure telephone, and I’m alone. So?”

  Sergio didn’t hesitate to take advantage of his oldest friend’s trust.

  “I had nothing to do with the attack,” he said in a calm voice. “When I said to get Kostidis out of the way, I didn’t think about anything like this.”

  Nelson wasn’t quite convinced, but he also had a hard time believing that Sergio would lie to him. After their conversation, Sergio turned to Luca and Silvio.

  “Nelson mustn’t find out that we were involved in this. And it’s better if Massimo doesn’t know about it either.”

  The two men nodded silently. They were relieved that their boss had seemed to come to terms with the botched operation.

  “Okay,” Sergio said, “this one went wrong. The next time we’ll be more successful.”

  The telephone rang again, an
d Luca picked up.

  “It’s St. John,” he said. Sergio took the call. His face darkened noticeably while he listened, and then he hung up. Raymond Howard was dead. The loss of this important informer was more painful to Sergio than the failed assassination. Howard had been supplying him with invaluable information straight from the mayor’s office over the past several years. But Sergio Vitali tended not to worry about what he couldn’t change. Kostidis’s days were numbered anyway. Once the mayor was dead, he wouldn’t need a mole to spy on him anymore.

  It was ten at night when Justin succeeded in penetrating the secret numbered accounts file at Levy & Villiers on Grand Cayman. Alex, Oliver, and Justin looked through countless accounts. Although many of them would have been interesting for the US tax authorities, the ones that Alex hoped to find were not among them. Justin eventually came across an extremely secure file that instantly aroused his curiosity. It took him almost an hour and a half to successfully hack it. The silence in the small room was thick enough to cut with a knife. The ashtray overflowed. Soda cans, empty packs of chips, and chocolate bar wrappers gathered around Justin’s revolving chair.

  “Fucking hell,” he said quietly. “I’ve actually done it! We’re in!”

  His eyes were glowing, and he grinned triumphantly. It was a tricky affair, yet he’d found a way to crack into the highly secure file.

  “The guys in this joint really know their stuff when it comes to data security,” he said with honest admiration for his counterparts.

  Alex and Oliver, who were about to fall asleep after several long hours in the cold fluorescent light of the basement office, jerked to attention.

  “I think I found what you’re looking for,” said Justin, and Alex moved her chair next to his. She stared at the screen and couldn’t believe her eyes. The bankers on Grand Cayman had meticulously listed the account numbers and code names together with the dates the accounts were opened. These were followed by the name of the account holder and the address.

  “What’s this?” Oliver asked. Alex didn’t answer.

  “Is it normal to list addresses and names?” Justin asked.

  “It’s not unusual,” Alex said, “because the bank is bound to secrecy by law. As you can see, it’s impossible to stumble upon this data. It seems pretty secure to me.”

  She scanned an account statement with the code name “Amazed” that listed Mr. Frederick P. Hoffman as its owner. To her surprise, there were no investment funds or stock portfolios, just regular cash deposits in staggering amounts.

  “What’s this?” Oliver urged curiously.

  “Exactly what I was afraid to find.” Alex looked at him. “Bribes paid to numbered accounts.”

  Oliver’s eyes widened and Alex turned toward the screen again.

  “Senator Fred Hoffman,” she said. “I know him!”

  His account had a balance of 1.8 million dollars. Tax free, illegal, paid in cash.

  “Anyone else?” Justin asked as his fingers hovered over the keyboard.

  “Zachary St. John,” Alex replied and nervously rubbed the moist palms of her hands together. Justin typed in his name, and seconds later the account statement appeared.

  “Code name: Goldfinger.” Justin grinned.

  “Typical,” Alex said in a mocking tone. She was astonished to see how much Zack had amassed over the years. The staggering cash deposits took away Alex’s breath. Zack didn’t fool around! The balance of his account was a respectable twenty-two million dollars.

  “Unbelievable.” She shook her head. For the next two hours, they worked through all fifty-four of the secret accounts at Levy & Villiers in Georgetown, Grand Cayman. And what they found pointed to one of the biggest corruption cases of all time. They came across the names of Governor Robert Landford Rhodes; John de Lancie, the US Attorney for the Southern District of New York; David Norman, a board member of the NYSE; and Jerome Harding, New York’s police commissioner. Greg Tarrance was a high-ranking administrator at the SEC’s enforcement division. Alex knew his name because it had appeared time and again in connection with investigations. Senator Hoffman was only one of many politicians who helped themselves to tax-free additional income. The deposits to all the accounts always occurred on the same day and were always in cash.

  Alex slowly started to understand what was going on. She couldn’t help but admire whoever had come up with this simple yet ingenious system. Every time Alex told St. John about an imminent deal, he ordered the broker Jack Lang to buy stock of the company that was subject to a merger or acquisition for MPM. Once the stock price skyrocketed due to the public announcement of the deal, Lang sold the stock, and the proceeds of the sale were transported to Grand Cayman in cash, probably by St. John himself. With one of Vitali’s private jets, they could easily circumvent customs. This method of raising funds was highly illegal, but they were protected by high-ranking judges, US attorneys, SEC administrators, and NYSE board members on their bribery payroll. If there were transgressions, no one was interested in investigating any further.

  Alex vividly remembered PBA Steel. No wonder Sergio didn’t worry about the SEC. The investigation had fizzled out after just two days, with no resolution. Sergio had bribed the most influential men of the city and state, his connections reaching as far as Washington DC. His “friends” were in Congress, the Senate, the Department of Justice, the Department of the Treasury, and the Department of Defense. With these accounts, he had wonderful leverage against them. Passive corruption by itself was ruinous for a politician or public officer, but not paying taxes on this income was highly punishable as tax fraud.

  “Some of them get ten grand a month.” Justin was amazed. “This one doesn’t seem to be as important. He only gets three.”

  Alex’s eyes fell on the name, and she froze. Raymond Howard. Alex remembered the man with the thin blond hair whom she’d seen at the Plaza for the first time and then at Gracie Mansion last night. He was the man Nick Kostidis was looking for! Nick suspected that there was an informer on his staff, but he had no idea that it was one of his most trusted employees. And then she remembered where else she had seen him. He was with Zack at Luna Luna that evening when she’d celebrated the Maxxam deal with her staff. Raymond Howard knew Zack! Now that she was aware of it, she needed to tell Nick. She couldn’t possibly leave him in the dark any longer.

  “What are you going to do now?” Justin asked as they left the Media Lab building feeling drained sixteen hours after their arrival. Outside it was dawn, and the birds chirped in the trees. Justin had printed the entire dossier, and Alex carried it in her briefcase. She felt like she had pure explosives under her arm.

  “I don’t know,” she replied, “but I don’t feel like making myself a target. If Vitali finds out that I know about these secret accounts, he’ll kill me.”

  Justin stared at her.

  “You can’t be serious.”

  “Absolutely,” Alex said, nodding, “this isn’t petty embezzlement. This is an elaborate web of bribes, and I’m in the middle of it. As of today, I can’t claim that I don’t know anything about this.”

  They reached the nearly empty parking lot and squeezed into Justin’s dusty Nissan. Justin dropped them off at the airport a half hour later. Oliver and Alex thanked him for his incredibly helpful work and promised to keep him posted. Without saying a word, they entered the departure terminal and inquired about the next flight to New York. They reserved two seats for the 6:20 a.m. flight and then walked to the coffee shop, where only a few early travelers and the crew of a Far East airline were passing the time.

  Alex realized that Oliver would have liked to talk about something entirely different, but she couldn’t get her thoughts off the findings of the past few hours. She no longer had a future in New York. They silently drank their coffee and chewed on doughnuts while Alex stared at the TV, which was tuned to CNN. Suddenly, she dropped her coffee cup. The blood drained from her face when she realized what the reporter was talking about. She jumped up and ran t
o the bar.

  “Could you please turn it up a little?” she asked the waitress. The woman grabbed the remote control and turned up the volume. Aghast, Alex listened to the reporter.

  “Initial investigations by the FBI’s explosives experts indicate that the bomb was placed under the hood of the mayor’s armored limousine. Kostidis’s wife Mary, his son Christopher, and his son’s fiancée Britney Edwards were killed in this attack. Another man who attempted to save the three individuals from the flames suffered severe burns and succumbed to his injuries one hour later at Columbia Presbyterian. Mayor Kostidis, the alleged target of this assassination attempt, was admitted to Mount Sinai Hospital. No details have yet been disclosed about his condition.”

  “Oh my God!” Alex whispered. Her heart was pounding in her chest, and she felt sick. It couldn’t be true! She had just talked to Mary and Christopher Kostidis so recently. And now they were dead? Oliver stood up and put his arm around her shoulders.

  “I was at Gracie Mansion on Saturday evening,” Alex said, her whole body shaking, “and now they’re dead! I can’t believe it!”

  Oliver held her a little tighter in his arms. The television showed images from the lawn at Gracie Mansion, and Alex saw the smoldering remnants of the car. The power of the detonation had torn the heavy limousine into two pieces, making the lawn look like a battlefield.

  “Excuse me.” Alex freed herself from Oliver’s arms and ran out to the restroom. Tears poured down her face as she sat sobbing on the floor of the closed bathroom stall. Nick Kostidis had publicly voiced dangerous allegations after Cesare’s death and the attempt on Sergio. She admired him for his courage, but now she realized that this had to be the reason for the attack. The mayor had come too close to the truth and become a risk for Sergio Vitali.