Swimming with Sharks

by Nele Neuhaus

  “I heard about that,” Monaghan nodded. “This fits the picture exactly.”

  Hacking into other people’s computer systems was apparently one of Justin Savier’s specialties. Monaghan’s gaze wandered over the books on a wobbly shelf. In contrast to what Savier usually read, this wasn’t computer literature but primarily mindless science-fiction novels. Among other things, there were photo albums and yearbooks. Monaghan pulled out one after the other, browsed through them, and then carelessly dropped them on the floor.

  “Well, well, look at this,” he said to himself after a while. “If that isn’t the fat bastard who’s sitting in my basement.”

  Three young men grinned into the camera, and they also appeared on the following pages. Harvard students. What an arrogant bunch. He was dead sure that the one with the piglet face was Mark Ashton. Monaghan grinned with satisfaction.

  “Hey, boss.” The other man appeared in the door. “The woman was here, no doubt about it. I found empty packages from dark-brown hair dye and disposable contact lenses in the bathroom wastebasket.”

  Monaghan nodded grimly. Alex Sontheim had been here. They were hot on her heels! He walked back into the living room to have a closer look at the telephone and the answering machine. The answering machine’s tape didn’t hold any important messages, but then Monaghan had the idea of pressing the telephone’s redial button. He eagerly waited to hear who would answer the phone at the other end of the line.

  “Bankhaus Gérard Frères, guten morgen,” a friendly female voice answered in German.

  A triumphant smile spread across Henry Monaghan’s reddened face. He excused himself politely and then hung up. Alex Sontheim was in Europe. In Switzerland. She didn’t have the slightest clue that he was right behind her. He pulled out his cell phone and called Sergio Vitali. A small army would be heading to Zurich in no less than an hour.

  The intercom on the glass desk in Lance Godfrey’s spacious office buzzed. The director of Levy & Villiers frowned. He’d gone to bed very late last night because he had treated himself to a few drinks after spending a horrible day with Vincent Levy. Levy had taken the last flight to New York before they could fix the computer system. Godfrey didn’t understand what the fuss was all about. Sometimes these machines refused to work, which wasn’t a big deal. LMI’s president had picked out stacks of files from the bank’s archives and personally fed them to the shredder. He was in a murderously bad mood when Godfrey drove him to the airport that evening.

  “What is it, Sheila?” Godfrey asked.

  “There are five gentlemen here who would like to talk to you, sir.”

  “Do they have an appointment?” Godfrey threw a glance at the calendar on his desk.

  “No. But…”

  “I’m busy at the moment. Schedule an appointment.”

  He leaned back again as the door opened and the five men entered. Godfrey immediately realized that they weren’t bank clients.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Godfrey,” the secretary said, waving her hands in desperation.

  “Mr. Lance Godfrey?” A black-haired man with a thin moustache revealed his badge. “I’m Agent Samuel Ramirez from the FBI. This is Agent Quinn, Mr. Dennis Rosenthal from the SEC’s investigation unit, Mr. Green from the US embassy, and another member of our team, Mr. Savier.”

  “Good day, everyone,” Lance Godfrey said smoothly, standing up. “How can I help you?”

  “We have a warrant to search your premises,” Agent Ramirez said and handed an official-looking document to him.

  Godfrey was trembling inside, but he remained calm and polite.

  “And what’s the reason for your search?”

  “We have reasonable suspicion that you have money originating from illegal insider trades in various secret accounts,” Dennis Rosenthal announced.

  “We suspect that it is part of a large-scale corruption scandal,” Agent Ramirez continued. “If you give us access to your server, we’ll be gone in less than an hour.”

  “Our server is out of order,” Godfrey muttered.

  “Yes, we know that.” Ramirez nodded. “That’s why we brought a specialist with us.”

  Godfrey stared at the men for a moment without saying a word.

  “And if you’re smart enough not to report this incident to New York,” Agent Quinn added with a friendly smile, “then the fact that you’re involved in a criminal conspiracy won’t have any punitive consequences for you.”

  Now even Lance Godfrey turned pale despite his suntanned skin.

  “I’m not…involved in any conspiracy,” he stuttered.

  “Really? That should be easy enough for us to prove,” Agent Ramirez said. “I suggest that you leave town for a few days and forget about our short visit. You won’t hear from us again in that case. Otherwise…”

  There was a telling pause before the agent continued.

  “Otherwise, we’ll have to arrest you.”

  Lance Godfrey swallowed. Now it dawned on him why Levy had been acting so strangely and why this walrus-mustached Monaghan had appeared with a computer expert last week. He had never trusted St. John, and he’d suspected that the regular cash deposits he’d been receiving for years weren’t quite kosher. But it must be a really big deal if the FBI, the SEC, and someone from the embassy were here with a search warrant.

  “I think that I urgently need to pay a visit to my parents in Idaho,” Lance Godfrey said. “My mother’s not doing so well.”

  “Of course. You’re free to depart right away,” Agent Ramirez responded with a friendly smile. “If you would be so kind as to grant us access to your central computer and answer a few questions before you leave.”

  Lance Godfrey was the picture of helpfulness. He had no desire whatsoever to go to the slammer for something that he didn’t do. Maybe he should look for another job. It was high time he disappeared for a while.

  When Paul McIntyre—the commissioner of the New York City Department of Buildings—returned to his office after lunch, he found a note on his desk telling him to call the mayor. He picked up the telephone and was only briefly surprised when he was immediately put through to Kostidis. It usually took a few tries to reach the ever-busy mayor.

  “Hello, Paul,” Kostidis said. “I hear that you just came back from vacation. Did you get some good rest?”

  “Hi, Nick,” McIntyre replied. “Yes I did, thank you. Unfortunately, it was much too short as usual.”

  “Where did you go this time?”

  “Oh, we got a little sun,” McIntyre said with a laugh. “I get depressed with the weather here. We went to the Caymans. Swimming, snorkeling, sunbathing.”

  The Caymans! That wasn’t a coincidence.

  “Listen, Paul, I don’t have much time, but I really need to talk to you. Could you come by my office?

  “Yes, of course,” McIntyre said, surprised. “Right away?”

  “Yes, if you could manage it.”

  “Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

  McIntyre left the Department of Buildings. He was in an excellent mood. After returning from the Caribbean two days ago, he and his wife had looked at the house that Vitali procured for them, and Jenny was delighted. It was out on the dunes with a view of Fire Island—it was simply fantastic! Only four more years, and then he could fulfill his dream and finally retire. Maybe even earlier, if he could find a doctor who would prescribe early retirement for his high blood pressure. Jenny could lunch at the country club, and he could play golf or go sailing all day long. The children and grandchildren could visit them on the weekends, stroll on the beach, swim in the pool, play tennis, or pursue other leisure activities for which the city lacked the space. Yes, it was an alluring prospect indeed to live in their own oceanfront house, after sixty years of renting apartments in this damned loud and dirty city. McIntyre whistled as he ran up the steps to city hall.

  “Hello, Allie,” he said to Kostidis’s secretary. “You’re getting prettier every day!”

  “Thanks,
Paul.” Allie said with a teasing frown. “You’re one charming liar. The mayor’s waiting for you. Go right in.”

  McIntyre grinned and opened the door to Nick’s office.

  “Hello, Nick!” he called out in a good mood, but then his gaze landed on the two men sitting at the large table and his smile vanished. He suddenly had a feeling that something was wrong.

  “Paul,” Nick Kostidis said as he approached him and extended his hand, “thank you for coming so quickly. You know Lloyd Connors and Royce Shepard from the US Attorney’s Office.”

  “Yes, we know each other,” McIntyre said carefully. “What’s going on?”

  “Please take a seat,” Connors requested, and McIntyre obeyed. His uneasy feeling intensified when he spotted the audio recorder on the table and Shepard asked whether he had any objection to him recording the conversation.

  “Let me cut to the chase,” Connors began. He looked pretty worn out. “We have evidence that you hold an account at a bank called Levy & Villiers in the Caymans.”

  McIntyre turned as white as a sheet and started trembling.

  “We suspect that you received the money in this account from Mr. Sergio Vitali and that you promised certain favors to him in return.”

  McIntyre’s eyes locked with Nick’s inquiring gaze, and a dark redness crawled from his throat up his face.

  “Do you have anything to say about these allegations?”

  “That…that must be some kind of misunderstanding…I…” McIntyre stammered and wet his lips with his tongue. Thick beads of sweat appeared on his brow, although it wasn’t particularly warm in the large room. This damned high blood pressure would kill him one of these days.

  “Paul,” Nick said, “it’s not you the US Attorney’s Office is after, it’s Vitali.”

  “We have account statements proving that you’ve regularly withdrawn and spent the money that was paid to you,” Connors continued. “So?”

  McIntyre stared at the shiny tabletop, and he felt as if a dark abyss had opened up in front of him. It was the moment that he had feared all these years. The dream of a house on Long Island was over, and so was the prospect of a carefree life. Everything was over! He would be lucky to get any pension at all. Corruption was a serious crime that went severely punished, not to mention the fact that his reputation would be ruined forever.

  “It…it’s true,” he mumbled after a while, and his confidence crumbled to dust. Nick sighed. In a small corner of his heart, he had hoped that it wasn’t true. He liked Paul McIntyre, trusted him, and worked well with him.

  “When did it begin?” Connors asked.

  “A few years ago.” McIntyre lowered his head. He couldn’t take Kostidis’s disappointed and hurt look anymore. “It was the invitation to bid for the construction of the World Financial Center. David Zuckerman approached me at the time. That wasn’t unusual, but when I personally met Vitali for the first time he offered me money.”

  “And you accepted?” Connors asked.

  “I hesitated at first.” McIntyre looked up, and tears actually shone in his eyes. “I was proud that I was incorruptible. But I had only been in office for a few months and was in debt up to my ears. Unfortunately, my wife likes to shop, and the banks were hassling me for repayment of a loan, and I couldn’t afford the payments on my salary. I knew how bad it would look if people found out I was technically bankrupt, and Vitali’s offer seemed simple and harmless enough at the time.”

  Nick wiped his hand across his face. He didn’t want to hear another word, but McIntyre was talking his head off, as if he were happy to be relieved of the pressure of his guilty conscience. Connors and Shepard listened carefully, asking questions now and then as McIntyre indulged in verbose justifications for his actions.

  “Everyone lines their own pockets,” the commissioner of the Department of Buildings finally said. “That’s the norm. Small gifts, large gifts, a vacation package, a new car, and…money. I wouldn’t have stayed in office for very long if I hadn’t played along.”

  “What do you mean by that?” Connors observed McIntyre sternly.

  “Just like I said.” The broad-shouldered man with his carefully styled snow-white hair shrugged his shoulders. “Vitali and his people left no doubt that they would finish me off if I refused their offer.”

  His gaze fell on the mayor.

  “You don’t understand, Nick.” McIntyre smiled with a hint of bitterness. “I’ve always admired you for your idealism, but if you think that you can purge New York City of corruption, you’re crazy. Every civil servant is part of it—every single one of them.”

  Nick looked at him for quite some time. Then he slowly nodded and lowered his head. He knew that McIntyre was right, but it hurt him nonetheless. His statement was proof that he had accomplished absolutely nothing in regard to corruption over the years. It was a declaration of his political bankruptcy.

  “What’s going to become of me now?” McIntyre asked. Connors repeated the words he had spoken to many men over the past few days. He also handed him a prepared admission of guilt, and just like all the men before him, Paul McIntyre also signed.

  “You’re going to act completely normally toward Vitali and your staff,” Connors said. “Of course, you’re also attending Vitali’s gala just as if nothing had happened. We want to avoid raising his suspicions too soon. Should you choose to warn him, then your prospects will look bad. Corruption in office, acceptance of bribes by a public official, falsification of building and planning applications, price-fixing—all over an extended period of time—this means that you’re going to breathe filtered air for the rest of your life on top of the IRS coming after you for tax evasion and tax fraud.”

  “I’ll do exactly as you say,” McIntyre quickly reassured him. “I promise you that.”

  “That’s certainly the smartest thing you can do.”

  McIntyre threw a glance at Nick, who was staring out the window with a blank expression.

  “Nick,” McIntyre said quietly to his boss, “I’m truly sorry.”

  Then, with hanging shoulders and clumsy steps, he walked out the door. The three men sat at the table in silence until someone else knocked on the door and Frank entered the room.

  “What’s up?” Nick asked tiredly.

  “There’s a woman who’d like to talk to you,” Frank said. “She’s been waiting for over an hour.”

  “Did she tell you her name or what she wants?”

  “No.”

  Connors and Shepard collected their documents.

  “Tell her I only have ten minutes,” Nick said, thinking a minute and walking to his desk. Frank returned, accompanied by a small, pear-shaped woman of about fifty. She wore a simple black dress, a pearl necklace, and a black headscarf. Her gray hair was cut fashionably short. Sorrow and tension were visible in her face, but fierce vengeance sparkled in her big brown eyes. She gripped the handle of her large crocodile-skin bag with both hands. She looked at the two US attorneys with uncertainty.

  “Good afternoon.” Nick’s smile was somewhat forced as he extended his hand. Time and again someone managed to get through to his office, and then he had to listen to problems ranging from a lost job or marital troubles to neighbors’ disputes.

  “How can I help you?” he asked. The woman glanced again at Connors and Shepard.

  “These gentlemen are from the US Attorney’s Office,” Nick explained politely, “but they were just about to leave.”

  “No, no,” the woman replied, “they should stay. What I have to say will also interest them.”

  The three men looked at the woman in surprise. She opened her bag, pulled out ten videotapes, and placed them on Nick’s desk. Lloyd Connors curiously moved close.

  “What’s that?” he asked. The woman looked into his eyes and then straightened her shoulders with determination.

  “My name is Constanzia Vitali. And I’d like to testify against my husband.”

  Monaghan and his men were patiently awaiting Justin Savier
’s return in his apartment. He stayed out all night. The telephone rang repeatedly, but when the answering machine switched on the person on the other end hung up.

  Someone unlocked the front door at two thirty the following afternoon. Justin Savier kicked the door shut with his heel and dropped his jacket on the floor. All he longed for right now was his bed. The plane from Georgetown had landed two hours ago in Newark, and then he’d been flown to Boston in a helicopter. Alex was right, and thankfully the US attorneys also believed their story. The evidence he had uncovered on the Levy & Villiers computers was truly powerful.

  Justin yawned and pulled his sweater over his head, and then he suddenly felt something hard press into his back. He froze.

  “Hello, Mr. Savier,” someone said behind him.

  “He…hello,” Justin stuttered. “W…who are you, and what are you doing in my apartment?”

  “We’ve been waiting for you,” Henry Monaghan replied, and Justin turned around quickly. He stared at the heavyset man with the walrus moustache.

  “Who are you?” he repeated his question.

  “That’s irrelevant.” Monaghan raised himself with surprising agility for such a fat man.

  “How dare you break into my apartment?” Without a doubt, these were the people Alex was fleeing from.

  “Funny you should put it that way,” Monaghan said with the last remnants of friendliness remaining in him after waiting for nineteen hours. “We suspect that you illegally broke into the central computer of a New York investment firm.”

  Justin swallowed nervously.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “You worked on the security testing for BankManager 5.3,” Monaghan said casually, “and when your old buddy Mark Ashton asked you for help with a small computer problem, you complied.”

  “I don’t know any Mark.”

  “Really? That’s strange, because you went to Harvard together. I’ve seen the pictures of you two in your photo albums.”

  Monaghan tried hard to stay calm and friendly. He would have loved to grab this guy who’d made a fool out of him and beat him to a pulp.