by Tomson Cobb
‘Ah. As usual you’re ahead of me, Mr… sorry, Jago. It seems he struggled to get the company to grow enough to compete with the other similar research companies in London and the US-based ones. That’s when Jeremy Catesby came onto the scene.’
‘Lord Catesby of Stalham, you mean? You’ll now tell me that he came across the company by chance and was so blown away by the concept that he invested all his inherited wealth into it.’
‘Not quite. Catesby doesn’t have any shares in the company. He gets paid a consultancy fee of £200,000 a year, paid in four instalments. Master Worsley has twenty-nine per cent of the shares. The business was slow to take off before the lord arrived on the scene. It’s now quite profitable, with offices in several countries. Industry insiders suggest Catesby persuaded him to focus on the geopolitical side of the business in return for substantial financial investment through a B-Series fundraise. He also promised to use his connections to get government contracts.’
‘So far, so usual. Any out of the ordinary stuff in there, Nigel?’
‘Well, word on the street is that Catesby works for one of the security arms of the government. Which one though nobody knows.’
‘Makes sense. The usual British way of political corruption. I’ll makes some calls about which department that might be. So, who has the other seventy-one per cent?’ asked Jago, already anticipating the response from Nigel.
‘A shell in the Caymans has five per cent. A company in Bermuda has another five per cent. That leaves one per cent held by a company in the Bahamas with the other sixty per cent held by a company based in Belize. That in turn is owned by another shell company in the BVI with just one director, who happens to be an employee of the registered agent there that set it up. He’s also a director of seventy-five other companies, all with the same address of the same legal company that set them up for anonymous overseas clients. Sound familiar?’
‘Oh yes. Part and parcel of our usual work, hey Nige? Did you find the names of the real beneficial owners of these two shareholder companies?’ Jago hoped that without any prompts from him, the accountant was about to confirm the other names he’d given him.
‘As you know by now Jago, that’s difficult to find out with the nominee director system in these places. The normal procedure is the nominee signs a declaration that they will follow orders and don’t have any claim against the real owner. They then give power of attorney to the real beneficial owner. Finally, they submit their resignation then sign the document without a date. It gets passed to the real beneficial owner, who can enter a date retrospectively whenever they want.’
‘So the answer is you don’t know?’
‘Not yet. I presume you have in mind Troncore or Kruger Europe? I can’t confirm that they are the ones who own the companies but I still have a lot of stuff to check out in the Panama Papers database, plus a few other sources of good information that I have access to. Not many people know where to look for this sort of stuff so I guarantee you won’t find the information in Companies House.’
‘I’m sure of that, Nigel. Nobody is able to find incriminating evidence like you. I think you might find that the five in the Caymans is owned by Kruger Europe. Mr Kruger has been sailing round the islands down there I’m told. Not sure about the five in Bermuda though.’
‘So you think the rest is owned by Troncore?’
‘I’m pretty sure of it. Can you keep on it, Nigel? Let me know when you get more information.’ Jago stood to indicate the discussion was over. The accountant gathered up his papers before he stuffed them into the old leather briefcase he always carried.
‘I will of course, Jago.’ He looked down. ‘Chobi. Will your master let me take you for a walk one day do you think?’ Nigel said.
The dog looked up with anticipation at the sound of her favourite human word.
‘Any time we’re not both busy, Nigel. As you can see, it looks like that won’t be for a while. Maybe you and Mary could dog-sit for me some time? That would be helpful, so thanks for the offer once again.’
The conversation still meandered around Jago’s head half an hour after the accountant had left, which meant he couldn’t sit still for more than a minute. Even some classic Oscar Peterson on the turntable couldn’t calm him. New thoughts kept prompting him to return to the laptop and go through the papers that he’d found at Sammy’s once more. He knew that some of the bank statements would relate to the companies that he’d set Nigel onto, despite the fact that he hadn’t wanted to distract the accountant with information he himself could work on from a different angle.
The call he’d put in to Nik after Nigel’s visit had proven worthwhile. Real World Consulting did work on occasion as a front for HMG, Nik had told him. In fact, SIS themselves used some of the reports that RWC produced, or sometimes supplied them to other friendly governments where they saw fit. Because Catesby was a privy counsellor, Jago suspected that it also gave MI6 ways to feed stories they wanted circulated the other way out into the sub-prime intelligence world for their own nefarious purposes.
The company’s rise to prominence hadn’t all gone so smoothly, however. One of their young researchers had been abducted in Turkey, tortured, with his body then delivered conspicuously outside the front gates of the British Embassy in Ankara. A warning perhaps. The spy who went out into the cold, thought Jago.
‘Volkov, Chomsky, Hordiyenko, Catesby, Kruger, Troncore, Chetwynd. How are they connected, Chob?’ He turned his attention to the dog, who’d followed him into the lounge, her head now rested contentedly on his ankles, eyes closed in her usual energy saving mode. ‘We have to assume that this confluence of forces all have some type of common denominator, Chob. Now we have to find out what it is. Do I have your attention or is it just food on your mind as usual?’
His questions got no reaction from the inanimate animal that lay prone on his feet. He wondered if he could ever achieve such exquisite relaxation.
Troncore was also an interesting operation. The company had started as a share brokerage in Buenos Aires in 1990, where it was still headquartered. It had then evolved into an investment bank with an asset management arm for institutional clients, a wealth management division that catered for high net worth individuals, and an investment bank department that helped companies, even governments raise funds. With services in M&A, IPOs, FX operations, as well as trading in derivatives and commodities, it covered all bases. Its latest iteration was into its own investments through a separate company called, of course, Troncore Investments. This included lots of property acquisition, initially across Latin America which had extended into North America, Europe and Africa in the last couple of years. The group had also started to make some strategic investments in small independent banks across various regions of the world.
As Jago started to pull together all the various subdivisions of the group to enter them into one document, it began to dawn on him that the potential influence of the company was immense, not just in its South and Central American origins, but instead on a global footprint.
The original founders of the company had left at short notice twelve years before, to be replaced by a new team led by one Pablo Macblane, a multibillionaire with Scottish antecedents who now ranked within the top one hundred of his peers in the Americas. Jago was interested to note that he’d sold the company to one of the multinational banks ten years ago for $5 billion, only to buy it back again less than a year later for $3.5 billion, a handy $1.5 billion profit. Nice work if you can get it, thought Jago. He was also intrigued to see that one of the senior directors of the bank that had bought the company, Marcel Lopez, had then left it soon afterwards to join Troncore as head of the wealth management division. He was not surprised to learn that both Macblane and Lopez, together with other senior managers of Troncore, all had convictions for insider trading at some point in their careers.
A theory began to form in his head, but as he was a disciplined journalist he knew he needed to cross-check it before he allowed himse
lf to cast aspersions on such a large operation. Such preconceptions had led him into trouble in the past. Even before then, he had to try and work out where the Chomsky group of companies fitted into the jigsaw.
He also had to dig a little deeper into Mr Hordiyenko, so he decided a visit to the leisure centre was called for that afternoon. He hadn’t spoken to his gym buddy Samson since the chat with Chomsky at the art gallery. As Samson still worked for the Chomsky organisation, he was sure he could persuade him that a transfer to a new employer was now necessary.
What made him go to the kitchen at that point, he didn’t know. He clicked on the CCTV camera that overlooked the mews to see a car slowly making its way towards the house. It stopped for a few seconds then turned right and accelerated away. As the angle of the camera faced the passenger side he couldn’t be sure, yet the impression he got was that the driver was a woman and that her attention had been on the outer door to his house.
Chapter 24
‘Tony. How the devil are you?’ Jago had activated the encryption, then switched the phone’s speaker on so he could walk about while in conversation with the CIA man. ‘We’re secure so you can talk freely.’
‘I’m good, Jago. What news your side?’
‘Part of the puzzle now makes sense. You need to check out a couple of companies. One’s called Real World Analysis. It’s a geopolitical consultancy that supplies reports to lots of large multinationals. The UK government is also a client. They sometimes use it as a front for releasing their own misinformation. Heard of it?’
‘Can’t say I have. Should I have done?’ Shapiro said.
‘Maybe not. Except that Wade’s got a stake in it.’
‘Then I should have. That FBI shmuck that got himself fired has a lot to answer for. I’ll check it out. What was the other one?’
‘Troncore. They’re based in…’
‘Argentina. Now I do know lots about that den of thieves, my friend. Mr Macblane and his cohort have been on our radar for some time.’
‘What have you got on them?’ asked Jago.
‘Lots. Although we’ve never been able to pin any more than misdemeanours on them. Where do they fit into our current project?’
‘They also have shares in RWC through an offshore shell company. I believe they’re connected to the Chomsky companies that Hordiyenko has taken charge of now as well.’
‘So, what goes around comes around. Mmm.’ Even at that distance, Jago could hear Shapiro’s jaw in action as he masticated his gum with all the fervour of a new believer in self-help. ‘What do you want from me, Jago?’
‘Any information you’ve got on Troncore. Look for links to Geneva. You remember the Swissleaks scandal a few years ago, where a bank’s files on clients that were allegedly into tax evasion were published? The guy that leaked the information got five years in absentia from the Swiss courts?’
‘I remember it well. We were interested in the data, unofficially of course. He claimed that Mossad kidnapped him to get information on companies with links to Hezbollah. We suggested he leave France before he got whacked.’
‘I’ll have to ask Haber about that one day. What I’m interested in before that is the link to Geneva. Volkov had a place there, Chomsky had businesses there which are probably now under the control of Hordiyenko, RWC have an office there as well, and I’ll bet you find that Troncore do too.’
‘I get your point. I’ll follow up on that, Jago. You’ll have the information as fast as I can acquire it.’
‘Top man. I’ll return the compliment on RWA when my accountant has finished his research on them as well as my own. Listen, Tony. I want to up the ante.’
‘How do you mean?’ Shapiro asked.
‘I can’t be sure, but I think I’ve had a visit from La Polpo.’
‘What! How come you’re still above ground?’
‘A car came past my pad. The driver was checking the house. It was driven by a woman. I couldn’t see the face on my CCTV. It has to be her though.’
‘So whaddya wanna do?’ The American’s vocabulary started to deteriorate when he got excited, Jago thought.
‘I’m about to kick the hornet’s nest. Try to lure Belette into the open. It could be the fastest way to find out Greenstreet’s identity.’
‘That’ll be dangerous. Don’t underestimate her, Jago. Many in our business have tried before and paid the ultimate price. She can sniff out the best-laid traps.’
‘I’ll take your word for it. I won’t. I… sorry, we have to take the lead now, otherwise you’ll have to read about the mysterious death of yet another investigative journalist.’
‘She’s dangerous so I’m not sure I agree with you. How will you make her show up anyway?’
‘Hordiyenko has a villa on Majorca. It just so happens that I do too. Frankie bought it years ago. We got to stay there together just once, on our honeymoon. I’ve only been back there on my own a couple of times since then just to check the place is still okay. I’ll let it be known to Chetwynd that I intend to take a look inside his place on Friday night. He’s due there the next day according to my snout.’
‘Snout? What’s that?’
‘Informant. Snitch in your terminology. I have someone inside the Organisation here in London.’
‘You what? Why didn’t you tell me? We can sure use someone like that. Who is he, or she?’
‘I’ll have to keep that to myself for now Tony, if you don’t mind. No slight on you but I think it’s better if they stay anonymous for their own safety.’
‘Sure, Jago. You’re right of course. Okay. Tell me more.’
‘Hordiyenko’s place is high up on a cliff that overlooks a bay. That’s where he moors his yacht on the rare occasions he takes time off from the Organisation. It’s unoccupied otherwise, just has a cleaner go in once a week, says my informant. I intend to break in. However, I intend to go in the night before, on Thursday, so when she turns up I’ll already be there to welcome her.’
‘Makes sense. I still don’t think you should take her on yourself though. We could get Simon to fly in another team from Hereford like he did for you in Tokyo?’
‘A stakeout of the place with half a dozen special forces is too risky. If Hordiyenko arranges a similar sized welcome party, a firefight will not be what we want. I don’t think Mr Greenstreet will go for that option though. I reckon he’ll use La Polpo. In that case, if she’s as good as you reckon, when she sniffs a trap she won’t walk in, she’ll just turn around to wait for another opportunity.’
‘What makes you think he’ll send her?’ Shapiro said.
‘Intuition. She’s a pro, she works alone, and she’s already on the case outside my front door.’
‘I take your point. So where do I come into this expedition?’
‘You don’t. The problem I have is there’s only one way to get in there. That’s by climbing up the cliff from the sea. I suffer from acrophobia. An irrational fear of heights. As well as my herniated discs, it’s why I failed the SAS entry course. You’ll know this already from Toye.’
‘Yeah. He mentioned it. So what do you want me to do?’
‘I could do with some help with the climb. Do you have anyone suitable on your team that you can get here on the next flight?’
‘I’ll send Joe. He was a Navy Seal. Didn’t he tell you when you were here?’ Shapiro said.
‘No, we didn’t have much chance to talk career histories. He’d be great to have with me if you can spare him. Can you get him here without any publicity though? We don’t want him trailed by a crowd of CIA goons.’
‘Leave that to me. I’ll get him to Palma by tomorrow lunchtime. He’ll make contact with you when he lands. What else do you need?’
‘If he can source the gear for the climb that would help. Ropes, pitons, wetsuits, waterproof bag to carry them all underwater. I’ll look after the other hardware from this end.’
‘Take it as done. Be careful, Jago. Chetwynd must know we’re onto them now so you don’t h
ave the element of surprise anymore.’
‘That’s what I want them to think, Tony.’
Chapter 25
Palma airport was as chaotic as usual for a Wednesday. His plane’s arrival coincided with three other tourist flights, and the noise from them all as they disgorged their cargos of overexcited sun seekers at this early stage of the season didn’t help his first attempt at mindfulness. The long wait to reach passport control through the scrum of impatient travellers at least gave him time to run through the past twenty-four hours once again.
After he’d deposited Chobi into Sally’s care at his agent’s office, he’d called Ivan, his tech expert, to make sure that the program he’d added to his laptop software was activated so that Ivan could monitor anyone who accessed his communications.
It had then been a simple task to email a phony message about his planned clandestine visit to Hordiyenko’s villa to an email address that Ivan had set up for him. Ivan had soon confirmed that the keystroke software Petrov had installed when he’d broken into Jago’s house had also been used. Now whoever had ordered it planted on his machine was aware of Jago’s visit to Majorca. What they didn’t know was that Ivan was also able to track the malware back to the user when it was in use. A task he was now engaged in.
Just before departure, Jago had also called Samson once more. He’d confirmed that Hordiyenko hadn’t seemed to be under any unusual pressure that he could see, and still planned to leave for the villa on the Friday. It was only later that Jago realised the information should have rung some bells with him.
It was already eighty degrees when Jago pushed open the old wooden door to the villa. He and Frankie had never had the time to start their plan to modernise the place, so he hoped the plumbing still worked. Although he’d kept on the management company that his wife had used for years, it didn’t look like they’d arranged the weekly visit by the cleaners that they were contracted to do by the looks of the dust on the stone floors. Any thought of finding new agents would have to wait though. In fact, it was a benefit if he didn’t receive any unexpected visitors for the next forty-eight hours.