Dead Secret

by Peter Kozmar

  “Okay, I’ll be along in about thirty minutes,” Andy said as he ended the call and put his cell phone on the table. He looked up at Vladim and Dortman and said, “As soon as we’re done I’ll get back to Carter and Copeland and hopefully smooth troubled waters. It might pay to keep things low key for now and to stay off our phones unless it’s an emergency.”

  They both nodded as they understood the significance of his comment.

  Dortman broke the silence, “While you’re with Carter and the police, I’ll arrange our meeting with Kavell, Knight and Schroder and, after that, I’ll alert the crew to have the jet ready to depart in two hours.

  CHAPTER 32

  Even with the distraction offered by an hour’s refueling stop in Dubai, the flight in Vladim’s executive jet from Wellington to Geneva felt long and uneventful. For their night approach into Geneva, the moon reflected off the snow-capped Alps, giving the mountains an eerie silver glow as the stars sparkled above them in the cloudless sky. The nighttime spectacular continued for a few minutes as the jet descended over the still waters of a moonlit Lake Geneva and touched down on runway zero-four.

  After a smooth landing, the jet quickly taxied across the airfield to its stand. Andy rubbed the thick stubble on his chin and looked out of the window as the jet parked under a field of bright floodlights. The blazing lights reflected off the sleek white bodies of at least a dozen equally large executive jets parked neatly in two rows.

  He knew Carter would have figured out he’d skipped the country by now and felt a fleeting moment of guilt that he’d omitted to tell her that he was planning to leave New Zealand when he’d met up with her after breakfast. Copeland, on the other hand, would have been relieved that he’d left the country, removing any chance of meeting him over another dead body!

  “It’s approaching midnight,” Dortman said, as the cabin lights came on causing Andy to squint until his eyes became used to the light, “I’ve arranged for suites at the Beau-Rivage.”

  “Thank you, Tomas,” Vladim replied wearily as he yawned and stretched to wake himself up.

  The Captain spoke over the intercom: “Gentleman. Thank you for joining us on today’s flight from Wellington. The time in Geneva is twenty-three fifty-five. The temperature outside is four degrees Celsius. The weather forecast for later in the day is a warm twenty-four degrees with clear skies and a light breeze from the South. On behalf of the crew, it’s been a pleasure flying you today and we’ll hopefully see you with us again. Swiss Customs and Immigration will be boarding shortly.”

  Andy looked out of the window and watched as the ground crew placed the wheel chocks in place and maneuverer a set of steel steps up against the fuselage. The hostess opened the cabin door and moved it to one side, allowing the cool night air to chill the cabin. The sudden change in temperature had Andy reaching for his jacket while he waited for the officials to arrive.

  Their hostess collected their passports and held them ready at the door. She didn’t have to wait long as the vehicles with the Customs and Immigration Officers arrived together. There looked like there were two Customs Officers, both carrying flash lights, and one was holding onto a long lead with a small black dog on the other end. The dog quickly bounded up the metal steps and entered the cabin, seconds later the officer joined it.

  “Hello everybody, welcome to Switzerland. Please remain still and don’t move or touch the dog.” The officer instructed as she allowed the dog to move around the cabin, its tail wagging excitedly at the opportunity to find something that would result in a treat at the end of its search.

  The dog returned to Andy and sniffed him again, this time for quite some time, its handler carefully watching for an indication it had found drugs. Andy suddenly realized the dog may have scented the drugs he’d handled at Mark’s house a few days earlier. Andy felt his heart racing and, even in the cold air, he felt a bead of sweat work its way down the middle of his back. Dog, don’t sit! He willed. The dog was still processing its senses and then, much to Andy’s relief, it moved on.

  The officer stepped towards the cockpit and banged on the door. “Open the door. Customs inspection!” she called out. The cockpit door opened, and the dog darted inside. Moments later the dog backed out and into the cabin, its tail still wagging furiously. The handler turned and said, “Thank you for your patience. I’ll hand over to my colleagues. Enjoy your stay in Switzerland.” The second Customs Officer and the Immigration Officer entered the cabin.

  The Customs Officer asked if they had anything to declare and, on being told they had nothing, he moved to the entrance and waited. The Immigration Officer took their passports from the hostess and scanned each with the portable scanner, which gave a quiet ‘beep’ and flashed green with each successful scan.

  While watching the Immigration Officer, Andy reached for his cell phone and powered it up. By the time the officer had finished with their passports, Andy’s phone beeped and indicated he had voicemail. The Immigration Officer returned the passports and wished them all well before leaving the aircraft with the Customs Officer.

  Andy keyed in his voicemail passcode and waited for the message to play. He wasn’t surprised at the sound of Carter’s voice: “Flint, thanks for the heads up that you were leaving the country. I’m sure you have your reasons for not keeping me in the loop. I hope you have a safe journey to wherever you are going and maybe one day we’ll see you back in New Zealand. Bye!” Her voice dripped with sarcasm. Andy cleared the message and pocketed his phone.

  “Anything important?” Vladim asked.

  “Just Carter saying goodbye and wishing me well,” Andy said with a shrug.

  “Nice of her to say so.” Andy nodded and joined the others as they gathered their possessions before they headed for the steps. A short distance from the bottom of the steel steps, a dark Mercedes was waiting, its engine purring quietly as their chauffeur approached Vladim to take his luggage.

  “I’ll have you at your hotel shortly, sir.”

  “Thank you,” Vladim replied.

  ***

  He’d pushed himself hard with his fitness routine in his hotel room and he felt good with himself. Heading for the shower his cell phone rang. The Listener looked at the display. Unknown Number. He answered the call

  “Hello?”

  “This is Control. Are you secure?”

  “Yes.”

  “Flint is in Geneva. We’ve arranged your flight via Auckland and Hong Kong under your French identity. You leave Auckland at three this afternoon.”

  The Listener continued to receive his detailed instructions in silence. When he ended the call, he showered quickly and dressed before packing his few possessions into his flight bag and small backpack. He picked up the pistol, removed the magazine and cleared the chamber placing the ejected round back in the magazine. He unscrewed the silencer and placed it, together with the pistol magazine, into the rugged carrying case. Satisfied the pistol was secured, he locked the case and spun the tumbler combination before he placed the entire case into a large, heavy duty plastic courier bag and wrote in the destination box ‘X5’ then in the sender box he wrote ‘A3’.

  The Listener took his bags and the bulky courier package down to reception where he checked out under the name Talbot. The Listener didn’t have to wait long before a man in a yellow and red courier uniform approached reception and asked for Mr. Talbot. The Listener handed over the courier package and followed the courier out of the hotel. The Listener smiled to himself with the knowledge the process worked smoothly, as only a few hours earlier he’d gone through the same process when he handed over the Valkyrie sniper rifle he’d used to kill Clement-Bridges. Even before the courier had started his van The Listener was in a cab and on his way to the airport.

  CHAPTER 33

  Their chauffeur parked outside the entrance to Kavell, Knight and Schroder on Quai du General-Guisan. The chauffeur dressed in his pressed uniform and wearing his cap, stepped from the car and opened the door for Dortman. Andy s
lid across the back seat and followed Dortman out of the rear of the Mercedes.

  Standing upright, the chauffeur gave Andy a subtle salute by touching the side of his cap with his gloved right hand. “Gentleman. I’ll be parked a short distance away. Please phone me before you leave, I will be waiting here for you.” Andy detected a strong upper-class English accent.

  “Thank you, Forbes. I’ll let you know when we’re ready to leave,” Dortman replied.

  “Are there any errands which need attention while you are with the lawyers?” Forbes enquired.

  “No. Just wait for my call. I’m not sure how long we’ll be,” Dortman instructed.

  “Very good, sir.”

  Dortman approached a solid dark oak door, to the right, a highly polished brass plaque:

  Kavell, Knight and Schroder

  Legal Counsel

  Trustees

  International Tax Advisers

  Dortman pressed the intercom button located on a black panel above the plaque. Moments later they heard a click and a voice sounded from the black panel: “Kavell, Knight and Schroder how may we help you?”

  “Tomas Dortman and Andrew Flint with an appointment to see Oliver Knight.” The door gave an electronic buzz, Dortman pushed and it swung inwards easily despite its heavy weight and size. Dortman headed inside with Andy following close behind.

  They walked into a wood-paneled reception area with marble covered floors. The reception desk was made of black glass and the space looked elegant and expensive. Next to the reception desk a floor-to-ceiling water feature babbled away, generating an air of tranquility and peace. To one side Andy could see a waiting area which had the appearance of a reading room from an exclusive London Gentleman’s Club, complete with cigars and a selection of broadsheet newspapers.

  Dortman approached the receptionist, a mature woman in her late fifties dressed in a grey suit, and said, “I have an appointment with Oliver Knight.”

  “Yes, Mr. Dortman, please take a seat,” she replied gesturing with her hand to the waiting area. “Mr. Knight knows you are here and he’s asked me to pass on his apologies as his meeting has overrun. He’ll be with you shortly,” she smiled, “May I bring you some refreshments? Tea or coffee?”

  “A wild-berry herbal tea, please,” Dortman replied.

  “A long black coffee for me, no sugar, no milk, thanks,” Andy added.

  “I’ll see to it, now, please make yourselves comfortable.”

  Dortman led Andy over to the waiting area where they sat in large, dark red leather chairs. Andy liked the smell of old leather. Several European broadsheets were neatly stacked on a matching leather coffee table positioned conveniently between the two chairs.

  After studying the papers, Andy picked The New York Times. The headline: ‘United Nations Peace Keepers Prevent Genocide in Sierra Leone’, led into an article reporting that the UN had changed its remit from reactive peace-keeping to preventative operations. One of these involved the re-opening of the former Integrated Peacebuilding Office in Sierra Leone and staffing it with a combat-hardened French Infantry Battalion. Growing inter-tribal violence threatening the stability of the Government with the police and local security forces in disarray due to divided loyalties. With disorder growing by the hour and no signs of Government leadership, the UN, as a neutral force, stepped in to police the country and attempted to bring the hostile parties to the negotiating table.

  The article said the UN used targeted intelligence to identify the center of gravity of the agitators and the towns they predicted the violence would spread to next. The UN combat troops deployed in force to dominate those areas and acted with unexpected force to crush the first signs of disorder. It was alleged there were no warnings or shots fired over the heads of the looters before they had opened fire, killing at least a dozen. Many agitators were detained without trial and, much to the consternation of international human rights lawyers, some of the detainees had gone missing. The United Nations has gained a harder edge under the new Secretary General, he thought.

  A young intern arrived with their drinks and carefully placed them on the table. He smiled and left. Andy sipped his coffee. Strong. Just how he liked it.

  “Do you think you’ll learn much from speaking with Knight?” Dortman asked.

  “You never know, we could get lucky.”

  Dortman picked through a copy of the Der Spiegel magazine as he drank his herbal tea. The lead article had a picture of a street scene shot at night with several dark figures attacking a man lying on the ground. With his basic grasp of German, Andy took a few seconds to figure the headline read:

  ‘The legacy of uncontrolled migration. Crime is out of control’.

  “Do you see these issues in the United States?” Dortman asked as he showed Andy the front cover.

  “We’ve got inner city crime. Most days there’s a report of a shooting. I could go out and take a picture like that any night of the week, even in DC. We’ve all got our problems,” Andy replied.

  They were interrupted by a distinguished looking man in a dark grey suit, light blue shirt and dark blue tie, his look completed with his neatly trimmed grey hair and beard. Andy and Dortman stood to meet him. “Mr. Dortman. Mr. Flint. I’m Oliver Knight, one of the partners.” The men shook hands. “I hope Mary has been looking after you?” Knight looked over to the receptionist and dropped his tone to a whisper, “I really don’t know what we’d do without her. Mary runs this place. She’s worth her weight in gold, but don’t tell her that or she’ll demand a pay rise.” They smiled and laughed politely.

  “Thank you for asking. We have been well looked after,” Dortman replied.

  “Good. Let’s go upstairs where we will have some privacy.”

  Knight led them up a glass staircase to the first floor where four large glass-walled conference rooms faced out over the lake. He stopped at the door to the nearest room. “This is our room,” he said as he gestured for them to enter.

  Inside, the room was dominated by a large black-glass oval table with a fine wooden trim surrounded by six black leather chairs. Andy looked out of the window across the lake and, for several seconds, watched the tall water plume from the fountain in the middle of the lake.

  “That’s the Jet d'Eau, one of the highest fountains in the world. They turn it off when it’s too windy, so today you’re in luck,” Knight informed them.

  Andy turned his attention to the snow-capped mountains which were perfectly framed by the cloudless blue sky. Knight chose to sit with his back to the lake and invited Dortman and Andy to sit so they were still looking at the view behind him.

  “You have a lovely view from your offices,” Dortman said as he sat down.

  “Yes, we do. It makes it a joy to come to work each day. The views and the fact the city is small and compact make it easy to get around and convenient. My wife and I love it.”

  “I detect an English accent. What brings you here?” Andy asked.

  “You’re right, I am English. I was born in Wokingham and started my legal career in London working for Squire, Thompson and Fraser. The hours were long and the pay poor. So, after a few years I moved to Crickhowell, Monmouth and Harlech, where I received better pay and the offices were perfect for enjoying life in central London. I ended up heading their Swiss tax division and posted here to Geneva. Three years later I met two brilliant gentlemen, Colin Kavell and Peter Schroder, we clicked and after one drunken night we agreed to set up Kavell, Knight and Schroder.”

  “Don’t you find Geneva a little boring after London?” Andy asked.

  “Geneva is like your wife of many years: safe and always there for you. You know what you’ll come home to and there are no surprises. London is like your mistress: shows you a good time, but soon gets bored of you and she moves on. While New York is like a first-class hooker: makes you feel great in a hundred different ways, takes you to places you could never imagine while quickly wearing you out and draining your wallet along the way. So, I base myself h
ere and travel occasionally which means I’m never bored.”

  “You really do live the life,” Andy commented.

  “Switzerland has laws which make for less friction in my line of work. Our clients like to come here as they feel safe walking in the street and no one will pay any attention to them. Geneva is an obvious choice for our line of work.”

  Knight glanced at his large gold watch, “Anyway, I’m sure you didn’t come all this way to hear about my life, let’s get down to business. How can I help you gentlemen?”

  “I represent Vladim Martirossian. He has a rather delicate matter and I have been asked to find a solution,” Dortman replied.

  “Why Kavell, Knight and Schroder? I have personally approached you in the past without any meaningful engagement, so why now?”

  Dortman frowned, “Please don’t get ahead of yourself Mr. Knight. Kavell, Knight and Schroder haven’t yet been commissioned. I’m looking for representation and you are one of a number of firms we are speaking with,” Dortman stated firmly, making it clear who was in control of the meeting.

  “Oh, I see,” Knight looked slightly crestfallen for only an instant before his mask returned.

  “If you can convince us that you are the right firm, you would represent Mr. Martirossian in this matter. This doesn’t mean you’ll displace our long-standing legal firm. Put simply, you will be an additional resource which we can call on from time to time Your responsibilities could grow depending on how you manage our assets. However, today, I can make no promises.”

  “How would you like to test us?” Knight asked.

  Dortman sat forward in his chair and placed both his hands on the table, palms down, “Let us assume, hypothetically of course, one of Mr. Martirossian’s companies had secured a large construction project in Central Africa. Monies will be paid to us from their Government and we have several obligations which we need to meet before we start building. Let’s call these obligations commission payments. The commission payments must not to be publicly disclosed to anyone. Have you handled any hypothetical situations like this?”