Sunstroke

by Madge Swindells

  Chapter 41

  ‘Join me for lunch. Twelve thirty at the Four Seasons? Would that be convenient?’ David Bernstein had sounded delightfully uncomplicated and friendly when I had called him from my New York hotel. His unassuming manner had disarmed me.

  Father had faxed him earlier on a bogus insurance company’s letterhead, choosing a name that could be easily confused with an existing insurance group. The fax had explained that the company needed proof that the contracts had been awarded to the manufacturers, and that I was also investigating any clues to the whereabouts of the bogus Dr Anselmo.

  Now, as I quickened my step to follow the waiter past babbling fountains and inset lily-ponds, I wondered if I could carry off my role.

  A man stood up and hovered at a table. Catching sight of him, I paused mid-step, hoping against hope that this man wasn’t David Bernstein, but it was. Instinctively, I knew I would never be able to handle or deceive such a man, but I was not sure why. Perhaps because of his air of quiet watchfulness and self-discipline.

  He seemed unaware of his excessive share of positive male attributes. Third-generation American from Eastern European stock, I guessed, noticing his almond-shaped brown eyes, his high cheekbones and his sensual, mobile lips. He was wearing khaki trousers and an open-necked shirt, with no sign of the male adornment I detested so much. Not so much as a wedding ring.

  As his hand gripped mine, I puzzled over the tentative surge of excitement that flickered in me. How long had it been since I had touched the hand of such a man? Or met for lunch? Or even held a conversation? This was all a mistake, I realized in a flash. I needed more time to convalesce from my long sojourn in prison. How could anyone keep a cool head in the face of such a man? I guessed that David Bernstein spent his leisure time fending off women.

  ‘How are you, Miss Hunter? Welcome to New York.’ His voice was deep, almost gruff, but he spoke softly as if to disguise it.

  ‘Ah, well, hello. Thanks for meeting me,’ I murmured. ‘Kind of you to spare the time…’ The waiter was holding my chair back. I sat down, wishing that I did not have to cheat the man opposite me. Suddenly I minded very much indeed.

  The wine waiter appeared, and Bernstein turned his attention to the list. ‘Do you like wine with your lunch, Miss Hunter?’

  ‘Hardly ever, and not today, thanks.’

  ‘How about freshly squeezed orange juice?’

  ‘Perfect.’

  Bernstein ordered a grape juice for himself and tried visibly and unsuccessfully to cope with his impatience while questioning me about my flight and my hotel accommodation. Small-talk wasn’t his forte. The waiter produced our drinks with amazing speed and Bernstein solemnly lifted his glass. ‘To our success, Miss Hunter. It seems that you and I have a common purpose. I’d like to see the so-called Anselmo behind bars. I’ll offer you all the co-operation that’s in my power. By the way, here are the copies of the documents you need.’ He pushed an envelope towards me.

  ‘Thanks.’

  Toying with my glass, I wondered whether to be straightforward. With David Bernstein, there was little point in being anything else, I decided.

  ‘I would like to have the list of people who were caught by him.’

  He frowned. ‘Everyone’s after that list. What did the agent call it? The sucker list?’

  ‘Exactly.’

  ‘So why do you want it?’

  ‘Same reason as others want it. Those investors have proved themselves susceptible to this type of plea. No doubt the con-man will contact them again and when he does we’ll be waiting for him.’

  ‘We?’

  ‘My colleagues and I.’

  ‘Banking ethics prevent me from giving you that list, Miss Hunter,’ he said, almost automatically. ‘Everyone on it is a bona fide banking client. Let’s put that one aside, shall we? How else can I help you? What exactly is your brief? Is it merely to investigate the authenticity of the insurance claims? Or are you actually looking for the man himself?’

  ‘Yes, of course. If I could discover the whereabouts of this thief, my employers would take steps to recover the money and hand him over to stand trial.’

  ‘Tell me more about yourself, Miss Hunter. Just how far will you go to trace this con? It could be dangerous for you, but I suppose you know that. How did you fall into such an unlikely role? And why is it so important to you?’

  ‘It’s my job.’ I frowned, and decided not to comment further.

  Bernstein, who missed nothing, caught my reticence. There was a glint of puzzlement in his eyes, but the waiter arrived and I escaped into ordering soup and salad. His bearing was military, his expression detached, but his eyes held me in close arrest as they smilingly interrogated me.

  ‘There’s very little that I can tell you about Dr Anselmo, or whoever he was, Mr Bernstein. You, on the other hand, have a close knowledge of how this man operates. I suppose you know that the real Dr Anselmo died of malaria in Angola recently. Why didn’t you check that you had the right man?’

  I leaned back waiting for a reaction and was gratified to see that Bernstein looked shocked.

  ‘Are you absolutely sure of that? My God! This business gets increasingly absurd. Of course, we checked out the doctor and learned that he was a tireless campaigner against Communism. He has launched several successful projects to help landmine victims and he was trying to assist Unita.’ He lapsed into dismayed silence.

  I moved on fast to keep him off the questions.

  ‘Perhaps you should tell me your side of the story. Why did you lend four million dollars to a man you’d never even met?’ I paused, hoping that I had established myself as a woman who was not affected by his undeniable sex appeal.

  ‘Two, not four. The remainder was collected by the fund drive. He was never our client.’

  Bernstein was riled and it showed. Good!

  ‘Friends of Unita was the client and, believe you me, it was a genuine, bona fide non-profit-making organization set up in the States to collect funds to assist in the spread of democracy in Africa.’ He shrugged and shot me an embarrassed grin. ‘I fouled up.’

  ‘But I heard that you took over a fait accompli, that this scheme was in fact a hobby-horse of your bank’s chairman, your father.’

  He looked amazed. ‘Where did you get this information?’

  ‘I don’t remember.’ Damn! I had made a bad mistake. God forbid he would check on me with Eli. ‘So you never set eyes on him and neither did anyone else in your bank?’

  ‘True.’ Now he was on his guard.

  ‘Mr Bernstein, we are both on the same side. We must pool our information.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll do my best. Anselmo was supposed to come out here and give a lecture tour and slide show on the devastation in Angola. Instead he sent a party of paraplegics with a Unita official. They were in a state of shock most of the time. And for what?’ A waiter arrived with our lunch. ‘Is that okay?’

  ‘Just what I needed. Thanks. Why are you so angry about this scam, Mr Bernstein? I hope you don’t mind me asking.’

  ‘I suppose it’s because I hate to see other people’s suffering being used in this way. This special division to back democracy in Third World countries was a long-term dream of my father’s. I took over half-way, as you found out, but I should have cottoned on at once. Father has lost face, as well as two million dollars, and so have I. That’s putting it mildly. So,’ he ran his hand over his forehead tiredly, ‘I need to find the bastard.’ He laughed briefly and shook his head.

  I guessed that his anger was deep and raw and it would live with him until Anselmo’s impersonator, or Wolf, or whoever he was, was caught and sentenced.

  He smiled. ‘You’re very easy to talk to. I guess I’m boring you. May I call you Naomi? Everyone uses first names here. I’m David.’ He smiled disarmingly. ‘I have hopes of an early success. You see, Naomi, no matter how clever these crooks are, they face a common problem. They can’t use their loot unless they launder it first. That is how I s
hall catch him.’

  I could have listened to David for ever, if I had for ever but I didn’t. I even forgave him for being so damn patronizing as he explained about money-laundering. Eventually my patience ran out. It was time to take a stand.

  ‘Anselmo, or whoever he really is, is by now a past-master at laundering money,’ I said, with genuine distaste. ‘He will probably be using cash businesses, he might ship bogus freight around the world, he probably transfers illegal diamonds and gold for cash. You mentioned one hundred billion circling the globe at any given time. You must know that it could be as high as three. How could you possibly pick up trends and movements from the banking transactions at your disposal?’

  Silence followed. I listened to the water trickling in the pond beside our table and wished I could play some other kind of woman, a soft, feminine, clinging type, but that wouldn’t be Naomi Hunter.

  ‘My apologies for patronizing you.’ He looked ill at ease. ‘I think this meeting should continue in my office. Furthermore, I’ll surprise you with the amount of information I can lay my hands on through the banking fraternity. Let’s go.’

  He did not pay for our lunch. Obviously he was a regular patron. When we walked out into the sunlight I saw how his black hair shone with a deep blue sheen and his eyes lit up with a reckless gleam that was more than appealing.

  He moved lightly and sinuously, as only a superbly trained athlete can.

  In another time and place I could fall for you, David Bernstein, I decided regretfully, as I stepped into the taxi. I’d rather be on your side than against you.

  Chapter 42

  On that brief and breathless drive to Bernstein’s, my senses blazed as the adrenaline coursed through my veins. I felt both exhilarated and terror-stricken, sensing the energy flowing out of the man at my side and feeling disconcerted by my intense interest. I knew that it was reciprocated. But who am I? Naomi Hunter? Inexplicably, I felt a surge of jealousy at David’s obvious attraction to this other woman who was also me. Then came a flicker of fear. David must never get close to me. That would be fatal.

  When we left the cab, David captured my arm in a proprietorial grip and marched me firmly through the bank’s foyer. His touch was like an electric shock, both thrilling and scary. I could feel the warmth of his thigh beside mine and it was strangely exciting. How could I feel like this at such a time? Had I gone crazy?

  When we reached his secretary’s room, he relaxed his grip and smiled at the well-groomed, middle-aged woman. Round-faced, sharp-nosed and plump, she was saved from plainness by the clarity of her remarkable blue eyes.

  ‘Naomi, meet my secretary, Taube Bach,’ David said, releasing my arm. ‘Miss Hunter and I are taking a headlong flight into the unplumbed depths of cyberspace. Wish us luck, Taube, and sustain us with cookies and coffee at regular intervals.’

  Smiling a pseudo-meek smile, she promised to do that. ‘But first,’ she insisted, ‘you really are going to have to deal with these routine matters. It won’t take long.’

  ‘Miss Bach runs me as well as this office.’ David voiced the obvious.

  Miss Bach laughed at some whispered joke he made. As she glowed and twisted her grey hair with fluttering, ringed fingers, I thought that David must be fun to work with. I wasn’t quite sure how much fun I had been back in the old days. Power sits uneasily on female shoulders, perhaps because it’s never enough to be the best. I had to prove my ability as a daily chore. Relax for one moment and some man beneath me would be trying to show me how to do my job. Perhaps that was why I had zoned out femininity as a sign of weakness. A silly mistake.

  I watched David fend off his secretary’s queries, dump all the work on her shoulders and be rewarded with a beaming smile. As he opened the door to his office and beckoned to me, his glance was frankly intimate. Then he flushed beetroot and it was the flush that got to me.

  I walked into a large, gracious room overlooking the park. A desk, pushed to one side, contained a computer and an empty in-tray. For the rest it could have been anyone’s living room with the green and blue floral chintz-covered settees, a moss green carpet looking newish, and a green glass bowl full of irises. Two walls were stacked from floor to ceiling with books in Russian, French, Hebrew and English, in subjects that ranged from law and banking, to archaeology and philosophy.

  I turned as David called sharply, ‘Naomi! Hey, why do I feel like I have the wrong name?’

  ‘Sorry. I wasn’t listening.’ How could I be so foolish? I changed the subject. ‘David, how did it begin? I can’t imagine you being caught by anyone.’

  He sprawled in the easy chair and drummed his fingers on the arm. ‘I suppose there’s no harm in telling you. Come and sit down. Eleven months ago, I was approached by a Boston society woman, known as Martha, who was handling the fund collection for the Friends of Unita.’

  ‘Martha who?’

  ‘Sorry.’ He looked damned pompous when he folded his lips like that.

  ‘You checked her out, of course.’

  ‘Naturally. Impeccable background. She could trace her roots back to the Pilgrim Fathers. That sort of thing.

  ‘A little over a year ago, shortly before I joined the bank, Martha came to see my father and told him what she and the fund were trying to do. She brought plans and figures to back her story. He was impressed, so he bullied the board into making this charity the first project to benefit from the bank’s development fund, which he had been instrumental in setting up. As I told you, this was his dream. He wanted to push democracy. He’s quaint and old-fashioned, but a hell of a guy. He didn’t deserve this. Anyway, the bank agreed to back the venture with bridging finance to cover purchases, just as long as the investments kept rolling in. You see, Naomi, something touched the American investors’ hearts and they responded with tens, hundreds and thousands of dollars.

  ‘The funds were transferred to FOU’s London account at Dr Anselmo’s request, to buy arms, vehicles and medical supplies.’

  ‘Why London?’

  ‘Anselmo claimed that exchange control in Angola would cause endless delays for foreign payments and that the cash should be kept in London.’

  ‘Sounds reasonable.’

  ‘Yes, but within twelve hours of transfer, Dr Anselmo and the money had disappeared.’

  I tried to keep my face calm while my mind churned with rage.

  Chapter 43

  ‘Disappeared without a trace,’ I muttered bitterly. It was getting to sound like Wolf’s modus operandi. Was that all I had ever been, a project?

  ‘Come and sit here.’ David pulled up a second chair, switched on his computer and connected to the Internet. Within seconds, we were tracing international banking exchange routes and keying in to large deposits.

  ‘Look here! This is my tracking record to date.’

  I pondered over the detailed route traced over an atlas. Three cheques had been made out to Canadian, Belgian and South African munitions and armoured-vehicle manufacturers. The cash amounts had been transferred the moment they were cleared. From then on the three money routes were marked as the cash circled the globe and came to rest for a few days at the Hong Kong Bank in Geneva. Co-currently, $100,000 was transferred to Maun, in Botswana, and withdrawn in cash. The following day, $50,000 were handed over the counter of a specialist safari dealer to purchase a converted Land Rover, which had tanks for massive water supplies and three times the normal petrol capacity. The vehicle had left Botswana at Mukwe, bordering Angola, and no trace of it was seen again.

  ‘One month after the cash was deposited in Geneva, an amount of two million dollars was drawn from the same account and transferred to Prague and from there to Moscow.’

  Was Anselmo yet another alias for Wolf? And was Moscow where he lived? I suppressed my excitement.

  ‘The rest of the cash remained in a Swiss bank. I can’t get further right now because of the secrecy laws, but I’m not without influence and it won’t take me long to get the next step out of them.’

>   I felt confused and scared. How had David got so far so fast? Would he track down Wolf before me? If so, he would hand the matter over to the CIA and they would apply for extradition. Wolf would have all the time in the world to go to ground, or to hide Nicky where I would never find him. What if he found out that I was free? Would he suspect me of identifying him? Would Nicky be harmed?

  ‘I’m right at the beginning,’ David muttered. ‘I’ll catch up with this bastard, I promise you, and I’ll do it my way. I’ve also put out an alert on that Land Rover.’

  ‘For heaven’s sake, David. The money’s destined to circle the globe for months.’ I tried to sound dismissive. ‘You could grow old tracking it.’

  ‘Hey, there, have a little faith,’ he objected. ‘I’m a banker, remember. You can work with me, if you like.’

  ‘Fine by me, if you give me the investors’ list.’

  David shook his head.

  ‘You’re very determined to do things your way and sweep this mess under the carpet, but you’re playing into the con’s hands,’ I said, with minimum politeness. ‘He’s out-thought you all along the line. Don’t you see that secrecy is his ally? Someone has to contact each one of his so-called investors and warn them. As for the fund-raiser, Martha, she could provide some clues about his real identity. Give me the list so I can use it. Give me Martha’s name and address so I can contact her. We’re wasting time here. Bring the whole scam out into the fresh air.’

  He looked offended. ‘Naomi, I have to consider the bank’s and my father’s reputation, and my investors’ privacy,’ he said, in the solemn tones of a future board chairman. ‘As for Martha, I’m unwilling to have a poor old woman dragged into this mess.’

  ‘So that’s it, then? A book entry? A couple of digits off next year’s annual profits and a blanket cover-up?’

  ‘Look at it whichever way you wish.’ When David was angry, his voice softened in inverse proportion to his mood. Right now it was merely a mutter.