Sunstroke

by Madge Swindells

  The ‘details’ involved setting up an account in Switzerland entitled the Trans-African Development Foundation and transferring fifty thousand pounds from my trust account to this account, with myself and my father as the sole signatories.

  *

  It was a week before I landed at Sarajevo airport and took a taxi to the city centre. It was cold for June, and the commuters were huddled in coats and scarves. Everyone looked bleak. The city is situated dead centre of a huge, flat plain encircled with distant mountains, like an amphitheatre. On my last visit, its surroundings had been one vast, snowy plain; now there were patches of wild flowers in the grassy fields, some cattle and goats. Suddenly we were driving among blitzed high-rise blocks on either side of the road, many windows were shattered and boarded up and a few buildings had been totally destroyed. The previous vivid contrasts of architecture had given way to a depressing uniformity of rubble, dirty streets and shattered facades.

  Did Nicky live somewhere here? The thought frightened me.

  The Holiday Inn hotel was still standing, but a little scarred. I booked in, dumped my suitcase and took a taxi to the Bosnaskandia Bank, situated in a once-beautiful art-deco building near the Sarajevo hospital. The windows were shuttered and boarded up, but the bank was intact. Presenting my Oxfam credentials at the information counter, I was shown down a flight of stairs to the vaults, built to withstand almost any blast and temporarily converted into offices.

  The manager, Michel Banski, a stocky, middle-aged man with sallow skin and thinning hair, hurried in. He held out both hands and clasped mine in his. His broad smile revealed damaged teeth held together by intricate dentistry, but his eyes shone with friendship and I warmed to him.

  ‘Dobrodosli! Welcome! Welcome to Sarajevo. It’s not often I have visitors from London, Miss Hunter. I only wish I could offer you something civilized in the way of refreshment. Alas, those days are past. But I am thrilled that Oxfam has sent us an observer. Our people keep suffering.’

  This seemed as good a time as any to bring out my gift, six half-kilo packs of coffee. I was hoping that he would not be offended but, to my relief, he was delighted.

  ‘That is not the only reason why I’m here, Mr Banski. I need details about an account in your bank. The Trans-African Development Foundation—’

  I was cut short as Banski stood up and gave a strange little bow. His friendly smile had vanished.

  ‘I’m afraid you are wasting your time. I have never heard this name.’

  ‘Please hear me out, Mr Banski.’ I stayed glued to my seat and produced my cheque book showing the withdrawal on the cheque stub. ‘Five days ago, I transferred fifty thousand pounds from London to this account, the Trans-African Development Foundation, in Sarajevo. This was to settle a debt with the account holder. Will you please check that the money has been transferred?’

  Banski’s face was a picture of sullen suspicion as he began to tap into his desktop computer.

  ‘There is no trace of the transferred cash, Miss Hunter. Do you have a deposit slip or any other proof of transfer?’

  I handed him my slip.

  He scowled. ‘But this is not the right number for this account. It’s not even the right bank. Yet the name is correct. You have made a mistake. Please wait here. I shall check on this branch number. I won’t be long.’

  ‘I only need five minutes, Michel Banski,’ I murmured to myself, as I took his chair and typed the number of Wolf’s account, gleaned from Mrs Martha Newton-Thomas.

  Seconds later, disappointment flooded through me. The account had been opened through a nominee, an offshore company registered in the Dutch Antibes. I memorized the address, but I doubted I would find any names, even if I went there. Instructions from this company to the bank came by fax. Only one withdrawal had been made since the cash was first deposited and that was to launch FOU. The cash was out on call and interest payments were credited monthly to the account. The manager had made a note, but it was written in Serbo-Croatian. I copied it faithfully into my notebook.

  There was only one other credit and that was for one million dollars from a Sardinian bank, transferred from an account called International Trading. I copied out the account number.

  I heard footsteps, switched off the computer and raced back to my chair.

  Mr Banski’s eyes reflected his unease. ‘Why are you here? Who sent you, Miss Hunter?’

  He placed my paying-in slip on the desk, but kept one hand on it. ‘If you won’t answer me, I shall be obliged to call the police.’

  ‘I told you why I’m here. Have you traced my money?’

  ‘Yes, to a newly opened account in Switzerland.’ His eyes veered to his computer. Suddenly, I realized that he had left it switched on. Damn!

  He reached for the telephone receiver and began to dial.

  ‘Before you call the police, hear me out, Mr Banski. I can have the CIA, Interpol, and the intelligence services of at least three more countries sniffing around your bank, asking questions, trying to get entrance to your files, within hours of my contacting them. You probably aren’t aware that a highly paid spy, whom the Americans have been trying to trace for years, is a client of your bank.

  ‘Believe me, Mr Banski, if this information were to hit the headlines, and your bank came to the attention of the world’s intelligence agents, your drug barons would withdraw their cash and place it somewhere safer. You probably wouldn’t survive such a run on the bank. Do I make myself clear?’

  Banski looked sullen and dangerous as I stood up.

  ‘My job is to take whatever cash comes this way, pay the interest and keep my eyes shut. That is what I do. You are a foolhardy woman, Miss Hunter, but I don’t want any trouble. I am retaining your transfer slip.’

  ‘It’s all yours.’ I picked up my bag and left.

  Chapter 47

  It was two o’clock in the afternoon when I returned to mv hotel, feeling fairly optimistic and a little hungry. My first priority was to send Father my report by e-mail and ask him to check on the Sardinian bank account of International Trading and to have the bank manager’s notes translated soonest.

  Then I went down to the dining room. It seemed to me that I was on the verge of a breakthrough. Deep in thought, I hardly noticed the other guests as I passed along the counter with my tray. I took a sandwich, a bowl of salad and a cup of coffee, and paid absent-mindedly.

  Sitting by the window, I tried to chew my sandwich but I was no longer hungry. Was Nicky getting enough to eat? The thought of him abandoned in an orphanage was almost more than I could bear. Would I recognize him if I saw him, I wondered. Two years had passed since Wolf took him away.

  Suddenly, I was back in my Constantia kitchen watching Nicky clamber out of his high chair as I ran towards him. He was always so impatient to be done with breakfast and play in the garden. His soft brown eyes gazed at me with love and trust, believing that I would always be there to catch him as he tottered on the seat. And I always was. I swung him up and round and placed him on the floor. As he ran outside, I watched his red hair flame in the morning sunlight and heard and loved his laugh as he ran across the lawn, accompanied by the big, adoring dog.

  The image vanished as I became aware of someone looming over me. I blinked hard and frowned up into David Bernstein’s hostile eyes. I felt riled by the spasm of comfort his sudden appearance triggered off.

  ‘So here you are. I might have guessed you’d pitch up like the proverbial bad penny.’

  ‘Don’t be trite, David.’

  He looked away, but not before I’d seen anger and hurt glinting in his eyes.

  ‘It’s a tough world, David. Dreams don’t work out and no one is quite what they seem to be. Haven’t you learned that yet?’

  ‘Just talk,’ David muttered, pulling out a chair and sitting next to me.

  ‘About what?’

  ‘About why you lied to me, why you destroyed my research and stole the list of investors. Not that it helped you. I have other lists and
a photographic memory. You committed a criminal offence and I want to know why.’

  ‘You can’t prove that.’

  ‘Are you denying it?’

  I didn’t answer, not wanting to tell more lies.

  He sighed. ‘Damn you, Naomi. Why don’t you lie?’

  ‘Would that make you feel better?’

  ‘You’re cool, I’ll give you that. I was about to hand you over to the FBI, but I checked up on you with friends in the business and learned that in June nineteen eighty-eight, you were sentenced to five years for embezzling funds from a Perth building society where you worked. Despite your gracious appearance you’re an ex-con, caught red-handed with your hands in the till, jailed for fraud. Australian. My God! You really hoodwinked me. You’ve only been out a year. Is it so hard to go straight, or are you bent on self-destruction? Did your boyfriend, the bogus Dr Anselmo, send you to wipe out the trail? Don’t you realize that cleaning up after your accomplice makes you as guilty as he? You’d have got ten years at least if I’d handed you over.’

  ‘You still can, David.’

  ‘The trouble is, I can’t help feeling sorry for you. Perhaps you need help. This con-man seems to have some power over you. You don’t seem to me like a criminal type. Listen, Naomi. I’ve offered a 500,000 dollar reward for information leading to the arrest of the bogus Dr Anselmo. That cash will be yours if you identify him for me. I’m prepared to forget what you did if you tell me what you know about this man. Otherwise…’

  ‘That’s unworthy of you, David.’

  He had the grace to flush. ‘What is this man to you? Can’t you see what he’s doing to you?’

  ‘You’ve got it wrong, David. I intend to bring him to justice, but first I have to find out who he really is and where he is. I didn’t want to deceive you, but I would break any rules or laws to find him. Don’t ask me more questions because I’m not going to tell you a damn thing.’

  When David frowned every feature was brought into play: his eyes narrowed, his bottom lip was thrust out, his jaw tightened, and his brow wrinkled. To me he looked like a ham actor trying to look tough. I could never take his anger seriously. I smiled at him.

  ‘You knew this man personally.’

  It wasn’t a question so I kept quiet.

  ‘You were his partner?’

  ‘Partner in crime? No, never.’

  ‘Then he stole something from you.’

  ‘Spot on, David. He stole something precious.’ I could hear the bitterness in my voice.

  ‘And you would do anything to get it back?’

  ‘Yes, David. Believe me. Anything.’

  ‘Money should never be that important.’

  I gazed at my cup.

  ‘Naomi, trust me. I want to help you.’

  ‘If I believed that, I’d believe anything. You can’t help me, except by keeping away from me.’

  ‘Now who’s being trite? D’you know where this man is?’

  ‘If I did, I’d be there.’

  ‘Do you love him?’

  I shook my head.

  ‘Did you take the rap for him?’

  ‘Yes. Now get off my back, David.’

  I pushed my chair away and stood up. ‘Please excuse me, I have an appointment.’

  His hand clutched my wrist. How strong he was. His grip was like a handcuff.

  ‘You can’t frighten me, David. Let go.’

  ‘How could someone like you get so hard and so mistaken? Be careful, Naomi. I’m probably a fool to say this, but I’d like to help you. If you should run into something you can’t handle, you know where to find me.’

  He let go of my wrist and sat hunched over his chair, his face too close to mine, gazing into my eyes.

  ‘Why, David?’

  ‘I’d like you to stay out of prison long enough to settle down and lead a normal life.’

  I shut my eyes tightly, resisting the impulse to tell him my story and enlist his help. I had no defence against his kindness, but I knew that if I wanted to find Nicky before Wolf took cover I had to keep one step ahead of David Bernstein.

  ‘Just forget me, David. Goodbye.’

  *

  It was time to visit the local orphanage. The hotel receptionist gave me the address. I returned to my room to fetch a coat and check the e-mail, and found that Father’s reply was already waiting.

  Well done, Nina. Be careful! I have discovered that the Bosnaskandia Bank is owned by a consortium containing a number of bad boys from the East and the West. I suggest you move to another hotel and leave Sarajevo as soon as possible.

  The bank manager's note reads: ‘All the faxed instructions received to date were anonymous, referring to credits on the way. They were sent from Vienna, Prague, Paris, Rome and Istanbul post offices. The last communication, received in October ’94, informs us that the client is closing his account on 1–10–95. He will send written instructions later concerning the transfer of his capital.’

  Lastly, Nina, the International Trading account is one of the many local accounts into which Vittorio Cassellari’s laundered loot goes. He is one of the most dangerous men in the drug business. Love, Father.

  I trashed the message and called the porter to order a taxi to take me to the orphanage.

  *

  It was an old, rambling, broken-down house in the Austrian sector. There was a plane tree in the middle of the front lawn with several tyres hanging from ropes and this cheered me.

  I asked the driver to wait, and went inside to find the matron. No one could locate her, so eventually a young nurse showed me round.

  I don’t know what I’d been expecting, but not these rows of cots where children sat apathetically still and quiet, with absolutely nothing to do. Bleak eyes, running noses, scabby skins and a strong smell of urine surrounded me. They had all wet their cots.

  ‘When do they get out to play?’

  The nurse spoke very little English. ‘Excuse…?’

  ‘When is their playtime? They do play sometimes, don’t they?’

  She shrugged.

  I began to feel anger mounting. It began somewhere in my solar plexus and it churned my stomach and burned my cheeks and my eyes.

  Bending over a cot, I picked up a little red-haired boy and held him close to me. He smelled badly of vomit and urine and he began to cry, so I put him back.

  ‘Excuse me.’

  The nurse hurried away while I crept from cot to cot, wondering who would ever take the time to talk to these little mites. Who would teach them to play, to laugh, to run? Were they ever naughty?

  The nurse returned with the matron, who took my arm and accompanied me through the dormitories. She looked sad as she tried to explain. ‘We have two hundred children. We don’t have enough money to feed them, so two of my sisters are engaged full time in collecting funds. We are too short-staffed to look after them properly. We can only supervise one play group at a time, with one nurse in charge. The rest of my staff handle medical care, washing, cooking, feeding and, to be honest, we are all exhausted. There is no time to give any of them personal attention or to teach them to talk.’

  ‘Just one person with a blackboard could do so much,’ I whispered.

  ‘Why don’t you send us help, my dear? We need volunteer workers. We don’t have the facilities to engage extra staff.’

  ‘I’ll suggest that in my report to Oxfam.’

  As we passed the cots, I continued my search for another small, silent, red-headed boy. When I had completed my research and assured myself that Nicky was not there, I offered a prayer of thanks to whatever saint was supposed to watch over children and left.

  My driver was waiting. ‘You were followed here. I don’t want trouble.’

  He frowned as he pointed across the street to a parked car. I caught a glimpse of David’s profile.

  ‘No trouble, just a curious friend, I promise you. Take me back to the hotel, please.’

  How dare David spy on me? Maybe he suspected that I was not Naomi
Hunter. I knew that I had to find out.

  Chapter 48

  I waylaid David in the lobby. ‘Why are you following me, David? Do you still believe that I stole Unita’s money? Or do you think I will lead you to Dr Anselmo?’

  ‘I want to know who you are.’

  ‘You do know. An ex-con, caught with my hands in the till. Those were your words. It’s true, I did serve time for fraud and other crimes. There’s nothing else you could possibly want to know about me.’

  ‘So you say. Yet you spent your afternoon touring the local orphanage and I heard that you were upset. You intrigue me, Naomi. You can’t leave before tomorrow afternoon. There are no flights, so neither can I. Let’s put our differences aside. Have dinner with me tonight. Please.’

  Why not? I had nothing else to do.

  ‘Where?’

  ‘Daire’s, in the Turkish quarter. I’m told the food’s marvellous. See you in the foyer at eight.’

  *

  The nightclub was in the basement of what had once been a granary. It was decorated Renaissance style and the floor-show of gypsy dancers was entertaining.

  ‘David knew a great deal about Yugoslavia and the background to the civil war and I listened to him through an exotic dinner of skamplignje, a spicy squid dish, begova corbar, soup, and bakalava, a light pastry with jam.

  Eventually, he said, ‘Just what did you hope to get out of Michel Banski?’

  I shrugged and then stared at my hands. ‘I’m not going to discuss this with you, David.’

  ‘I want to know why you’re here. I went through Martha’s computer after you ran away. There was only one entry of any interest, the Trans-African Development Foundation. The cheque for the original payment to launch the fund came from this account in Sarajevo. Not really enough information to bring you here. Something tells me that the name of this account was not new to you. It linked this bogus Anselmo with the man you are looking for. Isn’t that so?’

  ‘No, David. Is this why we’re having dinner? You could have asked me in the hotel foyer this morning.’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘So why didn’t you?’