Sunstroke

by Madge Swindells

  At one o’clock, Cassellari’s housekeeper came to tell me that lunch was served. Cassellari was not too pleased to see me. I could see that he was used to doing the summoning and not the other way around. Nevertheless, he was a courteous host and I kept the conversation to small-talk as we ate smoked salmon and caviare with a magnificent salad.

  ‘Now, Naomi, just what is your problem? You do look pale. Is something wrong?’ Cassellari’s voice hardened as he shot me a suspicious glance.

  I shuddered inwardly. ‘I have flu. I don’t feel well. In fact, I got out of bed to come here, but I felt it was important.’

  Would he buy my story? I was counting on his incredible conceit to help me.

  ‘Signor Cassellari, I’m worried about de Sica. You know how conscientious I am about my work.’ I forced myself to gaze anxiously into his eyes.

  He frowned.

  ‘I know he handles your money-laundering, but you should have asked me. He’s made a terrible mistake. You could lose out and that would be bad for you.’

  ‘Hey, hey, slow down! What you are talking about, Naomi?’

  ‘Your cheque for a million dollars, which you paid to the Trans-African Development Foundation. I know you get top interest rates in Sarajevo but, believe me, you’ve fallen into a trap. The fund is run by a crook who defrauds his clients of their cash. One of his pseudonyms is Gunther Mannheim. He conned millions from gullible businessmen in South Africa. Most of their cash is in that same bank account. I don’t want you to lose out. I’ve come here to warn you. Perhaps I can help you.’

  ‘How touching, Naomi. But how would you know all this?’

  ‘It’s my business to know these things. That’s why you pay me.’

  His small brown eyes showed his distrust, but there was something else, too. Amusement, perhaps.

  ‘You should have let me launder this cash for you, Signor Cassellari. You know you can trust me.’

  ‘Don’t worry.’ He patted my hand. ‘De Sica and I go back a long way. I’ll call him.’

  That was the last thing I wanted. I gazed at my plate and tried not to look anxious.

  De Sica arrived shortly afterwards, looking angry. He sat down, poured himself a glass of wine and scrutinized me contemptuously.

  ‘It wasn’t that sort of a deal, Nina,’ he said, when I had finished explaining. ‘As a matter of fact, Angelo set the whole thing up. An old Russian peasant, who had managed to get some of his land restored to him, wanted to sell us his farm. We bought it. End of story.’

  ‘Old? How old?’

  ‘Gnarled, toothless, almost senile, but cunning.’

  ‘I don’t understand why you would want to buy his land. In fact, I don’t believe you.’

  I stared Cassellari straight in the eyes without a flinch. ‘I came here to help you,’ I said, standing up and trying to look insulted.

  ‘Sit down, Nina.’ Cassellari’s smile gave me the shivers. His was not a face for smiling. ‘This Russian had planted out the estate in poppies. Of course, it was the opium we wanted and that’s what we paid for, but it was disguised as a land deal. It was all above board, so we paid him a cheque.’

  ‘And you made it out to the Trans-African…?’

  ‘No, Naomi. It was an uncrossed cheque made out to Piotra Gregov.’

  ‘That was the landowner’s name?’

  ‘Obviously.’

  ‘Why uncrossed?’

  ‘He didn’t have a bank account,’ de Sica said. ‘I told you, he was a peasant type. He wanted to pass on the cheque. He said he was buying land somewhere outside Russia.’

  ‘Do you know where?’

  ‘No.’

  I sighed. ‘Where was this old man’s land?’

  ‘Place called Biryuchek, on the Caspian Sea. Perfect for transport. Why all these questions? Don’t you trust me?’

  ‘Oh, yes. Yes, I do. I’m so relieved. I’d hate to see you lose out on a deal.’

  ‘Hey, there! Perhaps you need some more work. Are you short of money, Naomi? You know how much I value your services. I’ll contact you in a couple of days’ time.’

  ‘Well, thanks. I can always do with more work.’

  I could see that de Sica was puzzled. He was about to ask me how I knew about the cheque when I led the conversation back to money-laundering and the way the world’s governments were tightening up on their restrictions. Even the Russians were giving the police draconian powers to deal with money-launderers. It was only a matter of time before they brought in restrictive laws. Perhaps we should find an alternative route to Borovoi’s bank. As soon as I could I left them pondering.

  *

  I sat on the plane, sipping a neat Scotch, thinking about my next move, but feeling light-headed as my temperature soared. I decided that I should not be seen asking questions about the sale of the sixty thousand hectares planted with opium in Biryuchek. Wolf might live there, or have contacts in that area. It would be better to employ a detective agency and let them trace Piotra Gregov’s present whereabouts.

  I took a cab from Nice airport and plotted my next moves on the drive to Monaco. Father would know of a good agency for me. Despite my sore throat and headache, I could hardly contain my surging optimism. Was it possible that Wolf had at last committed a supreme error by leaving a trail between his aliases and his real personality? Could he be that careless? Dare I hope?

  *

  It was a relief to get home. I took a warm bath and climbed into bed, falling asleep instantly. At one a.m. the telephone woke me.

  ‘Who is it?’

  ‘Who’s speaking? What number is that?’

  ‘Oh, Sergei, it’s me. I’ve got a sore throat. I’ve almost lost my voice.’

  ‘Where the hell have you been?’

  ‘Home. What’s it got to do with you, Sergei?’

  ‘You’re supposed to start work at the Diamond Circle tomorrow morning.’

  ‘I’m sick. I’ve got flu. Tell them I’m taking the day off. I’ll start the next day. Honestly, Sergei, I’m dying.’

  ‘Well, I hope we don’t miss out on sighting Wolf.’

  I said goodbye and replaced the receiver. The chance of Wolf returning to his old haunts was hardly likely. Surely he knew that Sergei was looking for him, but I might as well play along.

  Chapter 66

  The days dragged by as I marked time at the Brussels Diamond Circle and tried to throw off the flu. I was sitting at the switchboard when a call came for me. It was the German detective agency my father had recommended.

  ‘Haape, here, Miss Ogilvie. I’m sorry, but we have been unable to trace the whereabouts of Piotra Gregov. It’s true that he sold his estate to Vittorio Cassellari’s company, International Trading, based in Sardinia, but he took his money and left. He told no one where he was going. No one has heard from him. We sent a Russian-speaking agent to question his friends and neighbours, but there was no luck at all. It seems he was determined to kick the dust of Mother Russia off his feet for ever.’

  I thanked him and replaced the receiver. ‘Shit!’ I sneezed into my tissue and cursed again. My search had been looking so favourable. The disappointment was hard to bear.

  Then I had another idea. What if David was right in his presumption that Wolf came from Latvia? What if Father was right about Wolf inheriting a title? It was worth a try. I called back the agency.

  ‘Listen. I have an idea. I want you to send an agent to Latvia to check the deeds office for all land, mine or building sales over the past six months. Search for anyone who sold anything to Piotra Gregov for a million dollars.’

  ‘That’s a bit of a tall order, Miss Ogilvie. Have you any idea what’s involved?’

  ‘Okay, start with titled families. Would that make it easier?’

  ‘Well, I don’t think—’

  ‘Just do it! Call me back as soon as you have news.’ I replaced the receiver.

  *

  It was almost four when the outside doors swung open and a uniformed messenger walked i
n. He approached hesitantly carrying a letter. ‘I’m looking for Miss Naomi Hunter.’

  ‘That’s me.’

  The sudden draught seemed to blow right through me. I shivered and tried to swallow, but the pain was intense. I signed the messenger’s receipt book and opened the envelope.

  David’s handwriting. My heart lurched. ‘Meet me outside the De Witt Diamond Centre between midnight and one a.m. tonight. Urgent.’ Below was an address and a hand-drawn map showing the way.

  I memorized the directions, put the note into the shredder and got on with my work.

  *

  Why would David want to meet me here, I wondered. I glanced at my watch. Midnight. I was dead on time. Visibility was poor in the misty drizzle, but I could see a gaunt six-storey building at the end of the road and as I drove closer I saw the name, De Witt Diamond Centre, on a brass plaque beside the main entrance. Further off, a car was parked under a leafless plane tree. There were no other signs of life.

  I parked by the kerb and saw the car’s door open. A figure stepped out, bent to retrieve a sack from the back seat and locked the car. I wasn’t quite sure how I knew it was David, but I did. As he hurried towards me, with his familiar, loping stride, I realized how much I had missed him and I regretted my suspicions.

  Oh, David, if only I could tell you how I feel about you. I got out of the car and flinched as the cold drizzle hit my face.

  ‘Let’s go,’ he said, by way of greeting. Taking my arm, he led me briskly round the corner, and the next, until we were one block away from the De Witt building and at the entrance to a large yard. He bent over the padlock and fiddled with a key. The gate creaked open and we walked through.

  The drizzle was penetrating my clothes and David was acting like a stranger, which depressed me more than the rain. I sneezed. Shit!

  We crept between the cars until we reached the fence, which lay under a line of fir trees and separated the car park from the building.

  ‘Get down,’ he muttered.

  ‘What for?’

  He swore under his breath, so I crouched by the fence and watched him cut a hole big enough for us to crawl through. He might have warned me. It was goodbye to my new Italian shoes. I could feel the heels grating deep into the gravel with every step. As I crawled through the hole, I felt my stockings rip.

  ‘Okay, hold this,’ he murmured, as I straightened up. He handed me his raincoat, and I saw that he was wearing black jeans and a sweater. He took a webbing ladder out of the sack with two hooks attached to one end.

  ‘Oh, no. Please. You’ll hurt yourself.’

  ‘Ssh, Nina. Wait here and keep quiet.’

  The hooks were hardly the size of my hand, but David was trusting them to hold his weight. He flung them at the first floor burglar bars and they hung in there. Moments later he was climbing up the webbing. Clinging precariously to the bars he tossed the ladder up to the next level.

  Amazing! I could see that he was an expert in breaking and entering. In a matter of minutes he had disappeared over the last ledge on to the flat roof. The drizzle turned into a downpour as I waited, shaking with icy-cold shivers.

  *

  Five minutes later, the back door opened, and David beckoned to me. ‘Sorry, we can’t put the lights on.’ He flicked his torch on and off. ‘Try to get your bearings when the light shines. This way. These old buildings are just waiting to be burgled. It wasn’t too difficult to dismantle the alarm, since it’s on the roof. I got the building plans from the deeds office.’

  ‘You took a chance.’

  ‘No. I came here yesterday, pretending to be a client, and checked out the wiring.’

  ‘Why are we here?’

  ‘It’s rumoured that part of the Russians’ stolen diamonds are here at de Witt’s, being cut and polished for an unknown client. Friends told me. Come on, Nina.’

  So we weren’t pretending any more. Suddenly I felt as light as air, as if a millstone had fallen from my shoulders.

  ‘David, I want you to know that I only deceived you because…’

  ‘Sh! The past is over. Forget it. Keep up. You’re wasting time.’

  ‘I can’t see a bloody thing. I’m blind in the dark. Always have been.’ I blinked hard and my watery vista cleared a little.

  The torch flickered ahead giving a pool of light. I stepped into it, unwilling to move further, but the light went off again.

  ‘This way.’ I blundered into the darkness. ‘Fuck!’ My shins had collided with a chair.

  ‘Ssh! Quiet.’

  ‘Sorry.’

  I followed the will-o’-the-wisp light as it danced across the room and blundered into David. It was his turn to curse.

  ‘Hold the torch, Nina. Shine it down on these files. I’ll go through them.’

  There were ten filing cabinets with four drawers each and we examined every file. Two hours later, my back was aching, my flu was making me light-headed and the torch felt as heavy as lead, but we were on the last cabinet.

  A whistle brought me wearily back to life.

  ‘Okay, here we are. B B Investments. What d’you think that stands for?’

  ‘I have no idea.’

  ‘Your friend Boris Borovoi, what else? He and his wife are the sole directors of this company, according to the letterhead, but I knew that anyway. The company owns some real estate outside Russia, half the Bukharin Bank in partnership with Cassellari, and other assets in Russia. I’ve been doing my homework while you’ve been sitting around wasting time at the Diamond Circle.’

  ‘Yes, it is a waste of time, but Sergei still thinks Wolf will pitch up there.’

  ‘Your Romanovitch isn’t very bright. He still thinks Wolf stole the diamonds, but he didn’t. Borovoi did. It was easy for him to blame Moller for the theft. Moller’s the ideal scapegoat.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I am now. Before it was just a theory. According to this receipt, B B Investments owns the batch being cut and polished here, which is valued at a hundred million dollars. That’s only part of what was stolen. Here’s a copy of De Witt’s receipt for the gemstones, and here’s a quote for the job in hand. And here’s an agreement that De Witt will accept payment in diamonds.

  ‘I want you to take these receipts and letters to Romanovitch. You’ll have to explain what it all means. You may find him sexy but, as I said, there’s not much between his ears. Artistic type, that’s all. Typical woman’s man.’

  So he knew I had spent time with Sergei. Silence would be my best defence, I decided.

  ‘Nina, I’m convinced that Borovoi impersonated Moller when arranging to steal the Russian diamonds for Romanovitch. It would be easy for him to do this, since Wolf always communicates by telephone and e-mail. Borovoi has worked with Moller in the past so he knows the man’s style and so does Romanovitch.’

  ‘But why are you so concerned that Sergei should know the truth?’

  ‘I’m anxious to set one against the other. You can’t fight both of them at the same time, Nina. Let them fight each other.’

  ‘Oh, yes. Of course you’re right. You know this business well, don’t you? Can we go now, please, David? I feel sick. And can we have some light this time? I’m badly bruised and I feel so odd.’

  As I followed the flickering light, I was aware of his disappointment. He had expected me to be far more enthusiastic, but I felt so damned ill.

  *

  Sitting in my car, David revealed his amazing plan. He looked so smug and happy about it. He had every right to be pleased with himself, so why wasn’t I? What is it with you, Nina? Are you so arrogant you wanted to find your son yourself? No! It was something else, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  ‘Listen, Nina. I’ve persuaded some philanthropic banks back home, including our bank, to set up a fund to help maintain democracy in former Russian satellite states. We plan to offer substantial cash injections and we’ll begin with the Balkans. We’ve even persuaded the IMF to send observers, so we’re able to state that
this is a joint IMF-private enterprise endeavour.

  ‘We’ll put on. lectures by various bankers, experts and economists, and, of course, we can’t avoid the politicians. All those Balkan landowners, whose estates have been restored to them, will be encouraged to apply for substantial cash loans to turn their farms and mines into viable economic propositions. Well, what do you think?’

  ‘It’s a brilliant idea, David. But is it for real? Will they get the cash?’

  ‘Of course. It’s exactly what we had in mind when we were stung by that Friends of Unita scam.’

  ‘I’m impressed, David. You’re very tenacious. I can’t tell you—’

  ‘Don’t bother. I’m enjoying nailing that bastard. I can’t wait to hand him over. The police of six nations will be waiting to catch him. The plan is that you will be there, too, perhaps hidden behind one-way glass, because only you can identify the bastard. Once he fills in the application forms, we’ll have established his true identity and his address. Very neat, don’t you think?’

  ‘Mm, maybe. Wolf doesn’t lack the capital to develop his estates himself. He’s spent half his life stealing it.’

  ‘True. That’s a possible flaw, but can you see him turning down the offer of loaned cash at very low interest rates?’

  ‘No. Not really. Why should he? You’re right. I think this is going to work. Thank you, David.’

  ‘I’m overwhelmed by your enthusiasm.’

  ‘I’m sorry. I’ve had flu for days. I can’t shake it off. I feel terrible.’

  ‘You should stay in bed. You’re wasting your time at the Exchange. I’ve just come back from Riga, where I held a couple of get-togethers. The landowners are eating out of our hands. Any one of the men I’ve spoken to could have been Wolf Moller.’

  ‘What can I say? It’s a very clever idea. Thank you, David.’