Corruption!

by Elizabeth Ducie

  So, he did. And he accepted the coffee, and the glass of vodka Mama Katya insisted they drink together “to new friends and old”. And then he just sat, grinning at Ivan in a haze of warmth and well- being. So much so he almost forgot the purpose of their get-together. Almost, but not quite.

  The following day, Walter Mukooyo made a late start. He was used to heavy evenings, lots of food, plenty of alcohol. After all, he was an inspector for the World Health Organisation, and before that he’d been a politician and senior government official. He was used to people offering him hospitality. But even he found it difficult to easily shake off the effects of an evening with Ivan and Mama Katya.

  “Oh,” he groaned, as the sunlight shone on his face through the open curtains. He’d not got around to closing them when he returned to his room the previous night, or earlier this morning, he realised. “Oh,” he groaned once more as he rolled over and pulled the pillow over his head. “Maybe I’ll have a little longer in bed this morning.”

  A couple of hours later he woke once more, feeling a lot better. He climbed out of bed, showered, dressed and wandered out into the street and around the corner onto Nevsky Prospekt in search of breakfast. Then he would be ready to tackle the pile of documents provided to him the previous evening by his host and new friend, Ivan Ospanov.

  Chapter 34

  “But, I have to say, Suzanne, I’m completely at sea,” Walter Mukooyo said when he phoned her on the Tuesday morning. His voice echoed down the phone lines. He’d told her international calls from the hotel landline were much too expensive for his WHO budget, so he was ringing from his tiny en suite bathroom, perched on the bidet. It was the only place in his hotel room where he could find a decent mobile signal. “Ivan and I have both been through the papers several times and everything seems to be in order. The drugs leave Ukraine; they arrive in Russia. They spend a couple of weeks in Anton’s warehouse; then they’re moved to the premises of a shipping agent. And from there, they go to the docks, are loaded on a cargo ship and sent off to Mombasa. Everything is accounted for. So how can they also be turning up in the krokodil factories? They really can’t be in two places at the same time, now can they?”

  “And you’re positive these are the batches being sold on the black market?” asked Suzanne.

  “Absolutely. The tests were quite conclusive. The friability is identical, as is the dissolution profile. And there is a distinctive scratch on the tooling that shows up as a microscopic mark on the under surface of about one in eight of the tablets. These drugs definitely came from that factory.”

  “You know, Walter, this is all beginning to sound a bit familiar,” Suzanne said, sitting up straight and brushing her hair out of her eyes. “I need to go away and do some thinking about this, maybe get Charlie to do a bit of Googling. Let me call you back tomorrow.”

  “Okay, that’s fine; I appreciate anything you can do to help. But I’d better call you. There’s no guarantee I’ll have a decent signal if you try to get through to me.”

  Suzanne put down the phone, lay back in her chair and closed her eyes. Charlie, who was sitting at her desk working on the month’s accounts and checking reports from their various sub-contractors around the world, gave a grin, but kept quiet. She had enough respect for her sister’s working methods and had seen her memory searches in action so many times in the past few years, that she knew this was going to be a productive exercise. And sure enough, ten minutes later, Suzanne sat up abruptly and opened her eyes. She pulled her laptop towards her and began typing rapidly.

  “Got it!” she said. “It was back in the early 1980s, while we were in school. But it was such a big case, they were still talking about it when I was at university. If I remember rightly, it was officially some kind of appetite suppressant for cattle. But it worked in the same way as speed. And it started turning up in the nightclubs in Britain. Kids were dying then, too. And the drugs were traced to a small company in North London. The inspectors checked it all out and found documents showing that the drugs, nearly twenty million of them, I seem to remember, were actually being sold to Africa.”

  “Another case of drugs being in two places at the same time?” asked Charlie.

  “Precisely.”

  “But it wasn’t, was it?”

  “Of course not. There was a perfectly rational explanation in the end. But it took some detailed detective work to sort it out.” She looked up at her sister. “Charlie, how big’s the apartment Francine’s living in?”

  “Anton’s? It’s big enough. They bought both halves of the top floor and knocked them into one. I had a room to myself and there were two beds in there. Why?”

  “Because I think it’s time we paid our friend a visit in her new home. She’s invited me often enough. Get onto the agency and start the process for getting me a visa, will you? I assume yours is still valid?”

  “Yes, I got a multi-entry one, just in case.” Charlie paused and bit her lip. “But do you really need me too? I’m not sure how Annie’s going to take to the idea of my going out there again. She’s only just forgiven me for last time.”

  “But last time, she was worried about you heading off on a wild goose chase on your own, just on Francine’s say-so. This time, it’s an official project, paid for by the World Health Organisation, no less. And I’ll be there to keep you in line.”

  Charlie stared indignantly at her sister, then let the tension go out of her body and smiled ruefully

  “Well, that’s all true. But what with the baby…”

  Suzanne held up a hand to stop her sister.

  “Steve and I’ve been talking about that. And we’ve got a suggestion to make. Why don’t you guys come to lunch on Saturday and we’ll talk it all through.”

  Part 3

  Chapter 35

  After several days of wading through the documents, Walter Mukooyo was no nearer a solution than when he started. Everything seemed to be in order. Ten million tablets ordered by Anton to fulfil the government order. Ten million tablets manufactured by Kharkiv Pharmaceuticals and packed into cardboard drums, fifty thousand tablets per drum, two hundred drums in total, booked out of the Kharkiv Pharmaceuticals warehouse and transported by road across the border into Russia. Two hundred drums recorded by the customs officials at the border crossing. They must have had fun, counting all those, mused Walter, as he reread everything for the third time. Then there was a record of two hundred drums being loaded on the train to St Petersburg. And finally, receipt of the same number by the warehouse at Petrovpharm.

  He went on to read through the exportation documents at the other end of the process. Two hundred drums dispatched from Petrovpharm a week after receipt, headed for the docks and a container ship to Mombasa. The only documents missing were the lading bills from the customs officials at the port. Ivan had told Walter these would be more difficult to track down, as the system was not yet fully computerised, and this set of documents would be stored at the port.

  “And I’m not sure the guys over there would be happy to release them to you,” he’d said, shaking his head. “The officer in charge is a real bastard; won’t co-operate with anyone else and runs the whole place as his private fiefdom.” He pursed his lips and then went on. “I’ve put in a request for the records, but, to be honest, you’d probably be quicker chasing down the copies Anton should have in his files.” Walter had done nothing about this suggestion so far, but now he picked up the phone and made an appointment to visit Anton at his factory the following week.

  “Dr Mukooyo, it’s a pleasure to see you again,” said Anton as the two men shook hands in the foyer of Petrovpharm on the Monday morning. “Francine and I appreciate how hard you’re working to sort out this mess.”

  Walter was surprised but delighted at this warm reception. When they’d met the previous week, Anton had been polite but distant. And why wouldn’t he be? thought Walter. After all, he was investigating this company, and by definition, this man, for serious breaches of the law which could,
if proved, result in a significant jail sentence. And he guessed it’d be no picnic in a Russian jail. But he smiled and returned the greeting.

  “Mr Dimitriov, I’m delighted to see you again, too.”

  “Please, call me Anton,” was the reply as the two men walked up the stairs in the administration block to reach Anton’s office. Walter thought back to that first meeting, which had been held in the more informal surroundings of the Dimitriov apartment.

  Anton had looked seriously across at his visitor.

  “Dr Mukooyo, I know why you’re here and I want you to know I will co-operate fully with all your investigations. I understand the severity of the situation and I know the risk to me, if you find anything damaging. But I want you to believe I really have no idea how these drugs are getting onto the black market and all I want to do is help you to stop it.”

  “And your friend, Boris…?” Walter queried.

  Anton frowned.

  “I used to think we were friends, when we were much younger, but the more I see of him, the more doubts I have about the true nature of our relationship and his motives in getting in touch with me.”

  Either this man’s a brilliant actor, thought Mukooyo, or he genuinely doesn’t know what’s been going on. He really wanted to believe the latter, for the sake of Francine Matheson and her friends, the Jones sisters, but he’d dealt with a lot of bent politicians and businessmen in his time. He decided to reserve judgment until he had more evidence.

  And that was another reason why this second meeting was taking place. Maybe Anton held the answers without realising it.

  Anton gave Walter a guided tour of the facility, taking him round himself, rather than leaving it to the production director as he had when Charlie visited. Was he trying to show respect for the World Health Organisation and its representative? Or was he just keen on keeping a closer eye on everything that was going on, now he knew about the investigation?

  At the end of the tour, the two men reconvened in Anton’s office.

  “I have to admit, I’m at a complete loss,” said Walter, shaking his head. “Everything looks fine here, just as it did in Kharkiv. And there’s nothing amiss with the documentation. Ten million tablets bought by you from Kharkiv Pharmaceuticals; ten million tablets imported to Russia; and ten million tablets re-exported to Kenya.” He exhaled sharply. “I have to say, I was delighted to hear Suzanne and Charlie are coming to Russia. Maybe they’ll be able to sort this all out. Suzanne suggested when I spoke to her by phone the other day she has an inkling of what’s going on, but she wouldn’t say anything else until she’s had the chance to put her theory to the test.”

  “Okay, so why don’t you come and join us at the apartment on Friday? See what the sisters have come up with,” said Anton. “I must admit I’m looking forward to seeing Charlie again, and I know Francine is too. And it will be interesting to meet Suzanne. I’ve heard a lot about her from the other two.”

  “Right, then,” said Walter, rising from his chair and checking his watch. There was a softball championship on television that afternoon and he was keen to get back to his room to watch it. “I’ll leave you to it. But before I go, did you manage to get those bills of lading for me?”

  “Yes, of course. We’ll collect them from my secretary on the way out. And I’ll get my driver to give you a lift.” And with an envelope of thin slips, which might possibly solve the conundrum with which they were all wrestling, Walter Mukooyo climbed into Anton’s Mercedes and gave the driver, Viktor, the name of his hotel.

  Chapter 36

  The lounge was already crowded on the Friday morning when Walter Mukooyo arrived at Anton’s penthouse apartment in the centre of the city. Anton was sprawled in an armchair glancing through the newspaper. He looked less business-like but still well-dressed today, his pinstripe suit replaced with neatly pressed chinos and a checked shirt. Francine, Suzanne and Charlie were seated at the large round dining table passing papers back and forward between them. Mama D and Lydia were moving around the room, filling coffee cups and proffering biscuits.

  Suzanne and Charlie jumped up as Walter entered the room. The former gave him a gentle smile and shook his hand, leaning forward to kiss his cheek. The latter pulled him into a bear hug. Each, in their own way, was as pleased to see him as he seemed to be to see them.

  Anton rose from his chair and shook Walter’s hand before formally introducing him to Mama D and Lydia; both had been absent the day he’d come to the apartment for the first meeting with Francine and Anton.

  “Do sit down, Dr Mukooyo,” said Francine, as Mama D handed him a cup of coffee. He took a seat at the table with the three British women and they began going through the documents once more. Suzanne was scribbling on a piece of paper and banging numbers out on a calculator. And finally, she sat back with a grin.

  “I think we’ve got them!” The words came quietly but had an immediate effect on all the occupants of the room. They all looked expectantly at her. “It’s not easy to spot, because not all the information is on any one of the papers. But once you look at the details, it’s right in front of our eyes.”

  She paused, and Charlie waved at her to continue.

  “Come on, sis, don’t keep us in suspense. What have you spotted?”

  “We’ve been checking the number of containers all along, right? Two hundred leaving Kharkiv; two hundred crossing the border; two hundred boarding the train; two hundred being delivered to Petrovpharm; two hundred leaving Petrovpharm for the shipping agent; and two hundred being shipped off to Mombasa. And we’ve assumed that because the number of containers is consistent, then they are automatically the same containers.”

  “A reasonable assumption, surely,” said Anton.

  “Reasonable, certainly, but not necessarily correct,” replied Suzanne. “Tell me, Anton, did you open any of the containers while they were here in St Petersburg.”

  “Yes, we do a random sampling. About eight per cent of the drums are opened and checked. You should have the results somewhere in the paperwork there.”

  “I’ve got one of those,” said Francine, scrabbling through the papers. “Here, sampled on third of May. Sixteen drums opened, samples removed from each one and analysed to confirm the contents to be codeine phosphate tablets.” She pulled another paper out of the pile. “And here’s the results of the original analysis before the product left Kharkiv Pharmaceuticals.”

  “Any differences that you can see?” asked Suzanne.

  “No, all the results are pretty much identical. A few minor differences, but they can easily be explained away by the variation across the batch from the manufacturing process.”

  “So, we can be sure the drugs that left Kharkiv Pharmaceuticals were the same ones that arrived here and were sampled. But after that, they’re not sampled again. We’ve no positive proof the same drugs left the factory here or arrived at the port.”

  “Now wait a minute…,” said Anton.

  “Come on, Suzanne…” said Francine.

  Mama D and Lydia stopped what they were doing and looked at Suzanne in a horrified manner.

  “What are you suggesting, sis?” said Charlie quietly.

  Suzanne looked up from the papers she was studying and suddenly became aware of the anxious looks and scowls on the faces of the other people in the room.

  “No, no, don’t panic,” she said. “I’m not suggesting there was anything wrong with the product that left here. Quite the opposite in fact. All I am showing is where the trail becomes difficult to follow.”

  “And…?” said Anton testily.

  “And from this point on, we have to stop looking at the chemical contents of the containers and start looking at the containers themselves.” She held out her hand to Francine. “Let me have a look at the documents from Kharkiv please, Francine.” She held it up. “See, here, on the transport document. We have the weight of one of the containers.” She pointed to her sister. “Charlie, get that calculator of yours working.” Then she rapidl
y began spitting out numbers. “Each dose is 60mg of active ingredient in a 500mg tablet. There are 50,000 tablets in a container. That’s 25,000 grams or 25kg per container. And see, here on the documents, it confirms: two hundred containers at 25kg each.” She picked up the lading documents filled in when the tablets were loaded on the ship and sent to Mombasa. “We don’t have the weight of the containers when they went on board, but we do have the dimensions. It says here: two hundred boxes, 500mm tall x 300mm deep x 300mm wide.”

  “Hang on,” said Anton, “that can’t be right! The tablets were in drums; tall round drums. I saw them myself. So how…”

  “…can they have recorded three dimensions for them when they were loaded on the ship?” finished Francine.

  “Because the containers that left here were not the same ones that arrived at the port,” said Suzanne. “And if we were able to check the weights of those containers, I think we’d be able to show that ten million codeine phosphate tablets wouldn’t fit into these boxes anyway.”

  “So even if someone had repacked the bags of tablets in boxes for better use of storage space on board, there isn’t room for the whole shipment in these two hundred boxes,” said Walter. He beamed across at Suzanne. “You’ve done it. Well done!”

  “Now all we have to do is work out where the switch was made and exactly what was in those boxes that left St Petersburg for Mombasa,” said Francine.

  “Which means we need to find out much more about Boris and the shipping company he’s using,” said Walter.

  Anton cleared his throat and rose to his feet.

  “I’ve been thinking about that,” he said, “and I’ve had an idea.” He looked across at his mother and sister. “But I’m afraid you ladies aren’t going to like it.”

  Chapter 37

  The police arrived at eleven o’clock that night. Everyone had known it was going to happen, but it was still a shock when the bang came on the door. Mama D was shushing Lydia who wept quietly in the corner, but Francine could see the older woman was barely holding it together herself. She’d told Francine earlier that every time she saw a policeman, it reminded her of the old days, when no-one knew who’d whispered something in the wrong person’s ear and there was no need, or likelihood, of a reasonable explanation when someone was arrested.