“He’s a former director of a Dubai-based private equity firm and non-executive director of the Bank of Syria.”
“What about in the UK?”
“He’s a non-executive director of Mersey Fidelity.”
Luca repeats the name. He’s heard it before.
“It’s been in the news,” explains Gooding, biting a wedge of lime between his teeth and sucking, letting the sourness hollow out his cheeks. “A missing banker.”
Luca remembers the story that he read in the Herald Tribune.
“Richard North disappeared more than a week ago,” explains Gooding. “The bank says fifty-four million pounds is missing.”
“Tell me about Mersey Fidelity.”
The journalist picks at the label of his beer bottle. “Now there’s an interesting story. It’s the only UK bank that rode out the global financial crisis without needing a taxpayer-funded bailout. Barclays, Lloyds, Bank of Scotland-they were all rescued from bankruptcy and effectively nationalized-but Mersey Fidelity weathered the storm.”
“How come you know so much about it?” asks Luca.
Gooding looks at him sheepishly. “I’ve been working on a book.”
“A book?”
“Don’t look at me like that. Newspapers are dying. You make money where you can.”
“What’s the book about?” asks Daniela.
“The global financial crisis-why some banks survived and others didn’t.”
“So how did Mersey Fidelity survive?”
“There were whispers.”
“What sort of whispers?” Luca asks.
Gooding leans a little closer. “OK, let me draw you a picture. First you have the credit crisis, the meltdown, major banks hemorrhaging. Lehman Brothers has filed for bankruptcy. Nobody is lending any more. You’re on your knees. Facing ruin. What do you do?”
“You ask for a bailout?”
“Yes, but before that-before you know that central banks are going to ride to the rescue.”
“I don’t know.”
“You take anybody’s money. And I mean anybody. The Mafia, Triads, Colombian drug barons, corrupt regimes, criminal gangs-anybody.”
“Is that what happened?”
“Two years ago the UN Office on Drugs and Crime released a report saying that drug money was the only thing keeping some major banks in business. The UN estimates that three hundred and fifty-two billion dollars of drug and Mafia money was laundered by major banks at the peak of the global financial crisis. That’s a third of a trillion dollars.”
“What about the regulators?”
“They turned a blind eye because it helped keep bank doors open.”
“And you think Mersey Fidelity was involved?”
“It’s a theory.”
Luca glances at Daniela, wondering how much to tell Gooding. Scanning the bar, he notices the couple from earlier have gone. A fresh beer arrives. He centers it on a coaster and begins.
“Just over a week ago the Zewiya branch of the al-Rafidain Bank in Baghdad was robbed. Four bank guards helped engineer the break-in. We aren’t sure how much they stole-perhaps as much as fifty million US dollars. Less than twenty-four hours later they were found executed outside of Mosul. This wasn’t the first such robbery-Iraq has been averaging about one a week-but this was US dollars. Daniela checked with the Iraqi Central Bank and discovered that the money had been delivered only a few hours before the bank was raided.”
“What does this have to do with Mersey Fidelity?” asks Gooding.
“Before we flew out of Baghdad we found a former truck driver who told us how he smuggled cash out of Iraq into Syria. US dollars. There were two truckloads, but one lorry went off the cliff and spilled the payload. The second lorry went to a warehouse on the outskirts of Damascus owned by an import/export company registered in Syria. Alain al Jaria. It doesn’t have a physical office address, just a postbox. And no tax returns in ten years…”
Daniela adds, “The same company was subcontracted to rebuild a stadium in Baghdad in 2005 and paid forty-two million dollars. The work was never done.”
Luca: “The controlling shareholder of Alain al Jaria is a company called May First Limited, with a registered address in the Bahamas. And the only name associated with both companies is Yahya Maluk.”
Luca places his elbows on the table, lowering his voice to a whisper.
“I think stolen money is being smuggled out of Iraq using the same routes that Saddam Hussein set up to overcome the international sanctions and blockades of the nineties. Maybe that’s how Mersey Fidelity avoided the credit crisis: it found a new source of funds.”
“What evidence do you have?”
“Not enough.”
Gooding is staring at him, his eyes slightly glazed by the alcohol, but there’s something skulking behind his countenance-a tense energy or the shadow of a secret. Luca searches his eyes for a clue. Over Gooding’s shoulder, he can see a miniature version of himself in a far-off mirror.
“There’s something else,” says Luca.
“I’m listening.”
“The truck driver who delivered the cash to Damascus said he was met by a man called Mohammed Ibrahim.”
Luca nods towards Daniela.
“His full name is Mohammed Ibrahim Omar al-Muslit,” she says. “He was responsible for setting up dozens of bank accounts in the name of front companies in Jordan, Syria and Lebanon for Saddam Hussein. He was arrested in 2003 and gave up Saddam’s hiding place.”
“Why isn’t Ibrahim in prison?”
“Four years ago he walked out of Abu Ghraib. Accidentally released, due to a case of mistaken identity. It was just before the US handed over control of the prison.”
“Unfortunate.”
“I would have chosen another word.”
12
Seated on a plastic chair with his hands outspread on a table, Ruiz looks like a pianist playing a final chord and listening to the music fade. Campbell Smith doesn’t seem to appreciate the performance. His lips have disappeared and his face is as pale as poached chicken.
“Why didn’t she call the police?”
“She was traumatized. He threatened to cut the baby from her womb.”
“And he wanted some notebook?”
“Apparently.”
Campbell wants to go over it again: Zac Osborne, Richard North, Colin Hackett-two dead, one missing-he can see how the dots are joined but can’t make out any discernible picture.
There is a knock on the door. Dinner. Campbell is happier once he’s eaten (pork ribs in black bean sauce, delivered from the local Chinese). Ruiz no longer feels hungry after watching him eat.
Licking sauce from his fingers, Campbell begins listing all the mistakes that Ruiz has made and how he should have done things differently. Hindsight is always twenty/twenty with Campbell, the ultimate I-told-you-so
