O'Farrell's Law

“What!” Erickson exclaimed, just ahead of Petty.

“I think it is too circumstantial,” O’Farrell said. “The requirement, surely, is that there is enough evidence to convince a court if a prosecution could be brought? Having talked to Rodgers and read all that’s been assembled, I am not satisfied a jury would return a verdict of guilty.” There was still no difficulty with his voice, no indication of his uncertainty.

“Now let’s just go through this again!” Petty leaned forward on his desk in his urgency. “We’ve got a drug smuggler testifying that Cuadrado told him about the use of diplomatic channels. We’ve got London positively named. And then we’ve got the Cuban ambassador to Britain provably associating with a known arms dealer. You call that circumstantial!”

“There is no direct link to Rivera, no definite identification, from anything Rodgers told me. Or from what Cuadrado told him,” O’Farrell insisted. “And there’s no proof that Rivera is obtaining arms from Pierre Belac.”

“You think it’s a social friendship, for Christ’s sake?” Erickson demanded.

“I think there’s insufficient proof, as I said. It might be different if we had separate testimony, from Belac.”

“He’s a professional arms dealer!” Petty said. “He’s not likely to volunteer anything even if we manage to bust him. And Commerce isn’t ready to make a case yet.”

“I’m sorry,” O’Farrell said, with what he hoped was finality.

“You got anything else to tell us?” Erickson challenged openly.

“Like what?” O’Farrell asked, avoiding an immediate response.

“You having problems beyond the evidence you’ve seen?” Petty asked.

“Justifying things to yourself?” Erickson suggested.

There were reverting to their pitter-patter style of debate, O’Farrell realized. He said, “Not at all. I am just following procedure.”

“I think there’s sufficient evidence,” Petty said.

“The assignment would not have been proposed if there weren’t,” agreed the deputy.

“I have to be sure personally,” O’Farrell insisted. “I’m not.”

“So you’re refusing?” Petty said.

“No!” said O’Farrell at once. “I’m seeking further evidence.”

“I don’t see how we can provide more than we have already,” Petty said.

“Then I’m sorry.” O’Farrell wondered who else would be assigned to the job. It didn’t matter; not his concern anymore.

“So am I,” Petty said heavily.

“Would you like to go through everything again? Reconsider?” Erickson offered.

O’Farrell shook his head. “I’ve studied everything. I don’t think I need to reconsider.”

“Without stronger evidence?” Petty asked pedantically.

“Without stronger evidence,” agreed O’Farrell.

Petty made a production of lighting his pipe, speaking from within a cloud of smoke. “Then we’ll have to get it, won’t we?”

O’Farrell had begun to relax, imagining he had maneuvered himself away from an assignment without either refusing or resigning. Abruptly—sinkingly—he realized he had not done anything of the sort. The operation wasn’t being abandoned or switched to someone else: it was simply being postponed.

Jose Rivera hesitated outside the Zurich bank, stretching. He’d picked up a cramp hunching over the statement of the working account he’d opened to handle the transactions with Belac. He’d done well, negotiating the interest-bearing facility. As well as he had done in outnegotiating Pierre Belac. Certainly the account would not remain at $60 million because Belac was due another $30-million installment for another shipload of weaponry on its way to Havana. But the account included the full $15 million Rivera had added to the price Havana was being charged, on the entire deal. He’d decided to leave it in the interest-bearing account for a few more weeks before transferring it to his private account. Rivera was glad he had taken the trouble to come to Zurich on his way to Brussels, awkward though the detour was: by putting all the money in a controlled withdrawal account he had obtained an extra half-point interest and at these sorts of levels that was a worthwhile increase. It was a good feeling, being a rich man.

On his way back to the airport, Rivera considered taking a further detour after the Brussels meeting, spending a day or two in Paris making preliminary inquiries among housing agents there. He had more than sufficient money and it made economic sense to buy at the current market prices rather than wait for some indeterminate period by which time the cost would undoubtedly have increased. Or should he go straight back to London, instead, and make the Paris trip later, perhaps bringing Henrietta with him? That might be an altogether better idea; make it more of a pleasure than a business trip.

There was no delay on the flight, and Rivera was in Brussels by midafternoon. Belac produced documentation showing that all the small arms and ammunition had been dispatched, along with half the missiles. He’d made preliminary approaches to Epetric, a Swedish company, about the VAX and intended confirming the order as soon as Rivera advanced the next allocation of funds necessary for a deposit.

“Thirty million?” suggested the ambassador, fresh from studying the Swiss accounts and sure of the amount.

“I know that’s what we discussed,” said Belac. “But as well as back settlement for what’s on its way to Havana, there are deposits for the VAX and a fourth ship to charter, to carry the tanks. I need fifty million to allow for the ten-percent withholding. Transferred direct to the anstalt, BHF Holdings.”

If he kept back the ten percent from the latest demand, he’d have five million gaining interest, Rivera calculated. He said, “I know the name well enough by now.”

So, of course, did Lars Henstrom, the Swedish informant within the Epetric contracts and finance department, when Belac placed the confirmed order two days later. Henstrom passed the information on at once, and within two days it was transmitted to both the U.S. Department of Commerce and Customs Service.

Under an American-Swiss treaty, Berne had agreed that the country’s traditional bank secrecy laws can be abrogated and accounts made available to investigators if Washington satisfactorily proves that such accounts are benefitting from the proceeds of drug trafficking. The CIA used the sworn statement of Paul Rodgers to seek access to BHF Holdings’ accounts, from which they learned of the multimillion-dollar transfer the day after a meeting they had observed in Brussels between Pierre Belac and Jose Rivera. They learned, however, about more than just the transfer. Against it was recorded the number of Rivera’s account in the Swiss Banking Corporation on Zurich’s Paradeplatz. The CIA made a further access request, and it was granted, giving them complete details of Rivera’s secret deposits.

Petty reached O’Farrell at the Alexandria house. “You wanted better proof,” the section head said. “We’ve got it. It’s time we talked again.”

Petty merely held down the lever to disconnect the call, keeping the receiver in his hand and dialing again immediately. Gus McCarthy, director of the Plans division, answered at once.

“We need to talk, just the two of us,” Petty said.

TWELVE

MCCARTHY AVIDLY followed the social columns and the Style section of the Washington Post and chose Dominique’s restaurant for the meeting. He arrived early and was already at the ledge away from the tiny bar, the whiskey sour half-finished, when Petty appeared. Petty ordered beer, a Miller Lite, instead of the milk he should have had, hoping his ulcer wouldn’t act up; it had been at least six years since the doctor had allowed him any spirits. Sometimes, like now, he ignored the order.

“You read the writeup about this place last Sunday?” McCarthy asked at once.

“No,” Petty said. He had, but he didn’t want to indulge the other man’s pretensions.

“Got a hell of a recommendation,” McCarthy said. “Know something else about it?”