Dirty White Page 5

  “When they start shooting, you mean?” Batty tried to make the question sound like a joke, but Farr detected the concern in the technical man’s voice.

  “It’s been known,” came in Seymour. “The Colombians—and it’s the Colombians we’re particularly targeting—are vicious bastards. And since it’s come up, let’s talk it through. This isn’t an operation that anyone can lay back on. Not for a moment. Make one mistake—just let a suspicion arise—and they could come in shooting.” He paused, to let the warning settle. “Don’t think I’m being dramatic,” he insisted. “They’ll kill, just like that.” He snapped his fingers.

  Farr hoped his concern was not showing, particularly to the woman. Until this moment the possibility of physical harm hadn’t occurred to him; in fact, he hadn’t even considered the technicalities of what he was being asked to do. Farr had never knowingly had to face the prospect of physical pain or injury: to enter or put himself into a situation where it was a likelihood. He didn’t know if he was brave—if, indeed, physical danger was a test of bravery. Would they let him be armed? Whether he was or not didn’t depend entirely upon them, he realized; as a private citizen he could apply for and most probably obtain a weapon. But what would he do with it, if he got it? He didn’t know how to shoot a gun, had never wanted to and didn’t want to now. Seymour was being overly dramatic, despite the denial. Farr glanced around the room, at the serious faces of the people with whom he would be working.

  “What sort of protective backup will there be, besides you two?” Mann asked Seymour.

  It was a question he himself wanted answered, but Farr was glad it came from the accountant.

  “That’ll be an on-ground decision,” said Brennan. “We start amassing armies and we’re going to become too visible.” He nodded at the woman. “We’ll make the decisions on a day-to-day basis, depending upon what Harriet tells us. Don’t worry. If things start getting heavy, then we’ll get heavy, too.”

  “Don’t forget,” said Harriet.

  Her accent was difficult to place, but Farr guessed she was from somewhere in the South. She’d smiled when she spoke and Farr thought that, of the assembled FBI personnel, she seemed the least worried; he decided again how glad he was that the nervous question had come from Mann.

  “We won’t,” said Seymour. “Believe us, we won’t.”

  “How long’s all this likely to take?” demanded Jones. “I’d like to tell my wife how long I’ll be away from home.”

  “To get it right, I don’t care how long it takes,” said Brennan. “Elsewhere there’s been talk about six months, but that period was really to judge progress or otherwise. We’ve not overlooked the personal difficulties …” He stopped again, turning to Batty. “You’re married, too, aren’t you, Bill?”

  The technician nodded and Farr, interested, waited for a similar confirmation from the woman. She said nothing and Brennan didn’t question.

  “I’d quite like to know, for the same reason,” said Mann.

  “We’ll try to get you home as often as possible,” promised Seymour. “That’s a commitment.”

  “I appreciate it,” said Jones.

  “Me, too,” said Batty.

  “Would there be a chance of bringing my wife down to Florida, maybe?” asked Mann.

  “I think that’s got to be another on-ground decision, to be made as we go along.”

  “What’s Florida got to do with it?” interjected Farr.

  “That’s where we’re going to set up the front,” said the accountant.

  “Who decided that?” persisted Farr.

  “I thought … well, it’s obvious,” said Mann.

  “Yes,” said Farr. “That’s exactly what it is. Obvious.” He turned to Brennan. “What’s my part in this?” he demanded.

  “We’ve already talked that through. You’re setting up the investment company.”

  “I’m setting it up?” Looking at Mann, he said, “So I’m running it?”

  Brennan became aware of the atmospnere between the two financial experts. “Yes,” he said. “You’re running it. That’s the deal.”

  “So Florida’s out,” decided Farr, with intentional forcefulness. “From what we’ve discussed so far, we’re not going for the penny-ante street vendors, with a few million dollars. We’re going for the big guys. There have been too many false-front financial operations already in Florida ever to hope to get the sort of people you want involved. If you want big, you’re going to have to think big.”

  Mann colored and Farr wondered if it was the remark he resented or the confirmation from the FBI supervisor that he was going to be subservient to someone outside the Bureau.

  “OK,” said the accountant, belligerently. “What’s your idea?”

  Farr didn’t respond at once, belatedly regretting any bad feeling arising between himself and a man with whom he was going to have to work closely in the coming weeks and months—regretting, too, that he was obviously showing off in front of a woman he didn’t know. Impressing a woman wasn’t what mattered. What mattered was creating a smooth-running operation with a smooth-running team to achieve what the FBI wanted and what Alvin Schuster wanted and pulling Howard back from disaster.

  “It depends on the need,” he said at last, as if Mann were going to be the person who decided. “Purpose of the exercise is to attract big-time—really big-time—traffickers. To do that we’ve got to set up an investment corporation able to wash not millions—I’ve already been told millions are easy in drug trafficking—but billions, billions we can trace and track and seize, when the time comes. We can’t do that from the American mainland. Maybe once, when the banks were sloppy about their requirements under the Currency and Foreign Transactions Act. But they’re not sloppy anymore. OK, so we both know there are ways around the requirements. But they’re small-time ways—compared with what we’re going for—for small-time operators.”

  “You mean offshore?” said Mann, anxious to prove to those in the room his understanding.

  “Exactly!” said Farr. “I’m not going to bother with the marginals, like Vanuatua or Naura. For practical purposes, we’ve got a lot of choices …” He held up his hands, collapsing his fingers as he recited. “The Bahamas, Bermuda, the Caymans, Turks and Caicos, the Netherland Antilles, Monserrat, the British Virgin Islands, the Channel Islands, Panama, Liechtenstein, Monaco, Bahrein or Hong Kong.”

  There was a shift from the people in front of him and Batty gave one of his hope-to-please smiles which Farr decided was an expression of admiration.

  “What about Switzerland?” demanded Mann, in immediate challenge.

  “Good,” said Farr, trying to build bridges. “The problem is the Mutual Assistance Treaty on Criminal Matters. If Washington can prove that money held in a Swiss bank comes from crime, Bern will provide all the bank and transaction details. And if the accusation is proven, the money is forfeited. So Switzerland is an important part of the chain—because we might need the provisions of that treaty—but not the beginning of it.” Farr chanced a direct look at the woman. Harriet Becker was regarding him expressionlessly.

  “So what are you suggesting?” asked Brennan.

  “When we’re operating, I shall probably channel through them all,” said Farr. “It’s the proper way for an investment analyst to work—the way they’d expect me to work …” He hesitated, talking directly to Mann. “I think the practical place to establish our corporation is in the Caymans.” Mann was about to speak but Farr hurried over him. “The British and American governments have concluded an exchange-of-information agreement in the Caymans, similar to that of Switzerland. We’ll use it, when the time comes. Like we’ll probably use the Swiss agreement.”

  “I don’t like it,” said Brennan. “We don’t have jurisdiction in the Caymans.”

  Farr frowned at the FBI man and felt uncomfortable when he realized he was exaggerating his response for Harriet’s benefit. He said, “That’s its advantage, for God’s sake! It’ll make the pe
ople we’re trying to catch more relaxed. But you’re not even surrendering jurisdiction, if it works as I understand it will. Where will the money predominantly be coming from that they’ll want us to launder?”

  Brennan and Seymour exchanged awkward glances. “America, I guess,” said Seymour.

  “So there’s your jurisdiction!” said Farr, triumphantly. “If it works as I plan it to work, the Caymans will be the pivot. From America will come verifiable narcotics cash, from verifiable emissaries. And the proof of their being emissaries will come from the second leg of the operation, when that cash goes into Colombia or Bolivia or to some Mafia enterprise. The perfect pivot.”

  “It’ll mean becoming established there, then?” queried Mann, still seeking flaws. “Apartments, houses, stuff like that?”

  “Which will erode the budget,” said Seymour, speaking more to Brennan than to the investment broker.

  “What the hell are you quibbling about?” demanded Farr, too forcefully he thought, immediately regretting it. “You come to me and say you’re planning something big; something really big. We’re going to get the billionaires. And now we’re talking about budgets and accommodation. We’re not going to get within miles of people used to dealing in hundreds and thousands of millions if your concern is rental costs and budgetary allowances. If it comes down to that, then, personally involved though I am in another respect, we’d better call the whole thing off, here and now.” What would happen to Howard if they called his bluff and did abort? If he wasn’t careful, this inexplicable—even juvenile—wish to play the macho part in front of a woman who was probably happily married, or happily involved at least, could end up destroying whatever limited, uncertain future that Howard might have.

  “We have to work within a budget,” cautioned Seymour.

  “Everybody does,” said Farr. He nodded to Mann. “He’s the accountant, the man who’s going to keep the books. There’ll be a proper accounting, at the end of every week or every month, or whatever period Washington decides they want.” Farr realized that, although offered as a reassurance to the two FBI field agents, the statement reduced Mann into a clerklike role.

  “It wasn’t quite what we had in mind,” admitted Seymour.

  “Then we’d better talk it through, so there isn’t any misunderstanding,” insisted Farr. “And the first clear understanding must be that the Caymans are expensive: as expensive as hell. You, with a budget, may think that’s a disadvantage. I see it as a positive bonus. If we’re trying to impress multimillionaires that we’re a company that knows exactly what it’s doing and how to do it, then an address in Crewe Road, Grand Cayman, is a dozen times more impressive than Collins Avenue, Miami Beach. Just by being there, we prove it. So, OK, we’re going to need accommodation, because it’s logical to have something, but there’s no domiciliary requirement for setting up on the islands—we could economize there, if economies have to be made.”

  “You sure it’s necessary?” queried Brennan.

  “Positive.”

  “I’m not,” said Mann. “I still think we could get away with something on the mainland. In Florida.”

  “Get away!” sneered Farr. “Is that the principle of this! Getting away and making stupid reductions. I’ve already had a lecture about this operation not being to catch small-time dealers. I thought we were going beyond that …” Farr remembered the argument with the district attorney and linked it with this discussion. He said to Brennan, “This hasn’t been thought out, has it? None of it? You came to me and made it sound as if everything had been planned and considered and formalized. But it hasn’t been planned at all …” He stopped again. “Have you actually got a budget?”

  “A provisional allocation,” conceded Brennan.

  “So let’s talk about a positive allowance,” said the increasingly disillusioned Farr. “Most important is working capital. No one is going to come near us with a long pole unless we can satisfy their professional advisors that we’re legitimate and solvent.”

  “How much?” asked Harriet, in an unexpected intrusion.

  “I would consider two million the absolute minimum,” said Farr. “I’d prefer four million. We’ll need spacious offices—which aren’t easy in the Caymans—not a hole in the wall. We’ll need accommodation for ourselves. It’s a small, self-contained island, so we needn’t invest in any large, impressive car pool. One vehicle will probably do, not necessarily anything big. Fees and setting-up costs will be in the region of a hundred to a hundred and fifty thousand.”

  “We’ve been able to borrow from banks large sums of money—millions sometimes—when we’ve been feigning a buy and needed to look convincing, but I don’t recall any occasions when we’ve wanted to take it out of the country,” said Seymour, still cautious.

  “Something else that hasn’t been thought through!”

  “How sure are you that—even if you go to all this trouble and expense—you can create what’s necessary?” asked the usually aloof Jones.

  “Not at all,” admitted Farr. He gestured to Brennan. “I’ve already said that all I can guarantee is an investment company that I know will withstand any sort of scrutiny or examination. You’re supposed to have the contacts who will lead the people you’re after directly into the trap.” Farr gazed pointedly into his empty whisky glass. Continuing his newfound role as the unchallenged expert, he got up uninvited and refilled it. Remaining by the drinks table, he said, “If it’s going to have any chance to work, then it’s got to be done properly. No economies. Nothing cheap.”

  “Convincing,” admitted Seymour.

  “I think we need further discussions with Washington,” said Brennan.

  “If it gets modified, then it isn’t the proposal you put to me,” said Farr. “Certainly it won’t stand any chance of the success you’ve demanded.”

  “Florida is still possible,” offered the insistent Harvey Mann.

  “The sort of thing that could be set up in Florida was never part of any discussions between us,” reminded Farr.

  “What do you want us to do?” asked Batty.

  Farr was uneasy at the degree of uncertainty that existed in the room. And not just the room, he remembered: there had been the conference with the district attorney, a warning of what was to follow. He had imagined slick, coordinated planning and knew now there wasn’t any. They were stumbling forward, step by step.

  “Give me twenty-four hours,” said Brennan, generally. Directly to Farr he said, “Sure it’s necessary—the money, particularly?”

  “If you want it to work,” insisted Farr. “I’m not suggesting that the three or four million will vanish, for Christ’s sake! We need to be able to show we have capital. And not just—although that’s essential—for any trafficker’s lawyer to discover, during a credit search. This is going to be an official company and there’s official liquidity requirements to satisfy in the Caymans. Eventually, it’ll be returnable: there’s no risk.”

  “Can you guarantee that?” asked the pen-twirling FBI supervisor.

  “Of course I can’t guarantee it.” Farr was irritated by the naiveté of the question. “But I can’t see what danger there would be to it. It’s not for investment; I don’t intend gambling with it.”

  “Who’d control it; be responsible for it?” said Seymour.

  “I would.”

  “What sort of receipt would we have?”

  “I thought you already had it, at Eastham.”

  The tall FBI man colored and said, “Sorry.”

  “I don’t need to steal your money,” said Farr, refusing him the escape. “If you don’t trust me that much, then there’s another reason for not bothering to go ahead.”

  “Just give me another twenty-four hours,” repeated Brennan. “We’ll all meet here again on Wednesday.”

  Farr moved close to the senior FBI man, not wanting his question to carry to the others. “How does this leave Howard, if everything is called off?”

  “I don’t know,” admitted
Brennan.

  The two FBI men overflew New York, going direct to Washington for a meeting they arranged before they left Boston, so Farr returned to Manhattan alone. He lay back on the cramped shuttle with his eyes closed, trying to review events. The positive thing was that Howard was in care and being treated. The confusion about what he imagined to be a well-organized scheme was unsettling, but it would be wrong at this stage to consider it a failure before it even began; or try to hypothesize what might happen to Howard if it were canceled. All he could do was what Brennan had asked. Wait. Which left one unanswered question. Why had it been so important to behave as he had and attempt to impress Harriet Becker? Since Ann’s death, women had occupied an unimportant role in Farr’s life. There were women friends who were just that, friends: people with whom he could go out to dinner and to the theater or to the opera without the beneath-the-surface awkwardness of the relationship progressing further. And there had been the occasional—very occasional—sexual involvement. But rarely had there been such an immediate reaction as there had been to Harriet Becker. Another uncertainty, to go with all the rest. Farr disliked uncertainty.

  7