The Scottish Banker of Surabaya

( 31 )

Taking the Moleskine notebook and pen from her bag, she reviewed the questions she had written the night before. Most of them had been asked earlier, although not as methodically as was her pattern. She’d been too eager to get to the picana.

Ava walked through the house and out the back door of the kitchen onto a small veranda. Perkasa stood over Cameron with a bucket in his hand. “No hose,” he said, as he threw water at Cameron’s groin.

She leaned against the wall of the house, in the shade. The Scotsman sat in the sun. “That’ll do,” she said. “I might as well talk to him here, assuming he’s prepared to talk.” She reached out and peeled the tape from his mouth.

“Are you prepared to be more forthright, Andy? Because if you aren’t, I’m telling you, that rod that’s been frying your balls is going to go up your ass. And if we have to do that, the pain is going to be indescribable.”

He was starting to revive, drawing deep, ragged breaths. His voice cracked. “Don’t hurt me anymore.”

“That’s all up to you.”

“I’ll tell you anything you want to know.”

“And the money?”

“I’ll do everything I can about the money. Just don’t hurt me anymore.”

Ava opened her notebook. “What actually happened to the money?” she asked Cameron.

“Can you take the tape from my eyes?”

“No, you talk to me first. The money — what happened to it?”

“Much as you thought,” he croaked.

“Much or exactly?”

He paused. “My mouth is really dry. Can I get something to drink?”

She looked at his mouth and saw a light crust at the corners. “Could you bring a glass of water?” she asked Perkasa.

“Much or exactly?” she repeated to Cameron.

“They found Purslow first. Neither he nor his boyfriend had taken any real trouble to cover their tracks. He must have thought he only had the Vietnamese guy to worry about. Once they got him, the money wasn’t hard to retrieve.”

“And then they had him killed?”

“Aye.”

“So where’s the money?”

“It was absorbed into the bank.”

“Where?”

“Here, as always. All the money flows into Surabaya.”

“All the money?”

He began to answer but Perkasa emerged from the kitchen, closing the door behind him. He walked to Cameron and rested the glass of water against his lower lip. Cameron slurped, licked his lips, and then slurped again.

“And who are ‘they’? Who ordered Purslow dead?” Ava asked.

“Rocca.”

“Rocca? Not Muljadi?”

“Rocca ran the show.”

“Muljadi was president.”

Cameron’s lips pressed together. Ava could sense him calculating how much he should say. “This is beginning not to work for me,” she warned. “Either you stop making me guess or I get the picana warmed up again.”

He groaned. “No, don’t do that. It’s just difficult to explain things in a way that doesn’t seem crazy.”

“Try me.”

“With Rocca and Muljadi, that’s the way they set it up. It was the same everywhere. The presidents of all the branches are Indonesian, except for me here, but there are Italians like Rocca in every one — in supposedly lesser positions — who actually call all the shots. I have two of them in Surabaya. They don’t have any titles; they don’t show their faces at the bank. We meet offsite. We communicate by phone, by computer. The Indonesians, me, the office here — we’re all window dressing.”

Ava stopped taking notes. She stared at Perkasa, who stared back. This wasn’t what she had expected. “Italians?”

“Aye.”

“I’m confused.”

“It isn’t going to get any simpler,” he said.

“Who are these Italians?”

“The ’Ndrangheta.”

“The who?”

He spelled the name.

“That doesn’t help me any.”

“They’re like the Mafia on steroids.”

“Sicilian?”

“God no. They think the Sicilians are sissies.”

“Where are they from?”

“Calabria, Reggio Calabria.”

“How did you connect with them?”

He shifted in the chair, then gasped. “You understand that I’m telling you this only so you’ll understand why the idea of getting your thirty million back is impossible?”

“Let me make that decision. Now, how did you get hired?”

Cameron shrugged. “I was working in Rome and had some clients who needed some cash moved around. I made it happen, for a fee, of course. After about a year of this, one of them asked me if I would consider changing banks. When I said it would depend on the money I was paid, he said that wouldn’t be a problem, and asked if I was willing to go to an interview. I said I would be happy to do that.

“This was June, but I didn’t hear from them again until September, when I got a visit and an invitation to go to a town called San Luca, near Calabria. There was a festival on, celebrating Our Lady of Polsi. I met the contacts from Rome and four other men near the sanctuary for the Lady. They described what they wanted me to do and offered me the job as president, at four times the money I was making in Rome, plus bonuses that could double that again.”

“Just what were you supposed to do to make that kind of money?”

“Run the bank.”

“I thought you said they called the shots.”

“I meant that I was to pretend I was running the bank.”

“I don’t understand. Why would Italian gangsters want to buy a bank in Indonesia, in Surabaya?”

“To launder money.”

“But how? How could that work? What did you have to do to make it happen?”

Perkasa moved closer. Ava had been so intent on listening to Cameron that she had forgotten he was there. He seemed as drawn into the story as she was.

Cameron said, “Can I have some more water?”

Perkasa still had half a glassful in his hand. He held it to Cameron’s mouth.

“They had everything figured out by the time they hired me,” Cameron said. “They had established contacts with senior Indonesian customs officials and had worked out a system for moving cash into the country. They had bought off senior banking regulators and inspectors so they wouldn’t ask too many questions about the bank’s growth. They had figured out how they could move money out of the country and put it to work safely and for the long term, but what they still needed was bank systems, the nuts and bolts of the loan process. That’s what they wanted me to do — provide the paper trail, make everything look above board and legitimate.”

“F*ck,” Perkasa said.

Ava shot him a glance that said, Be quiet. “How do they move the cash in?”

“By the planeload.”

“You’re joking, right?”

He shook his head. “They pack the bills in bales, like hay. The charters arrived about once a month at first, but during this past year we’ve been up to a plane a week. They aren’t huge cargo jobbies, mind you, just mid-sized private jets that are stripped to the walls, but you can get a lot of money in them. Most of the planes came from Italy at the start, and then Venezuela came online. It’s one or the other since then.”

“Do these charter planes have a company name?”

“Brava Italia. I think one of them owns it.”

“And now one comes every week?”

“Aye, usually Tuesday nights. That’s usually when I can count on seeing the Italians. They’re always there to meet the plane. They park it in a hangar and then unload the money into a panel van. We take it to the bank, count it, and record it.”

“What are their names?”

“Foti and Chorico.”

“They go alone?”

“Them and me.”

“Who’s on the plane?”

“The pilot and co-pilot, no one else.”

“And Customs turns a blind eye?”

“The planes land and are taxied directly to a hangar at the far end of the airport that we rent as we need it, and unloaded without a single question in all the years up to now.”

“Then what?”

“We drive the money to the bank, count it, register it as a foreign investment, and then convert it all to rupiahs.”

“Again no questions?”

“The provincial bank officials in East Java and the national ones in Jakarta have been happy to play along.”

“Then you move it out?”

“Aye. Initially we put a ton of money into the Bali region — you know, to establish a local base. Then gradually we expanded outwards. They choose the markets and the investments. Italy, of course, but never Calabria; Rome mainly, but we financed a lot of construction in Milan as well. Then New York. Caracas and Porlamar, on Margarita Island, in Venezuela. A lot of them retire there. And Toronto, of course.”

“What kinds of investments?”

“Real estate. Office buildings, apartment buildings, shopping centres, subdivisions — you name it, we finance it. About the only thing they won’t go near is casinos and casino-hotel complexes. They don’t like the attention they attract. They don’t like the idea of having to get licensed, of questions being asked, of all those regulators.”

“Who owns the real estate?”

“Them.”

“The Italians?”

“Yeah. They set up a web of companies as fronts everywhere, but at the end of the day they own or control them all and they’re funnelling money to themselves.”

“Those companies have names, yes? And officers? And shareholders?”

“I have no idea who the people are who are listed as officers and shareholders. I assume the Italian powers keep themselves hidden and use friends, lawyers, accountants as the official faces. But I’m not sure. I never asked. I was never even curious. I knew what the reality was; I didn’t need unnecessary detail.”

“So the branches you set up in places such as Toronto and New York were for the sole purpose of returning money to the ’Ndrangheta?”

“Yeah.”

“And those branches make loans to those companies?”

“Yeah, and to some individuals.”

“How do you know they’re connected?”

“I don’t. There’s someone in place at every branch. In Toronto it was Rocca, who was a member of the gang or involved with it in a serious way. He gave instructions on how much money was to go to whom and for what. We just do what we’re told.”

“And then you paper them all as loans?”

“Aye, although in reality they aren’t loans, because none of them are ever repaid. Not even a penny of interest finds its way back.”

“How do you explain that?”

“Explain to who?”

“Bank authorities.”

“I told you, some of them are getting paid off, but just to be safe we run two sets of books. One set shows that the loans are performing and giving us a profit, which we declare and pay taxes on — modest taxes, but it makes us look legitimate. The other set of books is run for the Italians. All they show is money in, money out, and what we have on account.”

“And the real estate holdings?”

“They don’t care who actually owns what, just how much money was given to whom. The real estate records I maintain for bank records and for the other set of books.”

“So the equity base we saw when we looked into the bank is real?”

“On paper it is.”

“How does the . . . ,” she said, checking the name again, “the ’Ndrangheta generate so much cash?”

“Drugs, knock-offs . . . you name anything illegal and they’re probably into it.”

“So all this real estate investment is — what, an attempt to go legitimate?”

Cameron began to laugh. “Hardly. They just have too much cash to leave it lying around. After they put what they need back into their core businesses, they need to do something with the excess. That’s why we exist. We’re a dumping ground. Can you imagine how much money they have in total if we’re just handling what they don’t need?”

Ava returned to her notebook. The thirty million dollars now seemed like small potatoes. “Then why did they have to screw around my clients?”

“They don’t give a shit about your clients.”

“They took thirty million dollars from them.”

“No, Purslow took the thirty million.”

“They got it back.”

“You need to understand how they think,” Cameron said. “In their minds, Purslow stole thirty million dollars from the bank. How it got there didn’t concern them. It was there; therefore it was theirs. And even if it wasn’t, they’re the ones who retrieved it, and in their minds it’s always finders, keepers. They are the greediest people I’ve ever met.”

“What about closing the branch office. Was that related to this?”

“No, not at all. The decision was made months before. They felt there was only so much money they could put into any one market before they would start to attract attention to themselves, and they’re absolutely paranoid about attracting attention — to themselves or to the bank. We had reached a threshold in Toronto and they decided to pull out for at least a while.”

“So that part was true.”

“Aye, we were only weeks away from closing when Purslow did his thing. I’ve never seen them quite so angry. Like I said, they thought he was stealing their money. And just as bad, he was potentially the cause of some unwelcome publicity. So they found him and they killed him.”

“What about Lam? Why didn’t they kill him if they were so concerned about publicity?”

“They talked about it.”

“And?”

“Rocca convinced them not to. He was worried that Lam might have spoken to some people after their first meeting or had written stuff down, and that if something happened to him the problem would just get bigger, with more people involved, more questions being asked. He said Lam was a coward and that it would be more effective if they just scared him into keeping his mouth shut. And he was right. At least I think he was right . . . but then Lam talked to you, didn’t he.”

Ava ignored the implication. “Why didn’t they just give him his money back and send him on his way?”

“They didn’t have to, did they. Scaring him was more effective.”

She thought of the terrified little man she’d met in Ho Chi Minh City what seemed like a very long time ago. “So where does this leave things with the thirty million?” she asked, knowing the answer.

Cameron drew a deep breath. “You need to forget about it.”

“There’s nothing you can do?”

“I can give you my own money, what I have, and that’s about a million dollars in ready cash. But as for the bank, nothing. No chance. They control every dollar in and out. They’d kill me for trying. Then they’d find you and kill you too. Believe me, they’d find you.”

Ava heard the words and believed he meant them. And she believed them too. “What time were you supposed to play golf this morning?”

“Eight.”

She looked at her watch. It was just past seven thirty. “Who were you supposed to play with?”

“Friends, just friends.”

She turned to Perkasa. “Call the golf club. Tell them you’re calling for Mr. Cameron. He’s feeling ill and he’s headed to the hospital for a quick check-up. He won’t make the game. Send his apologies and say he’ll call his friends later in the day.”

Perkasa nodded and headed into the kitchen.

“Is there anything else I need to know about today? Did you have any other appointments? Are there any other people who will be concerned about your absence?” Ava asked.

Cameron shifted in the chair again, a grimace crossing his face. “I’m not sure I’ll be able to walk,” he said. “The pain is unbelievable.”

“I asked you about other appointments.”

“I meet the Italians every Sunday night for dinner at an Italian restaurant in CitraLand.”

“What time?”

“Seven.”

“You shouldn’t have a problem making it,” she said.

“You think?”

No, Ava thought, I don’t think that at all, not yet, anyway. “Listen, I have to go and chat with my man. You’ll be here by yourself for a few minutes so I have to tape your mouth again.”

“Could you move me into the shade?”

“No, I like you where you are,” she said as she tore a strip of tape from the roll.

She walked into the kitchen to see Perkasa closing his phone. “That was the golf club,” he said.

“Any problem?” she asked.

“No.”

Ava went to one of the other kitchen chairs and sat down. “Well, what do you think?”

“About his story?”

“What else?”

“It’s crazy, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t true. Do you believe him?”

“I think I do,” she said. “It isn’t exactly something anyone might come up with on the spur of the moment, especially with a picana as a distraction. So, yes, I believe him.”

“Me too.”

“Tell me,” Ava said, “is it really that easy to bribe your way into that kind of setup in Indonesia?”

“That depends on how much money you have to throw around. In this country it isn’t a matter of whether someone can be bribed, it’s just a question of how much it will take. And these guys are moving their own money around, so it isn’t like they’re hurting anyone here. Paying taxes on a phony set of books is pretty smart.”

“He’s supposed to meet with the Italians tonight,” she said.

“If he doesn’t show . . .”

“I know. We were lucky to grab him this morning.”

Perkasa looked down at her and she saw a question in his eyes. It was the same as the one in her mind.

“I need to talk to Uncle,” she said.