The Scottish Banker of Surabaya

( 40 )

Ava ended the call and then closed her eyes. She had just put a lot of trust in a man she barely knew. It was the kind of thing she knew Uncle did from time to time. He had a sense about people, not based particularly on what they said but more on how they carried themselves. He believed you could tell a lot about a person through body language and eye contact, and he told Ava that it was often more productive to observe than to listen. It was something she now practised without really thinking about it.

She thought back to meeting Lafontaine at his office in Guyana, sharing dinner with him, and the conversation she had just had. Her instincts told her she had called the right person. Still, it came down to how well he could sell the story, and though she thought it hung together quite well, she wasn’t sure it would under intense scrutiny. The thing was, she had no intention of putting herself in a position where there would be that risk.

She turned to look at the clock. It was past midnight but she had promised Uncle she would phone. She punched in his number. Lourdes answered.

“Let me speak to Uncle, please.”

“He’s sleeping.”

“Ah.”

“Do you want me to get him?”

“No, leave him be. But if he wakes before I get the chance to speak to him again, let him know I did call.”

“He didn’t look very good when he got home.”

“I know. I had dinner with him.”

“What are we going to do?”

“His doctor is back in Hong Kong next week. I intend to speak to him.”

“Someone has to find out what’s going on.”

“I will, Lourdes.”

She put down the phone, the memory of Uncle retching on the sidewalk unsettling her. Needing a distraction, she reached for the television remote. She couldn’t find anything she wanted to watch on regular programming and clicked on the pay-per-view. Election 2 was listed. Ava bought it, and despite her worries about Uncle and her concerns about Lafontaine, she was soon immersed in the film’s machinations. She was so completely absorbed in it that when her phone rang, she forgot where she had left it and had to rifle though the folds of the duvet to find it. The incoming number displayed the Guyana area code.

“Marc. That was quick.”

“You told me to make it fast.”

“Did it go well?”

“Well, it obviously got an immediate reaction.”

“Is that good?”

“I don’t know. My friend was very interested in what I had to say. In fact, I had to repeat the story several times. Then I had to tell him five times that I thought you were serious and not some scam artist trying to leverage money out of us. When I was done, he asked me to keep my phone on. He said he would get right back to me.”

“And did he?”

“Yeah, and not just him. Half an hour later I found myself in a conference call with two higher-ranking officers. There were a lot of questions about Jennie Kwong.”

“I can imagine.”

“I tried to keep the focus on the bank manager and the financial information.”

“Good.”

“It wasn’t easy. They were skeptical, and at times almost hostile. They wanted to know why we were chosen to be the recipients of such a windfall. I told them about meeting Jennie Kwong in Guyana and that you were Canadian. I said coming to us was almost patriotic of you — I hope that was okay.”

“I guess it is.”

“But then they really focused in on the banker. They want to know who he is.”

“I said I would tell you.”

“And they would like to speak to him.”

“No.”

“I told them that was your position. They then asked if they could speak directly to you.”

“Not unless I have to. I’d rather keep talking through you.”

“I told them I thought that was the case.”

“What else do they want?

“The name of the bank.”

“Does this mean they’ve agreed to the thirty million?”

“There’s some reluctance to agree to any amount until they can verify what kind of information the banker has.”

“I’m prepared to send them a sample.”

“That will help.”

“But if I do and I give them the names, what are they prepared to give me in return?”

“Nothing just yet.”

“That doesn’t work.”

“What do you want?”

“First we need a commitment that the sum we’re talking about will be paid, and paid quickly, if the information proves to be genuine and as comprehensive as my client claims.”

Lafontaine paused. “Truthfully, they asked me if the number was negotiable.”

“It isn’t. It’s thirty million or nothing. You need to tell them that.”

“Okay, and if they agree, are you prepared to give them the names and a sample?”

“Maybe, but they also have to agree to keep the banker’s name confidential. It has to be kept just as secure internally, and not shared with any other jurisdictions.”

“Ava, you do realize that once the bank’s name is known it won’t take long for everyone to figure out who he is.”

“I know, but we’re trying to buy as much time as we can. He needs to make himself invisible, and the money he collects from the Mounties will go a long way towards helping him do that. So if we cut a deal, I expect your guys to sit on things for at least a couple of weeks. They will need at least that long anyway, to go over the data I send them.”

“I understand. I’m not sure they’ll agree, but I’ll put it to them.”

“Good. If they do agree, I’m prepared to give you the name of the banker and the bank, and I’ll email a sample of the deals that were done.”

“That was another question they had. How many Canadian and U.S. transactions are we talking about?”

“About two hundred in North America, with close to half of those in Canada, involving well over three hundred people.”

“Could you make some of the Canadian information part of the sample?”

“Of course. If I want them to verify the information it’s better for us to give them something they can run quickly.”

“Okay, I’ll pass that along.”

“Marc, I’m not finished yet.”

“What else?”

“After I give you the information, they have twenty-four hours to get back to me. If they don’t, the offer comes off the table.”

“Twenty-four hours?”

“That’s my time frame.”

“They won’t like that.”

“Tell them anyway.”

“Okay, I’ll tell them.”

“They’re waiting for you to get back to them?”

“Yes.”

“In that case, I’ll stay up as well. Call them and then get right back to me.”

She placed the phone on the bedside table and made a quick run to the bathroom to pee, brush her teeth, and wash her face. Despite the hour, she was completely awake. The nap on the plane had helped, but she could also feel the adrenalin pumping through her system. She hadn’t felt this engaged since . . . since she could remember.

Back in the bedroom, she went to sit at the desk. She opened her computer to read the emails that had been cascading into her iPhone. Her last message from Surabaya, saying she would be out of touch for several days, had triggered an outpouring of concern from everyone in her life. Her mother and May Ling had both written four times, Mimi and Amanda twice; Maria had sent five emails in less than two days.

I am back in Hong Kong and safe and sound. Uncle and I have a project we need to finish. I’ll contact you all individually when it is done. Until then, I still need to concentrate on the job at hand. Love, Ava, she wrote and then sent it to all of them.

She perused the other emails, deleting most of them. The television was still on and Election 2 was coming to an end. As she settled back on the bed, her phone rang. She got to the table by the third ring and was about to answer when she saw Maria’s number on the screen. She let it ring out, and as she did the memory of Andy Cameron saying “I don’t do ugly” flashed in her head. She suddenly felt nauseous. She knew she wasn’t ready to talk to Maria, her mother, or May Ling — all the women she felt the strongest emotional attachment to. She had to get herself under control. She needed to act as if everything was normal.

She was not about to share what had happened in Surabaya with anyone, but she wasn’t sure what impact her mother’s voice might have on her. She didn’t know how she would react to Maria’s tenderness. All she knew was that she wanted to be spared their emotions, and the only way that could happen was for Ava to be her normal calm self. She didn’t know if that would be possible if she spoke to them right now. Aside from the dull ache that hadn’t left her since Surabaya, there was the matter of the bouts of anxiety that seemed to attack her without warning. I need to get my imagination under control, she thought.

Ava walked over to the bed and slipped to her knees. She pressed her hands together and began to pray to Saint Jude, the patron saint of lost causes. The phone rang before she could finish.

She looked at the incoming number. It was Marc Lafontaine. She felt a touch of relief.

“That was even quicker.”

“You have their complete attention.”

“What did they say?” she asked.

“It wasn’t easy.”

“Marc, what did they say?”

“They’re agreeable to everything except the deadline.”

“No. The deadline is necessary and I won’t change it.”

He hesitated, and she wondered if the Mounties were now lost to her.

“In that case you should give them your client’s name and the name of the bank and arrange to send the sample information to Ottawa via email. They’ll work as fast as they can.”

“I’ll need about half an hour.”

“They will want the deadline to start when they actually receive the information.”

“Of course.”

“Here is the email address they want it sent to . . .” he said.

Ava walked back to the desk and opened her notebook. “Go ahead,” she said. He recited three addresses. “Thanks, Marc. I really appreciate your help with this. If things go well we should be talking in less than twenty-four hours.”

“Let’s hope so, because I can tell you, Ava, if things don’t go well I’m facing a lifetime posting in Guyana.”

“Stay positive,” she said, reaching into her bag for the USB drive containing the Bank Linno loan data. Then she headed for the door.

She took the elevator to the Mandarin’s business centre on the second floor. The place was deserted except for a clerk. Ava signed in and took a computer in the far corner. She logged on, opened the USB directory, found the Toronto records, printed three pages, and scanned them. She then accessed a Gmail account she had had for years under “slauming” and began to write. The banker’s name is Andrew Cameron. He is originally from Aberdeen and worked for a British bank in Rome before being recruited about six years ago by the ’Ndrangheta to be front man for their Bank Linno in Surabaya. I attach three pages of Canadian real estate deals. I hope to hear from you shortly. Jennie Kwong