The Geneva Decision (18 page)

Chapter 26

Limbe, Cameroon

26-May, 5PM

P
ia was full of saline, electrolytes, and soft foods when the hospital released her. Bishop Mimboe and his wife had come to visit. They prayed for her, invited her to the evening’s festivities at the school, and again offered accommodations at the old convent on campus. She took them up on it: with half her agents gone, the convent offered better security.

But first she had to interrogate Big-gut at her hotel.

Pia sat down in the bungalow with the Major, who filled her in.

“His name is Conor Wigan of Manchester. “Name checks out—prescriptions, papers, other places. Miguel has him fed and waiting outside. We told him he gets a sleeper dart every time he makes noise or pisses us off. We didn’t mention him to the Coast Guard.”

“And no medications?” Pia asked.

“Not yet. He’s overdue for the Lithium.”

“Bring him in,” Pia said.

“You sure you’re OK? You still look a little green.”

“Getting better.”

Miguel brought him in, checked his plasticuffs, and seated him. Miguel stood at ease next to Pia’s chair, the Major sat off Pia’s side, and Tania took the watch outside.

“You can’t hold me here,” Conor said.

Pia pushed a pill halfway across the small table. Lithium.

“I don’t want you going nuts while we’re trying to reason with you,” she said. “Now, the Dantrium is another story. Tell me what happens to you if I toss the bottle out in the ocean.”

“You’re not that kind of person.”

“Normally, no. But a few days ago I watched a friend of yours kill a friend of mine. I followed him to Cameroon, and right when I was closing in on him, you came out of nowhere and tried to kill me. So tossing your medications in the ocean and leaving you tied up somewhere for forty-eight hours isn’t going to keep me awake at night. Knowing your nervous system is locking up is not my problem. Knowing you can’t eat or drink, much less walk away from the police, isn’t going to keep me up at night either. See, if I was a mean person, I’d call your enemies and tell them where to find you.”

Conor’s lips trembled. He clenched his fists on the table.

“Could I have a glass of water to take my pill?”

Miguel handed him a paper cup half full of water. Conor took the cup in one of his cuffed hands, tossed the pill back and drank.

Pia said, “We have to help each other, Conor. You tell me a few things and I’ll help you get what you want. That is, if you want Calixthe, your son, and your medications. Do we have a place to start negotiations?”

In a quiet voice, he said, “You planning on turning me over to the bloody police?”

“Depends on how much I like you in the end. Right now, I’m thinking that would be the best thing for society. The idea of having you locked up for life in a nice jail cell where you can’t kill anyone has its appeal.” Pia leaned across the table. “If you help me, I might consider turning you over to the Swiss. Their jails are clean and tidy. You might even get a fair trial. If you turn out to be really nice and you give me information that leads to al-Jabal and whoever paid him to kill my friend, well, I might give you a five-minute head start before I call the police.”

Conor stared at her, his droopy red eyes pleading, his mind working hard. Pia tapped her fingernail on the table between them.

“All right,” he said. “We have a deal. But who is this character you’re looking for? The killer.”

“He used a fake passport with the name of a long dead Syrian poet, Badawi al-Jabal. He’s about this tall, had a trimmed beard but shaved it, and mean-looking eyes.”

“Never heard of him.”

“Too bad. Looks like you have nothing to give me then.” She rose, turned to Miguel, “Call the police. Let them know we found one of the—”

“Hang on! Let’s not be hasty. Syrian, you said?”

“He used the name of a dead Syrian. Said he was from Tangiers. He had a friend who ran a dress shop in Geneva called Marrakesh. Anything ringing a bell?”

Conor pursed his lips, shrugged, shook his head.

“Did I mention the
Zorka Moscoq
is owned by a friend of mine?” Pia said. “Mikhail Yeschenko. He’s Russian. Owns an oil company. Hired a bunch of Russian sailors to look for the people who stole his ship. One phone call and they’re here, Conor. Word is the Russians are old-fashioned about piracy. You know what I mean? Ropes and yardarms, that kind of thing. So, last chance, I’m looking for a mean-looking guy from Morocco, used to have a beard. Seen him?”

“You must mean Mustafa Ahmadi. Stupid twit, that one. Crazy, too.”

Pia stayed still.

“He jumped into the business with too much cheek and not enough sense, got us all into this mess. Stupid little suck-up.”

“Start at the beginning,” Pia said. “We know you’ve been commandeering oil tankers and selling them. We know your outfit worked pretty well for the last eighteen months or so, a clean operation for the first three ships. Then things started going wrong. Second ship, three sailors died. On the last couple ships, murdering sailors seems to be the new rule. Then my friend was murdered by one of your crew. Fill in the blanks here. Who runs the operation? How many are involved? How did the killing start? Why kill Clément Marot and Sara Campbell?”

He shook his head. “No, you got that all wrong, mate. Uh, ma’am. See, I’m not involved with those people. I’m not one of them. I’m just a poor working man living in Limbe with my wife, raising our son best we can. I worked the oil rigs in Nigeria before my health got me in a bit of trouble. Then this old mate of mine from the Army comes to town, has a crew and some big plans—”

“Name?” the Major asked.

He glanced at Pia. She shook the Dantrium bottle at him.

“Elgin Thomas was his name in the Army. He’s going by something else now, passport and everything. I forget his new name. Anyway, he has these plans—”

“You forgot his name?” Pia said. “You expect me to believe his name was Elgin Thomas and you
forgot
his new name?”

Conor blinked his big red-rimmed eyes.

The Major said, “OK, let’s go with Elgin Thomas for now. Go on.”

“Well, Elgin has the crew and the boats. He’s funded by le Directeur. Don’t ask, ’cause I don’t know. Neither does Elgin. Just a voice on the other end of the phone.”

“Le Directeur sounds French,” the Major said. “Is it?”

“Yeah, yeah, they were always talking in French, le Directeur and Elgin. I never took to the frogs, you know. Bloody awful language by my reckoning. Anyway, Elgin had this plan and he wants me and Calixthe to watch the coast for him. He never told us what he was planning but we figured it out easy enough. Limbe’s only business is filling up tankers and sending them on their way. One of them gets nicked and Old Elgin’s been asking about it for a week, well, we get the picture pretty quick. So we ask him for a bit more … consideration, if you will. He gets snotty and takes our boy. Puts him on the crew. Just a lad. Now Calixthe and me’s got to do whatever he asks.”

“He kidnapped your son?” Pia asked. “And you let him?”

“Well, he did give us the extra consideration. Wasn’t all bad. It’s not like we’re rolling in cash, though. Me outta work a couple years and all. Anyway, Elgin ropes us in—”

“Yeah, awful,” Pia said. “But I don’t care. Elgin runs the show. Le Directeur runs Elgin. Who has the money? How does Elgin get his hands on it?”

“Just want you to know how hard it’s been, what with—”

“Just answer the questions,” the Major said. “Our sympathy for you ran out when you started shooting.”

Conor let out a long sigh and slumped in his chair.

“Le Directeur has the money. Elgin meets him, comes back with it. Cash. Lots of it. No one ever sees it all. He only comes round when you’re alone. All he carries is your pay, not a dime more. You couldn’t even rob him—”

“How much did he pay you in cash?”

“Me?” Conor said. “He’d give me about sixty million CFA every trip.”

Pia exchanged glances with the Major. Conor smiled.

“What’s that, about a hundred thousand Euros?” Pia asked.

He nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Where does he meet le Directeur?” the Major asked.

“Europe somewhere. Never told me nothing.”

Pia shook the bottle of Dantrium.

“You don’t have to threaten me, ma’am. You got one of your people killed today. That’s not my fault. No reason to take it out on me.”

“It is your fault,” Pia said. “You set the trap. Your people fired a grenade. Remember, your medication is on the line here. Where does Elgin Thomas meet le Directeur?”

“Don’t go on like that about the medicine, love. D’you know what happens to me?”

“I saw it happen once. The man almost died before the doctors figured out what was wrong with him. I don’t care if that happens to you, Conor. Your little trap killed Ezra Goldstein.”

He sighed. “Seemed like a German country. Austria, maybe.”

They waited.

“Might have been Vienna. He’s always talking about a place called Kaffehandels near the Vienna Opera. He’s an opera man, that one. All that bloody shrieking.”

The Major typed away on her pad and nodded at Pia.

“You finally told us something we can believe,” Pia said. “There are coffee shops near the Vienna Opera house. We’ll come back to that in a minute. Now I want to know what happened over the last few months. Why did Elgin’s crew start killing people?”

“They’re all a bunch of wild kids. Thought they were getting away with it, they did. Could do anything they bloody well pleased and no one would mind. Then the Malaysians were waiting for them. Turned into a bloody riot. Second go-round for the Malaysians and they were out for revenge. Hid in the holds. Battled it out below decks. Elgin’s boys got pissed. Bloody shame.”

“How many boys does Elgin have?” the Major asked.

“Enough, I guess. I’ve seen six or eight.”

“We saw twice that many today,” Pia said. “I’m not feeling good about the quality of information you’re giving us, Conor.”

“Well, I wasn’t counting them. He doesn’t bring them all in at once. Ten, fifteen maybe.”

“Where does he find them?”

“He was a NATO liaison for the last decade. He knows men all over the world, knows the ones that’ll bend his way. There’s plenty will work for what he’s paying. Latvians, Germans, Croats, Finns, Portugese, and more Filipinos than he could get rid of. Takes a couple from each country so they don’t gang up on him. Runs a ship off, sends ’em home. If they did well and he trusts them, he’ll call them back for the next one.”

“And the banker?”

Conor put his hands up as if he were blocking a punch. He said, “I wouldn’t know anything about that, ma’am. First thing I know, that twit Mustafa Ahmadi’s talking all over Limbe. Says after he does a favor for le Directeur he’s going to take over for Elgin Thomas. Like he had the brains to run the operation. He’s the one chopped the heads off them Malaysians. Just a cold-blooded killer, that one. Nothing more to him.”

“Mr. Wigan,” the Major said. “Pia said someone killed her friend. Then she said someone killed Clément Marot. Then she asked you about the banker. And you answered. If you’re just a poor working man from Limbe, how’d you know Clément Marot was a banker?”

Conor paled.

Pia leaned over the table and spoke quietly. “You can still redeem yourself, Conor. We need you to get le Directeur to meet you somewhere. How about the Kaffehandel?”

“You got it all wrong!” he said. “It’s Elgin who knows the guy. I can’t set up a meeting with him, don’t even have his number. Besides, he’d be bloody pissed to find out I know he exists.”

“He’s probably right,” Pia said. “I doubt Le Directeur would rely on a clown like this for anything important. We need to catch up with him and Conor can’t help us. Guess we give him the pills and turn him over.”

“Hold on,” the Major said. “I think he can tell us what Mustafa Ahmadi was bragging about when he was
talking all over Limbe
. Right, Conor?”

Conor’s gaze shifted to every corner of the room before settling back on Pia. “Yeah, yeah. He was bragging ’bout a snuff job. A banker. I put it together’s all.”

Pia rolled her hand: go on.

“Mustafa said le Director called him directly because Elgin was soft. Said he could get the job done. Said he was gonna show up Elgin and take over the operation after.”

“Were you surprised when he came back to Cameroon?” Pia asked.

“He’s gotta get paid, doesn’t he?”

“When’s payday?”

“Couple days out yet. Elgin’s meeting le Directeur tomorrow night.”

Pia said, “I just asked you to set up a meeting—”

The Major grabbed her arm. “OK, here’s the question that’ll get you into Swiss custody instead of Cameroon. Where is Elgin Thomas right now?”

“Hiding out until he can catch a plane to Vienna tomorrow, I’d imagine.”

“Where was he at nine this morning?”

“At sea, getting ready for the ambush.”

“And where was he yesterday?”

“Don’t know.”

The Major nodded toward the door and left. Pia followed her outside.

“So le Directeur is the one laundering the money in Geneva,” Pia said. “Elgin Thomas runs the pirate operation in Cameroon. Calixthe and Conor are what, lieutenants? Mustafa, al-Jabal, is bucking for promotion over Elgin. Do I have that right?”

“If he’s telling us the truth. Criminals are stupid. He knows he’s not bright enough to make up a whole lie covering everything, so most of what he told us is probably true. I’m guessing the only parts he altered were the ones he thought would save his skin. He’s a lot closer to the action than he claims.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Pia said. “Calixthe’s the brains. She led us to him in a way that would let her look like a hero no matter who won the fight. Should’ve brought her back with me. Anyway, we turn him over to the police and try to find Elgin Thomas. He’ll be heading to Vienna tomorrow or the day after. We can get him and maybe le Directeur.”

The Major nodded.

“But le Director will be harder to catch.” Pia paced the deck for ten steps, turned and came back. “Villeneuve should be ready to accept our offer to help by now. You and Miguel go to Geneva, watch the bankers. I’ll take Tania and find Kaffehandels in Vienna. If I don’t catch them both, you’ll at least know who’s missing from the banks in Geneva.”