Geneva Connection, The (21 page)

As he made his way under the rail bridge, he knew he would be out of their line of sight for a split second, so he started to run, slowly at first then a sprint. He pressed the key fob and jumped into his car, starting the engine before pulling the door closed. The tires squealed as he raced toward the exit. Kent fumbled with the ticket at the exit barrier.
I’ll drive right through this fucking thing if it doesn’t open.
He looked in his rearview mirror as the metal arm lifted. The men were gone.

Chapter 30

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TICKY
. The strong Gulf wind intensified the sandstorm blown up by the turbine engine. A desert cloud surrounded the building as the helicopter climbed into the air, buffeted by the gale.

Raul Safuentes was the only passenger on board. “How long before we’re above this?” he shouted to the pilot.

“Not long, sir. It’s all low-level turbulence,” said the pilot. “Should only be a few more minutes before it smoothes out.”

Safuentes gripped the sides of his seat and closed his eyes.
Infernal machines
. When the aircraft climbed, the wind dropped, and he began to relax. Isla Tiburon became smaller and smaller through his window, as the helicopter continued its ascent. He’d installed the latest IT and communications systems at head office so he could avoid all unnecessary travel, but his role as the cartel’s CFO demanded that he dealt with certain matters face-to-face. His brother expected no less of him.

Forty-five minutes later, the town of Hermosillo came into sight. Safuentes closed his eyes again when they came in to land, taking deep breaths as he counted down the seconds until he felt firm ground.

Six hundred miles above his head, a DEA reconnaissance satellite was monitoring every inch of the helicopter’s flight. The Special Agent controlling the satellite from El Paso noted when the aircraft loaded up at the island, that there was only one passenger on board. He increased the focus when the helicopter came in to land at the small airstrip on the edge of Hermosillo. Then he leaned in toward the microphone next to his control screen.

The encrypted radio crackled as he spoke into the microphone. “Only one passenger, and I’m pretty sure it’s Safuentes. Do you have visual?”

A quarter of a mile away from the airstrip, a DEA agent answered from his hideout in a disused water tower. “I have visual.” He concentrated on the passenger leaving the helicopter. The Leviathan high powered telescope on a slim pedestal picked up all the close detail he needed. “I can confirm the passenger is Raul Safuentes. It’s affirmative, Raul Safuentes.”

“Copy that. Will continue to monitor,” replied the agent in El Paso.

As soon as Safuentes was on board the waiting Hawker 750 private jet, the pilot started the engines and took off in an easterly direction. A slim, young cabin attendant brought Safuentes his favorite drink, bourbon with a little ice, while he reclined in his leather seat. Besides the pilot and crew, once again, he was the only passenger on board. He finished his drink before taking out a stack of papers from his briefcase, occasionally reaching for his calculator to check some of the figures.

Two hours later, they stopped to refuel at Monterrey, but Safuentes didn’t leave the jet. The aircraft headed out across the Gulf of Mexico, eventually landing at Nassau, the capital of the Bahamas.

After clearing immigration at Lynden Pindling International Airport, ten miles west of Nassau, Safuentes was picked up by two muscle-heads in a black Mercedes. They drove him downtown and dropped him off outside a bland office building on East Hill Street. The brass plate on the entrance door gave only a hint at what went on inside. It read, “Oakham Fiduciary Services—Nassau Branch.”

Safuentes walked into the building, straight past reception, and up a flight of steps to a small, wood paneled office with no windows. Already waiting there for him were Baumgart and Kulpman.

“Good afternoon, Raul. Good trip?” asked Baumgart.

“I’ve had worse. I assume you arrived yesterday?” Safuentes replied.

“Yes, so we could make sure the files were in good order for today’s meeting. Can I get you a drink?”

“Coffee. Let’s get on with it.”

Baumgart poured a coffee for the three of them while Kulpman looked on. “We have a lot to cover with you. It’s been an active year.”

Safuentes unpacked the papers from his briefcase. “I’m listening.”

“In the last twelve months, we have received transfers from your Mexican bank accounts amounting to twenty-seven billion dollars.”

“That agrees with my records.”

“Good.” Baumgart feigned relief. “Those funds were transmitted to our various accounts in Geneva then transferred immediately to the established list of holding companies and trusts administered by Oakham Fiduciary Services. At our latest count, these were located in sixteen different countries, all selected by Oakham for their low tax status and guaranteed discretion.”

Baumgart handed over a list to Safuentes. Against the name of each holding company or SPV was a dollar amount detailing the distribution of the twenty-seven billion dollars. The analysis went on for six pages. Safuentes took a few moments to review the list before nodding his approval.

“Another coffee,” said Safuentes. It wasn’t a request.

Baumgart looked at Kulpman, who didn’t move, so Baumgart placed his notes on the table and grabbed the flask of coffee. He refilled their cups.

“Go on,” said Safuentes.

“The monies set out on that list have been added to funds already held by those vehicles. As in previous years, we have drawn down on those combined funds as and when appropriate investment opportunities have emerged.”

Baumgart handed over another sheet of paper. “On this report, we have shown the assets acquired during the year. It’s been a busy period for investment. We’ve made investments totaling some forty-three billion dollars. We have added to our real estate and quoted securities portfolios, and these additions came to a total of twenty-one billion dollars. Furthermore, we’ve invested heavily in an asset class where we have historically had only a small exposure.”

“Private equity,” said Safuentes.

“Exactly. We deployed a total of twenty-two billion dollars in private equity, and most of this has been through CBC.”

“CBC’s returns are encouraging.” Safuentes broke into a half-smile before stopping himself.

“They’ve been a very good find. Since compiling this report, we have invested much more through them. I believe we’ll be able to deploy a lot more of your capital through CBC in the coming years.”

“What about the problem you mentioned a few weeks ago?”

“The problem—”

Kulpman raised his hand, stopping Baumgart in midflow. He sat forward in his chair and turned to Safuentes.

“There will be no more difficulty with CBC.” Kulpman’s tone was slow and deliberate. “We took immediate action and now have enough insurance in place to guarantee their continued cooperation. Problem solved.”

Safuentes’s mouth creased into a thin smile, but this time he allowed it to show. If something was guaranteed by Kulpman, then he could rely on the information without question. Safuentes himself had trained Kulpman before he joined the senior enforcement team within the cartel. Because of his intellect, absolute discretion, and complete loyalty, Safuentes had placed him close to the assets at Tritona some years ago. It had been a shrewd decision; he was the cartel’s eyes and ears on the ground where it mattered most.

“Very good, Franz. I will speak no more of this,” Safuentes said.

In the three hours that followed, Safuentes grilled Baumgart on everything, taking nothing on trust. He couldn’t afford to; later on, he’d have to answer to his brother. He wanted to know the details of the assets being acquired with the cartel’s funds and the returns being generated. He also demanded chapter and verse on the legal structures being set up by Oakham Fiduciary Services. These esoteric corporate arrangements made it difficult for the authorities to trace the cartel’s assets and thus represented a legal firewall, almost impossible to penetrate without an insider’s knowledge.

Across the street, in a large colonial-period property, somebody was watching. The house was leased to a Mr. and Mrs. Ragula from Cleveland, Ohio. It was acquired as their holiday home, but they’d never visited. The couple didn’t exist. The whole lease arrangement was a front for the DEA’s intelligence team. Merriman’s intelligence reports, and the investigation work carried out by his subordinate, Bill Greenough, had suggested there was an important connection between Oakham and the Caruana cartel. He had teams on standby at all known Oakham locations ready to monitor any visits by senior cartel personnel.

Safuentes’s entire flight from Hermosillo had been monitored by El Paso via the reconnaissance satellite. Three DEA agents in Nassau had taken over the surveillance once the jet landed and Safuentes was on the ground. They’d followed him from the airport and were now holed up in the house, where they’d set up microwave listening and sound recording equipment. Early on in Baumgart’s presentation, the three agents had contacted Merriman to inform him of the high-quality intelligence being gathered. Merriman had requested them to patch through the conversation, and he’d heard most of it live.

Once Baumgart had finished delivering his annual report to Safuentes, Merriman came on the phone and spoke to his men in the house. “Great work, guys. This is a major breakthrough for us. We’re finally starting to understand the cartel’s financial network.”

“And we’ve got the whole thing on tape, sir,” replied one of the agents.

“Besides Baumgart and Kulpman, is Safuentes alone? We know he was the only one on the flight over.”

“Looks that way, sir.”

“No one else from the cartel is there with him?”

“That’s right. He arrived by car from the airport accompanied by two minders. They’re already parked around the corner waiting to collect him. We’re assuming they’ll take him right back to the airport in a moment.”

Merriman thought for a moment. This was an opportunity to capture a senior cartel figure. Safuentes was thinly guarded and exposed. They could wait a long time for another chance like this. The intelligence they could get from someone like Safuentes would save years of undercover work and save the lives of many agents. But his agents were in another sovereign country, so things could get messy.