The Big Fix (21 page)

However, Eaton understood what was of more immediate concern, and the most important thing of all: proving that Perumal had orchestrated, remotely, a match-­fixing ring while he was under the protection of Europol and the Hungarian government. If this was true, it would have a major impact on the fight against match-­fixing.

 

CHAPTER 38

MELBOURNE, SEPTEMBER 2013

I
t is a crisp Melbourne morning as Eaton makes his way down Collins Street, phone in hand. He is typing an email to Ron Noble, describing the morning's events. Arrests began at 5:30
A.M.
Graham Ashton's cops raided seven properties across Melbourne. They arrested Younan, Gsubramaniam, and six Southern Stars players. One player had picked up a woman at a bar the night before and gone back to her place. Police experienced difficulty tracking him down. Lewis Smith, the impetus for the investigation, had left the Southern Stars and was safely back in England.

Eaton dispatches the email and places his phone in his jacket pocket. “Noble will puff out his chest when he tells Wainwright,” he says, referring to Rob Wainwright, the director of Europol. “Noble will love to say, ‘Hey, we have Perumal.' ”

That evening, the taxi cruises St. Kilda, through Eaton's old haunt, his first posting with the Victoria Police. He points out the police academy that he entered at seventeen, shortly after his brother's death. “That's where I studied as a cadet,” he says. A crowd of local TV crews has gathered around the Victoria police station on St. Kilda Road. Eaton waits also. A small paddy wagon pulls up along the curb. “I once stuffed eighteen ­people into one of those,” he says. “It was a loud party, 1972. All Kiwis. We arrested them when they didn't want to turn down their music. My lapels were torn off. A great fight.”

Ashton's cops have spent the last eighteen hours leaning on the nine ­people they have arrested. It is nearly midnight, and most of the players have already admitted to their involvement in the Southern Stars ring. Gsubramaniam has admitted nothing. Younan also denied involvement. When police showed him compelling evidence to the contrary, Younan burst into tears. He cried for nearly fifteen minutes, his body heaving.

A judge has been summoned to officiate an impromptu bail hearing, and this is held in an unceremonious conference room on an upper floor of the police station. A few reporters are in attendance, but that's all. Police lead Noel and Woolley into the room, one by one. They sit in a chair before the judge, calmly answering his queries. It is difficult to tell what worries the players more, the court or the syndicate. As soon as Noel and Woolley make bail, they barricade themselves in their rooms.

T
he revelation of Perumal's alleged involvement in the Southern Stars fixing ring underscored the laissez-­faire approach that international law enforcement applied to fixers, rather than to players. Fixers and their financiers were more difficult to catch and prosecute than the players who served as their pawns. But the news of Perumal's alleged activity was too galling to ignore. Here was a fixer who was allegedly perpetrating crimes while in the control of law enforcement. Only three days after the arrests in Melbourne, as if in response to the news, Singapore finally spoke.

Singapore police arrested fourteen ­people in match-­fixing raids. Investigators claimed that between 2008 and 2011, this collective had manipulated nearly seven hundred games, mostly in Europe, including World Cup qualifiers and Champions League matches. Among those arrested were former Perumal associates Anthony Raj Santia and Gaye Alassane. Singaporean authorities were cryptic about their haul. But anyone who had been following the international match-­fixing story knew what Singapore police meant when they announced that they had captured the “mastermind” behind the entire operation.

The maneuvers that Dan Tan had initiated in Rovaniemi had now finally come back to haunt him. Dan Tan was in jail, and for an unknown amount of time. Singaporean authorities quickly released ten ­people of the fourteen arrested. But Dan Tan and Anthony Raj Santia were among four held under a section of the Singaporean penal code that allows the state to detain a suspect—­without charge—­on suspicion of drug trafficking, money laundering, immoral living, or organized crime activity. It was unclear if Singaporean authorities were prepared to charge Dan Tan, release him for extradition to Italy, or simply hold him indefinitely, which was a permissible result under local statutes. Whatever the outcome in Singapore, these were important days in the fight against match-­fixing. The tide appeared to be turning.

T
he night of the arrests, Chris Eaton can be found in an Italian restaurant in Melbourne. Three of his daughters have joined him, two of them with their husbands. Unlike some daughters, whose attitudes toward their fathers complicate and sour with time, Eaton's girls radiate gratification in his presence, feeding off his spirit and vitality. They spar with him, and he good-­naturedly returns fire. But when the topic turns solemn, or he has something he'd really like to say, they all stop with the kidding and turn an ear to his authority.

The restaurant is full, and Eaton's party orders their dishes, mostly pasta. A man ambles around the restaurant, an accordion strapped to his torso, playing for tips. Eaton wants to discuss the Southern Stars investigation. “This case is a wonderful example of organized-­crime-­fighting techniques,” he says, leaning in, speaking in confidence, his hands emphasizing his points. “If they had gone the traditional prosecutorial route, they would have waited months to get this information. And these guys would have been back in England, playing for another team. But it's still not good enough. That is the whole problem with this. They are still looking at it locally. Their stage of heroism is in their own country.”

The Australian authorities initiated their arrests while Jason Jo Lourdes and Krishna Ganeshan—­Perumal's alleged associates in the Stars fixes—­were out of the country. Without having these two in custody, using the threat of a prison sentence to cajole them into divulging their operational details, Eaton fears that it may be difficult to lasso Perumal from Budapest, leaving him free to operate.

“That's the most insulting part,” Eaton says. “He sticks up his middle finger. I want to break his fucking finger. You can see how careless he is. It got him some wins. But combined with his gambling addiction, it scared Dan Tan into trying to get him locked away. He's always confessed just enough to keep himself off the plane to Singapore. But he's so stupid. He's gonna spend the rest of his life in prison. I got a good feeling in my gut that the cunt's gonna go this time.”

The musician roams over to the table, and a general groan comes over Eaton's party. But not Eaton. He sits back in his chair and watches as the man leans into a rendition of “Que Sera, Sera.” Eaton knows the lyrics. He joins the musician in singing them. “Whatever will be, will be,” Eaton loudly vocalizes. “The future's not ours to see.”

 

CHAPTER 39

R
alf Mutschke, FIFA's new security chief, lacked finesse in his dealings with the press, especially in comparison with his predecessor. He got off to a rocky start in Zurich. One month into his duties, Mutschke uttered the following public comment: “It's not possible to defeat criminal activity altogether, and match-­fixing is clearly such an activity. I hope we can minimize the problem and restrict it. But we won't be able to completely eliminate the problem.” Mutschke appeared to confirm what many observers had feared about FIFA, that the organization ultimately considered match-­fixing an acceptable part of the global game, simply a new component of doing business.

This rejuvenated the debate. Was anyone accountable for eradicating fixing from soccer? If so, who? “FIFA has a role to play,” says Michael Hershman, of the Fairfax Group. “It's an issue of leadership and priorities. Match-­fixing is enough of an issue for the reputation of the sport that organizations like FIFA have a responsibility to address it aggressively. Since Chris Eaton left, I really don't see as much of a concentration on the issue at FIFA. Unfortunately, there has been a loss in momentum. At some level, it's been left to the ICSS.”

As Eaton rotated through the global sports and security conference circuit, often in the role of featured lecturer, he proposed a new agenda, one designed to provide sports organization with the tools to eradicate fixing. He cited the need for cooperative international agreements between sports, police, and gambling institutions. He advocated the creation of an agency charged with collecting and analyzing relevant intelligence, a multinational, multiagency body that could provide timely advice to governments and sports bodies. He recommended the formation of a task force designed to disrupt organized criminal groups that are involved in the manipulation of matches and betting. A global fund, administered by Interpol, would provide operational financing.

The plan sounded impractical to many ­people in sports, security, and government. Eaton admitted that it was ambitious. But he wasn't dealing in fantasy. As a model for this new organization, he cited the Financial Action Task Force on Money Laundering (FATF), which the G7 nations had developed in 1989. Administered by the Organisation for Economic Co-­operation and Development, in Paris, FATF had been instrumental in establishing international standards and coordinating governments in the fight against the financing of organized crime and terrorism. Eaton suggested establishing his proposed body through UNESCO, which had developed the World Anti-­Doping Agency.

Provocative, recognized as an effective, occasionally captivating speaker, Eaton spoke at the European Union, in Brussels. His invitation was a signal that governments were beginning to understand the dangers and severity of match-­fixing. In Brussels, Eaton outlined the fundamental reasons for the inability of policing bodies, currently disposed, to defeat it. “Sport is global,” he said. “Betting on sport is global. Match-­fixing conspiracies are global. Betting fraud conspiracies are global. Transnational organized crime is by definition global. But policing is largely nationally contained. Here lies the root of the problem, and therefore to a large extent the solution. Global sport, globally gambled on, is corrupted by globally roaming criminality. Conversely, there is no equivalent global prevention or investigation.”

Eaton's proposed apparatus sounded a lot like the early FBI, a cooperative agency designed to face down criminal enterprise on newly expansive terrain. A cogent, convincing salesman, Eaton sounded a lot like a young, idealistic J. Edgar Hoover, the zealous believer in fundamental restructuring.

Like Hoover, Eaton had his targets, Perumal chief among them. In the aftermath of the Southern Stars arrests, Eaton made the rounds with the press. Victoria Police officials made no public comments linking Perumal to events in Australia. This privilege fell to Eaton, and in repeated interviews he pointed the finger at Perumal, whose free Hungarian living insulted Eaton's belief in the way things should be. “One has to assume from what we know that Perumal is involved,” he said publicly. “It is absolutely shocking. It shows how arrogant and how fearless these ­people are.” In private discussions about Perumal, Eaton would go further. “This fucker needs to go to jail. End of story.”

E
aton's press tour brings him to New York City. Match-­fixing has succeeded in making soccer front-­page news in the United States, where the sport seldom rates broad attention. Earlier in the day, he completed an interview with CNN. After several hours speaking with Bryant Gumbel for the HBO program
Real Sports
with Bryant Gumbel,
Eaton has the rest of the day free.

He takes a cab downtown to the East Village. It is sunny, one of those perfect afternoons that come to New York in either spring or fall. Walking down East Seventh Street, Eaton reflects on what he has accomplished, how he has managed to emphasize the issue of match-­fixing, communicating its importance to international decision-­makers. “We certainly have a seat at the table now,” he says. That may have to be enough for one man. As he moves swiftly down the sidewalk, and through his thoughts, Eaton admits that the extensive international travel and general pressures of the last several years have grown tedious. He understands that retirement nears. “I'm on the last throw of this dice, mate.”

After buying a collapsing doll for his son at a Ukrainian knickknack shop, Eaton crosses the threshold of McSorley's. It's time to blow off some steam at the oldest bar in New York. The barman deposits a beer in front of Eaton. McSorley's is busy for a weekday afternoon, a sunny one at that. The place is noisy with loud voices, as ­people try to make themselves heard over one another. The shrill sound of clinking beer mugs is all that penetrates the blanketing din.

It is so loud that Eaton doesn't hear the alert from his phone. At some point, however, out of habit, he pulls the phone from his pocket, making sure that he hasn't missed any critical messages. And, in fact, he has received an email of particular interest. His face contorts joyfully as he reads it:

Hi!

Why do you poke your nose in everything looking for publicity.

You are an ex and not a present FIFA security officer.

You now work for a worthless organization and earning blind salary.

If anyone who has the right to implicate and charge me for match fixing in Australia then it has to be the Mebourne [
sic
] Police force not you.

I hope FIFA will take away the World Cup from Qatar and you will be kicked from your job.

For your information you are not a well liked person among the encorcement [
sic
] departments Europe.

You yearn for publicity and sell vital informations [
sic
] that were meant to be secret.

I wish to see you kicked from your job as nuch [
sic
] as you look forward to my downfall.

Wilson Raj Perumal.

Eaton tosses his head back. He laughs so loudly that, for a moment, the chatter in the bar subsides, and all that can be heard in McSorley's is the sound of a man getting an unruly kick out of something. “Mate, isn't that something,” Eaton says. “He just can't keep his mouth shut. It just shows he's not an international roaming criminal. He's a lucky thug.” Eaton places his beer mug on the bar. “I love these penultimate acts.”

He types an email in reply: Wilson, you're scared, and you should be!

Eaton tucks his phone back into his pocket, then lifts his glass in salute. “The fun of the chase,” he says.