Boxing the Octopus, page 17
“Money laundering.”
PROBABLY.
“But not necessarily,” said Linda. “Money laundering is incredibly difficult to prove, because the trail…” She waved at the screens, her hair nodding emphatically. “…the trail is notoriously difficult to follow. They might have been banking offshore simply to avoid taxes at home.”
“So politicians who raise taxes on everyone else were dodging them?” Cape scowled.
“Not to mention the perennial puzzle,” said Linda. “How does a public servant like the prime minister of Iceland make millions of dollars while in office?”
“Anyone go to jail?”
“A couple of other low-level Mossack Fonseca employees.” Linda’s hair swayed indignantly. “And an IT guy at the bank who was blamed for the data breach.”
“The IT guy?” Cape turned to see if Linda was joking but her follicles looked deadly serious. “What about the politicians?”
“Some resigned, most just stonewalled,” said Linda. “Investigations are ongoing, but the furor subsided as soon as the press lost interest.”
Cape glanced at the miasma of color over Panama, then back toward Cyprus, letting his eyes drift out of focus until they found their way back to San Francisco. “So how does this compare?”
“We just got started,” replied Linda. “But if you’re asking if this is the normal pattern for cash flow at your local bank, the answer is no, not by a long shot.”
WATCH THIS.
Lines started to fade into the background as the hubs glowed brighter, a constellation of transactions defining a network. Most of the dots were green as envy, a handful of others were blue. Cape pointed randomly at one of the green spots in the Pacific Northwest.
“What’s that?”
“Pike Place Market in Seattle,” said Linda.
“How about that one?” Cape gestured toward Florida.
DISNEY WORLD
Cape arched an eyebrow and waved toward Europe.
“Euro Disney,” said Linda. “Sorry, I mean Disneyland Paris. I always forget they renamed it.”
Cape looked befuddled. “Why?”
“Would you go to Euro Disney?”
“Now that you mention it, no,” said Cape. “I wouldn’t.”
“That was the problem,” said Linda. “Attendance was dismal till they changed the name.”
A green dot beckoned from Canada.
“Give me a hint,” said Cape.
“Six Flags,” said Linda.
“There’s a Six Flags in Canada?”
“Montreal.”
“That’s an even bigger mystery than this armored car heist,” said Cape.
NOT QUITE.
“Clearly there’s a pattern.” Cape studied the highlights on the map.
Linda’s hair nodded vigorously. “Major tourist destinations, minimum ten-to-twelve different nationalities converging on a single location, and a high percentage of cash businesses in the area.”
“Looks to me like the spin cycle on one big-ass money-laundering operation.”
“Us, too,” said Linda.
“But you said—”
“—it’s tough to prove.” Linda made a curt gesture at the latticework on the screen.
NOT IMPOSSIBLE, BUT TOUGH
“Even in the case of the Panama Papers, with actual leaked documents, they barely made a dent,” said Linda. “So, it probably wouldn’t hold up in court.”
“Good thing I’m not a judge,” replied Cape.
ESPECIALLY CONSIDERING WE OBTAINED THIS DATA ILLEGALLY
“Good thing I’m not a cop,” added Cape.
Linda didn’t say anything. The hum of the monitors was the only sound as Cape stood silently and let the enormity of the pattern reveal itself. This was a global operation, organized and determined, and he was one man, disorganized and ambivalent.
“We were thinking about sending an anonymous tip to the FBI,” said Linda, reading his thoughts. “You still on good terms with that agent, was it Johnson?”
Cape shrugged. “If he hasn’t retired, but this is global. They’re federal, they usually need a domestic angle.”
“CIA?”
“Busy fighting terrorism.”
“Interpol?”
Cape shook his head. “If we invite one to the party, they’ll all want to come, and then—”
“—it’s not your party anymore.”
“What do you always tell me when I throw my trash in the wrong container and don’t recycle? Think globally, act—”
“—locally.”
“This is big,” said Cape. “So we need to think small.”
I LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK.
“Coming from you, that’s no small compliment. Can you zoom in on San Francisco?”
The map shimmered and the center screen became one city, a lopsided square surrounded by water on three sides. Colored lines followed the streets, leading to midsized blobs scattered across the city. There was a noticeable contrast to the world map, a blatant lack of symmetry.
Three glowing orbs dominated this grid, as disproportionate to the rest of the dots as the sun is to planets in a solar system. The pier was the largest, followed by the bank, then two spots south of the city proper, between Potrero Hill and Hunter’s Point.
Cape pointed at the southernmost blob. Before he could ask, Linda read aloud from her notes. “That just looks big because of the reduced scale of this map. Globally, it shrinks to normal size, but the pier stays fairly large like the other tourist hubs.”
“But what is it, another bank?”
“No,” said Linda. “It’s one of the bank’s biggest local depositors, Hopewell Pharmaceuticals.”
Cape stared at the map as she continued reading.
“Headquarters are near UCSF. One of the city’s biggest employers, after you factor out the tech companies. Hopewell has multiple business loans with the bank, presumably for capital investment.”
“Have you looked into it?”
YOU MEAN BEHIND THE WALL?
Cape nodded.
NO TIME.
“From the outside it looks clean,” said Linda.
“As clean as fresh laundry?”
“Fair enough,” Linda said. “I forgot how cynical you are.”
“I’m not cynical, I’m inquisitive.”
YOU MEAN NOSY.
“That, too.” Cape gestured at the other unidentified orb. “And that one?”
“Pratas Construction,” replied Linda. “Builders. The company is headquartered here but handles construction projects all over the world.”
“What do they build?”
“The new UCSF library, and a hospital near San Mateo. A factory in China and a mining operation in Chile.” Linda scanned her notes. “Some other business in Europe, China, and Central America—all big industrial projects, at first glance.”
“Take a second glance,” said Cape.
Linda looked at Sloth. “Give us a couple of days. These giant corporations tend to have pretty tight security.”
A DAY SHOULD BE FINE, TWO AT MOST
“Can you zoom into the pier?”
A Technicolor grid coalesced, a city within a city. At the center was a massive blue dot, connected by ephemeral threads to green spheres, then tenuously linked to medium-orange blobs and red dots of lesser size.
“What are those?”
Linda looked at her notebook. “The big blue ball is the aquarium, the biggest tourist spot on the pier. The greens are the major restaurants, chains mostly. Orange are gift shops and smaller food stands, red are specialty stores.”
Cape arched an eyebrow and turned to Linda. “You really want to make an anonymous tip?”
“I thought you—”
“—call the aquarium and all the green balls,” said Cape. “If you have time, one or two of the orange ones.”
“And?”
“Tell them you’re calling to set up an appointment for me, to ask some questions,” said Cape. “About money laundering.”
I DON’T LIKE THE WAY YOU THINK.
“You can’t take back a compliment,” said Cape. “Once given, it’s mine forever.”
“This does sound like a bad idea,” added Linda.
THAT’S BECAUSE IT IS A BAD IDEA.
“But it’s the only idea I’ve got,” said Cape.
“What about the bank?”
“Don’t contact the bank. Not yet. Only their customers.” Cape looked at the map again. “The biggest dots on the pier, plus the construction and pharmaceutical companies. Tell them I’d like to interview them as soon as possible.”
“You could get sued for libel just for scheduling that meeting.” Linda frowned. “Companies like that have lawyers for their lawyers.”
“I’m desperate.”
“Fine.” Linda held his gaze for a long minute, her hair vibrating disapprovingly.
“Thanks,” said Cape. He stepped over to Sloth and squeezed his shoulder again. “Don’t get caught.”
The maps faded as a single message scrolled across the screens until it ran off the edge.
HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA HA
Linda walked Cape to the door. “You’re his favorite,” she said. “When I tell him to be careful, he just gets defensive.”
“I’ve known him longer.” Cape hugged Linda despite her hair’s attempt to push him away. “Thanks again.”
“What are you going to do now?”
“Play to my strengths,” said Cape, “and piss people off.”
44
“I don’t want you to piss anyone off.”
Sally didn’t answer. Cape thought she might be smirking until he realized it could be a frown. It was so hard to tell when she was upside down.
Sally walked on her hands across the floor of his office, then rotated like a Ferris wheel onto her feet without missing a step. She looked back over her shoulder. Definitely a frown.
“I never annoy anyone,” she said levelly. “That’s your specialty. I either seduce them or—”
“—maim them.”
“I suppose getting maimed could be considered—”
“—annoying, yes. That’s my point.” Cape pointed at the chair in front of his desk, but knew it was a futile gesture. Sally came in through the window and had been roaming like a cat since she arrived.
“You want me to visit your bank.” Sally stood in the far corner of the office but her disembodied voice sounded like she was standing directly behind him. Cape thought it might be the acoustics but suspected it was one of her many tricks.
“It’s not my bank,” said Cape. “It’s The People’s Bank.”
“But I already know this bank. It serves the community.”
Cape knew “community” meant Chinatown. “I need to know something very specific.”
“If you’re looking for a criminal connection to anyone on the mainland, don’t bother.” Sally’s floating voice sounded bitter. “The Triads have too many legitimate business interests.”
“I’m looking for a reaction.” Cape held up a sheet of paper. “Between the cops and Sloth, I’ve now got a list of names.” Sally didn’t move, so he folded the list into a paper airplane and sent it sailing in her direction. “Everyone who’s anyone connected to the pier—investors, sponsors, board members.”
Sally snatched the airplane midflight before it veered through the open window. As she unfolded the paper she asked, “Anyone in particular?”
“The list is prioritized, big donors and public figures at the top.”
Sally raised her eyebrows. “Even I recognize some of these names.”
“The landed gentry of San Francisco.” Cape folded another paper plane and set it soaring, but it slammed into the wall before getting anywhere near the window. “The reason the same investors keep getting rich from San Francisco real estate isn’t because they have better instincts, it’s because they’re friends with the developers, who are friends with the politicians, who become investors themselves in the development projects they approve. So, when city politicians green-light a new project—”
“—they tell their friends,” said Sally.
“And the circle starts all over again,” said Cape.
“Like a dragon eating its own tail.”
“Or a dog licking its own balls.”
“Language,” said Sally. “But I take your point.”
“By the time you arrive, Linda will have called most of the bank’s clients and given them a poke in the ribs.”
“And your name.”
Cape held his hands together in front of his chest, the Japanese gesture meaning please or thank you that he’d learned from using emojis on his cell phone. Sally didn’t seem impressed, so he added, “I know it’s a fishing expedition.”
“I’ve heard some people fish by throwing sticks of dynamite into the water and waiting until dead fish float to the surface,” said Sally. “But I never believed it.”
“Was that sarcasm?”
“Not if you have to ask.” Sally’s mouth twitched. “I’m just suggesting that you’re better at causing a ruckus than I am.”
“Your Chinese is better than mine,” replied Cape. “And according to Linda, the bank manager came from Hong Kong. He doubtless speaks English better than I do, but this should be a nuanced conversation, and when it comes to Chinese, I can’t tell the difference between moo shu and wushu.”
“One is shredded pork, and the other is a Chinese martial art.”
“But which is which?” asked Cape. “Not only that, which witch is the witch to which I could switch without a hitch?”
Sally definitely smirked this time.
“Context matters,” added Cape.
“So I’m considering a small business loan?”
“Your school is technically a small business,” said Cape. “Seems plausible.”
“Seems thin,” replied Sally. “But defensible.”
Cape nodded. “So, if they find their way back to me—”
“—then one of their clients must have contacted them.”
“In a hurry.”
“I take it back,” said Sally. “This isn’t like fishing with dynamite.”
“Thanks.”
“More like a grenade.”
Cape shrugged. “I can’t think of another play.”
“Hamlet.”
“Funny.” Cape stood and stretched. “If I go, the manager will just deflect, but while you’re vetting the bank as a potential customer…”
Sally waved the list in her right hand. “I’m dropping names—”
“—like little sticks of dynamite.”
“Boom,” said Sally quietly. “I just hope you’re ready for the blowback.”
Cape let his eyes drift toward the window as he visualized the schematic of cash flowing across the pier. “When can you go?”
“About an hour.” Sally glanced outside to gauge the position of the sun. “It’s still early enough to go home and change into something—”
“—less intimidating?”
“Something that looks like I want my loan application to be approved.”
“I hope I’m not wasting your time.”
“That would be a first.” Sally smiled.
“I just need an angle,” said Cape. “The bank is at the center of everything, but I don’t think it’s behind everything. To be honest, I don’t even know what I’m investigating anymore.”
“That’s why it’s a mystery.”
“I was always partial to thrillers,” said Cape.
“You don’t get to write your own story,” said Sally. “You know that.”
“Yeah,” said Cape. “But the guy who’s writing mine must be one sick bastard.”
45
Linda felt sick as she hung up the phone.
While she was making calls, Linda was all business. She used her reporter’s voice to push through any gatekeepers until she got an executive assistant, public relations department, or the personal voicemail of someone in charge.
But now that she’d finished calling a dozen businesses, on and off the pier, she felt nauseous. As if she’d set something inexorable in motion, a runaway train about to jump the tracks. She wished she could blame the buzzing in her head on radiation from the phone, but she was using a landline, and besides, Linda wasn’t in the habit of lying to herself.
She glanced at the screens across the room, Sloth’s hands twitching on his keyboard. The glowing orb of the bank swelled as data streamed through it, tentacles of color reaching across the map. Like a child’s sketch of a sea monster, drawn with every crayon in the box. A psychedelic kraken.
Linda watched it pulse and spread, a single entity with impossible reach and insidious purpose. If the gothic novelist H.P. Lovecraft had ever dreamt about money, it would’ve looked something like this.
Linda had been a journalist long enough to know that phone calls were a game of polite deflections and guilty inflections. A good reporter could catch them all, if they listened hard enough. But in the real world it was actions that counted, not words. Actions taken by desperate people with something to lose.
And in Linda’s experience, nobody liked to lose.
46
Lou didn’t want to lose consciousness.
A deathly chill as a wave shoved him underwater, but he bobbed to the surface with the passive buoyancy of an empty promise.
He couldn’t feel his arms, so he stopped paddling, but the cold was keeping him awake and that gave him hope. When he stopped feeling cold, then he would probably stop feeling. Lou wasn’t an optimist, but he was an opportunist, so he’d take anything he could get if it meant staying alive.
