The Clayton Account (41 page)

The two operations were merged and Washington
allocated
them three times the original funds and staff. Under Julio’s guidance, Noriega, who until then had concentrated on the Californian market, started shipping to both coasts. The Drug Enforcement Administration allowed him to do so unimpeded, since busting consignments on arrival would undoubtedly have endangered their agent’s life. So they intercepted one shipment out of ten – none at all would have also been suspicious – and even then they came to an arrangement with the FBI. That last twist had been Harper’s suggestion and, though he did not mention it to anyone, his way of settling up outstanding markers with Special Agent Aaron Cole.

Together the two agencies operated a policy of ‘three steps down the line’. Julio could now move in and out of Cali at will. It was his responsibility as route planner to verify contacts, check landing strips, suitably bribe officials and make certain the selected paths were safe. He stayed clear of Medellín, where someone might recognize Julio Robles, but he had his hair cut short and grew a beard as an additional precaution. As each cocaine shipment was approved by Noriega, Julio passed the shipping details to the DEA.

Coastguard surveillance aircraft would then be airborne, waiting with their electronic gadgetry, in the right place, at the right time. The needle-in-the-haystack game had developed a new set of rules. For the US Government agencies, it became like throwing sevens with a pair of loaded dice. They did not disturb Noriega’s aircraft, merely tracked them on their radar from a distance, seldom less than twenty miles, to confirm their destination to controllers who in turn relayed the information to the FBI.

Special Agents would then covertly observe the unloading of the cocaine and refrain from interfering in
any
way. If an entire shipment was temporarily warehoused, they simply noted the event and kept a twenty-four-hour watch on the address. Once the major buyers had made their purchases – these would be 100-kilo-upwards deals – they in turn would be followed closely until they handed over to their wholesalers. At that point the narcotics were considered ‘thrice removed’, and a raid at that or yet lower levels would not cast any suspicion on Cardenas’ planning. A typical consignment of 500 kilos – street value $50 million – might be split between four major distributors, who in turn would sell it to ten or twenty wholesalers, five to ten kilos at a time. These men would supply their connections, from famous names in Hollywood to well-established dealers picking up half-kilo bags. At the bottom of the pile would be the inner-city pushers, operating in the night clubs and on street corners, offering little wraps containing a few grams.

In the normal game of drug enforcement, the police pick up the addicts and, with whatever threats or carrots at their disposal, they might extract a pusher’s name. Sometimes retailers can be coerced into confessing where they buy from, but that is usually where the information dries up. Distribution is big money, and pointing fingers at Mr Big tends to result in sudden death. Now, thanks to Harper’s source inside Colombia, the investigative process was reversed. The DEA had the starting point handed to them on a plate. Within a month they had identified almost the entire chain.

Even then they acted prudently – too many arrests at once would be too obvious, so they played little games. An unmarked FBI car would ‘accidentally’ collide with a car known to be carrying, then ‘coincidentally’ a police car would intervene. Other times they would simply raid the premises, citing tip-offs from the street. Along the way
they
built a clear and complete picture of a network spanning importer to consumer, and even to disposal of proceeds.

In mid-February Harper informed the Administrator of his readiness to strike. Julio received a directive to come home and two days later, right on schedule, he waltzed into the Miami office wearing a red Colombian
ruana
and a Peruvian bowler hat. He had with him a receipt from US Customs for one suitcase, confiscated from him at Miami International until he could prove there was substance to his far-fetched explanation. It contained $150,000 given to him as a bonus by a grateful Noriega, who believed in looking after his best men.

Three days later, DEA and FBI operatives, backed by police forces from eleven states, arrested sixty-seven people and seized one and a half tons of cocaine.

18

DURING THAT PERIOD
Tom Clayton endeavoured to pick up the pieces of his life. With Morales and Sweeney out of the equation, Archer’s tenacity declined. The Crown Prosecution Service made a last-ditch attempt to strike a deal with Stuart Hudson – a reduction to Assault and Battery in exchange for a guilty plea – but the lawyer sent them packing. After Salazar’s misfortune, the Crown ran out of potential witnesses, and though both Salazar’s and Sweeney’s offices had been turned inside out, not a shred of evidence was found to connect Clayton to hot money, laundering or cocaine. Hudson counterattacked with guns blazing, and shortly before Christmas Tom received an apology, legal costs and his requisite ‘Snow White’ bill of health.

He eventually secured his meeting with Hal Grinholm in late December. To Tom’s surprise, Hal insisted on an evening meeting. ‘Too goddamn busy,’ Grinholm said. ‘Until someone decides what the fuck we’re going to do with you, I have to share your load with Vlad.’

The trading room was eerily empty, a few screens
glowing
in the dark. The elongated shadows of modern technology projected their greater-than-life silhouettes in the light that drifted through the glass walls of Grinholm’s office.

Tom argued vehemently for an immediate reinstatement. There was nothing, he declared, preventing such a move now that he had been legally exonerated.

‘The Taurus business still bugs me,’ said Grinholm. ‘Still,’ he reflected, shrugging his shoulders, ‘it’s not entirely up to me.’

‘So who else needs to hear my side of the story?’ Tom demanded.

‘Leave it, Tom. Don’t rock the boat. We are still paying you, aren’t we?’

‘That’s not the point. I want to –’

‘That
is
the point!’ interrupted the senior man. ‘You can go over my head if you like. Write to Head Office. Get a lawyer and sue. You can do any of that. You’ll get some money. And the can. I don’t have to tell you that, do I?’ Grinholm leaned menacingly across his desk.

‘Sure, but you’ve heard Jeff Langland’s crock of shit. I want a chance to tell
my
side.’

‘Langland’s clammed up,’ Grinholm grimaced. ‘Won’t discuss the matter with anyone.’

‘So, you’re going to fire him, right?’

‘Yeah, sure,’ replied Hal mockingly. ‘With half the New York board made up of Langland relatives.’ He shook his head. ‘Nah, Langland’s an asshole – let him rot in Zurich. No skin off my nose.’

‘What do you think I should do?’ Tom tried a different tack.

‘Let it rest.’

Tom recognized Grinholm’s deceitful smile.

‘Enjoy Christmas. I hear you’re buying a gin palace
somewhere
. Enjoy it for a while. Then in the New Year’ – Grinholm stood up and made for his wood-panelled little fridge as he talked – ‘late January, maybe February, everyone will be bored with the subject and I’ll sort it out. I promise,’ he added, popping open a half-bottle of champagne.

‘And my bonus?’

‘I’ll take care of it,’ he undertook, pouring two glasses.

‘Have they been announced yet?’

‘Next week. You’ll get around three-quarters,’ he confided. ‘All the more reason to just trust me and keep mum.’ Grinholm raised the champagne to his lips and gazed at Tom over the flute.

‘Okay, Hal, I’ll trust you,’ Tom lied, picking up his glass. As far as I can throw you, he thought. But he too wanted a peaceful Christmas, and the germ of a scheme was maturing in his mind.

The Corston purchase was completed two weeks before Tom called on Hal Grinholm. On his return from Ireland, Tom had shown Caroline the seller’s letter of acceptance. But, whatever she might have said earlier, she was now having serious second thoughts. He assured her they could still afford it but avoided the real issue of their own relationship.

From the time Tom had left hospital, some warmth had returned between them but the differences were still there too, not helped by Tom being at home all day. It was as if Tom’s actions following his discovery of the Swiss fortune had somehow tainted him in her eyes. Whether or not his perception reflected her true feelings did not matter in practice. Tom believed and desperately wanted to regain the lost ground. Corston seemed like a new beginning and he refused to let it slip from his grasp. But for Caroline
Corston
was less of new beginning and more of a new life. In her familiar countryside, close to friends and family, away from the City, fast money, bonus talk, foreigners and banks. So, for the three weeks before Christmas, Caroline drove to Wiltshire daily: supervising builders, dragging round make-do furniture, and slowly returning the grand house to its former splendour. When the schools broke up for the holidays, parts of Corston were habitable and she chose to move there with the children. Her ordeal at the hands of Tony Salazar started fading gradually and the prospect of imminent festivities – buying the tree, presents, cousins running in the grounds with Pat and Michael – proved more beneficial than any counselling.

Tom seldom joined her save at weekends. Bank or no bank, he still felt like a banker and his computer access remained unchallenged. His investments, both of them, were performing well.

By 22 December sterling had dropped to 2.50 against the Swiss franc. The 25 million that Grinholm had okayed for Tom to bet on margin had earned the bank £24 million. Tom had almost doubled their money.

Then he had a look at his own performance: £20 million had bought the right to 52.4 million francs, which he could now sell for £21 million, giving a profit of $1.5 million dollars – which amply covered Taurus’ previous losses. But that was not enough to satisfy Tom. True, he had $38 million in Zurich and $5 million in Taurus. But soon he would have to hand over $43 million to Sean. Was that it? Tom asked himself. Would all the pain, the risks, the trauma to his family in the end amount to nothing? He avoided answering his own question. At midday, he called Ackermann and instructed him to close the book. After commissions and adjustments Tom was left with $1,575,757. The kind of money one can make,
he
reflected, when one has it to begin with. But he also heard a little voice inside him saying it was also the kind of money one could lose. And, in this instance, Tom did not have it to lose.

Christmas that year was like no other Christmas. For the first time in their married life they made do with what was to hand. Three-quarters of the house remained unfurnished and the rest contained a motley collection of relations’ rejects: a bed here, a bookcase there, tatty paintings, unwanted prints. The only extravagance was three old sofas bought by Caroline at the Cheltenham auctions. Intended for eventual use upstairs, they provided the centrepiece in the vast drawing room for the moment. The bullet marks from the night of horror had been plastered over, and the residual burn marks on the floor were covered by a cousin’s rug. The day after Boxing Day a large van arrived with the contents of the Hornbys’ attic, a veritable treasure trove which eclipsed Father Christmas.

Most welcome of all, Caroline’s laughter had returned. She seemed happier here and, as she strolled the grounds in mud-covered wellingtons, clad in jeans and several jumpers, no jewels, no make-up, Tom loved her all the more. Their lovemaking too had returned; hesitant at first, probing, as if strangers, needing to start over, but giving Tom hope of forgiveness, given time.

And yet, each time as he lay awake later, alone as he held her in his arms, Tom realized that he himself was different. While Caroline was the genuine article, he felt like an impostor. From the outset he had told her their ordeal was over. No more Salazars, Sweeneys or Swiss money. They had enough, he said confidently, whether the bank had him back or not. He had led her to believe he had parted with the dirty money, and she accepted his request not to ask him how. At the time he had seen his
deception
as a white lie, only the date being false. But in his heart Tom knew he had to find a way to turn the lie into reality. To finish with the gangsters and the terrorists and still provide a future for his family. Only then would he be able once again to look Caroline in the eye without shame.

In the second week of January Tom returned to London. To stay in touch with the City, he said. Then in early February, with still no call from Grinholm, he went back to Corston Park. Two gardeners had done their best with the landscaping, and if the results would not be visible until springtime, at least it was much in evidence that the new owners cared. The driveway potholes were now filled and rolled, though the gashes on the trees which had seriously disfigured the left side of Hertz’s car were still there. Inside the house, painters had finished, within the promised time, and if the smell of paint and glue was still prevalent, the prospect of normality and gracious living was as tangible as the burning log fires.

Saturday’s post delivered a minor yet entirely welcome surprise: his re-issued shotgun permit. On impulse, he made a phone call and an appointment was confirmed. On 2 March, his birthday, at three-thirty, he would be measured for a pair of Purdeys – in the legendary Long Room, no less.

Then, late on Saturday evening as he sifted through the newspapers, Tom made up his mind. He read the
Telegraph
,
Times
and
Financial Times
. He added what he had from market intelligence, which he devoured every day he spent in London. He knew there was little time left and the markets gave no signals. If he was ever going to do it, this was his last chance, and at that very moment he asked himself: why not? It was perfectly possible. Every banker must do it once, just once in his life.

On Sunday he called Langland at home and let him out of his misery.