When I returned to the hotel, Anna wanted to show me her shopping, but clothes are clothes, and my mind was elsewhere.
I sat with a sheet of paper and tried connecting names and companies.
There was Mohamed Kader with a list of companies that was getting longer and longer. There was Livingstone Pharmaceuticals and Greg O’Brian and the line between Livingstone. O’Brian and Kader were getting thicker.
There was Ching Seng, Hong Kong, owned now by Shah Corporation or Al Zafar, which meant Mohamed Kader. There was the Livingstone - Kenya link and John Chua and Shah Medicals -
Singapore-owned by Mohamed Kader through Al Zafar and another link to O’Brian, who was probably, right now, up the road at Changi talking to John Chua.
It looked to me as if a deliberately complicated distribution network was being created. The advantages of sowing confusion are well known to fraudsters who like offshores and shell companies. There was nothing illegal, of course, but this one didn’t smell right. When I sat back to look at my creation, it looked like a piece of kid’s scribble.
I wanted to be able to place a dotted line between the Al Zafar/Kader/Livingstone group and the Biox/Virex group, but I couldn’t. And so, I came back to the hunch that there was something that Charles Brady or Amos Gazit hadn’t told me.
I sent an email to Colin, asking for anything he could dig up on Livingstone Pharmaceuticals and Greg O’Brian. That evening, I took Anna for a Thai meal in Clarke Quay. Afterwards, she told me it was the nicest evening with the nicest man she’d ever met. Perhaps she’d learned some of my bullshit.
***
The next morning, I took a taxi to the High Commission to meet Caroline again. She emerged carrying a thin buff-coloured folder and beckoned me to follow her. “Sorry, I can’t give you a kiss, Rupert dear. Not polite with pictures of His Majesty looking down on us.Shame really. Had a bit of a hangover last night.”
“So, anything useful on Shah Medicals?” I asked as we entered an empty meeting room with a coffee pot and two cups waiting on a tray.
“A little. But I found Clive Tasker’s address on his Christmas card.
Bless him. I’ve written it on here for you.” She handed me a neatly typed scrap of paper with Clive’s contact details in Cyprus. “Give him a call. He’s probably bored to death. Poor soul. Liven him up a bit.”
She opened her buff folder. “We keep these reports by business sector. This piece on Shah Medicals was updated six months ago.
Have a look while I pour coffee.”
It told me little more than I already knew. Al Zafar Agencies was mentioned and an address in Cairo was interesting but my eye was
drawn to some scribbled notes at the bottom, presumably Caroline’s.
“Looking for antivirals and antibiotics.”
I glanced up to find Caroline examining me over her glasses. “Have you ever met John Chua?” I asked.
She snapped out of whatever thoughts were going through her head.
“Yes,” she said. “Wiry little chap. A bundle of nervous energy. Made me feel stressed, and I was only with him a short time. Chua, has history, though. You might be interested because he’s just your sort of chap, Rupert dear. He has some sordid roots. His family were criminals - Chinese mafia - before the clampdowns. Then he was arrested a year ago for being involved in a group called Singapore 2100. Just your type of character, I thought, when I read it this morning.”
“Is he a good boy now?”
“How do I know, dear? I could probably delve a bit if you wanted. but it’s unlikely. But, once a crook, always a crook, eh?”
“And what’s Singapore 2100?”
“Politics, darling. Something to do with right wing extremism and authoritarian rule if I recall. Wouldn’t have thought that bothered the government here, would you?” Caroline stopped. “Sorry. Shouldn’t say that. Slap my hand. Wash my mouth out with Dettol. But they didn’t like it. The police got involved.”
“What about the Arab connection, Al Zafar?”
“Financial backers. A chap called Mohamed Kader. Chua seemed nervous of him - or impressed by his money. I couldn’t tell which. It’s the inscrutable nature.”
“Is that it?” I asked, handing the report back to her.
“Sorry if you’re not impressed, Rupert dear. But there are limitations.
Anything else I can do before I throw you out into the humidity again?” She smiled at me - rather affectionately, I thought. “Missed you a bit, you know,” she added. “I always had a thing about men of mystery. When are you leaving?”
“Tonight. I’ve got to move on, but thanks for everything Caroline.
Much appreciated. I’ll catch up with Clive. He calls me Ian by the way.”
Caroline looked confused, but we shook hands formally, and she saw me to the door. But then she looked furtively around and planted a kiss. Almost as tall as my six feet and so not having to reach very far, her gesture was quick and discreet. I thanked her once again, walked down the driveway between lawns and trees, and finally looked back.
Caroline had already gone.
As I walked, I checked Clive Tasker’s Cyprus address and phone number. He was living in Troodos, and I recalled a weekend there several years ago - two days of escape into the cool hills of fragrant pine trees and away from the hot and humid coastal sun.
Clive had been so-called commercial officer at the embassy in Amman, but he had other unspecified roles. He was connected enough to know that Ian McCann was really Mark Dobson, but nothing was ever said. A wink was enough because we were on the same side. In the past, I would probably have caught a flight to Cyprus for a one-on-one with him but things had changed.
I told Anna we were returning to Bangkok. She seemed disappointed.
“So soon?” she said.
Then I phoned Cyprus.
My call was answered almost immediately because Clive had been expecting it. “Caroline warned me,” he said.
Pleasantries over and within the constraints of a phone conversation about something both complicated and sensitive, I began to explain.
“I need some help,” I said as Anna curled an arm around my waist. It was nice but untimely. “I can’t say much but I need information about a company and the man behind it. He’s either Jordanian or Egyptian.
He started small but now has companies all over the Middle East and now in Hong Kong and Singapore. I think he may also have something going in Kenya and Egypt.” I paused. “Gut feeling tells me
something’s going on that might help my client but I don’t want to go in like a bull in a china shop. I need something more on this man.”
“What’s his name?”
“Mohamed Abdul Rahman Kader. He started with a company in Jordan called Al Zafar selling pharmaceuticals and healthcare products. He’s become very wealthy but likes a bit of publicity if he can get it. He got some recently in Hong Kong after buying a local business.”
I stopped to see if there was any reaction. There was. “Sure, I know him,” Clive said. “I even met him a few times at official functions.
What do you want?”
“Any personal opinions?”
“Yes.” Clive seemed to be sipping at something. I knew he was a wine buff. “The sort of man to want to be the best at everything,” he said as I heard the chinking of a bottle. “He wants to make a big name for himself. Some would say he already has. Failed medical doctor out of Cairo, rags to riches. But he knows what he wants and he usually gets it.”
I let Clive continue for a while, then, I slipped in a prompt. “I think he’s funding a research company somewhere. He may have some sort of laboratory in Nairobi or Cairo. Know anything about that?”
The prompt failed. “Sorry, but it wouldn’t surprise me.”
“Is he married?”
“To an Egyptian woman with at least two children. Last I heard, they were living in London, with the children at school while he travelled.”
Clive’s bottle chinked. “Here’s an interesting point. Kader claims to be an environmentalist. You don’t often hear those sorts of claims in the Middle East, where crude oil is pumped and others fight over land. He didn’t like crowds of people and, by all accounts, hated Cairo. I saw a video of him once waving his hands at a crowd who’d
gathered in the Amman Sheraton to see the King. He looked crazy and frightened. Very strange behaviour.
“He could be very outspoken about corrupt Western influences.
Utterly hypocritical, of course, because he’s astute. If he thought so badly about the West, then why send your wife and kids to live in London? I think he probably knows that most Islamic radicalism comes from a sense of injustice and envy for the West - religion is just the excuse. Mass unemployment provides the manpower for most terrorism.”
Perhaps it was the wine or perhaps he just liked talking but Clive then went on a rant of his own about unemployment, economic migration, lack of opportunities, climate change, and the environment.
“I’m glad I’m past sixty-five,” he said. “The future looks bleak, whichever way you look at it, and whatever Kader’s motives, I agree with him about overcrowding and the environment. It’s why I decided to retire to the top of a mountain amongst pine trees. In the end, Ian, Mohamed Kader might surprise us all.”
I listened intently and will always remember Clive’s words, though I still had this gut feeling that if Mohamed Kader did, indeed, have a few surprises up his sleeve, it was unlikely I’d be enthusiastic.
It was time for pleasantries and when I heard Clive’s glass being filled, I said, “How’s Helene?”
“Helene, my dear wife of thirty years? The woman I dragged from the concrete rubble of Beirut all those years ago? She’s still my only love and my greatest comfort.”
I felt very touched by Clive’s words and glanced at Anna. She was still listening. Then she smiled, came over, and put her arms around me again.
***
Colin’s report on Livingstone Pharmaceuticals and Greg O’Brian arrived as I finished speaking to Clive.
It began by giving a date of formation of 1947 when one Josiah Livingstone started making hand creams in New York. Livingstone Skincare Products grew by adding more and more products and became a well-known brand. It then started marketing itself not just as yet another cosmetics company but as a pharmaceutical company with its own dermatology research centre. It continued to develop new products until old Josiah Livingstone died in 1991. The business then fell into the less driven hands of his two sons.
They sold it to the company’s main distributor in New York. That company, realising the asset it had bought for a song, changed its own name to Livingstone Pharmaceuticals. Livingstone grew by adding painkillers, common cold remedies and other simple treatments and by 2005, it had become a household name for family type medicines.
Then, for unspecified problems, it was put up for sale.
“The buyer was Daire Capital Investments (DCI) - a company registered in the Cayman Islands. We’re seeking more on DCI, but initial information suggests O’Brian is the majority shareholder. DCI Finance Ltd. is a company registered with UK Companies House but is not trading. Directors are Gregory John O’Brian, Keith Alan Donovan, and Kevin Stephen Mallory. We can delve more if needed.
[Note: Daire is the Irish spelling for Derry or Londonderry. Gregory O’Brian gives this as his place of birth, although he’s now a US
citizen.]
Livingstone Pharmaceutical’s latest information: Domestic USA market share is static or falling, but exports are growing at about 25
percent annually. One report says it is looking at investments in developing countries overseas.
Personal: O’Brian is an Irish American from Boston. Tracking him back shows he originally ran a company trading in fertilizers and animal feed from offices in New York, Dublin, and Belfast. No information traceable on Daire Capital Investments. It is probably a holding name that is used for all sorts of business activities. We also
found Daire Insurance, Daire Chemicals, and Daire Property with O’Brian’s name linked somewhere. As a result, the financial picture is impossible - everything goes via the Cayman Islands.
Livingstone Pharmaceuticals Business Strategy (information obtained from business publications): It is said to be looking at increasing product registrations and approvals in Africa and the Middle East.
There was an expressed interest (information obtained from a copy of an official enquiry to the commercial interest’s section of the US
Embassy in Japan) in taking on agency lines for antiviral drugs and antibiotics.”
I read the main section twice, but read Colin’s final sentence three times.
“If, as I suspect, its Greg O’Brian – GOB - that really interests you, Jinx, then phone me. There are some things I don’t like putting in an email.”
I looked at Anna. She was sitting cross-legged on the bed, reading a Thai cookery book. She saw me watching her. “Khao mun gai, my Mr No Name. I think you will like khao mun gai. One day, I will make you some.”
I called Colin.
“Did you read the notes, Jinx? Else worked all last night on it.”
“Top notch, Colin. Thank Else for me. What about your final sentence?”
“Is your mouth watering, Jinx?”
I was thinking about Anna’s promise of khao mun gai, so admitted it was.
“Good. Here it is. Verbatim, so to speak. Direct from the horse’s mouth, as it was. No frills, no highlighters and no asterisks…”
“Get on with it, Colin.”
“Gregory O’Brian- I suggest we call him GOB from now on because it seems to suit him. Age sixty-two. Confirmed links with the Provisional IRA in the seventies and early eighties but avoided arrest
or extradition from USA through insufficient evidence. GOB was an IRA fund raiser in Boston. Through our usual source, we’ve found evidence linking him with several major frauds in USA, UK, and Ireland. These include insurance rackets, property swindles, embezzlement, and money laundering. Like that?”
“Tasty. Go on.”
“He grew up in Londonderry, where his father was a quarryman and explosives expert. Never short of luck, GOB won a lot of money doing the football pools, as betting on football results was once called.
He used the money to start a business selling animal feed and fertilizer through a business called Daire Agriculture.
“Then he moved to Boston, USA, and married the daughter of a local Irish Republican physician in Boston. He is childless as far as we can tell. His wife lives in a place near Cape Cod, which my vivid imagination suggests has chandeliers and flies green and orange flags, but whether GOB ever visits her is unlikely as he has other female acquaintances scattered around.
“Now then. Back to business. Daire Agriculture was a front for all sorts of scams on farm and medical insurance, but no one seems able to prove anything. This is the likely explanation for the Cayman Islands account and how he found the money to buy Livingstone Pharmaceuticals. He also owns several properties including one—
estimated value three million dollars near Newport, Rhode Island.
One of them is rented out for so-called leisure activities catering for congressmen and film and TV people. He probably earns enough in rent to buy more properties down the road. On a personal note, he’s regarded as high octane but secretive. Livingstone Pharmaceuticals appears to run itself as GOB takes a back seat doing other things.”
Colin stopped, as if waiting for things to sink in. “What other things?”
I asked.
“Well,” Colin said, “I reckon if a criminal psychiatrist could get him to lie on his coach for an hour, he might detect failed political ambitions. He never got his dreamed-of unified Ireland with a job in a new Irish government. Since then, he’s dabbled in other ways to
change the system. Anything radical gets his attention, especially if it involves causing a few headaches for democratically elected politicians somewhere. You got a neat blackmailing idea that would seriously upset someone he dislikes? GOB will go for it. A bit of money for the National Front? GOB’s your man. A few expenses for someone falling foul of the system? GOB’s available. Fighting fund for something extreme that might yield a profit, however, many years into the future? GOB’s the guy. GOB seeks power to influence, power to blackmail, power to get whatever it is he wants. Trouble is, he’s getting old now. Sixty-two is past it for some professions and he might be getting impatient.”
Six thousand miles away, Colin probably thought from the long pause that I was thinking. I was. I was also getting excited because I like this sort of thing. It’s what I do. And this case had needed livening up.
GOB sounded just like the Malaysian guy with the holiday resorts I met recently. But let’s not stray into other stories.
“Where did you find GOB’s personal stuff?” I asked.
“From Craig, a private investigator from Northern Ireland. Craig had a client seriously out of pocket after investing in one of GOB’s insurance schemes. The scam went as far as Australia and New Zealand, but people have stopped mentioning GOB’s name as the architect.”
“Why?”
“Craig’s client was found dead in his garden shed with a gardening fork stuck in his chest.”
“Christ!”
“So, will that be all for the time being, Jinx? Making rapid progress for our client Virex, are you? Or is life too comfortable at present with all services laid on?”
I heard what he said but was trying to imagine what it felt like to have a garden fork stuck in my chest.
“GOB is working with Mohamed Kader,” I said. “I’m not sure how it all fits with Virex yet, but you know how it is with hunches - slowly, slowly, bit by bit.”
“Need to go careful, Jinx. Wear a steel vest.”