THE SHIP SAILS north on the New Jersey Turnpike, leaving Liberty International Airport behind. Neo stands, his hind legs on my thighs, as his front paws secure his balance against my chest. Holding his precious little face with my two hands, I kiss the top of his head.
“You got it, boss-man. Standard Hotel it is. As for Perry, her dinner is scheduled uptown at Ouest.”
I look up and reply.
“Thanks, Dante.”
As the words come from my mouth, something passing on my right catches my attention. Out the window, past the confines of the highway in the near distance, are shipping containers stacked what must be three or four stories high. Though it’s night, they are well lit up as the Port of New York and New Jersey is not exactly the type of operation that has a closing time. The metal boxes are of all colors, albeit each a bit faded from years of wear and tear: red, blue, yellow, orange, green, and white. Some have writing on them, others don’t. My eyes move back to Neo.
“Oh, boss-man, before I forget, if—”
My eyes open. I look at the clock—3:52 a.m. Perry is sound asleep next to me. I sit up in bed. My mind is foggy from my crazy recent schedule and the booze, but I hold on to remnants of the dream I was just having. The shipping containers. I didn’t think much of seeing the Port of New York and New Jersey—a sight I’ve passed hundreds, if not thousands, of times in my life—earlier that night. But for some reason I’m thinking about it now.
The Port of New York and New Jersey.
One of the biggest ports in the United States.
Quietly, I get out of bed. Just wearing my underwear—silk Assiagi boxers, of course, handpicked by Pirro—I grab my new iPad and head to the elevator. Just as it opens Neo appears next to me, looking up at me with his loving little eyes. I scoop him up, hit the button for the first floor, and the doors close behind us.
The kitchen is dark, aside from streaks of light from the moon and street lamps sneaking in through the windows. I place Neo on the island in the center of the room, which is topped with a slab of gray-and-white veined Italian marble. Since he’s up I decide to give him a little snack. He sits and waits patiently. First I put his water bowl up next to him, and he starts in for a drink before I’ve even rested it down. Next I take some of his grilled chicken from the refrigerator, cut that up, and place that down for him as well.
I sit on one of the counter stools surrounding the island, flip open the iPad cover, tap in my four-digit code, open Safari, and go to Google. I type in a search for the “largest United States Ports.” Immediately a list comes up—it’s a bit outdated, from 2012, but I have no doubt it has changed very little if at all since then. The list is categorized as CARGO VOLUME AT U.S. PORTS, 2012, SHORT TONS. The largest is the Port of South Louisiana, followed by the Port of Houston, Texas, and then the Port of New York and New Jersey. The port right by Manhattan is the third largest in the United States.
I type in a new search. “Largest Ports Europe.” The first entry is a Wikipedia list of Europe’s busiest ports. I open it up.
“Holy shit,” I say, as I drop the iPad on the island and my hands move to my head.
Neo looks at me then goes back to his snack.
I’m amazed by what I see. The busiest container port, in all of Europe, is the Port of Rotterdam. Second? The Port of Hamburg. I don’t see anything for Amsterdam. I Google, “Ports Netherlands.” Sure enough, there it is. It’s not one of the largest, but as the second largest port in the Netherlands behind Rotterdam it still does a serious amount of volume.
Ports. Rhodium. Iridium.
What the fuck?
Surprisingly, my mind goes in another direction. I see Cobus yesterday in Hamburg. I’m remembering something he said.
“Amazing. Few people realize how much opportunity there is in South American cities like São Paulo—but it all comes down to what we each see value in, Jonah. Isn’t that right?”
I Google “Largest ports in South America.” There it is. The Port of Santos, in Santos, São Paulo, Brazil, is the largest, and second busiest, port in South America.
I look at Neo. He’s slurping down some water to wash down his chicken. I stand up and walk around the island, slowly, thinking. What does this all mean?
My mind goes back to Europe again. I’m in the storage room, in Rotterdam, staring at the labels on the drums and containers. There are the letters. There are the symbols.
Drums. Containers. Ports. Labels.
I remember a thought I had on the flight from Rotterdam to Hamburg.
These initials have to do with what’s inside those drums and containers, not who’s responsible for getting them there.
I sit back down and again pick up the iPad. Rhodium and iridium are precious metals—which mean they are mined. I Google “Largest producers rhodium.” The first result is titled RHODIUM MINING STOCKS, COMPANIES, PRICES, AND NEWS. I tap it. Just like that, a page from a site BlastInvest appears listing the company names of precious metal producers, along with the exchange they’re on—meaning which stock exchange in which country—the current price, and the change in price that has occurred during recent trading. I open a second Google window, and type in the name of the first company. Eastern Platinum. The company is based in Vancouver, Canada, with a green symbol that is an outline of Africa, with the country South Africa highlighted in yellow since this is where their mining efforts are predominantly located. I move back to Google window one, and look for the next company on the list. Northam Platinum Ltd. I return to Window Two and look them up. Based in Johannesburg, South Africa, Northam’s logo is their name in chunky silver letters.
This doesn’t seem to be going where I’d like, but I forge ahead. I move on to company number three. This one, also based in Johannesburg, South Africa, is named Jettis Resource Platinum, Ltd. This entry, it appears, is much more interesting. And not just because it turns out Jettis Resource is the world’s leading producer of platinum supplying 38 percent of the world’s supply, as well as a huge chunk of the world’s rhodium and iridium. Because their logo is the same navy and gold one on the labels accompanying “Rh” on the black tuna-can drums.
Holy shit.
Cobus is in bed with some of the world’s leading precious metal suppliers?
Why?
How?
I look at Neo, and can’t help finding it odd he’s already having another huge drink from his bowl. He doesn’t usually drink this much water. Nonetheless, it makes me thirsty so I get up and grab a bottle of water from the fridge. I sit down yet again and decide I need to power through the rest of this list until I hopefully find the company attached to the other logo.
Vale S.A.—a Brazilian multinational diversified mining and metals corporation with a simple green and yellow V logo. Stillwater Mining based in Billings, Montana, is next. Stillwater is the only platinum, palladium, and other related metals producer in the U.S. Their logo, though charcoal gray, is three long S’s side by side, so I keep going.
Lonmin out of the UK—no. African Rainbow Minerals also based in Johannesburg—no. Pan African Resources—no. Glencore—no. Glenroche Mining Company . . .
And there it is.
The charcoal-gray G’s backed up to one another. Glenroche PLC, based in Zug, Switzerland, is one of the world’s leading precious metals and coal producers with operations in nineteen countries across Africa, Asia, Europe, North America and South America. The company has a market capitalization of thirty-three billion dollars. And they, too, are connected to a criminal.
How?
Why?