George Albert bit into his patty, and swallowed a mouthful of cream soda. A blob of hot meat escaped from the patty and dropped onto his thumb, causing him to swear and quickly suck the meat off his burning thumb. In between bites, he watched as the workmen emptied the truck of sand, and felt a wave a pride as he surveyed all before him. The foundation of the house was almost completed. He was beginning to make sense of the chaos that had concerned him for so long. It had taken months, and a few hundred thousand dollars to blast the rock and clear the land so they could begin building. It had also taken the architect months to complete the design of his new house, and for the plans to be approved so that the contractor could start work. He had hoped to have finished the house by now, but they were now months behind schedule and way over budget. He chuckled to himself.
Who cares about budgets when you have such a steady stream of money coming in? he chastised himself. Need to be frugal. No point in wasting the money.
He turned and looked out on the scenery below. To his left, he enjoyed the green, rolling Warieka Hills, and on his right he watched the sun bounce off the numerous red and white roofs of the houses in the flat expanse of Portmore. In between these two landscape contrasts were the skyscrapers in New Kingston, beyond them the landmark Bank of Jamaica and Scotia Centre buildings on the Kingston waterfront, and in the distance the Norman Manley airport leading out to the shimmering blue Caribbean Sea.
Beautiful!
All this hard work was worth it. He looked forward to moving his mother and girlfriend into the house when it was finished. They would be safe here, with a state of the art security system planned. Although who was going to be bold enough to touch the house of Busha George? He chuckled again, but his smile disappeared when his cellular phone rang. Slightly agitated that anyone would call him during his lunch hour, Busha George took his phone out of his pocket.
‘Speak.’
‘Mr. Albert?’
‘Yes. Who is this?’
‘This is Ms. Brown calling from the Inland Revenue Department.’
Busha George almost choked on his patty. He started coughing and spluttering.
‘Mr. Albert? Are you OK?’
Busha George took a quick sip of his cream soda. ‘Yes, yes. I’m OK.’ He coughed again. ‘How can I help you?’
‘We would like to speak with you at your earliest convenience.’
‘Oh? What about?’
‘You have been selected for a tax audit.’
‘What?’ Busha whispered. He sat down on a rock beside him.
‘Yes, we periodically do audits of people who work in government service, and your name came up.’
‘Why?’
‘To be honest, I’m not sure of all the details. What I do know is that an account that is somehow linked to you came to our attention and it was red flagged. A preliminary investigation raised some questions in our compliance department, and it was sent over to us.’
‘What?’
‘When can we meet? I’m sure it is just a misunderstanding that we can easily clear up, but we need to go through the formality. I’m sorry for the inconvenience.’
‘What?’
‘I’m sure it won’t take long. Can we meet next week?’
‘Ahh … can it wait until the following week? I’m working on a case now that I expect should be closed by then and that should free up some time.’
‘Certainly. It can wait until then. Should I call your office to finalize?’
‘Yes, please do that.’
‘Great. We’ll see you then. Sorry for the inconvenience.’
The line went dead.
Ms. Brown relaxed in her chair and took a deep breath. She looked around the office nervously as she picked up the card lying on her desk. She surreptitiously pulled a cellular phone from her desk and dialled the number that she read from the card.
‘Hello.’
‘It’s done,’ she said into the receiver.
‘OK. Thanks.’
Marshall hung up and smiled.
After hanging up, Busha George sat with the phone to his ear for a few seconds. He swore.
Jesus! A tax audit! How the hell did this happen! There is no way I can justify this house on my income. Jesus Christ! What am I going to do? Jesus Christ! Dem a go tek wey mi money! What am I going to do?
Busha George absentmindedly watched the activities around him. The sand truck was now empty and started to make its way down the make shift driveway that had been made to allow the trucks to enter his lot of land. Some of the sand was already being shovelled into a cement mixer, as work continued on the foundation of the house. An idea occurred to Busha George. He unlocked his phone and dialled.
‘Hello.’
‘I have a problem.’ Busha George related his last conversation.
‘Stupid! Hoe kon jy toelaat dat dit gebeur?’
‘What?’
‘Sorry. How could you let this happen?’
‘I did exactly as you said. I don’t know how this happened.’
‘So what do you want me to do?’
‘We need to get all the diamonds out now, in the next week, and I need to move my money also.’
‘That will be risky. A single courier cannot carry everything without attracting attention. We will have to send a team.’
‘I’ll travel too. I can make the arrangements. It will also give me an opportunity to move my money. I need your help to hide the transactions.’
‘You can get that much through security?’
‘Do you know who you are talking to?’
‘OK. I’ll set it up. I’ll let you know the date.’ The line went dead.
Sean looked at the screen and nodded his head. A smile formed across his face.
‘What?’ Kenneth asked. ‘Did it work?’
‘Oh yeah!’
‘OK. I’ll catch the next flight back home. You sure you don’t need me here?’ Kenneth asked.
‘You set up the meet?’
‘Yes.’
‘Then I’m good.’
‘And you’re sure you have to stay here?’
‘Probably. The firewall traversal will be easier from here than there. I’ll catch a flight as soon as I’m finished.’
‘OK. See you then.’ Kenneth picked up his bag and headed out the door.
‘Do you know what you are asking me to do?’ Her eyes were steady, her hair neatly gathered in a tight bun, her unpolished nails perfectly manicured, her clothes immaculately arranged, not a wrinkle to be seen. Her dark uniform contrasted with the gold eagle, anchor and musket insignia that she proudly wore on her chest.
‘Yes,’ Sean said matter-of-factly.
‘We would all go to Leavenworth, and they will throw away the keys.’
‘Yes.’
‘Are you sure you want to do this?’
Sean matched her gaze. ‘Kenneth said you could help.’
She bowed her head, and gently fingered the insignia on her jacket. ‘Colonel Johnson asks a lot.’
‘He said you are one of the best and most loyal persons he has worked with.’
‘And you are sure that there is Federal involvement?’
‘That’s Kenneth’s assessment.’
She sighed, ‘How do I contact you?’
Sean scribbled on a pad, tore off the sheet and passed it to her. ‘Call this number.’
She looked at the pad. ‘Where is this?’
‘Best if you don’t know.’ Sean put a plastic bag on the table. ‘Use this when you call. Don’t use your home or office phone.’
She looked in the bag. ‘And what do you plan to do?’
‘The less you know, the better, but rest assured that it is nothing detrimental to National Security. I think Kenneth’s track record speaks for itself in that regard.’
She nodded reflectively.
‘Just call when you have followed the instructions I have given you. And I will call you if we get the green light.’
She nodded again. Sean got up and left.
‘Kenneth. You ask a lot.’
Kenneth leaned forward. ‘Yes, I know, Mr. Prime Minister.’
‘I cannot move, unless you provide me with indisputable evidence.’
‘I understand.’
‘I cannot embroil the Office of the Prime Minister of Jamaica in any business that appears politically biased or motivated, or if there is any suggestion of impropriety.’
‘I understand.’
‘How are you so sure?’
‘The GPS data from the plane is irrefutable.’
‘Explain the plan to me again.’
Kenneth opened an executive notepad. ‘Allow me to do some whiteboarding.’
The Prime Minister of Jamaica leaned forward studiously, as Kenneth pulled out a pen.
Sean picked up the vibrating phone. ‘Yes.’
‘We’re good to go. Make the call.’
‘OK.’ Sean hung up. He paused for a moment and said a silent prayer, and then picked up the phone. ‘Hello marine. We have a green light. Leavenworth or not, here we go.’