The Red Syndrome by Haggai Carmon Read Free Book Online Page A

board?

    It had to be a mammoth plan if they intended to spend sixty million on
it. The funds were in a checking account, not a savings account, and no
securities had been purchased with them. That meant the money had to
be available immediately, and for an impending purpose. Clearly these
people couldn't have cared less about managing the money, preserving its
value and earning interest. This was not how a profit-oriented corporation conducted itself. Further, the bank's conduct raised serious questions;
avoiding the reporting was stupid, and banks don't regularly make such
foolish mistakes. Something was very wrong. I went directly to David
Stone.
    David worked in the corner office on the eleventh floor of the Justice
Department building. Through his office windows, you could see the redbrick houses of Washington's east side, with high-rises mushrooming
through the area.
    David took off his glasses and absentmindedly wiped the lenses with
his crocheted tie. Although he was nearing his sixtieth birthday, he had
almost no gray hair. His calm demeanor masked a bright, quick mind. In
his thirty years at DoJ, he had slowly climbed to positions of influence
where tenacity and boldness were important assets.
    He listened conscientiously to my interim report, scribbling on his pad.
He then raised his eyes to mine and grinned. "You thought this case
would take you to exotic islands?" he said. "Try Germany. In the dead of
winter. In a prison." He couldn't help laughing. "Pack your bags!"

     

    hree days after my return from Germany to the United States, David
Stone asked me to go back to Washington to discuss developments
on the Eagle Bank case.
    "Dan," he said as I entered his office, "I distributed the report you wrote
on your Germany visit. Treasury thinks the major money transfers are
covering up major criminal activity, and we agree. But we need more evidence."
    "Fine," I said. "I'll get right on it."
    He shook his head. "The Justice Department has decided to convene a
task force. This matter is too big for this office, so other sections of the
government are taking over."
    I was surprised to hear that. I moved from my chair to the leather sofa
at the back, a status symbol in the penny-pinching administration.
    "Sixty million is too big? We handle cases of a hundred million!"
    "It's not only the money. Look at the individuals involved. This office
doesn't fight multinational crime organizations. Our job is to go after
their laundered money. The guys upstairs want criminal charges to be
filed and these crooks put behind bars."
    "I see." I had just started liking this case, and now it seemed to be slipping away.
    David read my mind once again. "I'm assigning you to the task force as
this office's representative."
    "Why a task force? And who's in it?"
    "They're hoping to avoid the usual agency turf wars. It'll have the usual
members - Homeland Security, the Criminal Investigation Division of
the IRS, the FBI, the Postal Inspection Service, Treasury, and Justice.
Altogether there will be more than twenty-five active members."

    I was pleased I'd be able to participate. Yes, task force assignments usually meant moving to another location, one likely to be less comfortable
than my office. Still, I could continue the investigation I'd begun.
    But why me? I was pretty well known for my lack of interest in joining
a team - any team. Ever since I'd left my three-year service in the Israeli
Mossad, graduated from law school in Tel Aviv in the late rg6os, and
relocated to the United States in mid-rg8os, I'd tried to capitalize on my
strengths: I was a lone wolf and I got the best sheep if I hunted alone. My
job as a DoJ investigative attorney had been a more or less an ideal fit for
me: international legal investigations of complex multimillion-dollar
cases that combined my legal and investigative skills and training - and
most importantly assured complete independence in my international
work. Not