The Container Affair Page 2

  If you have commodities, you must be able to move them. Slowly Cartwright’s company invested or bought up railroads, container ships, tankers, trucking companies and even an air freight outfit. The next step was to branch out into financials including banks and insurance companies, all of course, tied to his other business interests. Most of these new companies were not based in the U.S. which kept the IRS from knowing everything about his empire. These companies were bought and sold by numerous shell corporations in Bermuda, Liberia, Panama, Antigua, Palau and even Georgia—the country, not the state. Interlocking and widely dispersed transactions flowed across all international pipelines of commerce and included minority stock positions in many of the largest publicly traded companies in the world. All required capital and all required influence, and Cartwright had both in spades. And James Benden was the influence man in the United States for all of Cartwright’s organizations, at least the ones Benden knew about.

  Cartwright was waiting for him in an office which was not very imposing but functional, just like the man. He was always on the move and this was the first time in a year Benden had met him in the States. Cartwright, now in his mid-sixties, had the intensity and drive of a man of thirty-five. He only liked to win and did not like to deal with fools and idiots. Mr. C, as he wanted people to call him, wanted things done per his orders, and wanted them done on time. Time was his biggest enemy and his time was getting near.

  His health was fine for a man who owned a hospital company and was the major stockholder in three biotech companies. But he knew his genes were not in his favor. His blessed mother, who taught him to be a shrewd negotiator, died at age sixty-three, and his father had passed away when Cartwright was only eleven. His only child had died of a strange genetic disorder when he was but four years old, and no other children had come along. He was alone in the world with no immediate heir. This did not concern him for he could care less about family. His first and second wives were fools, and he found sex was just a silly diversion for the masses. He paid them off long ago and eventually both died “accidentally,” thus reducing his exposure.

  “Mr. C, how are you doing today?” James asked as he walked into the dimly lit room.

  “James, good to have you come by on such short notice and thanks for asking about my health and well-being. I’m fine as you can see, so no more of this chit-chat. You cost too much for BS.” Mr. C sat down and opened a file on his desk.

  The lobbyist sat down in the usual chair in front of the desk, opened his portfolio, and pulled out his pen. Cartwright motioned to put the pen away.

  “No need to take notes today. I want you to listen, then I want you to act. You understand, James?”

  Benden nodded, putting the portfolio and pen away, and knowing what he was about to hear would not be to his liking.

  Cartwright began, “We have a problem in Africa, a mess in Chile, a near riot going on in Brazil, and lots of other crap driving me crazy. And you know what, James?”

  James sat up and said, “No sir, what do you want me to do, sir?”

  Cartwright leaned back in his chair, gazed out the window toward the next building, and slowly exhaled. “What concerns me, James, is right in this country. Yes sir, the problems start here and then spread all over the world.”

  Benden sat up straighter knowing, eventually, he would be asked to do something which would deeply trouble him.

  “No, the problems of the world all start here and get worse everywhere else. Congress, governors, piss-ants, and legislators all want to change things they don’t understand. Everybody has an idea these days, and no one thinks them through. Then when things get screwed up, they want to pass laws that mess it up even more. You understand what I’m saying, James?”

  James looked intently at Cartwright and said, “Well, no sir, not exactly. I know there are lots of things going on in the government, but is there a specific area I should be working on for you?”

  Cartwright snorted, “Hell yes, James, you should be on top of everything. You know more than anyone in the world where I can be hurt and what causes both you and me pain. Am I clear here, James?”

  Distressed, Benden was now on unsure ground. “Well, yes sir, I can go through my updates which I provide to you daily and see which areas are under the most pressure. But if there is something I’ve missed, please let me know, and I will get my entire team on it.”

  It seemed to James that Cartwright had what appeared to be a malevolent almost sadistic grin. “James, my young friend, you have worked for me for many years now, and you have not failed me. Nor will you. What I’m getting at is the future challenges we face. I’m very worried about the new administration and especially the new attorney general. He is sticking his head into too many places where it might cause us a problem. Do you understand now what I’m talking about?”

  James spoke very carefully, “Mr. C, I know many of the investigations the AG is trying to start and where he is rattling his saber, but I know of no immediate investigation of your companies or investments. Could it be his pronouncements concerning offshore banking?”

  Cartwright said quietly, “Yes, James, it would be offshore banking and the other lynchpins of my holding companies. This arrogant fool wants to expand the investigative powers of the IRS by bringing in the EU investigators and setting up a financial Interpol. Do you see how this would impact our operations?”

  James pondered the “our” in Mr. C’s last comments and slowly spoke, “Yes sir, I can see how expanded policing powers would tie the U.S. and European agencies together and have an enormous impact on your companies. They would be able to dig into tax deferrals based on legal entities which are taxed or not taxed in the offshore banks. They could determine which one of the shell companies are legitimate or they could discover companies not meeting environmental standards. Should I go on, sir?”

  Cartwright put up his hand to signal Benden to stop talking. He exhaled loudly and said, “Yes, James, I think you understand the gravity of the situation. So, what is our plan to stop this fool? Who do we own in Washington and Strasbourg who can stop this program or delay it for at least two years?”

  James thought a second or two. “I don’t think Strasbourg will be a problem. The German delegates are easily swayed by offshore accounts. The Italians are fond of simple favors. The French by hitting on Gallic nationalism and good wine. The British get mad at all the European countries by telling them this is a scam to get them into the Euro. The Americans are the problem. There is an extreme amount of hate mail coming into Congress, and I think our pro-business allies are afraid for their re-election. It may be difficult to find a sponsor for any anti-administration bill.”

  Cartwright thought about the quick and concise summary. He liked this about James because he could speedily encapsulate his ideas into a few sentences, then create a plan of action for his review within minutes. Mr. C wondered aloud, “I guess you could do some leaks to our radio guy who can call upon the fears of the masses to stop this internationalist plot to destroy America.” He then laughed knowing full well the impact of this mad dog who loved to provoke his ten percent share of true blue Americans who would jump at anything offered by Ralph Samson, America’s Conscience.

  James laughed with Cartwright and said, “Yes, putting Ralph on the scent would be a good first step in slowing down the process and putting some spine in the conservative wing of the party. They might then introduce some legislation to stop this movement. Remember, Mr. C, it might slow it down by six months, but I doubt it could stop it. The majority of Americans are not only suspicious of the banking community, financiers, and big business, but they are also downright angry.”

  “Okay, James, I know we might not be able to stop it, but by slowing it down, we can move things around and set up trails for these bird dogs to follow which will lead nowhere for years. Yes, that’s what we can do. I know who can set up the tracks and how we can move things around. Your job is to get things delayed by at least six months. Can you
do that?”

  James pondered the question and thought of the investment required to buy the votes, fund Ralph’s campaign, buy additional media time, set up websites, create political action committees, et cetera. “Mr. C, it can be done, but I don’t know if we can hold on for six months. If this gets fast-tracked, we may only have three months. It will take a lot of money to set up things and make sure nothing comes back to you. We will have to call in some big favors and spend a lot of funny money to get the leadership to delay or defer actions. Committee chairmen can be influenced to go slow on calling witnesses, and we can set up an email blitz through Ralph.” James speech slowed as he thought about the enormity of the task and the amount of legal jeopardy he was undertaking.

  Mr. C jumped in, “Don’t worry about the money. We can buy several congressmen if we have to and influence others based on their wonderful past lives. Gee, what fools most of these people are. The congresswomen are just as bad as the men in doing dumb things. And, thank God, they are fearful of being exposed. If necessary, we can plant some tax issues. Some foreign accounts might just show up in the media. Offshore accounts play hell in Peoria. Ha!”

  James saw Mr. C was at his malevolent best now and thought it would be prudent to exit the building as soon as possible. “Mr. C, let me get back to my office and start the planning stages of this campaign. I can work through the weekend with Spurlock and set up the plan. We will keep this close to only my top people so there will be no leaks. With your permission, sir, I’ll get back to you by Saturday night.”

  Mr. C appeared lost in thought. “Fine for now, just get me a plan and stop these people. If there are any security issues, let me know. Gregory is back in town, and I will have him check in with you to ensure quiet.”

  James rose and left the building to find his car waiting. As soon as he got in, he felt ill. The mere mention of Gregory gave him great concern. Whenever Gregory showed up, illegal things happened, and sometimes people decided to leave town for Brazil and other places without extradition treaties. Or that was what he had heard. Maybe people just disappeared. He thought again about Cartwright’s ex-wives. Maybe, he thought, they didn’t die accidentally.

  *****

  SAN FRANCISCO Malone was working late as usual, and since he had no real family, the company and its people were what he cared for most. Through the entire economic collapse, he had retained most of his employees. He looked for and found new people who had great skills and hired them away from competitors. He even cut his salary from the $1 million the board demanded he receive, to only a dollar a year. He still had stock worth over $12 billion, although it was down nearly twenty percent from ten years ago. He never felt sorry for himself, only for those around him.

  This morning he had a meeting with a set of investment bankers who represented a hedge fund. These clowns wanted to buy his company on the cheap and told him he could get a great premium over his current stock holdings if he would sell out. They told him the company could be sold in pieces to other companies who wanted its patents, intellectual property, and a few of its top employees.

  He decided to bait them by asking if they would keep all the employees once he had sold the company. The man in charge, a GQ kind of Ivy Leaguer who had never really worked outside of New York, London or Boston, said with a laugh, “Well, we would probably gut the company by sixty percent at a minimum to cut the costs and get our investment on the right track from the start. Then we would do additional “right-sizing” as needed until we had the core business set up the way we want it.”

  This comment made his blood boil because people like this would never understand the value of loyalty to something bigger than themselves. John wondered how this asshole made it through college but then thought, he was probably an Andover graduate or some other private school where the super privileged went to prep school with their pals.

  Malone knew what it took to build a company, keep people and demonstrate loyalty to all. This fool didn’t have a clue. But, as his mother had told him, don’t point it out to others that they are fools. So, he nicely bit his tongue, listened to the pitch, then told them he would consider their most generous offer. After they had left, he wished he had enough sanitizer for the entire room, perhaps bleach would remove the stench these creatures left on his office, but he also hated the smell of bleach.

  As he thought back to the day’s events, he began to have dark thoughts about these people and the entire community of interests they represented. Time and time again, he had seen his friends sell out and run away to private islands or start organic wineries only to find out these possessions fulfilled nothing in their lives. They wanted to get back into business, but the terms of their buyouts had stringent anti-compete clauses which made it nearly impossible. What they often did was to set up venture capital companies for new entrepreneurs who had ideas but no funding. These deals made them happier, but they still could not control their own destiny.

  No, that’s not for me, mused John Malone. I’ll keep my hand on the tiller of the company and steer it through the storms. He thought of himself as an old sea captain at times like this and used lots of nautical terminology in his leadership meetings.

  Never shy to try something new, he had bought his first small boat at age twenty-three and learned to sail the hard way. This trial and error experience always brought a smile to his face because of the stupid things he did when he began his sailing career. How many times did he slam the boat into the dock and take out a piece of both the dock and the bow of the boat? Never mind, he thought, this taught me to be humble in the presence of nature. It also taught him not to show off to others because it harmed his ego when things went wrong. These lessons he applied to everything he now did and kept his lifestyle both private and meager. No fancy cars, private planes or mega-yachts. He still had his Valiant 40, a great, heavy double-ended sailboat which he had purchased used some years ago. It was in immaculate condition, and he sailed it often where he could release his thoughts and be one again with nature. If only running a business was so easy.

  *****

  CHICAGO The phone rang and he stared at it. Damn, he thought, it’s past 6 p.m. and some fool in D.C. is wanting something. The ringing appeared even more impatient, so he decided he had better be the good citizen and pick it up.

  “Special Agent Bayle speaking,” he said with a fast glance at the computer screen. “How may I help you?”

  “Brad, you crazy SOB, what are you doing there so late? Don’t you know you’re a government employee?”

  Brad smiled, knowing on the other end of the phone was even a bigger workaholic. “John Norris, you sorry excuse for an assistant director of the FBI, why are you in the office so late? Catch some congressman with his zipper flapping in the wind?”

  “No, Brad, I wish it was something fun like that. No, I’m working on more of the white collar, financial schmoozing, Wall Street beat.” Brad could hear the exhaustion in his old mentor’s voice. “Gee, Brad, I wish I was back in Denver chasing domestic terrorists instead of the real domestic embarrassments we’re finding in the Big Apple.”

  Brad knew about many of these cases and was also thankful he was not having to spend all his days and nights going through boxes of files, researching endless emails trying to uncover who was owned by whom and where the what was, et cetera, et cetera.

  “So, John, why are you calling a poor field agent who is running down bank robbers instead of bank executives?”

  “Brad, you know I could really use you up here in D.C., I’ve been working long and hard to get you up here. I think there is going to be an opening for a senior special agent shortly and wanted to know what you thought about moving to headquarters?”

  “John,” Brad slowly responded, “there is nothing more I would like than coming to Washington, but you know what my family is going through. Robert still has not recovered his eyesight, and Marla is with him day and night. There is no way we could move now.”

  “Brad,” John sai
d with as much empathy as he could put into his voice, “I understand your dilemma. I know Marla lost her job some months back and the financial strain is getting to you. You know we’ve some great support up here. We could get special services for young Robert in the Washington area, and with the extra money you would receive, it would go a long way in keeping you sane.” He paused for a moment, but he heard nothing from Brad. “I know what you are going through financially, and I don’t want to see you get into a bigger hole. I’ve talked to the chief, and he is all for this and knows you would be the person to lead the new task force on financial crimes. Will you think about it at least before you tell me no?”

  Brad was quiet for a moment and then agreed to think about it for at least the weekend. “Okay, John, I will ponder your fine offer, only if you agree to get me an office in the basement without a computer and only a trash can for a desk. Hell, that’s what you want me to do all day anyway, just sit around and think up ways to hang these bastards.”

  John laughed out loud. “Brad, you don’t change much, do you. Thank God for that, and again, the job is yours, and we can cut you a lot of slack on the family move plus temporary expenses to make your life easier. Just think about it, okay?”

  Brad said he would and thanked his old boss for the terrific opportunity and hung up the phone. He knew he would decline the offer becasue there was no way they could move now. As he did this, he gazed at the photos on the desk of his son and him at the T-Ball tournament a year ago. Now, he needed special treatment and more time than he or his wife had to give. “Damn,” he said to the phone sitting in front of him, “how do plans go to shit so fast?” But as he thought more, maybe this opportunity was what they all needed. With the FBI’s pull in Washington, he might be able to get some help through the NIH or Bethesda or one of the other incredible medical institutions in the area. Maybe this job would take the financial pressure off him and Marla. Maybe, just maybe, he thought as he again looked at the computer screen and searched again for the robbery file he was working on before John had called.