Defection Games (Dan Gordon Intelligence Thriller) (26 page)

I called Benny. He was away, but his ever efficient chief of staff located him and conferenced us. I knew she did that each time Benny didn’t want to reveal where he was. The relay of the call though Tel Aviv made it possible to mask his location.

“Benny, can you check if Tango had a connection with Mr. X? I’ll send you his name through channels.” Obviously I couldn’t do it over open phone lines.

“I’ll let you know when I get it. Although the question seems redundant in light of the recent news regarding Tango.”

“It’s very current and relevant,” I said and hung up.

I sent Langley an encrypted message asking them to relay to Benny in Tel Aviv the name:
Leonid
Shestakov. Was he connected to Madani, through Ali Akbar Kamrani or directly?

A day later I received Benny’s response through Langley. “
Leonid
Shestakov retained Tango to inform him on purchasing plans of nuclear components. We don’t know how Tango was
paid,
it was definitely not in Iran because the Iranian government was unaware that Tango was in fact spying for Shestakov. Since
he  hadn’t
left Iran, there must be a hefty bank account somewhere waiting for him. However, we have no information regarding Ali Akbar Kamrani’s involvement, or even if Tango and Kamrani knew about each other.”

There was no time to waste. I sent Eric a short encrypted message that I had to leave Istanbul immediately, and would return in a few days. I knew he’d go ballistic, but I didn’t care. It was burning in me. I’d smelled a rat when Eric and Benny had told me about the third Madani. I had, just had to get to the bottom of it. The lone wolf in me, the character trait that the Mossad psychologist warned my recruiters of at the time, put the gears in a forward shift. I was on a mission. And this time without Eric’s, Paul’s, or Benny’s blessing.

XV

June 2007 - Rome

I flew to Germany, and took a connection to Rome. First things first, I had a thick pizza Napolitano with lots of Mozzarella cheese and two glasses of Chianti. That calmed one urge I had, but not my curiosity. Rome was the location of a bank that interested me: Sepah Bank. I had to find a connection, or a reason for the withdrawal receipt for 10,000 Euros that I’d found in my apartment in Paris.

I called Aldo Giovanni, a senior investigator at the Financial Crimes Unit at the Italian Finance Ministry. We’d worked together when he was attached to a joint U.S.- Italian financial task force assembled to fight Italian Mafia tentacles sent to the U.S.

Aldo was happy to hear my voice and agreed to meet me immediately. However, in his book ‘immediately’ meant next week. When I insisted politely that we should meet sooner, he relented and came to my hotel the next morning. I told him only that I was investigating a potential connection between Shestakov and Sepah Bank in Dubai. As a seasoned investigator, he didn’t ask too many questions as to why I needed to know that.

I did some
quick research. On March 30, 2007, financial regulators
in Italy and the U.K. froze assets of Iran's Bank
Sepah, following a March 24 resolution by the U.N. Security Council in response to Iran's nuclear program. Therefore, Italy’s central bank took effective control of the Rome branch of Sepah.  Now the bank had an Italian overseer.

Aldo came to my hotel. We sat in a quiet corner of the lobby.

“Do you have access to the Bank’s records?”

“Generally yes, but normally we intervene only if we establish that there’s a suspicion of criminal or other activity in violation of the U.N. Security Council decisions. Are you telling me that there’s such a violation?”

That was way more than I’d asked for, and continuing on that path could in fact damage my case and put me in hot water with the State Department. I had to slow him down. “Thanks, but at this time all I need is records showing a connection between Shestakov and Bank Sepah Dubai that passed through Rome.” I didn’t need to tell him who Shestakov was. Aldo seemed very familiar with him.

“I can’t rule it out, in fact, a connection between Shestakov and Sepah
B
ank in Rome makes sense. The Iranians are trying to get around the difficulties caused by their international isolation and are setting up companies in Dubai
that place orders with foreign vendors, including Shestakov, with payments made through Sepah in Rome. I don’t think that there are lots of records. The Sepah Bank in Rome has only about twelve employees, and is subject to oversight from a number of overlapping Italian authorities.”

I looked at his face, listening attentively. Aldo came from a well-to-do family in Naples, but preferred public service over joining the family pottery business. I knew very little about his private life, other than that he was married and had two young children. At 45 he had reached a senior management level position, and seemed very calm and content.

He continued, “The Bank of Italy ensures that Sepah does not create new business, and the Unita di Informazione Finanzaria (Italy's Financial Intelligence Unit) monitors all of Bank Sepah's expenses in Rome. The Guardia di Finanza (GdF) ensures that Bank Sepah does not sell its fixed physical assets. Sepah's dollar-denominated accounts are blocked, but its Euro accounts are still being used for overhead and payment of salaries. The Comitato di Sicurezza Finanzaria (CSF) can authorize or reject transactions involving Bank Sepah's euro-denominated accounts.”

That sounded like a lot of bureaucracy to me. “Is there a way I could accompany the overseer while he’s examining the
books?” I knew that my request was first rate chutzpah, but what’s wrong in asking?

Aldo shook his head. “No, sorry, but I’ll see what I can do regarding your request, which by itself is unusual. Frankly, we should get a formal request through channels.” I never got used to that usual objection I get when I try to cut corners.

“Dan,” he continued, as he read my mind, “the U.S
.
and Italy signed an MLAT – Mutual Legal Assistance Treaty, in 1985. If this request is for evidence to be used in a U.S. criminal investigation or prosecution, why don’t you use that channel?”

“You are right,” I said, accepting my destiny to be entangled in bureaucracy, this time Italian. Last time, an urgent request for evidence took the Italian government three months to acknowledge, and six more months to provide the documents. And the Italians are not an
exception,
most countries drag their feet when responding to these requests.

“However,” he said with a sparkle in his eyes, “maybe I could help you unofficially….”

He drank another short espresso; I gulped my Campari with orange juice, and we continued chatting for another half an hour.

Five hours later, speed of light in local terms, Aldo called my mobile phone. “Meet me at your hotel in two hours,” and hung up.

Thirty minutes past the time of our scheduled meeting, Aldo came with a fashionable leather briefcase. “Please listen to me, don’t take notes. After our meeting I’ll leave you with documents. But not here.”

I just listened.

“Bank Sepah and its military clients have been secretly financing the development of nuclear weapons. We all know that. The Tehran-based headquarters of the bank has handled dozens of transactions totaling millions of dollars for front companies of Iran's missile makers and nuclear parts components traders. Many of the deals have gone through the Rome branch.  Iran's use of state-owned banks and front companies is part of their effort to disguise money transfers through the global financial system.  They use front companies to conduct these procurements of needed parts for their missile and nuclear programs. Bank Sepah was the bank of choice for Iran's missile and nuclear firms for many years."

I was losing my patience, although I sat motionless. Why is he telling what every reader of a newspaper knows?

“Can the bank argue they had no knowledge?” I asked.

“Are you kidding?” asked Aldo. “The bank knew full well what sort of activity it was fostering. They've done business over the years, you can presume knowledge solely based on the nature of the companies and the duration of the business and that it's a state bank. Even the U.N
.
Security Council determined that Bank Sepah provides support for the Iranian Aerospace Industries Organization (AIO) and subordinates, including Shahid Hemmat Industrial Group (SHIG) and Shahid Bagheri Industrial Group (SBIG). These companies were not manufacturing or trading in chocolate.  The Iranians are smart and use deceptive practices, such as front companies and the stripping of Iranian names off money transfers, which can undermine banks' controls for knowing the identities of customers.”

Where is the beef? I wondered again while listening to Aldo. The stuff he was telling was relevant and important, but I already knew it. I needed hardcore documents.

“Can we go to the bank? I don’t have a car.”

“Why?”

“I simply want to see what it looks like.”

“
Bene
,” he said.

We went out to the street and entered his Fiat. Well, he entered and I squeezed myself in. He drove to 50 Via Barberini, and found a parking space right in front of the Mussolini-era building. It had a number of businesses. On the top floor was Thai International Airways. The floor below that had a sign for Bank Sepah: ‘Sepah – Iran Filiale Di Roma’ in large blue letters. Other businesses included
Pcl ticket agency; a local office of France's Le Monde newspaper; a branch of the Polish Tourist Office; and, on the ground floor, a men's clothing shop called Extra Large.

We entered the branch. A portrait of Islamic Revolution founder Khomeini was hung above the teller window for letters of credit.

Apparently, Aldo was a frequent visitor because he was greeted by the staff. No too warm was the welcome, I thought, but definitely understood given the circumstances.

We left and drove a few blocks silently. Aldo then pulled over to the curb, and grabbed his briefcase. He pulled out a large brown envelope. “Take it, but open only in your hotel room. I’ll deny ever giving you anything.”

I took the envelope and he dropped me at my hotel. I rushed to my room, sat at the stylish desk, and opened the envelope.

There were copies of a dozen or more bank statements, wire transfers, and ancillary banking documents. All were related to Shestakov’s company, LSIT, Leonid Shestakov International Trading GMBH. Even with my very limited command of Italian I could see the pattern immediately. Money came into Sepah Rome from Germany, usually a Berlin bank,
then
was transferred to Sepah Dubai or to the account of Vivian Tenafly Trust at the Bank of Traders and Merchants in the British Virgin Islands. I felt the thrill of discovery. Which of the treasure troves should I pursue first? They both needed my attention. I thought of a children’s espionage book I read in Israel when I was just nine years old. The protagonist suspected a delivery truck that carried hay from the city center to the village, while the normal route should have been the opposite. Why would Shestakov, who sold equipment to Iran, and should therefore be receiving payment into his accounts,
send
money to Dubai? It was not a single transfer that could have a plausible explanation, but it was rather a regular series of such payments, from Germany to Dubai. Whom was he paying? The other discovery was of money transfers to an anonymous Trust in the British Virgin Island, an off-shore tax haven. I wanted to know who the UTB was, the Ultimate Trust Beneficiary.
Definitely a person who wants to hide these
payments, if he created an anonymous trust for them in a tax haven.

The documents were intriguing and had to be investigated, but I needed to decide which way I was going. Continue with my unauthorized investigation, or lay it on the table for Eric, Paul, and Benny to decide?

A phone call to my mobile from Eric made the decision easier. Eric told me to return to Istanbul immediately. He didn’t even ask where I was. He either knew, or couldn’t care. Something was obviously up. I returned.

XVI

June 2007 - Istanbul

In Istanbul, I checked into the Conrad Hotel again and found a message from Benny to call him as soon as I saw it. I called
.
Benny asked me to come to the safe apartment that afternoon and promised me a surprise. He also didn’t ask me where I’d been or ask me to report my findings.

The safe apartment was in a posh Istanbul neighborhood. When I entered, Benny, Paul, and Eric were seated next to three other men I didn’t recognize. Eric was on the phone and turned to Benny, “They’re early.”

Benny took out a bottle of Yarden, a Kosher Israeli wine. He cleared the coffee table and set the glasses out.

“So, what?” I said, “Are we celebrating something?”
             
“Yes,” said Benny, “Madani is coming here.”

“Yes, Madani Number 4,” said Benny, and I thought he was joking.

“And Madani Number 4 likes Yarden wine too?” I asked cynically. I was surprised because Eric had told me earlier that Madani was already in the U.S.

“Loves it. What he is doing is incredibly dangerous, so we want to make him as comfortable as possible,” Benny said cryptically.

There was a knock on the door. Benny opened it. He ushered two men through the door, speaking Hebrew to one of them, to the one who looked Arabic. The other man was Caucasian.