(A Fictional Story Based on True Events)

While promoting my award-winning true crime memoir, I often get asked to describe the most frightening, the most dangerous experience I had as a federal law enforcement officer.  A few things came to mind—1) as an FBI agent on the Joint Terrorism Task Force (JTTF) I was alone in the apartment of a lunatic jihadist and Ba’athist courier to Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein as he whipped himself into a “frothing at the mouth” frenzy 2) I spent the night sitting in an unmarked car, shotgun on my lap, waiting on a pair of bank robbers to make an armed withdrawal at a bank in Newark, NJ, and finally, c) stepping in front of a loaded shotgun during a car stop and arrest in Los Angeles, California.  But nothing compares to what happened during a routine private sector inquiry in a foreign country. Nothing.

The Inky Darkness

It was the inky darkness which scared me—I peered out the SUV’s passenger window into the night and could barely make out the undulating hills, hills which hours before appeared lush green.  Between my legs, lying on the floor of the vehicle was my briefcase, a briefcase which now harbored a terrible secret.  

In my peripheral vision was Pedro, the driver, a tall, sinewy forty something year old blonde man with a Colt .45 sidearm strapped to his waist.  It was so dark I could barely see his face; only the dashboard emitted a dim red glow.

My mind began gnawing away at some very dark scenarios.  As we sped through the hills and ravines outside the blighted metropolis, I imagined my life ending with a mere phone call.  The host who’d just spent hours with me drinking, laughing, perspiring, crying, even praying, would change his mind. He would call the driver and order him to “off” me, then dump my body in one of those remote gullies. Fuck. This was not the way I wanted to go out.  

As if on cue, Pedro received that phone call from Antonio, which lasted but a few seconds.  The same driver grunted affirmatively to whatever the host was saying…then hung up and slid the mobile phone into his Safari jacket vest pocket.

I was jumpy and couldn’t sit there without asking, “^[1]Todo bien?’” 

“Yes,” he replied in accented English.  Everything is fine.”

Was Pedro playing me? How could I be sure? And how the hell did I get into this gnarly situation? 

This is how it happened.

We’ve Got an Issue

It was a call from Greg, my immediate supervisor and Deputy of the company’s Compliance Investigations Unit.  A gruff New Zealander, he was hardly the warm and cuddly Kiwi supervisor—in fact there was little rapport between us. For Greg, it was all about business and results.

“We’ve got an issue,” he stated in his Oceanic accent. “I‘ve just learned an investigator from the Central American Development Bank (CADB) is flying down to Country X.  Apparently, this investigator found an invoice relating to a contract we had with one of the ministries.  The invoice involves a consultant, a hefty consultant fee and a vague description of the consultant services.  I’ll fax over the details. By the way, this investigator is a pain in the ass …he’ll stop at nothing to find the consultant. Don’t let him get to our guy first.  Get on a plane…now!”

Although this contract was not particularly large, due to past improprieties and corruption scandals the company was now under the strict supervision of a ^[2]Monitor.  The corruption scandal involved widespread bribery and kickbacks resulting in a series of investigations, settlements, and prosecutions as well as significant fines and reputational damage to the company. The slightest hint of another questionable ^[3]transaction, bid or bribe payment would put the agreement with the US Department of Justice and the law enforcement authorities of the company’s country in jeopardy.   It could erase in a few seconds what the company had built up during almost two hundred years. There was much to lose here. 

I was on the next flight to that country’s capital. In my lap was a dossier containing documents related to the payment in question as well as a history of the office.

The Murder Capital of the World

During the cab ride to the hotel, it was evident the people loved their baseball.  It seemed there was a baseball diamond on every street corner with an exciting and boisterous game in progress.  I could relate—it was a game I loved and had played during my youth.

Although the city had been dubbed the ‘murder capital of the world,’ I considered myself situationally savvy—I had already visited the place several times without incident. However, it certainly wasn’t my favorite country on the continent. Then again, I had only been to the capital city. Maybe it was delusional thinking, but I had convinced myself I could handle anything…had seen everything.

I wasted no time getting to my hotel room and calling the business consultant’s phone number.  It led to a voice mail. I left several messages, but nobody returned the call.  Time to ratchet up the pressure!

After lunch I paid a visit to Mr. X’s downtown office where I politely talked to his secretary, a handsome middle-aged woman who was hardly expecting an American investigator to come calling.   

“Señor Antonio is presently away from the office. I can’t say when he’ll be back.”

Firmly but politely, I stated I would be returning every day to this office, twice a day, until the consultant agreed to meet me. Her facial expression indicated she would waste no time in contacting her boss, most likely on my way out the door.

By the time I returned to the room, the phone was ringing off the hook. I calmly reached for the receiver–it was the consultant who apologized profusely for not returning the call sooner.  Identifying myself, I said we could talk about the purpose of the visit when we met.  Matter of factly, he stated his driver, Pedro, would meet me at 3 pm in front of the hotel.

Rottweilers and Bodyguards

There was much to take in—the consultant lived in an extraordinarily beautiful and spacious whitewashed villa in a valley surrounded by verdant hills.  As guest, I was greeted by a pair of Rottweilers waiting to sniff my body parts, another bodyguard, this one a muscular black man from the Caribbean region of the country and an older but elegant woman who turned out to be not only Antonio’s caretaker but his girlfriend.  If Antonio was seventy-five, Pilar (from a country where a Romance language is spoken) was about twenty years his junior.  It became apparent they had rolled out their finest—choice sandwiches, tropical fruits, snacks and drinks.  If this was a plan to “charm the hell out of me,” I would allow them to believe it was working.

Before getting down to business, Antonio accompanied me from the ante room to a well-lit and elegant wall library where hundreds of antiquarian books filled the shelves.  Obviously, he was a very worldly man with an exquisite taste in books.  His resume was also impressive—he was an economist, a former politician, a successful businessman and writer.  

Antonio showed me to a burgundy-colored mahogany table where glasses and pitchers of water and orange juice were set.  A servant girl attended to our needs setting down plates of mangos and grapes.  

The businessman smiled saying my accent had given me away.

“Oh, is that so?”  I backpedaled.

“New York?” he guessed.

I nodded. 

The foreign businessman waxed melancholy saying he had spent much time in the 1960s doing business in New York and New Jersey.  With almost childlike enthusiasm, he began enumerating the Broadway shows he had taken in as a young man abroad. 

“That must have been quite an era Don Antonio. You saw New York City at its peak!”

Antonio mentioned in passing that a relative had moved to the 

United States, to Florida, where he oversaw several small businesses. I made a note to follow up not only on the name of the relative but those of the companies.

Fifteen minutes passed before Antonio, sitting at the head of the table and me off to his side, asked me directly about my visit.

The Radioactive Invoice

I opened the briefcase, took out my pen, writing tablet with standard open-ended questions and a folder containing the radioactive invoice from our local affiliate.  I handed it to Antonio.

“It’s not complicated Don Antonio. I just need you to review the invoice.”

He was incredulous. “That’s all? This one invoice?”

The septuagenarian with the dyed black hair and thin pursed lips took out his reading glasses before I could reply.

He paused while reviewing the invoice, just enough, I thought, so he could gather his thoughts and possibly concoct an explanation.

“Yes, I remember this transaction.”  He looked it over once more and slowly withdrew, then folded his glasses.

Little did I know Antonio was about to paint a beautiful portrait of a ^[4]Foreign Corrupt Practices Act violation. He explained that over a period of fifty years he had built up an extensive network of government officials and wealthy businessmen friends in his country.

“So, you’re telling me you were paid tens of thousands of dollars relating to this specific transaction to provide consulting services?”

Antonio shifted uneasily, “Yes. I was asked by the CEO, Mr. Josef of your company, a man who, by the way, was demanding and not very likeable. He applied a great deal of pressure not only on his staff but on outsiders, to arrange a meeting with Ministry officials.  My job was to convince those officials to choose your company for business.

Just Following Orders

Mr. Josef was desperate to land this multi-million technology contract with this Ministry. He complained the ‘playing field was not level’ and other international companies were undercutting him at every turn.  

“As requested, I arranged a meeting which included the Deputy Minister, Mister Josef and myself. Shortly thereafter, your company won the contract but keep in mind–the company they often favored also retained a piece of that contract. “

“I was just following orders,” he insisted.

“So, you received all this money just to arrange a meeting?”

He grew quiet, looked down at the table and then away. I noticed he was gazing at Pilar who from another room could be seen looking in our direction her face etched with concern.

Antonio ordered the servant girl to bring him a bottle of Scotch.  He poured two glasses offering me one of the glasses. I waved him off.

“I better not…I’m still working.”

“Then I will keep the other glass for you…you may change your mind before we’re done.”   

It was a very odd statement yet by the end of the evening I would fulfill the prophecy.

I forced the issue, “I’m sorry but I find it hard to believe that’s what happened.”

He didn’t argue and he didn’t push back.  This told me he was struggling with a decision either to tell the truth or lie.

Antonio asked me directly as he sipped at the drink, “What do you think I was paid for?”

Services Rendered

“Well, that’s the question…the reason why I’m here.  The explanation on the invoice is ague—for ‘Services Rendered?’”

“Yes, I understand the concern.”

I listened and smiled when appropriate and began to ^[5]mirror Antonio’s speech pattern and body language, a tactic experienced investigators will sometimes employ to gain trust.    

“So, I’m guessing you were put in this difficult position to help our CEO who was desperate to keep his job. I think the money, or a portion of it, may have ended up with the Deputy Minister.  Am I right?”

He nodded and went silent once more.  He murmured, “You would not be wrong to think that.”

However, I now had a feeling we were being watched. Antonio’s girlfriend approached us. I felt she was growing more and more uncomfortable with my presence. 

Antonio revived and requested a Spanish tortilla for dinner saying that “our guest Kenneth” would be joining us.  

“Would you like that Kenneth?”

I didn’t have a choice and ended up partaking of a late dinner with Antonio and Pilar.  Antonio downed another glass of Scotch while I nursed the grape drink.

I began feeling sorry for the man…deep down he wanted to tell the truth and do the right thing.

After dinner, he dismissed Pilar who was now getting on my nerves. 

“Are you sure Antonio? Are you OK? “

She was desperately seeking assurances from her lover. 

She now pleaded, “Mr. Kenneth, please be good to Don Antonio, he did not have to see you. And it is past his bedtime.”

“Of course, Señora.”

Praying the ‘Our Father’

Don Antonio smilingly assured Pilar everything was fine and said they would talk later. Then I saw her whisper something to Pedro in the other room.  I began to feel a rising tension in the back of my neck. The ceiling fans kept spinning throughout the conversation. Antonio continued imbibing and then, without warning, began to weep. Tears slid down his waxy cheeks.

“Are you going to have me arrested?” he blurted out.

I played dumb while handing him a cloth napkin.

“For what Don Antonio?”

“I’ve not been honest with you, Señor Strange

“Look, sir, if you’re truthful, I’ll tell my boss you were cooperative…and and besides we’re only talking about one contract, right?”

What happened over the next hour was beyond anything I could imagine. First, he asked me to pray with him. A simple Our Father.

That I could do…had done it before with other guilty people. The Lord’s Prayer seemed to calm the man.

He continued.

“Yes, they paid the ministry official who forwarded the money to the minister.”

Antonio provided the names of the officials but begged me not to approach them. The contract saved my CEO’s job, but it also opened Pandora’s box.

According to my host, bribery payments would go to an assortment of deputy ministers, the minister and even politicians. No one remained untouched–Antonio’s driver had been pressed into service to deliver money not only to these government officials, but powerful politicians tied to various government ministries. 

My research indicated Antonio’s consultant fees for this particular contract with the Ministry amounted to almost 10% of the contract. 

I had to ask the economist about what I thought was an incredibly high consultant fee, “Do you know what the average percentage of consultant fees are for contracts of this magnitude?”

I caught him off guard with the question.

He responded, “Three…four percent.”

Powerful People

“So, Don Antonio, why is it then the percentage of your fees for this contract is 9%?”

I wouldn’t let him answer the question and went right on to the next query.

“Antonio, how much money did Mr. Josef, our CEO, pay the Ministry for the contract?”

Without blinking, he stated, “$600,000.” 

“And of that $600,000, how much did you receive?”

He paused sensing the gravity of the moment, “Of that sum I kept half.”

I tried not to fall out of my seat.

Now what I really needed was for Don Antonio to put the scheme on paper and sign a statement.  Then and only then could I leave.

When I explained what I had in mind, he balked.  

“You’re asking me to do a dangerous thing.  If they find out I talked, I will be dead.”

I reached out and touched his arm, “Who’s they?”

He shook his head deliberately, “Powerful people.”

I tried assuring him, “Well, these “powerful people” will not hear anything from my lips.”

Doing the Right Thing

This final part to the interview was exhaustive. It took everything I had—emotionally and physically to endure it.  And I was still jet lagged from my flight across time zones.

I read back my interview notes to Antonio who had begun writing his statement with an expensive fountain pen.  He struggled mightily, several times asking if what he was doing the right thing.

I could only respond, “Yes, I believe you’re doing the right thing.” 

Then he would put pen to paper and continue. It was now nearing 11 pm; Pilar was attired in a robe ready for bed. Antonio waved her off wishing her a ‘good night.’  Exasperated, the woman simply ignored me and stormed out of the room. 

Don Antonio was about to sign the document when he again paused to ask me, “This investigator from the Bank. Should I meet with him?”

I was tempted to advise the millionaire businessman to avoid the investigator, but didn’t.

“That’s up to you Antonio.  I can’t tell you one way or the other.”

“So, you don’t want me to meet him?”

“I didn’t say that Antonio. It’s your choice.”

“I understand Mister Strange. I will not meet this man.”

I just shook my head, “That’s your call.”

One less thing to worry about.

Placing the signed affidavit in a folder, I deposited the confession into my leather briefcase.

It was very late–time to go.  I had done my job. I had gotten what I came for and then some. There was certainly a lot to digest but I could do all that in my Latin American office. I rose to my feet hoping Antonio would follow my lead and have Pedro drive me back to the hotel.

The Energy Contract

However, the septuagenarian meekly looked up from his chair and asked if I also wanted to know about the “Energy Contract.”

In truth, I had heard about the mammoth Energy contract our company had with their government, but I knew few, if any, details.  Did the former politician also have knowledge of this contract? If so, was this another bribery scheme only on a larger scale?

I was skeptically concerned, “The Energy Contract?”

He nodded; I sat down. 

Inwardly, I’m saying, “Damn. This cannot be good.”

Somewhat exasperated, I asked, “So, who is involved in this contract?”

Antonio rolled his eyes, paused, then lifted his right arm and waved the back of his hand twice toward the ceiling.

I pantomimed his gesture. “What does that mean Antonio?”

He blurted out, “It means…it goes all the way to the top.”

“The top?”

“Yes…”

I was confused, “The top?”  

I slowed down, “Is ‘the top’ what I think it means?  Is it the…”

Antonio cut me off, “the top is the top. You cannot go higher in this country.” 

He looked at me with great sadness, his mouth quivering and said, “Now we are both in danger.”

And with those words, my overseas situation went from “risky” to “life-threatening.”

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^[1] Is everything OK? 

^[2]  The monitor is an independent third party appointed to ensure the sanctioned party adheres to the terms of its settlement agreement and implements necessary compliance program improvements to prevent future misconduct.

 

^[4] Occurs when a company or individual offers, pays, or promises anything of value to a foreign official to influence an official act or decision, or to gain an unfair advantage in business.

^[5] Subtly imitating the interviewee’s posture, gestures and speech patter to forge a connection.