Nele Neuhaus - Swimming with Sharks

There was a telling pause before the agent continued.

“Otherwise, we’ll have to arrest you.”

Lance Godfrey swallowed. Now it dawned on him why Levy had been acting so strangely and why this walrus-mustached Monaghan had appeared with a computer expert last week. He had never trusted St. John, and he’d suspected that the regular cash deposits he’d been receiving for years weren’t quite kosher. But it must be a really big deal if the FBI, the SEC, and someone from the embassy were here with a search warrant.

“I think that I urgently need to pay a visit to my parents in Idaho,” Lance Godfrey said. “My mother’s not doing so well.”

“Of course. You’re free to depart right away,” Agent Ramirez responded with a friendly smile. “If you would be so kind as to grant us access to your central computer and answer a few questions before you leave.”

Lance Godfrey was the picture of helpfulness. He had no desire whatsoever to go to the slammer for something that he didn’t do. Maybe he should look for another job. It was high time he disappeared for a while.

When Paul McIntyre—the commissioner of the New York City Department of Buildings—returned to his office after lunch, he found a note on his desk telling him to call the mayor. He picked up the telephone and was only briefly surprised when he was immediately put through to Kostidis. It usually took a few tries to reach the ever-busy mayor.

“Hello, Paul,” Kostidis said. “I hear that you just came back from vacation. Did you get some good rest?”

“Hi, Nick,” McIntyre replied. “Yes I did, thank you. Unfortunately, it was much too short as usual.”

“Where did you go this time?”

“Oh, we got a little sun,” McIntyre said with a laugh. “I get depressed with the weather here. We went to the Caymans. Swimming, snorkeling, sunbathing.”

The Caymans! That wasn’t a coincidence.

“Listen, Paul, I don’t have much time, but I really need to talk to you. Could you come by my office?

“Yes, of course,” McIntyre said, surprised. “Right away?”

“Yes, if you could manage it.”

“Of course. I’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

McIntyre left the Department of Buildings. He was in an excellent mood. After returning from the Caribbean two days ago, he and his wife had looked at the house that Vitali procured for them, and Jenny was delighted. It was out on the dunes with a view of Fire Island—it was simply fantastic! Only four more years, and then he could fulfill his dream and finally retire. Maybe even earlier, if he could find a doctor who would prescribe early retirement for his high blood pressure. Jenny could lunch at the country club, and he could play golf or go sailing all day long. The children and grandchildren could visit them on the weekends, stroll on the beach, swim in the pool, play tennis, or pursue other leisure activities for which the city lacked the space. Yes, it was an alluring prospect indeed to live in their own oceanfront house, after sixty years of renting apartments in this damned loud and dirty city. McIntyre whistled as he ran up the steps to city hall.

“Hello, Allie,” he said to Kostidis’s secretary. “You’re getting prettier every day!”

“Thanks, Paul.” Allie said with a teasing frown. “You’re one charming liar. The mayor’s waiting for you. Go right in.”

McIntyre grinned and opened the door to Nick’s office.

“Hello, Nick!” he called out in a good mood, but then his gaze landed on the two men sitting at the large table and his smile vanished. He suddenly had a feeling that something was wrong.

“Paul,” Nick Kostidis said as he approached him and extended his hand, “thank you for coming so quickly. You know Lloyd Connors and Royce Shepard from the US Attorney’s Office.”

“Yes, we know each other,” McIntyre said carefully. “What’s going on?”

“Please take a seat,” Connors requested, and McIntyre obeyed. His uneasy feeling intensified when he spotted the audio recorder on the table and Shepard asked whether he had any objection to him recording the conversation.

“Let me cut to the chase,” Connors began. He looked pretty worn out. “We have evidence that you hold an account at a bank called Levy & Villiers in the Caymans.”

McIntyre turned as white as a sheet and started trembling.

“We suspect that you received the money in this account from Mr. Sergio Vitali and that you promised certain favors to him in return.”

McIntyre’s eyes locked with Nick’s inquiring gaze, and a dark redness crawled from his throat up his face.

“Do you have anything to say about these allegations?”

“That…that must be some kind of misunderstanding… I…” McIntyre stammered and wet his lips with his tongue. Thick beads of sweat appeared on his brow, although it wasn’t particularly warm in the large room. This damned high blood pressure would kill him one of these days.

“Paul,” Nick said, “it’s not you the US Attorney’s Office is after, it’s Vitali.”

“We have account statements proving that you’ve regularly withdrawn and spent the money that was paid to you,” Connors continued. “So?”

McIntyre stared at the shiny tabletop, and he felt as if a dark abyss had opened up in front of him. It was the moment that he had feared all these years. The dream of a house on Long Island was over, and so was the prospect of a carefree life. Everything was over! He would be lucky to get any pension at all. Corruption was a serious crime that went severely punished, not to mention the fact that his reputation would be ruined forever.

“It…it’s true,” he mumbled after a while, and his confidence crumbled to dust. Nick sighed. In a small corner of his heart, he had hoped that it wasn’t true. He liked Paul McIntyre, trusted him, and worked well with him.

“When did it begin?” Connors asked.

“A few years ago.” McIntyre lowered his head. He couldn’t take Kostidis’s disappointed and hurt look anymore. “It was the invitation to bid for the construction of the World Financial Center. David Zuckerman approached me at the time. That wasn’t unusual, but when I personally met Vitali for the first time he offered me money.”

“And you accepted?” Connors asked.

“I hesitated at first.” McIntyre looked up, and tears actually shone in his eyes. “I was proud that I was incorruptible. But I had only been in office for a few months and was in debt up to my ears. Unfortunately, my wife likes to shop, and the banks were hassling me for repayment of a loan, and I couldn’t afford the payments on my salary. I knew how bad it would look if people found out I was technically bankrupt, and Vitali’s offer seemed simple and harmless enough at the time.”

Nick wiped his hand across his face. He didn’t want to hear another word, but McIntyre was talking his head off, as if he were happy to be relieved of the pressure of his guilty conscience. Connors and Shepard listened carefully, asking questions now and then as McIntyre indulged in verbose justifications for his actions.

“Everyone lines their own pockets,” the commissioner of the Department of Buildings finally said. “That’s the norm. Small gifts, large gifts, a vacation package, a new car, and…money. I wouldn’t have stayed in office for very long if I hadn’t played along.”

“What do you mean by that?” Connors observed McIntyre sternly.

“Just like I said.” The broad-shouldered man with his carefully styled snow-white hair shrugged his shoulders. “Vitali and his people left no doubt that they would finish me off if I refused their offer.”

His gaze fell on the mayor.

“You don’t understand, Nick.” McIntyre smiled with a hint of bitterness. “I’ve always admired you for your idealism, but if you think that you can purge New York City of corruption, you’re crazy. Every civil servant is part of it—every single one of them.”