Brian Haig - PrivateSector

MacGruder stood up and walked up to the stage to be near the screen. A new slide appeared; another map of the world, but certain countries had cute little red stars. He tapped a pointer at the screen, and informed us, “These are the countries and territories with banking and financial regulations that virtually encourage criminal elements and illegal groups-like terrorists-to use their financial institutions. There’s a lot of money havens, aren’t there?”

Janet and I nodded to acknowledge that indeed there were. So what?

“The so what,” Phyllis Carney said, somehow reading our minds, “was, how were we to accomplish this mission the President gave us? So many strategies and techniques had been tried and failed. Intriguing question, don’t you think?”

“How?” Janet asked.

MacGruder said, “Money is their lifeblood. So we started by hunting their money. The dilemma with making dirty money is you have to get it cleaned before it has real value. Laundered, in the vernacular, and then safely invested. And the more you have, the more difficult this is to accomplish. You expect your money to lose fifty percent of its value in the process, sometimes as much as eighty percent. The middlemen and the launderers take great risks and demand prolific rewards.”

Phyllis spun and asked us, “Any questions at this point?”

I thought she was joking. We obviously had questions, starting with, Why are we here? But they’d get to that in their own good time, so I traded a glance with Janet, and we both shook our heads.

She continued, “It was Jack’s brainchild, actually. We decided to pick one of these hidden money laundering organizations. And about four years ago, our DEA found one for us. It was well established in Europe, and was making impressive inroads into the drug trade in Latin America. We made a cursory examination of the organization. An impressive group-smart people, good systems, a very sophisticated understanding of banking, commerce, and… goodness, I hope this isn’t too boring for you.”

“Not at all,” I replied.

She nodded at MacGruder, who continued, “It was just what we were looking for. We cooked up a plan. We would protect this syndicate from the DEA, from the Treasury Department, and from the prying eyes of our counterparts in Europe and Asia. We would, in effect, invisibly nurture it, help it grow and succeed. We would try to put other money launderers out of business, creating market forces that drove the customers toward this syndicate. We would try to turn this syndicate into a powerhouse, the Microsoft or GE of money laundering.”

“Grand Vistas?” I asked.

“That’s the name it uses in its partnership with Morris Networks. Grand Vistas is a subsidiary, if you will. It has many other subsidiaries that go by many other names. The syndicate really does own diamond mines and shipping companies and equipment leasing companies. Also banks and steel mills, and it even has significant ownership of a foreign car manufacturer that’s very popular with modern yuppies. It’s a remarkable money machine.”

The lights suddenly flicked back on. MacGruder said, “Do you see why we can’t let you expose Grand Vistas and its relationship with Morris?”

I looked over at Janet, who appeared horrified. She said, “You nurtured the organization that murdered my sister?”

MacGruder and Phyllis obviously knew this moment was coming, had even anticipated it. Phyllis smoothly replied, “Well, we’re not sure they were even implicated in your sister’s death.”

“Not sure?” Janet snapped. “You mean hope. When this blows up, your asses are going down, too.”

MacGruder calmly said, “Miss Morrow, if we thought they were implicated, you would never have been brought here, would never have heard this briefing, and would never be able to point an accusing finger at this Agency.”

Which I guess was his sinewy concept of a reassurance. Only a CIA person would tell you, on the one hand, to trust him, because he’s letting you in on a secret, while confessing that if he thought it would land him in hot water, he’d never tell you.

And I think even Phyllis noticed MacGruder’s faux pas, and she added, “We’re very sorry about your sister’s death, but we can find absolutely no link or connection between Grand Vistas and her murderer. Our people have looked quite hard.”

Phyllis continued explaining to Janet the Agency’s all-encompassing pursuit, turning over rock after rock, looking for a tie-in. It was such patent bullshit.

Anyway, when she finally paused to catch her breath, I asked her, “And could you tell us how Morris Networks and this money laundering syndicate are connected?”

She nodded at MacGruder, who explained, “The past three years, as you know, stock markets around the world have been tanking. Thousands of companies, like Morris Networks, have found themselves overextended, deeply in debt, credit ratings destroyed, banks refusing to make more loans, their revenues shrinking so drastically they’re on the verge of cratering.”

Phyllis said, “The money launderers haven’t been blind to the rich possibilities. Many of these distressed companies are desperate for capital. The companies face bankruptcy. Their executives confront professional ruin. Grand Vistas was created to be Morris’s white knight. This syndicate has dozens more Grand Vistas, operating in tandem with other corporations. Some are targeting American companies, some are infiltrating other stock exchanges.”

MacGruder said, “What Phyllis is saying is that the criminal cartels, through this syndicate, are making a massive investment in the American and European economies. Through these interlocking relationships they are getting in at fire sale prices, and when the global economy recovers, their wealth will expand exponentially.”

They both paused, and their eyes flicked back and forth from Janet to me. They weren’t sweating or anything, because CIA people get some kind of gene injection that makes them permanently cool and reptilian. But their sphincters were probably the size of pinheads.

Janet said nothing. She appeared either mesmerized by the big empty screen, or so mentally stunned she was left speechless. Having bumped against the CIA before, nothing, I mean really nothing they do or say surprises me.

But the pressing question was, what if Janet and I, or Janet, or I, didn’t want to take a vow of silence? Obviously, we were brought here to have so much bullshit thrown at us that we’d agree to a gag order of some sort. Would we be pumped full of drugs and awaken on the Agency’s version of Johnston Island Atoll? Every month or so a plane would fly over and parachute food.

Perhaps I’m too cynical, but I also sensed something was missing. I mean, when it’s the CIA something is always missing; too often, that something is the truth. But the CIA treasures it secrets. It takes a root canal to get them to admit their real names. Yet here we were, and they were letting us in on a very big secret. Why?

There had to be more. I was sure there was more. But what? Were they trying to cover up an operation that went sour? A rogue operation? Had some of their people failed to keep their fingers out of this syndicate’s cookie jar?

You can go crazy trying to second-guess the CIA, which is so compartmentalized, salami-sliced, and balkanized, it can’t even second-guess itself. I wondered if Phyllis and MacGruder even knew what they were hiding.

“Well?” Phyllis asked.

“Well, what?”

“I think you know.”

“I believe I do.” I suggested, “You’d like us to stop looking for the killer because it might expose or compromise your operation. Did I miss anything?”

“Not a thing.” She smiled. “I think you’ve grasped the issue quite well.”