Game on: In London, Abel wins support of Metropolitan Police

27 Sep Game on: In London, Abel wins support of Metropolitan Police

Five thousand miles away in London, Peter Abel was enjoying an English breakfast of poached eggs and kippered herring. His hotel bordered Kensington Gardens, and he was looking forward to a leisurely post-prandial stroll.

Although Chief Benson had recommended the Tate Gallery, Abel found he could only look at so many paintings before he had the urge to sit down.  He loved history and London was full of it. Everywhere you turned you saw something hundreds of years old. Even the names of the Underground stops alluded to the deeds of yore. Knights Bridge, King’s Cross, Earl’s Court, Notting Hill Gate.

As he ate, Abel studied a Michelin guide, which he had picked up in a local bookshop.  He needed it for two reasons. First, to help him navigate the city and find points of interest, and second, he wanted anyone who might be watching him to think he was just a harmless tourist.

Abel decided to spend his first day visiting places like the Tower of London and Westminster Abbey. He wanted to see them anyway, since they represented the most fascinating aspects of this great old city. Abel had loved knights and the legends of Arthur since he was a boy. He read with excitement that the British Museum had a collection of armour from the Middle Ages.  He would go there the next day.

As he read, he had to remind himself of his true mission.  He planned on contacting James Clarke, the man Doctor Camp had mentioned. He’d do it from a public phone at Paddington Station – no danger of taps or traces from such a randomly chosen place. Despite being out of Nigeria, Abel was still worried and knew he needed to proceed with caution. If, as the man in the bar in Limi had claimed and he had confirmed from his sources in Abuja, Huud and others were laundering money in London, they would have contacts here. And if they suspected Abel was working to expose them, they would keep a close watch and either report back to Nigeria or take action to stop him.

Abel left the hotel, Michelin guide in plain sight, and wandered through Kensington Garden. After watching a couple of small boys float toy sailboats across a fountain, he made his way to the underground and rode to Paddington Station. Then, as he had planned, he shut himself in a public phone booth and dialled the number provided him by Dr. Camp. He used a false name when identifying himself.

After some delay, he learned Mr. Clarke was out but would return in the early afternoon. Would he like to leave a message? Fearing any disclosure, even his name, might give his true intentions, Abel simply said he’d try back later.

Abel arrived at the Tower of London, settling in to his tourist role, and managed to forget his troubles for a couple of hours. The Tower was everything he had remembered and more. The Crown Jewels, which were on display, fascinated him. Not because of their value, which was in excess of twenty million pounds, but because of their history and what they represented. Each jewel came with a unique story. His favourite was the Black Prince’s Ruby, which looked to Abel like a large clot of congealed blood. It was worth about 150,000 pounds. Abel loved it because its history bound in bloodshed and murder. Richard III died wearing it in at the Battle of Bosworth Field. But the best story involved Captain Blood, who later broke into the Tower and stole the ruby. He had it in his pocket when he caught.

At a time when men hanged for stealing a sheep, Captain Blood received the odd reward of an annuity. Abel chuckled in appreciation. Government corruption was a grand tradition and political influence has always been a fact of life. Either that or the powers that be felt safer with Captain Blood on their payroll, intimidating other would-be robbers.

As he gazed at the jewels, it occurred to Abel that they could make a millionaire of every man woman and child in Limi. Each person could have his own well.

Abel tried calling Clarke again that afternoon from Paddington. This time he got through and used Doctor Camp’s name. Clarke immediately mentioned the darts game, which made Abel smile.  Men always obsessed with losing.  It was really the source of every evil in the world. Jesus’s message was really a call to stop the competition.

Abel told Clarke he had information about an ongoing criminal financial conspiracy, but didn’t want to go into details on the phone. He also asked that Clarke write down nothing about their conversation and mention it to no one.  Abel had reason to believe he might be under surveillance.  Clarke said he understood and they arranged to meet at an out of the way pub in North London.

Abel took several buses and made a couple of tube changes to assure he’s lost a tail before arriving at the White Horse Pub in a working class neighbourhood.  He went in and noticed dartboards at the far end of the room. He also noted that an imposing middle-aged, grey-haired man in jeans trousers and a large blue shirt was zipping darts into triple numbers one after the other. He played alone.

Abel approached and smiled. Clarke identified himself and they shook hands. His gap teeth were the first Abel had seen in London during the visit. It made Clarke’s smile warm and friendly. Abel accepted the invitation for a game and they settled into a competition over beers. Neither mentioned the real reason for their meeting.

Clarke was good and apparently expected to beat the newcomer handily, but Abel had spent many hours himself throwing darts. Being an ex-British colony, Nigeria had adopted many of the mother country’s customs.  Clarke whittled his number down to a place where he only needed double twelve to go out. But when he missed his throw, it gave Abel an opportunity.

Abel pondered whether to let Clarke win. He figured at this point in the competition, it was anyone’s game, but he could easily miss the required target. At the end of his turn, Abel needed a double eight.

Clarke went next and busted on his first attempt, hitting triple nine, which was right next to the twelve. Clarke swore under his breath, unhappy he had left the door open for Abel again.

Abel relaxed his wrist, a technique he had perfected over the years, and tossed the dart, which buried itself just inside the metal rim, giving him the double eight. Clarke smiled tightly and proclaimed, “Good darts. Let’s eat.”

That was all he said about the game. When Abel finally decided to go for the win, this was exactly what he had been hoping for. He could judge a man on how he lost than how he won. And Abel got the reaction he’d hoped for. If he could get Clarke on board with this investigation, Clarke wouldn’t stop until he’d gotten to the bottom of it. He didn’t like to lose.

Abel ordered the shepherd’s pie and another beer while Clarke had bangers and mash. As they waited for their food, Abel told Clarke what he knew. There had been money for the digging of wells and forestation of the arid areas, but it was gone, and Doctor Camp suspected massive fraud on the part of government officials.

“And what has this to do with my outfit, Mr. Abel?”

“Peter. Please call me Peter. I was told the stolen money is being used to buy expensive luxury lifestyles here in London.”

“Alright. That I can see. Laundering dirty money. But how do you know it’s really in London?”

“A man in the village of Limi has a brother-in-law inside the Ministry of Finance. He was told people were buying yachts and mansions and jewels here.”
“What kind of man told you this? An official?”

“No. I met him in a bar. He looked like a labourer.”

Clarke took a sip of his beer and lit a cigarette. “I have to tell you, Peter, the word of a labourer hasn’t much weight. And you met this man in some bar?”

Abel bristled at the tone. “I told you. He has a brother-in-law…”

Clarke laughed, making Abel even angrier. “Oh, well, a brother-in-law. An unimpeachable source. If he even exists. Brothers-in-law have a way of floating in and out of existence when someone needs an impeccable source on whom to hang a rumour.”

Abel sat up straighter. “I’ve been an investigative reporter for more than twenty years, sir.  Most of my best sources are common people with connections through relatives or friends of friends. It’s not evidence you can take to court, but that’s your job, isn’t it?”

“My job, as you put it, is to investigate viable crimes or solid evidence of same. If I chased every rumour that came my way, I’d get never get anywhere. The real cases would get lost.”

“This is a real case!” Abel was furious. He was happy he’d beaten this smug. Just then their food arrived, and they each took time to eat some before resuming their conversation. Clarke finally looked up.

“Pie all right?”

“Yes, delicious. Thanks.”

Clarke softened. “Look, Peter, I’m sure there’s lots of corruption among your people, but let’s face it. It’s like that everywhere. We can’t be jumping feet first into every country’s problems. Nigeria needs to clean up its own mess or at least be perceived as serious about fighting corruption.”

Abel thought for a minute.  “You know, I was at the Tower of London today. I saw the Crown Jewels. Very valuable. Countries like yours are lucky. You have a tradition of democracy. But it wasn’t always that way. People were thrown into the Tower for speaking against the king or queen. And now you display your wealth. Why do you do that? I’ll tell you. To let the world know what you have achieved. The jewels represent your history and your struggle to become a civilized, fair country.

“You tell others they should be civilized now.  When they come to you for help, you should be there. Your country and the United States provide our country with a lot of monetary aid, and in turn you pressure us to clean up our act. When we ask you to help us, you shouldn’t turn away. After all, a good deal of the missing money probably came from your government.”

Clarke had stopped eating and was listening to Abel. Abel knew he had the man’s attention, so he plunged on. “I’m telling you, if your agency were to look at audit trails, suspicious transactions traced back to Nigerian sources, expatriates living here beyond their reasonable means, you could expose the criminals who are robbing our people, and close in on your own citizens who are abetting them.”

Clarke nodded. “And if we do find a few of our citizens who help Nigerians launder their money, put them away; if we expose your government people, maybe even confiscate their property, what then?”

“We kick them out of office.”

“But they never go to jail. They go into exile with their millions. And other corrupt officials take their place and loot just as brazenly because they know that, at worst, they will leave office as rich men. Your constitution provides these people immunity against prosecution.  The police inevitably turns out to be in league with the corrupt Nigerian officials and block our efforts. I’ve been down this road before, Peter. I know how hard it is to get anything done, given the level of corruption in your country.”

Abel couldn’t deny this and conceded the point. “I’m not saying otherwise. But I’m giving you a place to start over. Maybe if you put a few of your own citizens in jail for helping the crooks from my country, your people will be less willing to help launder Nigerian money in the future. Then it will be harder for ours to find an outlet for their ill-gotten gains. I know it’s a finger in the dike, but if we don’t try, the dam will someday break and everyone will drown.”

Clarke smiled “You really care about this, don’t you? But you have the EFCC?”

“Yes, but as you know it is a new body and it will take some time for them to pick up speed,” Abel admitted. “You haven’t been to our country and seen thousands, no, tens of thousands, dying of thirst and starvation. I don’t want to save the world, Mr. Clarke. I want to stop a few men from stealing the money meant for wells that could save lives. It’s a modest enough goal, isn’t it?”

Clarke seemed moved by this last plea. He ordered them both another beer then said, “I’ll look into it, but I, in particular, do not like working with governments like the MET does, because things get complicated. Can you give me any names?”

“Gorem Huud governor of Tinnaka State, Rika Huud, his wife. And Timo Tiko, Party Chairman. Start there.”

“I’ll see what I can do. Now, how about another game?”

As Clarke led Abel back to the dartboard, Abel felt a sudden surge of hope. At least someone in authority was willing to help.

It was a start.