Vegas. Carlo said you were a very tough boss. He meant that as a compliment, of course.”
They left the restaurant at nine. Sonny was waiting outside for Uncle, the Mercedes running. She hadn’t seen him there when she arrived. “I am going for a massage,” Uncle said. “Call me tomorrow and let me know if you are staying.”
Ava rode the ferry back to Central, the view of the skyline now almost overpowering. She had tried to explain it to an American friend one time and all she could compare it to was Times Square — ten times over.
When she arrived at the Mandarin, she asked the concierge if any packages had arrived for her. She was told that an envelope had been taken to her room a half-hour earlier.
Ava opened the door to her room and saw the envelope on the floor. She picked it up and went over to the desk, then opened it and smiled.
As the Kowloon banker had said, there had been seventeen wire transfers, and the envelope contained copies of them all. As she expected, fifteen wires had been sent to the Liechtenstein bank. The other two were more interesting. One, for US$100,000, had gone to a bank account in Dublin in the name of N. O’Toole, five years ago; the other, for $20,000, had been sent to a Jan Harald Sørensen in Skagen, Denmark, two weeks after the O’Toole wire.
It was just past nine o’clock in Hong Kong, late afternoon in both Dublin and Skagen. Ava found the Dublin bank’s phone number online and dialled the number. It took her two minutes to work through the prompts and get to a person.
“Hello, my name is Ava Lee. I work at the Kowloon Light Industrial Bank in Hong Kong. We’ve been asked to send a wire transfer to an account at your branch. Before transmitting it I wanted to confirm the account number and the holder’s name.”
“Yes, go on,” a woman replied.
“The account is in the name of N. O’Toole, and the number is 032-6567-4411.”
There was a pause. “You said you were going to send a wire?” the woman asked.
“That was the plan.”
“You should change it. That account was closed three years ago.”
“That’s strange. Mr. O’Toole gave us the number himself.”
A longer pause. “There was no Mr. O’Toole on this account, just a Mrs. O’Toole.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
“Let me double-check,” the woman said. “Yes, it was Mrs. O’Toole. It’s quite clear.”
“And the N was the first letter of what name?”
“It doesn’t say, and I’m actually surprised that you wouldn’t know at your end. I mean, you’re the one sending the wire.”
“We Chinese aren’t all that good with Western names,” Ava said quickly. “Do you have any information on file that might help me contact Mrs. O’Toole?”
“No.”
Ava started to phrase another question when the line went dead. Maybe the Danes will be more co-operative , she thought, and dialled the number of the bank in Skagen.
She got a live person at the Skagen bank on the second ring. She repeated her story about preparing to send a wire transfer and passed along the account number and the name Jan Harald Sørensen.
“Yes, we can confirm it,” a woman said.
“Would you also have contact information for Mr. Sørensen?” Ava asked. “We normally like to put an address on the wire.”
“No, we can’t give out that type of information.”
“It would —”
“No, we don’t do it under any circumstances,” the woman said and hung up.
Bankers in Europe aren’t very accommodating, Ava thought. But then, they aren’t connected to Uncle and his network of friends.
She went online and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to find a Jan Harald Sørensen in Skagen, a town with a population of fewer than ten thousand people. She found a number of Sørensens, but no Jan, Harald, J.H., or even J.
She pushed her chair back from the desk and walked over to the window. She had the name of a Liechtenstein bank that wouldn’t talk to her and the names of two people she
They left the restaurant at nine. Sonny was waiting outside for Uncle, the Mercedes running. She hadn’t seen him there when she arrived. “I am going for a massage,” Uncle said. “Call me tomorrow and let me know if you are staying.”
Ava rode the ferry back to Central, the view of the skyline now almost overpowering. She had tried to explain it to an American friend one time and all she could compare it to was Times Square — ten times over.
When she arrived at the Mandarin, she asked the concierge if any packages had arrived for her. She was told that an envelope had been taken to her room a half-hour earlier.
Ava opened the door to her room and saw the envelope on the floor. She picked it up and went over to the desk, then opened it and smiled.
As the Kowloon banker had said, there had been seventeen wire transfers, and the envelope contained copies of them all. As she expected, fifteen wires had been sent to the Liechtenstein bank. The other two were more interesting. One, for US$100,000, had gone to a bank account in Dublin in the name of N. O’Toole, five years ago; the other, for $20,000, had been sent to a Jan Harald Sørensen in Skagen, Denmark, two weeks after the O’Toole wire.
It was just past nine o’clock in Hong Kong, late afternoon in both Dublin and Skagen. Ava found the Dublin bank’s phone number online and dialled the number. It took her two minutes to work through the prompts and get to a person.
“Hello, my name is Ava Lee. I work at the Kowloon Light Industrial Bank in Hong Kong. We’ve been asked to send a wire transfer to an account at your branch. Before transmitting it I wanted to confirm the account number and the holder’s name.”
“Yes, go on,” a woman replied.
“The account is in the name of N. O’Toole, and the number is 032-6567-4411.”
There was a pause. “You said you were going to send a wire?” the woman asked.
“That was the plan.”
“You should change it. That account was closed three years ago.”
“That’s strange. Mr. O’Toole gave us the number himself.”
A longer pause. “There was no Mr. O’Toole on this account, just a Mrs. O’Toole.”
“Are you absolutely sure about that?”
“Let me double-check,” the woman said. “Yes, it was Mrs. O’Toole. It’s quite clear.”
“And the N was the first letter of what name?”
“It doesn’t say, and I’m actually surprised that you wouldn’t know at your end. I mean, you’re the one sending the wire.”
“We Chinese aren’t all that good with Western names,” Ava said quickly. “Do you have any information on file that might help me contact Mrs. O’Toole?”
“No.”
Ava started to phrase another question when the line went dead. Maybe the Danes will be more co-operative , she thought, and dialled the number of the bank in Skagen.
She got a live person at the Skagen bank on the second ring. She repeated her story about preparing to send a wire transfer and passed along the account number and the name Jan Harald Sørensen.
“Yes, we can confirm it,” a woman said.
“Would you also have contact information for Mr. Sørensen?” Ava asked. “We normally like to put an address on the wire.”
“No, we can’t give out that type of information.”
“It would —”
“No, we don’t do it under any circumstances,” the woman said and hung up.
Bankers in Europe aren’t very accommodating, Ava thought. But then, they aren’t connected to Uncle and his network of friends.
She went online and spent the next fifteen minutes trying to find a Jan Harald Sørensen in Skagen, a town with a population of fewer than ten thousand people. She found a number of Sørensens, but no Jan, Harald, J.H., or even J.
She pushed her chair back from the desk and walked over to the window. She had the name of a Liechtenstein bank that wouldn’t talk to her and the names of two people she
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