‘But if he died, there’ll be a death certificate and the national-insurance number will have been cancelled,’ said Salik. He took the envelope and examined the papers.
‘He died overseas,’ said Shepherd. ‘He was an oil-worker out in the Middle East. He rarely visited the UK and died in a car accident in Malaysia. He had no relatives and was cremated out there. No death certificate’s been filed here – I checked.’
Salik peered at the birth certificate. ‘Christopher Donovan?’
‘I look like a Chris, don’t I?’
‘This would make you thirty-seven?’
‘So I gain a couple of years. It’s not a problem.’
Salik nodded. ‘Okay. The fee will be the same as last time. Ten thousand pounds.’
Shepherd opened the briefcase and gave Salik ten thousand pounds. Then he produced his wallet, fished out two passport photographs and gave them to Salik. ‘How reliable is your guy?’ he asked.
‘What do you mean?’
‘I’m going to be using the new identity for the rest of my life, hopefully. What if he gets busted down the line? Presumably there’ll be a record of every guy he gave passports to.’
‘He’s careful,’ said Salik. ‘So are we. We don’t keep records. We take the money and we hand over the passports. That’s all.’
‘I’d like to meet him,’ said Shepherd. ‘To reassure myself.’
‘Out of the question,’ said Salik.
Shepherd shrugged. ‘I guess I can’t force you,’ he said. ‘I’d just be happier if I knew who I was dealing with.’
‘You’re dealing with us, Tony, and you have my word that nothing will go wrong.’ Salik put the photographs into the envelope with the papers. ‘Two days,’ he said. ‘We’ll call you.’
‘And what about another currency run?’
‘We’re talking about it. We’ll let you know.’
‘The sooner the better,’ said Shepherd.
‘It’s not something we will rush into,’ said Matiur. ‘Besides, our friends in France require payment in advance. They do not allow us credit.’
Shepherd sipped his tea. ‘Can I ask you something about your business here?’
‘Of course,’ said Salik, waving expansively.
‘I see these bureau de change places all over London, but I don’t understand how they make money.’
Salik frowned. ‘What do you mean?’
‘Well, they’re always in busy shopping streets – Edgware Road, Oxford Street, Knightsbridge, expensive places – but I never see queues of people lining up to change money.’
Salik laughed. ‘You are feeling sorry for us, my friend?’
‘No, I’m sure you’re making a living or you wouldn’t stay in business. But the margins are tight, right? You buy a currency at one price and sell at another. It’s the margin where you make the profit.’
Salik chuckled again. ‘And you think we don’t have enough tourists wanting to change their traveller’s cheques, is that it?’
‘I don’t see you’d make big money, that’s all.’
‘We don’t make our money from the tourists,’ said Salik. ‘If a German wants to change five hundred euros into sterling, of course we make a pittance on the transaction. But there are plenty of people around who need six-figure sums changing, and that’s where we make our money. You never see it because, of course, that doesn’t happen down on the street. They come upstairs to our office.’ Salik said something in Bengali to his brother, who muttered in response.
Salik stood up. ‘Come on, let me show you,’ he said.
He took Shepherd along the corridor to another office, pulled a key chain from his pocket and opened the door. Inside there was no furniture, just a metal door set into the wall. He used another key to open it. Behind it a space three feet wide and three feet deep was filled with metal shelving on which were stacked thick bundles of banknotes, euros, dollars, pounds and a dozen other currencies that Shepherd didn’t recognise, many from the Middle East. His jaw dropped. ‘Don’t tell me that’s one day’s takings,’ he said.
‘This is our float,’ said Salik. ‘We do several runs a day to the bank.’
‘But where does it come from?’
‘Cash businesses that want to convert currencies without going through a bank. On large amounts we can give a better deal than the banks. Our overheads are lower.’ He smiled. ‘And we tend to be less concerned about paperwork.’
‘So it’s money-laundering?’
Salik looked pained. ‘Tony, please…’
‘But that’s what it is, right?’
‘We provide a service for people who don’t want to go through the banking system,’ said Matiur. ‘That doesn’t mean we have a stream of drug-dealers passing through. Let me give you an example. A Saudi prince is over here and he wants to buy a car for his new girlfriend. The Saudis pay cash for almost everything. Now, if he’s just come from the South of France, he might have euros. If he has been in New York, he’ll have dollars. He might even have riyals. Do you think the car dealer is going to protest when one of the prince’s assistants produces a briefcase full of banknotes, no matter whose face is on them? Of course not.’
‘Cash for everything?’
‘The Saudis don’t use credit cards,’ said Salik, ‘and they rarely write cheques. In the UK, foreign nationals are only taxed on the money they bring into the country. So if it comes in as cash on a private jet, the Inland Revenue never gets its cut. Now, is that money-laundering? No, not strictly speaking.’
‘I suppose you’re right.’
‘Then there are companies that deal with overseas buyers and need cash.’
‘For bribes?’
‘For commissions,’ said Salik, with a sly smile. ‘We get a lot of Nigerians and South Americans. They give us sterling and we supply whatever currency they need. Hookers come to us too. Bayswater and Lancaster Gate are full of prostitutes and escort-agency girls, and they’re all paid in cash. Some of them pull in twenty thousand a week, and a lot of that is in foreign currency.’ He smiled. ‘Not many men are stupid enough to pay for sex with their credit cards.’ He patted Shepherd on the back. ‘So, you see, Tony, there is no need to feel sorry for us. We do good business. Once the money is ours, we can put it straight into the banking system.’
‘What about the ten-thousand-pound limit?’ asked Shepherd, playing the Tony Corke role to the hilt. ‘I thought all big transactions had to be reported to the cops and you had to prove it wasn’t drugs money.’
‘People assume that the limit applies to every transaction,’ said Salik. ‘Of course, that’s nonsense. Every shop in Oxford Street takes at least ten thousand pounds every day and the big stores take hundreds of thousands, most of it in cash. Do you think they are interrogated every time they pay in their takings? Of course not. Providing the banks know their customer and where the money has come from, there is no problem.’
‘They trust you, and that’s enough?’
‘Exactly,’ said Salik, closing and locking the steel door. ‘All business is down to trust.’
Shepherd followed the brothers back to the office. He sat down and took another sip of the fragrant mint tea. ‘What about the money I brought in?’ he said. ‘What happens to that?’
‘Some we change. Plenty of businesses need euros, these days. Some we pass on to other companies like ours that need large amounts of euros. Some we pay into our bank.’
‘But why go to all the trouble of smuggling the cash in? That’s what I don’t understand.’
‘You don’t need to understand,’ said Matiur.
‘I’m just interested. You buy the euros from Kreshnik, and you use them here in London. But you’re paying me an arm and a leg so that can’t leave much in the way of profit for you.’
Salik chuckled softly. ‘It’s good of you to be so concerned about our welfare, Tony, but please believe me, we make money on the deal.’
‘I’m glad to hear it,’ said Shepherd. He’d pushed it as far as he could – to probe any further might make them suspicious. ‘Hopefully, we’ll do just as well next time,’ he said. ‘ Inshallah.’