PART 3
It was
early morning when the plane arrived in Bakou. Ling opened the large exit doors
of the brand new airport lounge. God, it was hot outside, she wondered. It was
already 30°C or something. The sun was trying to break out through the heavy
black clouds. Amir tapped her on the shoulder and pointed to the mountains
afar. Ling could see in the horizon dozens of tall structures. She focused and
recognized oil rig chimneys. How many where there? She had never thought an oil
complex could be that big. As far as she could see, she could see those
chimneys pouring black smoke that was transforming into black clouds covering
the sky. Two big black stained-glass hummers approached on the access way and
stopped in front of them. “My name is Claire Delacour, please to meet you. Come
on in.”, they heard with a slight foreign accent as she stepped out of the car.
You could see Amir and Edouard jaws dropping. Claire was a tall, very hot young
woman. Her tanned skin was glazing in the morning daybreaks. She had this way
of curling her lips, which revealed her long experience of arousing men.
Edouard and Amir immediately rushed to the front seat. “Claire, I’ll go front,
we can talk about our mission”, said Edouard discreetly pushing Amir away. What
does a girl like that do in a place like this, thought Ling before realizing
how much cliché there was in this thought. The cars started taking off at full
speed on the new empty motorway to the city center. “Cash is flowing in the
country since oil companies have come here, explained Claire. President Abaiev
has launched an unprecedented building development in central Bakou. At least a
dozen skyscrapers and two motorways are actually under construction, mostly
contracted by Chinese companies. Our local partner at Bagpadan, an intimate
cousin of president Abaiev actually does a lot of business with the Chinese”.
Claire turned down the music and suddenly spoke lower as to say something
confidential “…and I am a bit worried for our business as I have mentioned to
Blackpool’s auditors, because a lot of Chinese tanker ships have accosted to
the Bagpadan shipping terminal lately, but officially we do not have any trade
agreements with Chinese companies here”. In the back seat, Amir was eating out
Claire’s words. “Don’t worry we are here now”, he dropped out of nowhere. Ling facepalmed
herself.
The oil
complex was appearing more distinctively now. Ling recognized the place from
the report. On the East, the drilling part was distinctive; a forest of
pumpjacks were covering the dry, dying land. South, covered in black dusty smog,
she could imagine the refinement plant, its thousands of kilometers of tubes,
valves, and chimneys, and in front of them the shipping terminal and the
Bagpadan tower building. Three tankers were sitting alongside the quay. The
hummers speeded up through the complex’s heavily protected entrance. They
stopped in front of the main building. An oligarch’s fantasy thought Ling; the
tower was all made of glass and steel, and two massive golden statues of horses
were guarding the building’s main door. Claire showed them the way through the
main hall. Perhaps 3 or 4 levels tall, it was built so as to look like a
cathedral. Four carved marble columns were supporting the ceiling on which were
painted a very kitsch patchwork of angels, oil rigs and right in the middle what
looked like the portrait of President Abaiev on a flying lion. “Awful taste”,
commented Amir. Ling approved with a little nod. Edouard had started a very
energetic discussion with Claire about life as an expat, particularly in the
oil industry. Claire explained how she had accepted to live in such conditions a
few years to earn enough to buy herself a nice little apartment when she’ll go
back to London. Ling could understand this point of view as she had often
thought about leaving herself, but it seemed Edouard didn’t. “I wouldn’t want to live
anywhere else then at the center of everything”, told Edouard,” Singapour,
London, even Brussels; there is so much to do, so much to see out there, you
shouldn’t shut yourself away at the edge of the civilized world dear.” “Well,
we’ll see in a few years Edouard, replied Claire, now here is the room you can
use for your work. You’ve got access to the accounting software from the
computer in the back. All our documentation for the internal control matrix is
in the file on the table. Good luck, I’ll be next door”, she finished closing
the door behind them.
“Ling, you
will start to have a look at the SOX documentation. Amir… well I was going to
tell you to browse through the ERP data, but I see you are already on it”, said
Edouard surprised. Yes, Amir was kind of a geek, remembered Ling, every time
there was a computer in a room you could bet Amir would be on it before you
knew. She started going through the documentation. SOX stood for Sarbanes-Oxley,
a recent federal law forcing all listed companies on a US stock exchange to
comply with very strict and intricate control procedures. Ling was leafing
through the 404 section which disclosed internal control results when Amir abruptly
turned around on his chair. “Come and see this guys!”, he shouted very excited.
“See these inventories”, he pointed on the screen, “lettering of these entries is
done via a specific sales account numbered 400302.” He paused and tried to use
the classical transaction code for this operation. “See! We do not have access
to this account!” He said triumphantly, “it doesn’t even appear in the financial
statements given to Blackpool”. Edouard seemed worried, “can you access this
account in any way?”, he asked. Amir closed his eyes. Ling had seen him do that
several times already; she knew he was in great concentration at that moment.”I’ll
try something”, he said tapping relentlessly on the keyboard, “we know the site
director, M.Everian probably has the access rights because he’s involved in all
of this. He might be dumb enough to use his session password to access the
accounting software. If I go to the Active Directory Administration log, I can
retrieve his windows password. Now let’s try this one to access the ERP…Bingo!”,
he yelled as the software screen appeared. Ling gave a closer look to the data.
“There’s our barrels, she said pointing to the top lines of the screen. You see
these transactions; this indicates there have been regular shipments of sour
oil to a counterpart in Asia. Try to go up to the payment, Amir. On which bank
account was it paid?”, she added. Amir clicked on one of the transactions and
queried the software for the payment. “This bank account doesn’t appear on the
Blackpool’s report!”, he said astonished. ”Payments are automatically directed
to the Zoug Helvetic Bank in Switzerland. SWIFT number 0040 003234”, finished
Amir leaning back in his chair. Edouard was slouched on the seat’s armrest and
in a deep reflection. Ling looked him in the eye and asked cautiously “So, do
we follow the barrels…or the money?”. Edouard slowly rised up and went to the
picture window. He could see all the way down to central Bakou and its dozens
of buildings under construction. On his right, a few tankers were waiting their
turn to the quay. He turned round to face Amir and Ling who were waiting with
impatience. “Good job guys… We already imagine where the oil is going, probably
China… What’s bothering me is how deep the fraud can go. Are Blackpool’s
investments safe? Who is running the system? Juniors, don’t take the pain to unpack,
we’re taking the first flight to Zurich…”