Dunking Ink (4)

Soda was a cop, a sergeant, though he wasn’t in the Fraud and Forgery Department. He took the banknote to the police lab and quickly obtained fingerprints that belonged to him, Firal and Moha distinctively.

Seven years ago, Moha entered a police case for raping a little girl where he taught Koran. Moha was then single, twenty-four years old and a graduate from former Mauhad School. Moha spent six months in jail and he got free with some influence of a political figure. Moha joined the Libran Movement and turned out to be a decent guy. It was rumoured of a Libran connection to the gangs but Moha was not among them. He got married and fathered three sons. And yet it didn’t take long for Firal to discover his trends towards young little kids, particularly boys. It was hurtful that their marriage relationship came to flaw. Moha chose to enjoy in his own pleasures and Firal took to fille de joie.

Moha’s case file wasn’t in a police cabinet. It was long stacked in a warehouse. Still, computers registered his fingerprints, summary and photographs.

Soda sat thinking, “So he touched. Can you find his fingerprint on any other counterfeit note?”

“Quite impossible,” said Jina, the forensic, “This I grabbed with gel because the fingerprints are fresh and recent. It’s hard to get it from cotton paper. I can tell this banknote has no bacteria deposits as one might expect which means it’s not in circulation.”

“Show me how I could tell a counterfeit.”

“Well, I’ll show you first another fake. I have six different forgeries circulating recently. In this one, it’s a very poor job. The lines separating the scallops appear in the relief and it can’t happen in a ninety-six 500 typeface.

“In your 500 bill, first thing I notice is the colour, slightly not a predominant red and the watermark is off, paper and typeface don’t match. It’s very complicated. In your case, it’s smartly a good job with the new innovation of the use of a foil security with micro-printing punched out of the thread, florescence balances on the red serial number. An excellent job.”

“Have you seen this print before?”

“Of course, this is one momentous counterfeit in circulation now.”

“How long?”

“Four years,” replied the staffer.

“Duh!” sighed Soda, “Perhaps, Mona has nothing to do with it. He touched them while his wife was in bed. I just can’t remember getting this money from anywhere other than the ATM.”

“Impossible,” said the expert, “teller machines at the banks can read this forgery.”

“Keep me informed,” Soda left.

In the first half of the Libran Term, many parties took place within greater Malé, fireworks and live shows. Colonel Harry was one of the organisers. He’d call Moha and pick him up on his motorcycle, take him to a massage parlour where he loved to sit and talk. He was conscious all the time walking out of that gate. He’d pause behind the door briefly, watch for passers and get out, climb his bike and speed away. He did this because he was lying to his colleagues that the parlour didn’t belong to him.

Moha never enjoyed a Thai massage however the colonel always did. He kept a little office cubicle reached from the side path with a desk and few chairs around and out of sight of the callers to the massage parlour. Colonel sat there behind the table, sometimes wearing a massage and chewing betel nuts.

A major and a corporal sat down before the desk and Mode settled on a window sill. Two others sat on the sofa. Colonel spoke, “Major has planned out this laughing party…euphoria. I don’t know what they’re calling it. We need all this equipment to be installed on the top floors in concealment behind decors. Nitrous oxide and another incapacitating agent get released in small amounts to fill the halls as long as the party goes. Nothing to worry. No harm in this. It’s all lab tested. A small generator goes up, pipes to lay and make sure air-conditioning could hold at 21° Celsius when the hall is packed. Remember, nobody can light a cigarette. Combination of gases is hazardous at this temperature to mix with fire.

“So, we arrange security to remove lighters and cigarettes on their bodies.

“Next, soft music, smooth and relaxing. Not slow rock, no jazz, nothing classical…it doesn’t work for the indigenous. Perhaps, reggae…”

“Adele,” suggested the major.

“Adele!” slammed the colonel.

“Ed Sheeran?”

“I give up!” sighed the colonel, “I can’t stand this, Adele. Do you think she is talented? Anyway, you do the repertoire. There won’t be a live band because a faint ring of a prolong note like a tinnitus slowly amplifies through the sound system. Not too loud but it hangs there like a feedback and that creates vertigo.

“Lights! Now…we expect a faint little fog to hang in the halls. Kiyaveli has suggested a deep blue light that fluoresces and no other colours…to create a photophobic sensation.

“Aromas and flowers. Mode has the supplies. He will set on the final day. Shipments will arrive from South Africa and rest from resorts around. Kiyaveli has to spin his magic on them along with these odd decors.”

“Bento and Moose,” he referred to the two guys on the sofa, “You bring the tables and machines, roulette tables, poker and pool tables. Set up automaton and all necessary bank connections. You know better. Mode will help you. Most important…the loot…goes up with your stuff.” By that he meant a large amount of counterfeit be lifted through the elevators to the top of the tower.

“Catering,” colonel continued, “drapery, serving tables, cutlery and crockery, food and paraphernalia. All that taken care by the First Lady. Food is important…fine wines and good spirits. Not liquor. Sweet and savoury or hot and spicy with its secrets of flavours and essences. She will be there to arrange the tables and she is hiring a friendly caterer for the services…waiters in uniforms…”

“How much does it cost?” asked Bento.

“Millions,” replied the colonel, “It comes from an unlimited budget from the President’s Office. We are only talking about a fraction here. Carpenters are working on the walls, whitewash and finishing touches, constructing low stage platforms for dance groups and they are hired too. Cosmo Tower isn’t complete and interiors still under construction. In collision with the party, fireworks take place in Male and Hulumalé. Part of the gamble of a cover up.”

“Chasing a two-headed bull!” articulated Moose, “De-bo geri…”

Colonel Harry closed the file in front of him and concluded, “The most important part is Kiyaveli’s magic. You’ll see what happens next in a crowd of five hundred. That’s it. Make your plans and show me. Then get started. Now, I will go to see Kiyaveli with Mode.”

Colonel reached the gate and paused for Mode to open and let him glance at the road before coming out of the parlour house.