Police Captain Yves Subraud dropped by M-Base with a tidbit of news: Eight months earlier the deputy minister of the interior ministry asked the police chief’s secretary to open a “confidential and urgent” investigation of… me.
Ninety percent of such investigations were channeled to SIGER but this one had inexplicably been routed to the Administrative Division. All that the investigators could determine, Subraud told me, was that I am American, a “journalist,” that I keep an apartment in Monaco—and that the Prince visits often.
Had they bothered to pop my name into an internet search engine they could have done far better in their quest for information on me. I’d like to think their dismal effort was proof-positive we were doing a great job remaining invisible. Three years on, nobody could nail down rumors that the Prince even had an intelligence service. This was typical of the Monaco police department’s sloppy investigative practices until our arrival on the scene.
Very late on February 28th (2006), JLA phoned to inform me that Minister of State Jean-Paul Proust had said to him, “I know you have a former CIA guy working for you.”
Just over two weeks later, JLA had a major confrontation with Proust. The minister of state dug his heel and refused to restructure SIGER, demanding he be permitted to create his own intelligence service with Malric at the helm, “and he questions,” JLA told me, “having an American or Anglo-Saxon former CIA guy doing intelligence for the Prince.”
Proust apparently did not know my name (nor, apparently, my nationality), only that I existed and maintained contact with foreign intelligence services on the Prince’s behalf.
Proust also refused to give his own report on Franck Biancheri to JLA but insisted on delivering it to the Prince personally, “and then I’ll give you a copy.”
“Think very carefully about what you are saying and doing,” JLA told him. “The Prince is expecting you to give me the report this morning.” Proust would not budge.
Albert had quite likely undercut his chef de cabinet and told Proust he could ignore JLA and deliver the report directly to him. This was not Machiavellian cunning on the Prince’s part, as he might have rationalized it, but about his insecurity and weakness as a leader.
Biancheri had not resigned, as the Palace had anticipated, and Proust stood by him.
“The Prince will not fire Biancheri,” JLA told me, somewhat discouraged. “He won’t fire anyone.”
Yves Subraud arrived at M-Base next morning also disgusted with Proust. “He thinks we’re in Cameroon,” Subraud said of him. “He treats Monaco like a French colony.” Proust had apparently told the police chief, “I want Subraud and Gottlieb under my control.”
At my instruction, my Monaco police asset POLO traveled to Como in Italy for a secret meeting with three Carabinieri. He returned to Monaco with astonishing news: Philippe Narmino and Franck Biancheri had separate bank accounts in Serbia totaling tens of millions of euros each.
Why Serbia?
Serbia and Bosnia were thought to be the newest safe zone for hiding and laundering money. The funds had been transferred through charitable associations to Serbia then channeled to accounts in San Marino, a micro-state surrounded by Italy. The Carabinieri possessed documentation, which they were willing to pass to POLO. Unfortunately, POLO refused to accept the documents, frightened of the burden this would place upon him. I could kick myself for not going personally to take possession.
I met with an Italian asset who had accompanied POLO to Como. His perception of the meeting, based on looking at the documents was this: Biancheri and Narmino connected to bank accounts in Switzerland, Luxembourg, the Balkans and San Marino; he’d seen Swiss and Luxembourg bank account numbers and identities of account managers; $1.7 million in a single transaction. Their cover: A charity for children called Mission Innocence.
On March 21st I traveled to Paris for a meeting with the DST and conveyed to their chief, Pierre de Bousquet de Florian, our problem with Minister of State Proust, which, in effect, was insubordination.
Said de Bousquet, “Why doesn’t the Prince replace him? It was his father’s appointment.”
This clued me into an important truth: The French government would have no objection over Albert choosing his own minister of state mid-term. Furthermore, by not doing so, the Prince, in their eyes, failed the strength test.
Although well informed by our service, the Prince had floundered—and squandered the opportunity to make his mark. The wolves, at first cowering and frightened by Albert’s proclamation of a “new ethic,” now perceived him as a wounded deer around whom they circled.
I wanted to discern from de Bousquet if the DST, as an institution, supported Proust in his effort to create an intelligence service with Malric—and this is what I walked away with: The DST had not (as I first thought) told Proust about our unofficial relationship; the DST had no desire to work with Proust and Malric; the DST was tres content working with me. Plus this: I had the impression that de Bousquet did not even like Proust, which I could understand since de Bousquet was dignified with an aristocratic bearing and Proust’s demeanor was, well, quite the opposite.
De Bousquet reaffirmed that there was no DST presence in Monaco and no plan for such. Nor was there any need, he said, to introduce the DST from Nice or Marseilles into our relationship. Thierry Matta, his chief of staff, also present in our meeting, had been DST chief in Nice, so he knew the region.
“No point complicating things with another layer,” said de Bousquet. “We will keep a tight circle with you.”
We spoke about Paul Masseron, whom I had vetted as the final choice to replace the outgoing interior minister, after ensuring he was neither close to Proust nor a Freemason.
“He will be good for Monaco, clever and quiet,” said de Bousquet. “And he’s a friend of mine.”
“We know,” I replied. “That’s why we chose him.”
Pierre kindly organized a car and driver to take me to Gare du Nord for the 8:43 Eurostar to London. From there I phoned JLA to convey that the French would be fine with the Prince replacing Proust. And I suggested we make the incoming interior minister part of our inner circle.
I felt rough, maybe a touch of flu, on March 27th but patched myself with a shot of Famous Grouse whisky at Luton Airport, my third home (M-Base was my second), and flew to Nice, a commute I could probably have done blindfolded by then.
I found Yves Subraud disillusioned by the lack of progress to enlarge SIGER. Three months had passed since the Prince left M-Base with a written plan in his hands and a gung-ho it shall be done attitude. Proust was stalling for time as Albert prepared to lead an expedition to the North Pole.
Worse, JLA had all but given up trying to get Proust to enlarge SIGER, as ordered. He decided instead to wait until Paul Masseron took up his duties as interior minister and get him to do it.
Meantime, Jean-Paul Proust leaked a false story to the Nice-Matin newspaper that the Prince had refused to accept Franck Biancheri’s resignation as finance minister. Unfortunately, it had the effect of frightening our assets informants, who could not understand the Machiavellian dynamic and use of disinformation at play.
As my asset HUNT put it: “People on the street are extremely confused, can make no sense of what’s going on.”
As a result, public opinion had gone against the Prince due to his incessant waffling and not making his program clear. Monegasques who had previously brayed for Biancheri’s blood now began to feel sorry for him due to his position in the middle of this tug of war.
One of Albert’s first acts as Sovereign was to decree that the flag always flew above the Palace in daylight, even when he was not in Monaco, a departure from Rainier’s policy, who had it removed when he was away. Word reached me that Monegasques perceived this new measure as a symbol of avoidance; it seemed to them a device to conceal the prince’s frequent absences from the principality. As one of my spies put it: “He’s avoiding us—and now he thinks he’s fooling us.”
It was clear little could be done until the fundamentals were right. And the number one wrong fundamental was the minister of state. Proust had to be replaced with someone new who, as prime minister, would execute the Prince’s program; someone who understood that the Palace was supposed to control Monaco’s destiny, not the government—and respect that the function of government is to put the Prince’s plan into place.
I had no doubt about this, having heard from a spy within Proust’s camp that a) Proust did not care what the Palace wanted to do; b) could care less about anything JLA instructed him to do and c) subscribed to a French imperialistic view of Monaco: It is a small state—who do they think they are?
Only with a new minister of state, I was certain, could we move forward against the undesirables.
When I spoke with Albert by phone at ten past nine on the evening of March 30th, I replayed DST Chief Pierre de Bousquet’s question: “Why doesn’t the prince choose his own minister of state?” One of the Prince’s concerns had been, What would the French think? Now we knew.
The Prince replied: “Out of respect for my father.”
“It wasn’t your father,” I said, somewhat exasperated by now. “The people around your father chose Proust—and now they’re glad they did.”
But now I finally understood, all these many months later, that What will the French think? and Out of respect for my father was simply code for: I don’t have it in me to take control.
LIDDY tried to put it into perspective when he came to M-Base on April 6th. He told me the French believed Biancheri and Narmino had something on the Prince. It otherwise made no sense to them that Biancheri was still finance minister and Narmino had become judicial service chief.
With regard to Philippe Narmino, LIDDY reported that huge amounts of money had been transferred from the Balkans (Sarajevo and Zagreb) through Barclays Bank in Monaco and back to the Balkans, managed by Narmino and his wife. LIDDY had counted 86 such transactions—faxes—signed by Narmino’s wife using her maiden name, Christine Giudici.
I was in London when LIDDY’S smoking gun rolled out of my fax machine: Bosna Bank International of Sarajevo confirming to Christine Giudici (Philippe Narmino’s wife) that 18,750,000 Saudi ryals (about five million dollars) had been received by wire transfer from Al Rajhi Banking & Investment Corporation in Saudi Arabia and deposited into her account. The fax was copied to “Philippe” and “Franck.”
Two weeks later, in a late evening meeting at M-Base with JLA, it seemed clear he was sorry he’d ever left the civility of Paris and Lagardere. Every weekend, when he left Monaco, Proust beat a path straight to the Prince’s door, and then, with the Prince’s tacit approval, spent the weekend undoing everything Albert had agreed with JLA.
Finally, Biancheri would give up the finance ministry, but only because Proust adopted the idea as his own and promised Franck a better-sounding job.
I truly appreciated a front row seat in this theatrical farce of a travesty. Every time I felt like bailing, I reminded myself that spectators paid good money for such entertainment.
If one wasn’t born royal, intelligence was the next best occupation, as both required mystique.
I saw it as a huge advantage that I never concerned myself about my standing with the Prince while all others in court cliques would turn into Chicken Little if he didn’t return their call in three days. (President Richard Nixon skillfully used subtle lack of contact to keep his senior officials on pins and needles, guessing where they stood with him. The Prince did this, albeit without calculation, oblivious to the angst he caused.)