Gavin Watson’s getaway
In 2009, a Special Investigating Unit report detailed allegations of underhand dealings at Bosasa relating to correctional services officials and tenders worth billions of rands. There were no prosecutions and the claims only resurfaced at the Zondo commission 10 years later. In this extract from his book Inside the Belly of the Beast: The Real Bosasa Story, Angelo Agrizzi recounts how in 2009 his former boss at Bosasa, the late Gavin Watson, fearing the impact of the SIU report, suddenly decided to take a trip to Europe with Agrizzi and another colleague. Watson, writes Agrizzi, wanted to win their confidence and prepare for the storm brewing around the company
In 2009, Gavin got wind from one of his contacts in government that the SIU report was resurfacing and, on the spur of the moment, he insisted that the three of us — him, Andries [van Tonder] and me — take a trip to France and Italy to strategise and plan the business’s way forward.
He instructed Debbie to book the holiday. He wanted no expense spared. He told me to draw R300,000 worth of forex in euros and US dollars, and to top all the company credit cards up with R200,000 each. He told Tony Perry to monitor the cards daily and to pump more money into them if funds ran low.
In the end, the trip must have cost the company in the region of R1.5m.
When we arrived in Rome, Gavin took us on a lavish shopping spree. I remember walking into a boutique and buying 25 shirts — and they weren’t cheap either, at between €250 and €550 each. On another spree, we purchased 11 pairs of expensive Italian shoes between the three of us — two pairs each for Andries and me, and seven pairs for Gavin.
‘It’s Pretty Woman!’
Gavin booked us into one of the top hotels in Rome. I noticed when checking in that Debbie had booked Gavin on the eighth floor, where an A-list Hollywood actress just happened to be staying.
“Look,” I whispered, pointing to the register, “guess whose room is right next door to yours?”
Gavin was like a little kid. “No way!” he squealed. “Just be careful,” the concierge warned, handing him his access card. “Nobody is allowed on the eighth floor without special permission.”
The following afternoon, while on our way to grab a cup of coffee, who happened to be walking down the passage but the very pretty actress, her small kids, her mother, and their bodyguard.
“Look, guys!” exclaimed Gavin. “It’s Pretty Woman.” It was embarrassing.
“Shhh,” I said, turning to Gavin, “Don’t speak so loudly — you’re going to look like you come from Randfontein.”
Eventually, our paths crossed with the actress and Gavin immediately walked over as if to greet her. Andries and I were quietly cringing in the background. Gavin was immediately on the phone to tell everyone back home that not only had he just met this top-notch actress but that she was sleeping in the room next door to him.
Watching the news
Returning from our coffees, Gavin noticed that she had placed her room service tray and her shoes outside her room to be cleaned. He bent down and picked up her shoes to check the brand — they were Ferragamos — and he then went through her tray to see what she had eaten.
He also discovered what time she went down for breakfast, so he asked us to meet him in the dining area the following morning at 7am sharp for an early breakfast.
Unfortunately, the actress wouldn’t allow anyone near her, but Gavin made sure that when she walked up to the buffet, he was directly behind her. I remember him lambasting us for not taking pictures.
Gavin arranged for a sought-after tour guide to take us around and show us the sights, but it was clear that he was uneasy about something, that something was brewing.
He was suddenly obsessed with getting his hands on South African news articles and subscribing to different news channels. While he usually spoke freely on his phone in front of us, now he walked away when his phone rang.
We then flew to Paris and checked into another top-class hotel, near the Arc de Triomphe, complete with a Michelin-starred restaurant — it was the whole works, and then some.
Drawing back a curtain
The following morning, while in the taxi on our way to the Louvre with our tour guide, I received a call from our attorney, Brian Biebuyck, to inform me that he had a copy of the SIU report. Not wanting to put a damper on the holiday, I decided not to mention anything to Gavin or Andries.
Instead, I asked Brian to e-mail the report to me. Within a few minutes, the report had come through. The more I scrolled, the more shocked I was.
“Gavin,” I said, “I’ve got the SIU report here on my phone.” He was visibly shocked — not about the report coming out (I suspect that, behind the scenes, he was fully aware that its release was imminent) — but that I had a copy of it.
I read through the document quickly, but there were things that made no sense. It was as if someone had drawn back a curtain to expose a myriad events of which I had, up to that point, been completely unaware.
“Gavin, they’ve listed all the flights that you told me to book for Mti and Gillingham,” I said. I continued reading. “And hang on,” I said, shocked, “I didn’t know you built them houses and bought them cars? It says here that Mark Taverner furnished the places. And that Waldo Nagel did the interior decorating? They even specify someone called Zietsman as the architect, and Riaan Hoeksma as the building contractor.”
“No,” said Gavin. “It can’t be. I said it was to be done via Danny and Jarred Mansell.”
“Evidently not,” I replied. “A few people are implicated — some of them I’ve never even heard of — but it looks like the SIU has done a thorough investigation.”
Keeping secrets
A nasty bout of car sickness began to set in, forcing me to stop reading. Patrick Gillingham’s name, along with that of Linda Mti, Danny Mansell, Carlos Bonifacio, Andries van Tonder, Frans Vorster, and mine, all appeared on the SIU’s draft 2010 charge sheet.
Gavin’s name didn’t feature at all because he never signed anything off — that’s what he paid the rest of us puppets to do. Danny Mansell was to be charged with colluding with Gillingham and writing the tender specs. I was charged with being the conduit for Mti’s flight and accommodation bookings.
Carlos, Andries, Frans and I were being charged with the R180,000 bonus money I received via Andries van Tonder that I transferred to Carlos Bonifacio so that he could pay Frans Vorster to buy a Mercedes-Benz for Gillingham’s daughter — all on Gavin’s instruction, but with Gavin’s instructions nowhere to be found.
Mti was accused of contravening the Public Finance Management Act (PFMA) for failing to follow the correct procurement processes in his dealings with Bosasa in terms of the billions of rands’worth of tenders that he had a hand in awarding us over the duration of our 15-year relationship.
“Turn the taxi around,” I told the driver. “Take us back to the hotel, now.”
I arranged to get the thing printed. It must have been about 100 pages. We sat in Gavin’s room, going through the report, page by page. I turned over one of the pages and there it was, in black and white — Angelo Agrizzi, CEO. I could feel the blood draining from my body.
“But Gavin,” I said. “You know that’s not true. I’m a damn operations person, nothing less and nothing more. Why would they list me as the CEO and not you?”
“Don’t worry about that,” Gavin said, brushing me off. “Just leave it. I have it under control.”
And then it dawned on me that I was the only person they had been dealing with. Whenever the SIU had questions, they would be directed to me.
We continued going through the report. Golf clubs purchased. University fees paid for. Sound systems. Curtains. A whole lot of furniture from Wetherlys. The list went on and on.
“Gavin,” I said, “when were you planning on telling us about all of this?”
“They’ve got it all wrong,” Gavin protested.
“Gavin, how do you expect us to work together when you keep secrets from us?” I asked.
‘I’ll handle the politics’
Eventually, Gavin agreed that what had happened was wrong. “We can’t let this report get out,” he said.
“But Gavin,” I said, waving the document around, “the report is out! The story’s out. What are we going to do?”
“Well,” said Gavin, “we’ve just got to find a way around it. From now on, we stick together, and we work together. We have to make a pact. Angelo, you handle the attorneys. Andries, you handle the finances. I’ll handle the politics.”
Before we could get a word in edgeways, he added: “I will make a plan, so don’t worry. When I get back, I’m going to sit with Peet Venter and Doc Smith and structure something so that you guys will be taken care of. Don’t allow what has happened to destroy what God has put us together for.”
He immediately got on the phone to Brian
Biebuyck to set up a meeting. This was war. While I knew there were bribes and I was aware of the corruption, I had no idea — until that moment — of the extent to which Danny Mansell had gone in terms of building Gillingham and Mti’s houses, or that Gavin had involved his sister and his brother-in-law in the furnishing and decoration of the houses.
We arranged to fly back to SA the following day. That evening, looking for something to ease the stress, we decided to go for a two-and-a-half-hour massage at the Health Centre downstairs.
A pitiful sight
We donned our white hotel-room gowns and tiny slippers and took the elevator down to the basement. My gown was a size medium, and I could barely get it to close. Fortunately, I had my boxer shorts on underneath.
When we reached what we thought was the basement, the elevator doors opened onto a large audience listening to someone playing a baby grand piano. Everybody turned to look at us, standing there like idiots in the elevator. Three Dutchmen from Randfontein (dressed only in white gowns) and a baby grand — what a pitiful sight.
I frantically tried to close the door, but nothing was happening. And then it dawned on me — I had to use my card. Suddenly the doors closed. After that, nothing really mattered.
On the flight back to SA, it dawned on me that Gavin knew full well that the report was coming out and that he was privy to its contents. He thought he could win our confidence by taking us on a fancy holiday and he did, to some extent.
But nothing could have prepared me for what that damning report unveiled — and the fact that I was the apparent kingpin behind it all.