Whistle Blower Read Online Free Page A

mezzanine office hidden inside an anonymous warehouse behind metal racking and an assortment of cardboard boxes, sat a short, round man in an open-necked white shirt that clung to him with sweat.
    "Yah, of course it's me, Guido," he snapped impatiently in Italian into a mobile phone largely hidden in the fold between his chin and shoulder. The voice was high-pitched, like a boy whose voice had not yet broken.
    "Yah, I've read it. It's written in the language of the professional bureaucrat. It is English but not like the English we learn at school or the English we speak. That, Toni, my flower, is why you don't understand it. But Guido does. Guido does not sleep all day or sit with his eyes shut listening to opera music playing in his ears. No, no, no. Guido sits reading shit like this—long words with many different meanings."
    The squat figure was seated behind a gray metal desk, his head overwhelmed by the oversized, high-backed swivel chair, his short legs swinging, barely touching the floor. It was mid July and an electric fan wafted air, but it was not enough to stop beads of sweat running from his forehead. Awkwardly, he extracted a white handkerchief from his trouser pocket, brushed back the greasy strands of black hair that had fallen over his forehead, slid the laptop computer that sat in front of him to one side and, swivelling slowly from side to side in the chair, picked up a small bundle of papers. The phone was still tucked in the damp fold of his chin.
    "Check the second page, Toni. Where it says: 'to improve the delivery of aid through complimentary activities aimed at increasing effectiveness, quality, timeliness and visibility.' Yah, this is so beautiful. I love the English language. It is, Toni, like the Picasso painting. You ignore what Picasso said it was and you dream what it is to you. You let it say what you want it to say. So it is very good that it is written like this. It is useful for the business."
    Guido paused, chuckled, flicked over a page. "But I see the money the poor taxpayers have been forced to give them to spend has gone up—a lot. If we are to benefit from all this I'll need to consider it and to do that I'll need some coffee before I read it again or my brain won't work. I also need a shit. I'll call you back."
    The phone dropped from inside his chin but he caught it expertly in his hand and put it on the desk. "Mmm," he muttered, rolling out of the chair. "Yah, too big lunch, too much wine, e troppo caro , too expensive but affare fatto . It was a bargain, a good investimento ."
    T he rounded stomach that protruded over the tight belt of his trousers had been hurting him for an hour. He stuffed the phone into the pocket of his well-filled shirt, felt the weight drag it down over his prominent left nipple and shrugged to loosen it. But the shirt was stuck with moisture and didn't move, so he ignored it. Still holding the papers, he waddled towards the door, opened it, clattered down the flight of metal stairs, turned at the bottom amongst the metal racking and went into the toilet. There was no one else in the building but he locked it, undid his belt, dropped his black trousers down to his ankles and sat down.
    " Che cazzo ," he swore as he started to read. "Fucking English euro speak."
    "The measures provided for in this Decision are in accordance with the opinion of the Humanitarian Aid Committee established by Article 17(1) of the Humanitarian Aid Regulation. It is decided as follows:
    Sole Article Decision C(2013)4789 is amended as follows: In Article 1, paragraphs (1) and (2) are replaced by the following:
    "In accordance with the objectives and general principles of humanitarian aid, the Commission hereby approves a maximum amount of EUR 759,638,745 of which EUR 593,600,000 from budget article 31 08 09, EUR 337,700,000 from budget article 31 07 06 and EUR 46,237,746 from budget article 26 09 07, of the 2013 general budget of the European Union…"
    It took five minutes to arrive