At the end of the day he knew that all he really wanted was his life back.
Of course a nice holiday wouldn’t hurt. Perhaps a new car. And though he couldn’t face the idea of becoming like Horner in some tiny way by just hijacking his scam, he had no such qualms about taking a little of the man’s money. He was owed something at least.
So Gresham had finally surrendered to Campbell’s insistence though he loudly protested that he did not understand it. Campbell didn’t think that the man could understand.
The doorbell rang. The end was coming.
69
Thursday. 9.30pm.
None of it had seemed to fit together at the time. Even now it didn’t seem real.
The meeting with Griffin had been odd given that the other man had set it up, or his secretary at least. But when he’d got there Griffin had seemed more inclined to let Horner take the lead. Perhaps that was it. Perhaps once he’d got going and made his offer he had knocked Griffin off his stride. The man was so full of self-righteous indignation at the time it would be no surprise to imagine that he’d abandoned whatever it was he had come to say. But now it seemed obvious that it had all been set up, perhaps to keep Horner busy and distracted whilst Campbell got to Asquith.
The data too had confounded him at first after Drennan had dropped it off earlier in the evening. Not what he had expected to see; no data on his west African venture but instead a detailed spreadsheet giving the various transactions that his three investment companies had made, or some of them at least. It wasn’t subtle particularly but it told him that Campbell knew what he was trying to do. Too late of course had he realised this.
Now finally, with the news announcement echoing in his head it fell into place. He had been outmanoeuvred. Beaten. Asquith had of course called his bluff, and ignored the threat, convinced no doubt by Campbell that Horner would never dare be so foolish as to actually expose the both of them. Spiteful and vengeful though he felt now, even he knew that he would never inflict such damage on himself.
Horner was sitting in the living room of his home. A broad, sumptuous leather sofa sat squarely in the centre of the room facing a large wide-screen plasma TV. Beneath it a number of electronic units flickered with LED displays. The lights were dimmed soft and the heavy drapes were drawn across the large picture window that looked out over landscaped gardens. The sound of the television, filtered through five separate speaker channels by a home-cinema amplifier, filled the room. Horner heard nothing.
His thoughts wandered. He wondered at what point he had let it get out of his control. Should he have taken greater charge over things rather than let Drennan do so much legwork? How on earth had this Daniel Campbell, this random stranger, inflicted such terminal damage to his best conceived plans?
None of it meant anything now of course. Campbell, through his scheming and his desperate gamble, had backed him right into a corner. It wasn’t the financial damage, the losses he would make on the stock investments. Their already low price would probably fall further in the wake of the announcement.
What he also knew, though Horner could not imagine how, was that the decision would affect not only Horner’s investments. Others too would suffer the consequences, others who had made investments based on Horner’s own confident and self-conscious bragging. Here’s a tip. Trust me, can’t fail.
A further spreadsheet of data on the stick gave detailed accounts and established otherwise murky links between Horner, his business interests with individuals, groups and companies with numerous well known and acknowledged associations with organised crime. Some of these connections were tenuous. But Campbell had put them together nonetheless, spotting the patterns, perhaps recognising names. He had been nothing if not thorough.
Without saying it he knew what Campbell was telling him. That Horner had his own problems now, too big and too immediate for him to be able to spare any time coming after Campbell. He would be a marked man, deeply out of favour with those powerful and dangerous men with whom he had nurtured relationships down the years. They would not take kindly to being made fools of. The loss of face that went with the loss of money would be the worst thing for them. He would have to pay for that and dearly.
He walked slowly through his home toward his bedroom, clutching a cordless telephone. He wasn’t sure which call to make first, where to start. But he had to begin making plans now. Had to stay a step or two ahead. Campbell had given him a head start through his thinly-veiled warning. It was up to him now how he used it.
Placing a suitcase on his bed he unzipped it, throwing back the lid. He pulled open the large doors of his wardrobe and stared at the contents. There were rows of suits and shirts, tidy stacks of folded sweaters and a neatly arranged line of shoes at the bottom. It would be some time before his life would again have this sort of order. If ever.
He was vaguely aware of the calm resignation with which he had greeted his defeat. There was no panic or alarm with the dawning realisation of the predicament he was now in. He wondered idly where he would go next, what he would do. He thought about what life would bring next for him, the people he would meet, reflecting bitterly that he would probably need some of the guile and resolve that Campbell had demonstrated since Horner had burst so violently into his life.
One thing he knew for certain, he would not forget Daniel Campbell.
70
Thursday. 9.30pm.
At first she had seemed oblivious to it, asking excitedly about what he had said in his meeting with Asquith, what the future held. But Campbell had not been able to maintain the charade convincingly and he could see that the doubt had crept into her eyes.
No matter now though. The short slot on the News had finished and she had not turned her head from the screen yet though minutes had passed.
Asquith had contacted him earlier in the day to tell him what time to switch on his television and to inform him, almost apologetically Campbell had thought, that with the pulling of a few strings, the item had been tucked quietly away in the middle of the programme.
‘In what has been described as a significant policy-shift, the Foreign Office and the Department for International Development today announced that they had awarded three major engineering and construction contracts to local Malaysian firms for a controversial Dam Project in that country. The contracts, worth in the region of?75 million, had been expected to go to a number of more well-established British based firms tendering and who had undertaken such projects in the past. The Minister for the Department of International Development Geoffrey Asquith said earlier this evening, that this decision will allow the full benefits of the project to be felt at every level of the community.’
After another minute had passed and Sarah’s eyes remain fixed ahead of her, Campbell jabbed the remote toward the TV set and silenced it.
‘How long would you have kept it up?’ he asked quietly. ‘What was the plan?’
Sarah turned and looked at him. Her smile was uncertain and her eyes did little to mask what was going on behind them. ‘I–I can’t believe you pulled it off!’ she said and then swallowed. ‘Change-‘
Campbell waited for her to go on but she seemed to have choked on the words.
‘Change of plan? Tack? Direction?’ he suggested for her. ‘Little bit yeah. I had a real bolt of inspiration at the last minute.’