“You feel as bad as me?” asked Driscoll.
“Yeah.”
“But we agreed, right? I mean, no way. Not at our age.”
“Yeah.”
“You think he was serious?”
“The Crown Jewels-it’s insanity.”
They looked at each other.
De Jersey had arranged to meet Christina and her parents at Walton Street. The entrance to the streets was busy; Harrods was holding its January sale. The Rolls-Royce was waiting in line, his chauffeur was inside, and once he was seated in the car, de Jersey closed his eyes and tilted his hat over his face. Thirty minutes later Christina came out with her parents and they drove toward Beauchamp Place. He had booked a table for an early dinner, and he became the charming host, making polite conversation about their visit to the Tower of London. He had even purchased a video of the tour and bought many of the books on sale at the kiosk, maps, and numerous large color photographs of the crowns.
Wilcox left the Ritz feeling depressed. He made his way to Bond Street, irritated that he could not get a taxi. He passed Asprey & Garrard and paused to stare at the diamonds in the window. The cocaine was wearing off. It was raining and his suit was damp. His knees were a constant source of pain after so many skiing accidents. Did de Jersey still suffer from his knee injury? Memories flooded back. It had actually been Wilcox’s idea to rob the shops for de Jersey to take back what was rightly his. Wilcox was all for using the same violent tactics the villains had, but de Jersey had refused and a few weeks later contacted him with a plan. Wilcox pictured the three of them as young bloods, daring robbers. Those had been thrilling times. But even de Jersey couldn’t steal the Crown Jewels. Could he?
Driscoll had parked his new Jaguar not far from Piccadilly Circus. His dismay changed to frustration as traffic inched along toward Haymarket. When he turned into the Mall, the magnificent sight of Buckingham Palace confronted him. He thought of de Jersey’s insane suggestion of stealing the Crown Jewels. He drove past the Palace, remembering the crazy guy who had broken in. Despite all those guards on duty, alarms, and security devices, he had slipped into the Queen’s bedroom and sat on her bed.
Liz was waiting outside Victoria Station, soaked to the skin. She shot into the road from the bus depot when she spotted the car. Driscoll loaded the bags filled with bargains into the trunk.
“Why are you so late? I said seven fifteen. I’ve been standing there for over three-quarters of an hour. Did you buy the golf clubs you wanted? I went to Harvey Nicks…”
He never listened to her monologues, which didn’t seem to require answers to the questions or views on her many purchases. He felt tired, old, and bored.
“You’re very quiet,” she said. “How’s your stomach?”
“Fine.”
“You take your antacid tablets?”
“Yeah.” He sighed; ahead was another traffic jam at Vauxhall Bridge.
“If you’d gone over Chelsea Bridge it’d have been better, or you could have gone over Wandsworth Bridge.”
“Shut it, Liz.”
“What the hell’s the matter with you, Tony? All you do lately is moan. Half the holiday in Florida was ruined by your bad moods.”
Tony didn’t reply. How was he going to tell her that forty-five million pounds had gone missing in cyberspace?
De Jersey felt drained when he got home, but he had to maintain his good humor for that evening, and the following morning, walking round the estate with his in-laws. However, his mind was only half there. He had decided to go ahead, even without Wilcox and Driscoll. Their refusal to join him had not dampened his spirits; it had made him even more determined.
8
Christina and her parents had been delighted with the surprise gift of a trip on the Orient Express. Planning a robbery would be easier without marital commitments, he reasoned. He needed space to work and to gather a new team. The following Wednesday, de Jersey’s helicopter landed at the heliport beside Heathrow. The pilot’s orders were to refuel and return to the estate within the hour.
Meanwhile, de Jersey traveled by bus to Kilburn; at almost twelve he arrived at the flat. He spent some time arranging the orange nightmare into what looked like a lived-in home, with newspapers and magazines on the coffee table, books on the shelf, and some clothes in the wardrobe.
Raymond Marsh had arranged a meeting for two thirty and arrived promptly to set up the computer. He had brought with him various antivirus programs and other systems to protect de Jersey’s files. He also brought a satellite dish. This, he explained, would enable de Jersey to use the Internet by connecting through a satellite rather than a phone line. The beauty of the system, in hacking terms, was that it was much more difficult to trace, and the link could be broken in seconds. When he had finished, he accepted a cup of coffee and sat down on the orange settee. “Fire hazard these, you know,” he said, tapping the cushion and slurping his coffee. “Against the law to sell them, catch light faster than a match. My missus won’t have anything flammable around.”
“It serves its purpose,” de Jersey said, bringing out a thick wad of cash. He peeled off notes, and Marsh stashed them in a zip-up wallet, which he tucked into his overalls. He glanced at the remaining wad of money, which de Jersey had set on the arm of his chair. “Anything else you need from me?”
De Jersey nodded. “Show me how it all works.”
Raymond stood up to check his watch. “Not got long.”
“How about we arrange some private lessons? I need to get more familiar with chat rooms and retrieving information from the Net.”
“I’m not cheap. One-on-one will cost you a hundred an hour.” Marsh sat down at the computer. “Let’s open her up and play,” he said. His fingers flashed over the keyboard. “If you want to be a player in this community, you got to earn respect from them. So familiarize yourself with the geek-speak. There’s a lot of goodwill around. Hackers don’t work for money, they work for intelligence. The value system of a hacker, pirate or cracker, the good or the bad, is different from normal consumer society. If you want to be recognized as a good citizen in the Net community, you’ve got to contribute, and that means sharing material or information for free. Since I’m getting paid, I won’t ask any questions about what you’re up to.” Marsh laughed.
“Get me up something on anyone who’s worked in the Royal household recently. Someone who was on security,” de Jersey said.
De Jersey hated to be at his mercy, but Marsh gave no indication that he was surprised by the request. He gestured for de Jersey to sit beside him. They worked together, pulling down newspaper reports, logging into various sites until Marsh had downloaded sheets of articles from numerous newspapers dating back about eight months. Exactly an hour later he said he had to leave. He put out his hand for his payment, and they arranged for the next session.
Alone, de Jersey read the news articles. One man’s case stood out from the others. Gregory Jones had been convicted of murdering his wife and was presently serving life at Franklyn Prison. He was a former palace security guard who had discovered his wife in bed with another member of the Queen’s household. It was imperative to find out about the security setup at the Palace and the procedures surrounding the Royals when they appeared in public, how many security men and ladies-in-waiting would accompany Her Majesty. De Jersey hoped Gregory Jones could provide this information.
He logged on to Web sites about the Royal Family. He was even sidetracked into reading about the Queen’s love of horses. There were pictures of her at Ascot when her horse Enharmonic won the Diamond Stakes. The jockey, Frankie Dettori, stood beside her, wearing her racing colors. Then de Jersey scrolled through pictures of the Crown Jewels, pausing when the screen filled with the Queen Mother’s crown. It was the only one mounted in platinum, and there, set in the front, was the magnificent Koh-i-noor Diamond, which drew him like a magnet. He touched the screen with his hand. Right now, it was so far out of his reach.