“I know the feeling,” said Westbrook, with a detectable undercurrent of anger.
“I need to make a quick kill,” de Jersey said.
“I gather that. But from what you’ve just said, how are you going to pay me for what you want to know?”
“There’s bankrupt and there’s bankrupt. I can still lay my hands on a few bob.”
“I see, but this information isn’t for some coffee-table book, is it? So, get a bit clearer, Mr. Simmons, and stop wasting my time.”
“It’s a nice earner.”
“How much of a nice earner?”
“Enough.”
“So the sum is just what size?”
“If you produce the goods, your cut will be in the region of five or six million.”
There was a long pause. His lordship lit another cigarette.
“It’s not on the square, that’s for sure. You want information regarding the Royals and their household. What are you going to do? Let’s see. Break into Kensington Palace? If that’s your idea, forget it. It’s been broken into countless times, and everyone always gets caught.”
“It’s not that.”
“Shame. I know the place like the back of my hand.”
De Jersey watched him like a hawk.
“If it’s the Crown Jewels, there’s not a hope in hell. Total waste of time. Only one chap ever broke in, sixteen something. He failed.”
“I know.”
“So it could be the Crown Jewels?” There was another long pause. “They come out now and again, for the State Opening of Parliament, coronations… Ma’am’s Golden Jubilee is this year. She’ll need a fitting-Royal heads have swelled a bit since Edward the Confessor’s time…”
They left the hotel together and took a taxi the short distance to Westbrook’s home, where they continued their discussion.
De Jersey grew more confident about Westbrook’s help. A single room in Pimlico, very shabby. The Persian carpets were beyond threadbare, and the single bed was draped with a tatty paisley throw. Even the few elegant oil paintings were damaged. The small kitchen was filthy, and the cabinet doors were falling off their hinges. “I just use this pad to doss down in. It’s not even mine-belongs to an old and distant cousin. I seem to be out of instant coffee. What about a chilled vodka?”
They drank from chipped glasses. Westbrook showed off his most prized possessions: a row of silver-framed photographs of his children, a son and twin daughters. The pictures also showed an austere blond woman. “My ex-wife,” he said sourly. “She has custody. They all live in South Africa now. I’d see them, but the plane fare is a bit of a problem.” He sat down cross-legged on the couch and gulped his vodka. De Jersey left his untouched.
His lordship lit a cigarette. “There’s an added problem.”
De Jersey remained silent.
“I have cancer.”
“I’m sorry,” de Jersey said, with sincerity.
“So am I sometimes, when I look at the photos and remember such happy days. But the old man left me with a nightmare of death duties. I loved that place with a passion. It’s my heritage and by right my son’s. I’d like to own it again, pass it on to William.”
He passed one of the silver frames to de Jersey. “My ancestors have lived there since seventeen eighty. Now it’s owned by a group of bloody salesmen in gray suits. Tragic. All my family looking down the baronial staircase while the imbeciles ruin the place. I can’t even visit.” He replaced the photograph. “Now you know all there is to know.”
De Jersey remained silent.
“I have told you all this for one reason, to make you understand that this little… “flutter” could not have come at a better time, and I’m up for it if there’s enough lolly in it for me.”
De Jersey drained his vodka. “You were on to it.”
“What?”
“You were on to what I have in mind,” de Jersey said.
“Not the bloody Crown Jewels?”
De Jersey laughed. “Yes.”
“You’re out of your mind.”
“Not really. What do you know about the jewel fittings, the one for the Queen’s Golden Jubilee?”
Lord Westbrook poured himself some more vodka. “My God, are you serious?”
“Yes.”
“I see. Well, my cut would certainly get me the ancestral home back. How many will be in on it?”
De Jersey hesitated, then went for it. “Eight, I think, including you. I may need a few more heavies. Not everyone will get the same amount. It depends on how important they are to the heist.”
“I see.”
“Do you?” de Jersey asked seriously.
“I spent seven years in jail, so I can see quite clearly that it’s a harebrained idea. Why decide to trust me?” Westbrook asked.
De Jersey gestured to the squalid room. “To die in this place isn’t what you want, is it?”
Westbrook drained his glass. The bottle was empty.
“I’d say you are an embittered man. You’ve lost your self-respect, your children, and your home. Spending years in prison gave you plenty of time to review your future and reflect on your past. I’m willing to pay you, starting this week, to work for me. I can’t say at this stage if it will go ahead. And it won’t until I’m satisfied we can do it with the least risk to all concerned.”
“What’s the downside?”
“There isn’t one. If I think it’s impossible and call it off, then it’s just been an experience. However, if I think it’s a viable project, the only downside would be if one of us opened his mouth, because that would ruin any chance of our survival.”
De Jersey stood up straight, like a colonel, his massive frame dominating the small studio. “So I demand total loyalty.”
“Demand?” Westbrook smiled.
“Yep. We cannot afford a weak link, and if one did arise it would be erased.”
“How would you know?”
“I would know, and I would see personally that it was taken care of. You come on board, you obey the rules.” De Jersey picked up the empty vodka bottle and tossed it into the fireplace. It smashed to pieces on the empty grate. “No boozing, no drugs, and this”-he moved close to Westbrook, took his jaw in one hand, and ran his fingers over the man’s mouth with the other-“one word leaked and everyone goes down.” He released his hold and picked up one of the photographs of Westbrook’s children. “Every man involved is hungry. They have families, children. So if a blabbing mouth hurts them they will want retribution. Do you understand?” He set down the photograph carefully.
“I resent the threats.”
“I hope you do, Harry. That is what your friends call you, isn’t it?”
“And we’re friends now, are we?” Westbrook asked.
“No. But I will be more of a friend to you than any other man you know. If this is going to work, you will have to trust me one hundred percent, and trust is what makes a friendship.”
Westbrook watched as de Jersey picked up his cashmere overcoat. “If you decide not to go ahead, will you still pay me?”
“Of course, per week for however long it takes to accomplish your part of the heist.”
“How much?”
“One thousand cash every week and a cut of the jewels once they’ve been broken up.”
Westbrook took another cigarette.
De Jersey struck the match to light it. Their eyes met. “You should get enough to leave your son and heir his rightful inheritance.”
Westbrook stared into de Jersey’s cold blue eyes. He did not flinch; de Jersey was impressed.
Westbrook said, “I put my trust in you. God only knows why-it’s a gut feeling. This morning I really didn’t care how long I had to live, but now I do. I want to live long enough to pull this bloody thing off, and if I die in the process it doesn’t matter. But if we do it, I’ll leave my son more than an empty title. I’d like that.”
Back at the flat in Kilburn, de Jersey logged onto the computer and began to search. When “The Golden Jubilee Program Pages” came up, he scanned them for details of the Royal calendar. Since the festivities would begin in early May and continue through June and July, he reasoned that the crown and the jewels which were to be in use would have to be removed from the Tower some time before then. But where would they be held for safekeeping? With the jeweler appointed to the Queen? A plan was finally forming. He closed down his computer and leaned back in his chair, smiling. Just then his cell phone rang.