“This looks good. And the nearest farm is, what? Two miles north?” de Jersey queried.
“The two houses at the top of the drive are empty, so we can come and go. Nobody’s gonna be around.”
Wilcox pulled the sheet off one of the Daimlers, which gleamed. “I’m almost finished with the upholstery. I’ve got a guy making up the seats. He has no idea what they’re for, and I can collect them in a couple of weeks. The color is close enough. Dark maroon, right?”
De Jersey walked around the car. “Tony says he thinks he’s got the bike riders. I’m going to meet them this morning.”
They went to a small back room area, screened off from the main barn. Wilcox had collected a few chairs, a kettle, and coffee mugs.
“We’ll need some heaters in here,” de Jersey said.
“I’ll get one of those big ones they use on film sets.” Wilcox sniffed. His nose was running.
De Jersey wondered if this newfound energy was not a return to health but, in fact, chemically fueled.
“You want the surveillance details me and Tony have been working on?” Wilcox asked.
“Fire away.”
“We’ve been taking turns monitoring the safe house, and we’ve got the following regular workers and visitors. Two females, one about twenty-five, the other middle-aged. Three males, mid-thirties, and two white-haired men. Four security guards. Two come on early morning, two at night. Four other men turned up, but they weren’t regulars.” Wilcox laid out photographs of each one. Even if he was still doing coke, de Jersey could not fault his preparations. If anything, he himself was lagging. He felt uneasy when Wilcox pressed him for details about the interior of the safe house.
“We’ll discuss all that at the first big meet. I need a few days. Good work, James.”
“Not got it together yet, then?”
“Almost, but it’s taking more time than I thought. I’m getting there, though.”
“I sincerely hope so, old chap. Time’s moving on.” They gave each other a brotherly hug. “So, what’s next for me?” Wilcox asked.
“Just get the vehicles ready.”
“We’re on course, are we?”
De Jersey hesitated a beat before he answered. “Yeah, we’re on course, James.”
Later that morning, de Jersey met with Driscoll and Brian Hall and Kenny Short. De Jersey suggested they take a ride on an open-top bus, and the four men were the only occupants of the top deck. As they stared out at the sights of London, de Jersey-as Simmons-questioned Hall, then Short. When they parted, he tapped Driscoll’s arm and said softly, “Nice work. They seem steady guys.”
Driscoll nodded. “I reckon we’ll have no problems. They agreed to the fee, and I trust them. I have to, cos Hall knows where I live.”
“Right,” de Jersey said. In the old days, Tony Driscoll would have moved house. Fortunately de Jersey did not have to. No one new coming into the team had the slightest notion who he was.
When de Jersey called to say he was arranging a meeting for the following week, Westbrook had been having migraines that left him so weak he could hardly lift a cigarette to his lips. De Jersey’s call lifted the pain and cleared his head abruptly. He didn’t know if it was terror or having something else to think about. He wasn’t scared; there was nothing to be scared of. He was dying anyway.
Pamela Kenworthy-Wright agreed to travel to London. She didn’t ask questions except where she would find the keys to the apartment she’d be staying in.
Just as de Jersey was beginning to feel he was making good progress, Raymond Marsh called and dropped a bombshell.
“This is hot off the Buck House telephone wires. She’s snuffed it.”
De Jersey took a deep breath. “What are you talking about?”
“She was rushed to hospital last night and died early this morning. It’ll be front-page news by tonight, so-”
De Jersey clenched his teeth. “She’s dead?”
“Yeah. Be a big funeral, they’ll be lowering the flags and stuff.”
“Dear God. Are you sure?”
“I’m certain. My gran always said she should have been allowed to marry Peter Townsend.”
“Wait, you’re talking about Princess Margaret?”
“Yeah. Who did you think? It means that H.M. might not be keeping to her diary.”
De Jersey’s heart rate dropped slightly. For a moment he had believed the Queen was dead. “How soon can you find out?”
“All I can do is keep you posted. I just thought you’d want to know.”
“Yes, thank you.” He hung up.
De Jersey sat stunned. This could throw a major spanner in the works. A few days later, however, after the media had run coverage of the Princess’s death virtually into the ground, Marsh called again. He said he needed to talk to de Jersey urgently.
“Is this about the funeral?”
“Nope. As far as I can tell that’ll all be over soon. The diary hasn’t changed for May. Busy this month, though. Not sure I’d fancy being cremated myself, but-”
“What did you call to talk about then?” de Jersey asked, cutting Marsh off.
Marsh refused to say over the phone, so they arranged to meet in a coffee shop a stone’s throw from the entrance to Buckingham Palace. It was Marsh’s morning break, and a long line of tourists was waiting for the Changing of the Guard, their umbrellas up against the cold February drizzle and their coats buffeted by the brisk wind.
“You’ve got real problems,” Marsh told him. “I did some rooting around at work cos I figured the D’Ancona alarm system might work through their phone lines.”
“And what did you find out?”
“They’ve got serious panic buttons-fifty-two of them-all wired up individually to the phone system with a direct link to an alarm receiving center, which contacts the police. I suspect they’ll be set up so that if you deactivate one line the others will go off.”
De Jersey’s heart sank.
Marsh continued. “They’ll be dotted around all over the place. I tried to get more information using the Web, but there’s nothing on D’Ancona that we don’t already know, and besides, they ain’t gonna give details on the Web about their security. But it’s logic that they’ll have ’em on the walls and under the carpet so you won’t even be able to tell if one’s been set off until it’s too late. Step on one an’ you’ll trigger the rest.”
“So you got nothing on their security layout?”
Marsh shook his head. “The plans aren’t stored on any computer network that I’ve dipped into. They’re gonna protect themselves an’ gotta be wise to hackers. One more thing I did find out, though. There’s activity on those lines at precisely nine o’clock every morning. I assume that’s when they check their system, so if you deactivate the phone lines connected to the panic buttons, it’ll need to be done after that. But it’s not all bad news.”
“Go on.”
Marsh wiped his mouth on a paper napkin. “I hacked into the Royal diary page again. Been keeping my eye on it for you, especially since the Princess died. The fitting’s been confirmed. It’s Thursday the second of May, ten thirty.”
De Jersey stared at him. If the fitting was now confirmed, so was the date of the robbery.
“See? I said it wasn’t all bad news. The party they’ve got listed for the fitting includes Her Majesty, a lady-in-waiting-Lady Camilla Harvey, the equerry, plus a detective, two bike riders, the chauffeurs, and some security geezers.”
De Jersey gave Marsh a guarded smile and patted his arm. Then he got up and walked out. Marsh pocketed the fiver de Jersey had left for the waiter and substituted two pound coins.
Two steps forward and a bad one back. It was disappointing if not catastrophic not to know the layout of the security at the safe house. De Jersey knew how many people worked there, what time they came in and out. He knew how many telephones there were, but he did not know on which floor the main vault was and, most important, the locations of the panic buttons and security alarms.