“I did say you would need to be one step ahead on this one. The thought that I had was that they used two identical boats, or if you like a nautical doppelganger. The one now tied up at Bouilly Port is the clean decoy, while the other fitted with the radar jammer sailed for England, after having all the goodies transferred to her.”
I got up and paced across the office, stretching my back as I went. I said, “Well this is all very intriguing LJ, and you have my undivided attention.”
“But — what’s so special about the contents of that safe that would merit swapping boats, the Partners’ interest and indeed this department’s involvement?”
LJ was one of those people who had to build up to a grand finale. “Well it’s very simple really. Inside that safe are two plates of the highest quality, for counterfeiting Euro note currency, oh and a half a kilo of cocaine. The Partners told me that our friend in Government is crapping himself, this boat sinking was definitely not on the agenda. It’s an absolute catastrophe for him in his position, especially as he had lent the dammed thing to one of his cronies for the weekend. So you see, the need for discretion and the utmost secrecy is vital.”
“Forgive me if I’ve got this all wrong. But are you suggesting that we actually give the Italians counterfeit Euros to fund their fight against the Sicilian Mafia?”
“If only it were that simple,” LJ said with a heavy sigh. He took out another slim Panatela cigar and lit it.
“The idea is that we get the plates and the cocaine from the sunken boat, in order for the Partners to return them, temporarily you understand, to the person who owns them. We then get paid in sterling by Hawkworth for clearing up this mess, and as a bonus our Minister’s friend produces a large sum of counterfeit currency as a little thank you, which we will then hand over to the Italians.”
“Oh no!” I said. “You surely haven’t agreed to stoop that low — have you?”
“What the hell do the Partners think we are down here?”
“I sometimes wonder,” agreed LJ raising his eyebrows, “but I suppose the Partners have to look after certain parties, especially those that are politically sensitive.”
“Don’t give me their sob story, it might make me break down and cry.”
LJ nodded, removed his glasses and rubbed his tired eyes with his fingertips.
“Look Jake, the Partners want us to retrieve these items. It’s a way of stopping a scandal from hitting the gutter press, and the fact is, how shall I put this? Favours that can be banked, will be banked. It should last the firm for years to come, and we also get paid a handsome fee for our trouble. Another factor is that a certain member of a certain family is long overdue for retirement in Sicily. All this can be achieved without implicating the firm or costing the Generals or us a penny. Comment?”
“You mean that the Generals are going to use the ‘funny money’ to fund a Mafia war in Sicily, to buy weapons and then to finance their own dubious ventures afterwards?”
“Quite so,” said LJ.
“Call me cynical but, there is obviously more to this than you’re telling me?”
LJ tried his impression of loosening up a little and said patiently, “Look, old son, it’s like this. The boat sinking is merely coincidence and the fact that she belongs to a Cabinet Minister is just our good luck. True, it does now play a small part, in what is very much a bigger picture with the Italians. She holds a vital element — the plates — and yes you have been chosen to dive and retrieve what’s inside that safe.”
I said nothing.
“Look, the firm is in a very strong position,” said LJ. “If the Italians do manage to create a re-organisation of control in Sicily, we as a firm stand to not only make millions out of it, but will have been, in our own small way, instrumental in changing the lives of thousands of families forever. It really is as simple as that.”
“Oh, I can see how the Partners’ devious minds are working. They’re naturally working the firm into a position, where both of these clients will be inextricably indebted to us. While at the same time creating a flood of counterfeit currency throughout Europe. Brilliant, because this in turn will create panic and instability in the Euro as a currency. The rate will drop through the floor, which will be good news for anyone buying that currency at precisely the right time. But they’re wrong.”
Levenson-Jones looked up sharply, and began tapping his pen on the desk.
“You think so?” he said.
“I know so,” I told him. “This Minister will be watching his back, and the Italians are tough guys. They’ve all been around. They’re just as likely to double cross the firm if things don’t go their way in Sicily. After all it was probably the Mafia who gave them their rank in the first place. Then the Partners will be all about urgent emails, all the way back down to us when the shit hits the fan.”
We sat in silence for a few minutes; LJ sat there with his lower lip jutted forward, tapping it with his pen. In between this he said “Umm” five times.
After a few minutes of this, he got up out of his chair and began to pace, not wanting eye contact with me as he spoke.
“I want to tell you something. Two days ago, when I first got wind of this, I spoke to an old friend and colleague of yours, Carter over at Military Intelligence. I believe you worked with him when you were there. He told me that he knew of only fifty people in this country, who had the expertise and knowledge to carry off an assignment of this type, discreetly. He said that there were only five who could do it undetected. Carter said that you would be his unconditional choice.”
“Was he drunk at the time?” I said.
“Perhaps,” said LJ, who considered anyone with talent, as dubious.
“But the Partners might wish to reconsider their options if they knew that you were against it.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” I told him. “The Partners will never pass up a opportunity of making money and acquiring favours from the Government. They’re probably up in the atrium now gorging themselves on self-congratulation.”
I was right. Within twenty-four hours, I had an email confirming the Dorset assignment. This was to be the first stage of a two-part operation.
As LJ had said when I voiced my doubts, “But there is no one else for this job, old son. Firstly, you lived in Dorset for many years and know your way around the local coastline. Secondly, you speak four languages fluently with the correct syntax, and your considerable army intelligence training, which I might add, will be crucial to the success of the job.” And last of all, he threw in, “Oh, and you’re a qualified wreck diver, of course.”
Chapter 2
Friday afternoon and the drive down to Dorset started frustratingly slowly.
The roads around the city were at bursting point; people dashing frenetically in all directions to start their weekends. But once the M25 was in the Mercedes’ rear view mirror, I relaxed a little, increasing the volume of the music beating out as I flew down the M3, onto the M27 and west towards Bournemouth. Penetrating drizzle had been escaping from the low cloud since I joined the motorway at Southampton; the glow from the dash clock showed 5.30pm. Half an hour later I was on the outskirts of Bournemouth, nearing my destination — a rented house situated on the Sandbanks peninsula near to Poole.
This exclusive and enchanting area of Dorset is surrounded by ocean with only one road in and out. There are far reaching views out to sea and along the white sand beaches in either direction. The house that the firm had taken on a short lease had direct water frontage with its own mooring and boathouse. The property itself was large enough to accommodate four to five people comfortably. A private drive was entered via high security electric gates, under the watchful eye of a CCTV camera.