by Michael Foot
Michael took a few seconds to reply. “Chloe can be what you would probably have called in your Army days your handler. What I’m suggesting is that over the next few weeks – and it will have to be quick, we don’t have the time for anything else – she will suggest a small number of ‘tasks’ for you. These will all be tasks that could raise moral or other issues with you. You will have to decide if the ends justify the means and whether you are prepared to do them; then, if you are, execute them. At the end of each task, I will make sure that you get the chance to see first-hand one of the key parts of our operation and talk to whoever you like there. At the end of that process, you and I agree whether you should be ‘out’ or ‘in’; but on a much better basis of mutual understanding than we could possibly have now.
There is danger in this for the Angels. If you decide not to join us, you will have seen something of our less attractive underbelly and could use that against us. We shall just have to limit the risk of that as far as possible, hence for example having Chloe as your handler – Chloe who to almost everyone is really a small cog in the Angel world. But, if I’m right in what I sense in you, the prize for us – a highly-competent able operative who is right there on the inside – and someone who understands and has what we really need – makes it worth our taking the risk.”
Andrew thought he had better lighten the atmosphere a little. “I did have – ‘enjoy’ would be too strong a word – a classical education. What you’re describing sounds a bit like a potted version of the Labours of Hercules. Though I would stress I haven’t started by killing my wife and child, like Hercules did, and it’s obvious you have something like 12 weeks in mind, rather than the 12 years I think Hercules worked for his ‘handler’. Also, if I remember correctly, most of his labours involved catching dangerous animals or stealing things that had magical powers. I am presuming that what you want is rather more down to earth.”
“Yes, indeed” replied Michael and stood up, indicating clearly that the meeting was over. “I hope Chloe’s company will help alleviate any strain you may experience from what I’ve suggested. Trust her fully. I do.” Three seconds later, he was gone. Twenty seconds later. Andrew was outside looking for Chloe and his ride back to London.
12
Andrew and Chloe didn’t say much as she drove them back to London. She seemed on a high, singing quietly to herself at one point. Andrew, for his part, turned over in his mind what Michael had said. Yes, surely the Colonel would be pleased that Andrew had been so quickly accepted by the Angels. But what actually was he going to be asked to do? And, if it were illegal – which Andrew rather suspected was possible – would the Colonel’s powers protect Andrew if things went wrong?
By the time they got back to London and Chloe was ready to drop him off, Andrew at least had established that, as of now, Chloe had no idea of the role she would be playing as his handler; and Andrew admitted to himself that she could handle him as much as she liked. Chloe offered a cheek for a perfunctory kiss as he got out of the car. “I’ll be in touch in a couple of days” she said. “Be good.”
Andrew used the next couple of days to make sure his visitors from the Middle East were being gainfully employed and starting to understand what ‘Know Your Customer’ – KYC to those in the anti-money laundering business – meant in real-life cases. “Just remember” Andrew later recalled himself saying. “A banker with a rich new customer has a fine line to walk. He needs to ask questions about the source of the money and its likely uses; but to do so in a way that is not going to alienate a client who can probably see no reason on earth why his bank should be poking its nose into his business. And you have to be able to write it all up, so that your regulator – and any international team from the Financial Action Task Force – can be satisfied you have done your due diligence. Not an easy balance to strike; rich men tend to find it easy to find another bank if they get fed up with you.” When Andrew thought about it, he realised that he was having to find a similar balance with the Angels.
It was actually not until Wednesday that Chloe got in touch, to suggest an ‘Angel evening’ on Thursday night – “Good food, drink and dancing – with a promise to get you home by midnight so you can work on Friday if you have to.” Andrew pressed Chloe to check that she herself would be there. “Yes, with Hazel and a few others too” was the answer. Then she added “By the way, Michael has asked me to raise something with you. He says I’ll have all the details by tomorrow and he says you know about it. Is that right?” “Well” replied Andrew “I certainly know something was on the way; but, as to what it is, I have no more idea than you.” And that’s how they left it, though Chloe did say she would be round at his flat half an hour or so early, so that she could explain whatever it was that Michael wanted.
By Wednesday afternoon, Andrew had been in touch with the Colonel and arranged a short meeting at one of the safe houses, in the rather upmarket tailor that Andrew liked to frequent. Andrew felt that now was the time to start, if he were going to do something about the colour of most of his wardrobe to fit in with the Angels; so it was a case of two birds with one stone.
Andrew arrived at the shop around 5 p.m. as agreed and thinking, rightly, that there wouldn’t be many other customers around. The shop had several fitting rooms at the back, one of which Andrew knew from past experience was much bigger than such a room would ever normally be and soundproofed. He selected a range of the tailor’s own brand of shirts, and took the armful of brightly coloured shirts with him to the room. Where, not surprisingly, the Colonel was sitting and looking like he had been there some time, although no sherry was in sight.
Andrew quickly reported his actions to date, making sure he covered in detail only the parts of Michael’s weekend seminar that he thought would interest the Colonel. Andrew explained the proposed ‘labours of Hercules’; and sat back to await the Colonel’s reply. “You’ve done well, Andrew, remarkably well in the time available. All I can suggest is that you tackle the first labour as soon as you can. The bits of the empire that I suggest you ask to ‘inspect’, as part of the deal after you’ve done each ‘labour’, are the money side of the Foundation itself, the policy section you describe and Michael’s own personal household. It might be very useful later to know who is who in the group around him, and who really matters. As for what you say about the current expansion of activity and the focus on next year’s Election, I can’t say any of that comes as a great surprise. But your report does bear out a lot of what I’ve been hearing from other sources. As I say, well done. Let’s keep in touch.
By the way, I guess you may want to have a get-out if one of these labours goes horribly wrong and you attract the attention of our wonderful police. Do you remember the ‘get out of jail’ phone number you memorised last time?” Andrew confirmed that he did and repeated it to satisfy the Colonel. “If you are arrested, just make sure that is the one phone call you are allowed to make. And do please try to make sure that you aren’t being held for GBH or, worse, murder. So much more paperwork and legwork for us in those circumstances.”
With that, the Colonel left. Andrew spent a further 30 minutes choosing half a dozen new shirts, designed to co-ordinate with his Angel bands and, if he were honest, to show off his well-toned figure and healthy complexion. Then he returned home and, aware that he had skimped on the gym-work recently, spent a couple of hours in the neighbouring gym, following that with a leisurely swim and steam room visit.
Thursday evening came quickly enough. Chloe had warned him not to wear too much – “The dance floor gets as hot as hell even when it isn’t 30C or more outside like now.” He put his 3 bands on, and was slightly surprised to find that he had actually felt underdressed until he had done it. He mixed up a jug of pina colada, to go with the continuing good weather, hoping that would appeal to Chloe.
When she arrived, it turned out that pina colada would do her very well; and the first 20 minutes of her visit saw her down two lar
ge glasses (we’re not driving anywhere tonight”) and reminisce about the weekend which she had obviously enjoyed. “Isn’t Michael great?” she asked, clearly without expecting a reply. “I just love weekends like that. They make me feel pumped up and ready to cope with anything.” She paused. “Well, now, I’d better pass on what Michael said before the drink makes me forget or not care.”
She sat and seemed to collect her thoughts. “This is what Michael told me to say. One of the big challenges we face is getting increasing amounts of air-time as the Election approaches, given that our political rivals control most of the media. And it has to be good, positive, news – getting people to start thinking there is a steady swing of opinion towards the idea that a government of Angels would be a breath of fresh air. And that it can’t be worse than what we’re lumbered with now.
So far, so good. But what he then said was that we can get a lot of this organised in advance, for example by a steady stream of well-known people coming out and saying that they are ‘for us’. We need particularly to influence younger people. But there will also be value in getting people more generally to come off the fence, especially if they come from non-political walks of life. He talked for example about getting endorsements from people in organisations like The National Trust, The Mothers’ Union and I can’t remember what else. People – he said – who would not be known to the general public but who could really resonate with a lot of voters. He said the NT has 5 million members which sounds extraordinary, so I may have got that wrong.”
“I get the idea” replied Andrew “but what has that got to do with me?” Chloe looked at him. “All I can tell you is what he said. In some areas, we’ve got volunteers lined up, to come out for us when the time is ripe. In others, we are going to need to have a few people whose hand is forced. He wants me to introduce you to an Angel called Mark tonight. Mark is going to ask you to help him pin down someone who we need – I think he’s a big footballer – but who isn’t going to do it unless he’s pressured to do it. Michael said it would be good for you and that you’d be a good persuader if necessary. Anyway, let’s go – it’s a very ‘in’ club in the West End – and I’ll introduce you to Mark. He can take it from there. As you probably guessed, the manager of the club is one of us; and, because Michael says it’s work, the Angels will be footing what is bound to be a big bill, even with Angel discounts.” That was all Chloe would or could say. Andrew went off to cast a final eye over himself in the mirror; Chloe went to the loo. They left, quickly found a taxi and about 30 minutes later pulled up in one of the parts of Mayfair that Andrew knew was normally quite out of his league.
Not for the first time, Andrew was struck by how much easier and nicer it was to get into a building with a pretty girl on your arm. Chloe anyway seemed to know the main bouncer on the door; they were in and headed for the bar (Andrew guessed it was just the first of several) within a minute. Chloe looked at him – Andrew thought a little pensively – and said “I haven’t been fully honest with you. I’m going to dance now” she waved in the general direction of the back of the building from which dance music was wafting. “Mark is over there. I’ll bring him over.”
Mark turned out to be short, rather thick-set and about 35. Chloe introduced them and they shook hands. “Come and find me later” Chloe said to Andrew and, without further ado, left them. Mark looked speculatively at Andrew. He ordered two club martinis without asking Andrew what he wanted and then gestured to a recessed area to the right of the bar, where there were several substantial leather chairs. He said “There aren’t too many members in yet, which is good. Michael says I should not hide anything from you, so here’s how it looks to me.
There’s a footballer due in here later. One of the England team, you’ll recognise him. One of the Angel girls, who has ‘befriended’ him, has been told to make sure he’s here by 10. She’ll then leave him to our tender mercies. Your mission, should you accept it – wonderful how old telly gives you things to say – is to help me persuade him that, in about 6 months, he’s going to come out with a public statement endorsing the Angels. That’s all we have to do; that’s all he has to agree to. If we succeed, there’ll only be another 20 on my list to do the same with. You get to do just this one.”
“Fine” Andrew replied. “But what miracle ingredient do you have with you to get him to agree, let alone stick to an agreement that is some months ahead? Or is this girl he’s with so pretty that he’ll go along with you just to keep her? I’ve always thought these guys have the choice of almost any woman they want.”
Mark said nothing, just reached into his left trouser pocket and handed over a small mobile phone. “This is what we’ll be showing him before we ask nicely” Mark said. Probably best if you just watch like he will. There are two short feature films.” Mark pressed a couple of buttons and handed the phone over. It was dark enough in this part of the bar for Andrew to be able to see clearly. There was a soundtrack but it was low and Andrew could feel fairly safe that no-one was near enough to overhear it.
Both short films featured the footballer who, though Andrew was not a football fan, even he recognised. The first seemed to have been taken in a room, perhaps in the footballer’s own pad. There were just 2 people, the footballer and a man who turned out to be his tax adviser. Tax, of course, was an area where Andrew thought he knew a fair amount, given its role in money-laundering. And he needed only one run of the film to see what it meant. The footballer was using a tax loophole, seemingly through a Cayman-incorporated vehicle, to avoid tax on a significant part of his income. The dodge – quite common to Andrew’s knowledge – was to get sponsors for boots, other kit, and TV endorsement ads featuring the footballer, to pay money direct to his Cayman bank account. That meant the money would not appear then on any UK tax return, although the work would have been done in the UK; and, if the guy was clever and dishonest, it would never appear on a UK form at all. That left just Cayman income tax which of course was zero. About £5 million a year seemed to be at stake. But, or so Andrew thought, the dodge was just about legal. So why would the footballer worry?
The subject of the second feature was much clearer. It looked like it had been shot in poor light, somewhere tucked well away. Again two people, this time the footballer and an Asiatic who was very obviously the representative of a gambling circle who had ‘bought’ the footballer’s co-operation to ‘influence’ the outcome of games. The footballer had clearly failed to deliver on at least one of his commitments; and, in the face of some pretty open threats, was offering to pull some more strings in future games, for ‘less than the usual’. The quality of the shots left something to be desired. But, Andrew judged, any football fan who saw it would have exploded in rage. The footballer was bent, it was clear.
Andrew handed the phone back. “So, this is blackmail?” Andrew asked. “You could call it that” Mark replied. “But it’s hard to have any sympathy for a sleaze-bag like this guy. I really feel for the girl who has had to put up with him for the last few weeks, to set up the cameras and get the results. That is Angel duty above and beyond! Even though she was helped by the great range of miniature drones that someone in the movement has developed. From now on, anyone should be working on the basis that, when you say ‘I’d like to be a fly on the wall’, you probably can be; that is exactly what these drones look like. ”
Andrew downed half his martini, though that wasn’t one of his usual tipples, and reflected. “I’ll do most of the work” said Mark. “You just have to sit there, follow up my points if you think it’s necessary, and make sure we stay undisturbed.”
Shortly after, the footballer arrived, with a stunning tall blonde on his arm. She had obviously been primed as to what was happening, because she immediately located Mark sitting in the corner with Andrew. “Jimmy” she whispered to the footballer “this is the man I told you I wanted you to meet. I’ll fix some of your usual champagne from the bar and then go and powder my nose. We can d
ance later.” Andrew had taken an immediate dislike to Jimmy; he was dressed in an expensive suit that still somehow said ‘barrow boy’ about its wearer. And the man clearly had huge ego problems which, for example, meant it took him a few seconds now to focus on Mark and say, without enthusiasm “OK girl, Just 5 minutes.” Jimmy slapped the girl’s backside familiarly; and Andrew disliked him still more. The girl’s expression slipped for just a second – a brief malevolent glance at Jimmy. Then, she recovered her poise, moved over, spoke quietly to the barman and disappeared. The barman appeared with a glass of champagne for Jimmy, in less than 20 seconds – the bottle had obviously been standing ready to be poured. Jimmy took it without thanks and threw himself down next to Mark.
“I promised Jenny I’d give you 5 minutes; and I hope she’s already made it clear I don’t do charity signatures, team shirts or any of that crap. You’ll have to see my agent if you want those – and pay the going rate.” Mark smiled, a little sourly in reply. “Now that’s one thing I don’t have – a picture of you with your agent. Though I do have a couple of short videos with other people you know. We’ll have to make do with those.” Mark pushed a button on his phone, which he had left lying on the table and handed it to Jimmy.
Andrew, reflecting later, realised that he had really enjoyed the next 10 minutes. Jimmy had watched the first of the two short videos without comment and with his face recording only a hardening around the mouth and a short grimace of distaste. Jimmy had only got a few seconds into the second video before he started as though to rise and swore quickly under his breath. Presumably, in the desire to see just how far the video went, Jimmy relapsed back into his suit and watched the rest, his facial expressions alternating between anger and fear.
“Jeez” was all Jimmy could say initially when the video finished. He looked around him at the room and then said in a low urgent voice to Mark. “Let’s talk somewhere a bit more private.” Jimmy rose and, having had a quick word with the barman – Jimmy was obviously a regular here. He led them through a door on the other side of the bar which led down a short dimly-lit corridor and then into what were obviously small bedrooms on one side. Jimmy took one of the rooms that had an open door, looked inside and then said “This’ll do. Now, who the hell are you two and what do you want? Journalists by the look of you.”