by Tim Heath
“How are you planning to do that, Brendan?”
“We need to spin it so that it looks like he’s jumping ship. We have some things on him that should persuade him to fall in line. Then we’ll leak something to the press anyway that’ll off-set the relative surprise at Tommy’s appointment. You are sure about him now, aren’t you?” Brendan said, without thinking it through properly.
“Brendan, have I ever been wrong? Of all the people I would have thought that you at least would have faith in my ability by now. Look what I’ve turned you into, after all.”
Brendan realised his mistake and closed his eyes briefly, taking a short breath before replying.
“Of course, sir, I don’t know what came over me.” He paused, before quickly changing the subject. “There is another issue that I need to mention. I’ve been informed that there was a man snooping around at the DoI. He monitored our meeting with Jessica Ponter at the Thistle Hotel using the hotel’s CCTV system.”
“What happened?” the voice asked.
“Seemed to only focus on the corridor, maybe trying to confirm some affair that he thought he had wind of. He’s possibly an employee at the security company as he used a password to gain access, but that’s no guarantee. Might be a journalist, some tabloid trying to find some dirt with this takeover, but he was there before it was announced so I think I’d rule that one out.”
“I take it you are onto it, aren’t you?”
“Yes, I’ve pulled some muscle in. We’ll check out the security firm as well as try and track this guy down ourselves. He won’t cause us a problem, sir.”
“Don’t let him. Be careful but keep me informed. If anything looks strange, I want to be the first to know. But sort it out, OK?”
“OK, sir. I’d best go now. People to call,” and with that he dropped the receiver quietly and pressed stop on his recorder attached to his phone, opened the front of it and removed the tape, placing it carefully in the inside pocket of his jacket.
He sat for a couple of minutes and pondered things again. Picking up a diary from the top drawer in his desk, he opened it up at the contacts section and proceeded to look up some names. Finding the right name he carefully entered the numbers into the handset and waited for it to be answered.
“Hi, it’s Brendan,” a pause but an answer was not expected. “I need you to deploy a few people to do a little sniffing around. Get a guy to the offices of SecureCCTV and have them look into a guy named Robert. I’ll fax you shortly a still photo we have of him, from when we first became aware of his snooping. I need to know what connection, if any, he has there. Failing any leads down that route, see what you can find out in general on him. Until we know who he is you are not to touch him but I want him under surveillance. When you track him down, give me a call on my mobile. You have the number. You have twenty-four hours.” There was a slight pause and the line went dead. Brendan smiled a little, a rare pleasure he allowed himself only occasionally, usually when he knew he had just gained the upper hand. Replacing the handset he swung back deep into his leather chair and kicked off his shoes.
“Who are you, Robert?” he said and knew that the game was now on.
**********
At the City Ground, Nottingham, there were hundreds of television press and newspaper journalists crammed into the main conference suite. The last twenty-four hours had been a whirl wind. Starting with the stock market rumours and then the takeover announcement, they had all been trying to out do each other in who could break the next big story. The early edition of The Times and Daily Express both announced the exclusive news that the old manager had left the club that very evening, going, they claimed, with ’mutual consent.’ None of the tabloids accepted this and thus the rumours grew.
By 9am there was a frenzy of activity and it was standing room only in the two hundred seater suite. Two long dressed tables stood at the top of the room, dozens of microphones in front of both the centre seats, with two other chairs either side of these. The noise in the room dropped to an excited hum as the two doors on the left hand side of the top tables suddenly opened as Brendan Charles, CEO of Harman Insurance Company Ltd, walked in accompanied by another man, Stan Hunter. Stan was Brendan’s takeover king, having purchased most of the firms that GHG now owned. He was the person who had been central to the takeover of Nottingham Forest.
They took their seats at the front, deliberately taking their time as the room grew even quieter, almost silent but for the dozens of bulbs that were flashing from the photographers at the front, each working to capture every possible angle of this breaking story.
When the two men sat down, Brendan poured water into two empty glass tumblers and the room fell totally silent. All eyes were fixed on Brendan and he sat there coolly. After about ten-seconds he stood and started to address the room.
**********
Robert gradually awoke just after seven, as his wake up call buzzed away in the background. Coming round, he thanked the caller and returned the handset to its position. He got out of bed and had a long stretch, his tall frame meaning that his hands reached to the ceiling. His hotel room was neat and tidy and the thick curtains kept the light out well. Switching on the table lamp, he checked his phone while reaching for the television control. He flicked on the news channel and went to fill the kettle.
As hotel rooms went this was a decent one. A four star rating, it was a lot nicer than some of the places he’d stayed in before, and he had stayed in a lot of places. But being a city centre hotel, it was more or less what you’d expect to have.
Having been up late watching a lot of news, he was aware of what the papers were saying but he still opened his door to find his requested copy of The Times outside on the floor.
He flicked through the back pages, stopping briefly to make himself a coffee when the small kettle had boiled. The sports section was covered with the Forest takeover, with news of the current manager’s shock departure, the reasons of which were not really stated too deeply. Robert could read between the lines and had a good idea what was going on. He noted that the press conference was set for nine o’clock that morning, which a related news report confirmed on the television at the same moment. Robert finished his coffee, having only made a small one, he was trying to cut down. He then went into the bathroom to take a shower. As he was finishing and stepping out of the shower, there was a knock at the door. He grabbed for a towel and listened again. Another little tap on the door was followed by a ‘room service’ call from a female voice on the other side.
His ‘Do Not Disturb’ card hanging on the door’s inside handle, he walked over to it, water still dripping from him, and quickly opened the door enough to give the maid a slight shock.
“Oh, I’m sorry, sir. I wasn’t aware…,” she stated quickly, though Robert was quick to jump in.
“It’s OK,” he said in her defence, his hands coming up as he spoke making, his towel drop just enough to catch her eye. She couldn’t help but take a glance, which only made her go even more red as she realised what she had just done.
“I’m so sorry, sir,” she said, turning around quickly and pushing her trolley back down the corridor as quickly as she could.
Robert smiled to himself and closed the door. Drying himself as quickly as he could, he went over to the wardrobe where he had a selection of different outfits hanging up, and selecting the appropriate one, he dressed himself quickly. Opening up his briefcase, he rummaged around until he found what he was looking for, a Media Corps journalists ID badge made out in the name of Thomas Carter.
“Welcome back, Thomas,” he said fondly to himself, while putting on an outer jacket that would cover him up enough at least to get out of the hotel without having to answer too many questions.
Giving his room a quick once over, he went to the cupboard to make sure the safe was locked. In his pocket he had a spray can that he carried around wherever he went. When sprayed it released a small greasy film on any surface, just enough that, if someone was
to touch it, it would leave a small print. And if anyone decided to clean up after themselves, they would of course wipe away the substance without knowing it. The only way around it would be to re-apply it, but that would first mean knowing where it was applied, and secondly mean actually having some, which Robert knew would be highly unlikely.
Robert applied some to the safe and on a few other places that he got used to putting it on, places that room service wouldn’t touch but an intruder would.
Grabbing his things together as well as a notepad and pen, he left his room and walked down the hall, taking the stairs down the three flights. It was just after eight o’clock when he came out through the front doors and hailed a cab that was passing not too far away. Getting in the back, he shut the door and sat down.
“Where to, mate?” said the cab driver.
“The City Ground please,” Robert replied and the cab pulled off and went down the road.
**********
The press conference was now in full flow. Brendan had introduced himself as the CEO of an English based insurance firm and a Nottingham admirer, which brought only smiles from much of the gathered journalists, who knew a planned opening line when they heard it. He then went through their reasons behind the move to buy the club, not playing too much on the financial gains available but on the local feel to the club, the closeness to its fans and the strong loyalty that it held in the city. He talked through the debts and how the club would now be on a stronger footing, how money would be spent on developing younger players and seeing them become international quality footballers. Nothing was mentioned about the previous manager’s departure the night before but Brendan was sure that the questions would come; at least that’s what the waiting press would have expected to have asked when they prepared for the meeting.
The big surprise came with the introduction of Tommy Lawrence, who quickly took his seat at the front next to Brendan. There was a frenzy of activity and the noise increased immediately, so much so that Brendan had to pause as the shocking news of an unknown manager taking the reins of this club broke, every reporters head down suddenly frantically scribbling notes onto their jotter pads. Everyone but one guy near the back, and this was when Brendan first noticed Robert in the room. It struck him that there was something odd about him, a lack of surprise or reaction to anything, and then he slowly started to recognise the face he’d studied on that CCTV picture.
Brendan was frozen to the spot for the moment but started speaking again before handing over to Tommy and sitting down. Looking up again he could still see Robert staring straight at him. He took a drink of water calmly, glanced at Tommy who was handling himself very well then glanced back but Robert was gone. Brendan was limited with what he could do being stuck at the front of a room of over two hundred people in a press conference that he had arranged. He made eye contact with one of the security men on the door which they had come in by, catching his attention and making eyes for the back of the room but there was no way he could properly let him know what he wanted. The guard still disappeared anyway up a corridor along the side of the room.
Robert was of course long gone by now, having seen what he came to see as well as catching Brendan’s attention. Outside, he jumped into a waiting taxi cab, hundreds of cabs being available as the press conference was yet to finish. As it pulled away and down the street, he noticed a guard coming out the main doors but knew he was clear as he turned a corner at the end of the street.
**********
Mary Ingham arrived at her office at the Department of Trade and Industry earlier than usual, partly to read over the notes that came back from yesterday and partly to be prepared before the press conference was through. If anything was going to hold the takeover up, it was important to know as soon as possible.
The meeting had gone on late, far later than they had planned but things often happened like that and because they only met once a month there was usually too much to discuss anyway. With a fresh day upon her, Mary ploughed through the sheets of background information that somebody thought would be useful to her. She always saw the problem in this, but when someone else was preparing anything relevant to a situation, they tended to include everything so that they covered their own backs in case something was omitted that later became a key piece of information. Juniors had lost their jobs for far less in the past and so the average background report nowadays ran into the twenty, thirty or in this case forty page bracket.
As she was already aware, the size of the Gambles Holdings Group was notable, and as owners of HICL they had as much information of the sister companies as was possible, which was quite a lot. She noted with interest the successful history of Brian Harman, who had founded the company in 1975. She had come across a few of his acquisitions in her early days in the department, before he himself sold the firm for around £150 million just over a decade ago. The Gambles Holdings Group had kept the HICL name to this day, mainly because of its commercial value and reputation. There was a footnote in the report noting that specifics on each firm could be found towards the back of the report. Mary would look through them later but first wanted to see the general overview. Most of it, she knew, was completely irrelevant but occasionally something would come up that would make her look at something more closely. The Gambles Holdings Group had many other links as well, though not all were still part of the group as some had been sold along the way.
Ample Tech was the next to be noted, being listed as a market leader in telecommunications and computer technology. Their growth had been equally impressive as well, having acquired many companies along the way. They now pioneered most of the new technologies on the open market, which explained their record highs on the Stock Market that week.
Mary skimmed over the next dozen pages which looked at the history of the Gambles Holdings Group in general with its early gambling links, though these were now sold, as well as known connections to Law and Order, Health Care, Politics and even the military, with one of their firms an unknown but extremely important developer of state of the art weaponry.
All of this was just generic background information to Mary, which she came across on a regular basis. With these multi-interest corporations, it was hard, even for someone in her position, to know exactly what was above board and what needed looking at.
Glancing through the financials on HICL that were contained in the last few pages, something caught her eye. She stopped straight away and re-read the information preceding the figures shown. Again she stopped.
Picking up the phone on her desk, she called her support department, though there was no one there yet, as it was still before nine. She therefore redialled for a senior colleague of hers, Simon Allen, who had a very analytical way of looking at things and generally did all the number crunching.
“Simon, it’s Mary,” she said eagerly but warmly down the handset.
Simon had been in the previous day’s meeting, being an important and long standing employee of the Department of Trade and Industry.
“Hello, Mary. What have you got?” He knew she wouldn’t have been calling him at that time, the day after a monthly meeting, unless she had come across something that she needed him to look into.
“There’s something in the HICL financial make-up that might need a little look into. I’ve just tried calling the support guys but they’re not in yet.”
“What is it?” he asked her.
“I need to check it’s not an error first and if not get them to do a full analysis, which I’d also like you to be a part of. But there’s something about the claims record at HICL that doesn’t make sense. The numbers don’t look right for a company of their size. If it’s not an error on our part then something really doesn’t fit, which is where you of course come in. Can you pop round to my office after ten, by which time I’ll have my guys looking into their figures?”
“Sure, Mary, I’ll see you at ten and I’ll bring the coffee.” She smiled to herself as she put the phone down. Simon couldn’
t start any meeting without a strong black coffee in his hand and it had become a department tradition, one happily entertained by Mary.
Chapter 4
Tommy Lawrence had fielded the questions very well for twenty minutes, the attending journalists even warming to him by the end of it all. This unknown stranger had suddenly become the manager at Nottingham Forest, and the masses of reporters slowly left feeling that they quite liked him. Tommy was clearly very excited and kept an infectious smile on his face for the entire time. For him it had been a dream come true too. Since getting the call from Brendan yesterday morning, while sitting at his desk reading the paper which reported on all the weekend’s football action, now he found himself as a manager in the English Championship, the second highest tier in English football. He was of course a confident person, which had only been reinforced and encouraged by his working for HICL and coming through their Academy. Now he was to perform in another role, though still under Brendan’s watchful eye, but with a lot more flexibility and power of decision, or so he was told.
Leaving the conference room together, ever the picture of unity, they closed the doors behind them and went to the bar, the Players Lounge, and poured themselves a very generous drink, considering the fact it was still a long time until lunch.
“Well, that was a buzz,” Tommy boomed out with far too much enthusiasm for that time of the day. Stan Hunter stood with Brendan as they chatted away softly by the bar.
“Is this place like yours now, Mr Charles?” Tommy said holding his glass in the air as he talked with his hands, referring to the stadium in general.
“I guess it is Tommy,” Brendan replied calmly. Tommy sat at the bar and poured himself another drink, eating the snacks laid out in front of him, as he thought over the last week.