Darkness and Confusion

by John Creasey

  “Go on,” said Gideon.

  “Hibild has the chairman of one of London’s biggest bookmaking companies on its board – our old friend Jackie Spratt’s. Did you know that?”

  “Well, well,” said Gideon. “No, I did not.”

  “And Jackie Spratt’s Limited, have common directors and partners with many small stock and share brokers.”

  “Yes,” Gideon said, heavily. “I did know that.”

  “Something shaken you, George?” asked Rowbottom.

  “Yes,” repeated Gideon. He did not attempt to explain that he had recalled the disappearance of young George Jensen from an office in one of Jackie Spratt’s branches – an office used, independently, by a stock and share broker. “Could you spare your two Hibild men for a few days?”

  “Can’t see why not,” said Rowbottom. “I’ll make sure they’re not on anything else that matters. How urgent is this?”

  “I think, very urgent.”

  “The power cuts?” asked Rowbottom. “I hear you’ve been causing alarm and despondency among the powers that be!”

  “Who talked?” asked Gideon.

  “My brother-in-law is at Battersea Power Station,” answered Rowbottom. “He’s chief of security there.”

  “I remember,” said Gideon, glad that there was such a simple explanation. “If I don’t hear from you in half-an-hour, I’ll expect your chaps over.”

  “Right,” said Rowbottom.

  Gideon rang off, sat back, and relaxed for the first time since he had seen that passing reference to the blackouts. He was becoming increasingly sure that he was on the right track; the whole affair had been too intricate for simple robbery.

  How right was he to suspect John Boyd? And was ‘suspicion’ too strong a word?

  He rang for Sabrina Sale but a younger, very pretty girl turned up.

  “Miss Sale is with the Assistant Commissioner, sir – his secretary is away.”

  “Oh,” said Gideon. “Well, I haven’t much for you.” He dictated a few letters and sent the girl off, realising that he had been disappointed at the older woman’s non-appearance. He couldn’t be looking forward to his brief talks with her, could he? The odd, rather disturbing thought was pushed aside when there was a tap at the passage door.

  Osmington came in, and not for the first time Gideon thought how like a mongol he looked; but behind that unprepossessing face there was a very astute mind.

  “I’ve more word about the companies affected, sir, and their major shareholders.”

  “Oh. Let’s have it,” said Gideon. “Come and sit down.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Osmington had a sheaf of papers clipped together with a big black paper-clip. “They are all loosely associated with the Electronics New Age Company. They have a buying pool and a distribution pool, to keep expenses down and to compete better with the big boys. And there’s been a lot of very quiet buying of their shares lately.”

  “Quiet buying?” asked Gideon.

  “There’s a pattern, very clearly marked now we have been alerted to it,” Osmington answered. “Each of the factories has had troubles – strikes, breakdowns, loss of orders, some sabotage—”

  “Sabotage!” echoed Gideon.

  “Yes, sir. Goods almost ready for shipment have been damaged, machines have been damaged – nothing exceptional, but enough to be important in aggregate. Each loss of production has shown in their results and their shares have dropped. Each company has lost orders to English competitors selling to minor overseas markets-some to overseas competitors. And each loss of orders has resulted in the fall of shares for that particular company. They’ve always been picked up, but in small parcels, never enough to influence the price much. Then when one firm has recovered, another in the group—”

  “Group?”

  “The loose association, I mean, sir – another firm in the group has run into trouble.”

  “Talked to them?” asked Gideon.

  “To the secretary of Electronics New Age and The Times correspondent,” answered Osmington. “You can rely on this information, sir. They were both together at the factory.

  “The Times man’s articles worried them.”

  “I can understand why! Where’s their main factory? Electronics New Age, I mean.”

  “Over at East Ham, sir,” said Osmington.

  Gideon sat very still.

  “East Ham,” he echoed. “Served by the New Bridge Power Station.”

  “That’s right, sir.”

  Gideon was already getting to his feet, and his face was set and hard.

  “And if there should be a power failure at Electronics New Age, what would happen?” he asked.

  “At the moment it could be disastrous,” answered Osmington. “They are working at full pressure on an order for an Australian company which has big orders to place for the future. Japanese and American competition is very fierce, and delivery is all important. There are twenty computers to get ready for a ship leaving from Millwall Docks next Monday. They’re paying double for all overtime, and working over the weekend. This is what the secretary is worried about – he wants to know where The Times correspondent got his information, wants to try to anticipate any kind of sabotage. It really could break them, sir – could bring the shares tumbling.”

  “How quickly?” demanded Gideon.

  “Oh, in a matter of hours,” Osmington said.

  It was ten minutes after one o’clock.

  And at that moment, Sir Geoffrey Craven had a call from John Boyd.

  “All set for one forty-five,” Boyd said. “You can rely on it.”

  And at that moment, Chief Superintendent Lemaitre of N.E. Division tapped perfunctorily on Gideon’s door, and came in.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Failure

  “George—” began Lemaitre, and then he saw Gideon’s expression. “Gawd!”

  “I’m going over to New Bridge,” Gideon said, “we can talk on the way, if you like.”

  “Suits me,” said Lemaitre. “What—”

  Gideon’s exchange telephone bell rang, and he stepped across and picked it up, and at the same time pressed the button for Hobbs. Lemaitre came a little further into the room. Hobbs’s door opened as Gideon lifted the receiver.

  “Who is it?”

  “This is the main hall, sir. Chief Inspector Wylie and Detective Sergeant Smith are asking for you.”

  “Send them along to me at once,” ordered Gideon, and then, to Hobbs: “They’ve come with a report on Hibild. Seen Osmington?”

  “Yes. He’s with me now.”

  “What do you make of it?”

  “A cut at New Bridge could force Electronics New Age shares down to nothing.”

  “George—” began Lemaitre, eagerly.

  Gideon ignored him.

  “Yes. But how can we stop it?”

  “Let Boyd know you suspect it,” Hobbs said.

  “Commander!” Lemaitre broke in.

  “Hold it, Lem. Alec, if we let Boyd know, and he’s planning the cut, then he’d be able to bring the whole thing forward, and we wouldn’t gain a thing.”

  “There’s no certainty he is—” began Hobbs.

  “We’ll assume he is. It’s Friday. The ship’s due to sail on Monday at the morning tide, so the cut must come today if it’s to affect delivery to the ship and bring the shares down.”

  Hobbs caught his breath in a rare betrayal of emotion.

  “Yes.”

  “And he’s in charge of security there,” Gideon said, as if speaking to himself. “He knows the place inside out. What time is it?”

  “Twenty past one.”

  “And dealing on the Stock Exchange stops at three. There’s still a little time to manoeuvre in. How long will it
take to get to New Bridge at this hour of the day, Lem?”

  Lemaitre, who looked about to explode, made a funny little sound.

  “Eh? Oh—an hour or more. George—”

  “Just a minute, Lem. Alec – I’ll take Piluski, and go by helicopter. Fix it.” He strode to the desk and lifted the telephone and as he did so there was a tap at the door, which opened to admit two men – one of whom he recognised – from the City police. On that instant, he knew that if in fact there was the urgency he sensed, then he had no time to talk; yet no one else knew what he wanted to ask them.

  Hobbs went out.

  Gideon said into the telephone: “The Commissioner, at once.” He held out a hand to the City men. “Superintendent, how’re you? Will you wait next door for a few minutes, please?” He raised a hand to Lemaitre, asking him to take them out of the room. By the time they had gone, Gideon began to wonder whether Scott-Marie was in his office, but at last the Commissioner spoke.

  “Yes, Commander?”

  “I think there is a very good chance that there will be a power cut in E. 1 Division area in the next hour or two,” Gideon said. “I’m going to New Bridge Power Station by helicopter. I think the purpose might be to stop work at the Electronics New Age factory, and I haven’t the faintest idea whether there’s any way of supplying power from the grid to the factory if there is a breakdown at the power station. I hope I’m making myself clear, sir.”

  “Very clear. Go on.”

  “It’s possible that if the grid authorities know there is going to be a cut in advance it can do more about it than if it has no warning. But no one is going to take much notice of me.”

  “I will do what I can,” Scott-Marie promised at once.

  “This may be a false alarm, sir.”

  “Then no harm will have been done.”

  Thank God for Scott-Marie, thought Gideon as he rang off.

  “George—” Lemaitre began.

  “For God’s sake, Lem!” cried Gideon. “Can’t you see—”

  He broke off, aware for the first time of the expression on Lemaitre’s face. Had it been any other man he would have taken it to be simple exasperation, but there was an appeal in Lemaitre’s eyes, an expression on his face which pleaded ‘listen to me’ in a curiously desperate way. Gideon, halfway to the door, stopped.

  “All right,” he said. “What is it?”

  “Hibild,” said Lemaitre.

  “What about Hibild?”

  “Those two City chaps – do they know—” Lemaitre hesitated, and then went on gustily: “Hibild have been trying to buy Ezeplan Furniture out. Old Jeff Mickle won’t sell, remember. I put two and two together. It wouldn’t be the first time Hibild has used some pretty risky tactics to get hold of a firm they want.”

  Gideon said very slowly: “Can you prove it wouldn’t?”

  “I don’t know that I can prove it yet but you should hear old Jeff Mickle,” Lemaitre went on. “There’s another thing. We picked up a drunk in the Whitechapel Road last night a man named Biddle. He was the man who ran old Jensen down. He’s a stockbroker’s clerk who went wrong years ago, and odd job man at the branch Kano managed. He keeps talking about an acid bath and there’s a factory near Mill Lane where they make sulphuric acid. I’m sending some now round to take a look.”

  “Good,” said Gideon. “Could be vital.”

  “And George, Jeff Mickle—but you know all about Jeff if you’ve read my report this morning.”

  “I haven’t seen a report from you this morning,” Gideon said, feeling almost angry at this added delay; but it wasn’t any good showing what he felt. “If you can get proof, even enough to justify us making inquiries about Hibild, you’ll take a load off my mind.”

  “I’ll fix it,” Lemaitre said. “Want me to come with you, after all?”

  “No.”

  The door opened, and Hobbs said: “The helicopter will be at the landing stage near Lambeth Bridge in ten minutes. I’ve a car ordered. Piluski’s in NE – he’ll meet you at the power station.”

  “Thanks,” Gideon said. “I’ll drive with Wylie and the other chap and tell them what I want on the way.”

  In the car, with lean Chief Inspector Wylie beside him and heavy, paunchy Detective Sergeant Smith next to the driver, he said: “I want as many details as I can get of Hibild’s subsidiary or associate companies and all details about shareholders in Hibild who are also big shareholders in other companies – and I want them quick. Really quick. How soon can you get them?”

  “We’ll need two or three days to get it all,” Wylie answered. “But some of the information’s on file already. We brought some files with us, as the Commissioner gave us a pretty good idea of what you’re after.”

  “Give me the picture as you know it.”

  “Hibild have their tentacles everywhere,” explained Wylie, quite dispassionately. “They have British, American and Japanese capital, and they’ve developed overseas markets to them. They under-cut competition to get new business in the newly-emergent countries, as well as India, Pakistan and South America, and they make long-term contracts for spare parts and maintenance.”

  The car turned round by the Houses of Parliament, as Wylie broke off.

  “Go on,” Gideon urged.

  “They also have tentacles in everything to do with building,” Wylie told him. “Cement, steel, electrical equipment, furniture and such like. They’re probably the biggest civil engineering organisation in the world, certainly one of the biggest. And in order to evade the Monopolies Commission here and its equivalent in the U.S.A., they staff the boards with guinea pigs. I know how the Monopolies Commission works here,” went on Wylie. “I doubt if Hibild, as at present constituted, comes within its range.”

  “So Craven’s been really clever,” remarked Gideon.

  “It’s obvious that he or others studied the problem carefully before taking steps. Until five years ago, Hibild was a small firm of civil engineering contractors. Then Craven took over—”

  “Took over?”

  “Became managing director, with seventy-five per cent of the shares,” stated Wylie.

  “Where did he get his money, then?”

  “He brought in some foreign capital to get control, then bought the investors out. And did he spread fast! Hibild took nearly seven per cent of all metropolitan London building last year, and a much higher proportion of some provincial cities.”

  The car slowed down, just beyond Lambeth Bridge, nearly opposite the offices of the Ministry of Power. As it stopped, Gideon was already moving to get out, and he glimpsed a helicopter on the big landing stage which had been built both for police and fire service use. The other followed and walked with him to the steps.

  “Do you know any other major shareholders?” asked Gideon.

  “Only the overseas ones are really big.”

  “Right. Get it all on paper, remember we may need to use it for more than a case for the Monopolies Commission to ponder. And thanks.” He nodded, and stepped towards the helicopter, where the pilot, two policemen and several engineers were standing. A line of spectators, some with cameras poised, lined the parapet of the Embankment, and he heard a youth exclaim:

  “That’s Gideon!”

  “Who?”

  “You know – the chief cop.”

  Gideon smiled grimly to himself as he stepped into the helicopter, crouching in the doorway, finding – as always to his surprise – plenty of room once he was inside. The pilot and one of the policemen climbed in after him.

  “Where to, sir?” asked the pilot

  “New Bridge Power Station,” Gideon said. “There’s a big car park and with luck you’ll be able to land there. If not, there’s a small park between the power station and the river.”

  “I know the place, sir. The roof wil
l do, if it’s urgent.”

  “It’s urgent all right” Gideon settled down as the engine started quivering, then became smooth as they took off. It was strange to see the faces of the watchers getting smaller, seeing some of them wave, finding himself on a level with and then above the roofs of buildings. There in front of him were the Houses of Parliament and beyond was a magnificent view along Whitehall as far as and beyond Trafalgar Square and Nelson’s Column. The new buildings, square and oblong and somehow out of place, dotted first the skyline, then became part of the panorama, the green parks and tree-clad land, the wide thoroughfares and the narrow lanes.

  He had never seen London more beautiful, and for a few minutes the sun was directly behind him, showing everything in the best possible light. Slowly, they turned east and he could see the whole stretch of the river, the bridges, St. Paul’s and the Tower. He glanced behind him and saw the great stacks of the Battersea Power Station, belching.

  In five minutes or less they would see New Bridge; would its stacks be smoking? He reminded himself that he could still not be sure of the part which John Boyd was playing in this, his feeling about the man was not much more than a hunch, at best an intelligent guess.

  The radio crackled.

  “For you, sir,” the pilot said.

  “Thanks.” Gideon took what seemed like an ordinary telephone. “Gideon here.”

  “This is Hobbs,” Hobbs said in his clear, distinctive voice; even without his noticeable deliberation, Gideon would have known that this call was of extreme importance. “I’ve just had a telephone report from Osmington.” Hobbs paused, and Gideon sat very still. “John Boyd has given order to his brokers to buy Electronics New Age in the last hour of business today, and again on Monday. And he’s recently been buying shares of some of the companies affected by the blackout. He buys in small parcels but the total must be upwards of a hundred thousand pounds. If Hibild take over, that could be doubled in a few days.”

  Gideon said heavily: “So he is in it.”

  “No shadow of doubt,” Hobbs said. “I’ve alerted the local division, and the adjacent ones are throwing a cordon round New Bridge.”