Perfect Day

by Kris Lillyman

  However, even though little more than a building site at present, each of the proposed hi-spec, beautifully appointed dwellings from the ground floor to the fifty-fifth were already attracting much interest from those wealthy enough to afford them.

  Nonetheless, as Sam studied the details of the Docklands development, the germ of an idea began to form in his mind and Miri knew exactly what he was thinking.

  However, it was the second item of interest which proved most valuable and one which Vladimir, himself, thought particularly relevant. He had even circled it with a red ballpoint to highlight it for Sam and the others.

  It pertained to DeVilliers’ personal protection or, more specifically, the possible flaw in it.

  Even though Robert and Leon were eminently capable, DeVilliers’ weakness was his reliance on just two bodyguards. Indeed, for someone in his position it was incredibly unwise, especially as neither of his two minders were getting any younger. Vladimir knew Leon to be over twenty years older than Vasily, which would make him early fifties at the very least, whereas Robert was a couple of years older still.

  What is more, after many years in the service of Miles DeVilliers, enjoying a pampered life of luxury as they tended to their employer’s every whim, they had become soft and lazy. Vladimir was also willing to bet that they had grown careless, too. After all, their boss represented no threat to anyone, he was merely a facilitator, a business man, and so Robert and Leon would not have any cause to expect an attack, which also made them complacent.

  They spent their days travelling first class, staying in exotic locations around the globe, living in lavish homes and attending to the needs of an effete snob with a penchant for young boys. According to the dossier, he always made sure Robert and Leon were well taken care of in that department, too. Indeed, they were free to have their pick of the boys DeVilliers rejected.

  With the passing of time the two minders had become old and slow; the muscles they once possessed had now turned mostly to fat and their fitness levels were nothing like that which would normally be expected from men in their line of work.

  However, like them, DeVilliers had also become complacent and he had simply not noticed. Over the years he had grown accustomed to their constant presence and thought of them more as pets than bodyguards, which was exactly the flaw Vladimir was keen for Sam to exploit.

  As for Sam, himself, after studying the dossier, he could not have agreed more - and the more he thought on it, the more he believed he had the perfect way to do it.

  ***

  Over the past ten years Sam had learned to be patient in his quest for vengeance, so was more than prepared to wait for exactly the right moment to strike at Miles DeVilliers, knowing it would be all the sweeter in the end.

  In any event, he had no clue as to where in the world his quarry might be so had no choice but to take a pragmatic approach.

  Intuition told him that DeVilliers would wish to visit his new apartment as soon as it was completed, so it made sense to sit tight and wait for him to appear. Besides, there was much preparation to be done in the meantime.

  Furthermore, even though Miri was now healthy and happy again, a little more time could only help to rebuild her confidence and finally restore her to the bubbly, vivacious woman she had once been.

  As it turned out, it was a full six months before she and Sam could finally set into motion the plan they had conceived whilst sitting around Vas and Alina’s dining room table upon their return from the Côte d’Azur.

  Yet in that time much had been achieved.

  Furthermore, Miri, as hoped, had been completely revitalised and was now, once more, the carefree, fun-loving girl Sam and Vasily remembered from university.

  Indeed, as they waited for DeVilliers, they had all become properly re-acquainted and were as tight now as they had ever been before, with Alina making for a very welcome addition.

  Nonetheless, as the plan moved closer to fruition, it became necessary to concentrate less on rekindling friendships and focus more on the pressing matter of high-end real estate.

  ***

  April, 2004

  The impeccably dressed sales agent informed them that the gentleman who had bought the penthouse below had not yet taken up residence. Even though the buyer’s interior designer had made everything ready for his arrival, the person in question was currently out of the country so there would be no question of them disturbing him unnecessarily as they moved in.

  The agent was also keen to point out that each apartment had been completely soundproofed so even if their downstairs neighbour was at home then no such issue could possibly arise.

  Satisfied, Sam took the keys and shook the agent’s hand.

  After a tediously long wait, he was now the proud owner of one of the most exclusive addresses in London.

  He had bought the penthouse on the fifty-eighth floor of The Tea Clipper building via a subsidiary of Beresford Industries and using the alias ‘Ben Meredith’ - a combination of his parents first names which he thought quite apt.

  Marcus Ellison’s assistance had proved invaluable once again, assuring Sam that his real name or any link with Beresford Industries could not be associated with the purchase of the apartment should anyone take the trouble to investigate.

  Nonetheless, the close proximity of the two apartments was, of course, the reason why Sam was so attracted to the place. Indeed, it was vital to the plan he had conceived whilst studying the dossier supplied by Vladimir Voronin.

  Another more pressing reason was that he and Miri also needed somewhere to live.

  As Gillespie’s widow, she had inherited the bulk of his estate. This included the house in Surbiton as well as his flat in Knightsbridge, even though Miri had no wish to set foot in either property ever again. Both would be sold in due course and the proceeds, along with the sizeable sum in his bank account, donated to a women’s refuge.

  Miri wanted absolutely nothing of her dead husband’s but liked the idea of his estate aiding women less fortunate than her. In fact, it seemed wholly appropriate that Gillespie’s money should be spent helping battered housewives to escape sadistic monsters like him.

  It also gave her a sense of vengeful pleasure knowing how much her husband would disapprove.

  Even so, she and Sam could not stay with Vas and Alina indefinitely, no matter how welcome they had made them feel over the last six months, so The Tea Clipper seemed like an excellent solution.

  Nevertheless, the exclusive apartment would only be a temporary measure as the place was too much of an extravagance - even though Sam could easily afford it.

  But he and Miri both hoped to eventually find a less ostentatious home together when circumstances allowed, somewhere more suited to them than the shiny glass tower in Canary Wharf.

  For the time being, however, it would certainly make for an extremely comfortable short term base - at least until they were done with DeVilliers.

  Furthermore, the apartment represented an excellent investment for Beresford Industries so the purchase of it made sound business sense.

  With DeVilliers away and his return date unknown, time was of the essence, so they moved in quickly, with just basic furniture; a bed, a table, two dining chairs and a state-of-the-art computer workstation which was central to Sam’s plan.

  Two days later, Mikhail and Pyotr arrived from Moscow, bringing with them a surveillance specialist called Spartak.

  He was in his late thirties and of stocky build with a bleached yellow mohawk and a variety of interesting piercings. He was also liberally covered with the obligatory tattoos of the Russian underworld and most definitely not the sort of person the developers had in mind when considering who might occupy the fifty-eighth floor penthouse of The Tea Clipper building. Nor, for that matter, were Mikhail and Pyotr but each of them were there at Sam’s behest and for one specific purpose.

 
; Fortunately Sam’s Russian was still impeccable as Spartak did not speak a word of English. However the surveillance expert was fluent in the language of technology and soon had the workstation set-up to his very exacting requirements, leaving Mikhail, Pyotr and Sam to bring the plan to fruition.

  And that part was considerably more problematic.

  ***

  Being suspended from a rope nearly seven hundred feet above the ground at two o’clock in the morning was certainly not Sam’s idea of fun but it was the only way he could think of to gain access to Miles DeVilliers penthouse.

  With the building not yet fully completed it was only partially lit, which meant the top ten storeys were in complete darkness, aside from a small beacon at the very top to warn passing aircraft of its location.

  The darkness made good cover and with Pyotr also dangling precariously on a rope beside him it prevented them both from being seen. Yet unfortunately, it made their decent to the balcony below that bit more treacherous, too.

  Pyotr was an experienced abseiler and even he was a little apprehensive when he climbed over the rail of the fifty-eighth floor apartment, which did little to ease Sam’s nerves - or indeed Miri’s - who was looking on with sheer terror.

  However, Mikhail was in complete control as he slowly lowered them down and showed not the slightest trace of relief when they finally set foot on DeVilliers’ balcony, such was his confidence that they were never in any danger.

  Once in position, Sam and Pyotr shrugged off their harnesses and crossed to the wide sliding doors that led to the penthouse’s spacious interior.

  Within seconds, Pyotr had slipped inside and disabled the alarm - the model being identical to the one in Sam’s apartment so he knew exactly what to expect.

  Then, by torchlight, they set to work. Using Spartak’s very specific instructions via the earpieces he had provided them, they fitted a variety of tiny devices which could then be monitored secretly on the three large display screens of the hi-tec workstation above.

  The devices included miniature cameras in every room, a bug on all the phones, another on the computer and even a motion sensor by the front door so that Sam and Miri would know exactly when DeVilliers returned from his trip.

  Finally, they fitted a small, remote control gas canister under two of the beds; screwing them securely to the frames so that they could not easily be seen.

  This took the longest time as each one had to be individually mounted and tested, again under Spartak’s direction.

  Two hours later, when their work was finally complete, Mikhail hauled Sam and Pyotr back up to the fifty-eighth floor leaving no evidence to suggest they had ever been in DeVilliers’ newly purchased penthouse.

  The next day, after giving Sam and Miri a complete rundown on the workings of the surveillance system, Spartak flew back to Moscow, his part in the scheme complete.

  Mikhail and Pyotr, however, would stay in England for the time being with their little brother and new sister-in-law at the flat in Kensington Gardens. Indeed, Vas and Alina had promised to show them the sights and give them a tour of the country’s top tourist spots which would certainly keep them busy for a week or two.

  After all, the only thing they could all do now was wait.

  ***

  Ten days later, Sam and Miri were preparing lunch in the stylish kitchen of their open plan penthouse when quite unexpectedly, an alarm started ringing on the computer terminal, indicating that the motion sensor in the apartment below had been tripped.

  Immediately, the pair stopped what they were doing and hurried over to the workstation where Sam hit the space bar on the keyboard to spark the three large monitors into life; each of them displaying several views from the different cameras secreted around the penthouse below.

  However, it was the view of the front door that interested them most. What is more, they were just in time to see the door opening and the chubby image of Miles DeVilliers and his two heavy-set minders crossing the threshold.

  Sam was slightly taken aback by the sight of DeVilliers as there was no photograph of him in the dossier Vladimir had provided. Yet on first impression, the person they were currently observing on screen did not look at all like the sort to associate with mercenaries or people of a violent disposition. In fact, in his fucia pink blazer, bright yellow shirt and sky blue trousers, he looked the exact opposite.

  “Is that him?” Miri asked, the incredulity in her voice undisguised as she balked at the obvious toupee on DeVilliers’ head.

  “Hard to believe, but I’m pretty sure it is,” Sam replied, equally surprised.

  Nonetheless, he knew from the dossier that no matter how DeVilliers might appear, he should not be underestimated at any cost. In fact he was extremely dangerous, maybe not physically, but, according to Vladimir’s report, in intellect and influence there were very few who could match him.

  Sam and Miri watched the monitors transfixed for a long time. In the end they swiftly finished preparing lunch then pulled up a couple of chairs and ate whilst they continued to observe the goings on in the penthouse below.

  They watched all day and long into the night as DeVilliers went about his business. He spoke with clients on the telephone, talked with Robert and Leon, worked on his computer and ate dinner alone, served by his two dark-skinned bodyguards. However, the hours of observation revealed nothing of particular interest to Sam and Miri until around 11pm when he received a phone call from someone he was obviously well acquainted with, asking about soldiers for hire.

  Immediately Sam’s ears pricked up as DeVilliers arranged to meet with this person for lunch the next day.

  “We’ve got to follow him, cheri,” Miri said, her interest also piqued by the phone call. “It could be important, don’t you think?”

  “Maybe,” said Sam, stifling a yawn as he looked at his watch to check the time in New York. “But I reckon I might have a better idea.”

  “You do?” She asked, yawning in sympathy and thinking how tiring it was watching monitors all day. “What is it?”

  “You’ll see,” Sam replied. “Pass me that phone would you, I’ve got to call Marcus.”

  Miri gave him a quizzical look but did as asked, intrigued to see exactly what he had in mind.

  ***

  The phone call to New York lasted longer than either Sam or Miri expected with Marcus keen to discuss the latest developments within The Company.

  However, when Sam finally replaced the receiver, he and Miri felt utterly exhausted, with neither able to keep their eyes open for barely a moment longer.

  So with everything arranged for the following day, they decided to turn in for the night.

  However, had they managed to monitor activity in the penthouse below for just a half hour longer, they would have heard DeVilliers’ telephone ring yet again.

  This time the call was from Miss Markham, his loyal secretary who was forever on call, working from her own office in an undisclosed location somewhere in London.

  She telephoned DeVilliers to say she had received a message from Marseille.

  Apparently the man who called himself James Locke was ready to go back to work.

  Chapter Forty-Five

  Roper stared absently through the smeared windscreen of his Ford Mondeo as he lit up yet another cigarette.

  Snapping shut the silver-plated Zippo Emma had bought him, he glanced at the lighter’s inscription before slipping it back in his pocket. ‘For you, anything’, it read, and the irony of the sentiment still made him smile.

  It had been a tough few years for Roper, beginning with the breakdown of his marriage.

  Indeed, it had been back in the September of 2002 when he had come home early from work to find his wife in bed with the Chief Inspector.

  An altercation ensued which ended with Roper punching his superior in the face. His wife’s lover had then fled t
he house promising to ruin Roper’s career.

  After he had gone, Emma and Roper launched into a huge argument; neither of them holding back as they traded insults and accusations back and forth.

  Indeed, as the heated exchange became ever more acrimonious, Emma even admitted to her previous indiscretions in a vindictive attempt to wound her husband further.

  Roper was incredulous, gazing at his wife open-mouthed as it all came flooding out; all her scheming, all her illicit little liaisons - every lurid detail of the conniving things she had done since they had been married.

  She even admitted to the deal she had made with Graham Smart when they lived in Cambridge - which involved a night with her in exchange for Roper’s transfer back to the The Met - a manoeuvre which she seemed particularly proud of.

  In fact, she was positively boastful about how Smart had fallen for her charms hook, line and sinker and how utterly devastated he had been when she finally broke things off.

  She was shameless in her admission, victorious almost in the way she described her Machiavellian achievements, which were all, so she claimed, to aid Roper’s career.

  What is more, according to her, everything he had achieved was solely down to her actions - so what if she had slept with his boss or given the occasional blow job to someone of influence - the ends had clearly justified the means. Besides, it was only sex, she had not killed anyone.

  The more she thought about it, the more she believed he should be thanking her as he certainly would not be where he was had things been left entirely to him.

  As Roper listened with absolute astonishment, Graham Smart’s frosty attitude towards him suddenly made sense. The reluctance of Cambridge’s Chief Superintendent to act on vital facts pertaining to a young girl’s murder was as a direct result of his wife’s indiscretions.

  Moreover, Claudette Sekibo’s killers might still be walking around free because of Smart’s petulant and extremely unprofessional behaviour.