***
Thursday 1 December, 2011
Paddy had just sat down at his desk. Adam Scott had relocated to Mark’s old office, and from the annex, Paddy could make out that Scott had also just arrived into work.
“Hi, Adam.”
“Well, Mr. Trimble, how are you?” asked Scott.
“Struggling a bit with this new client in Cape Verde. I get that he wants to transfer all his assets, but I have noticed some inconsistencies in his documents.”
“Such as?”
“Well, in this first Cayman account, his name is down as Francis Rainey who is British. However, when he’s transferring his assets, it’s to an Andrew Millar who is apparently American,” said Paddy.
“Hmmm,” pondered Scott.
“And that’s not the only inconsistency. The birth certificates of the wife and children; the date of births are out of sync with the citizenship applications for Cape Verde,” said Paddy.
“That is odd. Well, he’s a new client. I guess we should make a courtesy call,” said Scott.
“Cool, I’ll get the telephone, what’s his number on the page there?” said Paddy.
“No, no, I meant let’s go to Cape Verde,” said Scott.
“What, now?” replied Paddy in surprise.
“Sure, you haven’t got any plans for the next few days, do you?” said Scott.
“No,” admitted Paddy.
***
Some eighteen hours later, Paddy and Scott stepped off a plane into a climate that was the opposite of London’s. Being located off the coast of Africa, Cape Verde was basking in blistering heat at that time of year. Their new client, Andrew Millar, lived on the luxurious Santa Maria beach in a seven-bedroom condominium. After going through passport control and making their way across the island in a very hot taxi with no air conditioning, Paddy and Scott arrived at Millar’s house.
Paddy noticed a Six Nations rugby ball on the front lawn. “That’s odd.”
“What’s that?” said Scott.
“Don’t know too many Americans who would have the official Six Nations Rugby ball. I think they’re only sold in Europe,” noted Paddy.
As Scott knocked on the door he turned to Paddy and smiled. “Who said anything about this client being American?”
The door opened and a maid brought them into the dining area overlooking the beach. Paddy glanced around the room. He noticed that the room was adorned with paintings of battle scenes from the days of the Persian Empire. Taking pride of place was a large Persian rug which depicted various attacks on Alexander the Great’s many Acropolises. Paddy felt certain he had seen something like this before, if he could only remember where.
Then walking around the corner, was a man that Paddy recognised from some months before. It was Brigadier Lancelot. “I told you I had a feeling we would meet again, Mr. Trimble.”
“Ah, yes, Adam, this is Brigadier Lancelot,” said Paddy.
“He knows who I am, Paddy,” replied Scott.
“I see you were admiring the artwork,” said Lancelot. “You know, this rug cost your client a pretty penny. It shows how Alexander would regularly pierce into Persian lines and build his Acropolis. That Acropolis would then splinter the enemy line, causing it to falter and disperse. To build an Acropolis in someone else’s territory is therefore an act of war, would you not agree? And if that’s the case, one could argue that it stands contrary to peace, does it not?”
“I suppose,” said Paddy.
“So, I guess what he’s really trying to say is that the Keepers of the Persian Gate made a mistake getting involved with the Acropolis, didn’t they?” said Scott.
Paddy looked intrigued. “Go on.”
“So now they need a new partner in the West, someone they can trust implicitly. Someone who will also fight for peace and freedom,” said Brigadier Lancelot.
“Will you join the Round Table, Mr. Trimble?” A familiar voice came from behind Paddy.
Paddy turned, and standing there in the middle of the room was what appeared to be William Dunlop, surrounded by his family.
**THE END**
The Keepers of the Persian Gate Page 25