Gatecrasher

by Robert Young

  'So you are one of them?' he said but his tone lacked conviction. Campbell wanted him uncertain though because if he was intrigued then maybe he would keep listening.

  'The British Government, amongst most other western countries, regularly earmark funds for the purposes of overseas development.' Campbell raised his forefingers in a quote-unquote gesture that was intended to convey sarcasm. 'It used to be referred simply as overseas aid but political correctness soon saw that off didn't it? No longer helping out the poor, useless old Third World, now we're promoting International Development. Assisting the forward progress of those capable but unfortunate people in less privileged countries. Very noble. Makes you proud to be British eh?

  'The point is Mr Asquith, that it's all smoke and mirrors isn't it? Aid, Development. Progress? It's none of those things is it? Not really. Not in the way it's made to sound. Not unless you consider the recipients of course. And I don't mean the indigenous populations. I'm talking about the large corporations that always seem to be called upon when there are highly controversial or large contracts to hand out. How nice of them to step in where local firms might find it all a bit too tricky. How oddly convenient that so many millions of UN sanctioned foreign assistance pounds end up back on the balance sheets of British companies.'

  'Well, well. Read a little Chomsky have we? We aren't in the business of handing out hundreds of millions of pounds to build some bridge in the middle of nowhere, some mining operation on an ancient temple. You think these things are just handed out arbitrarily to keep the UK economy looking rosy and the fat cats well fed? You think we don't actually carry out endless feasibility studies, environmental, economic, geological, topographic surveys before any of these things even get out of the planning department?'

  Campbell felt reprimanded and slightly patronised.

  'That's not exactly what I think no but you aren't too wide of the mark. But we digress, or at least I do. You see Mr Asquith; I genuinely believe that you are a good man. Albeit doing the work of less reputable souls. I would sooner have someone like you in the position you are in than half the other snakes in your party. Or the others.'

  'I'm honoured, no doubt.'

  'I'm sure you will be if you play your cards right but that's beside the point.'

  'Ah yes, the point. You do have one I take it?'

  'Money.'

  'Isn't it always?' If Asquith had decided that Campbell was one of the blackmailers he seemed almost resigned to it now.

  'You have been told by certain anonymous but undoubtedly serious people that you must award these three contracts, these glittering prizes, to the three companies least deserving of them. It does not take an investment wunderkind to work out that since these three firms have got the weakest tenders for the work that they are highly likely to fail. Their share-price will therefore be depressed and represent, for those with foresight or an eye for a bargain, a significantly good buy. Indeed, for those who have accumulated enormous tranches of stock in each of these three rank outsiders already, the potential to reap considerable rewards - should the unthinkable happen and they actually win those contracts - is enormous. Imagine what the share price would do.'

  'You aren't exactly telling me anything I hadn't figured out for myself.'

  'Perhaps not. You're a highly intelligent man. Of course you'd have seen what their purpose was, seen it a mile off.'

  'And you too apparently.'

  'Not really, it was more of a necessity with me than anything else. Self preservation.'

  'Do you know something? I would really, very much like to know who you are and what you want.' The older man sounded angry now, irritated at Campbell's persistent effort to evade the question.

  'My name is Daniel Campbell. I work for an investment analyst in the City and I live in a one bed flat in Fulham. Cuts and bruises aside I have no distinguishing features, nothing that would make me stand out. I do, however, know who is actually behind all this. So do you as it happens.'

  Asquith regarded him for a moment with a quizzical expression, looking almost amused by the scene and what Campbell was saying.

  'Perhaps we should take a seat whilst you tell me some more.'

 

  *

 

  'I'm not entirely sure that I follow you.'

  Horner watched him replace the black pouch between them on the table.

  'I thought that was obvious. Very well.' Horner drew a deep breath and let it out. 'I am acutely aware since the most unfortunate turn of events in your offices two weeks ago, that the evidence of my malfeasance has come to light. I am utterly determined that this information should not come into the public domain under any circumstances given the consequences of such an eventuality.'

  Horner stopped then and looked across at the other man, almost as if he were waiting for him to catch up.

  'Whilst the problem is more immediate, I have absolute faith in your discretion. However, should life lead you somewhere else in the coming years your own motivation for silence might be somewhat eroded. I was hoping that I might perhaps? strengthen your resolve.'

  Griffin was nodding impatiently as Horner finished repeating his explanation. 'One question first of course is why on earth you still have something like this?'

  'Well one should maintain a broad asset base. You never know when you might need to cash something in you see.'

  'This does rather undermine your protestations of innocence Michael.'

  'I hardly think so. It is simply a remnant of my past. And besides, as I explained, it is your silence that I seek, not your approval.'

  'Yes, of course. And you suppose this-,' Griffin waved a hand at the pouch sitting between them, '- blood diamond might secure my compliance through to the grave? To bury your secrets with something that you dug up? That is precious Michael. Your arrogance and your vanity I mean.'

  'That stone is flawless and likely worth six digits. Are you quite sure you can afford to be so judgmental? That's quite an indulgence for the sake of occupying the moral high ground.'

  'Spare me Michael. Please. You are a crass, vulgar man and woefully poor of judgement if you think for a moment that I'm for sale. You had better hope that Geoffrey gets you out of this one.'

  'I'm sure Geoffrey will do the right thing.'

  'Yes, I've no doubt he will,' Griffin said and stood up. Horner remained seated. 'How much you owe him.'

  'I will be forever in his debt,' Horner replied.

 

  *

 

  'You know to be honest; I'm a little surprised that you don't already know. In fact I think you probably do,' Campbell said as the two men sat themselves down in the comfortable armchairs at the far end of the suite.

  'Once again Mr Campbell I get the strangest sense that you are implying something about me that I'm not sure I like. Are you trying to suggest that I'm involved in all this?'

  Campbell wondered for a second whether Asquith was trying to suggest as much himself. 'Well you are perfectly placed aren't you? And a man of your intelligence and connections shouldn't have too much trouble in taking the necessary steps to do this. I mean who on earth would suspect?'

  Asquith's expression was both dismissive and disdainful.

  'Of course I don't believe that for a second but stranger things have happened in the past fortnight believe me.'

  'So you've said.'

  At that, Campbell stood and swept open his jacket, hoisted up his shirt and showed off the patchwork of colour on his ribs.

  Asquith winced at the sight of it. 'What on earth is this all about? Uninvited guests with mysterious memory sticks, a comprehensive knowledge of a blackmail plot that not even my wife knows about. And you look as if you've been hit by a bus.'

  'It's a long story.'

  'And while we're at it what on earth is this charade? I thought I was meeting an old business associate.'

  'I know that, I had it set up,' Campbell replied. How much of the story should he tell? How much
would the other man really want to hear? The idea crossed his mind that Asquith was starting to play along now as a stalling tactic. Perhaps he had some way of signalling someone or a prearranged time when he should have reported in.

  'Very resourceful, young man.'

  'I'm not so clever, or resourceful. Just scared.'

  'Well I'm confused. Do go on.'

  'OK.' He stared at the ceiling for a moment. Where to begin? 'Right then. The guy that left the memory stick with me, the one with the evidence of what your old business partner was up to in West Africa?'

  Asquith nodded for him to go on and Campbell recounted everything. The original hiding place of the stick, the break in at his flat and the night with Slater and Gresham in the east London lock-up. He told him about his escape and his subsequent flight to Cornwall where he was found and attacked and his return to London, running out of options and deciding finally that he might have to go to the police but being snatched before he could do so. He told him about the showdown in the house where Walker had been gunned down and the deal that he had struck with Gresham.

  He left out any reference to Sarah, unwilling to involve her any more in the whole situation. If he could bring the other man around to his way of thinking then all this could end and Sarah would be in the clear and him too and then they could try to get back to having normal lives again.

  'Come on. Who would have access to that information? Who was best placed to know exactly what had gone on? Who would be in a position to maintain ties with you down the years, to be able to get to you whenever they decided they needed to? Someone who had influence and capital, someone with nous and business sense and intelligence.'

  'Dear God,' Asquith muttered.

  Campbell looked him in the eye and nodded, happy and relieved that the old man had finally got it, surprised that it had taken him so long to figure it out.

  Asquith's expression was almost as if Campbell had just told him that it was his own mother. 'Andrew Griffin?' he said.

  65

  Wednesday. 7pm.

  The room was silent and Horner's mask of self-assurance had slipped just a little. Griffin was staring out of the window now looking relaxed and as though he were simply appreciating the view across the park outside and the glittering skyline beyond.

  'You know something Michael? I feel slightly ashamed. Underestimating you the first time around was one thing. I didn't know you well enough then to have been able to get your true measure. But twice? That's inexcusable really. I should have seen this coming.'

  'Is it worth it Andrew?'

  'And what's that?' he said, finally turning to look at Horner.

  'Is it worth turning down a six figure sum - the security of your family, your future - just so you can preach to me for a few short moments? Make it good.'

  'My family? My future?' Griffin's tone was mocking now and he looked as if he might start laughing. 'Always the cheap shot isn't it? Always the obvious approach. No subtlety about you, no vision, that's the problem. No tact. It is always the way with men like you whose self-regard is so divorced from reality. They say that childhood ends the moment you realise that the world does not revolve around you. You should think about that.'

  'Moral instruction and philosophy too? You do surprise me Andrew. Are you finished?' Horner's anger was barely concealed, Griffin's word's stinging him as much as the rejection of his offer which still lay there, a small black stain on the polished veneer of the table.

  'With you Michael, yes. Quite finished. Good night.'

  Michael Horner was facing the window when the door closed but he could see the triangle of reflected light grow and then fold into nothing in the plate glass. He watched the night for a minute longer and then decided that he shouldn't ought to waste the Bordeaux he had arranged for and got up and poured himself a glass.

 

  *

 

  'Of course. Andrew has access to all of the records at any time he wants them. He must have known for years, perhaps even decided years ago to do something like this. What an opportunity! And the money of course to set up the stock purchases, the nous to know where to place them, how to layer them. The perfect cover too because, after all, why would he jeopardise his own livelihood? His own firm?'

  Daniel Campbell watched as Asquith became more animated and then finally stood and began pacing, barely pausing even to look in his direction.

  'He could arrange the break-in with minimal damage, make it look like industrial espionage. He played the subservient role perfectly of course. Yes Geoffrey, of course we are working around the clock to resolve all of this! Oh dear, Geoffrey, you'll never guess what they took! All the time manipulating me, feeding me exactly the right titbits at exactly the right times?' Asquith stopped and turned to Campbell. 'You've got to hand it to him I suppose.'

  Campbell was shaking his head. Asquith frowned at him and stopped talking.

  'Its not Andrew Griffin,' Campbell said and Asquith stopped his pacing. 'Andrew's been played just as effectively as you. He was supposed to come running to you, to say all the things he said about finding out what had happened and then what had been discovered. That just helped move all the pieces into position.'

  Asquith's frown hadn't shifted at all but Campbell thought that he saw something flicker.

  'For God's sake! It's Michael Horner.'

  'Michael?'

  'Yes. Of course. He's been in banking all his life; you know that better than anybody. He has all the cover in place for the deals through his business interests. He has directorships in two offshore investment funds and a majority shareholding in another one. He would have been able to sanction any large purchase of stock as Director, instruct the purchases through different companies at different times almost as if it were the everyday motions of the business. He bought up stock personally as well as through his business interests.'

  'But that's preposterous. I know Michael. We're friends for God's sake. He would never dream of something like this.'

  'And what about the diamonds? Would he dream about doing that?' Campbell tried to fight down the anxiety in his voice. Asquith, who had seemed so fired up when he thought he had pinpointed Griffin as the culprit, seemed positively crestfallen now and Campbell wondered if he would be able to convince him after all, particularly if the man didn't want to be convinced.

  'But ?I mean that was years ago. I know this man! And who are you? Some spider, come to spin a web of tales and lies. I know Michael. We have a long relationship together, we spent years building that company up. Are you trying to tell me that Michael really orchestrated all this, this break in, this so-say attempt to have you killed? This blackmail of me, one of his oldest associates?'

  'Yes. Precisely. What risks was he taking? He knew that he could contain any leaks because he would be stealing the information himself. And that led them to you, through Griffin who had no choice but to remain silent. And then, when he thinks things are going wrong he uses his contacts to get to me and tries to have me eliminated, murdered for Gods sake!

  'He probably figured that you'd go along with it. Why not, it's your decision after all who gets these contracts, why shouldn't they go where you say? You've read the tenders, the information, you're hard working, diligent, trustworthy. It wouldn't be the first time something like this has happened in the British establishment and it would be forgotten in a month or two.'

  Asquith was shaking his head as Campbell spoke but with less vigour at each word. 'It can't be. It just can't be Michael.'

  Campbell walked to the desk that sat behind the two armchairs and slid open the drawer. Pulling out a plain brown A4 envelope he walked back to Asquith and held it out. Asquith looked at it for a moment but didn't move. He stared at the brown paper as if it were poisoned, polluted. As if by taking it and looking inside he might be betraying his old friend the way this young man was telling him that he had been betrayed.

  'Some of it is what I have been able to find out through relatively str
aightforward means. If you know where to look. Shareholder registers, fund-holding information, registered directors of companies. That sort of thing,' Campbell told him and continued to hold it out. 'Some of it not so simply obtained.'

  Hesitantly Asquith took it and tore it open, sliding out a sheaf of papers.

  'The top three sheets you will note are on original company letterheads. They are not copies or computer downloads. They are the original documents from the offices of the three companies for whom Michael Horner occupies a shareholding or executive role. These forms look slightly different but they serve the same purpose. Most companies of this type operate a ceiling above which major purchases of stock must be signed-off by a senior member of staff.'

  Asquith was staring at them now, flicking between pages.

  'These forms give instructions to dealers for specific and significant purchase of stocks. You will recognise the names of the companies in which large investments were being made. Indeed you will also recognise other names. The orders against them are sell orders. You know what short-selling is?'

  Asquith looked up at Campbell, half pleading with him to stop, to say it was all an invention. But the realisation was setting in. He nodded slowly.

  'Selling shares you don't own.'

  'Pretty much. Basically betting that a share price will fall, rather than rise. Except it isn't a bet when you already know the outcome.'

  For a beat he felt almost sorry for the other man, but knew he had to arrive at the point.

  'You will recognise the signature at the foot of each page, authorising these trades.'

  Slowly, Geoffrey Asquith moved back to the armchair he had sat in earlier and he dropped into it heavily and then he looked Daniel Campbell in the eye and he nodded.

  66

  Wednesday. 8pm.

  Michael Horner reflected that in leaving so hastily and such a flurry of self-righteousness, Andrew Griffin really had not done himself any favours. Not only had he denied himself a rather lucrative payment for his silence he was also missing out on a quite delicious glass of wine.