by Stan Mason
‘Tell him that someone from Head Office is on his way to the branch with the other safe key. That should keep him occupied for a while. Tell him it all takes time.’
Carlisle brightened up at the news not knowing that it was untrue. ‘The Board agreed to let him have the money then!’
‘Everything is being done to resolve the problem, Carlisle,’ uttered Rigby slowly. ‘You can rest assured on that.’
‘Great!’ retorted the Assistant Manager, seeing the light at the end of the tunnel. ‘I’ll tell him the manager with the key should arrive at two o’clock.’
‘That’s about right, Keep in touch!’ He hung up and ran his tongue over his teeth thoughtfully. It was a chance he had to take but there was no alternative. He needed at least another ‘ hour... and a great deal of luck!
‘I didn’t know the Board had agreed to let that bank robber have the money,’ cut in his secretary with an element of surprise in her voice.
‘They haven’t,’ responded Rigby shamefully. ‘But what can I say to the man? I need to gain that extra time!’
‘You’re really sticking your head in a noose,’ she reproached him.
‘I hope you haven’t lost confidence in me,’ he challenged.
‘Not at all but if you hear me praying it’s just that I’m seeking a little more help.’
He smiled at her before issuing another order. ‘You’d better get in touch with British Telecom to fit tow new emergency lines in here. I don’t want caller to be kept ‘on hold’ at the switchboard because our other lines are too busy.’
‘I’ll do that,’ she returned obediently, ‘but won’t that take too long? I mean they took nearly a week to fit an extension.’
He weighed up the situation quickly. ‘Ring Chief Inspector Church and ask him to contact British Telecom on our behalf, giving it top priority. That should shake them up. You do realise that this could be the job where we were hired in the morning and fired in the afternoon.’
She found the remark exceedingly amusing and laughed loudly but he failed to join in. For his part, he did not realise that his words would induce laughter. Far from it, the situation was too spine-chilling for that. Eighteen hours earlier, when he had arrived home faced with having to make a decision about the appointment, at least he was master of his own destiny. Now he regarded himself as flotsam floating randomly in a sea of troubles without any control. The more he became involved, the further he appeared to drift away from the shore. It was a very unpleasant situation and he took off his hat to Clement Davies who seemed to wade through it all without difficulty!
In the final analysis, he could no longer assume that he could remain in his current position for a further eighty-nine days. There was a strong possibility that this would be his first and last day as Head of Functional Control, ending his progression within the bank for all time. The prospects did not look too bright. The only light-hearted feature he could find to raise his spirits was the clownish behaviour of Chief Inspector Church. The police officer threatened to complain to the Chief Executive of the bank if it all went pear-shaped. That was a laugh! If that happened, he wouldn’t need the weight of Scotland Yard for the Chairman to become involved. Rigby would have self-liquidate his own career, Suddenly, his respect for his predecessor who had conducted the task so successfully over so many years overwhelmed him. The telephone rang again to intrude into his thought and Betty Brewer leaned towards him waving the receiver.
‘Line two,’ she called out. ‘It’s Mr. Evans... the Daily Tribune and Evening Whatsit!’
The banker raised his eyebrows, relocating his attention as he withdrew a cigarette from his cigarette case, lighting it casually as the journalist waited. ‘What’s happening with the one o’clock edition, Evans?’ he asked, pressing for further information.
The Welshman responded readily with his thick accent raking through the dialogue. ‘It’ll be on the streets very shortly, Mr. Rigby, but I’d like the comment you promised earlier.’
The banker pulled a face and swivelled slowly in his chair before attempting to reply. ‘What can I say that would make any sense in all this? As a spokesman for the bank, all I can say is that we have the matter firmly under control. The police have evacuated the area... ’
‘That’s not a comment,’ criticised the reporter sharply. ’You’re writing my story for me. What about the money... the ransom?’
‘Good question... the money! Yes, the bank is willing to release the money from the branch safe to protect the lives of its employees.’ He paused to reflect his comments. ‘Hold it, Evans! Cancel that out! If you printed that, every branch would be at risk believing that the bank would always pay out when robbed.’ He paused again as his brain ticked over and he allowed himself the luxury of drawing long and deeply on his cigarette. It wasn’t easy talking to the Press on a matter which drew him deeper and deeper into the vortex. ‘Well,’ he continued, releasing a cloud of smoke from his nostrils as the journalist waited patiently at the other end of the line. ‘Try this! Imperial Bank deplores violence and refuses to allow itself to be held for ransom... whatever the circumstances. It will take measures to pursue every bank robber to his lair in an effort to avenge itself at all costs.’
‘Are you serious?’
‘Deadly serious, Evans! Do you honestly think I want to go through this sort of antic every months? No way! The bank’s not a benevolent institution for robbers. If I take a firm stand now, we might deter some of those who think we’re a soft target.’
‘That’s pretty audacious, boyo! It sounds like you’re issuing a challenge.’
‘Taking a stance might save many lives in the future. There’s too much violence these days. I want to make sure that, as far as this bank’s concerned, let sleeping dogs lie. If attacked and held to ransom, we will show no mercy!’
‘There’s a bit of an old warrior lurking inside you, isn’t there?’ ventured the journalist.
Rigby felt a sudden qualm as a horrid thought passed through his mind. ‘By the way, these comments won’t be published for an hour or so, will they?’ He had a vision of the man in the Croydon branch reading the statement and exploding the bomb in fear.
‘Not until the three-thirty edition.’
The banker sighed with relief. ‘Look, Evans. I want you to do me a favour. I need a mock-up of the front and back pages of the Evening Gazette. About a dozen copies.’
‘A mock-up! What do you mean?’
’I need twelve copies of today’s paper... but not with the photograph of the bandit or anything about the Croydon branch robbery. They must look genuine in all other respects. I want your printers to enter a full item in the Stop Press section on the following lines. Are you ready?’
’Ready when you are,’ declared Evans with an eye on promoting his newspaper in the affair.
’Okay, it goes as follows: “An employee of the Imperial Bank was mugged on his way to the bank’s branchy in Croydon. He had stopped at a traffic light along Earlham Drive when two masked men forced him to open the door and robbed him. During the struggle the banker, who was taking the safe key to Croydon branch, was struck on the head and had to be taken to hospital”. That’s it!’
‘What’s the purpose of this?’
‘I’ll fill you in with the reason later. Just get me those dozen copies as fast as you can.’
‘How about an exclusive on this story for our assistance?’
Rigby drew on his cigarette and leaned back to watch the smoke waft to the ceiling. ‘You’ve got it!’ he promised, replacing the receiver. As he did so, his secretary pointed in the direction of the Assistant Chief Executive.
‘Mr. MacDonald would like to see you immediately.’ She knew how he would react to the command.
‘Oh, Hell!’ he groaned. ‘What does he want me for now?’ He stubbed out his cigarette in the ash-tray a
nd shook his head slowly. ‘Either he let’s me do the job... ’ His voice tailed off into the distance before he got to his feet and left the office.
Rigby sensed a different atmosphere exiting between the senior executive and himself. This time, as he stood outside the door, he felt the knot of muscled bunching up in his stomach. The problems of the day, coupled with the need to report regularly, was causing him to become nervous. It was something he needed to overcome quickly if he was to avoid suffering from a health hazard affecting many executives in the bank... ulcers!
‘You asked to see me, Mr. MacDonald,’ he began in a quiet voice after entering the office.
‘Sit down, Rigby!’ ordered the senior executive with a serious expression on his face. The junior executive obeyed and sat nervously on the edge of his seat expecting a multitude of criticism relating to Chief Inspector Church and his attitude towards the police officer.
‘I’m not going to beat about the bush, You must report to me regularly whenever a crisis arises. I must be kept in the picture! You’ll have to use your discretion with regard to the intensity of the problems and the intervals at which you need to report. You must realise that I have superiors who demand explanations.’
Rigby was not surprised at MacDonald’s minor onslaught. The Old Man was obviously under pressure from members of the Board. Nonetheless, he was forced to stress his position. ‘The demonstration outside the bank is totally under control.’
‘How do you arrive at that conclusion,?’ asked MacDonald. ‘I’m told that the demonstrators are still in front of the bank, milling about, chanting, and waving banners and placards.’
‘I think you’ll find that I’ve resolved the matter. ‘They’ll leave shortly because I bribed the ring-leader.’
The face of the Assistant Chief Executive turned bright red as his blood-pressure soared. ‘You did what?’ he exploded, his bushy eyebrows moving up and down..
‘I bribed him,’ repeated Rigby flatly.
‘How much did you offer him?’ MacDonald was doing all he could to maximise the effect of calm but he wasn’t succeeding.
‘One thousand shares in Imperial Bank stock.’
A glazed expression appeared on the face of the elder banker as he tried to reason it out. ‘Would you care to explain that?’ he demanded, drawing in a deep breath to assist him to control his temper.
‘I advised Abdul, the ring-leader, to accept one thousand shares so that he could propose a Special Resolution at the bank’s AGM. It will demand that the bank ends its support to Israel’s customers and businesses.’
‘Have you taken leave of your senses?’ There’s no serious connection between us and businesses in Israel!’
‘Well someone had to do something before those demonstrators got out of hand and torn down the bank.’
‘You can’t make decisions of that nature without first resorting to me. You should know that! Good Lord, you’ve been in the bank long enough to know that!’
Rigby became angry at the challenge to his judgement, resenting the other man’s attitude strongly. He recognised that there might be flaws in his personality but judgement was his greatest talent and no one was going to diminish it! ‘With due respect, Mr.. MacDonald,’ he responded in the form of a counter attack, ’there’s a mob of over a thousand people out there... maybe more,. They’re formed from a group of Communists, militants, agitators and perhaps a few Fascists thrown in for good measure. They threaten to tear this bank apart if we don’t give in to their demands. The staff could get injured or even worse. Is that what you wanted?’
‘Don’t be insolent, Rigby... ’
‘Kindly allow me to finish, sir!’ interrupted the subordinate rudely. ‘Do you honestly believe that I had time to stall them until someone at top level made up their mind what to do. Two minutes either way could have meant disaster. I know because I was there!’
‘You still needed Board approval for what you did! You offered shares of the bank without consent, giving advice which may be used against the bank. Your actions were outrageous!’
‘Those agitators represent a major cause. They won’t go away because we ask them to. I found the simplest and cheapest way to do it.’
‘Rules are rules, Rigby,’ retorted the senior man. ‘You have to play it by the book not under your own authority. The Chief Executive will demand a full investigation when he hears about this. He’ll probably read you the riot act. Hell, if it leaks out that every ring-leader will be paid a thousand shares for his efforts, they’ll be queuing up outside the bank waiting to receive them.’
‘You’re not being fair,’ claimed Rigby in a tone that requested compassion. ‘I’ve a tough job to perform. There have to be short cuts sometimes to relieve the pressure. Masses of demonstrators were pressed against the doors and windows uttering all kinds of threats. It’s easy to criticise from the silence of this office.’
The senior man put his hands together in thought as though in silent prayer and pressed his lips in a form of grimace. ‘No one’s trying to tell you how to do your job,’ he went on eventually. ‘The bank has carefully defined its lines of communication and authority. There’s always someone higher up the ladder to whom we must report. For me it’s the Chief Executive and the Chairman who has to be responsible to the shareholders. It’s a long line that must prevail if we’re going to achieve the required results. Rules should never be broken.’
Rigby became totally disillusioned with the remarks of his superior. Essentially the reasoning was correct. There had to be a firm line of communication and authority and, in normal circumstances, the rules would be obeyed with great diligence. However Functional Control had to be the exception to the rule! It was beyond reason to expect him to be bound rigidly when faced with crises against which he had to protect the bank. ‘I understand your dilemma,’ he managed to say. ‘However if you expect me to do the job properly you’ll have to learn to trust me.’
‘Trust!’ echoed the Assistant Chief Executive, his bushy eyebrows shooting upwards as though he had been stung. ‘Trust isn’t the issue here! We’re talking about authority! If you don’t follow the rules, you’ll find yourself in hot water. Your inexperience in your new appointment has coloured your judgement. You want to do well, I recognise that but I challenge your integrity on that point. We’re all subject to... ’
‘The rules!’
‘The Chairman’s the only person with sufficient authority to direct instant policy and, when he’s not available, the task falls to the Chief Executive. You have to approach each problem step-by-step through the hierarchy. Surely you can see the logic of that!’
‘Not in the context of the terms of reference for Functional Control,’ countered Rigby with a deep sense of disappointment that he was losing the battle.
The senior man began to tire of the conversation and referred to the other urgent matter in hand. ‘Let’s forget bribery for the moment. What’s that latest position at Croydon branch?’
Rigby shifted uneasily in his chair. ‘There’s little to report at the moment. The ultimatum has expired and I’ve taken the situation a step further.’ His heart sank as he realised that he was doffing a very deep pit for himself from which he would never climb out. ‘I’ve conveyed through the Assistant Manager of the branch that the Board have agreed for him to have the contents of the safe and that we’re sending a key-holder from Head Office.’
‘I don’t believe it! Declared MacDonald absolutely astonished, becoming physically agitated. ‘How could you make such an unauthorised statement? What’s the matter with you, man?’
‘There are three people in that branch,’ responded the junior executive becoming equally agitated. ‘Three men who could die at any moment. What are the Chairman and the Chief Executive intending to do? They’ll leave it to the police and the poor bastard at the Head of Functional Control. Then, if they mak
e a hash of it, they don’t have to carry the can. As long as the rest of you in this ivory tower can avoid spoiling your own hands what the hell does it matter?’
‘Don’t you dare speak to me like that!’ spluttered the senior man ready to discipline the subordinate severely for his insolence. On reflection, however, he decided to turn the other cheek and suppressed his anger. ‘Look,’ he said with moderate calm after a lengthy pause. ‘No point in getting heated about this. I understand the pressures... the crises,..,and all that. Sadly, the pressure work their way downwards as well as upwards. It all boils down to responsibility. We’re all involved.’
Rigby drew in a deep breath as he digested the words of the other man. He felt that he could do with a cigarette to help soothe his nerves but it wasn’t permissible to smoke in this office. The bank ranked supreme in the adjudication concerning the rules of conduct. Nothing was allowed that could not be interoperated as being whiter-than-white and passed by a committee decision. The use of initiative, apparently, did not apply in the Imperial Bank.
‘Perhaps there’s a compromise,’ he told the Old Man. ‘I’ll report to you when crises occur but, in exchange, you must let me carry out my work without interference. The Board appointed me because they believe in me. You must let me do the work in my own way. If I fail, you can take action but Functional Control is not the normal type of operation that required total control from above.’
‘You should never use the word ‘must’,’ reproached MacDonald pedantically. ‘No employee has the right to usurp his authority at any time. It cannot be allowed unless they’re willing to take the responsibility personally.’
‘Is that a loophole?’ asked Rigby, believing that the other man had been generous enough to find an alternative route by which to allow him the licence he desired.
‘No, it’s not a loophole! And I can tell you that you’re very arrogant in believing you are right every time.’