Royal Heist

by Lynda La Plante

  “Well, if you’re hoping to use me as a social entrée, I’m afraid my name won’t do you much good. It would have, when I was first released from prison, but now I don’t generate much excitement. Am I talking myself out of a job?”

  “Not at all.”

  “Well, as I was saying, my best days are behind me.”

  De Jersey smiled. His lordship was very self-effacing. After two more martinis, his tongue was even looser. He talked endlessly about his days in prison and the cons with whom he’d been cooped up. Eventually he wound down. “So, let’s cut the small talk. What you up to? I’ve got a feeling that, whatever it is, it’s not kosher.”

  De Jersey began to like him. “You could say that.”

  “What do you want?”

  “You.”

  Westbrook looked perplexed.

  “And particularly your past experiences.”

  “In prison?”

  “No, before that.”

  “What for?”

  “The book I’m writing.”

  “‘Blue blood gets arrested for fraud, ends up serving time,’ that kind of thing?”

  “Further back. Your contact with the Royal Family. Your knowledge of the Royal household and the Queen’s routines. Protocol. To be more specific, I need to know more about Her Majesty’s ladies-in-waiting: where they stand, how they dress, how they address her. Also, how many security men travel with a Royal cavalcade, what they wear, how many per vehicle, and so on.”

  Westbrook frowned into his empty martini glass. “What kind of money are we talking about?”

  “That would depend, but I am prepared to pay a high price for the information. I need to be able to trust you. The more details you can give me, the higher the bonus. Can I get you another drink?”

  “I don’t think so. Coffee maybe.”

  De Jersey patted Westbrook’s arm. “Good move. I don’t work with drunks. Excuse me.” He ordered coffee and sandwiches at the bar, then went to the restroom. He was giving his lordship time to think, to get hungry for the money being dangled in front of him, hungry enough to become part of the team.

  The sandwiches were consumed rapidly, but after de Jersey ordered a second pot of coffee, Westbrook’s manner changed. He sat back, lit his sixth cigarette, and sucked in the smoke. He had sobered up.

  “Now, cards on the table. Who the fuck are you? This novel doesn’t ring true to me. Not when you’re coming on like some James Bond figure. I can’t figure you out.”

  De Jersey hesitated, then began. “Okay, my name is Philip Simmons, and I’m a nobody. I have lived mostly in the U.S. for the past decade, got a nice little nest egg and was about to retire when I lost it on some bloody useless Internet company that was supposed to make me more than secure for the rest of my life. It bankrupted me.”

  “I know the feeling,” said Westbrook, with a detectable undercurrent of anger.

  “I need to make a quick kill,” de Jersey said.

  “I gather that. But from what you’ve just said, how are you going to pay me for what you want to know?”

  “There’s bankrupt and there’s bankrupt. I can still lay my hands on a few bob.”

  “I see, but this information isn’t for some coffee-table book, is it? So, get a bit clearer, Mr. Simmons, and stop wasting my time.”

  “It’s a nice earner.”

  “How much of a nice earner?”

  “Enough.”

  “So the sum is just what size?”

  “If you produce the goods, your cut will be in the region of five or six million.”

  There was a long pause. His lordship lit another cigarette.

  “It’s not on the square, that’s for sure. You want information regarding the Royals and their household. What are you going to do? Let’s see. Break into Kensington Palace? If that’s your idea, forget it. It’s been broken into countless times, and everyone always gets caught.”

  “It’s not that.”

  “Shame. I know the place like the back of my hand.”

  De Jersey watched him like a hawk.

  “If it’s the Crown Jewels, there’s not a hope in hell. Total waste of time. Only one chap ever broke in, sixteen something. He failed.”

  “I know.”

  “So it could be the Crown Jewels?” There was another long pause. “They come out now and again, for the State Opening of Parliament, coronations… . Ma’am’s Golden Jubilee is this year. She’ll need a fitting—Royal heads have swelled a bit since Edward the Confessor’s time …”

  They left the hotel together and took a taxi the short distance to Westbrook’s home, where they continued their discussion.

  De Jersey grew more confident about Westbrook’s help. A single room in Pimlico, very shabby. The Persian carpets were beyond threadbare, and the single bed was draped with a tatty paisley throw. Even the few elegant oil paintings were damaged. The small kitchen was filthy, and the cabinet doors were falling off their hinges. “I just use this pad to doss down in. It’s not even mine—belongs to an old and distant cousin. I seem to be out of instant coffee. What about a chilled vodka?”

  They drank from chipped glasses. Westbrook showed off his most prized possessions: a row of silver-framed photographs of his children, a son and twin daughters. The pictures also showed an austere blond woman. “My ex-wife,” he said sourly. “She has custody. They all live in South Africa now. I’d see them, but the plane fare is a bit of a problem.” He sat down cross-legged on the couch and gulped his vodka. De Jersey left his untouched.

  His lordship lit a cigarette. “There’s an added problem.”

  De Jersey remained silent.

  “I have cancer.”

  “I’m sorry,” de Jersey said, with sincerity.

  “So am I sometimes, when I look at the photos and remember such happy days. But the old man left me with a nightmare of death duties. I loved that place with a passion. It’s my heritage and by right my son’s. I’d like to own it again, pass it on to William.”

  He passed one of the silver frames to de Jersey. “My ancestors have lived there since seventeen eighty. Now it’s owned by a group of bloody salesmen in gray suits. Tragic. All my family looking down the baronial staircase while the imbeciles ruin the place. I can’t even visit.” He replaced the photograph. “Now you know all there is to know.”

  De Jersey remained silent.

  “I have told you all this for one reason, to make you understand that this little … “flutter” could not have come at a better time, and I’m up for it if there’s enough lolly in it for me.”

  De Jersey drained his vodka. “You were on to it.”

  “What?”

  “You were on to what I have in mind,” de Jersey said.

  “Not the bloody Crown Jewels?”

  De Jersey laughed. “Yes.”

  “You’re out of your mind.”

  “Not really. What do you know about the jewel fittings, the one for the Queen’s Golden Jubilee?”

  Lord Westbrook poured himself some more vodka. “My God, are you serious?”

  “Yes.”

  “I see. Well, my cut would certainly get me the ancestral home back. How many will be in on it?”

  De Jersey hesitated, then went for it. “Eight, I think, including you. I may need a few more heavies. Not everyone will get the same amount. It depends on how important they are to the heist.”

  “I see.”

  “Do you?” de Jersey asked seriously.

  “I spent seven years in jail, so I can see quite clearly that it’s a harebrained idea. Why decide to trust me?” Westbrook asked.

  De Jersey gestured to the squalid room. “To die in this place isn’t what you want, is it?”

  Westbrook drained his glass. The bottle was empty.

  “I’d say you are an embittered man. You’ve lost your self-respect, your children, and your home. Spending years in prison gave you plenty of time to review your future and reflect on your past. I’m willing to pay you, starting this week,
to work for me. I can’t say at this stage if it will go ahead. And it won’t until I’m satisfied we can do it with the least risk to all concerned.”

  “What’s the downside?”

  “There isn’t one. If I think it’s impossible and call it off, then it’s just been an experience. However, if I think it’s a viable project, the only downside would be if one of us opened his mouth, because that would ruin any chance of our survival.”

  De Jersey stood up straight, like a colonel, his massive frame dominating the small studio. “So I demand total loyalty.”

  “Demand?” Westbrook smiled.

  “Yep. We cannot afford a weak link, and if one did arise it would be erased.”

  “How would you know?”

  “I would know, and I would see personally that it was taken care of. You come on board, you obey the rules.” De Jersey picked up the empty vodka bottle and tossed it into the fireplace. It smashed to pieces on the empty grate. “No boozing, no drugs, and this”—he moved close to Westbrook, took his jaw in one hand, and ran his fingers over the man’s mouth with the other—“one word leaked and everyone goes down.” He released his hold and picked up one of the photographs of Westbrook’s children. “Every man involved is hungry. They have families, children. So if a blabbing mouth hurts them they will want retribution. Do you understand?” He set down the photograph carefully.

  “I resent the threats.”

  “I hope you do, Harry. That is what your friends call you, isn’t it?”

  “And we’re friends now, are we?” Westbrook asked.

  “No. But I will be more of a friend to you than any other man you know. If this is going to work, you will have to trust me one hundred percent, and trust is what makes a friendship.”

  Westbrook watched as de Jersey picked up his cashmere overcoat. “If you decide not to go ahead, will you still pay me?”

  “Of course, per week for however long it takes to accomplish your part of the heist.”

  “How much?”

  “One thousand cash every week and a cut of the jewels once they’ve been broken up.”

  Westbrook took another cigarette.

  De Jersey struck the match to light it. Their eyes met. “You should get enough to leave your son and heir his rightful inheritance.”

  Westbrook stared into de Jersey’s cold blue eyes. He did not flinch; de Jersey was impressed.

  Westbrook said, “I put my trust in you. God only knows why—it’s a gut feeling. This morning I really didn’t care how long I had to live, but now I do. I want to live long enough to pull this bloody thing off, and if I die in the process it doesn’t matter. But if we do it, I’ll leave my son more than an empty title. I’d like that.”

  Back at the flat in Kilburn, de Jersey logged onto the computer and began to search. When “The Golden Jubilee Program Pages” came up, he scanned them for details of the Royal calendar. Since the festivities would begin in early May and continue through June and July, he reasoned that the crown and the jewels which were to be in use would have to be removed from the Tower some time before then. But where would they be held for safekeeping? With the jeweler appointed to the Queen? A plan was finally forming. He closed down his computer and leaned back in his chair, smiling. Just then his cell phone rang.

  “It’s me, Eddy,” Driscoll said. “Me and Jimmy. We want to meet up again, the sooner the better.”

  “Tomorrow,” de Jersey said calmly. “There’s a pub by Robin Hood Gate in Richmond Park. See you both there at twelve.” He hung up confident. His team was coming together.

  CHAPTER

  13

  The public house chosen for the meeting was in Kingston, far enough from their homes for them not to be recognized, and full enough for them not to stand out. A large family-style dining room was next to the bar. The pub meals were home-cooked and cheap, the atmosphere friendly. Driscoll’s dog had accompanied the threesome.

  They sat in a booth and ordered beer and sandwiches. They exchanged pleasantries as the drinks and food were put before them, then got down to business.

  “It’s this fucking Sylvia Hewitt,” Wilcox said.

  “She’s called us both at home.” Driscoll peered at his sandwich. He’d had stomach trouble for days and was apprehensive about eating.

  “What’s she on about now?” de Jersey asked, sipping his pint. She hadn’t called him.

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t like her having my private number,” Driscoll said.

  “Goes for me too,” Wilcox said. “Rika’s on edge now. She thinks I’m having an affair with any woman who calls the house.” He gestured to de Jersey’s untouched plate. “You want yours?”

  “No.” He pushed his plate forward. “Change your numbers.”

  “The wife’s in the middle of organizing our daughter’s wedding; she’d go apeshit if we changed the number now. And this Hewitt bitch having my phone number is the least of our worries. She’s on to Philip Simmons,” Driscoll said.

  This caught de Jersey off guard. “What?”

  “She’ll be on to you. Any second.”

  De Jersey placed his beer on the mat. “Shit.”

  Wilcox took over. “You need to be careful. What if she discovers you went to New York? Airport security is tighter than it’s ever been. Do you think you can be identified?”

  “I should be okay. Simmons only facilitated the house sale. When she can’t get hold of him, she’ll start pursuing other avenues to track down Moreno.” De Jersey tried to make light of a difficult situation, but he recognized a major headache in the works. “All anyone over there knows is that Simmons is a redheaded Canadian business adviser.”

  “Listen,” Wilcox interjected. He stared at the beer mat in front of him, as if afraid to face de Jersey. “Tony and I still have some collateral. This Hewitt woman told us how much you lost, and we know how much cash those horses of yours eat up. Why don’t you get shot of the Hampton property and use the money until you get something worked out?”

  “You can pay us later,” Driscoll chipped in.

  “I have something worked out.”

  There was a pause. Wilcox didn’t look up from the beer mat. Driscoll chewed a nail.

  “A plan?” Driscoll said at last.

  Wilcox wiped his mouth. “You’re not still on about the Crown Jewels. I mean, that was a gag, right?”

  “It was no joke.”

  “Sweet Jesus, he’s serious!” Driscoll said incredulously.

  “It can work. It’ll take a lot of time and preparation. We can’t afford to make any mistakes.”

  “Oh, we can’t, huh?”

  “Just listen. The items we’re going to take will not be in the Tower. We’re going after the jewels the Queen wears for the Golden Jubilee. They’ll be taken off-site for preparation, and that’s where we’ll pick them up.”

  “Where will they go?” asked Driscoll.

  “Possibly to one of the jewelers in Hatton Garden,” de Jersey replied. “I’ll find out soon enough. I’ve been gathering the people we’ll need on our side. There’s an equerry, who was close to the Royal Family for years and knows the protocol. We need a substitute for the Queen, some motors, a lady-in-waiting, and two more heavies.”

  Driscoll and Wilcox stared at him, speechless.

  “We’ll need to get into the Royal household’s diary of events to figure out the security measures, and I’ll need to find myself a computer hacker.”

  Driscoll’s dog yawned and shifted position under the table.

  Wilcox broke the silence. “Say you get this organized and pull it off. How much do you think we’re looking at?”

  “The Koh-i-noor Diamond should fetch us millions. Then there’s diamonds, rubies, pearls… .”

  “Fuck me,” Wilcox said, frowning.

  “But until it’s firmed up, it’s just work in progress.”

  Driscoll drained his beer. “What do you want from me?” he asked quietly.

  “The name and address of the actr
ess who does the TV ad for royal jelly.”

  “What?” Wilcox was unsure he had heard right.

  “Why not?” Driscoll said. “It’s just a few phone calls.”

  “You line up the vehicles,” de Jersey said to Wilcox. “We need two Daimlers spruced up. Copy the badges, Royal coat of arms. But don’t leave traces. Spread the work. The automobiles must never be connected to any of us.” De Jersey drained his glass. “Another drink?” he asked casually.

  Driscoll asked for tonic water.

  “I’ll get this round, you paid for the last.” Wilcox headed for the bar.

  “You feeling all right?” de Jersey asked Driscoll.

  “My nerves are shot. I can’t take this all in. I didn’t come here to discuss a fucking heist, Eddy. I told you I wasn’t up for it. Him neither.” Driscoll jerked his head toward the bar.

  De Jersey ignored what he had said. “Wait till you see the commercial. Then you’ll understand why I want the actress.”

  “Fine, right, I’ll check it out.”

  As Wilcox was returning with the drinks, Driscoll leaned in close to de Jersey. “What’s the time span we’re looking at?”

  “It’ll be May. According to my contact, the crown fittings will be held three or four weeks before the Jubilee celebrations, which take place on the fourth of June,” de Jersey said, lighting a cigar. “So it looks like early May. From now on, contact me only on my cell phone—no calls to the house.”

  “Hang on!” Wilcox said. “I only went to get a round and now you’re talking as if this is all agreed to. Good job I didn’t go for a slash too or I’d have no idea what was going on.”

  De Jersey gave him a half smile. “It’s work in progress. Decision time is still way off. Right now I just need the pair of you to help me with the setting up. That’s all.”

  Wilcox raised his glass to de Jersey. “It looks like early May then,” he said.

  De Jersey glanced at them. “So it’s agreed. You’ll help me set it up?”

  They nodded, and de Jersey raised his glass to both.

  De Jersey and Driscoll walked into the park with the dog. They headed for a Toyota Estate belonging to Driscoll’s wife. After Driscoll opened the door for the dog to hop in, De Jersey watched him swing the door back and forth absentmindedly. “What’s up with you?” he asked. “You worried?”