Tehran Decree

by James Scorpio

  ‘They might answer your question commander,’ Jansen slowly thumbed through them and stopped at a set of diagrams showing a skeletal map of Sydney with red lines superimposed on top of it, depicting tunnels around the city. It looked like a huge ball of red wool scribbled over the map of Sydney -- there were literally dozens of tunnels. All of them were numbered and marked with depth indicators; it was a moles guide to the real Sydney underground. Clement had obviously been busy in his retirement -- he had turned his tunnels into roads to riches. As if to confirm Jansen’s hidden thoughts Rosey pulled open the bottom drawer of the cabinet -- it was full to the brim with wads of fifty dollar bills -- she pointed to the display.

  ‘There’s nearly ten million dollars in there commander,’ Jansen breathed in deeply then directed a stream of air through pouted lips.

  ‘My my, Clement was indeed a secret man,’ Jansen hesitated before asking the next question; he looked Rosey square in the face.

  ‘Would that be part of the robbery proceeds from St. Peters Bank by any chance?’ Rosey cast a wicked smile.

  ‘It could be...I’m not sure, I found it in Clement’s tool box beneath his work bench.’

  ‘I trust you’re going to hand it in to the authorities?’ Rosey glanced possessively at the drawer full of bills.

  ‘Not really commander...I’m keeping it -- it represents Clements legacy for spending forty harrowing years in the police force.’

  ‘But you can’t do that Mrs. Chester...it’s illegal proceeds.’

  ‘I don’t care what you call it Commander...it’s mine.’

  ‘Not very clever Mrs. Chester, you’ll have a SWAT team down on you before you could start your get away vehicle.’

  ‘I don’t think so commander,’ she took a plain bound book from the mantle piece and gave it to Jansen.

  ‘Before you do anything else just take a good squint at that,’ Jansen read the printed title on the front cover.

  MY LIFE AS A FAKE COPPER

  By

  Police Commissioner

  Clement Chester

  He slowly flipped through the pages reading different passages as he went. As well as parts of Chester’s personal life, it was a virtual expose of the rampant corruptions of the police force, and the Australian government over the past forty years.

  Jansen continued perusing paragraphs here and there taking in the significant points -- he looked grimly at Rosey.

  ‘This is absolute dynamite!’

  ‘Exactly commander.’

  ‘Is this the only copy you have Mrs. Chester?’

  ‘Do I really look that green commander? An exact copy

  of the book has been lodged with a major British publisher in the UK. If anything happens to me or my ten million dollars, the book will be published, and distributed around the world. Tell that to your political bigwigs.’

  ‘You’ve made your point Mrs. Chester, I will pass on your candid information. However, there is a little favour I would like to ask of you...may I have a copy of the Sydney tunnel maps?’

  ‘You may, I thought you might be needing the map, so I took a photocopy. You can have it on one condition,’ Jansen stared warily at Chester’s shifty spouse. ‘What would that be Mrs. Chester?

  ‘It is for your eyes only...destroy it when you have used 321

  it, it is copyright material and belongs to Chester’s estate. If you publish it without my consent I’ll take you to court,’ Jansen looked at Dutton, she had them over a barrel, this was nothing less than superlative blackmail.

  Mrs. Chester had suddenly turned into a very impressionable lady indeed. She reminded Jansen of Edgar Hoover, the man who had black mailed and manipulated a glut of successive US presidents, and managed to hold on to his job until the day he died. He was one of the very few men who managed to rise above the cut throat world of politics by the simple expediency of blackmail.

  However, Mrs. Chester’s machinations were of secondary importance and the case at hand was the prime consideration. A feeling of distrust erupted deep within his gut; such feelings in the past had often proven to be true.

  It was time to go, lest they succumbed to further manipulation at the hands of an expert. They both politely said their good-byes to Mrs. Chester -- Dutton opened the car door for his boss then took the drivers seat. A persistent frown creased his features and he momentarily looked at Jansen.

  ‘It beats me sir, how a man like Chester in such a prestigious position, could be a patriot and a traitor in the one breath.’

  ‘That’s because he actually had no scruples, it seems to me that the man has always been a bit of a rogue element, and the only way you can switch on and off like that, is to compartmentalise everything -- don’t let your right hand know what your left hand is doing -- that kind of mentality. I’ve a strange feeling Mrs. Chester is of the same ilk.’

  ‘A sort of multiple personality type sir.’

  ‘Let’s just say they are great actors, able to turn it on or off as desired....how do you think some of these people con the public so successfully -- it’s not just public gullibility.'

  ‘No sir...but it does help,’ Jansen smiled perceptively, turned the car into a parking lot, and extracted the tunnel map Mrs. Chester had given him, opening it out on his lap.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  Old tunnels below Sydney’s business district were more numerous than most people realised. However, many of the cities retirees and streetwise individuals were aware of the Circular Key tunnel, which ran between the Key and the Public Library, and was used during the second world war as a nerve centre for the Army, Air force and Navy, to defend Sydney. It’s major claim to fame was the Japanese submarine invasion. The order to drop depth chargers was issued from this underground centre. Another significant tunnel resided under the Town Hall, and was used as a command post for plotting aircraft movements.

  Jansen laboured over the tunnel map trying to visualise relative positions of the Tunnels in relation to St. Peters Bank. Non of the existing tunnels offered any proximity to the Bank, and to get anywhere near the Vault it would have required a monumental underground excavation. He deliberately ignored the red lines placed there by Clement Chester which only compounded the tangled mass of squiggles.

  Jeff Dutton had been working for the past three days on a transparent sheet of cellophane and had plotted all the recent excavations including the Sydney Harbour, Lane Cove and Cross City Tunnels. He laid the sheet over Chester’s map and both men gazed thoughtfully at the new configuration.

  Dutton suddenly stabbed the map with his index finger.

  ‘There sir,’ Dutton traced his finger along the cross city tunnel and onto a red line which went under the Bank. Jansen carefully checked the jumble of depth figures. There was significant variation but they were within a few metres of each other and could have been used to connect with the position of the banks vault. A couple of hours hard digging could have created an entry point to the vault. Dutton looked up from the map, a puzzled expression about his features.

  ‘But according to the newspapers there was no entry point into the vault.’

  ‘True Jeff...but that doesn't mean they didn’t gain entry.’

  ‘You think that this is an inside job then sir?’

  ‘Sort of, and in spite of evidence to the contrary...I think it was carried out through information given to the BIB via commissioner Chester, by way of his exclusive knowledge of the Sydney tunnels. Another thing to bear in mind is that Mrs. Chester may be privy to this, and possibly even compliant...I think they are both secret crooks. One thing I’m certain of...corruption comes with age. That is not to say every elderly person is a secret crook.’ Dutton smiled naively.

  ‘Of course not sir.’

  ‘But some people tend to go that way and Rosey is just as much a bank robber as her husband.’

  ‘You’re joking sir.’

  No, I’m afraid not, the problem is familiarity, one becomes bored with the same repetitive procedures huma
n life hands out, and a change is as good as a tonic, even if it is grossly dishonest. As a matter of fact it’s probably the dishonesty which gives the situation its edge.

  Also Mrs. Chester has shown us that not only is she a secretive woman, but she is also capable of anything, and so was Chester -- not your average police couple.’

  ‘But why and how would Chester be in league with the BIB?’

  ‘Fact is stranger than fiction Jeff. A highly placed policeman usually has enormous clout with his contemporaries and the public generally. What most people overlook is the human factor...such people are just 326

  as vulnerable to criminal activity as anyone else. The man was a closet drug addict and his moral sense was well and truly burnt-out -- nothing was theoretically beyond his reach. BIB obviously had some sort of hold over him and I suspect that hold could very well have been his drug addiction.

  If you want to solve a perplexing problem concerning an individual you should first look at his, or her, Achilles heel, and there are plenty of choices here, it’s usually drugs, sex, greed or power. But at the bottom of it all Jeff, is our old favourite...money, which is what were going to attempt to sort out next,’

  Chapter Fifty-eight

  Harry Cutts had been manager of the St. Peters Bank for the last ten years and had never experienced such a strange robbery in his life; there was simply no precedence. Initially, he was most upset when it was suggested that the job must have been carried out from the inside. The police had searched his home, accessed his bank account, and every other investment he had, and minutely examined his telephone records going back several months, as well as interviewing every staff member in great detail.

  Cutts was aware that his large build and huge hands often intimidated people, and tried to compensate for this by trying to appear less daunting. Even so, the police saw him as the usual corrupt male bank employee, they took his finger prints and a front and side view photo.

  Desperate as the police were to make an arrest, they simply couldn’t find any evidence. It was as Cutts had suspected all along, they wanted a scapegoat and a bank manager was as good as any. The same procedure ensued for all of his bank staff and the slightest sniff of dishonesty brought on even more investigative procedures. The police finally gave up in frustration when they finally realised it was a clever inside job involving outside resources and was beyond their capabilities. It began to take shape as one of Sydney’s great criminal mysteries and there was no shortage of such incidents in the metropolitan area.

  A special investigator named Commander Roger Jansen was due any minute for a tour of the beleaguered bank with a particular emphasise on the under ground storage vault.

  Cutts finished his morning coffee as the intercom on his desk buzzed.

  ‘Commander Jansen is here sir.’

  ‘Good, send him straight in.’

  Jensen came in and shook hands with the manager who also shook hands with Dutton. The three men sat around the manager’s desk -- Cutts managed a pleasant smile.

  ‘You’re just in time for morning coffee commander,’ Jansen raised his hand and returned the smile.

  ‘Thank you Mr. Cutts, but we had our fortification a little earlier,’ Jansen couldn’t help noticing how big a man Cutts was, he must have been a good six and a half feet in his bear feet.

  ‘In that case commander we could proceed to the underground vault.’

  Jansen surreptitiously surveyed the surroundings as they made there way to the vault, taking particular notice of any building alterations and recent renovations.

  A small lift lead directly to the small room containing the large steel safe. The lift was intolerably slow and must have been the first lift installed on completion of the original building. Its maximum capacity stipulated only six persons at a time, which prompted a question from Jansen.

  ‘The lift is very slow Mr. Cutts...is it used for the regular transmission of money to and from the bank?’

  ‘Not really commander, the vault is used for longer term storage of high denomination notes of fifty dollar notes and upwards; it is only used periodically by the staff. It is a deposition area prior to distribution to other branches and is one of a number of storage areas around the Sydney business district.’

  Finally the lift came to a bumpy halt at the basement room which housed the large safe. Cutts pulled the metal lattice door open and stood aside to let them pass.

  The damage to the safe was immediately obvious as they entered the room. The handle and opening mechanism were encrusted with a large black carbon deposit. A significant amount of explosive had been used to dislodge the door and it was hanging at a crazy angle of thirty degrees from the normal. Whoever had carried it out knew exactly what they were doing. Cutts pointed to the mangled door.

  ‘As you can see Commnader...they certainly weren’t amateurs.

  ‘Apparently not, and that’s rather more worrying, because this sort of technical expertise makes them safe blowing professionals,' Jansen continued his discreet monitoring of the surroundings.

  ‘It seems odd Mr. Cutts that there is only one entry point down here. I suppose the police were aware of that,’ Cutts suddenly looked flustered and he wiped his sweaty hands on his pocket handkerchief.

  ‘You can say that again commander...the ruddy police have turned the place upside down and searched everything within half a mile of the place. They even searched private dwellings looking for cellars and hidden cubby holes,’ he sat down in a plastic chair at the side of the vault and wiped the gathering perspiration from his forehead. Behind a frustrated grimace he pointed to the lift.

  ‘That lift is always locked and I have the only key...it’s still here in my wallet.’ He produced his wallet and removed a large brass Yale key.

  ‘This is the impossible robbery commander.’

  ‘Well if you’re not involved Mr. Cutts, you could well be right. However, as all rational people would agree, there is no such thing as the impossible robbery, or the perfect robbery. They, whoever they are, have made errors and left clues. It is our job to find these, and find

  them we will,’ said Jansen running his index finger across the carbon deposit on the safe door and studying its composition close up.

  Chapter Fifty-nine

  A tray of tea and biscuits had been brought down to the vault on the instructions of Mr. Cutts, who still resided on the only chair in the small room.

  During his careful scanning of the of the decor Jansen noticed the flimsy plastic chair was beginning to sag under the bank managers great weight. The man was obviously used to sitting for long periods in his office, and his body now insisted that he sit down at every opportunity. It had become a battle with himself with the bodies desires winning most times.

  Something else caught Jansen’s eye, he went over to the chair, took out a tissue from a small pack he always carried, and scraped off a brown stain from side of the chair.

  ‘This might just be your answer Mr. Cutts,’ Jansen rolled over the brown, soil-like grains with his finger.

  ‘You know...it’s the little things in life which tell the biggest stories. This sandy soil is the sort of stuff the whole of Sydney is built on. He looked up at the ceiling of the room, with its pastel yellow acrylic coating, and then at the adjacent off-white tiled walls. They formed a mild, unobtrusive contrast, and helped to lighten what would otherwise have been a very dark and dingy room.

  Jansen finally stared at the bank manager.

  ‘Is this room reinforced Mr. Cutts?’

  ‘Not in the impregnable sense...there’s a layer of crushed stone covered with concrete, both approximately ten centimetres thick.’

  ‘Not much protection for a substantial bank vault Mr. Cutts.’

  ‘True, but don’t overlook the fact that the whole exterior of the room is solid earth commander and don’t forget there is no evidence of a tunnel in this room,’ Jansen wiped the soil residue from his fingers.

  ‘I have to disagree with you there M
r. Cutts -- everything points to an external tunnel. This plastic chair has soil residue on it and was probably used during the robbery.

  ‘That doesn't mean a thing commander...that mark could have been there for years.’

  ‘It seems pretty fresh to me Mr. Cutts, also I have carefully examined this room visually, and there seems to be no evidence of a direct break in...except perhaps for that penultimate row of tiles up there,’ Jansen pointed to the corner of the room directly above the safe.

  ‘If you look very carefully you will see that the tile gap is slightly wider...perhaps only a millimeter or so. And if you follow the gap around, it continues to form a square approximately fifty centimeters in length; just about right for your average man to squeeze through. May I borrow your chair Mr. Cutts?’ the bank manger grimaced and reluctantly gave up his chair.

  ‘Give us a hand will you Jeff,’ Jansen pulled the chair up to the wall, and with Dutton’s assistance climbed onto it,’ he took a fifty cent piece from his pocket and started

  to tap along the line of tiles. A series of dull clicks resonated around the room as he worked his way along the wall. Then suddenly the click became hollow as he moved down to the next row of tiles.

  ‘That’s it gentlemen, this part of the wall is hollow. Do you have a screwdriver or penknife around the place?’ Dutton moved forward and produced a set of keys.

  ‘I have a miniature penknife on my key ring sir,’ he passed the key ring over. Jansen inserted the blade between the tiles, and gently levered them way from the wall, working his way around the gap. Finally he lifted a square piece of hardboard away from the wall and handed it to Dutton. The three men studied the artifact in amazement -- it was a well crafted hardboard square with tiles stuck to one side. A series of spring clips had been screwed around the edges with a handle fixed to the middle. It was clearly a device for accurately blocking off a tunnel from the opening, so that the robbers could go back down the tunnel from whence they came, and not be detected. Jansen took a second look at the tiles and thought for a while, then remembered that two boxes of tiles were stored under the bench in Chester’s shed.