by Nick Elliott
‘You mean you’ve used your position as a senior military officer to satisfy your lust for power and control. In doing so you have betrayed your country, not to mention the values of the Royal Navy. You’re a traitor, Carvill.’
He was on his feet too now. I was angering him and as with all such men with an irrational desire for power, he couldn’t stop himself reacting. He would always need to have the last word and in that, I told myself, lay some hope.
‘How dare you speak to me like that. What do you know of our ideals? Of the benefits our plans will bestow upon the world.’ Here we go, I thought.
‘What? You want to turn the whole planet into one big co-prosperity sphere by controlling the world’s shipping lanes and its trade? In your dreams you mean.’
‘You know nothing.’ He spat the words out, his anger rising.
‘You just relish the idea of bringing down the established order. You relish aggressive nationalism as a means to hoard power. You’re delusional, Carvill - ignorant of the realities around you. You belong in an asylum.’
‘Now, now gentlemen.’ It was the Junior Minister who spoke. I’d remembered who he was now, the Right Honourable Albert Acton, MP. I’d seen him on the news when he’d been on a trip to Thailand ostensibly drumming up business for British firms.
Carvill ignored him. ‘The end justifies the means. Those who obstruct us must be removed. And that includes you, McKinnon.’ He said it with quiet menace, his anger back under control now.
I pressed on because I’d seen something and I needed to hold Carvill’s attention. ‘Not only that but you’re a murderer too. You ordered the killing of Alastair Marshall and Ronnie Eastfield because they were onto you, and in your way. Now it’s me.’
Now Carvill moved towards me raising the gun as he did so. But behind him, framed in the doorway, a slight figure had appeared standing in deep shadow like an apparition. The figure was holding something big and heavy. I stared as he raised his arms high. Just as Carvill turned to see what I was looking at, the newcomer moved forward and smashed a large china vase down onto Carvill’s head. He staggered forward still holding the gun. I grabbed a fire iron from the grate and swung it at his gun hand as he crashed to the floor. The gun skittled across the parquet. I went for it but Acton got to it first. Still holding the fire iron I struck him on the arm. He screamed in pain as again the gun went flying. This time he backed off holding his arm and I picked up the gun.
The whole sequence resembled what had happened in the saloon of the Toyama Maru when Ah Sun had lost his life. It was over in less than thirty seconds. Carvill lay unconscious. Acton had sat down nursing his arm and looking affronted. Gertch sat slumped in his wheelchair looking confused. And standing by the door holding the remains of the vase and looking unperturbed was Takeo Ishikawa.
Chapter 38
‘Christ, Ishi, where did you spring from?’
‘I believe you needed assistance.’
‘Have you killed him?’ I bent down and felt Carvill’s pulse. It was something I was getting used to doing. His pulse and his breathing were regular. I left him where he lay.
‘There’s another guy. The one who whacked me when I was coming into the house.’
‘We have looked after him too, Angus.’
Gudrun had entered the room and was fussing over Gertch. Ishi walked over to a drinks trolley in the corner of the room and poured us each a large Scotch. I checked Carvill’s pistol. It was a 9mm Glock similar to the one I’d lost when they’d blown up Ronnie’s flat. The clip was full and there was a round in the chamber.
I slumped into a wingchair. ‘Gudrun, I will need to question Herr Gertch as well as this man here.’ I waved the gun at Acton.
‘Herr Gertch needs his medication,’ she said.
‘Go and get it will you. I need him to pay attention to my questions. And that applies to you too.’ I pointed the gun at Acton who was still looking indignant. ‘Ishi, would you go with Gudrun? I don’t want her trying anything.’
Unobtrusively I switched on the voice recorder that they hadn’t found in an inner pocket of my jacket and focused my attention on Acton. ‘Suppose you start the conversation. What’s your role in this charade?’
‘I’m an elected representative of the British people and a minister of state. I don’t answer to you.’
‘Think again, Acton,’ I said. ‘I also represent the British government. What distinguishes us is that I’m the one with the gun.’
But as it turned out Gertch was the key to the interrogation. ‘I will tell you everything you want to know,’ he interrupted. The old man was weary but he had a few things to get off his chest, and once he’d done so Acton talked too. Ishi, who had returned to the room with Gudrun, joined me with the questioning.
After twenty minutes or so Carvill began to come round. We watched him closely but needn’t have bothered. Once Carvill heard what was being revealed he kept stumm.
I went easy with the whisky. This was going to take a while. But as I felt myself relaxing and for no apparent reason I started thinking of Monty Buchan. And I remembered something he’d said before I left his office that last time. “Just mind yourself, Angus. Something I overheard on the Toyama Maru. It was one of the FOAS people and he’d had a lot to drink. We all had. He said there was a lot more behind the man who started FOAS than was apparent. I didn’t think it was important but you might like to mention it to your masters.”
I’d not thought it important at the time either, just a throwaway remark, except that Boris had said something similar.
Then the man who wasn’t who he seemed, slumped in his wheelchair but helped by the Cholinesterase inhibitors that Gudrun had fed him, began to talk.
I guess he felt safer now someone was there to protect him from these two Englishmen who had usurped him and, he insisted, had been the prime movers in executing a plan that had started as just an exercise in theoretical idealism. It sounded a weak argument but the way he told it, a credible one. He didn’t try to conceal his own complicity in the scheme either. He looked spent, defeated. I sensed he was treating this as a confession.
The economist, Ikuo Takahashi, he said, had believed that Dark Ocean was the organisation that could turn the dream into reality, the theory into practice. Dark Ocean wasn’t just another ultra-nationalist society harbouring dreams of a resurgent Japan. It was backed by a syndicate of Japanese industrialists ready to support them. But, Gertch maintained, what for him had started as an academic exercise to illustrate an alternative course for economic development in Asia and beyond, had become much more than that for Carvill and Acton. These two were already active members of FOAS and to them the co-prosperity idea became a strategic goal, one to be executed with ruthless determination.
At this point Acton interjected. ‘You’re lying, Gertch. You love the idea of the region powered by a resurgent Japan just as he and I do,’ he said pointing to Carvill. ‘And not just Asia. It took a Neocon American to point to Old Europe,’ he said in reference to Donald Rumsfeld. ‘He was right. Europe’s destruction as a union is in good hands: its own. The rebuilding will be ours; the same in Asia too, you said so yourself.’
‘Yes,’ Gertch snapped back, ‘by peaceful means. Not by spraying nerve gas over Hong Kong!’
‘Such drastic acts are sometimes necessary.’ They glared at each other in open hostility.
‘I understand your family is in banking, Herr Gertch,’ I said moving the questioning in another direction.’
‘Yes. So?’
‘I was told your father and your uncles laundered Nazi loot and used the proceeds to fund the ODESSA organisation, the flight of Nazis to South America and elsewhere.’
‘I have no knowledge of this. It was long before my time.’
Ishi stepped forward, a gun in one hand and a whisky tumbler in the other. ‘Then what happened to the bank, Mr Gertch, in the nineteen-fifties and beyond that? What kinds of business did your bank conduct then?’
With effort Ge
rtch moved himself from his slumped position. Now he leaned forward. ‘Every kind of business: investment business. Who are you anyway?’
‘I represent the government of Japan, Mr Gertch. We have a keen interest in this matter, as you can imagine. Now, please tell me about the gold deposited into your family’s bank during the early nineteen-fifties and thereafter. You must know about this.’
Gertch hesitated. He turned to Gudrun who passed him a glass of water. But he stayed silent.
Ishi pressed on. ‘We have traced cargo manifests belonging to one of our shipping lines that is no longer in business. These manifests show the shipment of gold from Japan and the Philippines to the USA and to London. But the biggest consignment of gold was shipped to your bank, Mr Gertch, in Zurich. That consignment that you received was part of the Golden Lily fortune. Gold looted by my country during the war, looted from across China and Southeast Asia. It did not belong to Japan. And it did not belong to you.
‘You will understand that this is a sensitive matter for my country. As a nation we have moved on from those dark days, but it is my job to discover the truth of what happened to the gold plundered by my country. Am I right in saying that much of that gold has been laundered and reassigned to fund Genyosha’s efforts to take over all shipping, trade and port activities throughout the Asia-Pacific region?’
Gertch was shaken. Carvill and Acton both looked at him to see how he’d respond.
‘Tell him, man,’ Carvill said. ‘Tell him what it was for.’
Gertch looked agitated. He turned to Gudrun again as if seeking her support.
‘Yes, you are right. If you have the manifests they are the proof. I did not know they still existed. The first gold was shipped to our bank in 1953. Twenty-five tons. It was worth twenty-eight million dollars then. Today’s value is a billion or more. The money came from the Americans. They shipped out most of that gold and it went to fighting the rising tide of Communism. It was disbursed to governments around the world wherever there was perceived to be a threat from the Soviet Union or Mao’s China. The money kept coming, right into the nineteen-seventies it was still coming.’
‘And how was your share disbursed?’ I asked.
‘It was supposed to be used for payments to Soviet defectors and double agents working within the KGB in return for intelligence on Soviet military plans. But in reality, only a small proportion, perhaps ten percent, was used for that purpose.’
‘And then the Soviet Union collapsed. What about the rest, that which remained?’
‘Much has been transferred to Genyosha, to Dark Ocean’s accounts for their plans.’
‘But not all?’
‘No, not all.’
He hesitated. ‘And the rest?’ I said.
He looked at Acton and then at Carvill. ‘Ask them. My two co-directors, these English gentlemen have done very nicely out of this project.’
‘That’s an outrageous lie!’ Acton shouted. ‘How dare you accuse me.’
‘You fool, Albert,’ said Carvill. ‘Don’t you think these people will gain access to our accounts? Once they start an audit trail from Helmut’s bank we’ll soon show up despite the elaborate veil, the concealment measures we took. Rest assured.’
Acton was silent. Again it was Gertch who spoke. ‘I trusted these English but they were more interested in their own power and their own pockets. Now it is all over.’
Then, as we watched transfixed, he reached into the pocket of his dressing gown and pulled out a pistol. I could see it was a Luger – an old Swiss Army gun by the look of it, iconic yet menacing, recalling its use by the Nazis and later, the East German Volkspolizei. In retrospect, I knew in that moment what was coming, but I did nothing. The others in the room were watching him too. Only Gudrun moved but she was too late. Gertch raised the gun, placed the barrel in his mouth and fired.
Gudrun screamed and then sobbing, moved to hold him as he slumped forward. The bullet had exited through the back of his skull spattering splinters of bone, blood and brain matter onto the wooden panelling behind him.
Ishi stepped forward taking the gun from Gertch’s hand and gently pulled Gudrun away. He held her as the hysteria subsided. I walked over and took the Luger from him to check how many rounds were in the magazine but it was empty. There’d been just the one in the chamber.
‘We need to get these two dealt with, Ishi,’ I said. ‘Do you have back-up?’
‘There is a team standing by. The Swiss have been cooperative.’
‘I see.’ Actually I didn’t. How he could have set all this up, or how he could have followed me here, wasn’t clear to me, but I wasn’t going to get into that discussion with him now.
Ishi made his calls and within ten minutes a squad of Swiss heavies turned up. They didn’t identify themselves and they weren’t wearing uniforms or insignia though clearly Ishi knew their commander. Three of the men set about securing the house and grounds while the others took charge of Carvill and Acton. I looked enquiringly at Ishi.
‘Swiss Military Intelligence,’ he said.
Chapter 39
I called Claire. This time we didn’t bother with the coded language we usually used on our calls.
‘Hang on, Angus, I’ll go downstairs.’ I presumed she’d been in bed but not asleep from the sound of her. She’d no idea where I was or what I was doing. I told her what had happened. She had the sense not to challenge my unilateral decision to take the case forward, or what I thought had been unilateral until Ishi had appeared.
‘My God,’ she said. ‘Carvill was the one who leaned on Amber to pull you off the case. It all makes sense now. But how on earth did Carvill manage to hide his activities with FOAS and Gertch’s bank from his masters in the MoD, never mind from us?’
‘That’s what I was wondering. Don’t people like him go through a vetting process, like I did?’
‘Of course they do. But he was non-exec within the IMTF so his activities weren’t monitored that closely I guess.’
‘Right now we need to know what to do with him and Acton. Swiss Military Intelligence are acting for Ishi and his PSIA. But I don’t want Carvill and Acton slipping through the net on some legal technicality over here.’
‘Give me an hour, Angus. Hold them there and I’ll get Amber to send the janitor team in.’
‘Who are they?’
‘The clean-up people. We’ll fly them over.’
‘What about Gertch. He’s still in his wheelchair with his brains spread across the wall.’
‘They’ll handle him too, don’t worry. Let me speak with Ishi-san would you?’
Just what mountains had to be moved with the Swiss authorities by her and Ishi in the middle of the night I didn’t ask but true to her word, within the hour Claire called back to say the janitors were on their way in an RAF transport plane.
‘How many?’
‘Three guys. Can you meet them at Buochs airfield? It’s a military base on the other side of the lake from you.’
‘Sure. Do they have much equipment?’
‘One case apiece. They’re flying from Northolt. ETA Buochs 0630.’
‘Okay, make sure I can get through airside onto the tarmac will you. I’ll be driving a Bentley.’
‘Fine, as long as you’re not charging us for car hire, darling.’
‘It’s Acton’s. I’ll try not to break it.’ I gave her the registration number.
‘Angus, we want Carvill and Acton returned to London with the janitors, okay?’
‘They’ll look forward to that.’
‘Get the janitors to take care of them. They’ll know how to handle it. And don’t touch anything. Don’t touch Gertch. Just leave it to them.’
‘Okay.’
‘Oh and Angus, best you come over too. You’ll need to be debriefed. It could take a while.’
I agreed reluctantly and returned to the living room. The military intelligence people had handcuffed Carvill and Acton and placed them under guard. It was interesting to observe th
ese two. Normally, you would typecast them as alpha males: confident men with an air of authority and expecting others to do their bidding. Now, both were subdued. Carvill sat staring out of the French windows watching as the moonlight cast a silvery light across the lake, lost in his own world. I was reminded of when we’d looked out at Big Lizzie, the Royal Navy’s brand new aircraft carrier HMS Queen Elizabeth, as she’d headed out for her sea trials just a few weeks before. Pride of the fleet he’d declared her. He was a skilled deceiver, I’d give him that.
Acton was different altogether. As might be expected from a politician, he maintained a façade of self-righteousness. From time to time he would turn to one of us and, bristling with indignation, deny all knowledge of his own wrongdoing without offering a shred of evidence in his defence.
‘Just shut up, Acton. I’ve had enough of you,’ Carvill said in the end. But it didn’t make any difference.
‘We’re returning these two to London,’ I said to the unit’s commander. ‘You’ll get confirmation from your own people soon.’
There wasn’t much more Ishi or I could do. We’d covered Gertch’s body with a sheet and left everything else as it was.
At five o’clock I left and went out to meet the janitors. A young military policeman greeted me at the gate of the airfield. He checked the car’s number plate and asked for my ID. I told him my passport was in my hotel in Lucerne but he let me through anyway. The plane they’d sent was one of the RAF’s BAe146s. I watched it come in low through a pass in the mountains and land just as the sun came up. Customs and Immigration officers boarded first followed by a Swiss Air Force officer and ten minutes later the janitors emerged each carrying a large aluminium suitcase. The men and their luggage only just fitted into the Bentley. One of them was Benedict Wood. The others were hard-looking men dressed in dark blue coveralls and Ben Wood looked out of place in his business suit. Back at the villa they exchanged muted greetings with their Swiss counterparts who then departed taking a still shocked Gudrun with them and leaving two officers to liaise with our janitors.