Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  Someone miraculously found a chap in the South of France who was completely familiar with the Bank layout, and also knew the access codes. He was Shanghaied and sent down into the abyss – under the strongest protest I understand – to open Pandora’s Box.

  In short, we have access to the gold.’

  Ross was astounded.

  ‘I'm at a loss for words Colonel. I am amazed that so much could have been done in so little time.’

  ‘Clearly, you don’t know Dame Ann that well!’

  Ross acknowledged his comment with a grin and continued.

  ‘So, it just remains for the rescue team to bring up the treasure and transfer it to the helicopters?’

  ‘Actually, it's not as simple as that. The entire vault is now flooded.’

  Ross was undeterred.

  ‘I understand that the military teams responsible for the extraction have trained for such an eventuality. In fact I observed their training yesterday.’

  The Colonel was grim.

  ‘No doubt they are well organised, but are they prepared for the actual site. The water is filthy and unsanitary – visibility is just a few metres. No end of detritus is floating around – including human remains. However, the real problem is the distance from the vault to the access window. We've measured it as one hundred and sixty five paces and some steps. It takes a man five minutes to carry a twenty-eight pound weight up that distance and is exhausting – SAS trained or not. We need an alternative gold-bar transference system. And I think we've got it!

  There's a lift shaft at the entrance to the vault, specifically designed and installed to carry in the heavy gold. This shaft leads up to the roof and a corridor leading to our window – bingo!

  All we needed to do was rig up a generator with a pulley system, and haul the lift up and down as required. The lift is stressed to one thousand pounds, so can take forty bars. We’ll strengthen it anyway! All we do then is transfer the bars by trolley to the window and haul them up to the choppers via another pulley. It's a bit ‘Heath Robinson’ but it will work. We've tried it already. Your boys can fish out the bars, and our sappers will get it up to the roof.

  Will you tell Mr Castle or shall I?’

  Ross was impressed. So much had been achieved in so little time. British ingenuity was truly amazing and impressive. Perhaps the nation would get out of the hole in which it found itself.

  ‘Thank you Colonel. I'm due to meet with him later today. I’ll fill him in. Also, could your men clear out some of the shit and human remains from the area? It’ll help a lot.’

  Colonel Perry sat back and sighed.

  ‘Ok, I’ll arrange that. I only hope it's all worth it. And if they don’t get the gold out quickly, the flood waters may cause so much structural damage that the ingots could be entombed forever. It's a race against time.’

  Ross left the office with this warning ringing in his ears. The lift out wasn’t due to start until the twenty-fifth – and that was ten days hence. Why was she waiting so long? The rain would stop by tomorrow – so what was the delay for? She must be aware of the urgency. In any case, he'd let Castle know of the dangers first hand at the meeting later in the day. And perhaps he could discover the real reason for the hold up.

  Castle knew already.

  ***

  Richard Castle was in no mood for suggestions regarding timetabling from Ross Bryant.

  ‘I suggest Lieutenant, that you get your arse out to Guernsey and make sure that the security arrangements for the storage are in order. Good day!’

  Flea freshly in his ear, Ross took the lift down to the travel section and booked a flight to Guernsey for the next morning. The KLM flight used to go via Birmingham, but no more, so it was a four hour trip via Amsterdam. There was a flight at 6.35pm, so he booked it and travelled out to the airport in good time. He made an appointment to speak with a senior official of Barclays Bank in St Peter Port with a view to visiting the temporary resting place of the British Gold Reserves.

  The trip went smoothly enough, and after a quiet night at a modest hotel, Ross met with Sir Stephen Burgess at 10am the following morning – the sixteenth of January.

  Ann Fletcher had spoken to Sir Stephen directly, and it became clear that she was a customer of the bank and was held in high regard. The banker was keen to keep Dame Ann happy, so had agreed to store the three hundred and ten tonnes of gold for as long as necessary and at no charge. After all, Guernsey was part of the UK, and but for the Grace of God, would have gone under with the rest of it.

  Sir Stephen had decided that because of the temporary nature of the arrangement, it would present too complicated a scenario to transfer the gold into banking premises. Therefore, it was decided to store the gold at a bonded strong room at the airport. This would make life so much easier – and the facility was as secure as the bank in any case.

  Ross requested a site visit and Sir Stephen despatched an underling to escort him to the airport.

  The facility was indeed impressive, but Ross had several questions to ask before he was satisfied:

  ‘Who has access to this building?’ he demanded.

  ‘Sir Stephen, his deputy and Dame Ann are the only three key holders. Only they will know the entry codes and combinations, which will be reset every twenty four hours by Sir Stephen’s deputy and messaged to Dame Ann by secure cypher. The deputy will be solely responsible for access to and closure of the strong room.’

  Ross continued.

  ‘And physical security?’

  ‘We have engaged a local security firm to patrol day and night for the duration of the delivery and storage. At any one time, eight armed men will guard the area. As you can see, the strong room lies within its own walled compound, which in turn lies within the airport boundary. There is barbed wire, alarm systems, searchlights and patrolling dogs. It couldn’t be any more secure.’

  ‘How will the gold get inside?’ Ross was covering every aspect of the operation.

  ‘The inner compound is accessible enough for a helicopter to land just outside, and the boxes can be transferred to pallets directly.’

  Ross was still not satisfied.

  ‘Who will operate the pallet trolleys?’

  The clerk was growing impatient by now, but kept his cool.

  ‘The security firm is training up its own men. Keeping it in the family, so to speak.’

  ‘Will any of the personnel involved be aware of what they are dealing with?’

  The banker hesitated briefly:

  ‘I'm not sure. I shouldn’t think so, but the weight of the boxes and the heightened security will give them some idea. But these people are used to dealing with valuable cargoes. It's highly unlikely that they will have any nefarious motives.’

  Ross contradicted him.

  ‘Clearly you know and that's an unnecessary breach of security! US$25 billion dollars is plenty of motive for me! Is there any way we can restrict their movements during the operation?’

  The escort was incredulous.

  ‘What? For a month? What do you suggest we do – lock them up!’

  ‘I'm not suggesting anything, but with so much at stake I'm not prepared to allow any loophole to open. I’ll deal with this issue. Apart from that I'm almost satisfied. Thank you. Perhaps you can give me a lift to the departure lounge; I've got a 2pm flight to Brussels. Please thank Sir Stephen, and inform him that I will be in touch.’

  The young banker dropped Ross at departures and shook hands before driving back to work. Ross caught his flight and reached his office by 7pm. He sat and wrote out a lengthy report for Richard Castle, endorsing the Guernsey security arrangements. He added only two recommendations:

  That an armed platoon of regular British troops should be deployed to the airfield, and patrol outside the perimeter of the strong room compound on a twenty-four hour basis.

  That a firm of European private detectives be employed to fully research the Guernsey security company and positively vet all employees. In addition, the
y should track the movements of all personnel involved for the duration of the operation.

  Richard Castle sanctioned these suggestions and instructed Ross to make the necessary arrangements. He had the authority.

  Castle discussed Bryant’s progress briefly with Dame Ann to confirm the permission granted.

  ‘Yes, Richard, that's fine. It won't interfere an iota with our plan. Guernsey is irrelevant – a red herring – so Bryant can do what he likes. But he's thorough, I’ll give him that.’

  ***

  The final part of Ross’s jigsaw was to check out the freighter to be used by Castle to sanitize and transfer the gold to Guernsey. He was informed that HMS Richmond – a Type 23 Frigate – would escort the freighter at all times and be in visual contact throughout the operation. He made a note to speak to the Captain over the next few days and discuss tactics.

  It also came to his notice that Dame Ann had personally arranged for the freighter to be leased via a yard in Rotterdam, and this intrigued Ross. Why was she bothering with such details. It merited further investigation, and so he arranged for a car and drove off to the port to visit the ship in question.

  He arrived in Rotterdam late on the sixteenth, and checked into yet another modest hotel in the Prins Alexander district. He retrieved the telephone number he had been given, and rang the KoopMarine Shipping office on Schiedamsedijk to arrange an appointment to view the vessel in the morning. He explained who he was and whom he represented, and the receptionist rapidly passed him through to a Mijnheer van Blick who was most co-operative and helpful. He had been warned that Ross would be calling – and was to be as accommodating and unobstructive as possible. An appointment was made for 10am the following morning – the seventeenth – and Ross contemplated a pleasant visit.

  Martin van Blick was a charming fellow and answered all of Ross’s questions smoothly and confidently – a little too smoothly for Ross’s liking. Was he this familiar with all company leases? Ross doubted it.

  He discovered that KoopMarine was a subsidiary of a South African shipping and cargo enterprise based in Cape Town, and was being leased at short notice to the UKRA free of charge. The Chief Executive in Cape Town was keen to make a ‘small contribution’ to the British disaster effort. As it happened, the ship – the MV Pretoria Queen – had been between contracts and had just finished a period in dry dock for minor upgrades. It was only fifteen years old, fully certified, two hundred and eighty feet long, had a large slewing crane on the portside, was in excellent condition – and most importantly had a heli-deck capable of taking a fully laden Chinook. It was perfect for the job, available and free. What could possibly be amiss?

  ‘It was all too bloody perfect,’ thought Ross.

  ‘Can I view the ship?’ queried Ross.

  ‘By all means, Mijnheer. Shall we go now? The Captain awaits us, as does a car.’

  More bloody suave co-operation. They were certainly pulling out all the stops. But, what were they hiding?

  They reached the Pretoria Queen after about twenty minutes and boarded promptly, met by a beaming skipper who, too, was eager to please. He gave the visitors tea followed by a tour of the vessel. He showed them the hold where the pallets and boxes for future gold transfer were stored – although he was – at present – unaware of the cargo. There was also a quantity of crushed stone in the forward hold – which was for onward transport to South Africa – which was the next port of call for the ship.

  The Captain was aware that he must be on station off the Isle of Wight by the twenty-fourth of January, and had received instructions from HMS Richmond for the rendezvous.

  All in all, everything seemed to be in order. The ship was perfect for the task – but Ross had a nagging itch which he could not explain. He reported back to Castle that all was well with the ship, but kept his doubts to himself.

  By the morning of the seventeenth of January, Ross had completed his initial tour and had reported back to Richard Castle as ordered.

  There was nothing to do now but to monitor proceedings and ensure that attention to detail was paramount.

  Dame Ann would expect nothing less.

  ***

  And of course, she wouldn’t.

  Richard Castle had spent the night with Ann after Patric Silver had been dismissed, having seen her safely home to her plush apartment in a Brussels suburb. An overnight security guard would be on station until dawn, when Patric would pick her up for another day in the office. Richard Castle appeared at her flat around midnight.

  They discussed Operation Auric at length.

  Castle reminded her of Bryant’s warning regarding the flooding and potential irretrievable damage to the Bank of England – and the possibility that delay might ruin everything.

  Ann knew that she couldn’t bring G-Day forward from the twenty-fifth of January. There were two vital elements of her scheme that needed to be resolved before the extraction could commence. Castle was unaware of these parts of her plan and Ann wasn’t about to enlighten him.

  ‘No, Richard, we cannot bring the operation forward. For a start it's still bloody raining and secondly, the ship cannot sail from Rotterdam until the twenty-third – something about certification I'm told. So we are committed to the twenty-fifth. We have no choice.

  Now, to change the subject a fraction, just go over the numbers again for me. I want to be certain in my mind that we've missed nothing.’

  ‘For God’s sake Ann, we've been through this dozens of times.’

  Ann Fletcher reacted sharply.

  ‘Do not ever use that tone with me, Richard. Never forget who I am and the position I hold. Now, just go over the bloody figures and then we can get some sleep.’

  Richard Castle took his rebuke like a man, but made another mental note that this woman’s personality was incredibly unpredictable and self-centred, bordering on megalomania.

  ‘Of course, Ann. At today’s market price, a Troy ounce of gold was selling for US$2222 – a numerically pleasing value. The price has rocketed since our economy crashed. A gold bar weighs twenty-eight pounds – that is 448 ounces. Consequently, plus or minus a few dollars a bar of gold today is worth one million US dollars.

  We have three hundred and ten metric tonnes belonging to the UK in the Bank of England – I’ll discount the 4500 tonnes of other people’s gold – which gives us approximately 683,000 pounds weight – which in turn equates to roughly 24,000 bars of gold. A Chinook helicopter can carry around 40,000 lbs of cargo, which equates to approximately seventeen sorties – let's call it twenty four to be safe. At one thousand bars per day brought to the surface – and I'm assured that it is possible - it's only forty per hour – it will take approximately twenty four days or sorties to extract our gold – let's call it a month to allow for minor contingencies.

  At some stage along the road, one of the sorties will be diverted and our share divided up. Quite honestly, the eighty bars coming my way is ample. I've already made arrangements for its conversion to cash at about fifty percent, which still gives me forty million dollars – plenty for my trifling needs. How about you?

  ‘Poor deluded fool,’ thought Ann, ‘he always thought too small.’

  She nodded sagely and outwardly concurred with Castle.

  ‘Yes, my two hundred and forty bars will top up my funds adequately enough and I will continue in government for a year or two, just for appearances sake – and then hit the beach.’

  Castle laughed.

  ‘What can go wrong? The Chinook crew will deliver our bars to Volkel, thinking that it is a consignment to demonstrate the fact that we've been successful. They’ll fly away none the wiser. It's fool proof. The waiting transport will enable the eight crates to vanish into thin air – since I’ll be driving it!’

  Ann smiled wickedly.

  ‘Perfect,’ she thought.

  Day 32

  Wednesday 15th January

  San Diego, California

  The Townsend family, Les, Sue, Matt, Lynne, Marie and
Bracken the dog, had been through the mill.

  Les had saved the family, including Chloe Fletcher – Dame Ann Fletcher’s daughter, and Chris Townsend, by using his basement as a snow shelter. He had spent years preparing it for an imagined Nuclear Holocaust, but the snow came first and the bunker proved extremely efficient, and preserved all of their lives whilst most others perished.

  Andrew Brady, Chloe’s putative father, and Ross Bryant had been despatched by Dame Ann to rescue Chloe, and after a few hair-raising mishaps, restored the young woman to her mother in Brussels.

  Brady and Chloe had crossed swords with Ann Fletcher very soon after their enforced reunion, and were now estranged. Dame Ann was actively searching for all three, including her boyfriend.

  She had also attempted to dispose of the Townsends.

  Murder them in fact.

  However, she was foiled by the security services at the last moment and the stunned family were flown out of her reach by the US authorities in American military transport to the United States. That was on the eleventh of January, just four days ago and the entire family were still in a state of shock.

  The flight to Washington was pleasant enough, and they were met by a charming young man, who arranged for food and accommodation at an airport hotel. The next morning they were flown to San Diego via Atlanta, where they changed planes, and now sat in yet another motel awaiting further instructions. They had their passports and much of the five thousand US dollars handed to them in Frankfurt. What they didn’t have, was any idea of what the future might hold.

  Everything they held dear was gone. Their homes, their extended families – their lives back in the UK. However, they read the local US newspapers with interest and realised that they were the extremely fortunate ones, as millions had died back in Britain.