Everything was the best – caviar, champagne, oysters, foie gras, fish, steaks, salads and sweets to die for. It was a truly fitting meal to celebrate their success.
Ann took the opportunity to explain the pieces of the jigsaw she had left out – purely as security measures, she swore to them.
She did not mention the murders of Leslie and Castle in Chloe’s presence, but concocted a suitable tale of bribery and corruption. Her explanation was that both had simply been handsomely paid off to disappear forever. Both had jumped at the chance to make a million dollars.
‘I’ll start at the beginning,’ said Ann, ‘and if you have a question, please ask – but it's straightforward enough.’
She detailed her original idea to steal some of the gold lying beneath the vaults of the Bank of England, but then realised that there was a much bigger opportunity staring her in the face. So, she flew secretly to Cape Town in South Africa and put a proposal to an old beau – Dirk Koopman – whose avarice overcame any doubts he may have had.
‘You see,’ said Ann, ‘the most difficult problem I had was how to turn the gold – three hundred and ten tons of it – into cash. How could I find someone corrupt, yet financially capable enough who would take the gold and give me a fair price? I couldn’t go to conventional dealers – they would expose me in a heartbeat. I considered going to one of the old Soviet ‘-istans’ and trying my luck, but the logistics were just too difficult. There was also the major risk of a double cross.
So I had to find someone who could take the gold – almost US$30 billion dollars’ worth of gold – and dispose of it profitably and secretly. That's when I thought of Dirk Koopman.
Dirk is hugely wealthy, but short of hard cash. He owns and runs an enormous global shipping and industrial empire – property rich but cash poor. He was ready to take a gamble and make some real money. By disposing of the gold to him, he was presented with the problems of resale, whilst I sprinted away with my modest cut. He has absolutely no idea where I am now. It's perfect!’
Suzi interjected at this point.
‘But US$300 million doesn’t seem a great deal for all of this gold, Ann’
Chloe smiled and spoke.
‘No Suzi, not three hundred million – mother sold the gold to Koopman for two billion dollars – which now lies safely in a Swiss bank.’
Suzi whistled as the figure and comprehension sunk in.
‘Brilliant, Ann! A stroke of genius. Christ; two billion dollars. Even we can't spend that much,’ she declared.
‘It's the tip of an iceberg, darling,’ purred Ann, ‘at only five percent, the interest alone is one hundred million per annum. Even we’ll have trouble spending that. I've arranged for full one third shares to be deposited in separate accounts and Wills to be drawn up forthwith, naming the others as beneficiaries and executors.’
Ann handed over envelopes with bank debit cards, credit cards, cheques, i-phones, tablets and Will documents to both women.
‘Our money is mostly in Zurich, but is also in New York, Madrid, Rio, Tokyo and Hong Kong where each bank detailed in the envelope carries ten million dollars as an interim arrangement. It gives us the ability to be flexible in our travelling arrangements if things hot up – and they might.’
Chloe spoke again.
‘What happens when the Swiss inspectors discover the truth?’
‘Well that should be on the third of March. Until then we are safe. But no one is going to look for us here - especially not with these identities. The Venezuelans are discrete – particularly where money and bribery are concerned. All bankers protect their clients unto death – so we have no worries on that front. In fact, I am flying to New York at the end of the month to retrieve all of our remaining banking codes and documentation. I’ll check all of the paperwork and re-deposit it until we all get there. We shouldn’t carry so much around with us - just the normal credit and debit cards – each of us for a different bank – and our new driving licences and passports.
I need to tell you something else.
You may have noticed a car following us today from the airport. I've engaged a local security firm to provide very discrete personal protection whilst we are in Venezuela – so don’t be alarmed if you spot a ‘tail’. As a matter of fact, it might be better if you met your personal protection teams so that you know them by sight. I'll arrange that for tomorrow morning.’
‘Hell, mother, you’ve thought of everything. But as Suzi says, won't they come looking for us.? Dad certainly will.’
Ann spoke softly to Chloe about this issue, as she needed to. Her daughter had become emotionally attached to Brady, but now she must sever the ties forever. She seemed to have forgotten Chris Townsend already!
‘Chloe, I know that this is a delicate subject for you, but Andy is now firmly in the past. We agreed upon that. You knew him only for a few brief weeks and quite frankly, he has little to offer you. I thought that we had already talked this through and come to an agreement?’
Chloe listened patiently to her mother and had to admit that she was right. Chloe had considered the issue at length on the flight over, and concluded that she couldn’t have a foot in both camps. In any case, it was far too late to go back now. She'd spend the rest of her life in prison! So she had decided to compromise and step decisively into her mothers’ all-embracing arms. The money at her disposal would allow her to slowly carve a separate life away from Ann's corruptive influence.
‘I understand, mother. What you did to father was cruel and hurtful, but I understand that you’ve done it all for me. And in any case, two billion dollars can buy lots of fathers!’
Ann and Suzi chuckled loudly.
‘A chip off the old block,’ thought Ann.
However, Suzi was still puzzled about the methods involved in delivering the gold to Koopman. Ann finished the story:
‘Well, he provided the ship, and used one of his industrial iron works to smelt twenty-four thousand bars of Ferro-Tungsten. It's of a similar specific gravity to gold – that is, it weighs the same - and costs only one US dollar per ounce. Therefore, they manufactured moulds and knocked out thousands of grey coloured bars that looked and weighed like the real thing. After the real gold was extracted and landed on the Pretoria Queen, it was substituted with painted Ferro-Tungsten and flown to Guernsey, where Ross and Brady…and now my loyal Commander Silver are heroically guarding it. I wouldn't be surprised if some of the blame for the conspiracy initially fell on them. However, it won't stick. Richard Castle will get most of the blame.’
Suzi continued.
‘And the real gold?’
‘On its way to South Africa by tomorrow. The Swiss inspection is not until the fifth of March, and by then the gold will have been well and truly disposed of. In any case, that's Koopman’s problem…not ours. It's the pure beauty of the plan. Our hands are not dirtied in any way and no one can prove a single thing!’
Of course, though keeping silent, Suzi was apprehensive because she'd murdered two people!
‘I suppose using Koopman was the critical key to our success.’
Ann poured another glass of French Champagne and proposed a toast.
‘To us! Escape from the snow, obscene wealth and total fucking decadence!’
***
Ross seized the suspicious gold bar and placed it on top of the others in the crate, and rapidly responded to Private Smith’s observation.
‘That's standard procedure, Smith. They coated each bar with an anti-bacterial coating and then re-covered them to give the bars a genuine appearance. Apparently, so the boffins tell me, both layers will evaporate within a month. Come on lads, let's get done. I need a beer after all this drama.’ Ross was certainly a quick thinker, and this story convinced the squaddies in the store room.
Brady looked on in silent horror at Ross’s feeble but confident sounding explanation. He had also grasped that Ann Fletcher’s hand was in all of this. However, he kept his mouth shut until the spare crate was full, se
aled and stacked with the others. The soldiers were dismissed and the Lieutenant, Brady and Ross stood outside the locked compound.
Ross took control once more.
‘Say nothing – either of you. I'm going to speak to the chopper crew.’
Brady and Privett, who was completely oblivious, stood by Brady’s car whilst Ross approached the Chinook crew.
‘Evening lads. I'm afraid that you’ve got a nightstop. Operational reasons.’
The Chinook captain, a Wing Commander, was having none of it.
‘No way, Lieutenant. You have no jurisdiction over us. We’re off. Come on lads.’
Ross reached into his inside pocket and produced the magic wand.
‘Captain, please read this first.’
The Chinook skipper took the paper and scanned through it rapidly. He was even unhappier by now!
‘I'm not fucking amused, Lieutenant. You had better use your letter to get us transport, a fucking good hotel and some cash. And by the way, this letter is co-signed by a dead woman...I suggest you get re-authorised.’
Ross called over Lt Privett and asked him to sort out the sulking Chinook crew, which he did efficiently, arranging for a small coach to carry them to a hotel in St Peter Port. He doled out several hundred US dollars as spending money, indicating that the hotel accommodation bill would be settled by UKRA.
When finally the compound was secure, Ross indicated that Patric and Brady get into the car and they drove away to the hotel. Ross was silent for the entire journey, and only spoke again after the three men had settled with their drinks in a secluded corner of the bar.
‘I suppose you’ve realised what's going on Andy?’
Patric had been outside during the incident and was unaware of the developments.’
‘What do you mean, Ross. Has something happened?’
Ross tried to maintain his composure:
‘You can bet your life that something has fucking happened! His bloody ex-wife has pulled off the con of the century. The only consolation being that she's not around to profit!’
‘What the hell do you mean, Ross,’ begged Patric, now on the edge of his seat.
‘That bloody woman has somehow managed to swap the gold bars from London into cleverly painted replicas. Lead perhaps. The crates in the compound are worthless.’
‘Shee-it’, exploded Patric, ‘how the fuck did she do that?’
Ross shushed him.
‘Keep your voices down lads, walls have ears and all that! Well, I can only assume that the swap took place on the boat – the Pretoria Queen. All of the crew must be in on it. No wonder she used a South African vessel. They must have somehow managed to obtain over 24,000 fake bars, and that takes some organising. Someone with real power, money and influence must be in on it as well.’
‘Probably the ship’s owners. Didn’t you say that Dirk Koopman owned the Pretoria? He's certainly got the contacts,’ whispered Brady.
The three men sat in silence whilst sipping their beers.
Patric spoke first – perhaps reading the other’s thoughts.
‘What now?’
Ross answered.
‘It's clear that the gold – some three hundred tons of it, worth over US$30 billion is now just sitting on the Pretoria Queen. It is due to receive one more delivery and then sets sail for South Africa. As I see it, we have one opportunity – but three options!’
Brady and Patric listened, their minds racing.
‘Ann is dead, so her influence is now zero. Only three people outside the South African gang on board ship and Koopman, know the real story – us. The only real question is – what do we do with that information?’
Brady responded first:
‘I'm not sure if I'm completely at ease with which way this is leading, Ross.’
Ross stared him out.
‘Listen, Andy, just keep an open mind. The first and only priority is to gain access and control over the gold. We are in a prime position to do that.’
‘Hang on,’ countered Patric, ‘surely all we need to do is ring up the Prime Minister and he will order HMS Richmond to board the Pretoria – and bob’s your uncle – gold retrieved.’
‘Yes, yes, yes, of course Patric. But don’t you see another course of action. An opportunity – for us?’
The three friends fell silent again and ordered three more beers.
Ross persisted:
‘Let's theorise. Let's just say that we take that Chinook tomorrow morning with Lt Privett and a dozen of his men, and land on the Pretoria Queen. Let's just say that we three meet with the Captain and let him know quietly, that the game is up. Let's just say that if his masters don’t cooperate and cut us in – we release the soldiers waiting in the Chinook, the gold all goes back to Brussels and his boss will not be at all amused. Let's just say that we demand a cut to be paid by bank draft and just fly away. He can't afford a double-cross as he knows that we can take the ship at any time. And we've got two weeks grace – the Swiss inspection is not until the fifth. I can arrange your releases from Guernsey with my piece of magic paper.’
Brady interjected.
‘Why don’t we just take over the ship and sail away with all the gold and be done with it?’
‘Don’t get grumpy, Andy, I'm only theorising. Anyway, you can't just take gold bars into the local bank or to the local fence and cash it in. For a start, one gold bar is worth a million dollars. We couldn’t possibly sell off that much gold. We don’t have the contacts. No, blackmail is the only option.’
Brady came right back at him:
‘ No it's not, Ross. We can inform the authorities and walk away!’
‘Spare me the fucking sermon, Andy. This is a bloody fantastic chance to reclaim our lives. You know damned well that the UK is finished. Why should we have to go down with it? That gold will only be frittered away on admin costs – and there's another 4500 tons of gold bars lying under Threadneedle Street in any case. Come on lads, just think about it before rejecting the idea out of hand. The old days are gone forever. Brady, you could search for Chloe; Patric, you could have a great life with Joanie – you both deserve something better. Our old lives have gone.’
Patric was the first on board.
‘You know Andy, we could get away with it. Who’s to know? Once the South Africans have transferred the funds – we just bugger off. There’ll be no suspicion. We are not involved. We merely visited the ship under Ross’s auspices to thank them. I can't see a hitch.’
Brady’s eyes narrowed.
‘How much do we ask them for?’
Day 65
Monday 17th February
Caracas – Venezuela
Mr Smith and Mr Jones had not been workshy since their evening meeting at Patric’s flat the previous week.
The two MI6 agents had been following the movements of all of the main characters in this complex and mysterious production of Dame Ann Fletcher’s.
Ann herself, Suzi Macintyre, Richard Castle, Carol Leslie, Chloe, Patric, Ross, Brady and John Stubbins had all been secretly watched and their movements recorded.
Suzi had been seen cavorting with Ann. Patric had been seen meeting with Bryant and Brady. Chloe had been seen at Ann's office and at her home.
They were slowly piecing the story together.
The discovery of Ann Fletcher and Richard Castle’s bodies at the restaurant had been a major surprise. However, manpower shortages dictated that, unfortunately, they had not had anybody present to witness Suzi killing the pair.
Nevertheless, Ann's death was a real shock and they had opted to investigate further.
What they discovered was interesting, to say the least.
With Ross, Brady and Patric out of the way in Guernsey, they were able to follow Chloe and Suzi more easily, and it was Chloe that led them to Caracas. She was not as worldly wise as Suzi, and trailing her to Madrid had been relatively simple. She was being followed in any case, and as it happened it was Mr Jones on shift, and he merely tracked
her progress through to the Caracas flight. He caught the same trains, used the same hotels and bought tickets for her connecting flights at the last minute. He discovered Chloe’s new name and reported back to Mr Smith, declining to go through to Caracas.
Mr Smith and Mr Jones discussed the matter at length and decided to pay her a visit. They required an explanation for the sudden trip to Venezuela and the change of name!
And so, the pair of spooks flew to Caracas and arrived on Sunday the sixteenth, checking into a cheap hotel, whilst they attempted to trace Chloe. They suspected serious foul play, and the attempted theft of gold by the ill-fated Mr Castle had underlined their misgivings.
Their one major error was to tell no one in their office where they were going. The remaining dregs of the SIS were involved in internecine rivalries and petty office politics leading to a vicious power struggle – so Mr Smith and Mr Jones had begun to keep their own counsel.
Mistake!
They started their search for Chloe by frequenting five star hotels, knowing Ann Fletcher’s tastes and after only three visits struck pure gold!
Mr Smith almost bumped into Suzi Mac in the foyer of the Renaissance, and it was an easy enough job to trick the receptionist into revealing her suite number. It didn’t take a brain surgeon to discover that Ann Fletcher and her daughter were in adjoining suites.
And so it was that at 7pm the two men rapped on Ann's door, and found all three women engaged in pre-dinner drinks. Two of their personal security agents stood at the MI6 agent’s shoulders.
Ann knew both men by sight, as it was her job to keep a watching brief on the SIS. Her shock was palpable – but she quickly regained her composure:
‘It's alright, Pablo, they are expected. Ah, Mr Smith, and Mr Jones. Do come in. To what do we owe the pleasure? Please, will you take a drink?’
Mr Smith and Mr Jones entered the suite, and accepted Scotch before jumping into their prepared speech.
‘Well, Dame Ann, or should I say Ms Leslie. You’ve led us a merry dance, haven’t you. They say your funeral will be a grand affair.’
Ann grimaced. Clearly, these two cocky spies knew far too much for their own good. She cut to the chase.
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 106