The Dying Diplomats Club

by Matthew Benns

  ‘Your instincts are spot on, Sergeant,’ said Nick sternly. ‘Detective Inspector, I think you had better get dressed. I have a feeling we will be needing your services shortly. Perhaps you could slip in the front door and await my signal.’

  ‘Very good,’ said Cleaver, getting heavily to his feet. ‘What’s the signal?’

  ‘You’ll know it when you hear it,’ said Nick. ‘Sergeant, I suggest you stick to the protocol set out by the Prime Minister and make sure no one gets in or out. Especially out.’

  Nick turned to go and looked at the suddenly anxious faces of the security officers. ‘Not long to go now,’ he said. ‘Come on, Baxter.’

  CHAPTER 17

  Gold!

  ‘Good lord, I haven’t had a drink all year,’ sighed Nick as he walked back into the main house with Baxter. ‘Perhaps I had better make a martini. All these interruptions mean that I keep setting them down and never finishing them. Very frustrating.’

  ‘In all fairness, darling, the year is barely more than an hour old,’ said La Contessa. ‘But if you’re making one I wouldn’t say no.’

  The guests had broken into groups, discussing the Prime Minister’s revelation about the buried gold as they sat around the dining table, sipping wine and nibbling away at cheese and biscuits that Patricia had brought out on two wooden boards from the kitchen. She was now standing behind her husband with her hand on his shoulder. To their right, Sir Aiden was gesturing with a straight palm as he explained his reasoning for silencing the report to a sceptical Karen. Armand and Anne-Sophie had their heads together, almost touching, as they spoke quietly.

  Brett wore the dreamy look of a man whose fingertips had fleetingly brushed his wildest imaginings made real. Gold. Brett’s lover, Charlotte, was listening in open-mouthed incredulity to a monologue lecture being delivered by Taylor. ‘So I was thinking that if I am taking silver as a remedy for antibacterial infections, like Nick said earlier, surely taking gold would be even better,’ she said, as her husband, still bound in the chair opposite her, shook his head. ‘But before that, I’m going to do a kambo session. What do you think, La Contessa? Want to join in?’

  ‘Oh, I like trying new things,’ said La Contessa, looking over the table at the two women who were chatting across Nick’s empty place. He walked around the table and handed her a fresh martini. ‘Thank you, darling. Happy New Year. Now what is kambo?’

  ‘Oh, it’s totally lit. I’ve had it a couple of times and it’s the perfect thing after a night like this. YOLO right?’ she said as Hayden muttered something under his breath from his seat next to La Contessa and rolled his eyes. ‘Hayden would never try it. He gets salty when I try to give him the tea. Like, I tell him it’s GOAT, the dream dope for an old man and he’s, like, what? You know what I mean?’

  ‘Err, I think so,’ said La Contessa. ‘What is it?’

  ‘It’s a purge used by indigenous tribes in South America,’ enthused the social influencer, warming to her topic. ‘They’ve used it as a kind of rainforest vaccine for ever. It is secreted from the skin of the giant monkey frog.’

  ‘So first you have to catch a giant monkey frog somewhere in the Amazon,’ said La Contessa, warming to the notion.

  ‘Yes, and then you have to cause it some distress so that it secretes the toxin.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t like that. Poor frog.’

  ‘It’s not so bad: they normally bind its arms and legs and place it near a fire to freak it out. Then when it secretes the toxin from its skin they collect it on little sticks like this,’ said Taylor, suddenly rummaging in her silver clutch. She pulled out a small Ziplock bag with two short, sharpened sticks inside. ‘This costs a fortune but it is so good for you. Not only does it purge your body but it also purges your mind. It’s better than therapy.’

  ‘Madonna mia, after a night like tonight we probably all need some therapy,’ exclaimed La Contessa with a theatrical sigh. ‘Maybe we should give it a go.’

  Taylor’s face lit up and she jumped to her feet as Charlotte said, ‘Actually, I really don’t think that’s such a good idea. There is absolutely no documented proof, scientific evidence or even a peer-reviewed study into the safety of kambo. Let alone its so-called benefits.’

  Taylor had circled the table with one of the tiny sticks in her hand. ‘I really think this would be the perfect thing for you right now,’ she said to her husband. ‘It will help you.’

  ‘I could really do with a drink, love,’ he said. ‘I thought you’d never ask. I’m certainly not feeling the best being tied up like this.’

  ‘I know there are lots of things you would like but this is what you need,’ Taylor said, holding up the stick. ‘Remember when I gave you that Bach flower remedy and how good it made you feel? Or the aromatherapy that made you sleep?’

  Hayden nodded at the memory. ‘You really think this will help me now? I reckon a Berocca would do the trick. Put a little zing back in my thing.’

  ‘I will just prick you with this stick and in ten minutes you will feel reborn,’ she said as the casino mogul sceptically held out his hand. She jabbed it with the stick.

  For a moment there was nothing and then Hayden went pale, sweat breaking out on his head as his body shook with an instant onslaught of fever.

  ‘It feels like going from absolutely fine to the full effects of the coronavirus in around ninety seconds,’ said Taylor.

  Hayden groaned as his face started to contort and blow up.

  ‘They call this part frog face,’ his wife explained encouragingly as he gasped for breath.

  ‘Kim Kardashian paid a fortune to achieve that look,’ observed La Contessa. ‘Are you sure this is safe?’

  ‘I’ve had it loads of times. It’s a wonderful purging experience,’ said Taylor. ‘It’s the most painful, awful thing you will ever go through and afterwards you feel fantastic.’

  ‘A bit like Nick the day after a hangover,’ said La Contessa, as Hayden squirmed on his chair.

  ‘The worst part is the nausea,’ said Taylor, grabbing a Champagne bucket from the table just in time to catch a projectile vomit of the evening’s meal that exploded from Hayden’s mouth. He staggered to his feet, eyes peering terrified through bloated lids, and stumbled out onto the verandah and into the bushes. ‘Followed by the most shocking diarrhoea.’

  ‘Perhaps we should have untied his hands,’ observed La Contessa as a loud groan emitted from the garden. The two Arabian oryx looked up curiously from the grass they were grazing on, the yellow light thrown from the dining room casting a shadow that accentuated their long, needle-sharp, slightly curved horns, before they contentedly returned to chewing the lawn. ‘How long does it last?’

  ‘Normally it’s over in about fifteen minutes,’ said Taylor. ‘The longest fifteen minutes of your life, but afterwards you feel wonderful. Totally empowered because your body has gone into a febrile state, sort of like a super power, to fight off the toxin. I had really big issues with my father growing up and after my first kambo treatment they were all gone. Completely forgotten.’

  ‘Clearly,’ said Charlotte archly. ‘Which explains why you married a man old enough to be your father.’

  ‘Oh, that doesn’t mean anything,’ said Taylor. ‘We are connected on a more spiritual level. I think he will be so happy and content after this treatment; it will bring us closer together.’

  ‘I wouldn’t be so sure of that,’ said Charlotte. ‘If his heart survives the stress that is.’

  ‘Oh,’ the young woman said, looking suddenly troubled. ‘I hadn’t thought of that. Do you think he will be all right?’

  ‘It might be an idea to check,’ the doctor said, before adding to the young woman’s back as she hurried into the garden, ‘Take some tissues. Shout out if there is a problem.’

  ‘That was a little unexpected!’ said La Contessa. ‘Rather in keeping with the whole evening.’

  ‘I saw a man suffer from a scorpion sting like that only slower,’ said Armand quietly. ‘We were
pinned down by enemy fire and he was trapped in a gully ten metres away. We could not get to him until after nightfall. He lived, but it was horrible.’

  ‘You have seen so many dreadful things, Monsieur Dieudonne,’ said the Foreign Minister. ‘But even you must be surprised by the events this evening.’

  ‘You mean that?’ he scoffed, nodding towards the bushes outside where Hayden’s groans could still be faintly heard. ‘I have seen much worse.’

  ‘No, Armand, I think she means the two murders we have witnessed tonight,’ his wife said. ‘Even a soldier must be surprised when guests are killed at dinner.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said Karen. ‘I feel we have allowed this all to drag on for far too long and we need to bring in the relevant authorities.’

  ‘I couldn’t agree more, Minister,’ said Sir Aiden stiffly. Turning to Monaro on his left he added, ‘Blackmail, two killings – I think it is time to draw a line under your dangerous little experiment, Robert, and call in the police.’

  ‘Nonsense,’ said Nick brightly, standing back slightly from the table and surveying the guests over the rim of his martini glass. ‘We are at the very nub of the issue.’

  ‘Oh, darling, are we really?’ said La Contessa enthusiastically. ‘I thought so too. What nub are we at?’

  ‘The gold,’ said Nick. ‘That’s what the blackmail is all about.’

  ‘But surely we have already sorted that out,’ said Sir Aiden curtly. ‘Robert has already explained how it was buried in the desert in Iraq, where it remains, to the best of my knowledge, undiscovered to this day.’

  ‘Hmm, the best of your knowledge may not be the best knowledge there is,’ said Nick, as an ashen-faced Hayden reappeared in the verandah doorway, his tethered hands clutching his unbuttoned trousers. Taylor hovered by his side, looking concerned and clearly uncertain what to do. He shuffled over to his chair and slumped down.

  ‘Perhaps I could get you some water,’ said La Contessa kindly, pouring him a glass. The ice cubes tinkled enticingly. ‘That was a bit of a shock.’

  ‘Hmmph,’ mumbled the casino mogul, taking the glass in two shaking hands. He sipped the water and looked at La Contessa candidly. ‘Maybe it’s the age difference. I thought it would be all right but to be honest half the time I can’t even understand what she’s saying,’ he said, glancing across the table at his wife, who was busy reapplying her make-up. ‘I may have made a total arse of myself.’

  ‘In fairness, she did say the kambo treatment was a form of mental purge,’ said La Contessa. ‘Although I don’t think this was exactly what she had in mind.’

  ‘So, back to the gold,’ said Nick, drawing everyone’s attention back to him as he began to pace the rug parallel to the table between the kitchen and the sitting room. Baxter lay near the entrance to the hallway, his eyes following Nick as he walked. ‘The last we heard of the gold officially, or rather I should say unofficially, was that it was buried by Robert and his two able lieutenants, Charlie and Alexander, in the Iraqi desert years ago on the orders of Sir Aiden.’

  ‘And there it remains,’ repeated Sir Aiden stubbornly.

  ‘I am afraid not,’ said Nick quietly. The steely tenor of his voice carried the weight of what he was about to say. ‘The gold is here.’

  Monaro seemed to shrink in his chair as a collective gasp went around the table.

  ‘What do you mean here?’ demanded Sir Aiden. ‘Here in Australia? But how? I don’t understand . . .’

  Nick waited for him to quieten down and then fixed his gaze on the Prime Minister. ‘I took a little trip around the estate earlier,’ he said. ‘And I saw the cage that the two Arabian oryx just there outside the window were transported in.’

  ‘So you know,’ said Monaro.

  ‘Yes, so I know,’ said Nick. ‘Absolutely brilliant. Tell me, how did you manage to get to the gold, recover it and have it made into a cage without anyone noticing?’

  ‘Charlie and Alex went back and got it. They bribed a local blacksmith and I arranged for the breeding pair to be shipped out here,’ said Monaro. ‘It was actually amazingly easy once I put a Prime Ministerial seal on things.’

  ‘But I was here when those two creatures were delivered,’ spluttered Sir Aiden. ‘The cage was black – shiny black steel.’

  ‘Baked on enamel paint I am afraid, Sir Aiden,’ said Nick. ‘The ends of the bars where they have been cut show the cage is in fact made of solid gold. I imagine, Robert, you have been out in the garage sawing off bars and melting them down in your Jamie Oliver pizza oven to burn off the paint.’

  ‘Yes. Patricia thought I was outside pottering around on my old MGB to get my mind off the stress of the day,’ said Monaro. ‘But I was working on the gold.’

  ‘And then fencing it through Hayden Hill’s casino operation,’ said Nick, nodding at Hayden, who was too washed out to respond. ‘Which explains why he is here. Because he is another one who knows your little secret.’

  ‘But wait a minute,’ said La Contessa. ‘Surely someone would notice the Prime Minister of Australia strolling into a casino in Sydney with a gold bar and saying, “I’ll take that in a million dollars’ worth of chips, thanks.”’

  ‘Spot on, my Ischia interlocutor,’ agreed Nick. ‘But no one would pay any attention to a dodgy old bookie strolling in with a gold bar tucked under the form guide in his brown bag, hey Brett?’

  ‘Less of the old, Nick, if you don’t mind,’ said Brett. ‘And for once you will be surprised to hear that it’s not so dod—’

  ‘That’s enough!’ a voice commanded from the doorway. Every pair of eyes swung to see the black-clad figure of former SAS operative Trevor Saunders standing in the entrance to the hallway. Behind him, the ice carving dripped. He was aiming his Heckler & Koch SFP9 pistol straight at Nick’s chest. ‘Put your hands where I can see them.’

  CHAPTER 18

  A Bullet for Baxter

  ‘Nobody move,’ snarled Saunders, waving his pistol at Nick to return to the table and sit down. ‘I thought you lot would never get around to the gold. I’ve been sitting up there watching and listening to you dribble on for hours.’

  Baxter let out a low growl from his position beside the door. It was a lot of distance to cover, more than four metres, and his growl had warned the highly trained soldier.

  ‘Baxter! No!’ shouted Nick but it was too late. The beagle launched as Saunders brought the gun around and fired. The bullet caught the dog in mid-air, scorching a line across his head and flinging him backwards onto the rug. He landed and whimpered, blood seeping into the luxurious Axminster carpet.

  ‘Baxter! Oh no,’ cried La Contessa, jumping to her feet.

  ‘Sit down!’ shouted Saunders menacingly. ‘Or you’ll get what he got.’

  La Contessa was preparing to argue when Nick caught her eye. ‘Better do as he says, darling,’ he said placatingly. Baxter lay on the carpet, not moving. La Contessa sank back into her seat, staring daggers at Saunders. He grinned back at her, looking a lot like an unshaven Jason Statham on a very bad day. He was fit and dangerous.

  ‘Saunders, what are you doing?’ asked Monaro. ‘You were put up there to protect people, not bushwhack them.’

  ‘We trusted you, Robert high-and-bloody-mighty Monaro,’ Saunders sneered back, the pistol now ranged on the Prime Minister’s chest. ‘But what did you do for your comrades in arms? The regiment? Nothing. You had a fortune in gold and you hid it in the desert. You and your two lackeys.’

  ‘Is that what happened?’ said Monaro. ‘Did you kill Charlie and Alex?’

  ‘No, I didn’t need to – but I might finish the job with you,’ said Saunders. ‘I’m here for the gold. Even if some of it is still out there in the garage as you claim, the bars you have already converted must be in a bank account somewhere. Give me the details.’

  ‘Trevor, it’s not like that,’ said Monaro. ‘It’s not what you think.’

  ‘Oh really? You expect me to believe that you and Charlie and Alex have not been squirre
lling away the money while your fellow soldiers are reviled for what happened later in Afghanistan? Many can’t find work and others can’t find the strength to go on. Those boys need that money. Now give it to me.’

  ‘Unfortunately, Mr Saunders, it’s not quite that simple,’ said Nick smoothly, swivelling in his chair so that he was facing the former soldier square on. The pistol levelled at Nick’s chest. Out of the corner of his eye, Nick saw Baxter groggily start to move. ‘You see, the Prime Minister has been tinkering away with all that gold in the garage as you heard. But not for his own benefit.’

  ‘Rubbish,’ said Saunders. ‘He’s a selfish prick. Always has been out for his own good. He’s a politician, for god’s sake. Since when did they do anything for anyone else?’

  Nick’s eyes remained on the gun as Saunders grew increasingly agitated. Baxter had rolled onto his stomach now, one eye closed from the blood running into it, but his other eye focused on the soldier in the doorway. Imperceptibly, he edged forwards.

  ‘My wife, La Contessa here,’ said Nick gesturing behind him, where she sat glowering at the former Special Forces operative, ‘did a little reconnoitring earlier and found some accounts buried away in the Prime Minister’s study.’

  Again he gestured behind the former soldier, attempting to distract the man’s steely focus and get him to point the gun elsewhere. Nick desperately did not want him to look at the dog inching along the carpet. The black hole of the barrel never pointed other than at Nick’s chest. Nick knew there were 14 rounds left in the chamber but the only one he was really worried about was the next one.

  ‘OK, so what did your little spy find out?’ asked Saunders.

  ‘She discovered the transaction records for a bank account in Robert Monaro’s name that was getting very large and regular payments from Hayden’s casino,’ said Nick.

  ‘Well, that’s what I want. Give me those details,’ said Saunders, turning the gun back on the Prime Minister. ‘Transfer the money to me now.’