The Colours: A spy thriller packed with intrigue and deception

by T. M. Parris

  Fairchild didn’t answer. He was thinking about the penthouse, sitting on the terrace with Zoe drinking the man’s gin. A bright girl, a super-yacht, an informant in the wind. And now the worst possible news: the man had shown up, exactly where he was least expected.

  “What do you want me to do?” he asked.

  “Nothing,” said Rose. “Go. Leave. You’ve done enough damage already. I knew it was a mistake asking for your help. Seriously, Fairchild, you could do anything, be anywhere. Go do something else. You’re not wanted here.”

  Simple words, clearly spoken. But the feelings they prompted were harsh, turbulent, too painful to explore, too complex to express.

  Without saying a word, he got up and left.

  Chapter 46

  It started as an idea, just a what-if?. Then it became a possibility, a why-not?. Now it was a certainty and it was happening today, had to happen today. Zoe couldn’t quite believe it. She was watching herself doing these things, like it was someone else. She didn’t do stuff like this. It was dangerous. Against the law. Maybe that made her a criminal. But that didn’t seem to matter now. She’d gone so far and had to keep going. She couldn’t return. It wasn’t safe any more. Her old life, the old Zoe, was gone.

  She’d stayed in a hotel last night. Quite a nice one. Why not? She had the money, or soon would. The hotel was in France half way between Nice and Monaco. They took a note of her ID card, but on paper, unlikely anyone would take much notice of it. She paid cash. They were surprised but didn’t say anything. Zoe acted like it was the most natural thing in the world to produce a purse full of notes to pay for a hotel room. Some of these people must do it all the time. And starting from now, she’d become one of these people.

  And today she came to work. Oh, they’d be watching, she knew that. Anna too, probably, and her people. But there were other ways in through the underground car park. She used a fire exit that should have been locked but never was. Waited to check whether anyone was loitering. Went up to the top then back down the stairs, the most round-about way to get in. From there she held her head up and walked in as if it were a perfectly normal day. If it turned out that it wasn’t – if M. Bernard appeared, hovering, and invited her into his office – she’d just have to deal with whatever was coming. But M. Bernard didn’t hover or summon her in. Everyone was perfectly, unsettlingly normal.

  Zoe got to work. It would be her last day here and she had a lot to do.

  Signore Moriotto had just instructed the bank to set up a new company in Monaco. With nominees as director and secretary. Zoe was the secretary and M. Bernard, unknowingly, the director. Signore Moriotto had an address in Monaco, and Monaco residency with all the correct identification as confirmed by the secretary. Signore Moriotto had big plans. He wanted a company set up in the Seychelles where he was expecting to deposit large sums of money. But Signore Moriotto was very shy. So his name didn’t appear in any of the official paperwork for the company or its associated bank account. The nominees were dealing with all that – under his instruction, of course. In fact, the only named shareholder of the Seychelles company was Zoe herself.

  Zoe had compiled a list of companies. To be on this list you needed to fulfil certain criteria. You needed the right nominees: Zoe as secretary and M. Bernard as director. There were many of these. You also needed large sums of money in the bank accounts of offshore companies accessible through a Monaco management company. Sums so large you wouldn’t miss a little. And even if you did, it wouldn’t cause hardship. You also needed to be a criminal. This was something Zoe had thought about a lot.

  Who was a criminal and who wasn’t? This was a matter of opinion since she would shortly be one herself now. Bad people, was what Zoe meant. Not which side of the law you were. Anna had shown her that. She went back to the research she’d done earlier, the Mexican, the Russian, the Korean, plenty of others. With her nominee powers, Zoe could transfer funds from the accounts of such people to an account like Moriotto’s, for example, simply by claiming that she was doing it on request. She could also transfer funds from the Seychelles account into the Monaco account. Useful if Signore Moriotto had a requirement for cash here in Monaco. And it turned out that he did. The bulk of his holding would be in the Seychelles, but you always needed something in hand. Something liquid, acceptable and accessible. They did this kind of thing occasionally for some of their high-value clients – made substantial cash withdrawals and delivered them as requested. Sometimes to the client’s local address, sometimes elsewhere. Of course they needed very precise instructions in writing to cover themselves. Zoe had ensured that Signore Moriotto, via his representatives, had been very clear where he wanted this cash to go, and it was all duly documented.

  The fact that Signore Moriotto didn’t exist was a minor issue. Her fabricated Italian businessman was only as obscure and distant as many of their clients. He was a business mogul, she had decided. Made a lot of money in the fashion world, at least that was the legitimate side of his affairs. She knew what he looked like, too: dark hair flecked with a little grey, older, distinguished, managing to stay trim, excellent taste in clothes. At home on a yacht, in a penthouse, behind the wheel of a Ferrari.

  Between keeping on top of her regular administrative tasks, Zoe checked the balance of the various accounts. She had set up the Seychelles company the night she stayed over at work. She’d also authorised a number of transfers into that account. As soon as she had a positive balance, she requested a transfer to the account of the Monaco entity.

  All these transactions required authorisation from M. Bernard as well. This was where the blank forms came in. Pre-signed blank pieces of paper with the signatures correctly placed so that the relevant form for that entity in that domain could be printed out, and they’d be signed in the right place. No need to trouble M. Bernard himself; he was a busy man after all. Zoe ensured the paperwork was all correctly filed.

  Often a letter would be generated from the offshore entity documenting a withdrawal, redirected to the bank. Zoe kept an eye on the mail when it arrived that morning, and buried anything that looked relevant. Normally, they would put it in an envelope and forward it as instructed, but not these, not today. As for after today, well, everything would be different by then.

  How long would it take, she wondered, for these people to notice? Maybe some of them wouldn’t. It would depend who they had working for them. How carefully the accounts were scrutinised, how often the totals were checked. The thought made her heart jump in her chest, and interrupted her concentration. She could only bring herself to do this if she didn’t think too much about what might happen. She needed to stay with what probably would happen, and when. That was a lot less scary.

  She checked the Monaco account. The money had gone through. She had the paperwork ready and went down to the post room to book the security van for later that day. She stayed a while and chatted to the guys before booking the run. Early afternoon, she said. As good a time as any and (a thought she kept to herself) M. Bernard would still be at lunch.

  Withdrawing cash needed signatures and cross-checks, so she was good and early for her colleagues in the retail section. It all followed the protocol and pretty soon the modest sum of two million Euros – mere spending money, a drop in the ocean compared with the new net worth of Signore Moriotto – had been packed in cases into the security van. Zoe also had some boxes brought up from the vault. Paperwork the bank had been storing for Signore Moriotto as a favour, she said. He’d now asked for them to be delivered with the cash. She had the documentation to prove it, of course. And where did the Italian gentleman want all this delivered? To his yacht, of course. This was Monaco. This kind of thing happened all the time. The van loaded, Zoe climbed into the front with the guys – always space for a little one – and they set off down to the port.

  Chapter 47

  Signore Moriotto wasn’t, of course, there to sign for the delivery himself. Multi-millionaires had other people to do that kind of thing for
them. A named representative of the port was on hand, as agreed in advance. Zoe had the paperwork to prove it, a letter from the man himself. Once everything was stowed away and signatures in place, she sent the security van back to the office. She wasn’t going with them, she said; she had a few errands to run before returning to work. As soon as they’d gone, she got a taxi to M. Bernard’s usual lunchtime restaurant. It was a wrench to leave the yacht loaded up as it was, but she could think of no other way, and this conversation with her soon-to-be-former boss was critical.

  She was shown to his table. He’d finished lunch and was enjoying an espresso. His white tablecloth was unblemished: a proper, respectable man, when eating and in all things. He was of course surprised to see Zoe; she’d never done this before.

  “Something’s wrong? Some problem?”

  Zoe sat down. “There’s no problem at the office, if that’s what you mean.”

  His face was a picture of puzzlement. “So, may I ask why you are here?”

  Zoe made herself comfortable. She thought about ordering a drink but settled for a glass of water from the pitcher on the table.

  “I’m afraid I have to hand in my notice.”

  He looked gratifyingly shocked. He probably thought she’d stay at the bank forever.

  “Well, I’m sorry to hear that. Can I ask what your plans are?”

  “Plans? Very open at the moment. Nothing definite. I’ll be leaving straight away though. I won’t be back at the office.”

  That puzzled look again. “Well, Zoe, you may be overlooking the fact that your contract includes a notice period which you’re obliged to work.”

  “Yeah, maybe. But you’ve got bigger things to worry about than that.” Zoe managed to sound regretful. “Some of your clients are probably going to get in touch. They may be wondering what’s happened to their money. Only a bit of it. Just a little. They may be asking you to look into some recent transactions.”

  M. Bernard was looking unsettled. “I don’t really understand what you mean.”

  “Do you know how many company accounts I am named on as secretary?”

  He shook his head.

  “Over three thousand. I mean, wow! I must be such an important person to have all that power! Except I’m not, am I? Because there’s always another nominee, and often that’s you, as company director. And besides, nominees only have the power to carry out what’s specified in the management contract.”

  M. Bernard looked a little relieved. “What point are you making, Zoe? If this is some way of requesting a salary review, I’m sure —”

  “But what if a nominee did something that wasn’t in the management contract? An unauthorised transaction? Or maybe quite a lot of them?”

  M. Bernard’s relief vanished. “Well, that would be – I mean, the bank, as you know Zoe, the business of the bank—”

  “Is trust? Yeah, I know that. I’ve heard you say it often enough. Which is why you have a little bit of a problem now. Because that trust has been breached. Sorry.”

  She waited for the penny to drop.

  “By – you?” He sounded so sceptical.

  “Yes. By me.” She made her voice sympathetic, a doctor delivering an unwelcome prognosis. “You see, you need clients to trust you. But you trusted your own employees a little too much, Monsieur. All those blank authorisation forms just sitting in a filing cabinet.”

  His jaw fell. “But – I never expected…”

  “No, you didn’t. Nobody did. Nobody does. But why not? Other people do. Some people are expected to break confidences, break trust, break the law. Others aren’t. Who decided which was which?”

  M. Bernard looked angry. “If you’ve done this, you’ve betrayed the trust I put in you, Zoe! I gave you a good job, didn’t I? Treated you well? How many years have you worked for me?”

  “Yes, and that ought to be enough. I should be satisfied with that. Being paid little more than a living wage, commuting in by train because I can’t afford to live here, my salary eaten up with living costs, while the people we serve have millions. Billions! Way more than anyone needs. And how do they get these massive sums of money? They break the law. Some of them, anyway. They steal. They extort. They take bribes. So, who says it’s okay for them and not for me? That’s what I started wondering. I’m still wondering now.”

  He was shaking his head. “Zoe, I don’t know what foolish thing you’ve done, but you’ll never get away with it. We have checks in place, warnings, processes.”

  “If they worked, you’d know about this already. They could all be bypassed by someone who knows the system. Your clients are going to want to know how that was possible. I could tell you, I guess. But by the time the questions really start, I’ll be long gone.”

  Now he was furious. “You’re not going anywhere. I’m calling the police!”

  He reached for his jacket. Zoe touched his arm.

  “I wouldn’t do that. You said your business was trust. Getting the police involved is going to bring that trust to an end quite fast, don’t you think?”

  Would he listen? Would he bite? If he didn’t, Zoe was as good as dead.

  He paused. His shoulders slumped. He was listening, at least.

  “I’m a bad girl. I accept that. When people start to ask where their money is, you’ll want to lay it all on me. And hey, you’d be right. Except for all those security issues that allowed me to do it in the first place. Maybe the business can survive that. I didn’t steal from all your clients. Only the ones who deserved it, and had plenty to lose. They’re a shy bunch, aren’t they? For good reasons. I know what those reasons are. So if there’s a public outcry from anyone about what happened to their funds, there’ll also be a public exposé about where those funds came from, who exactly the beneficial owners are, and what kind of things they do. I can link it all up, see. Do exactly what these people don’t want anyone doing. Connect them with their ill-gotten fortunes. That’s not great for you either, is it? People might start to ask why you didn’t mind servicing gangsters and drug-runners and murderers.”

  M. Bernard glanced around as if saying those words out loud were taboo.

  “I did due diligence,” he protested.

  “But it didn’t work, did it? If you were serious about it, none of these people would have been on your books at all. It was just a paper exercise. Just for the files.”

  He shrugged. “Well, if what you say is true, I don’t need to do anything. Such people won’t tolerate some young woman waltzing off with their money. They will find you themselves. You can’t hide forever, not from people like that.”

  “Not without some help. But you’re going to help me, M. Bernard.”

  Now he started to smile, but it was his cold smile, like they all were.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Well, I do.”

  Zoe paused to pour herself more water. M. Bernard didn’t move. He had to know what she was talking about. He was hooked. She enjoyed the moment. When she was ready, she resumed.

  “Bearer shares. They’re a bit like gold. That’s what you say, don’t you? A commodity that can be bought and sold. You don’t have to pass them around for them to change hands. They can stay locked in a bank. The share registers show who owns them. So the share certificates themselves aren’t needed, as long as they’re safely in the bank. Right?”

  He looked cautious, trying to figure out where she was going. She continued.

  “But who would know if they weren’t in the bank? Have any of our clients ever shown up, saying I just want to check that my bearer shares are still stored in your vault?”

  M. Bernard was pale. “Zoe, what have you done?”

  “Do you know how many bearer shares are in the vault right now?”

  He shook his head, eyes wide. “A few thousand, who knows?”

  “None. There are no bearer shares at all in the vault.”

  His hand clenched. “Then where are they?”

  “Safely in my custody. And that’s
where they’ll stay. I’m going to take very good care of them. Don’t worry about that. As long as I’m okay and in good health, and am enjoying my freedom, those bearer shares will be as safe as anything, just as if they were still in the vault. No one will have any reason to doubt that’s where they are.”

  M. Bernard half stood, then sat again, a distracted look on his face.

  “But,” continued Zoe, “if anything happens to me, that would change. Say I died suddenly, or disappeared. It would all come out then. Or if I was arrested. Or threatened. I may not be able to look after them so well, see. I may feel the need to confess to what I’ve done. Which would be the end of the bank, I think. Don’t you? I’ve set it up so that these things will happen if I’m not around any more.”

  This was a lie, as of now. She hadn’t had time to do all this. But with the services of a lawyer she knew she could, pretty easily.

  “I can’t believe…” His voice was hoarse.

  “Take a look when you get back. It was quite easy, I have to tell you. Careful no one gets too curious about what you’re doing down there. From the outside everything looks normal. They’re just – not there.”

  “But…anyone could ask. Anyone, at any time, could ask to see them.”

  “But like I said, how many times has that happened? Not in my time at the bank. And if they could be persuaded that photographic evidence is okay, maybe I could help. Perhaps even if some real stickler wants to count his actual shares, something could be arranged. If you and I stay on good terms. I’ll take good care of them. Imagine me as an extension of your vault. Just that to get into it, you have to be nice to me.”

  A long silence. The implications were sinking in. And also, what M. Bernard would have to do if he had any chance at all of being able to ride this out. Zoe had thrown him a lifeline, a way of saving his livelihood, his reputation. But it also involved saving her.