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by Freddie P Peters

  He had grabbed her arm, screaming.

  “I understood you, Henry, nevertheless—”

  “What the fuck am I doing here? I must be completely out of my mind. I should be at the office and you,” he said, pointing at her with a menacing finger, “you have not practised for years, you have no idea what goes on in the City anymore.”

  His body shook with uncontrolled laughter whilst shaking his head, looking at the bits of phone mangled in his large hand.

  “It is just not happening. I am getting a new phone. Tell this lawyer of yours I will come back when I have done what I need to do, you stupid cow.”

  “And your QC will tell you that he is fully booked until next month,” came a curt response from behind Henry.

  “By the way, Ms Wu may not have practised for a while but she still is regarded by the profession as one of the best, so you may care to apologise. I will be in my office. You have five minutes to consider whether you want to continue our conversation.”

  Nancy closed her eyes slowly, still shocked at the violence of the outburst, although she had been expecting it to happen. Now that it had passed she realised she was more surprised than upset by what had triggered it. Letting go was never going to be easy for Henry. She heard the bench in the corridor groan beneath the weight of his body. He sat there motionless, staring at some invisible images.

  “I am really losing it,” said Henry finally, rubbing his hands over his face a few times. He could not face Nancy or apologise.

  “You may not believe it,” Nancy replied. “I went through it myself. It is hard to let go of.”

  “Don’t say it, please,” Henry murmured, eyes cast in the distance.

  Shifting on his feet, he could feel renewed anger in the pit of his stomach. He had no time for a lesson he did not want to hear.

  Nancy was choosing her words carefully.

  “To let go of old anger.”

  “Is this a lesson in Eastern philosophy?” replied Henry with sarcasm.

  “No,” said Nancy calmly. “I think you will find the same idea being tackled by most of Western theology.”

  Henry looked surprised. Nancy had gone down a path that he had never trodden himself.

  “Come on,” said Nancy, extending her long delicate hand towards him. “Let’s finish what we have started. You can buy another BlackBerry after that. OK?”

  Henry stood up and walked into the room alongside Nancy. His expression was inscrutable.

  * * *

  Nurani had booked the early morning BA flight to Belfast. She had originally hesitated between BA and a low-cost alternative, but Pole was categorical. He was not flying a cheapie airline that almost certainly shirked proper maintenance. So, the great Inspector Pole was scared of flying. She cast an eye at her boss sitting next to her and saw the relief on his face when they eventually touched down. Pole grew positively euphoric when they reached passport control.

  A short, ginger-haired man was waiting for them at the arrival gate. Pole recognised his colleague of old and they shook hands warmly, delighted to see each other again.

  “It’s been a while,” said Inspector Murphy in his distinct Northern Irish accent.

  “It has,” replied Pole still smiling. “May I introduce you to my colleague Nurani Shah.”

  “Good to meet you,” said Murphy. “Couldn’t get a better boss.”

  Nurani smiled in turn and shook his hand, not knowing what to reply to a remark that may have sounded patronising but somehow did not feel that way.

  “She doesn’t need much of that these days,” said Pole.

  Nurani blushed at the compliment and they all moved towards an old battered car.

  “Don’t tell me they can’t do better than that,” said Pole looking at Pat’s official car.

  “Na, it’s my car. Pay could be better though,” replied Pat unconcerned.

  “Yep, London’s the same. Can’t complain too much though. At least I am not trying to raise a family of four.”

  “Five actually Jon. My little one is already six years old.”

  “Congratulations Pat, Niamh must be busy.”

  “Thanks, she loves it though. And what about you Jon. Still single?”

  “’Fraid so. I am a lone wolf after all,” said Pole, increasingly conscious of Nurani’s curious silence.

  “And still south of the river?”

  “Can’t leave the house, too many memories there.”

  “Plus the artwork she left you. I remember it well.”

  Pole nodded slowly and Pat picked up his unease.

  “Liam has not been that cooperative, but he’s got the message – we softened him up a bit for you,” said Pat, tactfully reverting to the case.

  Pole cast a somewhat alarmed eye at Nurani. Pat had always had a way of getting what he wanted and sometimes not in an entirely orthodox fashion. He was about to reassure her that all was legal and well when she poked her head through from the back seat of the car.

  “How do you do that,” she said, enthusiastically.

  Pole sat back amazed. What, one foot in Northern Ireland and she was ready for some serious interrogation techniques. Ms straight-laced-and-by-the-book shows her true colours.

  “Well,” said Pat, now sounding coy, “it takes a lot of – training.”

  Pole decided to stay out of it, almost miffed that his old chum had stolen the limelight.

  Pole recognised the police station from a distance, the same sad building earmarked by years of terror and neglect. The sight of the Trouble’s violence reminded Pole of days he still could not forget.

  Without much formality, Pole and Nurani were introduced into a meeting room where Liam O’Connor was waiting. Nurani’s face showed her disappointment. Liam did not look like much.

  “Less impressive than you may think,” whispered Pole, reading her expression.

  “Hello Liam,” said Pole.

  “Hello Inspector Pole,” replied Liam. “What a pleasant surprise.”

  He looked like a man without a purpose.

  “I’ve said all I need to say to these guys.” Liam indicated to Murphy with his head.

  “So I was told but I always like to hear a good story for myself,” said Pole.

  “If you have time to kill,” replied Liam, shrugging his shoulders.

  For the next hour Pole and team took Liam O’Connor through some key facts; his connection to Henry, his job in the Dublin Docks providing IT support to some of the banks settled in the Irish financial centre. The same story was rolled out, which was identical to the transcript Pole had received before he took off for Belfast that morning. Inspector Pole was starting to wonder whether Liam had anything new to offer when a last question on his meeting in London with Henry focused Pole’s attention. Liam had a plausible reason to be in the UK, since his company was organising the maintenance of a number of offices situated in the Dublin Docks. He was sent to London regularly to check on clients. Pole smiled at the thought that Liam O’Connor was running quality control checks for a number of English companies. This sounded all very much above board. Pole decided to ask an unrelated question regarding the takeover and its impact on Henry. After all, Liam was also supposed to be in finance.

  “Do you think Henry will survive the takeover? His competitor is well positioned, I understand.”

  For some reason Pole used the present tense and noticed a surprised reaction from Liam O’Connor.

  “Well, unless GL and HXBK play the Ouija board, I don’t think that snooty bloke will trouble Henry anymore,” responded Liam with a hint of sarcasm and smirk in his voice.

  “Unless Henry is convicted,” retorted Pole, trying to yank open the door.

  Liam looked at Pole with ferocity, “You have nothing on Henry.”

  This was the answer Pole had been waiting for. The game was on. He mentally praised his colleague. Pat certainly had softened up Liam considerably. Nurani discreetly disappeared at the sound of her BlackBerry buzzing. She moved noiselessly, hardl
y disturbing her chair as she rose.

  “Why do you think Anthony Albert is snooty, anyway? Did you discuss him with Henry? I thought you said you hardly spoke business.”

  “I can just imagine it,” replied Liam.

  “Why do you think there is nothing to be found on Henry?”

  “I don’t know. I’m just making assumptions,” carried on Liam.

  Nurani had returned as discreetly as she left and placed a number of pages in front of Pole. Pole stood up, turned away and took the time to read through them. Liam would wait until he was ready to continue.

  “Let’s talk Switzerland.”

  “Why?”

  “You know why,” said Pole evenly, producing the document he had been expecting since his arrival. “I am sure you are aware that the secrecy surrounding banking law in Switzerland has been greatly reduced? If you’re not, you should be. We are getting much more information from our Swiss colleagues these days. They have learnt the word speed when we mention the word terrorism.”

  Liam took it in, but still offered no reply.

  “My colleague Ms Shah will tell you more about what we have learned. The world is becoming a very small place,” continued Pole.

  In front of Liam Nurani placed several snapshots showing him walking out of Zurich Airport, spanning three years. There were also photos of Liam taking the tram and finally entering a bank, a discreet institution specialising in private banking.

  “So what? I have a bank account in Switzerland, big deal, a lot of my clients have too,” said Liam unshaken.

  “Sure,” said Nurani. “But how many of them do so under an alias and please let us have a list. It might make for some interesting reading.”

  Nurani slammed a list of transactions from a bank statement in front of Liam.

  “Do they also receive large sums of money from numbered accounts registered in the Caymans, the owner of which is another numbered account from Lichtenstein? If so I really, really, want to know.”

  Nurani was enjoying herself. She was not going to be intimidated by some guy with or without IRA connections. She was ready to take on the little git. Liam had no idea what it meant to be at Scotland Yard for an Asian woman.

  “Well, if you are so clever, why do you bother questioning me at all?”

  “I am not. I am telling you,” she said vehemently.

  Liam’s light green eyes had changed colour, growing darker. His round placid face hardened up.

  “Another very large sum of money arrived a few days ago, another new client from Saudi Arabia,” Nurani pushed a copy of the Swiss bank account details in front of him.

  “I have a lot of generous friends.”

  “Me too. But maybe not of the same calibre.”

  The change in law had not been part of the plan. Liam had hoped to be quick enough to move accounts around. The great network of clandestine help had started to dissolve in Ireland after the IRA decommissioning, making large movements of cash much more difficult to engineer. But the old links with other terrorist networks had remained. Switzerland still played a part in the money laundering chain. Liam sat back and looked at everyone in the room. There was no doubt in his mind that they would eventually find out, but he would be damned if he made their task any easier.

  “I want my lawyer,” he said folding his arms over his chest. “This discussion is over.”

  “Sure,” said Pat.

  “Do you have a name?”

  Murphy, Pole and Ms Shah left the interrogation room to recap.

  “Do you hope to link Crowne with those payments?” asked Murphy, knowing that Pole would share his thoughts.

  “Of course, that would be a major step forward. Although I suspect it won’t be all that easy. After all, Crowne is a banker. He uses tax havens to structure his transactions. I suspect he can create enough screens for us to find it difficult to track him down. Then again, even the most intelligent of people make the most obvious of mistakes sometimes.”

  Pole was now sitting comfortably in Pat’s office.

  “And you missus,” he said, imitating Liam’s Northern Irish accent. “I would like you to stay and continue our discussion with O’Connor.”

  “Great,” replied Nurani, her dark almond shaped eyes shining with pride. “Looking forward to this.”

  “I know, I know,” said Pole. “Just don’t savage him too much, will you? You, on the other hand, Mr Murphy, you’re not allowed to teach Ms Shah the many different ways of softening up witnesses or, in other words, beating the bejesus out of them.”

  Pole waved a reproaching finger at Pat. They all laughed. Other officers in the neighbouring offices lifted their heads at the raucous noise.

  They were preparing to go back to the interrogation room when another officer knocked at the door and opened without waiting for an answer.

  “We have located Liam’s brother, Bobby. I think you guys should get down to central. It’s not going according to plan.”

  The relaxed atmosphere faded in an instant.

  “Let’s go,” said Murphy.

  His expression had darkened. He knew what to expect and did not want to cast his mind back to the days of the Troubles.

  “Talk to me,” carried on Murphy as they all started running towards central control.

  “Bobby must have heard about Liam being picked up. He was trying to leave the country following the usual arms smuggling route. Unfortunately for him it did not go as smoothly as he’d hoped. Some of the old guards are prepared to grass on the splinter groups. They don’t belong anymore,” replied the other officer.

  “He has barricaded himself in an office at the Docks. There may be hostages. We are not sure yet. What we know for sure is that he has fired a few gunshots at the local guys.”

  “Shit,” blurted Pat. “This idiot is going to get himself killed with some other poor sods who have nothing to do with the whole affair. He just can’t give up.”

  Murphy and his guests burst into the control room, where other officers were giving directions on the ground.

  “Have you spoken to him directly?” asked Pole.

  “We have tried but nothing doing at the moment.”

  “Pat, are you going to try to engage him?” said Pole.

  “Do I have a choice? Jon, what do you want to do now?”

  “I have not done this for a very long time, Pat. You’re the man on the ground. I am no longer part of that team anyway and …” Pole hesitated.

  “Nurani is with you. She will handle it. Just keep me in the loop.”

  “It will be done and I am sure it will be safe.”

  This was not what Pole had intended but then again it was part of the job and he trusted Pat implicitly in the affair. They shook hands with no further words exchanged and Pole headed towards the exit. He had a plane to catch.

  Nurani wanted a word. Pole wondered whether his decision to leave her behind might be too much too soon and he was about to change his plan when she spoke.

  “This could be a breakthrough Jon.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, if Bobby can’t or won’t give himself up maybe this helps with Liam.”

  Pole gave a little nod. He knew where she was going. He felt both impressed and shocked. She certainly was the person for the job.

  “You want to cut a deal with Liam?” he said, focusing his full attention on her. She had never experienced this before and recoiled under his glance.

  “Well, I thought …” her voice trailed off.

  “It has to be considered. Bobby’s life against the name of the account holders,” said Pole. “But,” he stressed, “before you cut a deal, I want to know every detail of what it entails. Do we understand each other? I want consensus with Murphy. This is not going to descend into a political disaster or the evidence being tainted by foul play.”

  “Of course Jon, I would not want to do anything without you knowing,” replied Nurani, surprised at Pole’s attitude.

  Pole relaxed in the knowledge
that his stark remarks had hit home. He looked at her with kindness.

  “These guys are very dangerous Nu. I trust you but be on your guard all the time and I mean all the time, as I am sure you will be.” He turned around, grabbed his bag and disappeared into his cab. Nurani would miss his guidance terribly.

  Chapter Twenty

  The plane was taxiing down the runway and Inspector Pole was strapped into his seat. He was not looking forward to the flight back on his own. His dislike of flying was usually alleviated by conversation but Nurani was still in Belfast and by all accounts shouldering the considerable task of bringing Liam to roost. Pole closed his eyes and gripped the armrest when the pilot revved the engine for take-off. His stomach somersaulted as the plane left the ground. Pole opened his eyes again to see the little boy seated next to him observing him with curiosity.

  “It’s fun to fly,” said Pole, embarrassed.

  The boy nodded once and went back to his comic book perusing it with the seriousness of a business man reading the FT. Pole exhaled deeply and dived into his briefcase which he had placed underneath the seat in front. He was not going to stand up to get it out of the overhead locker. Carrying a briefcase was bad enough. He hadnever believed in the need to own one and always borrowed the one he had to use occasionally from a willing colleague. He took out a wad of papers he had printed before leaving Murphy’s office – emails and reports. A mass of documents he may want to read once more.

  Pole sank into the case with the feeling of familiarity and ownership. The first document was confirming the meeting with Anthony Albert’s family lawyer the next day. Albert’s solicitor had been away but was now back in the office. He would make the time for Pole, although he was asking for a few hours grace to organise matters appropriately (in his own words). Pole was asking for the rules on confidentiality to be bent and had to give a little himself.

  The second email was from Eugene. He had sent him a long account of Brett Allner-Smith’s recent dealings. Pole managed a smile. Brett was a controversial figure who enjoyed sailing close to the wind, in Eugene’s words. A number of antiquities which he had brokered had questionable origins. He did not seem to mind too much who the seller was as long as he had a buyer to match. Evidently, Brett Allner-Smith enjoyed a few connections with the underworld of trafficking although there had never been enough evidence to convict him. Pole nodded. This guy was surprisingly good.