by Stan Mason
‘About computer fraud?’
‘No... this is the part with the bad news. I learned of your secret with regard to the information swapping arrangement with the representatives of other banks. It’s all been revealed to me... about Galloway and the others.’
Elliott’s face remained totally expressionless but an area of skin closed to the lobes of his ears suddenly changed colour from pink to bright white. Rigby felt full acclaim for the way the man controlled himself. He gave absolutely nothing away... even when he was trapped!
‘What are you talking about?’ asked Elliott innocuously, although he swallowed hard before speaking.
‘When I looked at your record, you were so clean it was too good to be true. Anyone else would have eliminated your name from the list of suspects without hesitation. But to me it was an error. No senior executive in the bank could possibly show such a clean set of heels.’
‘I havent’ the faintest idea what you’re talking about.’
‘ Bear with me for a moment,’ advised Rigby in full control of the situation. ‘Rumour has it that Pullman’s an extrovert. I believe that’s incorrect. A family man, he likes music, collects postage stamps, does some gardening, reading and so on. His records show that he leads a completely different life. Drinking, smoking, socialising, womanising, having an affair with a high-grade secretary in the bank, at the same time keeping his wife and four children satisfied. There aren’t that many hours in the day to do all that and keep a tough job going in the bank. Pullman is not a superman!’
‘What the hell has all this to do with me?’
‘I’ll explain it a little more clearly. Someone’s been leading a bright life using Pullman’s name. Now who would do a thing like that? You see, if something went wrong, they would all point the finger at him because of his record. Everyone would accuse him because he has that kind of reputation. You’ve been going around using Pullman’s name, haven’t you? He gets the brickbats, you score the points. I think it’s a pretty mean trick to frame an innocent man like that.’
‘That’s ridiculous!’ spat Elliott angrily. ‘I could have you for slander. I hope you realise that!’
‘We’re having a private discussion, Sam. It’s your word against mine. But you made an error.’ There was a long pause. ‘Don’t you want to know what it was?’
Elliott was beginning to show a certain amount of agitation at his colleague’s allegations but he managed to control his temper. ‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’
‘Go on, Sam! You’re dying to know what it is. I’ll give you a clue. Some lunchtime sessions and sixteen evening hotel bookings with... Miss Williamson, booked in the name of Mr. & Mrs. Pullman. Trouble for you is that a hotel clerk is willing to pick you out in a line-up having recognised you from the photograph I showed him.’
‘You’re bluffing!’ challenged the executive sharply.
‘Don’t you wish I were! But you’re quite at liberty to call my bluff.’
‘How could the hotel clerk recognise me when I wasn’t there?’
‘How could he indeed?’
‘That’s what I’m asking you!’
‘You see, you’re denying it but I haven’t told you where. How do you know you weren’t there if you don’t know where the hotel is?’ Elliott became very hot under the collar and sought the right words to say with difficulty. ‘Come on!’ demanded Rigby deciding to end the game. ‘Be a man and admit it. I’m not going to tell the Old Man. I just want to do a deal.’
The other executive stared at him bleakly. ‘A deal?‘ he enquired suspiciously, seeking the fastest way out of his dilemma.
‘Why should you pass information to competitors and also avail yourself of Miss Williamson at the same time? And then I twigged it. You get it all through her! She’s the key... the fount of all knowledge. But your secret’s safe with me providing that you stop passing on sensitive information about the bank. I wouldn’t be able to live with my conscience if I turned you in to the Old Man... not unless you forced me to do so.’
‘I thought you were going to offer me Functional Control,’ he bleated like a young child who had been denied a toy by his parents.
‘You’re welcome to it. I don’t want to stay here for longer than necessary. But if I were you, I’d take the heat off Pullman. He’s a good honest family man. I’m not going to see him suffer if you get things wrong.’
‘All right, John,’ capitulate Elliott. ‘It’s a deal. I’ll take your hand on it but I’m not giving up Willie for anyone!’
‘Willie? Who’s Willie?’
‘Miss Williamson!
‘Look, Sam, let’s get this straight. I’ve got my own problems with women. The last thing I need is to take on your problems as well. You can carry on with her, with my blessing as long as you keep the information under wraps.’ He paused for a moment. ‘The secretary of the Assistant Chief Executive,’ he mused. ‘You must be crazy!’
The two men shook hands and then Elliott left with a thoughtful expression on his face. Rigby could not have been more delighted. He had bearded the monster in his den. It was a wonderful feeling to have one’s adversary under tight control. There would be no more trouble from Sam Elliott, that was for sure... at least not until the next time!
Chapter Nine
Rigby waited patiently for the helicopter, finding sanctuary from a strong breeze in the shelter of the heliport. He was not beginning to experience an air of euphoria which passed through his mind to make him feel as though he was glowing. The stress and strain of the earlier part of the day had lifted and he assumed an air of remarkable confidence. Above all, he was eager to see the bomb explode to round of the day perfectly.
He glanced through the window of the shelter at the darkening clouds moving quickly across the sky. It looked as though it might rain and the idea of flying in the helicopter in a storm, protected only by the simply hull of the fragile craft, cause him slight discomfort. His eyes scanned the face of his wristwatch for the fourth time in as many minutes, hardly noticing the position of the hands, as he recognised the drone of the vehicle coming to collect him. The noise increased as the craft came into view, hovering like a great dragon-fly in the sky. He left his sanctuary as the machine landed slowly on the heliport pad... the wide sweep of the propeller blades causing strong currents of air to fan the area.
He paused for a moment, contemplating whether to charge across the tarmac towards the craft, then he walked slowly towards it. The noise from the helicopter was deafening and he was forced to place his hand across his forehead to guard his eyes against the great gusts of wind while his hair was blown about wildly. He hunched down as low as he could to avoid the spinning propeller blades and climbed into the cabin with difficulty. The pilot stared at him, pointing his thumb upwards as Rigby fastened his seat-belt. He found himself jerked forward as the craft rose swiftly, glancing down through the window at the ground which seemed to be receding at a tremendous rate. It was not normal for a banker in a sedentary appointment to be whisky up into the atmosphere at a terrifying speed to fulfil a mission. The conventional methods of road and rail transport were far more acceptable.
By now, there was considerable distance between the helicopter and the ground, and the discomfort caused by the sudden veering of the machine had ended. Rigby sat back and prayed that the journey would be short. He was not a seasoned traveller. He closed his eyes tightly to relax and clutch the arms at each side of the seat in case of turbulence. On occasion, he opened his eyes briefly to survey the land below but, without knowledge of the speed, the direction or the distance to cover, he tried to revert to a state of ostensible hibernation. When this failed, he sat up to attract the attention of the pilot.
‘How much further?’ he called out above the noise of the engine.
‘About three minutes. That’s all.’ came the reply.
&
nbsp; ‘You don’t happen to have a drink, do you? I could do ith a stiffener.’
The pilot smile and plunged his hand into a fold of his sheepskin jacket to produce half a bottle of whisky which he offered to his passenger. ‘First time, eh?’ he commented.
‘What?’
‘First time in a chopper!’
‘Last time too if I have anything to do with it. Do they all ask for a stiff drink the first time?’
‘They usually wait until we get down. Then they stagger around like new-born cattle for a while and head off somewhere for fortitude.’ He focussed his eyes and stiffened slightly recognising the location in the distance. ‘I’m going to land now!‘ he shouted, pointing the way ahead.
The warning was insufficient for the banker who had just unscrewed the top of the bottle. As the helicopter veered slightly and descended swiftly, the spirit surged over the neck to spill directly on to his clothes. He brushed it off angrily with the side of his hand and then swigged deeply to avoid losing any more.
‘You smell like a Scottish distiller,’ chided the pilot with a broad grin on his face.
‘Thank you very much!’ retorted the banker sharply. ‘That’s all I need to brighten up my day!’
The ground appeared to be reaching up to them quickly and Rigby noticed the posse of policemen gather at the edge of the lake in the park. They were all waiting down there... including Chief Inspector Church. The banker sat quite still in his seat, staring straight ahead at the sky until the craft landed. Then he searched for his executive briefcase before recalling that he hadn’t brought it with him. Suddenly, he found himself reluctant to leave the craft, watching the large propeller blades circle to a halt as the helicopter became immobile. It was now the time to find the answer to the question as to whether the man had a bomb in his holdall or whether it had been a hoax. Rigby sat completely still as a heavily-built man wearing a well-worn blue gaberdine raincoat approached the helicopter with a steady gait. It was unnecessary for him to introduce himself but he did so just the same.
‘Church!’ he announced in a deep voice. ‘So you’re Rigby!’
The two men eyed each other like wrestlers in the ring about to compete with each other. Neither offered to extend his hand or even attempt to make a gesture of friendship. There was still no love lost between them. The banker suddenly stung himself into action, lifting himself to the opening and dropping to the ground below. He recalled the remark of the pilot concerning passengers staggering around like new-born cattle and, as he tried to straighten his legs, he fully understood the truth of the remark.
‘Strewth!’ uttered the police officer sniffing the banker’s clothes. ‘I could arrest you on the grounds of being drunk and disorderly. Is that what they do in those banking parlours... bottles of booze all day!’
Rigby brushed out the wrinkles in his suit, completely ignoring the sniping of the Chief Inspector. ‘That bomb is real and very dangerous,’ he commented curtly.
The police office allowed a smile to serve at the edge of his mouth. ‘You’ve got a nerve!’ he countered firmly. ‘So far every decision you’ve made has been wrong. I warned you of the problems but you refused to allow me to take charge. You were lucky that the man was caught in the way it happened but I still say it was a hoax. The man was trying it on!’
‘Would you like to bet on that, Church?’
The Chief Inspector viewed him with a jaundiced eye, distinctly irritated by the insolence of the other man. ‘You arrogant bastard,’ he swore angrily, after assuring himself that no one else was within earshot. ‘I suppose you regard yourself as an expert in these matters.’
‘Let me tell you something, Church!’ argued the banker fiercely trying to control his temper. ‘Banking’s not about money, as most people believe. It’s about people! Yes... we spend a lot of time adjusting monetary rates and prudent bank lending but money’s only a medium of exchange. It’s the people that make it work. That bank robber was desperate. He had to be to go into one of our branches with a bomb. Fortunately, he was an amateur. Had he been a professional it would have been a different story. We have to know about people to survive in the banking business and I’m telling you that bomb is real!’
Church shook his head as if to indicated that the banker was sadly amiss. ‘A pretty speech, Rigby,’ he muttered rudely, ‘but you ought to stick to banking. It’s what you know best!’
He stalked off towards the edge of the lake to watch the demolition squad dealing with the holdall containing the bomb. They handled the bag with a great deal of respect with the wires protruding from the top, although they had been covered with thick black insulating tape to prevent any possibility of contact with each other.
‘What do they intend to do?’ asked Rigby when he caught up with his adversary
The police officer gazed out over the lake for a few moments as though in contempt and he spoke without looking at the banker. ‘The holdall will be placed on a raft and floated out,’ he explained flatly ‘The wires will be connected to this box here and, when it reaches the centre of the lake, the plunger on this device will be depressed to detonate the bomb... if it is a bomb.’
The banker moved over to the box, tapping it gently with the side of his foot before placing his hands on each side of the ‘T’ handle as though he intended to depress it.
‘Leave it alone, Rigby!’ warned Church with a firm tone which stopped the banker in his tracks. ‘Be a good lad and leave the equipment alone.’
‘Why?’ cut in the senior executive, ‘I mean if you’re right, nothing will happen.’
‘You didn’t have to come out here!’ muttered the police officer under his breath, his temper running on a short fuse.
They moved away from the edge of the lake waiting for the demolition squad to carry out their orders as the holdall was strapped to the raft. There was a further delay which the insulating tape covering the wires was unwound to enable the connections to be made to the detonating device, and then it was complete.
‘All ready to despatch, sir,’ called out one of the policemen to the Chief Inspector who nodded accordingly.
‘Well, Rigby,’ declared Church pedantically, ready to teach the banker a lesson. ‘We’ll soon find out the truth.’ He turned to his subordinates, gesturing with his hands towards the water. ‘All right, lads!’ he shouted. ‘Float her out and do your worst!’
On the far side of the lake stood a plain-clothed policeman holding a large reel of fine wire attached to a metal hook screwed into the side of the raft. When the signal was given, the man slowly wound in the reel, drawing the raft steadily towards the centre of the lake. Within a couple of minutes, the wooden vessel had reached a point where it floated at a safe distance from the shore. Church gave a final glance in Rigby’s direction as the moment of truth drew near before giving his assent to one of the demolition squad controlling the detonating device. The man gripped the ‘T’ handle tightly and pushed the plunger down to its limit as everyone tensed themselves to counter the effect of a possible explosion. But silence prevailed over the area... nothing happened! The holdall was still intact remaining perched on the raft which drifted slowly across the lake in the serenity of the park. The birds twittered happily in the trees, the squirrels sought to replenish some of their winter stock, and there was an air of total peace.
‘Try again!’ ordered the Chief Inspector, almost sniggering at the prospect that the banker was being made to look a fool. The plunger was raised and depressed again but still nothing happened.
By now, the satisfaction of success showed on the face of the jubilant police officer. ‘Try once more!’ he shouted calmly in the firm belief that failure on two occasions was tantamount to produce the same result. The action was repeated a further time and all remained silent. Church turned to the banker with triumphant glee, shaking his head slowly in deliberate admonishment. ‘You wo
uldn’t last two minutes in the police force, Rigby,’ he remarked insultingly. ‘That’s for sure!’
He stalked off along the path on the other side of the lake. It took him about three minutes to get there and the banker watched him angrily every step of the way. He was extremely disappointed that the bomb had failed to explode yet he was still certain that his judgement had been correct. Why hadn’t it gone off? There had to be a bomb in that holdall... and it was definitely live!
The demolition squad began to haul the raft to the shore, winding in the reel of wire, and the raft edged further away from Rigby towards the direction of Chief Inspector Church on the other side of the lake. It was about fifteen yards from the shore when the demolition man jerked the wire erratically. The effect was an enormous explosion of tremendous force causing a rush of water to charge over the edge of the lake. Church was knocked back onto his haunches by the blast and as he attempted to rise, a great wave of water struck him, drenching him from the chest downwards. For a few moments after the incident silence reigned. Then a rippled of laughter echoed from the banker who watched his drench adversary simmer with anger in a sitting position, trying to squeeze the water from his trousers. Rigby felt on top of the world and his laughter continued loud and long, much to the chagrin of the police officer who gritted his teeth through every moment of humiliation.
‘I’ll tell you this!’ shouted Rigby across the wide stretch of water. ‘You wouldn’t last two minutes in banking, Church! That’s for sure! He decided to make a rapid exit and hurried back to the helicopter, climbing into the cabin quickly. Victory over the police officer was a delight to relish but his joy was tempered by the fact that there was the return journey to suffer.
There was time to ponder his elation before he arrived back in the City. It was all over now except for the honours to be bestowed on the heroes. Brown, the Manager of Croydon branch, and Carlisle especially would receive accolades. Afterwards, they would return to their normal duties as though nothing had ever happened to continue their work as before. The incident would be simply a matter of record. Life continued regardless off incident to become embroiled in history!
