Royal Heist

by Lynda La Plante

  De Jersey looked into his eyes. “Cut out the coke, James. Doesn’t do you any good, and it worries me.”

  “I’m clean, Eddy,” Wilcox protested.

  “Keep it that way, because I need you beside me.”

  Wilcox’s face broke into a smile.

  “I think I’ve got a buyer, a Japanese guy.”

  “What about Dulay?”

  De Jersey nodded. “The contact came through him. Dulay’s not firmed up yet. He’s coming for a meeting in three days’ time, but I reckon he’s onboard. I don’t want him meeting you or Tony. Less he sees of any of us the better.”

  “Sure. I never met him anyway. Tony said he looks like that French actor Gérard somethin’. You went over to Monaco to see him, did you?”

  “As Simmons. He doesn’t know who I am. He just needs to produce a buyer and get the big cut he’s after.”

  Wilcox stubbed out his cigarette. “Have you found out where the jewels are being held?”

  De Jersey glanced at him. “I told you, the D’Ancona rep will lead us to the jewels. They’ll be in a safe house somewhere, being prepared for the fitting.” He stood up to leave.

  Wilcox walked him to the garage door, where de Jersey patted his shoulder. “It’s coming together. Don’t worry.” Then he stepped through the doorway and was gone.

  Wilcox locked the door. He was shaking; the palms of his hands felt clammy and cold. He walked back to the annex, where he opened a silver snuffbox and performed his regular ritual. He was still shaky, but his head was clearer now. He went back to work.

  De Jersey called Christina to say he would be going to Dublin for a few days, then spoke to Fleming about Royal Flush. He was informed that the horse had started training with no problems. They were pacing him with other horses, and that morning he’d passed them with ease on the gallops. Fleming asked which stallion he should put to the filly coming into season, and de Jersey said he would have to think about it. Calmly, he noticed that the date for the Derby was almost a month to the day after the heist. He hoped for enough cash to keep the estate going for the rest of his life.

  A few days later, after a call from Jones, he arranged for his second visit to Franklyn Prison. The money had been deposited in Jones’s account, and Jones was ready to talk. In fact, he provided more information than de Jersey had hoped for, such as the number and type of vehicles required per Royal, how many motorbike cavalcades would be allocated by the Metropolitan Police, how many police cars, and the number of their own security guards who would act as bodyguards.

  “A complete Scotland Yard division is allocated to the Royals, so get your pencil out. With Her Majesty, we’re talking about the full treatment. The number of guards and security officers goes down according to the rank of the Royal.”

  Jones had the contact numbers of every police officer working out of Scotland Yard assigned to the Royals. He also knew what police and security procedures were in place before the Royals stepped into their cars.

  “Every vehicle is inspected for bombs, not to mention engine faults. So is the route they’ll take—every inch, every possible sniper location—checked and cleared. You getting all this?” he asked.

  “Keep going.” De Jersey’s pen flew across the page.

  Jones leaned back in his chair. “Right. The Scotland Yard unit in charge of the Royals is called the Royalty and Diplomatic Protection Department. These guys, all skilled motorcyclists and car drivers, provide twenty-four-hour protection. They are recruited from the ranks of police officers experienced in operational street duty. I was part of this group for five years. There’s nothing I don’t know about all areas of Royal protection.”

  He lit a roll-up, heaving the smoke deep into his lungs, then let it out through his nose. He continued. The head of Palace security received a special code word from Scotland Yard daily. Scotland Yard would use this same code word to inform Palace security if an IRA threat had been issued. Then Royal visits planned for that day would halt, unless Scotland Yard gave the all clear.

  “Only the head of Palace security and Scotland Yard officials know these code words. And, of course, the IRA.”

  “Wait a second. The code word comes from the IRA?”

  “Yeah. The IRA gives Scotland Yard a code word that the IRA will use that day if they want to alert Scotland Yard to an impending terrorist attack.”

  The bell rang, ending visiting time. De Jersey collected his papers and placed them in his briefcase. The door opened, and two prison officers walked in. “Thank you, Mr. Simmons. I appreciate you comin’ to see me. Good luck, then,” Jones said.

  De Jersey shook Jones’s hand. The officers stood aside to allow him to pass, and he walked into the corridor, then left the prison.

  Jones’s information had been invaluable. He had also provided answers to de Jersey’s questionnaire. De Jersey plotted his next step. While he needed Marsh, he was beginning to worry about the hacker’s involvement. Did he have the expertise to carry out the work required? He was a dabbler. In order to get the job done, de Jersey would have to divulge the entire plan.

  CHAPTER

  15

  As usual, Marsh arrived reeking of hair spray. His pointed boots tripped him as he headed up the narrow staircase. “Not got long. I’ve got another of my lectures tonight. Gotta make ends meet.”

  “What if I offered you something that could make you a millionaire?” de Jersey asked softly.

  “Would I have to go down on you?” Marsh gave a high-pitched laugh. “I would.”

  “Let’s not get carried away.” De Jersey smiled. “What I’m suggesting would be illegal and dangerous.”

  “Wanna tell me about it?”

  “It would mean a long prison sentence if you were caught.”

  “I have a job that feels like that!” Marsh wasn’t laughing, though. His eyes were steady, beady and direct. “I always figured you were up to something.”

  “It’s a robbery.”

  “Oh. Daylight, is it?”

  “You could say that.”

  Marsh pointed to the window and the satellite dish. “That got something to do with it?”

  “Yes.”

  “So I’m involved already, aren’t I?”

  “You can walk away right now, no hard feelings.” De Jersey sat back. “There’d be no further involvement. You’ll not encounter the other players.”

  “Apart from you,” Marsh said softly. He stood up, squeezing his hands into his tight leather trouser pockets. “Well?” he asked.

  “Well what?” asked de Jersey.

  “What do you need from me?”

  “I need you to get me information on communications between the Royalty and Diplomatic Protection Department at Scotland Yard and Buckingham Palace. I need to know the line on which IRA threats come into Scotland Yard, and the code word they use, the one that will alert Scotland Yard to a possible terrorist attack, and in turn halt all movements by Royals from the Palace.”

  Marsh considered. “That’ll be tough. The Protection Department is bound to have more than one line. I’d have to monitor them all. It’s risky, but I’m in the best position to do it.”

  “I know,” de Jersey said.

  “You’re not IRA, right?”

  “Correct.”

  “So why do you need this information?”

  “I want to steal the Crown Jewels.”

  Marsh’s reaction threw him. He collapsed on the floor and rolled around laughing. “The fuckin’ Crown Jewels?” Eventually he lay flat, arms outstretched. “Man, you’re something else!”

  “You’ll get a thousand pounds cash every week. Once we make the hit, you’ll wait for the payoff. It could be weeks or months.”

  “What sort of payoff?”

  “We don’t know exactly, but it will be in the millions. In the end it’s about trust. You and I have to trust each other.”

  “When’s the job?” Marsh asked, sitting up.

  “May second. Plenty of time to monitor the ca
lls.”

  Marsh stretched out his hand to de Jersey. “You’re on, pal. I can start tomorrow.”

  “Good, but tonight I need a little hacking job. There’s a flight from Antwerp, day after tomorrow. Can you get me the passenger list?”

  “Is the Pope Catholic? Just gimme a flight number, time, and date.”

  Before Marsh left, de Jersey had the passenger list of the flight taking in the D’Ancona representative. But out of the twenty-two names, who was their man? De Jersey decided that Dulay, due at the same airport shortly before the Antwerp flight, might be able to identify the man; he had once worked for the company. Also, on his arrival at Heathrow the representative was likely to be carrying gems, a briefcase chained to his wrist, and be accompanied by a security man. He should be fairly easy to identify.

  Wherever it was, de Jersey still did not know what kind of security to expect inside the safe house, but he knew it had to be high tech. He needed information about modern security techniques, particularly those used by D’Ancona. He surfed the Net, looking for sites dealing with high-tech security. Eventually he came across a company called Interlace Security, which listed D’Ancona among its clients. De Jersey noted that Interlace would be attending a security trade fair in Birmingham the next day.

  Early the next morning de Jersey set off for Birmingham in a hire car. He was used to luxurious cars, and this was a small, cheap vehicle. The seat hurt his back, the gears kept jumping, and the brakes were uncertain.

  The vast hall was crowded. He was astonished to see so many gadgets on display. Electronic alarms for cars, houses, and businesses were predominant. Some stands were selling high-tech surveillance equipment. Security guard companies were also represented, and some gave martial arts and self-defense demonstrations. He wandered the aisles, sometimes stopping to look over the goods for sale and watch demonstrations. The section in which he was most interested displayed large safes and alarm systems. He checked out three stands before he spotted Interlace Security. He crossed the thick red carpet to pick up their brochure and was approached by a sales representative. “Can I be of assistance, sir?”

  “I hope so. This is very impressive.”

  “Thank you. We are one of the top security consultants in England—indeed, worldwide. We provide a complete range of services for business, and real, workable solutions for risk management. It is our job to relieve you of worry.”

  “Do you concentrate specifically on large companies?”

  “No, not at all. Did you have something in mind?”

  “I had a jewelry store close to Harrods, and we had two robberies within months of each other. Now I’m opening another. It’ll be close to Theo Fennell’s shop in London, Fulham, actually. It’s a central location, three floors.”

  The assistant handed de Jersey a steady stream of brochures, listing top clients like British Aerospace, the National Criminal Intelligence Service, Oracle, the Post Office, Railtrack, and of course …

  “Good heavens, you do the D’Ancona security. What security do they have?”

  “Well, sir, we provide a virtually impenetrable surround with active infrared beams and digital door-locking devices. Panic buttons and strips are placed at strategic positions around the location and link to an alarm receiving center, which is in direct contact with the police. We work closely with our customers to ensure one hundred percent security. The grilles on the vault act automatically if an infrared beam is broken or a panic button is pressed.”

  “Expensive?” de Jersey mused.

  “For D’Ancona we shipped in specially reinforced steel from Germany, which was fire-and bombproof. Since then, Asprey and Garrard’s have ordered similar materials.”

  De Jersey, noting his cheap suit and tatty lace-up shoes, let the young man gabble through a few more sales pitches. “Would you oversee the installation?”

  “Oh no, sir. I’m in sales.” He spoke with a public-school accent.

  “How long have you worked for the company?”

  “Six months, sir. My father is one of their top consultants, though. He’s been with them for eighteen years.”

  De Jersey took his card and glanced at the name: MALCOLM GRIDLEY, JUNIOR SALES EXECUTIVE. “Thank you, Mr. Gridley. I’ll know who to contact when I’ve made up my mind.”

  De Jersey left with an armful of brochures and Malcolm Gridley’s cell phone number. He also carried the firm’s London, Birmingham, and factory addresses.

  Though Gridley had twice asked his name, de Jersey had successfully distracted him with more questions and requests for leaflets. When de Jersey glanced back, the young man was being grilled by one of the older salesmen.

  De Jersey spent a few more hours in the hall, waiting until he saw his salesman heading out for lunch. He watched as Gridley ordered a cheeseburger and chips from a stall. Just as de Jersey was about to join him, Gridley, unaware that he was being followed, headed for a bar on the far side of the hall. De Jersey watched him order a pint. After a moment he walked over. Sitting at the bar, Gridley was smoking. “On your lunch break?” he said.

  “Yes,” Gridley said, surprised.

  “Can I buy you another drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’ve got to get back. Erm, I didn’t get your name before, and it’s kind of company policy and—”

  “I’ve gone over all the data you gave me, and I wanted to ask you if it would be possible to arrange a private showing of the D’Ancona installation. It’s state of the art, isn’t it?” De Jersey reached into his pocket and withdrew his wallet. “Here’s my card.”

  “Thank you,” said Gridley. “Unfortunately, I can’t give you details of the D’Ancona facility; no one is allowed to view our clients’ locations after the contract has been completed and the security measures installed. In fact, D’Ancona hired its own contractors to install the equipment.”

  De Jersey signaled to the barman.

  Gridley swore under his breath. “Oh, Christ!”

  A portly man in a navy pin-striped suit was striding toward them. He sat down next to Gridley. De Jersey moved off. The man spoke sternly to Gridley, pointed at the half-drunk beer. Then Gridley got up, his face tight with anger. “It was one drink, for God’s sake!” he said, walking away.

  “One too many, Malcolm. I warned you—Malcolm?”

  The portly man took off after Gridley. De Jersey earmarked young Gridley as possibly useful to him.

  Driscoll sat in an Italian restaurant waiting for de Jersey. After half an hour, he had eaten one roll and was half inclined to take the other when de Jersey walked in. They ordered their food with a bottle of house wine. “How are we doing?” de Jersey asked.

  “There are these agencies that represent look-alikes, and I rang round until I found her. They said she was booked up, so I gave a lot of bull about needing to speak to her about a personal appearance. Anyway, I got her home address and phone number. She lives in Esher.”

  “Family?”

  “She’s married, husband’s retired. No children. She makes a fortune doing special appearances. It’s freaky. She’s the Queen’s absolute double.”

  “Have you checked out her home?”

  “Not yet.”

  Their minestrone arrived, and they ate in silence.

  “I had a few words with Jimmy,” de Jersey said.

  “How was he?”

  “On good form. He assured me he wasn’t using anymore. The vehicles look in great shape. We need to find a London base soon so he can do the final adjustments.”

  Driscoll nodded. “Is he in or out?”

  “In.”

  “I see. Well, I expected he would be.”

  “What about you? Are you up for it?”

  Driscoll licked his lips. “Course I am. I’m in. God help me.”

  “I couldn’t go without you. It’ll be the three of us again, right?”

  “We must be out of our bloody minds.”

  “I’m working on the safe house location. Dulay is flying in, and so is a D’
Ancona representative. We have to follow him to wherever they have the goods. Then I’ve got to work out how to get past the security system. It’s very high tech, and they installed it themselves.”

  “How do you know?”

  “Trust me. I’ve checked out the company that did the security. It sounds like a bloody big walk-in vault with lasers and panic buttons like you wouldn’t believe.”

  Driscoll dribbled soup down his chin.

  “But these vault doors are going to be open for our Queen,” de Jersey assured him.

  “You’ll be keeping your eye on Wilcox, then?” Driscoll asked. “Maybe he is clean, but he was shoving a lot of snow up his nose not too long ago. He’s got to be monitored. He’s not the same, you know.”

  “None of us are, Tony. We’re all a lot older now. That’s why I am taking it slowly. We can’t afford any mistakes, and if it’s too risky we pull out, simple as that. But we’ll keep an eye on him.”

  Driscoll changed the subject. “What about the Hewitt woman?”

  “She’s sorted. We may have to bung her a few thousand, but not until we’ve done the job.”

  Driscoll wiped his mouth. It made him uneasy that de Jersey was keeping the plans so close to his chest. It was not the way they had worked in the past. “I need to know our progress, Eddy.”

  “You will, as soon as I’ve moved on to the next stage.” De Jersey sounded annoyed. “You’ve got to trust me, Tony, like in the past. Now, give me the photographs of our lady and the contact address. I’ll get Wilcox to check it out.”

  Driscoll passed him a manila envelope.

  “Maybe in three weeks’ time I’ll be ready for preliminary talks. You have your instructions until then.” He handed him an envelope.

  Driscoll put it into his inside pocket.

  De Jersey had never used women in the past, but a lady-in-waiting would surely accompany the Queen to the safe house. He sighed. She would have to be right in on the action, perhaps even armed.

  Tomorrow would be another busy day. He was to meet Dulay, and they would identify the D’Ancona representative and follow him to the safe house. If all went well.

  CHAPTER