***
You have to love Pablo, Felicity thought. The text she had just received had said, ‘3.’ The cell phone it had been sent from would by now be at the bottom of a lake or reservoir; having only ever sent that single text. Pablo bought fifty or sixty of these use and throw cell phones every month and only ever made single calls or sent single texts. This was; he had once told her, his compromise between the need to connect with customers worldwide and security. The Junglas would love to capture him; which was why his excessive precautions were less paranoia than necessity.
The ‘3’ texted to her phone confirmed what had been discussed through intermediaries three weeks ago when she had travelled to Colombia on a business trip. Even though she was family Pablo met no one other than trusted lieutenants and hookers so they always dealt remotely. His assertion that it was for her security they maintained a distance was doubtful. More likely he wanted to enhance his power by his behaviour. CHC had numerous legitimate South American interests including palm oil plantations for the production of biodiesel, drilling mud for the petrochemical industry and as a plasticiser and steriliser in the manufacture of PVC. So, Pablo had agreed that the market was there to be exploited and was confident in her plans to do just that. Three tons of Colombian pure. Family was family and business was business, both she and Pablo knew this. He was responsible for getting the cocaine to Southampton docks; at that point he had fulfilled his part of their contract. The remaining fifty per cent of the agreed monies was then due.
A number of approaches to distribution had been tried over the years with varying degrees of success. Felicity employed a small team who’s sole job was to dream up new ways to move cocaine around the country. Her grandfather’s favoured method had been the bio-diesel tanker.
Felicity had thought that this method was clumsy and left them open to detection. Worse though, the cocaine remained in CHC liveried tankers until collection. One slip, mechanical failure or talkative customer could be awkward. Since her grandfather’s death, she had changed the whole emphasis of the distribution from CHC to their customers. Each of the gangs she supplied, three in all, two English and one Irish, had been instructed to set up a legitimate water cooler business in their area’s. Have no direct association with the running of the company, funding of it or staffing. Leave that to a trusted associate. Deniability. The cocaine will come to them dissolved in water and disguised as water. All they had to do was to extract the pure cocaine and then cut the drug to the degree they wished. CHC could get the product to the customer with speed and efficiency, save time and effort on cutting the drug and offer their customers the chance to enhance their profits by cutting the cocaine as far as they wanted. Brilliant. They were all clamouring for as much cocaine as she could supply, now she would test if their clamourings were genuine.
Felicity needed to alert her customers to the vast quantity of cocaine they would have access to and would need to pay for. The three gangs had no idea that a major industrial company was their supplier and had been for many years. They thought that a more powerful, ruthless gang controlled the UK cocaine market and allowed them to buy into the franchise. There had been attempts to take over her business, the business she had run since her eighteenth birthday. Her grandfather Charles had said he would deal with this problem. He needed to make a very visual example of the transgressor. He had told her this was one aspect of the business she didn’t need to be involved in; yet. The other gang bosses would be at these punishment events, cocky and exuding confidence at the beginning. Looking sick and terrified by the end. Then they would discover that their colleagues transgressions were going to cost them an additional fifty per cent on the cost of their next delivery, non-negotiable. You didn’t need to make many examples before the message sunk in.
For CHC to maintain their anonymity and a professional distance from the gangs she used a trusted third party to maintain contact with them, monitor payments and advise delivery dates, Thrasher. He objected to having to dirty his hands on these ‘barbaric thugs’ as he called them, but he liked the regular ten thousand pound bonuses, so he did as he was told.
Removing an earring she placed her mobile phone to her ear and waited for Thrasher to answer. The voice when it came was nervous and sycophantic,
“Felicity how may I help?”
“Time for some hand dirtying. Call London, Manchester and Belfast and let them know we have a large delivery due in a couple of weeks. They are each responsible for a ton, fifty per cent by the end of the week. Tell Manchester no excuses this time or I’ll move their quota to Newcastle or perhaps Birmingham.”
“Anything else I can help you with?” Thrasher asked.
Felicity didn’t answer straight away. When she had left Thrasher waiting for almost half a minute in silence, hanging, not sure what to do, she answered.
“William Bacchus.”
“Ah.”
Felicity’s patience, fragile on a good day, which today wasn’t, snapped.
“Ah? Ah? I told you to find out why that interfering vicar was made the sole beneficiary of Sanderson’s will. Please tell me you have good news for me?”
Thrasher cleared his throat before saying anything.
“I think, believe that William Bacchus is related to Ernest Sanderson. Sanderson was using a barrister at the same chambers as William’s mother worked at…”
“Old news, and?”
He continued, his words spoken with such speed, they sounded as if they were blending into a single elongated syllable.
“I’ve sent a team to Dorset to burgle his house and shop, and photograph the documents he received at the reading. They are on there way now. I should have a definitive answer in a day or two depending how long they take to get the information we need.” Thrasher gasped and then said,
“I’ll call as soon as I have any new information.”
Felicities response was icy,
“Twenty four hours.”
Hanging up on Thrasher she allowed herself a wry smile, maybe he wasn’t as dim witted as she had thought. A burglary, was this a sign of initiative?
Pacing around her office, she placed a call to the Right Honourable Alexander Cortez MP, uncle Alex.
The voice that answered was confident with a rich cultured timbre,
“Alexander Cortez.”
“Uncle Alex, it’s Felicity.”
“I’m a little busy can we do this later Felicity?”
“No. I have three tonnes arriving in two weeks and I need a little diplomatic assistance to ensure everything goes to plan. Same as usual, you make sure the border guards are striking or whatever you have to do to ensure our cargoes are offloaded without incident. Payment will be increased by twenty per cent as the quantity has been increased. I’ll give you a firmer date nearer the time. OK?”
Alexander Cortez replied mocking her,
“Would you like the Prime Minister to help with the unloading, the Transport Secretary to clear the roads over the whole of the country?”
The sound of him dragging on a cigarette delayed his next barb, offering Felicity an opportunity to interrupt.
“Uncle Alex, sarcasm doesn’t become you. All we need, as ever, is a cooperative border guard. Why else do you think Charles bought you your seat and then bribed the entire government and opposition to haul you up the slippery pole of legislative power? He wanted an insider. Placed to assist the family as required and show a little gratitude and loyalty when asked. Did you never wonder why you are in the Home Office? However, I’m a realist. That’s why I pay you a vast retainer and little bonuses when you provide these services. I assume we won’t have a problem?”
Nervous now, Alexander answered,
“Three tonnes though, that’s a lot of gear. It’ll take hours to offload all of that.”
“Don’t worry about that. They’ll believe that this is a routine delivery. Uncle Alex it’s fine, arrange your man, and pay him whatever, then go back to politicking, OK?
”
Chapter 24
William knew he had been hard on Annabel. Their conversation after Ben had left was short, very short. He had wanted, demanded to know why she hadn’t thought it appropriate to mention that her father was a shareholder in the company they were investigating. The company now headed by Felicity? The company they were trying to prove had been implicated in his father’s death and the death of an uncle he had never known? And Uncle Freddie. Bishop to both of them a friend, no good friend to him, but to Annabel; Uncle Freddie. One salient point that perhaps she had forgotten was that regardless of how Freddie chose to invest his money; he was still a Bishop, a church leader who should be more aware of the consequences of his actions. William winced remembering Annabel’s counter.
“Does that mean by association, my family are accessories to murder, unaware of the consequences of their actions?”
Annabel had stormed out of the shop and up Long Street with William watching from the office window until she was out of sight.
His anger wasn’t aimed at Annabel even though she had borne the brunt of it, he was furious with Ernest. How can, during forty years of research, he not have discovered the shareholdings of Freddie and Annabel’s father in the company he was investigating? He needed to ask Ernest a few telling questions and find out whether this was laziness, poor research or stupidity. William fed Wooster poured himself a large glass of Bells and then settled down to wait.
He had trusted Ernest implicitly. That had taken a huge leap of faith, but the man was his father and Ben was his brother. So he had taken everything on trust and believed. He had thrown himself into the search for killers, murderers without a second thought. Had he been foolish? Everything he had seen so far showed Ernest to be a solid researcher with a flair for thinking in an unorthodox way. Now this. The list of shareholders was, on its own, irrelevant. What was relevant were the people who were on the list. John Anderson was a middle-class engineer with a few shares in an engineering company. So what? The problem was that he had bought the shares on the same day as another investor, Frederick Aldhelm, his brother in law and the Bishop of Salisbury and that the shares had started a meteoric climb to there current level the following week.
Ernest’s voice sounded in his head causing William to start out of his reverie and focus.
Straight away, Ernest began bombarding William with questions,
“What progress have you made with the documents? Have you any thoughts? What about Ben and Annabel? Where are they?”
William ignored him, staying silent and still. Ernest noticed he hadn’t had a response and asked Juanita,
“Is he asleep?”
Juanita said
“William?”
William look up at the ceiling, eyes closed, taking deep controlled breaths before saying,
“Does the name John Alexander ring any bells? Or Freddie Aldhelm maybe? What did you discover about CHC from the directors listing at companies’ house? Any of this rings any bells?”
William’s eyes were still closed and looking at the ceiling, he sat and waited for the now familiar sound of Ernest or Juanita’s voice in his head. Nothing. At last Ernest spoke.
“I assume there’s a point to this? Whatever that point is seems to have made you angry with me.” The sarcasm dripping from his words irritated William more than he expected.
“John Alexander is Annabel’s father, but you know that as your adopted sister was married to him. He is also a non-executive director and holder of a large enough shareholding to be mentioned in the companies annual report. Bishop Freddie is another non-executive director and also related by marriage to you. John Alexander’s sister was Georgia, but again you knew that. How on earth did you miss this? What else have you missed? Do I have to question everything you’ve given me to work with?”
Juanita said,
“Look into the mirror William, you need to see Ernest while he talks to you.”
William got up, still angry with Ernest, but also wondering if he was being fair. Annabel hadn’t known anything about her father or Freddie, so feeling angry with her was unfair and counterproductive. Ernest’s oversight was unfortunate, but was it any more than that? Did the discovery of this connection between CHC and people they knew and cared for affect what they were trying to do?
He stared at the mirror watching as his own features metamorphosed into Ernest’s handsome face.
“William, you have every right to be angry and concerned. It was sloppy and careless. At the time I was looking at CHC in detail, Jess became ill. I took my eye off the ball and concentrated on the woman I loved. Why I didn’t go back and review what I had done I don’t know. If I had then I would perhaps have seen that I had missed vital information. I have always been meticulous, or so I thought. Now you’ve shown you’re good at this get back to it.”
William’s features returned to normal and he turned and went back into the lounge. He picked up his iPhone to call Annabel when he heard Ernest speaking again.
“I’m not happy that you are allowing my son, your brother, to associate with a Cortez. It could be a fishing trip designed to get information about our investigation. It could be anything.”
“Perhaps she can offer proof that Jonas was murdered by her grandfather. Both Annabel and I are keeping a close eye on her and Ben. Let’s see if she is sincere or if this is as you say fishing trip.”
“Okay,” Ernest said, “let’s wait and see.”
***
The gym that CHC Industries provided for its executives, on the 41st floor of its building, was state of the art. The equipment, upgraded annually, exceeded what was available in all but the facilities used by professional athletes. A perk that the board directors needed to keep extra pounds from already expanding waistlines and to help them cope with the overwhelming stress that working for CHC involved. Felicity often used the gym before her working days began. She liked the solitude and the opportunity to think through the day problems and organise herself before the other executives struggled in at around eight o’clock in the morning.
Today was different. She was juggling so many metaphorical balls, that she needed this time to analyse what she needed to do and what she could hive off to Thrasher and her PA, Jonathan. Today looked to be a day that would require her complete focus. A degree of focus that she was struggling with. Looking at herself in the floor to ceiling mirrors on the back wall of the gym, she wondered for the hundredth time if she was succumbing to the mental illness that her mother had suffered from.
The voices had plagued her a couple of times. An insidious pleading for help from the hereafter that she had ignored. Voices in your head can only mean one thing; incipient madness. Like her mother. The nagging doubt she harboured; was that the voice purporting to be her grandfather Charles knew too much personal detail. Too many pieces of information that the voice could only have known if it had been there. Googling voices had offered every possible resource from mental health to voice coaching and voice over talent for commercials. She moved to the cross trainer to finish her workout with a frenetic fifteen minutes accompanied by David Guetta, Will.I.Am and Queen. The intensity of the exercise blocked everything apart from the beat of the music and the rhythmic whooshing of the equipment.
“Good morning Felicity. Still enjoying the gym? Never could understand your fascination with sweaty, but there you are. Generational thing I expect. To business. Your help is needed, or it would be more accurate to say that my assistance is required by you. You have yet to acknowledge it, but that’s just a Felicity thing.”
Felicity had kept the cross trainer whirring, a blur as she pushed herself harder and harder refusing to acknowledge the voice in her head. Pushing a button on the handle of the cross trainer she increased the volume of music pouring out of the speakers. ‘Titanium’ reverberated around the walls of the gym, Felicity looked into the full-length mirror, smiled, and continued with her work out.
A whispered voice inside her head said, “You can’t block out
voices that emanate from within. We have to talk, we will talk.”
Felicity slowed the machine down and pressed the button on the handle to reduce the music to a normal level. She walked over to the expanse of glass that encased three sides of the gym, offering a view of London that exceeded what could be seen from the top of the London Eye. She stared, expressionless, at St Paul’s Cathedral and beyond. Reaching into the pocket of her workout bag she took a packet of cigarettes, shook one out and lit it with her Dunhill lighter. Turning back to the window, she smoked her cigarette.
Helena hissed at Charles, “What is wrong with the snotty bitch? You’re not connecting; she’s ignoring you again. We aren’t leaving without her acquiescence. I warned you Charles, if she won’t see reason then she’ll see me and perhaps a snippet from our tableaux?”
Thinking hard Charles ignored Helena; blocking out her threats and concentrating on the woman in the room below him. Realisation of the approach he needed caused a wry smile to flicker across his face. Infuriated Helena snarled at him “What? What? Do you believe you have anything to smile about? What?”
Charles turned and spoke, “Can she see me?”
Helena looked at him not comprehending his meaning, “You’re floating forty floors above London,” Helena swooped down and stood in front of Felicity, shaking a hand if front of her face. Continuing, “She is unaware that we are here. I could float through her” Helena slides through Felicity from front to back, “Check on breakfast” Helena puts her hands above her head as if about to dive and whooshes up nostril and reappears a moment later from the other, shuddering. Before Helena could continue with her playacting Charles interrupted her flow,
“I realise she can’t see me, at the moment. But can you arrange it so that she can see me?”
“Ah yes, clever, very clever. Of course. We need to stand her in front of a mirror and have her concentrate. Can she concentrate?”
Charles thought for a moment and replied,
Bacchus and Sanderson (Deceased) Page 18
