by Tomas Black
Fern turned to Drum who was busy looking around the vault. He had his hand pressed to the floor. “What now?” she asked.
Drum stood and looked up at the ceiling and noted two more cameras. “We count, weigh and record the serial numbers of each bar,” he said matter of factly.
“I was afraid you’d say that,” said Fern with a sigh. Drum started to walk out of the vault. “Hey, where are you going?”
“I need to talk to Ms Baxter – before she goes home,” said Drum.
“How am I supposed to record all of this?” shouted Fern. “I haven’t brought a laptop.”
Drum turned to Sarah French. “Sarah, please create a new spreadsheet for Fern. Record the details of each bar as they are weighed and email it to me.” He handed Sarah his business card and started back up the corridor
“What am I supposed to do?” asked Fern dejectedly.
“Shoot anyone who tries to run off with any of the bars,” Drum said, disappearing into the elevator.
~~~
Drum found Rosalind Baxter at her desk, poring over a computer screen. Two new security guards, heavily-built, had also materialised and were standing at the back of the room, keeping silent watch on a nervous Baxter. They looked more like muscle than security, thought Drum. This was confirmed when one of them shifted slightly revealing the bulge of a weapon beneath his jacket.
“Hello, Rosalind,” said Drum, cheerily as he took a seat in front of her desk. ”Sorry to keep you so late.”
Baxter looked up. The computer’s glow washed over her face adding to the pallor of her skin and the tiredness of her eyes. “Hello, Mr Drummond. That’s ok.”
“Call me Ben,” he said. “I wanted to ask you about the level below the vault. The red button in the elevator … “
Baxter’s eyes flickered sideways and then back to him. “A storage level … it’s closed.”
He glanced to the back of the room. “Never mind … not important.” He gave her a reassuring smile. “About that security clearance.”
Baxter nodded and smiled weakly. “I’ve given you this level of access. Hope it’s what you wanted?” She quickly turned the screen around to face him.
One of the guards behind Baxter suddenly took an interest, peering to try to get a better look at what she was revealing. Drum glanced at the screen. A standard security profile was displayed, except that in one of the boxes marked ‘Comments’ Baxter had written a telephone number and the words ‘Call me’. Drum nodded, and she flipped the screen back again.
“That looks fine,” he said, rising from his chair. “I won’t keep you any longer.” He made his way back to the vault, saving her number into his phone.
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
Harry's Flat
It was gone eight o’clock when Drum and Fern finished their audit of the vault. It was dark, and a cold wind blew off the Thames. It had started to rain.
“Great!” said Fern. “Now I’m going to get soaked.”
Drum braved the rain, leaving the shelter of the lobby to flag down a taxi. They were soon bundled into the back and driving along the Victoria Embankment towards the City.
“You look beat,” said Drum.
“I’ve just shifted six tons of gold from one room to another and back again.”
“What did you learn?” asked Drum.
“That gold is very heavy,” replied Fern, exasperated.
“Yes,” said Drum, thoughtfully. “They knew we were coming. They must have covered their tracks.”
“Or Victor Renkov is a lying shit,” said Fern.
“There is always that.” He looked at his phone. There was the email from Sarah French with a spreadsheet attached. “The only way to check if the gold in the vault is complete is to compare our tally with the inventory on the Rhodes computer system. But even that could have been altered by now. And we really need the original delivery notes from Pinkman’s computer to be doubly sure.”
“So we’re screwed,” said Fern. She looked out of the window. “What a waste of time.”
“Not necessarily,” replied Drum. He hit the speed dial on his phone.
“Hi, Rosalind. Ben Drummond. Sorry to call you so late.” He listened for a short while. “Ok, I understand. I’m texting you the information I need. Send it to the secure location in the text … right. I’ll be in touch.”
Fern turned to him. “Baxter?”
“She had company when I went to see her. She couldn’t talk. I think she’s being coerced. She’s sending me some information I think will be useful.”
“What now?” asked Fern.
“I think I owe you dinner,” said Drum, trying to read her expression in the dim interior of the cab.
“You owe me more than dinner,” replied Fern, turning to look at him.
Drum smiled. “I think that can be arranged.” There was silence. She moved a little closer to him, bent her head towards him and kissed him on the lips. The street lights of the City invaded the darkness of the cab, and he caught her smiling.
“But first …” He reached for his phone and scrolled down until he found the note he was looking for. He read out a new address to the cabby.
“What! You have got to be joking,” said Fern, slumping back into her seat.
“We’re not far from Harry’s apartment. It’s close to the Barbican … and Smithfield market is nearby. A quick in and out and then a great steak.”
“Yeah, right,” sighed Fern. “I’ve heard that one before.”
Harry’s apartment was on the first floor of a relatively new building. It was accessed via a gated lobby. They waited until a couple came out and then breezed in before the door could close and lock. They took the stairwell to the first-floor landing and walked along it until they came to the door number that Drum had memorised from the HR directory. There were no lights from inside the apartment.
“I hope you realise that this counts as breaking and entering,” said Fern as she bent down and inserted her credit card between the lock and the door jam.
“That’s probably the reason you’re so good at it,” retorted Drum.
Fern gave the door a sharp push, and the lock clicked open. She reached inside her jacket pocket for a pen light, drew her gun and pushed the door open with her foot.
Drum followed her inside. Fern played her light down the length of a narrow hallway. She moved through a doorway on her right, her gun raised, her light illuminating the space beyond. She relaxed and lowered her weapon.
“Looks like it’s empty,” she said, straightening and holstering her gun.
Drum found a light switch and flicked it on. They were inside a spacious lounge with a small kitchen-diner towards the rear. It had been minimally furnished; now it looked like a bomb had gone off inside the place.
Fern took a few steps, her feet crunching glass underfoot as she surveyed the scene. “Looks like someone’s trashed the place.”
Drum carefully manoeuvered his way through the debris, careful not to disturb the scene. “Someone was looking for something, but don’t ask me what.” His foot crunched down onto a glass photo frame. “Blast …” He bent down and picked up the shattered remains. Harry and a young Jimmy Miller smiled back at him. He recognised the place. It was taken while on their last assignment together in Mexico City. He peeled out the photo and turned it over. ‘Zurich’, a date then a long string of numbers were written on the back. He frowned and put the photo in his pocket.
Fern moved through an adjoining doorway and switched on the light. “Bedroom.”
Drum followed her in, and they started to search the place, rifling through drawers.
“Hello,” said Fern, peering into a large closet. “What’s this?” She held up a slim, red leather corset and a long pair of black leather boots. “Looks like Harry was into some kinky stuff.”
Drum came over and examined the corset. He looked at Fern.
“Don’t get any ideas, sunshine. I’d never squeeze into something like this.”
&nb
sp; Drum smiled, raising an eyebrow. “I didn’t think Harry was into this sort of thing.”
Fern frowned and gave him a hard look. “Were you two … y’know?”
Drum laughed. “No … nothing like that.”
Fern sighed. “That’s alright then.” She was in the process of putting the clothes back when Drum noticed a card on the floor. He picked it up.
“Looks like an invitation to a club in Mayfair. Some special gala.”
Fern looked at the invitation. “It’s for tomorrow night.”
Drum reached for his phone and walked back outside into the lounge. He dialled William.
“Allo, son. Everything alright?”
“Sorry to call you so late. Is Alice there?”
There was a pause.
“Hi, Ben.”
“Sorry to disturb your evening Alice –”
“Oh, tsk, tsk. What do you need?”
“Ever heard of the Lantern Club?”
“Why yes,” whispered Alice, after a brief pause. “It’s an upmarket S&M club. We kept a close eye on the place, back in the day. Frequented by members of the Cabinet who should know better. Why’d you ask?”
“Right,” said Drum, amazed at the secrets Alice kept. “Got a lead on Harry. How do I get in?”
“Well … it’s pretty exclusive. A private members club by day and a knocking shop by night.” There was a pause on the line. “For a start, you’ll need a female companion with suitable attire.”
“Sorry, Alice. I think this goes way beyond your job description.”
A high-pitched cackle erupted from the phone. “Oh my. You're so like your dad. No, I was thinking of Commander Fern.”
Drum's thoughts were dragged to the sight of Fern in a slim, red leather corset. “I don't think I could ask Fern –”
“Oh poppycock,” said Alice. “She'll be glad to go. Anyway, she likes you. You men can be so dense sometimes.”
Fern came out of the bedroom. She tilted her head to one side querying who he was calling. He smiled warmly back at her.
“If you say so, Alice. Now how do I get an invite?”
“Well … I still have a contact at the club. He can get you in.”
“Great,” said Drum. “What’s his name?”
She went silent for several seconds. Alice was not used to disclosing information over an open line. Eventually, she said, “His codename is Giles.”
CHAPTER THIRTY
The Mayfair Club
“There was no blood at the scene?” asked Alice. She and Stevie perched on Drum’s office couch.
It was nine in the morning, and he was dog tired. Yesterday had been a long day – and the night even longer. “No. None that I could see.”
“That’s a good sign,” added Alice.
“How do you figure that?” asked Stevie.
Drum thought she was looking more presentable in a new pair of jeans and a clean, white t-shirt.
“It shows she’s probably still alive – maybe in hiding,” said Alice. “Whoever trashed the place was looking for something. If they had Harry they would have found it by now.”
Drum picked up the photo from Harry’s apartment. “What do you make of this?” He leant over his desk and handed the photo to Alice.
“Is that Harry? Beautiful hair.”
“Is she your girlfriend?” asked Stevie, her eyebrows raised.
Drum sighed. “No Stevie. Not every woman I work with is my girlfriend.”
Stevie pouted her lips. “Pity.”
Drum smiled. He liked Stevie’s impish sense of humour. Well, most of the time. “What do you make of the note on the back?”
Alice flipped the photo over. Stevie peered over her shoulder. “A location and date – not sure what the number is,” said Alice, passing the photo to Stevie. “What about it?”
“I remember the location,” said Drum. “It’s not Zurich. It was taken in Mexico City – and not on that date.”
“What was special about Zurich?” asked Stevie, running her finger over the long number.
“Harry was working on an assignment with a guy called Mueller,” said Drum.
“Hans Mueller?” said Stevie. “The hacker?”
Drum sat forward. “Yes, do you know him?”
“Heard of him. He was outed and arrested a few years back for hacking a government database. He claimed to have reformed and turned ‘White Hat’ … that’s a good guy, Alice.”
“I’m not that old, dear, or technically inept.”
“Where is he now?” asked Stevie.
Drum sat back and sighed. “He’s dead.”
“Oh …”
“Keep hold of it,” said Drum. “You might figure out what it means.”
“You have data for me?” asked Stevie, smiling. “Or did you and Commander Fern not get around to that?”
Alice tittered.
“I’ve sent you a link to a secure cloud location that Raj and I both use,” said Drum, ignoring Stevie’s jibe. “You’ll find a list of all the inventory we found in the vault. Approximately six metric tons of gold made up of 482 bars.”
“Vlad’s gold?” said Stevie, a little surprised. “Shouldn’t we tell him?”
Drum paused. “We don’t know who that gold belongs to. Victor reports the gold missing and a week later it magically reappears.”
“Perhaps it was just a massive cock-up,” said Alice.
“I’m not buying that,” replied Drum. “Something’s not right at the vault. Someone is hiding something.” He told them about Rosalind Baxter.
“Who were the heavies?” asked Alice. “Vlad’s men?”
“I don’t think so,” said Drum. He shrugged. “Either way, she was very nervous. But she did send me digital copies of the vault security tapes for the past week and the bullion inventory as listed on the RBI computer system.” He turned to Stevie. “They’re stored on our secure cloud service. I’ve installed the encryption key on Raj’s desktop. Compare the list of bars we audited last night to what’s recorded on the RBI database.”
“What am I looking for?” asked Stevie.
“Any anomaly. If everything is kosher, both lists should be the same.”
“I’ll run a few statistical analyses on the data and see what pops up,” said Stevie. “What about the security tapes? There must be hours of them.”
“I can help with that,” said Alice. “Not the first time I’ve had to pore over hours of security footage.”
“Really?” said Stevie, giving Alice a puzzled look.
“A woman of many talents is our Alice,” said Drum with a chuckle. “What about tonight?”
“I’ve spoken to my contact at the club.” She gave Stevie a sideways glance. “The one we spoke about last night. It’s a gala evening so just black tie for you and a cocktail dress for Fern.” She paused. “You asked her, right?”
“She’s out buying a dress as we speak,” sighed Drum.
“You have a tux?”
“I’ll hire one.”
“Tsk, tsk,” replied Alice. “Go to this place.” She scribbled an address in the City on a pad on his desk. “Tell them Alice sent you. They’ll provide you with a jacket with a little more room.”
“A little more room for what?”
“The Sig Sauer of course,” replied Alice.
~~~
Drum stood under an awning erected at the entrance of an Edwardian terrace that was home to the Mayfair club. It was eight in the evening and Commander Fern was fashionably late. The night was chill, and the earlier rain had subsided to a light drizzle leaving the London streets smelling fresh.
Limousines pulled up, together with the occasional black cab, depositing elegantly dressed couples onto the wet pavement.
The tailor recommended by Alice had fitted him with a more than decent Tux. She had insisted he take the Sig with him. The tailor, unfazed by the sight of the weapon, had nipped and tucked the jacket to hide the bulge of the firearm.
A quarter hour of an hour
later, a black cab rolled to a stop next to the awning. The door swung open, and the tall and elegant figure of Alex Fern stepped out into the cool evening air. She shivered then smiled when she saw Drum.
He moved from under the awning to meet her. She was wearing a wine-coloured, sleeveless cocktail dress with a choker-like halter neck that exposed her broad back and shoulders. The hem of the dress had an asymmetric cut that rode high upon her bare thigh. It fitted her like a silk glove. Her only accessory was a silver purse. Alex Fern was indeed a beautiful woman.
“Good evening,” he said, extending an arm for her to take. “You look gorgeous.”
She beamed at his compliment. “And you’re looking very handsome.” She drew him closer and kissed him on the cheek. “Love the Tux.”
They walked up a short flight of steps to the club’s entrance where a doormen in a bright-red lively coat awaited them. Drum handed over his invitation. The doormen inspected the card, nodded and the front door of the club clicked open.
Giles was waiting for them when they walked through into the ornate, wood-panelled lobby with its checkerboard of marble flooring. He stood almost to attention in his bright-red livery coat over a white, wool waistcoat and sported a white bow tie around the collar of a starched white shirt. His black, regimental-style trousers were ironed to a knife-edge crease, and his black patent shoes had a shine that any Sergeant Major would have been proud of. Drum could tell from his bearing that he was an army man. Only age had stooped his once strong shoulders. He smiled warmly when he saw them, the corners of his eyes wrinkling with satisfaction and betraying a sharp mind that was rarely on display.
“Good evening,” he said. “My, such a handsome couple. This way please.” He turned and walked quickly to a door just off the lobby which he unlocked with a small key attached to a silver chain on his belt and walked through.
They found themselves in a small drawing room. Giles closed the door behind them. “This room has no security cameras, so we can speak freely.” He turned to Drum. “Are you armed, sir?”
Drum opened his jacket to reveal the Sig Sauer nestled under his arm.
