Snow! The Series [Books 1-4]

by Clifford, Ryan

  ‘What do you want, gentlemen, we are late for our table?’

  Mr Smith looked at Mr Jones and played their cards:

  ‘Well,’ said Smith quietly, ‘it seems that you have decided to disappear for one reason or another. You’ve murdered Leslie and Castle, and quite without doubt we are of the opinion that a vast sum of money is involved.’

  Ann turned to face Chloe, who's mouth had dropped open.

  ‘Don’t listen, darling, it's bullshit. They are lying. They just want money, and will say anything to get their grubby blackmailing mitts on it.’

  Smith spoke more arrogantly:

  ‘Now, now, Ms Leslie. The price has just gone up. One million US dollars – each, and we’ll just vanish.’

  Ann Fletcher was a master of negotiation in these circumstances – blackmail – and she knew that if one gave in to a extortionist, he would be back – time and time again, and then he would still probably inform the authorities.

  No, there would be no payment. However, she bluffed, glancing at Chloe:

  ‘I told you darling. Extortion! But only one million each. I think it's a small price to pay, don’t you girls? And we’ll be rid of these scum.’

  She had spotted Suzi moving over towards the desk, where a silenced pistol lay in the top drawer.

  ‘ No Suzi. I’ll get the details from my phone. We can transfer the funds by computer from here tonight. I assume you have the banking codes and account numbers gentlemen?’

  ‘You assume correctly, ma'am,’ replied Smith, smirking smugly at Jones.

  ‘I just need to fetch my i-phone, it's got the codes I require stored on the sim card.’

  What Smith and Jones were not aware of was, that during Ann's round of palm-greasing, she had been introduced to a very senior police official by the head of the security firm providing her personal protection. Both men had received the duty Rolex, and the police officer an additional ten thousand dollars in cash. The bribe was excellent insurance and now paid off perfectly:

  ‘Dear lady,’ he had purred, ‘if there's anything I can do – anything at all, please call this private number,’ as they exchanged cards.

  Ann had transferred the number into her speed-dial and as she entered her bedroom, she hit the appropriate button on her i-phone.

  The police officer answered. He had also stored Ann's number on his mobile phone, so he knew instantly who was calling.

  ‘Yes, Senora Leslie.’

  ‘Ramon. Two dangerous men. My suite at the Renaissance.’

  ‘Si, senora,’ he replied and hung up.

  Ann returned into the lounge area within twenty seconds, Smith and Jones none the wiser for her call, approached her desk carrying the phone and opened the computer. She switched it on and waited for it to boot up. Meanwhile, she nodded imperceptibly to Suzi who offered the two agents another drink.

  They made small talk for a further ten minutes, when suddenly came a sharp rap on the door.

  Chloe answered and the police entered in force, led by Inspector Ramon Perez.

  Ann stood up and demanded an explanation.

  ‘What is the meaning of this? Who are you? Where are my security men?’

  The Inspector played along. He was well-practiced in playing out these little dramas.

  ‘Good evening, Senora. We are with the police. I am Inspector Ramon. Your security detail is quite safe, just outside. We are old friends,’ he explained smoothly.

  ‘No, Senora, I am here following a tip off that two dangerous men were at large in the hotel. Ah…I see them there. Sergeant, seize them!’

  Mr Smith and Mr Jones had no time to react before four burly police officers had twisted their arms behind their backs and handcuffed them both.

  ‘What's going on, you bitch?’ objected Smith, and received a vicious blow to the face for his trouble.

  ‘Senor,’ continued Perez, ‘tut-tut-tut, such insulting language and with ladies present. Sergeant, take them away.’

  Mr Smith and Mr Jones were led away ignominiously, protesting their innocence until silenced by further blows. They were led to the staff lift, down into the basement area and out of a rear door to the waiting police vehicles.

  They were never seen or heard of again.

  ‘If I can be of any further assistance, Senora,’ smarmed the Inspector and vacated the room, closing the door behind him.

  ‘Well knock me down with a feather,’ breathed Suzi. ‘How the fuck do you do it Ann?’

  ‘Anticipation darling, anticipation.’

  Now they were really safe.

  ***

  Ross reported to Sir Ian James that the final consignment of gold had been excavated from the vaults in London on Saturday evening, and requested that the exhausted teams be stood down and returned home for R & R. He happily agreed and congratulated Ross on a fine job, well done. Ross suggested that perhaps the last batch should be cleaned up and returned to Brussels for display at UKRA – it may be good for morale he hinted.

  Once again, Sir Ian concurred and Ross told him to expect the gold delivery around noon on Sunday the sixteenth.

  In the meantime, he briefed Lt Privett that he required himself and six men to accompany him on a sortie to the Pretoria Queen. They were to sign off on the gold operation, and use one crate to pay off the South African crew.

  He persuaded Privett that this was part of the original plan and after some discussion, forced the Chinook crew to comply with his orders.

  The captain of HMS Richmond had been instructed to stand down as from 0900 hours on the Sunday morning, and the Frigate would return without delay to her berth on the French coast.

  As the Richmond pulled away, and the Chinook loaded with gold for Brussels took off, another helicopter carrying Ross, Brady, Patric and Lt Privett requested permission to land, stating that they needed to pick up the MI6 agent, Freddy Almond.

  Permission was cautiously granted, and the chopper touched down and shut off its engines.

  Ross and Lt Privett supervised the off-loading of the gold crate whilst the Pretoria Queen’s Captain stood looking on in puzzlement.

  After the crate was dumped into a hold, to satisfy Privett and the Chinook pilot, Ross, Brady and Patric requested a private audience with the ship’s skipper. All were armed.

  Ross succinctly explained exactly why they were here, emphasising that if he didn’t cooperate, one of their party was ashore with all of the relevant details, and would instantly bring the full force of the British armed forces down upon them before they could say ‘Jack Robinson’.

  Alternatively, if the Captain wanted a firefight, Ross would be happy to oblige, and merely pointed at the six soldiers who had taken up firing positions around the helipad, commanded by Privett.

  It didn’t take long for the captain to understand that he was up ‘shit creek’ – and without the proverbial paddle. There was little he could do but call Dirk Koopman, who was furious, but was resigned to the situation as well. He knew that he had years of this nonsense ahead. Everyone he contacted to dispose of the gold would want an extra piece of the action.

  So Ross passed Koopman the full names and personal details of the three partners, and requested that accounts be set up in those names in separate banks in Luxembourg.

  The three accomplices had plumped for US$10 million each.

  They had concluded that being too greedy may cause Koopman to protest and delay, so they decided to be sensible.

  If they'd only known, Koopman would have paid double – as much as US$20 million each, so he considered himself lucky.

  All of this discussion took around an hour and after the trio re-boarded, the Chinook crew wearily set off back to Brussels, and eventually to their base in France by noon.

  However, the hapless Freddy Almond was not a happy chappy.

  The Pretoria Queen’s First Mate produced him just as the Chinook was about to depart.

  He was screaming and shouting and protesting about his treatment, and warning Ross that so
me despicable plan was afoot and that the Pretoria Queen should be held by the British authorities.

  Ross ordered him to shut up, but Freddy refused. He maintained that when he reached Brussels, he would be speaking to his superiors and exposing the whole bloody issue.

  Everybody on the ship involved with the plot looked at each other in alarm. Freddy could not be allowed to shout his mouth off in Brussels. The ship needed the full ten days at least to disappear.

  For once, Brady took the initiative, as primarily, he feared that Ross might shoot Almond, there and then.

  ‘I think you’d better remain as a guest of the good Captain, until you calm down Freddy.’

  The Captain agreed, and Freddy Almond was dragged, kicking and screaming back to his cabin.

  Brady reasoned that what happened to him in the future was none of his business – but he wouldn't sanction his cold-blooded murder on the ship today. With a bit of luck, he'd be dumped ashore in some remote port in Africa or South America. What he knew would be old news by then.

  The three men landed back in Brussels and returned to their individual apartments. Koopman had been given a two-day deadline to phone through with account numbers in Luxembourg, or the game was up.

  The Pretoria Queen weighed anchored and set sail for Cape Town fifteen minutes after Koopman had passed the account numbers and they had been verified by all three men. Ross phoned the captain personally.

  It's cargo lay safely in the hold and after about a week, somewhere off the African coast, two hundred miles out to sea, the gold was transferred to a different vessel, which sailed to an unknown safe harbour, from which Dirk Koopman negotiated the sale of the British gold reserves.

  After five years of overheads, bribes and innumerable expenses, he cleared around US$15 billion dollars, which made his retirement very pleasant indeed.

  He saw Ann Fletcher one more time. They met in Rio de Janiero three years later – quite by chance whilst they were attending the Grand Prix. The reunion was pleasant and passionate – both had done very well out of the Snow!

  Day 78

  Monday 3rd March

  Guernsey

  M. Alain Blanc strutted across the airfield from where his personal jet had landed. It had taxyed almost up to the compound, where an increasingly bored Lt Privett and his men maintained their guard on the ‘gold’.

  He had a Personal Assistant in tow, and another man with weighing equipment and a briefcase containing test equipment. Their identities were given a cursory check and the outer doors opened. The three men plus Lt Privett and two heavily armed soldiers approached the inner store, and Privett opened the doors.

  M. Blanc indicated to his compatriot to commence his testing regime, whilst asking Lt to fetch three chairs and then to wait outside until summoned.

  The three men spent over three hours in the store before striding out and up to the Lieutenant in high dudgeon:

  ‘Is this some sort of ridiculous British joke?’ he demanded angrily. ‘Who do you British think you are dealing with?’

  Lt Privett had no idea what the Swiss banker was on about and merely shrugged his shoulders.

  ‘I don’t understand, sir. Is there a problem?’

  ‘Oh yes there is a problem. We've inspected sixty bars of so called gold in there and found none that is genuine. It is not gold. It is Ferro-Tungsten painted gold. I am now departing and will cancel the Galaxy C5 due in to collect the ‘gold’. You may report this to your superiors. I shall be speaking directly with Sir Ian James. Good day, sir!’

  At which, the little Swiss fellow strode arrogantly back to his Lear Jet, and it taxyed away and took off.

  Lt Privett was dumbstruck.

  He tried to ring Group Captain Brady.

  No luck. Brady was in the US on holiday.

  He tried to ring Ross Bryant.

  No luck. Ross was in the Himalayas, climbing.

  He tried to ring Patric Silver.

  No luck. He and Joanie were in New Zealand, touring.

  As a final resort he rang his CO in Germany, who in turn rang his boss, who in turn rang Eleanor Fisher. She took the message and immediately asked to see Sir Ian James.

  She passed on the message and Sir Ian slumped back in his chair, eyes to the ceiling, hands on his cheeks.

  ‘What in God’s name had happened to the gold?’

  ***

  Eleanor Fisher returned to her office and a letter had been delivered, addressed to her, which lay on her desk.

  She opened it and almost cried out in surprise.

  ‘Dearest Eleanor, I'm terribly sorry to have left you after all these years together. I am deeply and sincerely indebted to you for all of the loyal work you have carried out on my behalf. Undoubtedly, tales of my evil ways will surface and my name will doubtless go down in infamy.

  It may be that you are tarred with the same brush and I do not believe that to be fair. So, as a bastion against future persecution or the premature end of your career, I have made arrangements for your financial security.

  Please contact the Dresdner Bank in Luxembourg and you will find an account, numbered below, in your name, with a little over one million US dollars sitting in it.

  Please don’t be too proud to take it.

  You deserve it.

  All my love and sincerest gratitude,

  Ann.’

  Eleanor Fisher burst into tears.

  The primary reason was that she was certain that Ann was alive.

  Secondly, she was deeply touched that the woman she had secretly loved for twenty years had not forgotten her.

  ***

  The search for the gold was now on.

  Sir Ian James called an emergency Cabinet meeting to reveal the extent of this new disaster.

  ‘Who or what is the source of this theft, Sir Ian? A foreign power? Isn’t the ship involved registered to a South African?’ asked one of his senior Ministers.

  ‘At this stage we know very little. We know that Dame Ann, God rest her soul, was heavily involved. But now that she has been killed, we are having difficulty eliciting any information. We know that she designated a chap called Bryant to supervise the nuts and bolts of Operation Auric, and he reported directly to Richard Castle, who as you all know, was murdered with Ann.’

  Another question from the table:

  ‘And can Bryant answer any questions, Prime Minister?’

  The PM hesitated.

  ‘Well, actually, Lt Bryant and his wife have disappeared. All attempts to contact him have failed. Indeed, he resigned his commission two weeks ago and left UKRA with no notice. Vanished. We might trace him through his passport and we are trying that avenue, but he could be anywhere. As it happens, before anybody asks, the officer running the show in Guernsey, Group Captain Andrew Brady has also …er…gone to ground. He also resigned his commission last week, and was last seen going through Frankfurt heading for the USA. Apart from that…it's a big country!’

  His new deputy, Edward Spencer, gasped in disbelief:

  ‘Prime Minister – are you really saying that all of these people – ‘intimately connected to Ann Fletcher’ people, have just run off? It's highly dubious if you ask me.’

  ‘It gets worse. Her driver, one Commander Patric Silver and his wife have gone as well; as has her ‘stunt double, Carol Leslie. She was employed to stand in for Ann as a security measure. In addition, Chloe Fletcher, the daughter, and Dame Susan Macintyre, an intimate friend of Dame Ann have flown the coop. None of these people is contactable. The only sources of relevant information are Eleanor Fisher - her PA, and a Lt Privett, who commanded the troop of soldiers guarding the fake gold in Guernsey. They are being interrogated as we speak.’

  His audience was astonished. Surely, this immense balls-up was a resignation matter! The PM would have to go.

  Sir Ian continued, becoming more depressed by the minute.

  ‘The only assumption we can reliably make is that the ship involved – The Pretoria Queen – must have the gold
on board. It must have been on there that the main deception took place. They ingeniously swapped over 24,000 bars of gold for Ferro-Tungsten – which is virtually worthless. However, the ship is now in a port in South America taking on a load of coal. Our agents in the embassy are making enquiries. In my estimation, I'm sorry to admit that our gold reserves have gone!’

  ‘Dear God,’ exclaimed Sophie Hill, the new finance minister. ‘What are we going to do, Sir Ian?’

  The Prime Minister was just about done in. He'd spent weeks and weeks convincing the rest of the world that Britain could dig out a significant wedge of cash to prop up its new government and now - that was all gone. If Ann Fletcher had been alive, then he would definitely have laid the blame squarely on her shoulders. But she was dead! And that fact alone exonerated her….unless…a third party killed her as a double cross?

  No, no, no, he was thinking like a spook now. That eventuality was highly unlikely.

  No, it was clearly a conspiracy funded by the person who recruited and supplied the Pretoria Queen. The owner, Dirk Koopman, was outraged when questioned, and to be fair, all he had done was lend the ship to Ann Fletcher free of charge!

  The whole matter was a confusing mess.

  In fact, he was so tired of it all Sir Ian James made an instant decision.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, colleagues, friends, it is with deep regret that I tender my resignation – effective immediately.’

  Nobody around the table said a word as he slowly stood, and walked out of the room.

  Day 100

  Tuesday 25th March

  Epilogue

  During the first month after the British gold was stolen, there had been a series of events and disclosures that helped to clarify the situation somewhat.

  Lt Privett was interviewed at length, and although it was clear that he was an entirely innocent party, he had nothing substantial to tell the enquiry, except about a rumour amongst his men that Ross Bryant knew about the fake gold, because one of his Privates had drawn his attention to the fact after the fatality on the fourteenth of February. In addition, he confirmed that Bryant, Brady and Patric had commandeered a Chinook and taken a box of ‘fake gold’ out to the Pretoria Queen – apparently as payment for their services.