She admitted freely to herself that she had been naively seduced by the ‘dark side’, when her mother mentioned the chance to escape with so much money. Indeed, she was beginning to regret her decision, and missed Chris Townsend, her fiancé, a great deal. She had traced the family in San Diego, and as a matter of conscience had instructed her bank in Switzerland to open an account in Chris’s name and transferred US$1 million – in such a convoluted way that even the most clinical financial search could not trace it back to her. The Swiss were very good at these things. She then contacted Chris anonymously and passed on details of the account, which he could use with an ATM card whenever he wanted – but only up to $500 per day, so as not to attract the attention of the taxman. Perhaps one day, she thought, she might be able to re-join him.
She had also taken the trouble to fly to Switzerland and enter into discussions with her bankers to transfer seventy-five percent of her cash to twenty different tax havens worldwide, including: Liechtenstein; the Cayman Islands; Gibraltar; the Turks and Caicos; Aruba; Monaco; Monserrat; Bermuda and St Kitts and Nevis. The main purpose was to secure her funds by ensuring a wide disposition. The money also guaranteed Tax Residence status, which gave her twenty different options to escape to if the authorities grew too close.
She too had been watching the media very closely, and had identified a small paragraph in an article in Newsweek, which openly discussed the involvement of Ann Fletcher in the British financial scandal. She showed the piece to her mother, who merely dismissed it as worthless speculation.
However, Chloe was concerned that her mother’s scheme had indeed been rumbled – and would be better advised to take the necessary precautions to avoid arrest.
She had also flown to New York and had spoken with the high-flying financial advisor in her mother’s employ – and had transferred all of her personal portfolio to the US Virgin Islands. The moneyman had an office in the USVI and was happy to keep the business within the company. He was also forcefully reminded that Chloe’s mother was not to be privy to the transfer.
So, she now turned her attention to the four new properties in the West Indies: St Barts, Martinique, St Kitts and Aruba. She had purchased reasonably moderate, unassuming, detached and private properties that blended into the background. She used the Antonia de Marco persona and paid cash by Swiss bank draft for all four homes. She employed professional interior decorators, gave them a generous budget, and let them get on with it. By mid-May, all four villas were fit for habitation. She also employed local security firms to ensure complete privacy and protection from burglary and prying eyes whilst she was elsewhere – which she would be for up to eighty percent of the year.
With all this in place, she felt far more confident that she could build a future away from her mother – as she now truly believed that their new relationship was built on sand and could never truly endure.
***
Chloe was extremely perceptive to assume that the UKRA would come looking for their money and retribution.
Once the Lord Irvine had pieced together the puzzle of Ann Fletcher’s plot, he set in motion an extensive pursuit operation. He enlisted the assistance of the United States police and investigative agencies, which were keen to assist. The FBI was conducting an extensive and far-reaching search for the three women and they were having some success. Homeland Security was tracing through their entry visa records, but had no records of the specific Fletchers or Macintyres that they were searching for.
It was a long and monotonous job.
There are more than fifty two thousand females in the US with the surname Fletcher in the 40-50 age group. Narrowing it down using known parameters - colour, nationality and passport holders who had entered the US in the past three months, the agency was left with twenty-five hundred to trace and exclude.
It was painstaking….but they were getting closer…and Chloe’s pre-emptive escape plans were a very wise move.
The net was closing.
And when Lord Irvine supplied details of the aliases obtained from the airlines – the search became far easier.
***
Meanwhile, ex-Group Captain Andrew Brady was sitting in the Royal Palm bar and restaurant in St Kitts, having just finished a mainly liquid lunch.
He was growing progressively disheartened and depressed.
Of course, he was an ex-Group Captain because he had absconded with US$10 million after blackmailing Ann Fletcher’s accomplice in the ‘Great Gold Grab’ – as it was now being referred to in the tackier European press. He was in abject disgrace, and UKRA Security was after him. The South African shipping magnate had given him, Ross Bryant and Patric Silver up freely during his one-sided interview with MI5 in Cape Town. Lord Irvine had used the FBI to trace Brady and at present, he was being watched very closely. The FBI had determined that Brady was searching for his daughter, and reckoned that it was possible that he may lead the authorities into the female fugitives nest.
Brady had started his search in New York on the assumption that Ann would have needed the considerable financial support and advice available on Wall Street – US$2 billion was a great deal of money! He had spent a month pleading, bribing and cajoling anyone he could gain access to who might have a lead he could follow.
He had little success. Financial agencies had a code of client confidentiality, and no amount of wining and dining could persuade anyone to release any useful information.
In the end, by late March, he concluded that he needed to change tack.
He decided to try to second-guess his scheming ex-wife. He knew that she and Suzi Mac had enjoyed cruises and holidays to the Caribbean in the past, and had enjoyed the ‘naturist’ aspects of exclusive vacations designed for the rich and famous. Consequently, he decided to target the West Indies. He started in Barbados in early April and planned to work his way north and west towards Hispaniola.
The initial plan was to move into a top-end hotel and spend his time mixing with trendy European and American big spenders at fashionable restaurants and watering holes, using his newfound wealth to blend in. Every night he visited a different location and kept his eyes open for any sign of the three women. By day, he endured extremely expensive ‘all-you-can-drink’ catamaran trips to secluded bays, fighting off the unwanted advances of single and wealthy American widows as politely as he could. He had succumbed once or twice, conceding that it would be good for his reputation and cover. As a result, he received invites to various intimate social gatherings, which presented further opportunities to question guests about the Fletchers.
However, there was little to be learned. The three women he sought were not in Barbados, Trinidad or Martinique. He had also spent the daylight hours, when not socialising, traipsing around the more trendy and upmarket housing and letting agents, attempting to glean any trace of Chloe.
He invented an ingenious and almost believable story that involved pretending that he wanted to rent a house on the same island as his daughter, who had just rented a villa herself. It had to be a surprise and the agents, without exception, fell in with the ruse. The opportunity to win a new client loosened their tongues, and when Brady mentioned his daughters name and location, they happily checked their records – but up to now, there had been no sign of the young woman.
So he found himself on St Kitts in the central Caribbean. It was mid-May and his spirits were flagging. In fact, he was exhausted. Continuous partying and travelling was draining his energy and enthusiasm.
If it wasn’t so ironic – one could actually say that he needed a holiday!
Brady had arrived in St Kitts on the previous morning and had checked into the Ottley’s Plantation Inn. The bar in which he'd lunched was part of the hotel. It was certainly plush, but he'd had no sighting of Chloe or Ann. He decided to take an afternoon nap and pop into the Four Seasons complex for dinner later in the evening. He dropped by the Ottley concierge and arranged for a chauffeured car, and a reservation at their restaurant. It took a rather substan
tial tip to get a table, as it was very popular with the island trendsetters – even during midweek.
Brady planned to scour the estate agents the next morning and obtained a list of the best from the concierge, who sent the information up to his room later in the afternoon. He also passed brochures on exclusive boating charters for his consideration.
Suitably rested and refreshed, Brady dressed for dinner in an expensive and chic Chanel suit with no tie. Italian shoes by Gucci and a Dolce & Gabbana shirt made up the ensemble. A very nice Rolex peeped out under his shirt cuff. A luxury limousine conveyed him to the Four Seasons, and he took up his table at nine pm exactly.
The food and service were exquisite, and his presence generated several lascivious glances from the numerous elegant single ladies dining at adjacent tables. When he'd finished his meal and was sipping an excellent brandy, a waiter approached and passed a message, requesting that he join a group of four ladies ostentatiously displaying their finery at a table in a private and secluded booth.
Not one was under sixty years of age, and clearly there was a plastic surgeon somewhere living in luxury on the proceeds of just these four! Botox, thickened lips and slightly slanted eyes were distinct giveaways - and a complete turn-off for Brady.
Nevertheless, he accepted the invitation and turned on the charm, complimenting the ladies and chatting freely. He posed questions about the local social life and asked about possible houses to buy or rent. The four American ex-pats were a mine of information. They clearly knew everybody on St Kitts and Nevis that was worth knowing. They dropped names like confetti, mentioning Dukes, Earls, pop stars, actors, footballers and fashionistas with abandon. Brady was familiar with many of the names and promptly forgot them, as they had no relevance to his search for Chloe.
However, his ears pricked up at a comment made by one of the ladies:
‘We've had one newish arrival. In the last month or so. An Italian lady I presume – De Carlo – or something like that. Bought a villa just outside Charlestown – for cash I hear and nearly three million dollars. My friends’ daughter did the interior styling. She said there were no budgetary constraints. Although, she has yet to meet the lady – I say lady, but I understand she is well under thirty – and so much cash – single as well, I'm told. No man in sight.’
One of her dining companions added:
‘Antonia de Marco. That's her name. Our own security company is guarding her villa and Tony Stewart, the district manager let drop her name!’
Brady was extremely interested by this information, but tried not to show it.
‘Is the house in a nice area?’
‘Oh yes, it’s called Coconut Breeze, in the hills above Cotton Ground on the west coast. You’d probably need a car to get up there – 4x4 at least. It's a quiet and exclusive area and I think there are plenty of places to rent if you were thinking of staying,’ chipped in lady number three. ‘I know a good estate agent who can show you around – or I’ll do it myself if you like,’ she hinted mischievously.
Brady needed to be cautious, as offending these ladies was not an option.
‘Thank you, dear lady, but my partner is arriving in a day or two and I should really wait for her before making any commitments.’
The four ‘ladies that lunched’ sighed as one – all mortally disappointed that such a great catch was already taken.
‘But, that's for later, ladies,’ continued Brady brightly and affably, smoothly changing the subject, ‘let me order another bottle of Krug – and perhaps you can show me some of the St Kitts nightlife – the evening is but young!’
This suggestion restored the ladies’ enthusiasm and they willingly accepted his offer - and then a second and third bottle. A car took them to the Salt Plage on Cristophe Harbour. Champagne flowed and the evening ended at 4am, with Brady dropping off his four flirtatious lady friends one by one. He was too drunk to resist the farewell blowjob given him by the last gal as he dropped her off at her villa. What the hell, he thought, I’ll never see them again.
He fell into bed in a drunken coma and slept until noon. The champagne induced hangover was horrendous, and he phoned down to reception for a packet of headache remedies. He took lunch in his room and by two pm, Brady had showered and changed, and felt almost human again.
He took a hotel car to the estate agent, the name of which he had surreptitiously drawn out from his erstwhile companions. Ignatius Cromwell, proprietor, was happy to oblige, even more so when Brady dropped a couple of his friends names from the previous night’s revels. He produced a sheaf of appropriate rental properties in the specific area that interested Brady, and offered to show him around. Brady made all of the expected noises and when the opportunity arose mentioned ‘Coconut Breeze.’
‘Oh, that's a pity,’ apologised Ignatius. ‘That beautiful villa was sold only a month ago to a lovely English lady. It's not available.’
However, Brady had heard enough.
‘An English lady,’ was all he needed to know.
He made his excuses and left, making a promise to return. A cab took him back to the hotel and he arranged to hire a 4x4 with satnav for the next morning.
He was embarking on the hunt!
And the quarry was his daughter, Chloe – alias Antonia de Marco.
***
‘Good morning, Ignatius, it's Antonia De Marco. Perhaps you can be of further assistance. Can you contact Tony Stewart for me, and let him know that I’ll be arriving for a final inspection of the work done by the interior decorators – I can't seem to raise him?’ queried Chloe Fletcher sweetly.
Ignatius was keen to be of help:
‘Good morning, Miss De Marco, ma’am. Of course, I’ll give Tony a call. When do you expect to arrive?’
‘On the evening of the sixteenth, that's tomorrow. I'm on the BA flight from Antigua. I've already spoken to Christina Murray and she will be meeting with me on the seventeenth. It's just that I'd like Tony to be at the villa when I arrive on the Thursday evening. I wish to go through the long-term security arrangements. He’ll know the flight times and can work out my approximate arrival time at the villa.’
‘Of course, ma’am. I’ll make the arrangement with Tony. Will you be dropping into the office at any time? And is there anything else I can do for you?’
Chloe thought about the offer briefly, but replied in the negative.
‘No, that's all for now, Ignatius, thank you, I'm grateful.’
‘No problem, ma’am, just call if you need anything.’
Chloe hung up and continued with her packing. She would spend the day on the beach tomorrow, and then catch the five pm flight from VC Bird International. It was only a thirty-minute hop and she should be at Coconut Breeze by seven o’clock.
Of all her four new homes, she preferred St Kitts.
Perhaps she would stay for a month or two.
Her mother clearly couldn’t care less what she was up to.
***
Back in Brussels, the Lord Irvine was in conference with Sir Ronald Younger, the senior man in MI5. Irvine wished to be updated on the whereabouts of the six personalities involved in the gold theft.
‘We’re having some luck, sir. The man Brady is in St Kitts, having already visited several Caribbean islands in his quest. Our tame CIA man is trailing him and it appears that it might be a rather prolonged mission.
As for the three women, our friends in the FBI and Homeland Security are trawling through their immigration records in an attempt to discover any anomalies. In fact, I am expecting a phone call from our contact later today. He has inferred that there is some good news. The aliases have helped enormously.
Now, onto Lieutenant Bryant. We still have no idea where he’s gone. All three men who absconded and the two spouses changed their names. We are currently putting pressure on the Brussels criminal fraternity in an attempt to discover their new pseudonyms, but they seem to imagine that they are protecting some sort of weird client confidentiality – arguing that if they
reveal the new identities it will destroy their credibility and future business. In some ways, I can empathise – but additional pressure is being applied.
The same therefore goes for Silver and his wife. Vanished! I suspect that the Bryants and the Silvers will never be traced. I would suggest that we concentrate on Brady and let the others go. We have much bigger fish to fry.’
Lord Irvine nodded, deep in thought:
‘Perhaps Ronald, perhaps. For the time being keep the files open and we can hope that something turns up. When they see that Breton is going to grow into a concrete principle, they might try to return. We should be ready.
As for Brady, let's keep close tabs on his movements. He might be getting near to finding his daughter. I will be interested to hear what our friends in the FBI and Homeland Security have to say when you speak. Keep me up to date please, Ronald. Now I must take my leave. I have a meeting with my military advisors. And then, the bloody press again. They are like a pack of wolves!’
Snow! The Series [Books 1-4] Page 112
