THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR

by AFN CLARKE

  “Adrian, in this day and age all I need is the computer login passwords and I can get all the information I need by just pressing these little buttons.” I indicated the terminal by the desk. He had the grace to flush.

  He glared at me tight lipped, turned and left the office. I swung the chair around and stared out over the city, watching the slow-moving traffic like a giant worm threading its way through the undergrowth of houses.

  I hated cities. Hell I hated offices.

  But somehow up here away from the noise, the colours, shapes and shadows had a dream-like quality. I thought through the exchange with Adrian. Why all the blocking manoeuvres?

  What was it that he didn't want me to see? Perhaps I wasn't a businessman but eight years as an officer in the Parachute Regiment as part of SFSG (Special Forces Support Group), had given me a suspicious mind and a nose for trouble. Something was afoot, and sure as hell it involved the old man and the kidnapping. There was a knock on the door and Jennifer entered carrying a bulky, blue file.

  “Sir Ivan’s personal files and computer login passwords, Mr Gunn,” she said. “You’ll be needing them.

  “Thank you. Can you give me a walk through on how the system operates?” In the modern world where access to information was vital, everyone needed reasonable computer skills. As a member of Special Forces I was pretty educated on most systems, but I needed people in the office to think I was a little naïve.

  She smiled awkwardly and came around to the side of the desk, laid the file down and opened it at the first page of the text. “You will find all the necessary instructions here. Sir Ivan insisted that the whole system be made as simple as possible. He said he didn't want some computer programmer knowing more about the operation of the Group than he did.”

  “That definitely sounds like my father. Was there any information that is not on the computer?”

  “Not as far as I am aware, except for the design drawings for new projects, building plans, machinery and electronic devices. They are carried on a completely separate set of servers. Only the Chief Designer, the Chief Executive and the Chairman have access to those.”

  “So the entire Gunn Group, its accounts, day to day running, personnel wages and everything are available from this terminal?”

  “Yes. The file you have there has a limited circulation, again only to Board members. Other personnel in other departments have access to information that applies to their department only. Likewise with the Managing Directors and Chairmen of the subsidiaries.” She stopped talking and waited for my response. It was certainly a very neat way to keep abreast of all events. And all controlled from this office.

  “What about the personnel files of all the Group Board members?”

  “They are kept in the wall safe behind the Picasso.” She indicated the painting that hung on the wall above the small cocktail bar. I was beginning to get to know why Adrian was so against my appointment. I’m sure he would dearly like to have all the information that was in those files. People are most vulnerable through their personnel files and bank accounts. If you have neither, then as far as the world is concerned you don't exist. Identity is a plastic credit card.

  “Thank you, Jennifer. Oh, by the way, who appointed you as my secretary?”

  “Sir Ivan. I've been with him for four years. Mr Newell was a little annoyed.” She seemed a little embarrassed and dropped her head, not meeting my eyes.

  “In that case, Jennifer, I hope you stay on.”

  She smiled, excused herself and left.

  Well, at least, my secretary would not be one of Adrian's pawns, yet another thing that was going to annoy him.

  The rest of the morning was spent going through the blue corporate file, trying to make sense out of the meaningless letters and figures. By lunchtime I reckoned to have sorted out enough to be able to make a start removing the information stored in this vast system of circuit, breakers and microchips. Jennifer popped in at about midday to say that if I wanted lunch brought up to the office that could be arranged.

  “Please, thank you. Tell me, do you know anything about the project in Northern Ireland?”

  “No. I heard some talk, of course. There's always that in an office of this size. Nothing of interest though, just people wondering if they would be promoted and transferred when the factory started up properly.”

  “Why would anyone be transferred from Head Office? Surely that would be considered a demotion?”

  “Oh no. It was common knowledge that the new factory was top secret and under the personal control of Sir Ivan. All the office staff and management would have been selected by him, therefore it must be considered a promotion?

  “You say 'would have been'. Why? Surely the project is still underway? There is no reason to stop it is there?”

  “I don't suppose there is. It's just that we all considered it to be Sir Ivan's own baby and nobody else knew any of the details including the Board. He was negotiating direct with the Government.” She turned to me frowning. “You do know that the factory is to be built with a Government loan of two and half billion pounds, don't you?”

  “I knew there was a loan, but not the amount. I'm intrigued to know how you know so much about it.”

  “You really don't know much about office life, do you?” she laughed. “The grapevine is as good as jungle drums. All you have to do is interpret the sounds. You should hear what the information is on you. Even the best of bosses thinks that his assistant is a mere typing machine and not capable of rational or logical thought. There is a lot of information passed in the Ladies' Room which should be classified under the Official Secrets Act.”

  “I shall have to remember that in future. Do you know anything else about the Northern Ireland deal?”

  “No, I'm afraid not.”

  “Let me know if you hear anything.” I turned my attention back to my father’s personal files and ran through a breakdown of all the companies owned by the Group. I knew the Group was extensive, but had never known just how big it was. Each company had its own unique identity code, and all I had to do to get a detailed look at a specific company, was to enter it along with a confirmation password.

  I was so engrossed that I didn't hear the door open and Adrian come into my office.

  “I see you're hard at work, Thomas,” he said without smiling. “I wondered when you wanted to call a board meeting. The circumstances dictate that we should have one and I'm sure you are anxious to meet the other members. I think we had better clear up the obvious rift between us. I am quite prepared to hand in my resignation if you so wish,” he said formally, standing in front of my desk hands clasped behind his back. I looked at him and decided I needed to try another approach if I was to get anything out of him.

  “Adrian, this is a private company and I am the majority shareholder, but I do I know my limitations, and I need somebody to teach me. We don't have to like each other just so long as we respect each other's position. If you feel you must leave, then that's up to you.” My acting is quite good and I hoped I had just the right amount of sincerity in my voice to catch him off-guard.

  “Very well. But I must be allowed to carry out the normal business. With respect, I know this company inside out, and therefore it seems right that I should run it. Your father never interfered with me at all.”

  “Let's call it a truce, then. Can I count on your support for information and advice?”

  He inclined his head. Perhaps his loyalty to the company was stronger than his mistrust and dislike of me. He left without another word, and I sat for a long time thinking about him, wondering just where his loyalties lay. It was my suspicious mind hard at work again. There were so many things I didn’t understand, so many things that seemed very strange. Staring out of the window did little to add to my knowledge so I let my mind drift back to the time I told my father that I wasn't going to enter the family business, but join the Army instead.

  There had only been a few times in my life when I had truly seen my
father's dark side. I knew it existed, every immensely wealthy man was ruthless to some degree, but he had always been careful to hide it at home.

  “Ungrateful little prick,” he exploded, throwing down his serviette and knocking over the glass of wine at his right hand. “You'll get nothing.”

  “I didn't ask for anything,” I replied standing, pushing the dining chair back and nearly sending the servant tumbling as she walked behind me. “It's my life and I will live it the way I want.”

  “There are responsibilities.”

  “To what?”

  “To me. To this house. To the company.”

  “What about my responsibility to myself?”

  “Grow up.”

  “And be like you? I'd rather not.”

  He stared at me, his face puce with rage knowing that physically he was no longer a match for me, but I could see that if he had a shotgun in his hand instead of a dinner fork, then my life would quite possibly have ended at that point.

  Eight years later, he came to my hospital bed. Sat with me while I lay unconscious hovering between life and death, until I slowly returned to the land of the living. The fury I saw in his eyes was not directed at me, but at the circumstances that nearly killed me. Circumstances that he had been unable to control, and I realised why he had been so angry all those years ago.

  Angry because he could not express the fear he felt.

  Angry because he loved me and wanted only what he thought was best for me.

  Angry because he knew he could not keep me safe forever.

  He held my hand and his eyes softened. “Come back to me Thomas. When you are healed, come back to me. I need you now. I need your help. I need your skills.”

  At the time his words seemed odd, poorly chosen. I didn't feel that he had ever needed me.

  His eyes burned into my soul, and I shivered as if a cold wind had blown into the office, then his face faded from my mind, replaced by the grey London skyline, and I had the feeling that whatever had caused his death was already in play on that day nearly eighteen months ago. Eighteen months when I could have been helping him instead of taking my own sweet time with my convalescence and juvenile adventures. That night I flew back to the Hall.

  In the following days, Adrian proved to be a good teacher. I returned to the Hall and we communicated via Skype whenever I had a question. With the computer codes in hand, I didn't need to be in the office as there was a desktop computer in the flat.

  Besides, it was stifling. A claustrophobic cavern that philosophically I could never understand.

  I liked action, not inaction, and wading through the politics and shenanigans of business were proving to be more and more irritating each day. The only reason I stuck at it was because I knew that the riddle of my father's murder lay in the company he built.

  Adrian tried his hardest to make the dry, dusty world of figures, balance sheets and contracts come to life, and I wanted to learn because I felt that a knowledge of the financials would help me get at the heart of my father's murder. My mistrust of him remained unchanged and I took great pains to hide my true feelings.

  Mary suffered from highs and lows. Some days she was her normal, witty, charming self, others she stayed in her room and shunned all attempts to bring her out of herself.

  It was worrying but the doctor said that it was a pretty standard reaction to the situation. Julie travelled for a few modelling jobs much to her agent's great joy, and when not on location occasionally spent a few days in Cambridge visiting her father, a Professor of computer science at the University, whom I'd met four months earlier when Julie flew him out to Gozo. They had different surnames. She reasoned that using her mother's maiden name, Sutton, as a 'stage' name for modelling, sounded better than Oldfield.

  I was still ruminating on Julie's father when Jennifer called me on Skype.

  "You have something for me?" I asked.

  "Yes," she replied. "Not a great deal, just the minutes of a meeting. Seems out-of-place." As my PA she had really settled into the job, taking all the mundane day-to-day problems away from me, allowing me to get on with my learning.

  She sent me an instant message. "This is the passcode. OR - 41386/LN2."

  I typed in the code and rubbed my eyes waiting for the computer to access the file.

  NEW PROJECT OR-41386/LN2

  PROPOSED NEW FACTORY IN N.I.

  The meeting was declared open by the Chairman, who handed out an outline sheet (see Annex A) to all members of the Board. Having read the details the members were asked to comment on them.

  The Chief Executive, Mr Newell, agreed that the plan seemed a sound one, but wondered why the Board had not been consulted at the outset before the land had been purchased.

  The Chairman replied that there was little time as the land is in a prime position and there were various tenders for it. He added that the CFO had been informed as had the Company Lawyer. Mr Newell asked if the negotiations for a Government loan had also been completed without his knowledge. The Chairman replied that a tentative approach had been made by himself, but as yet no final details had been decided. Mr Newell started to ask further questions but was interrupted by the Chairman who stated that he was taking full responsibility for the project and had merely approached the Board for their reaction before proceeding. The Chairman stated that because of the Top Secret nature of the company, few Board Members would have access to any information regarding its manufacturing processes.

  There being no further business the meeting closed.

  The meeting had obviously been very short and very sharp, and the minutes seemed something that a child might write, which struck me as very strange. Attached to the minutes of the meeting was an Annex that laid out the plan that my father had drawn up for the construction of the factory. Reading through it I could see why Adrian had been so upset. It was very detailed not only spelling out the exact nature of the business, the construction of micro-electronic components for the computer industry, but also down to a management and work force organisational breakdown. A footnote to the Annex stated that a complete list of equipment requirements would be available in a week. The minutes and the Annex were dated within a few days of each other. The following pages were the equipment lists, salary and wage structures, dated exactly one week after the first pages.

  The last page was headed 'Financial Requirements'. Beneath the heading was a computer code, which I naturally entered to be greeted with an accountant’s dream. Lists of numbers, forecasts, cash flow charts, income, expenditure, profitability, loan amortisation charts and so on.

  I sat back. There was still no real information. Just an idea on paper and yet it was now well on the way to fruition, judging by the architects drawings and the provisional order for all the equipment that was listed. These last items had been received in the last few days.

  Somewhere, there was somebody who knew what it was all about.

  Somebody who was controlling the continuation of the project from somewhere other than the Group headquarters in Twickenham.

  "Jennifer, can you ask Mr Newell to call me on Skype."

  Adrian waited over an hour before he called. The delay was a petty statement of his independence, but I was too tired to let it bother me.

  "Presumably you've seen this,” I said. He nodded. "And presumably you have seen the drawings and the confirmation of the equipment orders too?" Again he nodded. "Then would you like to tell me who in the hell is running the project?"

  "I've been trying to find out. Apparently, your father approached somebody outside the organisation to be Managing Director. As yet, we don't have a name. For some reason, your father was keeping it strictly to himself. An act that, I may say, the Board did not consider to be in the interests of the company," he said little too smugly.

  "Not the Board's call to make.” I said roughly, continuing before he could reply. “Where was the money coming from to finance it?"

  "We have a fund into which each of the subsidiaries contri
bute. The purpose of it is to provide capital for new development. Venture capital if you like. Sir Ivan insisted that the control of this fund be his alone." By the look on his face, Adrian obviously disagreed with this too.

  "How much control of the Northern Ireland business does the Group have?"

  "None," he said looking acutely embarrassed.

  "You mean, so many hundreds of millions of pounds have been handed over to a company that as yet, nobody knows about and we can do nothing?" I asked incredulously.

  "Well, the Group has no control, but you do."

  "How so?"

  "Both your mother and yourself are named as Directors of the company, which has been registered as Rathborne Micro-Electronics Ltd.,” Adrian said reluctantly, looking more and more uncomfortable with each passing moment.

  I was dumbstruck. "Why the hell didn't you tell me this before?"

  "I had no idea myself until this morning. In fact, I had no idea what the company was called; none of us did," he said and for what seemed an age neither of us spoke. We were too busy trying to absorb all the details and make some sense of it.

  "What about the company server, Adrian? Do you think he might have put all the information on that?"

  "I've already checked. I can't find anything," he replied.

  "Well the files are missing, aren't they?"

  He cleared his throat and made himself comfortable before replying. "I think the idea of forming a new company in Northern Ireland was, and is, a sound one. The aid that is available from the Government is enormous and the benefits of cheap land and reasonably low wages make the potential profits very big." He paused, shifted position and continued. "The field of micro-electronics again was a good choice, the market at the moment being on an upward trend. The one oddity is the fact that Sir Ivan chose to go it alone. And yet this can also be considered a shrewd move." I looked up at him and he held up a hand to forestall my question. "Although the potential profits are high, so is the risk of any project in the Province. Your father was a farsighted man and I can only assume that by setting the Company up as a separate organisation he could minimise the risk. As to the unorthodoxy of the methods he used, one can only trust his judgement. If we can find out who the Managing Director is, a lot of the questions will be answered."