by AFN CLARKE
"Good afternoon," I replied, and sat down before he could offer me a chair. "I really wanted to see Mr McDougall, but I understand he is away for a few days.”
"That is correct. However, I'm sure I can be of assistance to you. I handle a lot of his more mundane tasks." I decided I could get to dislike this guy quite easily. It seemed that recently there were not many people whom I had met I didn’t take an immediate dislike to. I didn't think his remark worthy of an answer, so I just sat looking at him. His voice and manner belied the look of the man. Beneath the suit jacket was an athlete’s body, so the rowing club tie wasn't just for show.
"I believe you are interested in the loan to Rathborne Micro-Electronics Limited. How can I help?"
"Yes, but first how did you know that was the question I was going to ask?"
"Your secretary." His reply was prompt and he didn’t bat an eyelid, but I was sure he was lying. Jennifer was very careful about not letting information slip. It didn't seem that important, so I just let it pass.
"The reason I'm curious about the loan is that there seems to be some odd goings on as regards the accounts of the Company, regarding the investments and the Government loan structure. As you may or may not know, the accounts are handled automatically by the Gunn Group computer system, presumably until the factory is completed and they have their own set-up. What puzzles me is that I have not been able to contact the Managing Director, even though both my mother and I are directors of the Company. I was wondering whether or not your department could shed any light on the matter. After all there is a sizeable amount of Government money at stake."
"I'm sorry to sound so negative but there is nothing much I can tell you." Radley put on his civil service smile again, the 'this is a Government Department, therefore we don't have to communicate with the general public' smile. "As you probably realise the Company is producing products in a very sensitive area and we have careful who we discuss matters with. So...."
"Are telling me that as the owner of the Gunn Group I am not entitled to know what is happening to my own company?" I interrupted, keeping my voice low and tone civil.
He still didn’t bat an eyelid. "….so we keep the information level down to a bare minimum,” he continued as if he hadn't heard me. “I'm afraid I'm just as much in the dark as you are, but I shouldn't worry unduly if I were you. The department does keep a strict eye on these things and I'm sure that if anything was amiss, then we would know about it." He paused, waiting for me to interject again and when I didn’t he continued. "Because of the nature of the product that is going to be manufactured there, there are certain elements covered under the Official Secrets Act. That being the case only by receiving direct instructions from the Managing Director or the Chairman of Rathborne Micro-Electronics Limited, can we release any information. I’m sorry but that is the way it works." He sat back in his chair watching me. He knew as well as I that short of reverting to physical violence there was no way to get any information at all.
"Interesting. You do know that I have a AAA rating under the Official Secrets Act, don't you, or are there some things even you do not have a high enough rating to know.” I wanted to see of there was a reaction. There wasn't. And that told me more about him than if he had answered. Mr Jonathan Radley was not Hamish McDougall’s assistant, or anything remotely close. It was just a niggling feeling, an instinct that prickled my Special Forces background. “Assuming you don't know anything about Rathborne because of your low rating, how about giving me the basic outline of how a Government loan is effected. Purely hypothetical, of course."
"I'm sorry, we don't deal in hypothetical cases. Every case is real and different; therefore I cannot discuss this subject with you. Now, if you will excuse me I have a very important meeting to attend." He leaned forward to press the intercom button on his desk. Before he could reach it I slammed his wrist down on the edge of the desk, eliciting a grunt from the arrogant bastard.
“Be careful who you fuck with, Mr Radley. Perhaps Mr McDougall will let you see my file, if you have a high enough clearance.”
I released his arm and he slowly, hesitantly reached for the button again.
"Miss Heatherton, would you please show Mr Gunn out. He's just leaving," he said, watching me carefully. Disturbingly he showed no sign of pain as he clasped his hands and placed them on the desk.
Once outside I loosened the collar of my shirt and took a deep breath. That meeting was one of the shortest I had attended in months and left me with the same feeling as before.
Frustration.
Every time I tried to find out about this company there was somebody or something in the way. I was determined that the best thing to do was to approach the Fraud Squad, provide them with as much information as possible and see whether or not they would instigate an investigation. Instinct had kept me alive throughout my Army career and now told me that I needed help.
If only Hamish had been around, it would have been different, but he wasn't and I couldn't wait for him to return from wherever he was.
The taxi dropped me off at the Heliport. The meeting with Radley left me feeling frustrated and impotent. I had two choices and I reckoned I would take both of them. The first was to reveal all my suspicions to the Fraud Squad and see what happened, and the second to visit the factory in Northern Ireland and find out how things were progressing and to see if I could discover anything about Des Ascot.
I find that aeroplanes, baths and toilets are great places for thinking. The flight went by quickly and I was landing at the Hall as the sun slowly dipped below the horizon by which time I had the plan of action all mapped out.
Dinner was oddly strained and tense. Mary was in depths of one of her 'turns' and looked pale and ill. Her hands shook. She just nibbled at her food and consumed glass after glass of wine. She didn't want to talk about the Hall, business or anything, just to wallow in her own grief.
Alone in the flat, Julie paced the floor.
“I'm worried about Mary,” she said finally. “It's like she's slipped into some bi-polar disorder. Sometimes up and happy, then way down, depressed and almost suicidal."
“I understand it's got to be hard for you, but you don't have to take on her problems.”
Julie stopped pacing and sank onto the bed beside me.
"Can't you see? She is the mother I never had." She lay curled in my arms crying softly. I felt useless. I had been so caught up in my own thoughts and actions that I had not seen what was going on around me. I leaned down and kissed her forehead.
“You've had everything all your life and never had to lift a finger. You just don't appreciate anything," she said quietly.
"That's not true. I hadn't realised it until now, but you mean more to me than I could ever have imagined. But you have to understand. You have to bear with me, Julie. Please." She quietened down and finally drifted off to sleep. I covered her with the down comforter and headed for the local pub in search of some quiet time in a noisy place.
I was sitting thinking about everything when a hand touched my shoulder and the friendly voice of Ron, the Farm Manager, broke in on my thoughts.
"Is this conversation private or can anyone join in?" he said.
"Sit down, Ron. It's nice to see you."
"You look a bit down in the mouth. This high life of business tycoon getting to you, is it?"
I smiled at him. We had known each other since we were small boys, when his father ran the farm, and I felt more at ease in his company than I ever had with my father. We were the same age and were like brothers.
"Yeah, you could say that. How's the farm? I haven't been around much lately."
“Can't complain. Prices all over the place, but we're making ends meet. You're father's happy.... Sorry was.... You know what I mean.”
“Is the Mini-Cooper still running?”
“Yes of course,” he grinned, and laughed. “You think I wouldn't take care of that little beauty?” He leaned forward conspiratorially. “We had some fun wit
h that when we was kids, didn't we?”
“We did indeed. Okay if I use it if I need to?”
“He reached into his pocket and pulled out a set of keys on a classic Mini-Cooper key fob. “Half yours, half mine. That was our bargain. Still is. Always keep both sets of keys on me, just in case.”
“Still in the same place?”
“Still in the same place,” he echoed. “I've heard the rumours 'bout you over the years, Thomas, so I figured that someday you'd need the use of our little baby.”
The Mini-Cooper was an 'S' with a race tuned 1275cc engine and full rally specifications that Ron and I rebuilt from a wreck when we were teenagers. Both our father's agreed that it would keep us out-of-trouble during the school holidays, and we scavenged all the parts from local scrap yards, and what we couldn't find we bought with our pocket money. It took two years and many sleepless nights, but on our eighteenth birthdays we set forth into the world in search of adventure and girls.
We discussed the farm, the Hall, the local cricket team and all the other things that friends talk about over a quiet drink in a country pub in mid-summer. Finally, closing time came and we went our separate ways. Him to his plump, happy wife and children; me to a brooding mansion and uncertain future.
To say that my call to the Fraud Squad was a non-event would be an understatement. At first, I thought that I was going to get somewhere, the officer who answered the call was very pleasant and put me through to someone he described as a 'very senior official'. I started at the beginning and explained my suspicions and fears and all the things that had happened. He was attentive and interested until he put me on hand while he consulted with another 'very senior official'. He was away for about ten minutes and when he returned I recognised the closed tone of officialdom. He told me as politely as he could, that there was not enough to go on and anyway, if the Government Department dealing with the loan didn't suspect any fraud, why should I bother myself about it. Knowing I was getting nowhere, I decided I wasn’t going to argue and hung up.
Radley was behind this I was sure. But why was I being pushed out?
Or was it that I really had nothing except a gut feeling? I laid out all the facts as I saw them and then put myself into the shoes of Radley and the Fraud Squad.
My father had been kidnapped and killed in Northern Ireland.
There was opposition in the Gunn Group to my appointment.
There was no information regarding Rathborne Micro-Electronics.
It was impossible to get hold of the Managing Director.
And a high level Government official refused to discuss the loan.
There was some funny stuff going on with the account and the missing seven gigabytes of data.
Nobody wanted to talk about any of it at all.
There was nothing substantial, but pieced together, the whole business looked very strange. The question that kept recurring in my mind, was why? Why the blocking?
All the facts, as I knew them, kept pinging around in my brain and I kept coming up with the same conclusion. Rathborne Micro-Electronics had something to do with my father's death. There was only one thing left to do. Visit the factory and find out for myself. Firstly, I figured I'd talk it over with Hamish McDougall and get his opinion, he should have returned from his trip by now and I could get Radley out of my hair at the same time.
Adrian Skyped me before I had time to refocus my mind. By his expression, I realised that he knew where I had been and was obviously not too happy about it. I stopped him before he had the chance to open his mouth and told him that I knew what he was going to say, and to save it because I was going to Northern Ireland as soon as possible to sort this whole mess out once and for all. The argument was, therefore, stillborn, as he had no desire for a repeat of the last one. At least, now I knew that I had him where I wanted.
Before he could reply I cut him off and called Simon the manager of the Gunn Group fleet at Norwich Airport.
"Hi Simon, will you get the guys to prepare the Mustang for Monday next week, I'm flying back to Belfast."
“No problem Boss.”
I swivelled the chair so that I could see out over the undulating grounds of the Hall. Julie was not going to like it, nor was Mary. But that was something that they would just have to accept. Then I called Jennifer.
"Can call you Hamish McDougall's office and see if he is available for dinner tomorrow night. I know he will be back by then, so don't let his secretary put you off."
SIX
The taxi swung into park place, a small cul-de-sac off St James' Street, at the end of which was a Georgian building with a simple brass plaque beside the door on which was written Royal Overseas League. Hamish was outside talking to a statuesque woman wearing a chic black raincoat and wide brimmed black hat that partially hid her face, who stepped into a waiting taxi as he held the door open.
"Have you been here before?" Hamish asked as we walked up the steps.
"I have but not in a long time. Dad sponsored me for membership when I was eighteen."
“He was very fond of the club. It is away from all the other more snobby clubs. They've made some very nice changes, I think you'll like it." He was right. The atmosphere was pleasant and reasonably informal, the food and the service good. Our general conversation continued over the meal of smoked salmon, veal marsala and a fresh fruit dessert, washed down with an ample supply of Pietrantonj Montepulciano D'Abruzzo 2007. One of the things I liked about Hamish was that he went to places he enjoyed and not for the status value and ate and drank what he liked, not what was considered suitable.
When we were finally settled in the lounge with our coffee and brandy, he asked me what he could do.
"I'm assuming Radley told you about our meeting," I said carefully. He nodded. "I'm concerned there is fraud in connection with the loan for Rathborne Micro-Electronics." I went on to relate all the facts including my fruitless interview with a member of the Fraud Squad. Hamish sat listening intently and I warmed to my subject, telling him of Mary's strange behaviour.
When I finished he sat for a while, taking it all in. I had no idea what he was thinking, but I hoped that whatever he had to say would be the result of careful analysis of the facts as I had presented them. He was about to reply when a waiter approached.
"Telephone call for you Mr McDougall.”
Hamish thanked him, apologised to me and followed the waiter. I finished the rest of my brandy, poured more coffee and waited. It would be easy to relax in this velvet lined quiet trap, but there was an uneasiness that invaded every part of me. The same instinct that used to warn of bombs, or ambushes, and the same instinct I had ignored to my cost those years ago. In this age of mobile phones, why did Hamish have to answer a telephone call on a landline?
He returned a few minutes smiled briefly and sat down rather stiffly. There was a subtle change in his demeanour, as if he didn't want to be sitting with me, and my uneasiness increased.
He cleared his throat as if he was about to give a speech. "Now to recap. You feel that an investigation is necessary regarding the Government loan procedures to Rathborne Micro-Electronics, right?”
“I think it's a no-brainer.”
“Certainly it would be laudable to protect the public purse, but on the minus side, instigating a full scale investigation is both expensive and time consuming.” He had lapsed into a condescending, patronising and aloof tone.
“I'm not asking for a full scale investigation, I'm asking for access to the files regarding the loan.”
Hamish tilted his head on one side pursing his lips. “That's a bit of a problem. You see there are only a limited number of people allowed that access, and unfortunately you are not one of them.”
“Which is absurd as I own the Gunn Group, of which Rathborne Micro-Electronics is a subsidiary.”
Hamish placed his fingertips together and touched them to his lips nodding slowly. “I do see your point, but there are procedures and strict rules regarding the distribution of
sensitive Government documents, and you don't qualify.”
“Really,” I said sarcastically. Somebody had reined Hamish in and once again I realised that he had no real authority or power. “I am flying to Belfast on Monday morning to start my own investigation.”
"If it helps you find peace-of-mind, by all means go. Perhaps I can dig around and see what I come up with.” He smiled, again patronisingly, his eyes narrow and cold. “Listen, if I may give you some advice, Mary has had a very rough time, she needs you, don't do anything that may harm her." He leaned over and patted my forearm. Another patronising gesture as if he was talking to a small boy. "I don't mean to lecture you but it is possible to get so wrapped up in your own thoughts and feelings that others are shut out. That can be very distressing.”
"That sounded more like a warning than a lecture, Hamish. You know far more than you are telling me.”
"I've been a friend of your family for an awful long time, Thomas, perhaps you do need warning.” He stood, and I rose with him. "No, don't get up, finish your coffee. The Porter will get you a taxi when you’re ready."
I finished my coffee slowly feeling more like a rat in a trap than a guest in a comfortable club. The very walls seemed to be watching me and I grew very aware that the machinations of Government were not designed to help the citizens of the land.
Feeling the need for some air, I had the taxi driver drop me off at the Embankment, near Cleopatra's Needle. Sometimes I came here just to be able to look out across an expanse of water and just pretend I was back on the catamaran in Gozo with Julie and not a care in the world.
Unless you have experienced a low velocity round passing close by and nicking your cheek, you'd think you'd been stung by a wasp. But I knew the sound and touch all too well, and dropped to the ground as the second shot ricocheted off the base of the obelisk and spun harmlessly away into the Thames.
