THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR

by AFN CLARKE

  It was a ten-minute drive to the Stormont Hotel near the main gates to Stormont Castle. I paid the 'taxi-driver' and followed the porter who carried our suitcases into the hotel lobby. Within minutes we were inside breathing a sigh of relief.

  Julie flopped onto the belt. “I was sure that security man was going to find the gun,” she whispered.

  I pulled it out of the waistband of my pants where I had it tucked into the small of my back beneath my dark blue blazer, and slid it under the pillow.

  Julie reached up and pulled me down onto the bed, her nostrils flared and mouth slightly open. “You need to relax and I need sex,” she said huskily.

  “Anything for the lady.”

  “I'm no lady right now.”

  We made love urgently, passionately, the tension of the weeks and days vanishing in the moment. It was the first time we had been alone since returning to England and Julie was going to make the most of it.

  The rental car was waiting at the front entrance at exactly nine in the morning, as I had ordered and we drove to Dundonald to visit the factory site of Rathborne Micro-Electronics.

  As we approached the site I was surprised to see that the construction was not as big as I expected, considering the amount of invested capital. It should, by my reckoning, have been a hell of a sight bigger.

  Again the inconsistency.

  The old man would never willingly have gone along with this. The main manufacturing building was already complete save the internal fixtures and fittings, with what seemed an odd square annex on one side with no windows and a large roller door. I parked the car and walked over to what I took to be the construction office. As usual with most building sites, the office was empty.

  I sat down at the desk and looked through the drawers.

  “Should you be doing that?” Julie asked nervously.

  “I am a director of this company.”

  “Good point.”

  “Who the hell are you and what the hell are you doing,” came an angry American accented voice from the doorway.

  “Thomas Gunn, owner of the Gunn Group and a Director of Rathborne Micro-Electronics,” I said, staring at the slightly paunchy but well built man. “Who the hell are you.”

  "I run this site. Whaddaya want?" he said, his stubble-covered chin pushed forward aggressively.

  "You may have heard that my father, who started this project, was murdered recently. I'm here to find out what the hell is going on.”

  The mention of murder and the implied accusation that it may have something to do with the project, caused a slight change in the man's attitude, and a nervous flicker of his eyes from me to Julie and back to me.

  "Listen. I was told that I only discuss business with the Boss."

  “I just told you my father was murdered and I am the Boss.”

  “I don't know nuthin' about that. I do what Mr Ascot tells me.”

  “What's your name?”

  “Boyd,” he grinned unpleasantly. “You can call me Mister.”

  I ignored him, and continued to search through the drawers, throwing papers across the desk. “Where can I find Mr Ascot?”

  "You say you own this outfit, if you don’t know, how do you expect me to know? He just calls me on the cell every now and again. Tells me what to do.” He stood looking at me and I knew he was lying.

  "I don't see a computer in the office. Where is it?”

  “I use a laptop.”

  “Where is it?”

  “None of your business.”

  I picked up a receipt from the desk and held it up for him to see. “I think it is, especially as this is a receipt for a Unisys mainframe computer system, four laptops, four smartphones and four iPads, all paid for by Gunn Group money.”

  “Listen, that ain’t me, that's Mr Ascot.”

  “Then where are the computers?”

  “Dunno. Better ask him. I do as I'm told,” he said sulkily.

  “How did you get this job? A mainframe computer is a hard piece of equipment to miss.” I pointed to the odd looking square building. “Is it in there?”

  He didn't answer, looked down and shuffled his feet nervously.

  “You're American, what are you doing here?”

  “Mr Ascot wanted me personal. He pays me to make sure all the work is done good. OK?"

  "So you run the whole thing here? Pay the bills for materials, wages, all that stuff."

  "No, Mr Ascot does that. Just sends me cash to pay incidentals. Now like I said, you wanna know, you ask him."

  "Isn't it odd that a well-known Irish contractor isn't employed on this job?"

  “As I said, ask Mr Ascot.”

  “Fine. We'll take a look around, but first I want Mr Ascot's mobile number.”

  He didn't say a word, just turned and walked out of the office.

  “Not the finest example of a fellow countryman,” Julie said wryly. “You are right, something about this whole business smells very stinky.”

  We followed him out of the office and saw him disappear around the corner of the main manufacturing building, and a moment later heard the sound of a car starting up and being driven away at speed.

  We wandered through the buildings that seemed a complete shambles, and any discussions with the small Irish labour force were none existent as if they had been warned against talking to strangers.

  At the side of the factory was a large area under excavation, as if it was to be a huge underground parking area and another area beyond that looked more like a racetrack than anything else.

  This didn't seem like a factory for the manufacturing of micro-electronics, more like heavy industry.

  We went back to the office and rummaged around in the desk but couldn't find anything, so drove back to the hotel for lunch before driving into Belfast for an appointment with an official of the Northern Ireland Department of Enterprise Trade and Investment.

  “Mr Gunn, Miss....?” the short, overweight amiable man in the Department stuttered.

  “Sutton.”

  “Right, Miss Sutton. My name is Johnson, I had a call from Whitehall, Mr McDougall's office, what can I do for you?”

  “As you know I have taken over the Gunn Group of companies and there are some questions about one of our subsidiaries, Rathborne Micro-Electronics, that is being built in Dundonald.”

  "Yes I am aware of the company, a very large investment and superb for the economy here. Hopefully it will help keep the City Airport open with all the business it will generate,” he said enthusiastically. “We really need the jobs.”

  “I think there maybe something untoward happening. Fraud perhaps,” I said as casually as I could. “There is a lot of money unaccounted for.”

  “Really. I'm not aware of anything untoward. But there was something I saw a day or so ago that I thought was odd.” He typed with surprising dexterity with his fat fingers on the computer keyboard. "Here it is. A few days ago we received letter from the President of an American company requesting information about buying the stock of Rathborne Micro-Electronics. We of course referred the matter to your Head Office. I'm surprised you are not aware of the offer. He apparently heard that the company was in financial trouble after the death of Sir Ivan.”

  “I am certainly not aware,” I said, trying to sound as astonished as I thought I should be. The truth is nothing astonished me anymore, it just fed into the growing conviction that Julie and I had been thrown into something far bigger than we thought. “Just to whom at Head Office was this information to be passed?”

  “Well, actually, according to my records, a Des Ascot who apparently denied that there was such a financial problem and said that the company was certainly not for sale."

  "May I enquire as to the name of this American who wants to buy Rathborne?" I asked.

  "Well that would be most irregular. You see, matters such as this are most confidential and are not supposed to be released without sanction from Whitehall," he said uncomfortably.

  "From Mr McDougall
's office no doubt? The very office that set up this meeting we are having.” I was careful to keep my tone friendly, if insistent. Julie shot me a warning glance.

  "Well, I don't know. It’s most irregular." He scratched his chin and slowly, typed quickly and nodded his head. "I... well... excuse me if I pop out for a moment, if you understand.” He looked at me, nodded to the screen, got up and left the office, closing the door behind him. I heard him talking to his secretary, walked around the desk and stared at the screen. Julie leaned over my shoulder. It was a letter from a company called De Costas Automotive with an address in California. It was indeed an introduction letter with an offer to buy Rathborne Micro-Electronics, just as Johnson said, and it was signed, Samuel De Costas.

  “We need this. Move,” Julie said, pushing me aside typing quickly. The printer on the other side of the office clicked and rapidly spat out two copies of the letter. Then Julie typed quickly, accessing an email account that didn't seem to have anything to do with a Government Department, and sent a copy to her father's email address.

  “How do you know all the stuff?”

  She smiled. “My father's a computer whizz remember. I did pick some things up as a child. Get the copies from the printer before Johnson gets back.”

  I folded the copies, slipped them into my pocket then we returned to our seats just as the door opened and our helpful friend returned. He sat down, saw that his screen was just as he left it, and smiled briefly.

  “I had dealings with Sir Ivan, Mr Gunn, I was very shocked and saddened to hear of his murder. If there is anything I can do.” He slid a business card across the desk, which I picked up and slipped into my inside pocket.

  “What are you thinking?” Julie asked as we drove back to the hotel.

  “That I'm missing something that's right under my nose.”

  “Like what?”

  “Like something so obvious nobody would notice.”

  Julie looked across at me as if the same thought occurred to her. “I know what you mean. At least I think I know what you mean.”

  “No way it can be that simple,” I said as I pulled the car into a parking lot and sat gripping the steering wheel before taking out a pen and Johnson's business card. He had written his private cell phone number on the back and below it I wrote DES ASCOT in capital letter and then DE COSTAS. There it was. Des Ascot was a stupidly simple anagram of De Costas. It seemed a long shot but I knew I was right. Now the missing computer information fitted. It would contain information about the mysterious Ascot/De Costas.

  “So if Ascot is De Costas, why write a letter about the company being in financial trouble?” Julie asked echoing my thoughts. “Unless your investigation has triggered unwanted interest. If that was the case then by alerting the authorities and letting the fraud, or whatever it is, be uncovered, that would leave De Costas free to buy out Rathborne for a song.”

  “Well it's a theory. But we have no proof.” I pulled out of the parking lot and we drove back to the hotel. There were so many unanswered questions.

  We ate an early dinner in our suite having called Mary to check on her, and then I swapped to the burn phone and called Danny.

  “My boys looking after you?” he said cheerfully.

  “Indeed they are, but their tailing technique could use a little re-training.”

  “I'll let them know. I had them put an extra weapon in your bag. Untraceable. Just in case.”

  “You are thorough.”

  “I try to be.”

  “Can you run a check on two names? Des Ascot and Samuel De Costas. Americans.”

  “Already ran the first one, didn't come up with anything. And before you ask, his is the name on Rathborne Micro-Electronics.”

  “I wasn't asking, I figured you'd unravel that one. It's the second one that interests me.”

  “Why?” he asked and I could picture him leaning forward in anticipation.

  “I think they are one and the same.”

  “Interesting. I'll see what I can do.”

  “We'll be back in Norfolk tomorrow midday.”

  Julie watched me carefully, thinking. “I've heard of De Costas before. About a year ago I was doing a commercial for a new exotic super-car and his name came up. I thought I knew it from somewhere.” She paused deep in thought.

  “And?” I asked impatiently.

  “Bit of a recluse. Mega bucks.” She glanced at me sheepishly. “Well let's say probably not as rich as your father, and now I guess you. Don't know anything else but I'm sure a little research online will help.” She pulled out her iPad mini and was soon searching through the web for anything she could find.

  The hotel phone rang softly and I picked it up watching Julie scrolling through web pages. There was only the sound of breathing on the other end of the line.

  "Who is this?"

  "Boyd, we met this morning. I got information that will interest you." I recognised the voice of the man in charge of the Rathborne construction.

  "What information."

  "It's gonna cost you. I'll meet you at the office in two hours." The receiver clicked and then reverted to the dial tone as he rang off. I replaced the receiver slowly.

  “Who was that?” Julie asked without taken her eyes off the iPad.

  “Boyd, from the site. He wants to meet in two hours.”

  Julie looked up sharply. “It's a set-up.”

  “I know. But I have to go.”

  “Not without me you don't.”

  “Do you know how to use a gun?” I asked pointedly.

  She held her hand out and I passed her the Glock. Quickly she slipped out the magazine, checked the chamber and dismantled the gun. Then just as quickly re-assembled it and handed it back to me.

  “Self-defence training. It included a handgun course.” She shrugged. “A girl alone in New York, once mugged twice shy, third time the bastard's dead.”

  “Okay. You can come.” I unzipped my suitcase and found the hidden handgun, a Beretta BU9 Nano nine millimetre with two magazines each holding six rounds and a box of spare rounds. “Here.” I tossed the gun over to her, then a magazine.

  “Ladies gun,” she snorted unappreciatively.

  “It'll still do the job and it's small enough for you to conceal.” There was still much I didn't know about Julie, and I was beginning to wonder what she wasn't telling me.

  A dull glow of light shone from the grimy office windows. I parked the car, switched off the engine and lights, and waited. Somewhere behind I knew Danny's boys were watching, covering our backs. A slight movement in the office caught my eye.

  “He's there,” I said to Julie. “Stay behind me and a little to my right.”

  I headed over towards office, Julie following behind. The door was open and I could see Boyd sitting at the desk looking at a sheaf of papers.

  I stopped short of the door.

  "I’m here Boyd, what's this information you have?" I asked just loud enough for him to hear. He stopped what he was doing and looked up.

  "Come in."

  I signalled Julie to stay in the shadow and stepped towards the door just as Boyd brought a big Colt Magnum up from behind the desk.

  The first round slammed into the wooden doorframe where my head would have been had I stayed still. The second whined harmlessly across the site and buried itself into a heap of sand. I fired hitting him in the upper chest, spinning him around and throwing him back against the wall. My next shot put a neat hole in his forehead and took the back of his head clean off, spraying a red mist of blood and brain against the wall. He slid slowly to the floor.

  This wasn't the way I wanted it to go. I needed him alive so I could pump him for information, but I wasn't going to argue with a Magnum.

  There was the sharp crack of the Beretta, and I leapt outside to see Julie taking aim at one of Danny's boys, who had the good sense to take cover.

  “Julie, stop,” I shouted and she turned, pale with fear, the gun pointed directly at me. “Okay. Take a deep breat
h and hand me the gun.” She gave it to me slowly, shaking. Danny's man approached us.

  “I'm Paul. We have to leave, now. The police will be here in no time. Follow me keep your lights off. You know the drill.”

  We followed him back to my rental car and he made us follow him out through a back gate onto a dirt road without using our lights and slowly we made our way in a circuitous route back to the main road. Then stopped at the side of the road.

  Paul walked back to us and leaned in through the window. “I need the guns, both of them.” I handed them over including the magazines and my shoulder holster. “Nobody followed you to the site, I made sure of that, and we'll scrub the phone logs both here and at the hotel.”

  “Thanks Paul.”

  “Thank Danny, I owe him. Next time you see me, you may not be thanking me. Gypsy's warning mate.” He walked back to his car and drove away.

  “What did he mean?” Julie said hesitantly, still shaking.

  “Let's just say it's a fluid situation. Nothing is what it seems. And you're lucky he didn't shoot you.”

  “Can we go home now?” She managed a weak smile.

  EIGHT

  While Julie slept I lay awake trying to figure out this puzzle that just seemed to dive off in another direction every time I thought I had it figured.

  We checked out at eight in the morning and were airborne by nine.

  Such a lot had happened that I needed the time to relax and think of the next move. To wonder whether I should tell Hamish anything of what had happened. Somebody was obviously logging my every move and just as obviously, wanted me out of the way permanently. I was on the right track and either had, or very nearly had, the information to blow this whole mystery. I was sure that Samuel De Costas or Ascot or whatever his true name was, would be able to supply the answer.