ALL ACTION THRILLER BOXSET: THREE MURRAY MCDONALD STANDALONE THRILLERS

by Murray Mcdonald

  The best thing she could do for the child was to make sure its father was stopped. Frankie pulled up her calendar. She kept a note of everywhere she had been with Nick. Their whirlwind romance over the last five months had been just that, a whirlwind. Every moment they had was spent together.

  Three months earlier, they had been to Paris. Nick had an assignment that would take him away for a month. It would be the first time they were to be parted since they had started dating and included a few days of business in Paris before moving on to Afghanistan. Frankie had taken a week’s vacation and surprised him. She thought back to how shocked he had been when she had appeared at his hotel room. She tried to pull up the memory of his face, the image of shock. She had forgotten about it but the shock had been such that she thought she might have interrupted him with another woman. However, his room had been empty and she had just pushed it to the back of her mind. The next few days had been some of the most memorable of her life.

  As the memory came flooding back, the image sharpened. It was shock alright, not at the surprise, but at being caught out. Nick hadn’t been with another woman. He had been planning his escape all those months earlier and she had interrupted his plans.

  She had surprised him at a small hotel near one of the main railway stations, the Gare de Lyon. After her arrival, they had moved to the recently refurbished Hotel De Crillon, one of the most salubrious Parisian hotels and her mother’s favorite. While he worked, she shopped and in the evenings, they spent the most wonderful time together enjoying Parisian nightlife. It had been a special few days prior to his departure for a month. The same month that had propelled him to becoming a secret superstar by assassinating Zahir al Zahrani, the head of Al Qaeda.

  On the second day of their Paris trip, she remembered something strange had happened and again she had just set it aside. He had left early and returned late in the afternoon. She had spent the morning shopping and then went for a run. She had told him in the evening of how she had run seven miles that lunchtime. He had joked about how funny that was as he had had lunch with a Mr. Rahn. He then expressed concern about her being caught in the terrible hailstorm. There had been no hailstorm in Paris; it had been a beautiful clear day until after three. Only then had any clouds appeared.

  She picked up the handset and asked for the NOAA, National Oceanic and Atmospheric Administration. She gave them the date, a rough timescale and asked them if they could look into it. The operator was helpful but pointed out numerous times that it was a Sunday and that he’d do his best.

  Armed with the little she had, she approached Special Agent Reid, the head of the Joint Terrorism Task Force and as the hunt for Nick had overshadowed every other terrorist activity, she was Turner’s Number Two and lead agent on the operations floor. Frankie explained the trip to Paris and the probably innocuous weather reference. Reid listened, one eye remaining on her screen as the updates from thousands of agents and law enforcements agencies scrolled continually across her screen.

  “I know it’s crazy but I just remembered it because when I said I had run that day at lunchtime, he had laughed as he had had lunch with a Mr. Rahn,” added Frankie to put a bit more context around why she had remembered the weather being different.

  Reid’s second eye left her screen and stared at Frankie, giving her her full attention.

  “He had lunch with a Mr. Rahn?”

  Frankie nodded.

  Reid stood up. “Charlie?” she called across to another female FBI Agent a few desks away.

  ‘Yes?”

  “What was the name of the bank that the prince made the transfer to, earlier this morning?”

  Charlie rifled through some notes. “Rahn & Boderman, but it was just from one internal private account to another.”

  “Thanks,” said Reid, her excitement building. They were onto something.

  “$250 million dollars,” added Charlie.

  Reid nodded. That part she had remembered.

  “Frankie, sorry to interrupt, but I’ve got a guy from NOAA holding for you, he said it’s urgent,” said an agent who had come to find her.

  Frankie thanked him and took the call on Reid’s phone. After listening to the NOAA operator, she thanked him for his quick work.

  “There were heavy hailstorms on that day in Southwest Germany and Northeast Switzerland,” said Frankie, updating Reid on the latest intel.

  Reid pulled up a map on her computer and found what she expected.

  “Northeast Switzerland, Zurich. The location of the Rahn & Boderman private bank.”

  Reid called Dan Gimenez over. An internet search and a call to Interpol resulted in the home phone number of a Mr. Paul Rahn, one of the main partners of the Rahn & Boderman Bank. After numerous inquiries into whom he was talking to, would do nothing more than confirm that the prince was an account holder. As for the money transfer, he was far more interested in how the US authorities were aware of the transaction. Getting nowhere, Dan informed Rahn that the US government would do everything within its power to ruin his bank should he fail to cooperate. Rahn hung up.

  “Shit,” said Reid.

  “He’ll call back,” said Dan assuredly.

  “I don’t think so.”

  Dan pulled up a web page and pointed to the entry for Rahn & Boderman. “That’s why he’ll call back. Unlimited Liability.”

  Reid looked confused.

  “Very few Swiss banks still operate on that model. Basically, the partners have full responsibility for any losses the bank incurs. Just look up Wegelin Bank, they were the oldest private bank in Switzerland,” said Dan. “I emphasize were.”

  Before Reid or Frankie had a chance to look it up, Paul Rahn called back.

  “I have a meeting scheduled tomorrow morning with the recipient account holder.”

  “Do you have a name?” asked Dan.

  “In a safe in my office. All I have is the account number in my diary.”

  “Can you get me the name?”

  “Of course, when we open the bank in the morning,” he replied, ending the call again.

  “Thanks, Dan, you’re a star,” said Reid. She grabbed Frankie’s arm. “Let’s go,” she said, taking her notes and heading up to Turner’s office.

  Frankie popped her head into Carson’s office on the way. “Come on, you’ll want to hear this!”

  Once in Turner’s office, Turner and Carson both listened as Frankie and Reid updated them on the latest discovery.

  Carson checked his watch when the two finished. “Twelve hours until the bank opens its doors.”

  “Plenty of time to get there,” replied Turner. “I’ll get the jet prepped.”

  Carson shook his head. “Mine’s bigger than yours, we can take a team with us.” He walked onto the gangway and shouted down to the floor below. “Flynn, my office! Oh and I suppose you’d better bring Barry,” he added, noting Barry’s interest peak.

  “Ladies, can you hold the fort?” asked Turner.

  Reid nodded.

  “Frankie, you’re coming,” said Carson, walking back into the office, answering for Frankie before she could respond.

  Chapter 29

  Monday 7th July

  After a circuitous route checking for any tails, Nick retrieved his second planted vehicle just a mile from Farsi’s stronghold. The small Peugeot had seen better days but the simplicity of its engine ensured it started instantly on reconnection of its battery. Not a soul on the planet knew of his new mode of transport or where he was headed. He checked the mirror and didn’t recognize the face looking back at him. So far, everything had run perfectly to plan. He tuned the radio to Beur FM, an Arab radio station, and headed south.

  His meeting with the banker was penciled in for 8:30 a.m., which gave him plenty of time to avoid the main routes and once again take the less obvious ones. It was a long drive but he’d rested well through the day and would have plenty of time to sleep after his meeting.

  ***

  The C-32 landed at 6:30 a.m. lo
cal time in Zurich. The military version of the Boeing 757 was designed for VIP travellers and so delivered a fresh and energized team ready for the task ahead. One of Barry’s SOG teams met them at the airport with transport for the thirty operatives Flynn had brought with them. Another SOG team was already in position, preparing the ground around the bank and scoping out positions for the rest of the team.

  A car awaited the rest of the team. Their role was to meet with Rahn at his home and explain what was required of him. If possible, Nick would be taken down before reaching the bank. However, should the opportunity for a clean takedown not be available, they would take him during his meeting with Rahn.

  Their arrival at Rahn’s home had been less than welcoming. Their visiting him at his private residence at any hour was outrageous and at 7:00 a.m. even more so. He had insisted that they leave and would meet them at his office at 8:25 when he normally arrived for work. Turner and Frankie had complied with his request and turned to retrace their steps to the waiting car. Carson, however, had not.

  Five minutes later, he called them back to a far more receptive Rahn, who invited them in.

  “What did you say to him?” Frankie whispered to Carson.

  “I just told him he wouldn’t be the first banker I had arranged to disappear in Lake Zurich.” He smiled wickedly. Frankie had a horrible feeling that there was far more truth to that statement than should have been the case. It certainly had transformed Paul Rahn and begged the question of how many Swiss bankers had vanished over the years for Carson to be taken at his word.

  Turner explained to Rahn what they expected. However, a call from Barry and Flynn soon changed all of that. The street was empty. A team would be spotted far too easily. The takedown would have to be in the bank. Rahn’s face fell further. A look from Carson ensured his compliance.

  “When do you normally leave for the bank?” asked Turner.

  “7:57,” replied Rahn, “which gets me into the office between 8:23 and 8:25 a.m. Leaving at 8:00 adds an extra ten minutes to the journey.” “The most important thing is that you keep to the routine,” said Turner.

  “How many entrances and exits?” asked Frankie.

  “One main entrance and one fire exit,” said Rahn. “And one exit from the vaults below. But there are a number of security doors that only open outwards. It also links to a building behind which was the original bank building.”

  “Can we get in that way?”

  Rahn made a call and wrote down the address.

  “Call Flynn and give him the address,” said Carson to Turner. “Mr. Rahn, we’ll meet you inside the bank and don’t worry, we’ll make sure you and your staff come to no harm.”

  ***

  Nick’s drive through the night had gone far quicker than he had anticipated and he arrived almost two hours early for his meeting. He drove along the waterside, admiring the boats in the warmth of the early morning sunshine. His Peugeot was old enough to know a time before air conditioning and as the sun rose, the temperature responded.

  Although confident that not a soul knew where he would be, old habits died hard. He parked the car in one of the many vacant spaces and walked back towards the bank, thankful of the early morning breeze. The waterside location meant there were many coffee shops that would allow him to sit and watch the goings on without drawing attention to himself.

  With the time approaching 8:30 a.m., bank staff began to arrive. So far, everything appeared normal. He had noted a slight increase in joggers, particularly male ones but, given that the weather was far better than when he had last visited, that wasn’t unexpected. He finished his last mouthful of croissant and limped across the road with the aid of his walking stack, entering the foyer at precisely 8:31 a.m.

  ***

  One of the oldest and most prestigious banks in Zurich, Rahn & Boderman was one of the few to benefit from a lakeside position. Zurich sat at the top of Lake Zurich, a stunningly beautiful lake that stretched off into the distant hills and mountains of the Swiss Alps. Unfortunately, the secret rear entrance had not afforded any of the visiting Americans the stunning views to the front of the property. They had had to make do with the old entrance of an obviously poorer time.

  The aging guard that met them at the old entrance guided them back through a mind-boggling number of security doors, nearly all of which put the single vault door protecting the President’s emergency operations center to shame. Flynn and Barry had tossed a coin for the takedown team and much to Flynn’s disappointment, it would be an SOG team that would accompany Frankie and the investigative team.

  By the time they were in the building, it was already 8:00 a.m. A quick tour confirmed the takedown had to be in Rahn’s office. The grand entrance and banking hall offered Nick far too many options. On the other hand, Rahn’s office had one entrance, was two floors up with bars across the window, and had as a bonus a secret sub-office hidden behind a bookcase. The team would be able to hide in there and the plan was that Rahn would leave Nick in his office to ‘deal with something’, and the team would come out from behind Nick and secure him in the enclosed environment.

  After running through the scenarios, Barry instructed two of the bank’s security staff to be replaced by two of his men. The other eight SOG team members would be located in the sub-office.

  Carson, Turner, and Frankie would wait in one of the other partners’ offices just along the hall. When Nick arrived, an assistant would inform Mr. Rahn of his arrival and then take him up in the private client elevator. All was standard procedure in the bank and would give everybody ninety seconds’ heads up.

  At exactly 8:24 a.m., Paul Rahn arrived and proceeded to his office. He had been told to act as normal and so spent a few minutes chatting with staff. It was a Monday morning and this was the opportunity for staff to tell him what they had been doing over the weekend. Not that he was at all interested. However, his father had done it before him, just as his son would do it in the future.

  He reached his office right at 8:30 a.m. Rahn ignored the entourage in his office and opened his calendar. The numbered account due at 8:30 a.m. was the first thing on it. He opened his bottom drawer, revealing a safe below. He keyed in a number and withdrew its only contents, a large ornate and very old leather bound and gold leafed ledger.

  “What are you doing?” asked Turner, surprised at how cool the banker was, given the situation.

  “I was asked for the name when you called yesterday. I told the young man I would get it when I arrived at the office.”

  Turner shook his head. The name was irrelevant. It wasn’t as though the account was going to be in Nick Geller’s name. A bank of small screens on his desk allowed Rahn a view of the banking hall below and his eyes flicked between the ledger and the hall as he looked to match the number he had obviously memorized.

  “Ah, there we are. It appears my 8:30 a.m. has arrived.”

  ***

  Being the first customer in the bank, Nick was attended to immediately. His meeting with the director was confirmed against the diary and he waited to be taken through to the offices. His hand rested on the satchel and the reassuring outline of the Berretta below the material gave him comfort.

  The director walked into the banking hall and warmly welcomed Nick.

  “Monsieur Guillon, it is a pleasure to see you again,” he said, hugging one of the largest depositors at the Crédit Agricole branch of Marseille, France.

  ***

  “Mister Harry Carson, number 652348190-235, you are Harry Carson, no?” asked Rahn.

  “Yes, but…” said Carson, his face ashen.

  “Passport number is…”

  Carson raised his hand for Rahn to stop speaking. Turner looked at Carson, not fully understanding.

  “He set us up! He’s not coming here. It’s a joke. It’s a fuck you!”

  “The account is a fake?” asked Turner.

  “We do not do fake accounts at Rahn & Boderman,” insisted Rahn, insulted at the suggestion.

&n
bsp; “So you do have an account here?” asked Frankie.

  Carson nodded. “From many, many years ago. There’s probably nothing in it.”

  “Other than $250 million you mean?” she said mischievously.

  “Let’s wrap this up. I’m not discussing my private details here. Obviously that money needs to go back to the sender. It’s a mistake!”

  “So you wish me to send the money back?” asked Rahn.

  Carson nodded, although every muscle in his body fought him. That $250 million sat in his account: it was therefore his. Whether the prince had made a genuine error or not, which of course he hadn’t, Nick Geller was fucking with him. The money was his and under Swiss law to do with as he pleased.

  “Is that a yes?” asked Rahn, wanting a verbal response.

  Turner and Frankie looked at him. “Yes,” he grumbled.

  With two strokes of the keys, Harry Carson’s rainy day fund dropped from two hundred and fifty million dollars to three hundred thousand dollars. It hadn’t even been in his account long enough to gain a day’s interest.

  Chapter 30

  Nick smiled as he placed the items in the safety deposit box. He also couldn’t help smiling at the thought of what may have been happening in Zurich. They would have pieced the clues together he was sure. Carson would be furious. He always liked to be the smartest guy in the room. Closing the box, Nick’s smile dropped. What if they hadn’t found the clues? He had just given the cantankerous old bastard a quarter of a billion dollars! He shook his head. The prince’s transactions would be looked at with a fine toothed comb. Not a chance. Although Harry Carson was as sly as they came. Shit, he thought, leaving the bank behind, that was one scenario he hadn’t thought through properly. However, if that were his only mistake, Harry Carson wouldn’t enjoy his new-found wealth for very long.