Philian Gregory

by Simon J. Stephens

  “But of course,”, Dexter told Gabon, “I can’t give you the details. It’s worth more than my job.”

  “Come off it pal,”, Gabon had replied, “we all have a price. No harm, no foul, eh? Just you and I getting richer. I bet there’s something we can trade.”

  Dexter shook his head.

  “I can get you anything.”, Gabon whispered in his ear, “Money? Toys? Women?”

  He noticed the look on Dexter’s face as soon as he said that.

  “What do you say,”, Gabon probed, “you and I and couple of high-class girls. You ever done that?”

  “I couldn’t, really, I’m married.”

  “Forget that. You want to, don’t you? Trust me, you’ll never regret it. What do you say, you come back with me, drop me a tip and I’ll set up the fun and games?”

  That was how they’d found themselves in the apartment, drinking more chilled champagne and waiting for their visitors. When they arrived, Gabon asked them to settle themselves down and start the party whilst they conducted a little bit of business. The two men had adjourned to Gabon’s office, where the ubiquitous computer sat next to a much larger sister model.

  “I don’t want to write anything down.”, Dexter whispered, “Boot up this computer and I’ll put the details on a file. It’s secure, isn’t it?”

  Gabon reassured him and fired up the machine. As he did so, Dexter stumbled and fell next to the other computer, managing to attach the jump-drive as he scrabbled back up.

  “Sorry, a little too much booze. Hope I can perform.”

  “You wait until you see the two of them going at each other. You won’t have a problem then. All yours.”

  Dexter created a file, typed in the data and closed it down.

  “Give it a day,”, he told Gabon, “now, let’s get down to our other business.”

  When Gabon woke the next morning, he only had a vague recollection of the events that had put him there. Something wasn’t quite right, although he only felt as rough as usual. Being Saturday morning, the markets were shut but he looked at the information he’d been given and checked it over again in his now sober state. It had been worth the cost of a couple of tarts. Shame he couldn’t remember how good they’d been.

  The reality was that they hadn’t been very good at all. With spiked champagne putting Gabon out for the night and the two girls offered twice their usual rate to keep quiet, Dexter had walked out of the building with them both in tow, pausing only to wink at the night porter who gave him a sly smile in return.

  Considering this victory, Dexter listed in his mind the others who had fallen for his subterfuges. He liked playing a role. He relished the challenge of being up front with his targets and knowing that it was his quick-wittedness that meant the difference between success and failure.

  Janet Jones, a consultant NHS analyst had bought right into his electrician performance. It helped that she was a university lecturer who lived on campus and whose knowledge of the wider world was limited and untainted by suspicion. It made sense to her that the university would want her electrical appliances tested annually and she wasn’t the sort of person who would look at the little green stickers that sat on all her plugs and make sure the date was correct. She even left him alone to carry on and told him to let himself out when he was done.

  Mike Vincent welcomed Dexter as a mature student acolyte who was penning a paper on the importance of the sort of affordable public housing that Vincent was designing. He hadn’t had government approval yet. His hope was that the more people became aware of the cost advantages of his model, the more support he would get.

  “If I can get as much information as possible,”, the faux-student explained, “then I can use some of my contacts to feed the positive message in. I know the barriers but my father is quite well placed in local government.”

  That had been enough of a hint for Vincent to spend an unscheduled hour with his visitor. The hard-drive was copied within minutes, after which it was a battle to exit as soon as possible, without alerting suspicion. Thankfully, flattery worked. The social housing that Vincent espoused was functional, simple and cheap. It broke the rules where ‘fool’s concessions’, as he described them, such as universal disabled access was concerned.

  “You have to build for the many and adjust for the deviant.”, he explained, “It’s so obvious but you can’t discriminate apparently. We’ll have no choice soon. There isn’t a bottomless pit of money.”

  Agreeing with everything Vincent said and turning any difficult questions back to the man himself allowed the time to pass quickly. He left with a lot of information that he would never use and a stack of data that might be invaluable.

  And so, it had gone on. All the while, the club stood as the Holy Grail. A first pass at the place at the end of his first week should have sown a seed. Having heard nothing since then, he had begun to think that this was the failure that would mark an otherwise successful period in his life. That was when the phone had rung and the invitation had been made. Missing breakfast, he’d eaten that early lunch to sustain him as he walked through a number of public parks towards the meeting that had been so long in coming.

  As Thwaite and his girlfriend passed him, they couldn’t have known what his past few weeks had been like, nor could they quite understand why he seemed so buoyed by the prospect of his next appointment. It was a coincidental meeting. A tangential touching of two spheres of influence that were both separate and inextricably linked.

  Chapter Forty-Six

  Getting access to The Haven was a challenge that Dexter relished. He had no justifiable reason to enter the place, he had no contacts to secure him entry and he was certainly in no position to perform any sort of heroic break-in. The place was subtly secure, but secure nonetheless. Numerous ideas and complicated schemes stirred in his imagination, each one seeming to be the answer, until his quick mind showed him the flaws in it. In the end, it was a conversation with his friend, Philian Gregory that made up his mind. A conversation that was followed by an express delivery to his hotel room. It was to be a crude approach. A direct approach. He was comfortable that he could pull it off.

  Dressed appropriately badly, he’d watched the club from a discrete distance, waiting for a specific event to happen. That event happened an hour after he’d first taken up his position. He watched the well-suited, elderly visitor fumble to retrieve their membership card before trying several times to get to grips with the swiping and the PIN entry that it required. By the time that the door had buzzed open, Dexter was right behind the gentleman and in such a position as to be able to reach out and hold the door open, waving his own membership card at the other. There were always flaws in the highest security measures and they usually involved public nature. The club member turned to Dexter, smiled and allowed him to follow him through the, supposedly impregnable, door.

  “Thank you, Sir.”, Dexter smiled back.

  “My pleasure, dear boy.”, the top-drawer reply, “I’ll see you inside.”

  The entrance to The Haven consisted of a single space, little more than a wide corridor, with a cloakroom to the left and a reception desk to the right. The elderly man slipped into the cloakroom, whilst Dexter approached a wary-looking porter who simply greeted him with a, “Sir?”

  “Hey,”, Dexter played the innocent American card to its fullest, “how are you?”

  “I’m fine Sir.”, came the porter’s dry reply, “You do realise that this is a private club?”

  “Yeah, of course, absolutely.”, Dexter beamed as he spoke, “I guessed that by all the cloak-and-dagger stuff to get in. I hope you don’t mind, but you ain’t even got an intercom there for me to ask to get in. Sorry if I’ve upset anyone.”

  “Deliveries are received at the service entrance.”, that was the only reply he got.

  “Boy, are you something else!”, Dexter laughed, “And yeah, I read that li
ttle sign. But, to use a bit of English vernacular, I have to say that one does have certain standards. I ain’t used a service entrance since I made my first million and I ain’t gonna use one now.”

  “Okay, Sir.”, the porter’s sigh was withering, “So how may I be of assistance?”

  “I found this.”, Dexter waved the expired membership card that had been retrieved from Goodwin’s house, “Says on here that if it’s found it should be returned to the club. So, here I am, just doing my duty.”

  “You found it?”

  “Yep, just outside. Sort of shone out at me from where it lay under a hedge. You want it, or what?”

  “I appreciate your diligence, Sir.”, the waiter retrieved the card and examined it, “I really don’t know how it was left outside, but it is expired. Thank you.”

  There then followed an awkward silence.

  “Can I help you with anything else?”

  “Well, maybe.”, Dexter flashed a toothy smile and leaned across to the porter, “Yep, maybe you can. You see, I’m not long back in the UK and I’ve been looking for somewhere like this. I’ve had offers from all the big names in the private gent’s club scene, but I like my privacy a bit too much. Hell, in the States, I had to build my own place to make it happen.”

  “And?”

  “And, I was wondering if, maybe, I could apply for membership?”

  “Our clients are only ever recommended to us, Sir.”, the porter waved as another member passed.

  “And I’m sure that in due time, I’ll have met somebody who can give me that endorsement. But, like I say, I’ve been away a while. What say you take my details and ask your superiors?”

  The porter grudgingly retrieved a piece of headed paper and passed it across to Dexter, along with a Waterman fountain pen.

  “If Sir would be good enough to give his name, address and contact details, I will make sure my superiors are informed.”, the porter had to endure this all the time. From members it was okay, but not from a passing yank whose taste in clothes was dubious, to say the least.

  “This is really good of you.”, Dexter rambled on as he wrote, “You leave it with your bosses and they’ll thank you for introducing me. I pay handsomely for privilege.”

  “And, don’t worry.”, he passed the paper back to the porter and winked, “I’ll see you right when I come back.”

  Not condescending to reply, the porter put the paper on his desk and gently raised his hand to indicate the door.

  “I guess I’ll be seeing you.”, Dexter dropped a twenty-pound note on the desk as he left, “You have a good day now.”

  That had been the start. It was a seed sown that might blossom and flourish or one which might never see the light of day. It was worth the punt. For one, he got a feel for the place, although he’d seen very little of it. For another, he’d touched on the possibility that the club’s security was not as unbeatable as he’d first thought.

  They’d telephoned him a couple of days ago and invited him to return. Now, as he walked towards the place, he felt that he was beginning to make progress. Forces were driving him along a path that he was reluctant to pursue and, with the details of what The Haven was all about, he had a chance to take a third way with his friends. He would enjoy being a member and an insider in the place. With that access, he could justifiably tell Gregory and Carrington that he’d reached the limit of his input. He’d be free to enjoy a comfortable life again, and they would be able to act if necessary.

  Seeing in his mind’s eye, the look on the face of the club porter, Dexter strode up to the door and simply rapped loudly on it. The place didn’t have a bell. What else would a bold American do. It worked and the door opened to his push.

  “Good afternoon, Mr Parker, Sir.”, the same porter manned the same reception desk but spoke this time, in a much more deferential tone.

  “Hi,”, Dexter replied, “I believe you are expecting me?”

  “Indeed, indeed, Sir. Your appointment is for two and you are right on time. If I could just ask you to sign the visitor’s record, the committee will be along shortly.”

  Dexter executed a perfect replica of the signature that he had perfected for this alter-ego. Behind the scenes, the twins had constructed a mythical aspect of the past for Parker. That past was designed to press all the right buttons with the guardians of The Haven, and it seemed to have worked. It wasn’t only a past though. It also showed the life and times and activities of a very present and influential American, one for whom power and influence were part and parcel of everyday life.

  “Mr Parker.”, a trio of diverse characters moved towards the reception desk. The greeting came from the man Dexter immediately understood to be the most senior, “So glad you could make it. Andrew Hill, Club Secretary.”

  “It’s an honour to be here.”, Dexter shook the man’s hand.

  “My colleagues, Joan Beeston, Membership Co-Ordinator, and Edward Fellows, Committee Member and jack-of-all-trades.”

  The introductions were completed with more handshakes before they headed into the inner-sanctum of the club, diverting to an office that was discretely tucked away to the side of what appeared to be the main club lounge. Several members looked up as they passed, nodding a greeting to the committee members and giving Dexter a questioning stare.

  “Don’t worry too much about them.”, Hill said quietly, “New members always arise a certain amount of interest and, dare I say, suspicion. Fear of the unknown I suppose, but at heart, they’re a friendly bunch.”

  “Don’t you worry about that.”, Dexter laughed, “It’s a hell of a lot less hostile than some reception’s I’ve had. And I appreciate the lack of metal detectors and pat-downs. Wouldn’t happen in my place. Then again, we have other issues across the water.”

  “Absolutely.”, Hill agreed, opening his office door and ushering his entourage in.

  “Please, take a seat.”, Joan Beeston pointed to a red leather armchair that had been positioned carefully in front of a horseshoe of three similar chairs.

  “A bourbon, if I’m correct?”, Fellows asked, “One ice cube, a dash of spring water and a gentle stir anti-clockwise?”

  “You’ve done your research.”, Dexter smiled as he settled into the chair.

  “Indeed, we have.”, Andrew Hill positioned himself in front of Dexter, “And an interesting project it was. You are a very interesting man, Mr Parker. An open-book in many respects, and yet, mysteriously enigmatic in others.”

  “Is that a compliment?”, Dexter asked.

  “It is, what it is.”, Hill replied, “Although I must say that where compliments are due, your references were impeccable.”

  He said nothing more until Edward Fellows had placed drinks in front of everyone and settled himself on the free side of Hill, Joanne Beeston already settled in the other.

  “Cheers!”, Hill raised his glass and the meeting began.

  “Ms Beeston will make some notes, as required.”, he explained, “But, for the most part, you will find this an informal and relaxed meeting. Our mutual goal is simply this, that it be agreed to admit you to The Haven. From our side, we need to know if you fit with the club’s ethos. From your side, we need you to understand what membership entails. Needless to say, our conversation is to be treated as being strictly confidential.”

  “Absolutely.”, Dexter agreed, “And from both sides, I hope.”

  “Of course. Mutually confidential.”, he paused for a moment, “And deniable.”

  “To begin,”, Joan Beeston’s soft northern voice threatened to hypnotise Dexter, “a few nuts and bolts issues. Some loose ends that we’d like to tie up before proceeding. Not least of which, your original approach to us. Please, tell us again of the circumstances.”

  Dexter relaxed as he explained the simple, if seemingly improbable, situation that had led him to The Haven, detailing the card being found u
nder a hedge and his dual motive of returning the card and seeking to find out more about the club. He spoke clearly and gave nothing away.

  “So, I guess,”, he summarised, “we’re looking at some sort of serendipitous merging of events. Hey, it’s not every day these things happen, but it ain’t that unusual.”

  “And you felt something about The Haven from that first approach?”, Beeston moved on without commenting on what had already been said, “A tad impetuous, if I may be so bold.”

  “Ma’am, you be as bold as you like. And impetuous is not a word that I shy away from. I may not be as refined as some of your members but I understand ‘carpe diem’ as well as the next man. I may translate it as ‘grab life by the balls’, but the meaning’s the same. I have a safe haven in my home country. Spending more time in London, I figured I’d like one here too and that’s about the sum of it.”

  “And finally.”, Beeston put down her notepad, “On a more personal note, your past has an unusual air of mystery about it. No family?”

  “You’re not the first to ask.”, Dexter finished his drink and leaned back, resting his arms casually on the soft leather, “And I fully understand why. The simple truth is, I pretty much started life alone, orphaned or abandoned, I never knew which. I grew up in foster homes, various welfare establishments and a number of, shall I say, institutions? This ain’t a sob story. It’s what it is. Starting with no ties, I found out from the start the freedom that brings. It suited me.”