“Thank you for your concern, Father, but I need money to continue. I have the expense of the DJP, our dealings in the drugs and arms trade. I have illegal immigrants to traffic so swelling the ranks of our army while agitating the right wing. The more noise they make the better publicity for the DJP in standing up for racial equality. I have our Internet hackers to wage cyber war on banks, airlines and services. I have MPs to discredit, false news to spread. All that takes money. The ten million you gave me is gone.”
Silviano smiled and Jerak saw the devil. Tell me, he thought, then I can kill you and get on with my own plans.
“Very well my son.” Silviano drew an envelope from his pocket. “Go to my secret office in the City. The safe holds information allowing you to follow a trail to a substantial sum. Here is the address and a letter to one Mrs Ashley.”
“Thank you, Father.” Jerak took the envelope, suspicious of a trick.
“Deposit it into our secret accounts but I wish to know the details of how it is spent before releasing anymore.”
“No problem, Father. You shall have a full account.” He watched as his father smiled and nodded false acceptance. Jerak returned the gesture thinking dead men tell no tales. And he intended this man to remain dead. I am ahead of you, Father, he thought. I know of Ruth and her daughter, Sarah, I know who killed her. Now this meeting confirms my belief, she is the key to the secret. Twenty billion will soon be mine.
Jerak left the penthouse and descended through the tower block and the many floors where global corporations had their offices and kept their own secrets, secrets which one day through the DJP would give him even more money and power. The lift stopped three times till filled with office workers ready for lunch. On the ground floor the Reception hall flowed with the constant arrival and departure of people, all watched over by CCTV and a strong security presence.
A taxi drove him to the address on the envelope his father had given and once passed security he went by lift to the sixth floor. Following instructions from Security he pressed the buzzer on a glass panelled door labelled, Strategic Commodities. A female voice spoke over the intercom.
“I have a letter from the late Mr Silverstroni, my father,” Jerak said and listened to the buzzer click.
The female voice belonged to an attractive woman in her early forties. Jerak smiled sweetly, thinking his father had probably fucked her whenever he felt the need.
“He gave me this so I could give it to you in the event of his death, Mrs Ashley,” he said, holding out the envelope from his father plus his passport. She read the note it contained twice, checked his passport then opened the safe. Jerak dismissed her with his smile and sorted through the documents inside. Most were invoices from suppliers who had not been paid. One demanded rent for an address in Old Street, Islington.
“My father said I would find certain banking documents but they don’t appear to be here. As the letter explains, in the event of his death I am the main executer of his will. I am also one of the main beneficiaries."
Mrs Ashley compressed her lips whilst shaking her head.
“Your father worked in strange and mysterious ways, ways which left other people with no idea of what he intended or where he was heading.” She waved her hand to the surrounding high-tech office. “This was a hideaway from his other companies, but maybe not the only one. When his empire collapsed in default of twenty billion, all his other offices were raided by police and officials, so he hid here, or on his yacht.”
“There is mention of a place in Old Street. You know of it?” He held up the invoice.
She shook her head. “As I said, he was a secretive man, but …” she opened a drawer and removed a ring holding four keys. “Maybe one of these. He often collected and replaced the keys here.”
Jerak accepted them and nodded. “I’ll find out and let you know.”
“Sir, I have not been paid since Mr Silvastroni's death two months ago.”
“Don’t worry, Mrs Ashley,” he said and patted her bottom. “I’ll pay you. Stay on my side and you will also receive a handsome bonus.”
“It would be appreciated, sir.” Her smile came with promise and again Jerak placed his hand on her backside.
The building in Old Street looked late 19th century, low rise with a modest reception area. The single security guard looked up from his Smartphone and raised eyebrows in question.
“Strategic Commodities,” Jerak waved the invoice taken from the safe. “Come to sort out the rent.”
“Second floor, left out the lift,” the guard said and returned to his Smartphone.
The third key on the ring opened the office door and Jerak closed it carefully behind him. The room crowded in on its furniture, a desk, two chairs and a bookcase. He saw no sign of a safe or computer. The desk drawers held the normal clutter of office necessities but no documents. Jerak nodded, knowing how devious his father could be. Somewhere close information would be hidden. He turned to the bookcase and noted most books were on modern political philosophy and practices, the maintenance of political and economic control, revolutions and various conflicts which resulted. Others were on fascist radicalisation. Clearly his father had studied for ambitions of being emperor.
He pulled two volumes from the shelf and placed them on the desk. “World domination, no doubt,” Jerak spoke aloud to himself. “But it’s I who will be emperor, not you dear Father.” He pulled out more books and a paper fell from one. Written in a neat feminine script it contained the words of Ruth Harrington. Each line declared love and adoration. Clearly Ruth had no idea of his father’s evil mind. The letter’s date made it thirty-three years old and asked if he would come and visit their new born daughter, Sarah. Flicking through the book’s pages he found more letters giving a different address, one thanking him for the house he had bought her in Wheathampstead near St Albans in Hertfordshire. The date on this letter showed it thirty years old. Jerak carefully slotted them into a pocket thinking he had been right to keep surveillance on both Ruth and Sarah. But what else lay within the books? The shelves held at least thirty substantial volumes. Trust his father to test him. Sitting at the desk he went page by page through each book, piling all papers he discovered to one side. Eventually he found the document he wanted, giving bank details, passwords and codes to transfer forty million pounds to other accounts.
Jerak switched on his iPhone and with meticulous care began moving different amounts to his own accounts in Bahrain, UK and Germany. Mission accomplished, but still no sign of the twenty billion. He researched every page, every document, then sat thinking for over an hour. The only person his father loved was Ruth Harrington, the only person he had trusted was Ruth. Maybe, just maybe, within her possessions lay the answer, but she was dead. That left Sarah.
CHAPTER 6
In the morning sunshine between the tube station and flat, Victoria developed a sense of unease. She prided herself on her ability to detect a tail, to blend into a crowd as an invisible segment. Unscientifically, she also believed female intuition could detect the proximity of a malevolent presence. It was that intuition which caused her sense of apprehension. She turned off Kensington High Street into a quiet residential road and walked a short distance before crossing to the opposite pavement while glancing back the way she had come. She made a mental note of the street scene and counted ten people walking in her direction, their colour, size and clothes were all registered. She followed the next turning left, repeating the reconnaissance. Only one person was left, a Muslim woman, round and chubby under her burka.
Victoria crossed the street, went first right then left, paused and doubled back on herself. No one followed but her unease remained. She had been instructed to ensure a clean journey, now she realised she was taking it to extremes. Alice Sibree had invited her to coffee. A social invitation from her boss at K Branch, MI5 was unprecedented and her last words gave caution. "Take care, my dear, and come cleanly." Victoria arrived full of intrigue.
From the first ring o
f the doorbell Victoria knew a security camera watched her because Alice made no comment over the intercom as the electronic latch buzzed and the door opened. She entered a Spartan lobby of a recently refurbished twenties mansion block and took a lift to the top floor. For an informal call on Alice she had chosen to wear a full corduroy skirt with a brushed cotton blouse and tailored jacket, clothes suitable for a high street pub or a meeting of the Women's Institute. One could never be certain with Alice.
Only one flat occupied the top floor and Alice opened the door seconds before Victoria lifted a finger to the bell.
"Sorry I'm a little late, I double checked for tails all the way," Victoria said.
Alice stood to one side. "I would not have invited you here if I believed you negligent." She looked at her watch.
Victoria gave a tight smile and followed Alice into the drawing room. The older woman wore her customary long pencil-slim skirt. She was reed thin with a small bust, her black hair razor-cut to a dark, elfin helmet. Her nose stood sharp and her lips colourless. Gossip said the ground withered beneath her feet but Victoria respected her as a woman of intelligence and determination, someone passionate about her job and her country.
The drawing room lay large and comfortable and, to Victoria's surprise, feminine in the fashion of Art Deco, feminine in the Lempicka style. The air held traces of perfume and wood polish as if home and owner were both carefully nurtured.
"Coffee?" Alice waved her to a couch then crossed the room to where she had readied a small tray with a pot and two fine, bone china cups.
"Thank you," Victoria said. She sat and spread her skirt sedately.
Alice placed two tiny cups of black liquid on the low table between them, then retrieved a file before sitting in the armchair opposite. For moments she studied Victoria with what Victoria hoped was approval.
"Thank you for coming on a Saturday and at such short notice," Alice said, finally.
"My pleasure, madam."
Alice smiled with her dry lips. "Let's not be so formal, Victoria. Alice will suffice." She paused and drew her legs back against the chair. "What I have to tell you is classified, it's also off record. That may sound like a contradiction but you will grow to understand. Because it is off the record, I am placing my trust in you completely. Is that understood, Victoria?"
"Yes, Alice. Our talk is strictly confidential."
"Excellent." Alice continued to stare at her. "You are very attractive, you know. You have a good figure combined with petite, classical features. You also have a certain presence, one which is sexual, charismatic and womanly but with a hint of reserve. Most thinking men would be awed, the common man, uncertain of approach. But women would be comfortable with you. You are not an open lesbian, but you could be bi-sexual. Are you?"
Victoria felt heat on her face. She shifted slightly and laced fingers over her knees. "I suppose all teenagers experiment a little."
"Come, come, my dear. This is between friends. Women sometimes seek a special kind of comfort which they can't find elsewhere. They can still love their man but from another woman they can find a love no man can give. An affection towards their own, some of it sexual. You're not alone."
"Alice, I've committed no indiscretions. I don't see what this is leading to." Victoria pressed her thighs together and thought her face glowed scarlet. How did Alice know? One brief encounter with an old girlfriend from university and she had been branded a lesbian. How did they find out?
"Don't flutter, my dear. We've all been there, myself included. You'd be surprised how many leading female figures still are. I just wanted to know if you would be comfortable with your new assignment."
Victoria moistened her lips. "I enjoy the company of intelligent men. I was married and I've had a long on-off relationship with Sean Fagan. Not that it's anyone's business."
"Except mine. I know about Fagan. I know it's currently off, maybe permanently. The burning of your face tells me everything else."
Victoria squinted her eyes. They did not call this woman the Wicked Witch for nothing.
"Alice, I do not see what my sexual inclination has to do with my work."
"I want you to penetrate the DJP. As you know, they are a predominantly female party and because of it, they have a large following amongst the lesbian community. Such women are well represented amongst DJP's higher ranks. You have no problem with that?"
"Gay women are not normally pushy. They leave heterosexuals to their own."
Alice smiled. "Possibly, but they might trust and accept a fellow lesbian more readily. I need you to seriously consider this operation, Victoria. You're one of the few who are able and trustworthy."
"What exactly is it you want of me, Alice?" Victoria asked, sipping the coffee in an effort to distract from her embarrassment.
"The DJP is headed by four widows. Each of their husbands died in violent or unnatural circumstances. One of these widows, Laura Manning, was one time married into a serious Mafia family run by her husband known as Silviano Silverstroni, referred to by many as Silverman. Silverman has purportedly skimmed twenty billion off his banks while dealing in arms, trafficking, money laundering, oil and drugs. That money is sitting out there waiting to be used for political corruption. Searching for it are two of Silverman's ex-partners, and one Eleanor Baxter with high connections in the American Mafia. She is currently part funding the DJP with the view of finding the other billions to corrupt her way into British politics. The DJP are looking to the popular vote and it's predicted they will make substantial gains at the next election by promising total equality of women under all laws and legislation. That's wages, pensions, civil rights. Consequently, countless women are deserting the mainstream parties for the DJP. In a hung parliament they may hold the balance of power.
"That's democracy, Alice. That, and Nation, is what MI5 defend."
"My sentiments exactly, but if the DJP is funded by Mafia money, our four widows who are MPs, might also allow the Mafia to take hold of our democracy and twist it for their own use. Think of our judicial system, banking, military and policing. Britain could become the criminal centre of the world."
Victoria shook her head. "It's popular knowledge that two of the four founding members of the DJP are grannies, the other two are mothers. None of them are particularly wealthy and none of them advocate anything beyond a well-mannered, law-abiding nation with respect for family and women's freedom. They'll never be a major party but they will be a force for female opinion and rights. I'll vote for them myself."
Alice smiled and plucked the folds of her skirt as if it might settle the hem further at her ankles. A handkerchief was tucked into the sleeve of her lamb's wool jumper.
"So would I, my dear, if I thought they were real. Most members believe as you do but are they being used? It's what I want you to find out." She rose from her chair, opened a sideboard drawer and removed a laptop. She returned and passed it to Victoria, along with a set of keys. "I want to know if Eleanor Baxter is leading our four widows into a conspiracy that could have dark consequences for the British Nation. Hence Operation Black Rose. This will be a joint Box and Organised Crime Agency venture with four main field operatives plus myself in control. We will share info with Cobbart but as it is our money funding the operation, that will only be what I decide to tell him. CAT will be doing the dirty work and they will have their own players. Are you with us?"
"Certainly, but I'm not a lesbian, Alice," Victoria said, accepting the laptop while realising she had been manoeuvred into a corner. She watched Alice smile.
"I'm sure you are a woman for all occasions, Victoria."
"What exactly is my brief?" Victoria sat back.
"The laptop is encrypted. It contains everything you need to know. Read it as a priority. You have a base which is out of our normal circuit." She handed Victoria a white envelope. "Inside is the address plus encrypted code. You'll find an envelope beneath the bedroom cupboard. Within four days the Organised Crime Agency should have evidence enou
gh to judge if any of our widows were involved in their husbands' deaths."
"Who is our liaison?"
"Sean Fagan," Alice said without expression.
The heat returned to Victoria's face. "Alice, he and I ..."
"I know. It's one of the reasons I picked him. Also, because he's a loose gun currently within the Combined Agency Taskforce. He's capable, definitely not gay and if you need a man to cover, he's available."
"If you're suggesting that I sleep with someone, man or woman, then let me tell you, I will not." Victoria felt her eyes flare, furious at being tricked.
"Of course, my dear. Has anybody dared put that in your job description? If, however, while under cover you need to pretend, I leave that to your discretion and field skills. You will also need him in Paxos, a charming Greek island in the Ionian Sea. In four days the DJP will hold an early summer jamboree for the hierarchy. The harbour at Lakka is favoured by the yachting fraternity."
"Why Paxos?" Victoria asked, still brittle with a sense of humiliation.
"We've heard from our plants already within the DJP admin that Laura Manning convinced her fellow party members to go there. One of your jobs is to discover why but in checking back on the previous activities of our four widows, we have learnt that while in university, Laura Manning had a relationship with a fellow student called Joe Carver. This relationship lasted for over five years until she met Silverman. Joe Carver joined the Secret Intelligence Service with strong links to CAT, which he eventually joined himself. Seduced by Silverman's wealth, Laura married him. Carver also married and seemed happy until his wife and two kids were killed in a car crash. He was driving and blamed himself. In result he started seriously drinking, became an alcoholic and in consequence got thrown out of CAT and the Service. He did receive a compensation payment and with it bought himself a tiny cottage on Paxos. He's been there ever since trying to pull himself together. We also believe Laura Manning traced him there and that is why she persuaded the DJP to go there to party. Does she still feel for Carver or does she want him for his operative skills? Another of your jobs is to find out which. In that respect, Fagan will come in very useful. I'm told a CAT operative called Pug has already made covert contact."
The Black Rose Conspiracy Page 3
