Cometh the Hour

33

Court number four of the Old Bailey was packed long before ten o’clock on Thursday morning. Counsel were in their places, the press benches were heaving and the gallery above resembled the dress circle of a West End theatre on opening night.

Sebastian had attended every day of the trial, even the morning when the jury was being selected. He hated having to witness Hakim coming up from below to take his place in the dock, a policeman standing on either side of him as if he were a common criminal. The American system, where the defendant sits at a table with his legal team, seemed so much more civilized.

Hakim’s counsel was Mr. Gilbert Gray QC, while the Crown was represented by Mr. George Carman QC. They were like two seasoned gladiators in the Roman Colosseum, cut and thrust, but so far neither had managed to inflict anything more serious than the occasional flesh wound. Sebastian couldn’t help thinking that if they were to change sides, all the feigned passion, the barbed insults, the angry protests would still have been displayed in equal measure.

In their opening speeches, Mr. Gray and Mr. Carman had set out their stalls, and Sebastian was sure the jury hadn’t been swayed one way or the other by the time they sat back down. The first three witnesses — the captain of flight 207, the purser and Mrs. Aisha Obgabo, a Nigerian stewardess who had supplied written evidence — added little to the case, as none of them could remember the woman seated in 3B, and they certainly hadn’t witnessed anyone slipping something into Mr. Bishara’s bag. So a great deal now rested on the next witness, Mr. Collier, a senior customs officer at Heathrow, who had arrested the defendant.

“Call Mr. Collier!” bellowed a policeman standing by the entrance to the court.

Sebastian watched with interest as Mr. Collier entered the room and made his way to the witness box. He was a little over six foot, with thick dark hair and a beard that gave him the look of a sea captain. He had an open and honest face, and Barry Hammond had written in his report that Collier spent his Sunday mornings refereeing mini rugby. But Barry had dug up something that just might give Mr. Gray the chance to draw first blood. However, that would have to wait, because he was the Crown’s witness, so Mr. Carman would be called to examine him first.

When Mr. Collier delivered the oath, he didn’t need to read the card held up by the clerk of the court. His voice was firm and confident, with no suggestion of nerves. The jury were already looking at him with respect.

Mr. Carman rose slowly from his place, opened a red file in front of him and began his examination. “Would you please state your name for the record?”

“David Collier.”

“And your occupation?”

“I’m a senior customs officer, currently working out of Heathrow.”

“How long have you been a customs officer, Mr. Collier?”

“Twenty-seven years.”

“So it would be fair to say that you are a man who has reached the top of his chosen profession?”

“I would like to think so.”

“Let me go further, Mr. Collier, and suggest—”

“You needn’t go any further,” interjected Mr. Justice Urquhart, glaring down from the bench at senior counsel. “You have established Mr. Collier’s credentials, so I suggest you move on.”

“I’m most grateful, my lord,” said Carman, “for your confirmation of Mr. Collier’s undoubted qualifications as an expert witness.” The judge frowned, but made no further comment. “Mr. Collier, can I confirm that you were the senior customs officer on duty on the morning the defendant, Mr. Bishara, was arrested and taken into custody.”

“Yes I was, sir.”

“When Mr. Bishara entered the green channel, indicating that he had nothing to declare, did you stop him and ask to inspect his baggage?”

“Yes I did, sir.”

“How much luggage was he carrying?”

“Just an overnight bag, nothing else.”

“And was this simply a random check?”

“No, sir. We had received a tip-off that a passenger on flight 207 from Lagos would be attempting to smuggle a consignment of heroin into the country.”

“How was this tip-off made?”

“By phone, sir. About thirty minutes before the plane landed.”

“Did the informant give you his name?”

“No, sir, but that’s not unusual because informants in cases of this kind are often drug dealers themselves. They may want a rival removed or punished for not having paid for a previous consignment.”

“Was the conversation with the informant recorded?”

“All such conversations are taped, Mr. Carman, in case they are needed as evidence in a trial at a later date.”

“Might I suggest, my lord,” said Carman, looking up at the bench, “that this would be an appropriate moment for the jury to hear the tape?”

The judge nodded, and the clerk of the court walked over to a table in the center of the room where a Grundig tape recorder had been set up. He looked toward the judge, who nodded once again, and pressed the Play button.

“Customs office, Heathrow,” said a female voice.

“Put me through to the senior customs officer.”

“May I ask who’s calling?”

“No, you may not.”

“I’ll see if he’s available.” The hum of the whirring tape continued for some time before another voice came on the line. “SCO Collier. How can I help you?”

“If you’re interested, I can tell you about some drugs that a passenger will be trying to smuggle in today.”

Sebastian noticed that Mr. Gray was making copious notes on his yellow pad.

“Yes, I’m interested,” said Collier. “But first, would you tell me your name?”

“The passenger’s name is Hakim Bishara. He’s well known in the trade and is traveling on flight 207 from Lagos. He has thirteen ounces of heroin in his overnight bag.” Click, burr.

“What did you do next, Mr. Collier?”

“I contacted a colleague in passport control and asked him to inform me the moment Mr. Bishara had been cleared.”

“And he did so?”

“Yes. When Mr. Bishara entered the green channel a few minutes later, I stopped him and inspected his overnight bag, the one piece of luggage in his possession.”

“And did you find anything unusual?”

“A cellophane package secreted in a side pocket of the bag containing thirteen ounces of heroin.”

“How did Mr. Bishara react when you found this package?”

“He looked surprised and claimed he had never seen it before.”

“Is that unusual, Mr. Collier?”

“I’ve never known a dealer admit to smuggling drugs. They always look surprised and behave impeccably. It’s their only defense should the case come to court.”

“What did you do then?”

“I arrested Mr. Bishara, cautioned him in the presence of a colleague and conducted him to an interview room, where I handed him over to an officer from the Drugs Squad.”

“Now, before my learned friend Mr. Gray leaps up to tell us all that a doctor has examined Mr. Bishara and found that there is no indication he has ever taken drugs in his life, can I ask you, with your twenty-seven years of experience as a customs officer, Mr. Collier, would it be unusual for a drug dealer not to be a drug user?”

“It’s almost unknown for a dealer to take drugs himself. They are businessmen who run large and complex empires, often using apparently legitimate businesses as a front for their criminal activities.”

“Not unlike a banker?”

Mr. Gray did leap up.

“Yes, Mr. Gray,” said the judge. “Mr. Carman, that was uncalled for.” Turning to the jury, Mr. Justice Urquhart added, “That last comment will be struck from the record, and you should dismiss it from your minds.”

Sebastian had no doubt that it would be struck from the record, but he was equally certain it would not be dismissed from the jurors’ minds.

“I apologize, my lord,” said Mr. Carman, who couldn’t have looked less apologetic. “Mr. Collier, how many drug smugglers have you arrested in the past twenty-seven years?”

“One hundred and fifty-nine.”

“And how many of those one hundred and fifty-nine were eventually convicted?”

“One hundred and fifty-five.”

“And of the four who were found innocent, how many were later—”

“Mr. Carman, where is this leading?”

“I am just trying to establish, my lord, that Mr. Collier doesn’t make mistakes. It was simply—”

“Stop there, Mr. Carman. Mr. Collier, you will not answer that question.”

Sebastian realized that the jury would know only too well what Mr. Carman was trying to establish.

“No more questions, my lord.”

When the court reconvened at two o’clock that afternoon, the judge invited Mr. Gray to begin his cross-examination. If he was surprised by the defense counsel’s opening remarks, he didn’t show it.

“Mr. Collier, I don’t have to remind a man of your professional standing that you are still under oath.”

The customs officer bristled. “No, you don’t, Mr. Gray.” The judge raised an eyebrow.

“I’d like to return to the tape recording, Mr. Collier.” The witness nodded brusquely. “Did you find your conversation with the anonymous informant somewhat unusual?”

“I’m not sure I understand the question,” said Collier, sounding defensive.

“Were you not surprised that he sounded like a well-educated man?”

“What makes you say that, Mr. Gray?”

“When replying to the switchboard operator’s question, ‘May I ask who’s calling,’ he said, ‘No, you may not.’” The judge smiled. “And didn’t you also find it interesting that the informant never once swore or used any bad language during the conversation?”

“Not many people swear at customs officers, Mr. Gray.”

“And did you get the feeling he was reading from a script?”

“That’s not uncommon. The pros know that if they stay on the line for more than three minutes we have a good chance of tracing the call, so they don’t waste words.”

“Words like, ‘No, you may not?’ And didn’t you find the caller’s expression ‘well known in the trade’ rather strange, given the circumstances?”

“I’m not sure I’m following you, Mr. Gray.”

“Then allow me to assist you, Mr. Collier. You have been a customs officer for the past twenty-seven years, as my learned friend kept reminding us. So I must ask you, under oath, with your extensive knowledge of the drugs world, have you ever come across the name of Hakim Bishara before?”

Collier hesitated for a moment, before he said, “No, I have not.”

“He wasn’t among the one hundred and fifty-nine drug smugglers you’ve arrested in the past?”

“No, sir.”

“And didn’t you find it a little strange, Mr. Collier, that the thirteen ounces of heroin were in a side pocket of his overnight bag and no attempt had been made to conceal them?”

“Mr. Bishara is clearly a confident man,” said Collier, sounding a little flustered.

“But not a stupid one. Even more inexplicable, to my mind, is the fact that the man who gave you the tip-off, the well-educated man, said, and I quote” — Gray paused to glance down at his yellow notepad — “‘He has thirteen ounces of heroin in his overnight bag.’ And thirteen ounces he had. Not fourteen. Not twelve. And, as promised, in his overnight bag.”

“Clearly the informant’s contact in Nigeria told him the exact amount of heroin he’d sold to Mr. Bishara.”

“Or the exact amount he’d arranged to have planted in Mr. Bishara’s bag?”

Collier gripped the sides of the witness box, but remained silent.

“Let me return to Mr. Bishara’s reaction when he first saw the package of heroin and remind you once again, Mr. Collier, of your exact words: ‘He looked surprised, and claimed he had never seen it before.’”

“That is correct.”

“He didn’t raise his voice, lose his temper or protest?”

“No, he did not.”

“Mr. Bishara remained calm and dignified throughout this extremely unpleasant ordeal.”

“No more than I would expect from a professional drug dealer,” said Collier.

“And no more than I would expect from a totally innocent man,” retorted Mr. Gray. Collier didn’t comment. “Allow me to end on a point that my learned friend was so keen the jury should know about, and indeed so am I. You told the court that during your twenty-seven years as a customs officer, you have arrested a hundred and fifty-nine people on drugs-related charges.”

“That is correct.”

“And during that time, have you ever made a mistake and arrested an innocent person?” Collier pursed his lips. “Yes or no, Mr. Collier?”

“Yes, but on only one occasion.”

“And — correct me if I’m wrong—” said Gray as he opened a separate file, “the man in question was arrested for being in possession of cocaine.”

“Yes.”

“And was he convicted?”

“Yes,” said Collier.

“What was his sentence?”

“Eight years,” said Collier, his voice barely above a whisper.

“Did this evil merchant of death serve out his full sentence?”

“No, he was released after four years.”

“For good behavior?”

“No,” said Collier. “In an unrelated trial some years later, a convicted drug dealer admitted he’d planted the cocaine on him during a flight from Turkey.” It was some time before Collier added, “The case still haunts me.”

“I hope, Mr. Collier, that this case won’t also come back to haunt you. No further questions, my lord.”

Sebastian turned to see that one or two members of the jury were whispering among themselves, while others were making notes.

“Mr. Carman,” said the judge, “do you wish to reexamine this witness?”

“I have only one question, my lord. Mr. Collier, how old were you when you made that unfortunate mistake?”

“I was thirty-two. It was almost twenty years ago.”

“So you’ve only made one misjudgment in one hundred and fifty-nine cases? Considerably less than one percent.”

“Yes, sir.”

“No more questions, my lord,” said Carman, resuming his seat.

“You may leave the witness box, Mr. Collier,” said the judge.

Sebastian watched the senior customs officer as he made his way out of court. He turned to glance at Hakim, who managed a thin smile. Seb then looked at the jury, who were talking among themselves, with the exception of one man who didn’t take his eyes off Mr. Collier.

“Are you ready to call your next witness, Mr. Carman?” asked the judge.

“I am indeed, my lord,” said the prosecution’s standard-bearer, as he rose slowly from his place. Mr. Carman tugged at the lapels on his long black gown and adjusted his wig before turning to face the jury. Once he was confident that every eye in the courtroom was on him, he said, “I call Mrs. Kristina Bergström.”

Chattering broke out in the court as an elegant, middle-aged woman entered the room. Mr. Gray swung around to see that his client had been taken by surprise, although he clearly recognized her immediately. He turned back to look more closely at the woman everyone had been searching for, for the past five months. He grabbed a new yellow pad, unscrewed the top of his pen and waited to hear her evidence.

Mrs. Bergström took the Bible in her right hand and read from the card with such confidence you would not have known English was her second language.

Mr. Carman didn’t attempt to remove the Cheshire cat grin from his face until he’d asked the witness his first question.

“Mrs. Bergström, would you be kind enough to state your name for the record.”

“Kristina Carla Bergström.”

“And your nationality?”

“Danish.”

“And your occupation?”

“I am a landscape architect.”

“Mrs. Bergström, so as not to waste everyone’s time, yours included, do you recognize the prisoner standing in the dock?”

She looked straight at Hakim and said, “Yes, I do. We were seated next to each other on a flight from Lagos to London some four or five months ago.”

“And you are certain that the man you sat next to is the man in the dock?”

“He’s a handsome man, Mr. Carman, and I remember being surprised that he wasn’t wearing a wedding ring.”

One or two smiles greeted this statement.

“During the flight, did you strike up a conversation with the defendant?”

“I thought about it, but he looked exhausted. In fact, he fell asleep within moments of the plane taking off, which I envied.”

“Why did you envy him?”

“I’ve never acquired the knack of being able to sleep on a plane, and have to pass the time watching a film or reading a book.”

“Which was it on this occasion?”

“I’d read half of Watership Down on the flight to Lagos, and I intended to finish it on the way back to London.”

“And did you?”

“Yes, I turned the last page a few moments before the captain told us we were about to begin our descent into Heathrow.”

“So you were awake for the entire journey?”

“Yes.”

“Did you at any time see another passenger, or a member of the crew, open the luggage compartment above you and place something in Mr. Bishara’s bag?”

“No one opened it during the entire flight.”

“How can you be so sure of that, Mrs. Bergström?”

“Because I’d closed a major deal when I was in Lagos, to landscape the oil minister’s garden.” Hakim wanted to laugh. So that’s why he’d been kept waiting for five hours. “And to celebrate I bought a Ferragamo handbag in duty-free. I’d placed it in the same overhead locker. If anyone had opened it I think I would have noticed.”

Mr. Carman smiled at the women on the jury, one of whom was nodding.

“Was there any time during the flight when you were not sitting next to Mr. Bishara?”

“After the captain announced that we were about half an hour from Heathrow, I went to the washroom to freshen up.”

“And Mr. Bishara was in his seat at the time?”

“Yes, he’d just been served with breakfast.”

“So while you were gone he would have been able to check and see if anyone had opened the hold above him and interfered with his bag.”

“I would presume so, but only he can answer that.”

“Thank you, Mrs. Bergström. Please remain in the witness box, as I’m sure my learned friend will want to question you.”

When he rose, Mr. Gray certainly didn’t look as if he wanted to question anyone. “My lord, I wonder if I might request a short break, as I need some time to consult with my client.”

“Of course, Mr. Gray,” said Mr. Justice Urquhart. He then leaned forward, placed his elbows on the bench and turned to the jury. “I think this would be a convenient time for us to break for the day. Would you please all be back in your places by ten o’clock tomorrow morning when Mr. Gray can cross-examine this witness, if he so wishes.”

“Let me first ask you, Hakim,” said Gray once they were settled in the privacy of one of the court’s consultation rooms, “is that the woman you sat next to on the flight from Lagos?”

“It certainly is. She’s not someone you’d easily forget.”

“Then how did Carman get to her before we did?”

“He didn’t,” said Arnold Hardcastle. “Carman was only too happy to tell me that she’d read about the case in the press and immediately contacted her company lawyer.”

“Read about the case?” said Gray in disbelief. “In the Copenhagen Gazette, no doubt.”

“No, the Financial Times.”

“We’d have been a lot better off if she hadn’t,” muttered Gray.

“Why?” asked Hakim.

“Without her evidence I might have been able to sow some doubt in the jury’s minds about the role she played in this whole affair, but now...”

“So you’re not going to cross-examine her?” asked Arnold.

“Certainly not. That would only remind the jury what a convincing witness she is. No, everything now rests on how Hakim comes over.”

“He’ll come over as what he is,” said Sebastian. “A decent, honest man. The jury won’t be able to miss that.”

“I wish it were that simple,” said Mr. Gray. “No one can ever be sure how a witness, especially one who’s under so much pressure, will perform once they step into the box.”

“Perform?” repeated Ross.

“I’m afraid so,” said Mr. Gray. “Tomorrow will be pure theatre.”

34

As 10 a.m. struck, Mr. Justice Urquhart entered the court. Everyone rose, bowed and, after the judge had returned their salutation, waited for him to be seated in his high-backed red leather chair at the center of the dais.

“Good morning,” he said, smiling down at the jury. He then turned his attention to defense counsel. “Mr. Gray, do you wish to cross-examine Mrs. Bergström?”

“No, my lord.”

Carman stared at the jury, a feigned look of surprise on his face.

“As you wish. Mr. Carman, will the prosecution be calling any further witnesses?”

“No, my lord.”

“Very well. In that case, Mr. Gray, you may call your first witness.”

“I call Mr. Hakim Bishara.”

Everyone’s eyes followed the defendant as he stepped out of the dock and made his way to the witness box. He was wearing a navy-blue suit, a white shirt and a Yale tie, just as Mr. Gray had recommended. He certainly didn’t look like a man who had anything to hide. In fact, Sebastian was impressed by how fit he looked. He might have just flown in from a holiday in Lyford Cay, rather than having spent the past five months in prison. But then, as Hakim had explained to Seb on one of his many visits to HMP Wandsworth, he spent an hour in the gym every morning, then walked around the exercise yard for another hour in the afternoon. Besides which, he was no longer eating business lunches, and the prison didn’t have a wine cellar.

“Would you please state your name for the record?” said Mr. Gray after Hakim had taken the oath.

“Hakim Sajid Bishara.”

“And your profession?”

“Banker.”

“Would you care to elaborate?”

“I was chairman of Farthings Bank in the City of London.”

“Mr. Bishara, can you take us through the events that led to you appearing before us in the witness box today?”

“I had flown to Lagos to attend a meeting with the Nigerian oil minister to discuss the funding of a proposed new port to cope with large oil tankers.”

“And what was your particular role in this operation?”

“The Nigerian government had invited Farthings to be the lead bank.”

“For a layman like myself, what does that mean?”

“When sovereign governments need to borrow large capital sums, in this case, twenty million dollars, one bank will take the prime position and supply the largest portion, possibly as much as twenty-five percent, and then other banks will be invited to make up the shortfall.”

“And what would your bank charge for heading up such an operation?”

“The standard fee is one percent.”

“So Farthings stood to make two hundred thousand dollars from this deal.”

“Yes, if it had gone through, Mr. Gray.”

“But it didn’t?”

“No. Soon after I was arrested, the Nigerian government withdrew their offer and invited Barclays to take our place.”

“So your bank lost two hundred thousand dollars?”

“We have lost considerably more than that, Mr. Gray.”

“Don’t get angry,” Seb whispered, although he knew Hakim couldn’t hear him.

“Are you able to estimate just how much your bank has lost because you are no longer its chairman?”

“Farthings shares have fallen by almost nine percent, knocking more than two million pounds off the value of the company. Several major clients have closed their accounts, along with a lot of smaller customers who followed in their wake. But far more important, Mr. Gray, our reputation, both in the City and with our customers, may never recover unless I clear my name.”

“Quite so. And following your meeting with the oil minister in Lagos, you returned to London. On which airline?”

“Nigeria Airways. The Nigerian government had organized my entire trip.”

“How much luggage did you take on board?”

“Just an overnight bag, which I placed in the compartment above my seat.”

“Was anyone seated next to you?”

“Yes, Mrs. Bergström. Although I didn’t know her name at the time.”

“Did the two of you speak?”

“No. When I took my seat she was reading. I was exhausted and just wanted to sleep.”

“And when you eventually woke, did you speak to her?”

“No, she was still reading, and I could see that she only had a few pages of her book to go, so I didn’t interrupt her.”

“Quite understandable. Did you take anything out of your bag during the flight?”

“No, I did not.”

“Were you aware of anyone tampering with it at any time?”

“No. But then I was asleep for several hours.”

“Did you check the contents of your bag before you left the plane?”

“No, I just grabbed it. I wanted to be among the first off the plane. I didn’t have any other luggage so there was nothing to hold me up.”

“And once you’d been cleared by passport control, you headed straight for the green channel.”

“I did, because I had nothing to declare.”

“But you were stopped by a customs officer and asked to open your bag.”

“That is correct.”

“Were you surprised to be stopped?”

“No, I assumed it was just a routine check.”

“And the customs officer has told the court that throughout that check, you remained calm and polite.”

“I had nothing to hide, Mr. Gray.”

“Quite. But when Mr. Collier opened your bag, he found a cellophane package containing thirteen grams of heroin, with a street value of twenty-two thousand pounds.”

“Yes, but I had no idea it was there. And of course I was completely unaware of its street value.”

“That was the first time you’d seen it.”

“It was the first time and only time in my life, Mr. Gray, that I’ve ever seen heroin.”

“So you can’t explain how the package came to be there?”

“No, I cannot. In fact, for a moment, I even wondered if I had picked up the wrong bag, until I saw my initials on its side.”

“Are you aware, Mr. Bishara, of the important difference between being caught with heroin and being caught with, say, marijuana?”

“I wasn’t at the time, but I have since been informed that heroin is a Class A drug, whereas marijuana is Class B, and its importation, while still illegal, is regarded as a less serious offence.”

“Something a drug smuggler would have—”

“You’re prompting the witness, Mr. Gray.”

“I apologize, my lord. But I am keen for the jury to realize that having been charged with smuggling a Class A drug, Mr. Bishara could be sentenced to fifteen years in jail, whereas a much lower tariff would be imposed had he been found in possession of marijuana.”

“Did I hear you correctly, Mr. Gray?” interrupted the judge. “Are you admitting that your client has at some time smuggled drugs into this country?”

“Certainly not, my lord. In fact, the exact opposite. In this case we are dealing with a highly intelligent, sophisticated banker, who regularly closes large deals that need to be calculated to the last decimal point. If Mr. Bishara was also a drug smuggler, as the Crown is trying to suggest, he would have been well aware that the consequences of being caught with thirteen ounces of heroin in his possession would have put him behind bars for the rest of his working life. It beggars belief to imagine that he would have taken such a risk.”

Sebastian turned to look at the jury. One or two of them were nodding, while others were taking notes.

“Have you ever taken even recreational drugs in the past? Perhaps when you were a student?”

“Never. But I do suffer from hay fever, so I sometimes take antihistamine tablets during the summer.”

“Have you ever sold a drug to anyone, at any time in your life?”

“No, sir. I can’t imagine anything more evil than living off the proceeds of other people’s misery.”

“No more questions, my lord.”

“Thank you, Mr. Gray. Mr. Carman, you may begin your cross-examination.”

“What do you think, Arnold?” Seb whispered, as the prosecution counsel gathered up his papers and prepared himself for the main event.

“If the jury were asked to return their verdict now,” said Arnold, “I have no doubt Hakim would be acquitted. But we don’t know what the prosecution has up its sleeve, and George Carman doesn’t have a reputation for abiding by the Queensberry Rules. By the way, have you noticed that Adrian Sloane is sitting in the public gallery, following every word?”

35

Mr. Carman rose slowly from his place, adjusted his well-worn wig and tugged at the lapels of his long black gown before opening the thick file in front of him. He raised his head and peered at the defendant.

“Mr. Bishara, do you consider yourself to be a risk taker?”

“I don’t think so,” Hakim replied. “I am by nature fairly conservative, and I try to judge every deal on its merits.”

“Then allow me to be more specific. Are you a gambler?”

“No. I always calculate the odds before I take any risk, especially when I’m dealing with other people’s money.”

“Are you a member of the Clermont Club in Mayfair?”

Mr. Gray was quickly on his feet. “Is this relevant, my lord?”

“I suspect we’re about to find out, Mr. Gray.”

“Yes, I am a member of the Clermont.”

“So you are a gambler, at least with your own money?”

“No, Mr. Carman, I only ever take a risk when I’m confident the odds are in my favor.”

“So you never play roulette, black jack or poker?”

“No, I do not. They are all games of chance, Mr. Carman, in which the banker inevitably ends up the winner. On balance, I prefer to be the banker.”

“Then why are you a member of the Clermont Club if you’re not a gambler?”

“Because I enjoy the occasional game of backgammon, in which only two people are involved.”

“But wouldn’t that mean the odds were fifty-fifty? Yet you just told the court that you only take a risk when you consider the odds are in your favor.”

“Mr. Carman, at the World Backgammon Championships in Las Vegas three years ago, I reached the last sixteen. I know the other fifteen players personally, and I have a policy of avoiding them, which ensures that the odds are always in my favor.”

A ripple of laughter ran through the courtroom. Sebastian was pleased to see that even one or two of the jury were smiling.

Carman quickly changed the subject. “And before your trip to Nigeria, had you ever been stopped by a customs officer?”

“No, never.”

“So you would have calculated that the odds would be in your favor before you—”

“My lord!” said Gray, leaping up from his seat.

“Yes, I agree, Mr. Gray,” said the judge. “You don’t need to introduce an element of speculation, Mr. Carman. Just stick to the facts of the case.”

“Yes, my lord. So, let’s stick to the facts, shall we, Mr. Bishara. You may recall that I asked you a moment ago if you had ever been stopped by a customs officer before, and you replied that you had not. Would you like to reconsider that answer?” Bishara hesitated, just long enough for Carman to add, “Let me rephrase the question, Mr. Bishara, so you are in no doubt of what I am asking you, because I’m sure you wouldn’t want to add perjury to the list of charges you’re already facing.”

The judge looked as if he was about to intervene when Carman added, “Mr. Bishara, is this the first time you’ve been arrested for smuggling?”

Everyone in the court fell silent as they waited for Hakim’s reply. Sebastian remembered from his mother’s libel trial that barristers seldom ask leading questions unless they already know the answer.

“There was one other occasion, Mr. Carman, but I confess I had forgotten all about it, perhaps because the charge was later withdrawn.”

“You had forgotten all about it,” repeated Carman. “Well, now you remember, perhaps you’d be willing to share with the court the details of why you were arrested on that occasion?”

“Certainly. I had closed a deal with the Emir of Qatar to finance the building of an airport in his country and, after the signing ceremony, the Emir presented me with a watch, which I was wearing when I arrived back in England. When I was asked to produce a receipt for it, I was unable to do so.”

“So you hadn’t declared it.”

“It was a gift from the head of state, Mr. Carman,” said Hakim, his voice rising. “I would hardly have been wearing the watch if I’d been trying to hide it.”

“And what was the value of that watch, Mr. Bishara?”

“I have no idea.”

“Then let me enlighten you,” said Carman, turning a page of his file. “Cartier valued the timepiece at fourteen thousand pounds. Or perhaps you’ve conveniently forgotten that as well?” Bishara made no attempt to reply. “What happened to that watch, Mr. Bishara?”

“Customs decided that I could keep it if I was willing to pay five thousand pounds import duty.”

“And did you?”

“No,” said Bishara, raising his left hand. “I prefer the watch my mother gave me on the day of my graduation from Yale.”

“Apart from thirteen ounces of heroin, what else did the customs officer find in your bag on the most recent occasion on which you were detained, Mr. Bishara?” said Carman, changing tack.

“The usual toiletries, a couple of shirts, socks... but then I was only staying for the weekend.”

“Anything else?” Carman asked as he penned a note.

“A little money.”

“How much money?”

“I don’t recall the exact amount.”

“Then let me once again refresh your memory, Mr. Bishara. According to Mr. Collier, he found ten thousand pounds in cash in your overnight bag.”

A gasp went up around the court. More than the annual income of most of those sitting on the jury, was Sebastian’s first thought.

“Why would a respectable banker, with an impeccable reputation, need to be carrying ten thousand pounds in cash in his overnight bag, when to quote you” — he once again checked his notes — “but then I was only staying for the weekend.”

“In Africa, Mr. Carman, not everyone has a bank account or a credit card, so the local custom is often to settle transactions in cash.”

“And I imagine that would also be the custom if you wanted to buy drugs, Mr. Bishara?”

Gray was quickly on his feet again.

“Yes, yes. I withdraw the question,” said Carman, well aware that he’d made his point. “Presumably, Mr. Bishara, you are aware of the maximum amount of cash you are permitted to bring into this country?”

“Ten thousand pounds.”

“That is correct. How much did you have in your wallet when you were detained by Mr. Collier?”

“A couple of hundred pounds perhaps.”

“So you must have known you were breaking the law. Or was that just another calculated risk?” Bishara didn’t respond. “I only ask, Mr. Bishara,” said Carman turning to face the jury, “because my learned friend Mr. Gray laid great emphasis on the fact that you were” — he looked down at his notes — “once again, I quote, ‘a highly intelligent, sophisticated banker, who regularly closes large deals that need to be calculated to the last decimal point.’ If that is the case, why were you carrying at least £10,200, when you must have known you were breaking the law?”

“With respect, Mr. Carman, if I had been trying to buy thirteen ounces of heroin when I was in Lagos, by your calculation I would have needed at least twenty thousand pounds in cash.”

“But like a good banker,” said Carman, “you could have closed the deal for ten thousand pounds.”

“You may well be right, Mr. Carman, but if I had done so I wouldn’t have been able to bring the ten thousand back, would I?”

“We only have your word that you took just ten thousand out.”

“We only have your word I didn’t.”

“Then let me suggest that a man who isn’t squeamish about trying to smuggle thirteen ounces of heroin into this country wouldn’t give a second thought to taking out the necessary funds to — how shall I put it? — close the deal.”

Mr. Gray bowed his head. How many times had he told Hakim not to take on Carman, however much he riled him, and never to forget the wily QC was playing on his home ground.

The Cheshire cat grin reappeared on Carman’s face as he looked up at the judge and said, “No more questions, my lord.”

“Mr. Gray, do you wish to reexamine the witness?”

“I have a few additional questions, my lord. Mr. Bishara, my learned friend went to great lengths to suggest that even when you play backgammon, you are, by nature, a gambler. Can I ask what stakes you play for?”

“A hundred pounds a game, which, if my opponent loses, he must donate to the charity of my choice.”

“Which is?”

“The Polio Society.”

“And if you lose?”

“I pay one thousand pounds to the charity of my opponent’s choice.”

“How often do you lose?”

“About one game in ten. But then, it’s a hobby, Mr. Gray, not a profession.”

Mr. Bishara, how much money would you have made if you’d been able to dispose of thirteen ounces of heroin?”

“I had no idea until I saw the charge sheet, which estimated a street value of around twenty-two thousand pounds.”

“How much profit did your bank declare last year?”

“Just over twenty million pounds, Mr. Gray.”

“And how much do you stand to lose if you are convicted in this case?”

“Everything.”

“No more questions, my lord.” Mr. Gray sat wearily down. To Sebastian, he didn’t look like a man who believed the odds were in his favor.

“Members of the jury,” said the judge, “I am now going to release you for the weekend. Please do not discuss this case with your families or friends, as it is not them, but you, who must decide the fate of the accused. On Monday I shall be inviting leading counsel to make their closing speeches before I sum up. You will then retire and consider all the evidence before you reach your verdict. Please make sure you are back in your places by ten o’clock on Monday morning. I hope you all have a peaceful weekend.”

The four of them gathered in Gilbert Gray’s chambers.

“What are you up to at the weekend, Mr. Clifton?” Gray asked as he hung up his wig and gown.

“I was going to the theatre, to see Evita, but I don’t think I can face it. So I’ll just stay at home and wait for my daughter to call me reverse charges.”

Gray laughed.

“And you, sir?” asked Seb.

“I have to write my closing address and make sure I cover every single point Carman raised. How about you, Arnold?”

“I’ll be sitting by the phone, Gilly, just in case you need me. Dare I ask how you feel it’s going?”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel, as you well know, Arnold, because everything is now in the hands of the jury who, I must warn you, were very impressed by Mrs. Bergström’s testimony.”

“How can you be so sure of that?” asked Ross.

“Before she stepped into the witness box, several members of the jury were looking in Hakim’s direction from time to time, which is usually a good sign. But since she gave evidence, they’ve hardly even glanced at him.” Gray let out a long sigh. “I think we must prepare ourselves for the worst.”

“Will you tell Hakim that?” asked Seb.

“No. Let him at least spend the weekend believing innocent men are never convicted.”

36

It would be a long weekend for Sebastian, Ross, Arnold, Victor, Clive, Mr. Gray and Mr. Carman, as well as for Desmond Mellor and Adrian Sloane — and an endless one for Hakim Bishara.

Sebastian woke early on Saturday morning, after catching moments of intermittent sleep. Although it was still dark outside, he got up, put on a tracksuit and jogged to the nearest newsagent. The headlines in the rack outside the shop didn’t make good reading.

The Sun even had a picture of the watch on its front page. Seb bought a copy of every paper before he made his way back to his flat. After he’d poured himself a cup of coffee, he sank back into the only comfortable chair in his living room and read the same story again and again, even if the angle taken was slightly different. And by reporting Mr. Carman’s damning words in inverted commas, the journalists were all able to steer well clear of the libel laws. But you didn’t have to read between the lines to work out what they considered the verdict was likely to be.

Only the Guardian offered an unbiased report, allowing its readers to make up their own minds.

Seb couldn’t expect every member of the jury to read only the Guardian, and he also doubted if many of them would comply with the judge’s instruction not to read any newspapers while the trial was taking place. “Do not forget,” Mr. Urquhart had reminded them, “that no one sitting on the press benches can decide the outcome of this trial. That is your privilege, and yours alone.” Would all twelve of them have heeded his words?

Once Seb had read every word of every article that made even a passing reference to Hakim, he dropped the last paper on the floor. He looked up at the clock on the mantelpiece, but it was still only seven thirty. He closed his eyes.

Ross Buchanan only read the Times that morning and, although he felt the trial’s proceedings had been fairly covered by their court reporter, a betting man might have been forgiven for placing a small wager on a guilty verdict. Although he didn’t believe in prayer, he did believe in justice.

When he addressed his final board meeting the week before the trial opened, Ross had told his fellow directors that the next time they met, the chairman would either be Hakim Bishara or Adrian Sloane. He went on to advise them that they would have to consider their own positions as directors if Hakim didn’t receive a unanimous verdict. He added ominously, “Should the trial end with a hung jury, or even with a verdict in Hakim’s favor by a majority of ten to two, it would be seen as no more than a pyrrhic victory because there would always be a lingering doubt that he’d got away with it; like the damning Scottish judgment Not Proven.” Like any responsible chairman, Ross was preparing for the worst.

Desmond Mellor and Adrian Sloane were already preparing for the best. They met at their club for lunch just before one. The dining room was almost empty, which suited their purpose.

Mellor checked the press statement Sloane had prepared and planned to release moments after Mr. Justice Urquhart had passed sentence.

Sloane would be demanding that an extraordinary general meeting of Farthings’ shareholders be convened to discuss the implications of the jury’s decision, and he was confident that Sebastian Clifton wouldn’t be able to oppose the request. He would volunteer his services as temporary chairman of the bank until a suitable candidate could be found. That candidate was sitting on the other side of the table.

The two of them discussed in great detail how they would set about the takeover of Farthings, while at the same time revive the merger with Kaufman’s. That way, they could bury all of their enemies in one grave.

Arnold Hardcastle spent Saturday afternoon considering two press statements with the bank’s public relations advisor, Clive Bingham. One was headed “Hakim Bishara will appeal and is confident that the verdict will be overturned,” while the other would show a photograph of Hakim sitting behind his desk at the bank, with the words, “Business as usual.”

Neither of them dwelled on which statement was more likely to be released to the press.

Mr. George Carman QC delivered his peroration while soaking in a hot bath. His wife listened intently from the bedroom.

“Members of the jury, having heard the evidence presented in this case, there is surely only one verdict you can consider. I want you to put out of your mind the smartly dressed banker you saw in the witness box and think instead of the poor wretches who every day suffer untold agonies as a result of their addiction to illegal drugs. I have no doubt that Mr. Bishara was telling the truth when he said he had never taken a drug in his life, but that doesn’t mean he wasn’t prepared to ruin the lives of others less fortunate than himself if he could make a quick profit from their misery. Don’t let’s forget, he failed to close any other deal while he was in Nigeria, so one is bound to ask, why had he taken so much cash to Lagos in the first place? But that is, of course, for you to decide. So when the time comes, members of the jury, to deliver your verdict, you will have to decide if some phantom of Mr. Bishara’s imagination put thirteen ounces of heroin in his bag, or did he, as I would submit, always know the drugs were there in the first place. Should that be your conclusion, then there’s only one verdict you can consider. Guilty.”

A small round of applause emanated from the bedroom.

“Not bad, George. If I was on the jury, I’d certainly be convinced.”

“Though I’m not sure I am,” said Carman quietly, as he pulled the plug.

Gilly Gray didn’t speak to his wife over breakfast. He was not a moody man, but Susan had become used to longer and longer silences whenever a trial was drawing to a close, so she didn’t comment when he left the table and retreated to his study to prepare his closing remarks to the jury. When the phone rang in the hall, Susan rushed to answer it so he wouldn’t be disturbed.

“Members of the jury, is it credible that a man of Mr. Bishara’s standing could be involved in such a squalid crime? Would someone who had so much to lose entertain for a moment—”

There was a tap at the door. Gilly swung round, knowing that his wife would not have considered interrupting him unless...

“There’s a Mr. Barry Hammond on the line. He says it’s urgent.”

For Hakim Bishara, it was not a long weekend, but sixty-seven sleepless hours while he waited to be driven back to the court to learn his fate. He could only hope that when the foreman of the jury rose, he would deliver two words, not one.

While he was pacing around the prison yard on Sunday afternoon, accompanied by two bankers who would find it difficult ever to open an account again, several inmates came over to wish him luck.

“Pity one or two of them didn’t appear as witnesses in the trial,” said one of his companions.

“How would that have helped?” asked Hakim.

“Rumor on the block is that the drug barons are telling everyone you were never a dealer or a junkie, because they know their customers and suppliers better than any retailer. After all, they can’t advertise, and they don’t have a shop front.”

“But who would believe them?” asked Hakim.

37

Sebastian arrived at the Old Bailey just after nine thirty on Monday morning. When he entered the court, he was surprised to find Arnold Hardcastle sitting alone on the defense counsel’s bench. Seb glanced across to see that Mr. Carman was already in his place, checking through his closing address. He looked as if he couldn’t wait for the starting pistol to fire so he could burst out of the blocks and head for the tape. There are no silver medals for barristers.

“Any sign of our esteemed leader?” asked Seb as he sat down next to Arnold.

“No, but he should be with us at any moment,” said Arnold, checking his watch. “When I rang earlier, his junior told me he wasn’t to be disturbed under any circumstances. Though I must say, he’s cutting it fine.”

Seb kept looking toward the doorway, through which court officials, lawyers, journalists and other interested parties were streaming, but Mr. Gray was not among them. 9:45 a.m., and still there was no sign of him. 9:50, and Mr. Carman began casting the occasional quizzical glance in their direction. 9:55, and Arnold was becoming quite anxious, as the judge would be certain to ask him where defense counsel was, and he didn’t know. 10:00.

Mr. Justice Urquhart entered, bowed to the court and took his seat on the raised dais. He checked that the defendant was standing in the dock and waited for the twelve jurors to be seated in the jury box. Finally, he looked down at leading counsel’s bench to see Mr. Carman sitting on the edge of his seat, impatient for proceedings to begin. The judge would have obliged him but he couldn’t see any sign of the defense counsel.

“I would call you, Mr. Carman, to deliver your closing address, but it appears that Mr. Gray is not among us.”

No sooner had Mr. Justice Urquhart uttered these words than the door on the far side of the courtroom was flung open and Gilbert Gray came charging in, gown flowing behind him as he readjusted his wig on the move. Once he had settled, the judge said, “Good morning, Mr. Gray. Do you have any objection to my calling Mr. Carman to present his closing address?” He made no attempt to hide his sarcasm.

“I do apologize, my lord, but I would beg your indulgence and ask if I can call a witness who has fresh evidence to present to the court.”

Mr. Carman sat down and closed his file with a thud. He leaned back and waited to find out who this witness could possibly be.

“And who is this new witness, might I ask, Mr. Gray?”

“I shall not be calling a new witness, my lord, but recalling Mr. Collier to the stand.”

This request clearly took everyone by surprise, including Mr. Carman, and it was some time before the chattering subsided enough to allow the judge to ask his next question. He leaned forward, peered down at the Crown’s silk and said, “Do you have any objection, Mr. Carman, to Mr. Collier being recalled at this late juncture?”

Carman wanted to say yes I most certainly do, my lord, but he wasn’t sure on what grounds he could possibly object to the Crown’s principal witness giving further testimony. “I have no objection, my lord, although I am curious to know what fresh evidence can have arisen over the weekend.”

“Let’s find out, shall we?” said the judge. He nodded to the clerk.

“Call Mr. David Collier!”

The senior customs officer entered the room and returned to the witness box. Nothing could be gleaned from the expression on his face. The judge reminded him that he was still under oath.

“Good morning, Mr. Collier,” said Gray. “Can I confirm that you appear on this occasion at your own request and not as a witness for the prosecution?”

Sebastian couldn’t help noticing that Mr. Gray had put aside his earlier adversarial manner with this witness in favor of a more conciliatory tone.

“That is correct, sir.”

“And why do you wish to reappear?”

“I feared that if I didn’t, a grave injustice might be done.”

Once again, loud chattering broke out in the court. Mr. Gray made no attempt to continue until silence prevailed.

“Perhaps you would care to elaborate, Mr. Collier.”

“On Friday evening I had a call from a senior colleague in Frankfurt to brief me on a recent case in that city, which he felt I should know about. In the course of that conversation I discovered the reason Mrs. Aisha Obgabo, the stewardess on flight 207, had only been able to present written evidence to this court.”

“And what was the reason?” asked Mr. Gray.

“She’s in jail, serving a six-year sentence for a Class A drug offense.”

This time the judge made no attempt to quell the outburst of chattering caused by Collier’s revelation.

“And why should that have any bearing on this case?” asked Mr. Gray, once order had been restored.

“It seems that a few weeks after Bishara’s arrest, Mrs. Obgabo was arrested for being in possession of two ounces of marijuana.”

“Is marijuana considered a Class A drug in Germany?” asked the judge incredulously.

“No, my lord. For that offense, the judge gave Mrs. Obgabo a six-month suspended sentence and ordered that she be deported back to Nigeria.”

“Then why wasn’t she?” demanded the judge.

“Because during the trial it came to light that Mrs. Obgabo had been having an affair with the captain of the aircraft on which she was a stewardess. If she had been sent back to Nigeria, my lord, she would have been arrested for adultery and, if found guilty, the punishment in that country is death by stoning. So at the end of the trial, when the judge asked her if she wished for any other offenses to be taken into consideration before he passed sentence, she admitted to being paid a large sum of money to place thirteen ounces of heroin in the bag of a first-class passenger on a Nigeria Airways flight from Lagos to London. Mrs. Obgabo couldn’t recall the name of the passenger, but she did remember that the bag she placed the heroin in was embossed in gold with the initials HB. For this offense, the judge sentenced Mrs. Obgabo to six years in prison, which her lawyer assured her was more than enough time for her to apply for asylum as a political refugee.”

This time the judge accepted that he would have to wait a little longer before the court returned to any semblance of order. He sat back in his chair, while several journalists fled the court in search of the nearest telephone.

Sebastian noticed that for the first time the jury were looking at the prisoner in the dock, and several of them were even smiling at Hakim. What he didn’t notice was Adrian Sloane slipping quietly out of the gallery. Mr. Gray remained standing but made no attempt to speak until order had once again been restored.

“Thank you, Mr. Collier, for your integrity and sense of public duty. If I may say so, you bring considerable credit to your profession.” Mr. Gray closed his file, looked up at the judge and said, “I have no more questions, my lord.”

“Do you have any questions for this witness, Mr. Carman?” asked the judge.

Carman went into a huddle with the Crown’s team before looking up at the judge and saying, “No, my lord. Although I must confess I find it somewhat ironic that it was I who pointed out to your lordship that this witness’s credentials were beyond reproach.”

“Chapeau, Mr. Carman,” said the judge, touching his full-bottomed wig.

“And with that in mind, my lord,” continued Carman, “the Crown withdraws all charges against the defendant.” Mr. Carman sat down to a burst of applause from the public gallery.

Journalists continued scribbling furiously. Seasoned court officials tried not to reveal any emotion, while the prisoner in the dock simply looked dazed by what was happening all around him. Mr. Justice Urquhart appeared to be the one person in the room who remained totally calm. He turned his attention to the man who was still standing in the dock and said, “Mr. Bishara, the Crown has withdrawn all of the charges against you. You are therefore released from custody and are free to leave the court, and, I must add, without a blemish on your reputation.”

Sebastian leapt in the air and threw his arms around Ross, as the two leading QCs bowed to each other with mock gravity before shaking hands.

“As we appear to have the rest of the day off, George,” said Gilly Gray, “perhaps you’d care to join me for lunch and a round of golf?”

38

“Welcome back, Chairman.”

“Thank you, Ross,” said Hakim, as he took his seat behind the chairman’s desk for the first time in five months. “But in truth, I don’t know how to begin to thank you for all you’ve done, not just for me personally but, more importantly, for the bank.”

“I didn’t do it on my own,” said Ross. “You’ve got a damned fine team here at Farthings, led by Sebastian, who’s been putting in hours that aren’t on a clock.”

“Arnold tells me I’m also responsible for messing up his private life.”

“I think you’ll find things have thawed a little on that front.”

“Would it help if I wrote to Samantha and explained why Seb had to leave Washington at such short notice?”

“She already knows. But it couldn’t do any harm.”

“Is there anyone else in particular I ought to thank?”

“The whole team couldn’t have been more supportive, but Giles Barrington deciding to join the board when he did sent a clear message to friend and foe alike.”

“I owe so much to the Barrington family, it will be almost impossible to repay them.”

“They don’t think like that, chairman.”

“That’s their strength.”

“And your foes’ weakness.”

“On a happier note, did you see where our shares opened this morning?”

“Nearly back to where they were the day before—” Ross hesitated.

“—I went to prison. And Jimmy Goldsmith called me earlier this morning to say he’ll be releasing his stock slowly onto the market over the next six months.”

“He should make a handsome profit.”

“No one will begrudge him that, bearing in mind the risk he took when most people assumed we were going under.”

“Of whom Adrian Sloane is a prime example. Unfortunately he’ll also make a killing, and for all the wrong reasons.”

“Well, at least he won’t be able to claim a seat on the board once he’s cashed in his shares. Mind you, I would have paid good money to be at the board meeting when Jimmy told Sloane exactly what he thought of him.”

“I think you’ll find it’s recorded in some detail in the minutes, chairman.”

“It most certainly is, but I wish the conversation had been taped, so I could replay it—” he paused — “again and again.”

“Sloane wasn’t the only person who abandoned what some assumed was a sinking ship. You won’t be surprised to hear that one or two old customers are now trying to climb back on board. ‘I was never in any doubt, old boy.’”

“I hope you made those old boys walk the plank, one by one,” said Hakim with feeling.

“I didn’t go quite that far, chairman. However, I made it clear that they might not be offered quite the same advantageous terms they’d enjoyed in the past.”

Hakim burst out laughing. “You know, Ross, there are times when I could do with a modicum of your wisdom and diplomacy.” The chairman’s tone of voice changed. “Dare I ask if we’re any nearer to finding out who paid the stewardess to plant the heroin in my bag?”

“Barry Hammond says he’s got it down to a short list of three.”

“I presume one of them has to be Desmond Mellor.”

“Aided and abetted by Adrian Sloane and Jim Knowles. But Barry’s warned me that it won’t be easy to prove.”

“It would have been impossible without the help of Mr. Collier, who could so easily have chosen to say nothing, and save face. I’m indebted to him. Perhaps we should send him and his wife on a Barrington’s cruise to the Bahamas.”

“I don’t think so, chairman. David Collier plays everything by the book. Even when Barry took him to lunch to thank him for all he’d done, he insisted on splitting the bill. No, I suggest a letter of thanks and, as he’s a huge Dickens fan, perhaps a complete Nonesuch edition?”

“What a brilliant idea.”

“Not mine. Once again you can thank Barry Hammond for that particular insight. Those two have become thick as thieves and go to watch Wasps together every Saturday afternoon.”

“Wasps?” asked Hakim, looking puzzled.

“A London rugby club they’ve both supported for years.”

“What do you suggest I do about thanking Barry properly?

“I’ve already paid him the bonus you agreed, if you were found innocent, and he’s still working on who arranged for the stewardess to plant those drugs in your bag. But he refuses to give me any details until he’s nailed the bastard.”

“Typical Barry.”

“He also tells me that you’ve asked him to make further enquiries about Kristina Bergström, which puzzled me, chairman, because I was convinced she was telling the truth, and I can’t see any purpose in—”

“Now that you’re no longer chairman, Ross, what are your immediate plans?”

Although the sudden change of subject wasn’t subtle, Ross played along. “Jean and I are going on holiday to Burma, a country we’ve always wanted to visit. And when we get back to Scotland, we intend to spend the rest of our days in a cottage near Gullane that has stunning views over the Firth of Forth, and just happens to be adjoining Muirfield golf course, where I will spend many happy hours working on my handicap.”

“I’m not following you, Ross.”

“Which is a good thing, chairman, because you’d only end up in the deep rough. Equally importantly, Gullane is on the south shore of the Firth, where the trout are about to discover I’m back with a vengeance.”

“So am I to understand there’s nothing I can say to persuade you to stay on the board?”

“Not a hope. You’ve already had my letter of resignation, and if I’m not on the Flying Scotsman this evening I don’t know which one of us Jean will kill first.”

“You I can handle, but not Jean. Does that mean you’ve closed the deal on that idyllic cottage you told me about?”

“Almost,” said Ross. “I still have to sell my flat in Edinburgh before I can sign the contract.”

“Please give Jean my love and tell her how grateful I am that she allowed you to come out of retirement for five months. Have a wonderful time in Burma, and thank you once again.” Ross was about to shake hands with the chairman when Hakim threw his arms around him and gave him a bear hug, something the Scotsman had never experienced before.

Once Ross had left, Hakim walked across to the window and waited until he saw him leave the building and hail a taxi. He then returned to his desk and asked his secretary to get Mr. Vaughan of Savills on the line.

“Mr. Bishara, good to hear from you. Can I possibly interest you in a duplex flat in Mayfair, prime location, excellent park views—”

“No, Mr. Vaughan, you cannot. But you could sell me a flat in Edinburgh that I know has been on your books for several months.”

“We’ve already got a bid for Mr. Buchanan’s property in Argyll Street, but it’s still a couple of thousand shy of the asking price.”

“Fine, then take it off the market, sell it to the underbidder and I’ll cover the shortfall.”

“We’re talking a couple of thousand pounds, Mr. Bishara.”

“Cheap at double the price,” said Hakim.