Royal Heist

18

As the meeting grew closer, de Jersey had still not overcome the heist’s major problem. Then he received a small padded envelope in the mail, postmarked Birmingham. He did not recognize the handwriting. He opened it and caught his breath. It contained a single CD and a typewritten note from Malcolm Gridley:

Dear Mr. Simmons,

We recently had an electronic security alert, and all our computer files had to be checked as it was first presumed to be some kind of virus that would corrupt all the data. As I was working in the office, part of my duties was to assist the IT department to verify whether any of the data had been corrupted. I therefore had access to the enclosed. I am leaving for Australia to join my girlfriend, but if you do decide to use Interlace and perhaps see your way to paying me the bonus we spoke of, my address will be Apartment 4B West Street, North Sydney, NSW 2060. If, however, you decide otherwise, perhaps you would destroy the CD. Thank you for lunch.

Yours sincerely,

Malcolm Gridley

De Jersey could not believe his luck. He kept staring at the CD and rereading the letter. At his computer his jaw dropped. Then he started to laugh. He now had everything he could have hoped for-and all for the price of a cheap lunch.

The Interlace CD contained an interactive floor plan of every section of the D’Ancona safe house. It indicated where Interlace had recommended the panic buttons be placed. It also showed the security cameras, the grilles and electronic pulses required for each door, and the costing for the equipment. One incredibly useful feature was a virtual tour of the entire safe house, and de Jersey was able to visualize the route from the front door down to the basement, where the vast vault was located. If one panic button was pressed, the alarm receiving center would alert the police almost immediately, and a team would be dispatched with an estimated response time of two minutes. Once the alert was given, all access to the building would be secured.

De Jersey was aware that D’Ancona might have made changes from what was on the CD, but even so he now felt prepared for the meeting with his key team members.

In a pin-striped suit, brown brogues, and a blue shirt, de Jersey sat at the back of the Surrey barn. Wilcox had sectioned off the area with screens, and four calor-gas heaters were blasting out warmth. There were a few folding chairs, a folding picnic table, and an old armchair he’d found in the rubbish. A camping stove stood in the makeshift kitchen to brew tea and coffee.

The team had been instructed to leave their cars in the yard at the back of the barn, which was protected from view by the overgrown hedge. As soon as de Jersey heard the first car arrive, he stood at the door with a box of surgical gloves and handed a pair to each team member as they entered. A large drawing board had been set up, and he had brought his laptop.

Driscoll was the first to arrive and snapped on the gloves without a word. He was closely followed by Pamela Kenworthy-Wright and Lord Westbrook. The bike riders would not be privy to these early meetings. As de Jersey bolted the door behind them, Pamela complained about the rubber gloves. “Wear them at all times,” de Jersey told her. “This box will be placed by the back door.”

“Are we expected to do some kind of cleaning?” Pamela inquired.

De Jersey showed her that he too was wearing them. “You know how they identified Ronnie Biggs? He put a dish of milk out for a cat. One thumbprint, that’s all it takes. When we move out of here to the second base, we must leave no record of any one of us ever having been here. Is that understood?”

The team all nodded in agreement, and Pamela made tea and coffee before taking her seat in the row of folding chairs facing the drawing board.

The team sat in awkward silence, avoiding each other’s eyes. De Jersey leaned against the table. “From now on you refer to me only as the Colonel, and you will refer to each other by Christian names only. First, Pamela.”

She raised her beaker.

“James. That’s Tony, and Henry.” He nodded to each as he said the name. “From now on we protect our identities. The less we know about each other the better. I have put my utmost trust in each of you.”

They remained silent as he picked up a black felt-tipped marker, crossed to the drawing board, and listed roles beside the names: the Colonel, main bodyguard; Henry, equerry; James, chauffeur; Her Majesty the Queen, not present; Pamela, lady-in-waiting; Tony, private secretary; two bike riders, not present.

Everyone listened as he gave the date and time they would be moving base to get ready for the hit. He detailed their jobs and explained how he and Marsh would stop the Royal convoy and how they would arrive at the safe house in place of the authentic party. By the time he told them how they would accomplish entry to the safe house, they were all ready for another round of tea and coffee. Everyone seemed tense; it was a lot to take in.

After the short break, de Jersey moved on to the last phase of the plan. “So far so good, but the most important element for all of us is getting away with it. I will use four helicopters to act as decoys. They will be ordered from various companies in the Southeast to pick up a passenger or package from various points in London. When they arrive and their assignment is not there, the helicopters will leave London to return to their bases, which will coincide with the time of the getaway. It will be mayhem after the hit, and the police will monitor the air traffic, so we want as much organized chaos and as many distractions as possible. We will split up and move across London separately. First, two boats will be taken from a mooring at Tower Bridge Marina and driven across the river by the two bike riders. They will both motor to Putney Bridge, put the boats in the boathouse, and take the Tube home.”

“That all seems very… well, not what I expected,” interrupted Westbrook.

“You expected fast cars, speedboats, and getaway drivers?”

Westbrook gave a shrug. “Well, I don’t know about boats. That big diamond heist that fell foul of the Dome, they were going to make their getaway by the river.”

De Jersey pinched his nose in irritation. The police, he pointed out, were already on to them, and they were not making their getaway via the river. “Anonymity is our best disguise. Just blend in with the commuters.”

De Jersey pointed to Pamela and Westbrook. “The City Thameslink Station is a five-minute walk from the safe house. You two will jump in a cab to the station. There’s always a stream of them near the Barbican. You’ll travel from there to Brighton. There’s a train at just gone eleven, which if all goes to plan, you will make easily. The next one is fifteen minutes later. From Brighton you are to separate. Pamela will go by train to Plymouth. Henry will return to his studio in Pimlico.” De Jersey knew that the only one of them that could possibly be recognized was Westbrook, but his life expectancy was so short, De Jersey didn’t feel the risk of his discovery would endanger any of them as long as Westbrook and Pamela separated.

De Jersey then pointed to Driscoll and Wilcox. “Tony, James, and I will work out the best way to get the jewels to my helicopter for the drop.” De Jersey flipped the pages on the board back to the beginning. “Any questions?”

No one said a word. Now de Jersey turned to an enlarged copy of the safe house layout. He gestured to the warehouse, which was to be their second base. “So, we move out from here and drive round the block. Now you all know the fundamentals, and I want us to begin to break it down into sections and allocate specific roles.” De Jersey nodded to Westbrook and gestured for him to come to his side.

“Henry here will detail the lineup of the Royal party, how they behave, protocol, et cetera.”

Westbrook opened a bottle of water and drank thirstily. His pale face shone with sweat. “The lady-in-waiting must, at all times, adhere to the Royal protocol. She will always be to the left side of the Queen, two or three paces behind, a small enough gap for Her Majesty to pass her her handbag or flowers without stretching. In the car, she must sit well back and not in any way hamper the view of Her Majesty. In public, she will speak only when spoken to.”

Pamela asked a few questions about her dress, her demeanor, and whether or not she should also carry a handbag. De Jersey held up his hand. “As we all have a lot of work to do, I suggest Henry work with Pamela, and we can get on with other things.”

Pamela and Westbrook disappeared into the main area of the barn. De Jersey took out a cigar and lit it. “So, what do you think?”

Wilcox glanced at Driscoll, then back to de Jersey. “What about the security measures in the safe house?” He pointed to the basic layout of the house. “This doesn’t give any information about what we’re going to be facing once we’re in there.”

De Jersey dismissed his concern. “We know there’ll be top-of-the-line security measures. I’d say we can handle it, though.”

“Yeah, well, saying and knowing are two different things. Christ only knows what could go wrong.”

De Jersey looked to each of them. “Trust me, the security will be taken care of.”

When Westbrook had finished with Pamela, he took Driscoll through his paces as the private secretary: where he would stand and how he would behave at each step of the way. By now, Wilcox was seated in the car acting as the chauffeur. The gray uniform was slightly too large, but this would not be noticed from his position behind the wheel. Westbrook instructed him to stare ahead, never look back at the passengers and never remove his cap.

De Jersey, playing a front-line role for the first time since the early raids on his father’s shops, was the bodyguard. Although the Queen usually had more than one, Westbrook agreed that, as this was not a public event, they would be fine with just de Jersey. The two bikers would pose as Special Branch police officers. De Jersey would be the first to leave the safe house, and it was imperative that he move fast.

The meeting went on for four hours, and by the end the strain showed in them all, apart from de Jersey, who remained energetic and alert. Westbrook looked gray, almost matching the chauffeur’s uniform. He took painkillers continually through the session. By the next meeting they should have done all the necessary shopping and any further research. He doled out cash to Pamela and Westbrook for their purchases. He agreed that Westbrook would assist Pamela in selecting the most suitable outfits for herself and for their Queen, including the correct type of handbag.

After the others had left, Wilcox, Driscoll, and de Jersey began a dissection of the meeting. Wilcox asked about the validity of their security information.

“For Christ’s sake, Jimmy, we have the safe house plans, and they’re authentic.”

“That’s not good enough, Eddy. I want to know how it’s going to be done. We’re risking a fucking lot out there.”

De Jersey lit another cigar. “We walk in through the front door, James. We’ve discussed this.”

“Yeah, okay, so what about this other unknown quantity? This guy that’s gonna give us the IRA code word and intercept the call. We are dependent on him, but we’ve not even met him. How can you be so sure that he’ll be okay on the day?”

“Marsh is an expert, not only in computers but also in telephone engineering. He’s done fantastic work so far, and if it weren’t for him, I’d never have worked out a way to stop the Royal party without the safe house knowing. He’s handling the whole technical side of the operation, and it was at his request that he has no involvement in the physical side of the heist. I respect that because it’s not necessary for him to take part.”

This satisfied Wilcox and Driscoll to some extent but not completely.

“Look, Eddy,” Wilcox said, “we’ve come this far, and it’s just odd for us not to know the full details. I dunno how Tony feels, but we’re putting a lot of responsibility on Marsh and also on Dulay. I think we should have had them here for a face-to-face. I mean, how much are we paying these guys?”

“I hear what you’re saying, but look at it from my point of view,” de Jersey said. “I’ve been laying out the cash for this. I haven’t asked you two for anything.” De Jersey picked up his black marker pen and began to write on the board. “Right now I’m paying Westbrook, Pamela, and Marsh full-time, plus one-offs to Gregory Jones and the security guy.” He listed the payments, even down to the money he intended paying Malcolm Gridley. Next he listed the fees for the helicopters and the money put aside for them to secure the speedboats. “You calculating all this, Tony? Both of you start figuring it out, cos I’m the one who’s thousands out of pocket. Then there are the costumes, the rent for this place and for the warehouse. Too damned right I’ve kept quiet about a lot of things, especially what it’s costing me to set up this fucking robbery! So far you two have contributed a few grand between you. You hear me complaining? No! You don’t hear me asking for the major slice when, as you can see, I’ve been working morning, noon, and night on this. But don’t fucking thank me. Sit there and moan your arses off. The pair of you make me sick.”

Driscoll and Wilcox were stunned by de Jersey’s anger, and by the sum he had invested in the heist. Equal contributions would make deep holes in the funds they’d salvaged from their ruined fortunes.

“You got something to say, Tony?” de Jersey asked as he started putting away the drawing board. He ripped up the big sheets of paper with the lists of payments and folded up the safe house plans. He put the plans into his briefcase and tossed the other papers in a dustbin.

“You could say that.” Driscoll was agitated.

“Well, say it,” de Jersey snapped, struck a match, and lit the paper.

“I’m getting serious cold feet about the whole fucking thing.”

De Jersey sat down, flicked the ash from his cigar, and stared at Driscoll. “Spit it all out now.”

“Look, Eddy, we go back a long way, but we’ve never had such a big core team. This Westbrook character, he was stuffing himself with pills all bleeding afternoon. Come four o’clock he was spaced out of his head, and this was only the first meeting. What’s he gonna be like on the day? Neither of us has met Marsh, so how do we know we can trust him? How do we know he’s going to pull it off?”

De Jersey turned to Wilcox. “What about you?”

Wilcox shuffled his feet with embarrassment. “Well, what Tony’s saying is true. That Pamela woman’s a flake too. Thinks she’s auditioning for the National Theatre the way she’s carrying on. If we come in on the expenses you’re paying out, we’ll be paying her a grand a week like the others, more than she’s ever earned in her life I reckon.”

“She’s worth it. She’s going to be right in the thick of it,” de Jersey snapped.

“You say so, but how do we know she won’t cave in?”

“She’s as tough as they come, plus she knows the consequences if we fail. She’s worth her price.”

“But, again, we only have your word and you only have the trust you’ve placed in them. Then you say we’ve got two speedboats and you’ve ordered four helicopters as decoys. Have you got all these extras lined up, or are you just making out lists of things you’re thinking about doing but haven’t got round to yet? Where are we gonna get these two boats from? Then there’s got to be river moorings organized. It’s still all up in the air.”

De Jersey bit off the end of his cigar and spat it out.

Wilcox continued. “We’ve got to be tooled up, and I wouldn’t trust that Westbrook character to carry a water pistol let alone a shooter. We’ve never used so many amateurs for a gig before.” He took a deep breath. “It could all fall apart, and then I’ll be in an even worse situation than when we started. You say you’ve laid out for everything, and you have, I can see that. But I’ve paid for the cars, and Tony sorted out the weapons. I can’t pay out any more.”

Driscoll started again. “I’m broke from this wedding. I mean, we’ve been lucky in the past, we all know that, but this is stretching it to the limit. We’ve not even got into how we’re getting the gems to France.”

De Jersey blew a smoke ring above his head as Wilcox took over where Driscoll left off.

“And this Dulay character. You say we can trust him, but you’ve had to squeeze his balls to get him to agree to be part of this, and that’s always dodgy. Carrying that gear out of the country is impossible. The scream will be up so loud that every airport and dock will be surrounded. I know you’ve worked out decoys, and I’m sorry to sound so negative, but I just don’t buy it.”

“Dulay has a big yacht. I was planning to use it unless you want to use yours,” de Jersey said to Wilcox.

He was taken aback when Wilcox shouted, “I bloody can’t use mine! I had to sell it months ago. You see what I’m talking about? We’re up shit creek on this one, and you are gonna have to admit it.”

De Jersey was finding it hard to maintain his calm. “Things will go wrong if you don’t keep your cool. Dulay is picking up the jewels from the south coast. It’s all taken care of.”

Wilcox bowed his head. “All taken care of! I hope bloody Sylvia Hewitt’s also taken care of. That’s more cash you’ll likely have to pay out to keep her quiet. So if you’ve got it all planned, why the fuck don’t you tell us about it and take care of our worries?”

Driscoll put up his hand, like a schoolkid. “There’s another thing, Eddy. I see what you’ve paid out and I know I’ve not come in with much, but you’ve never discussed what you expect to get from the sale of the jewels. Can you give us an idea?”

Wilcox interrupted. “Hang on a minute. We’re depending on Dulay for this Japanese buyer. Dulay says he’s got him, but that’s just his word. If he doesn’t pull off the sale, we’re gonna be left with the hottest gear around. Nobody’ll touch it, no matter what it’s worth. We’ll all be left with fuck-all. And another thing-”

Driscoll put up his hand again. “Have you met the buyer?”

“No,” de Jersey said, and he flushed with anger because he knew they were right. He was not being as professional as he had been in the past, and he was depending heavily on Dulay and Marsh.

“Shit, this is a mess. Admit it, Eddy, it’s just not working.” Wilcox heaved himself out of the worn, old armchair.

“It is, and it will work. I trust Dulay. If he says this Japanese guy is good for it, he is, and you checked him out in Paris.”

“I don’t call that checking out,” snapped Wilcox. He was pacing up and down now in fury. “All I did was tail Dulay to the Ritz and see him meet up with the guy. What they said and how far we can trust them is another matter.”

“He’s agreed to pay an excellent price for the Koh-i-noor Diamond alone,” de Jersey said, opening his briefcase.

“How much?” asked Driscoll.

“One million per carat. It’s over a hundred carats,” de Jersey said, tight-lipped. He took out his notebook.

Driscoll’s jaw dropped.

“He wants the Koh-i-noor for starters, but selling him the other gems will be no problem.”

“But who is this guy?” Driscoll asked.

“He’s a contact of Dulay,” said de Jersey defensively.

Wilcox looked at Driscoll. “But how can we trust Dulay? How do we know he’s not going to just disappear? And now you tell us this buyer knows about the diamond already. Jesus Christ! We’re leaving ourselves wide open. What if this fucking Jap raps to someone?”

Now it was back to Driscoll. “He’s right, Eddy. And, thinking about it, I have big worries. If the worst comes to the worst, I can sell my properties and go back to work full-time. At least I’d still have something. I’m getting too old to take such risks. I’m really sorry to sound off at you this way, but-”

“You want out?” de Jersey asked coldly.

“The way things are right now, yes, cos I just don’t think we can do it. It all depends on people trusting one another, and with so many parties involved we could get screwed from any angle. Right, Jimmy?”

Wilcox nodded.

“I’ve never let you down before.” De Jersey sounded bitter.

Wilcox gave an impatient sigh. “We both know that. But the plan isn’t right yet, and all this farting around today wasn’t good enough. We’ve not got that much time to get it together.”

De Jersey flicked the ash from his cigar. “Fine. Walk away. I won’t hold you to anything. I never did before and I won’t now. That’s not to say I’m not disappointed. Of course I am, because I’m down a lot of cash already. You two don’t want to come in and help me out, fine. But I’ve always made sure that whoever worked alongside me got a fair share and I’m not about to change that. The fair share is the reason we can trust the people I’ve brought in. It is that element of the deal that binds us all together. It worked for us in the past and it will work for us this time.”

“Come on, Eddy, we know that,” Driscoll said. “And don’t think I’m not grateful for our past deals, but they were a long time ago. We were younger then, more prepared for the risks.”

Wilcox nodded. “Yeah, I’ve got six kids.”

“And a habit to feed,” de Jersey snapped.

“I’m clean,” Wilcox said defensively.

“So you say.” De Jersey knew that he had to steer them back on course and, worse, that without them he could never pull it off. He pointed to Driscoll. “You think you and Wilcox here are the best I could get for this? I brought you in on this to ease my guilt for the bad investment advice I gave you. I’m not prepared to lose what I’ve spent the best part of my life building up. Neither do I want to lose my wife or my daughters by spending the rest of my life banged up in prison. I will ensure there’s as little risk as possible for all of us. I’ve taken on board what you’ve said, but when in the past did you ever know all the details and every member of the team? Never! You trusted my judgment. If you no longer trust me, then get the hell out.”

Driscoll put his hands up. “Come on now, no need for this. You said it yourself, Eddy. You said if it didn’t look kosher you’d call it quits and there’d be no hard feelings.”

“What do you say, James?” de Jersey asked.

“I am not doing drugs! I’ve worked my arse off getting these two cars and the bikes ready. I just think the plan’s not up to your usual standard, that’s all. Maybe if we thrash out the details a bit more, know exactly what you’ve planned, we’ll feel happier.”

“Come on, we’ve all done a good share,” Driscoll said, angrily.

“Yeah, us three have, but the computer geek is getting a grand a week and a big cut!” Wilcox was still in a rage.

De Jersey stood up, his military bearing intimidating. “You two are getting greedy. Raymond Marsh is not going to betray us. He’s already in too deep. He’s hacked into the private Royal diaries, intercepted Scotland Yard calls, and made sure there won’t be any links between him and me when this is all over.”

Wilcox sucked in his breath. “Leaving yourself out in the open, aren’t you? You may be using Philip Simmons as a cover, but something this big will have every cop in the U.K. after you.”

“It’s more than a cover,” de Jersey interjected brusquely. “In cyberspace, Philip Simmons is almost as good as flesh and blood. As soon as this is over, he disappears into thin air and all the leads and clues disappear with him. There is no connection back to me because Philip Simmons organized the whole thing.”

Neither man understood what he was talking about, but his confidence in the alias was a bonus. After all, de Jersey himself was a direct link to both of them.

He continued, “Marsh is worth every cent we pay him because we couldn’t pull this off without him. He’s a genius.”

Wilcox and Driscoll fell silent. Then de Jersey’s bravado slipped. He gave a long sigh. “All I can say is this, I’m not just protecting myself. I have to look out for all of you. I’ve been working on how all of us move out when the scream goes up, just as I always did in the past. It takes time and planning down to the last second. If there are loopholes then we have to rethink, or I do. So, ask me what you need to know.” He picked up the black marker pen and crossed to the board. “List every loophole. We’ll go through them one at a time.”

Driscoll rested his head in his hands. Wilcox slumped into the old chair. “I can’t fucking think straight now.”

De Jersey looked from one to the other. He tossed aside the marker pen. “Sleep on it, then, but I need to know what the two of you decide by tomorrow.”

He picked up his briefcase, took out the CD, and opened his laptop. “Take a look at this. When you’re through close it down and remove the CD. Don’t let it out of your sight. This is for our eyes only.” He snapped his briefcase shut and collected his coat. “Good night.” A moment later they heard the side door slam shut.

Both men remained silent for quite a while. Eventually Wilcox stood up. “Did you tell him I had a drug problem?”

“No way!”

“Did you understand any of that stuff about the alias?”

“Nope, but he seemed to, and that’s what counts.”

Wilcox got up to look at de Jersey’s laptop. Driscoll followed him and pushed in the CD.

“Fuck me!” he exclaimed. “Look, Jimmy.” He pointed to the interactive floor plan of the D’Ancona safe house.

They sat close to the small screen, taking the virtual tour. When it ended Driscoll pressed eject and took out the CD. “Jesus Christ, do you know what we just watched?” They looked at each other and knew without saying it that they were back on board.

“Let’s go for it! All or nothing!” Wilcox said.

“Yeah, give it our best shot. If we go down at least we’ll be famous. This is gonna be the biggest robbery in history, right?” Driscoll was now determined to see the positive side.

Wilcox laughed. “Just one thing. You don’t have any sort of moral issue over this, do you? I mean, they are the Crown Jewels, and breaking them up is sort of-”

“Unpatriotic?” Driscoll laughed. “Fuck ’em! The Royals have had ’em long enough.” He clapped Wilcox on the shoulder, and the two of them packed up and left.

In the darkness, inside the main part of the barn, de Jersey moved silently from behind the screens. Neither man had seen or heard him return to listen to their conversation. He sat down in the armchair and went through the meeting, listing every gripe that had been raised. Each was valid; they were still a long way off. Could he trust Marsh? So much depended on him. He sighed. Bottom line, he could trust no one involved completely, but that was the risk in this game. He must check out the Japanese buyer for himself and contact Sylvia Hewitt to make sure she was behaving. It irritated him that he had promised to pay her off, but it would be worth his while to keep her silent.

David Lyons was still in Sylvia’s thoughts, and her sister was still living with her. Helen had recovered somewhat from the trauma of losing her husband, but she talked about David all the time. Some nights Sylvia didn’t want to return home and wished Helen would find her own place to live.

On the day de Jersey had brought together the key team, Sylvia had just got home, later than usual as she had dined with a client.

“I’m in here” came Helen’s high-pitched voice. She sounded angry.

Sylvia felt annoyed that her sister would undoubtedly ask her where she had been. “Give me a minute,” she called back and took off her coat. She hadn’t had time to hang it up before Helen marched out of the drawing room carrying a bundle of photographs. “I wasn’t prying. I was looking for a needle. I knew you used to keep a sewing kit in your bedside table drawer. I found these.” Helen thrust the pictures at her. One showed Sylvia and David kissing.

“Oh, it was some office party,” Sylvia said lamely.

“No, it wasn’t. How do you explain the beach and palm trees? What was going on between you and my husband?”

“He’s dead, Helen. What does it matter now?”

“It matters to me. I want to know the truth. Look at me, Sylvia. Tell me what was going on.”

“Oh, for God’s sake, Helen, it’s obvious, isn’t it?”

“No, it isn’t. I want you to tell me.”

Sylvia sighed. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Tell me what was going on between you and my husband!” Helen shrieked.

“We were lovers,” Sylvia said at last. It all came out: how long it had gone on, all the times they had been together. She felt wretched, and so sorry for Helen that she burst into tears.

“Sylvia, you disgust me. My own sister!”

Helen walked into her bedroom and shut the door.

The following morning Sylvia tried to speak to Helen again, but she remained in her locked room. When Sylvia returned that evening, two suitcases stood in the hall and Helen’s coat lay over them. She was waiting, her face drawn and chalk white. “I’m leaving. I can’t talk about it. I don’t know if I ever want to speak to you again. I trusted you, and you went behind my back and took the only thing in my life I have ever felt proud of. My marriage is now just some terrible sham, and you are despicable for letting me stay here with you. I was pleased to have you at my side at his funeral, and now I discover that all the time you’ve been lying to me.”

“Did you really want me to tell you the truth? How would it have made a difference, you knowing once he was dead? You certainly never suspected when he was alive. And I let him use all my savings and he lost the lot! So much for good, dependable, honest David. He was a fool!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I’m telling you the truth. I’ve lost over two hundred thousand, all my savings. That’s something else I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to worry. Whatever happened between me and David is history now and-”

Helen didn’t wait to hear any more. She picked up her coat and her suitcases and made for the door. She glanced back at her sister. “That explains the real reason why he went with you. He was using you for your money.” With that, she slammed the door.

Sylvia was incensed by Helen’s insult, which also reminded her of Edward de Jersey’s accusation. How dare de Jersey suggest she had been involved with David’s frauds? She walked around the flat kicking the furniture. Her bedroom was littered with torn photographs of her and David together. She picked them up, then let them fall from her hands like confetti and started to cry. She had loved David, and now she had lost everything-lover, money, sister. She wondered what had happened to de Jersey, whether he had held on to his estate. It had been weeks since she had spoken to him.

The phone rang and she picked it up. “Hello.”

“Is this Sylvia Hewitt?”

“Speaking.”

“This is Victor Matheson, Miss Hewitt, the private detective you hired. Remember me?”

“Yes, of course.” She was puzzled: she’d told him weeks ago his services were no longer required.

“A strange coincidence has just happened. I think it would be worth us meeting up.”

Sylvia listened as Matheson explained that he had met another private investigator and discovered that he had been hired to trace Alex Moreno by Philip Simmons. “I have to arrange time off from work,” she told him, “but it shouldn’t be a problem. I’ll fly out as soon as I can and meet you in New York.”

“Good.” He hung up.

She gave no thought to the fact that she had promised de Jersey she would not take her inquiries any further. In fact, she was determined to prove that David Lyons did not commit any fraud. She called her boss and told him that urgent family business had cropped up and she needed to take the week off.

De Jersey outlined “rehearsal” days for the team to meet at the barn. They had moved another step closer to the plans being completed. Driscoll had booked “the Queen.” She was to be collected at 8:00 A.M. for a day’s commercial shoot. The agent did not query the name of the company but seemed more interested in the fee, which was substantially more than usual.

Far from being a big risk, Westbrook proved invaluable. He was getting sicker by the day, but he remained in good humor and the team admired his determination. Pamela was highly professional and a constant source of humorous stories during coffee breaks. She provided cakes and biscuits too, which they devoured hungrily. She was having a wonderful time. She had always enjoyed the company of men, and it had been a long time since she had been surrounded by so many. She adored Westbrook, and they swapped stories about their time in the nick while smoking their way through packets of cigarettes, their conversation interspersed with coughing fits and shrieks of laughter.

De Jersey rarely joined in the banter. He was constantly checking his notes and plans. Dulay’s boat was now set to anchor six miles off the South Coast, near Brighton. The diversion helicopters were booked and false pickup points agreed on. De Jersey had arranged for one of his horses to be at the Brighton racetrack on the day of the raid. He had also marked in blue crosses on the floor of the barn the positions of the panic buttons in the safe house. Every one of the team was made to learn their exact locations.

“Darling, just a small point,” Pamela said one day, cigarette dangling out of her mouth. “We know where these thingies are, but what if one of the D’Ancona employees throws caution to the wind and stamps on one? Will we get out fast enough before the police show up?”

“What?”

“Well, darling, do we know how long we’ve got if someone inadvertently or deliberately steps on one? There’s going to be an awful lot of anxiety and”-she hopped from one blue cross to another-“they’re all over the place.”

De Jersey gave her a dismissive glance. “Hopefully we’ll have discovered a way to deactivate them. In the meantime, however, we should know exactly where they’re located.”

“Yes, but do you know how long it takes for the boys in blue to arrive if one goes off?”

“Pamela, why don’t you put the kettle on?” De Jersey crossed to Wilcox.

He kept his voice low. “We hit one and the lot of us will be in trouble. Steel trapdoors come down like a guillotine.”

Wilcox turned away. “So, we’ve got to deactivate the buggers.”

“I’ll work on it.”

The two bikers were scheduled to arrive that afternoon, and de Jersey wanted everyone out of the way except Driscoll, who knew them. Brian Hall arrived first. He parked his motorbike as instructed in the yard at the back of the barn. Kenny Short turned up in an old Mini five minutes later.

De Jersey had watched them arrive. He opened the door almost immediately and handed them pairs of surgical gloves. The two men followed him toward the table, and he gestured for them to sit. Driscoll sat to one side. De Jersey took them through their duties and the getaway details. They listened attentively, asking relevant questions, to which de Jersey always had answers. They knew the risks they were taking, but the authoritative manner of the Colonel eased their fears, and after the instructions were clarified both men tried on their uniforms and tested the bikes. If they had any doubts they did not voice them.

De Jersey took pains to ensure that the men realized their importance. They were all dependent on each other to pull it off, he told them. Every one of them was an essential part of the heist, and one mistake could bring the rest down. When the two left, he turned to Driscoll. “What do you think?”

“They’ll do the business. It’s just his lordship we’ve got to watch out for. He’s very jittery and well drugged up.”

“I know. If he gets to be too much of a liability, we might have to lose him.”

Driscoll licked his lips and changed the subject. “What about deactivating those panic buttons?”

“Working on it.”

“Want to look over the guns?”

They had been under pressure for a considerable time now, so de Jersey suggested they take a few days’ break. Christina was expected home from Sweden, and he was worn out; they all needed time to recharge their batteries. It was March 15; they could stand back and review the plan for any weak spots they had missed-there was still time.

De Jersey returned home, but although he needed a rest he didn’t take one. Things at the estate needed his supervision, for although his staff worked diligently when he was absent, some issues had to be solved by the boss. There was a stack of paperwork that needed his attention, but the financial pressure was uppermost. He wondered if he could sell the Moreno house yet. He was still in the office after midnight when Fleming tapped and entered.

“Brandy?” de Jersey asked.

Fleming shook his head no. “You owe me the cash we agreed on,” he said softly, not meeting de Jersey’s eyes.

There was a long pause. De Jersey unscrewed the top from the brandy bottle, opened a drawer, and took out a glass.

“My son and an old lad helped me out. They’re both trustworthy. My son won’t say anything, and if the lad had a notion of what we were up to, he didn’t let on. I gave him a couple hundred quid.”

De Jersey gulped the brandy. “How did my boy do?”

“Fine. So now we wait. I’ve put him in the far stall. We’ll push his training up and see how he behaves, but we’ve risked a hell of a lot.”

“I know.” De Jersey was hardly able to speak.

Fleming changed his mind about the brandy, and the two men sat drinking quietly. They were both ashamed of the subterfuge and worried that they might have damaged Royal Flush’s concentration and thus his chance of winning the biggest race of his life. Eventually Fleming stood up and buttoned his coat. He nodded to the racing diary displayed on the office wall. “We’ll see what effect it’s had when he races at Lingfield.”

Two days later Christina arrived home, and de Jersey took her in his arms. “I’ve missed you so much,” she said, as they hugged.

“I’ve missed you too, darling. Let me carry your cases upstairs.”

“No, they can wait but I can’t. Let’s just go upstairs,” she said coyly.

He smiled. “Whatever you say.”

“How’s everything been?” she asked.

“Not too bad. I’ve had to sell a few more horses, but Royal Flush is in great shape. It’s been very quiet here without you,” he said.

“It’s such a comfort to be back here with you. This place is so precious to me,” Christina said.

De Jersey didn’t reply as he followed her up the stairs. So much was riding on him pulling off the heist.