Dying to Tell (33 page)

"I had no choice. He's holding a friend of mine hostage."

"I've never had any friends. Maybe now you can understand why."

"But you do have family."

"Yuh. And I thought I could trust them."

"I'm not saying you can't. Gordon's probably planning to hand the contents of the box the letter over to you, as agreed. He doesn't know about our deal."

"He was never planning to stand by me, Lance. I can see that now. He has his own side-deal. Sensible, from his point of view. Far-sighted, even. But dangerous. I don't care to be crossed."

"I'm not crossing you. I've done my best to honour our agreement."

"Honour? Let's leave that out of it."

"I'm just trying to '

"What you're trying to do is have your cake and eat it. Seldom possible, in my experience."

There has to be a way out of this."

"Oh, there is. You meet Gordon at the bank. You open the box for him. You let him carry off the booty." Townley fixed me with his cold-eyed gaze. "And you leave the rest to me."

Ledgister was relaxing in an armchair next to the water feature, perusing a complimentary copy of the Financial Times, when I entered the foyer of the International Bank of Honshu at 9.32 a.m.

"Good morning, Lance." He discarded the paper and stood up. "They're still arguing about the presidency, I see."

"What?"

"You should interest yourself in politics, you really should. It's the key to everything. All the connections. All the conspiracies. Plain to see, if you know what to look for." He smiled. "But I have the feeling you'd like to get straight down to business."

"Wouldn't you?"

"No merit in delay, that's for sure. We've had enough of that already, I reckon. Your friend passed a comfortable night, by the way."

"Let's get on with it."

"OK." He took the letter of authorization out of his pocket and handed it to me. "Lead on, why don't you?"

I was required to produce my passport and driving licence by way of identification. Rupe's letter of authorization was taken away for comparison with the bank's records. The words Tomparles Trading Company' slipped from somebody's lips. Ledgister and I both remained deadpan. The Pomparles affair and how the International Bank of Honshu might fit into it was of no interest to us.

When the back office was duly satisfied, we received the OK to go down to the vault. A punctiliously polite gentleman whose lapel badge proclaimed him to be Toru Kusakari escorted us in the lift. We emerged in an ante-room to the vault, the massively thick door to which stood open, with a security guard in attendance. I signed a form. We entered the vault.

It was a gleaming chamber of solid steel, with banks of numbered lockers along the walls. A doorway at the far end led to a small inner chamber furnished with a desk and two chairs. Kusakari located locker 4317, opened it and lifted out the shallow metal box inside.

"Are you removing the contents or merely examining them, Mr. Bradley?" he asked.

"Not sure," I replied.

"No matter. I will leave you to it. Please." He handed me the box and pointed to the inner chamber, then withdrew.

I carried the box to the desk and plonked it down. Ledgister produced the key, slid it into the lock and turned. The box sprang open.

Inside, resting extravagantly on green baize, was a single white envelope, with my name printed on it. Ledgister snatched it up and ripped open the flap, then stepped back so I wouldn't be able to read the letter inside.

But it was immediately obvious from his expression that what I was missing wasn't good news. "Fuck," he muttered, then glared at me. "Devious, your friend, Rupe, wasn't he?"

"Was he?"

"Take a look."

The letter was on Pomparles Trading Company stationery, quoting office addresses in Tokyo and London. The London address was in Mulberry Business Park, SE16. The date shown was the same as on the other letter. This one was signed by Rupe in his capacity as managing director of the company. It was addressed to Colin Dibley at Tilbury Freeport.

Dear Colin,

By the time you receive this you will be well aware of my company's ownership of a consignment of aluminium due to be delivered to Tilbury by Eurybia Shipping (whose employment I will by then have left) on 14 September.

Notwithstanding any legal restraints that may be placed on onward movement of the cargo, I should remind you that this company remains owner of first title pending the resolution of any and all counter-claims and must be afforded access to the cargo for inspection purposes.

This letter authorizes my associate, Mr. Lancelot Bradley of ISA High Street, Glastonbury, Somerset, to exercise such right of access at any reasonable time.

Thank you for assisting him in this regard. Yours ever,

Rupe

"It's in the container," I murmured, my words lagging behind my thoughts. Of course. That's what the whole Pomparles fraud had been about. Not aluminium. Not money at all. But a means of keeping a small item safe and secure, camouflaged by a big cargo that was in turn immobilized by a transnational legal dogfight. Safe, while Rupe carried a mere copy with him on his hazardous tilt at the Townleys. Secure, until he went to fetch it. Or I did, in his place.

That's certainly how I read it," said Ledgister. "Concealed in the impounded cargo of aluminum."

"It has to be."

"Yuh. And you have to be there to get it. Seems you and I need to take a ride to the coast, Lance. Right now."

I tried not to look around for Townley when we left the bank and headed east along Cheapside. Ledgister had a car parked nearby. If Townley had come on foot or by Tube, he wouldn't be able to follow us to Tilbury. In fact, he'd have no idea where we were going. What could he do then?

"You seem kind of preoccupied," said Ledgister, as we turned down a side-street.

"Oh, I was just, er, wondering why Rupe took such .. . elaborate .. . precautions."

"You'd take some pretty goddam elaborate precautions if you'd been carrying what he was."

"Would I?"

"Yuh. Believe me. I should have figured he wouldn't want to carry it with him when he left Japan. This way he knew where it was all the time without the risk of being caught with it in his possession. I really should have thought of the container before now." Ledgister seemed genuinely annoyed with himself. "Here's the car."

It was an anonymous white saloon, not unlike the one he'd hired (in my name) in Japan. He walked round to the driver's side and tripped the locks. As I went to get in on the passenger's side, I suddenly saw his face change expression. He froze, the driver's door half open, his eyes fixed on something behind me.

"Stephen," he said slowly. "What are you doing here?"

I turned and looked at Townley, feigning surprise as best I could. From the expression on his face the most gifted physiognomist could probably have deduced .. . absolutely nothing.

"Looks like a case of great minds, Gordon. You reckoned

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Lance was the key to this. So did I. Hasn't he told you about our deal?"

"No," said Ledgister. That he hasn't."

"I'd heard nothing from you since Kyoto. I didn't have much option but to put together a fall-back position."

"I'm sorry not to have been in touch, Stephen. There was a lot of heat on me in Japan. I figured it was safer for you if I stayed underground until I could deliver the goods."

"And can you deliver them?"

"Reckon so. Jump in and I'll explain as we go."

I couldn't help admiring the way Townley and Ledgister both rewrote their own recent pasts to reflect a perfect if unspoken accord. I knew Townley doubted every word his son-in-law said, but it was impossible to tell that from any inflexion in his voice. As for Ledgister, what he really thought I couldn't judge, but it was apparent that both men were doing their considerable best to convince each other that their alliance was as strong as ever. Which left me like a spectator at a game of stud poker who knows all the cards on the table, not just the ones with their faces showing.

As we drove east through Aldgate and out along the Commercial Road, Ledgister told some twisted tale that might or mightn't have been the truth about how he'd got out of Japan and headed for London because that was where he'd figured I'd end up. He'd strung Carl Madron along with money and a promise of more to come from a story the media would die for and grabbed Yamazawa to force me to cooperate after Carl's cash-oriented blandishments had failed. Townley for his part reported half of our agreement accurately enough the letter in exchange for an undertaking to let Mayumi and Haruko live in safety. Naturally, he made no mention of the other half letting good old Gordon take the rap for a trio of murders. And naturally also, neither did I. Where it was all going to end other than Tilbury I couldn't seem to summon the mental rigour to imagine. The clearest thought that came into my head was that I badly needed a drink.

A cosy chat at opening time in an East End gin palace wasn't on the agenda, however. Somewhere along the way Ledgister tossed me his mobile phone and told me to call Dibley. "Negotiate an entree for us, Lance. A wrangle at the gate we don't need."

I had to agree with him there. But how Dibley would react to my improbable transformation into Rupe's business partner I didn't like to ask myself. Perhaps it was just as well, therefore, that Dibley was in Felixstowe for the day, leaving his assistant, a mild-sounding bloke called Reynolds, to mind the shop.

"Certainly I know the container you're referring to, Mr, er ..."

"Bradley."

"Mr. Bradley. Yes. You're a properly accredited company representative?"

"Absolutely."

"Well then, I suppose there can't, er, really be any..."

"Objection?"

"No. Quite. Look, are you sure this can't wait until tomorrow? Mr. Dibley will be back then and I'd be happier if '

"I'm afraid my colleagues and I are on a very tight schedule."

"I see. Well, in that case ... I would have to bring in Customs on this, you understand."

"Fine."

"All right, then, Mr. Bradley. I'll, er ... see what I can do."

"We'll be there within the hour."

"As soon as that?"

"Yes. Thanks a lot, Mr. Reynolds. We'll see you shortly."

I ended the call and handed the phone back to Ledgister. That sounded good, Lance. Yuh, very good. But I reckon we need a little insurance." He flicked the indicator and veered off the dual carriage way up a slip-road.

"Where are we going?"

"There's some kind of hardware store over there," he said, gesturing with his thumb. "We need to be able to open the

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container if Customs try to block us. Heavy-duty bolt-cutters should do the trick. And a high-power torch won't do any harm."

Ledgister left Townley and me in the car while he went to buy his 'insurance' (with Rupe's letter in his pocket, I noticed). As soon as he was out of sight, Townley leaned forward in the rear seat and said, in little more than a whisper, "So far so good, Lance. You're doing well. Keep it up."

"Do you think he believes you?"

"I would, in his position."

"And what is his position?"

"More fragile than he thinks. The real test will come when we find the letter. If he's done a deal to deliver it to someone else, it'll show."

"What will you do then?"

"Don't worry about it. That's my problem."

"And our agreement?"

"Still in effect."

"It's just that I don't see '

"You soon will." He sat back. "We all will."

We reached the main gate of Tilbury Docks a little over half an hour later, with a pair of brand-new XL bolt-cutters lodged discreetly in the boot (where I for one fervently hoped they'd stay). Reynolds had booked us in and we were sent on through with directions to the admin block, where he was expecting us.

Townley and Ledgister stayed in the car while I went up to Dibley's office, where Reynolds was presiding for the day. He was as blandly accommodating in the flesh as he'd sounded on the phone. We chewed over some polite nothings and he perused Rupe's letter. Then he telephoned the Customs House and spoke to someone called Dave. While they talked, I looked out of the window and spotted Townley and Ledgister standing next to the car down on the stretch of tarmac between the office block and a phalanx of stored containers. They too were talking. And I could well imagine what about.

But as to exactly what they were saying, notably about me ... "Dave Harris will meet you at the container," Reynolds announced, putting the phone down. "I, er, assume you know where it is."

"Yes," I said, forcing a smile. "As a matter of fact, I do."

We drove the short distance to the infamous container, still held in its own concreted patch of limbo. Some weeds I couldn't remember from my previous visit had sprouted around its base. Dave Harris, a big man made to look bigger still by an outsize canary-yellow anorak, was waiting for us, clipboard in hand.

There were some desultory introductions and I was required to sign a form in three places. "As you can see, gentlemen," said Harris, 'nothing's been done since the cargo arrived, aside from our inspection of the contents. Eighteen tons of high-grade aluminium, as per the original consignment. You'll find everything's in order." He ventured a smile, but didn't get one from any of us in return. Then he fetched a pair of official Customs and Excise bolt-cutters from his car, snapped the official Customs and Excise seals, slipped the bolts and swung the doors open.

Inside, looking rather like so many silver loaves of bread, ingots of Russian aluminium sat neatly stacked on pallets, waiting patiently to be turned into fizzy drink cans and wheel trims. I supposed a letter could be stuck to the underside of any one of them. Looking along the lines of pallets that stretched away to the shadowy rear of the container, I reckoned we were going to test Customs and Excise's tolerance severely unless we got lucky.

On the way over, Ledgister had said he'd look after Harris while Townley and I searched for the letter. It was no surprise to me, therefore, that he immediately struck up a conversation with him. "I surely hope Pomparles' cash flow problem hasn't given you fellows too many headaches," he said, slyly manoeuvring so that, to talk to him, Harris had to turn his back on the container. "Now Lance here has brought my colleague and me on board, we aim to set things straight real soon."