Remember Remember (7 page)

“Yes, I understand, thanks for talking with me, I look forward to receiving your fax and I will be in touch by mail very soon. Is there anything else I can do for you now?”

“No, I’ll send the fax. Bye Mr Walsh.”

Keith replaced the receiver and mused to himself, “It might work, I can’t see the scam in this.”

He decided to send the fax but as a precaution would only put down product requests for 50% of his needs and see what came of it.

Jean was called into the office, the products were selected along with quantities and a fax was sent within one hour of the original call.

Alan pressed the end call key and made notes of the conversation. He sat back in his chair and reflected on the call. If they were all like this he could probably do 30 to 40 per day. Damned hard work actually but he may end up with 20 to 30 companies at least prepared to try his product range. The whole affair would take time but each of these companies would have the capability to import exactly what he wanted. He walked into the general reception area and smiled at the young woman behind the reception desk.

“I will be receiving quite a few faxes over the next 5 days, how do I go about getting them?”

“That’s easy Mr Walsh, when we receive them we allocate them to your mail box. Your box is there on the left; the box number is compatible with your office suite number and if you want to reply to any of the faxes just give me the details.”

“Thanks love, now, where do you get a coffee around here?”

“There’s a machine over there, or you can get one just down the road, but most people bring their own and use the kitchen. I can get one for you this time though if you wish.”

“No thanks, I’ll take a walk, the fresh air will do me good.”

He locked his office and strolled from the block down into town.

He made twenty more calls that day and he considered progress was good but slow. He also made a call to Dave Bentley the design printer and agreement was made that they would meet in two days to discuss ideas and prices with regard to a way ahead.

“A pint of Sam’s please Tony,” Alan looked around the bar at the Ivy, it was empty apart from a couple in the corner looking at street plans of York and trying to decide where to eat that night. Tony finished polishing a glass and placed it on a shelf, “How are you today, still living in the past?”

“I’m lonely and I’m sad, bloody sad and it makes me angry to know that nobody but you wants to hear all my crap, but thanks for asking. How are you?”

“I’m different, very different from you, I came out of it OK, I got my pension and all the bits still work and now I’ve got this place. I’m actually happy.”

“Lucky bastard.”

“Yeah, I’m lucky and I’m not living in the past, but I’ll talk about it if you want.”

Alan shook his head and replied, “talking won’t change it will it, it happened, shit happens and I got shat on.”

“Yeah, and from a great height eh;” he paused and looked into Alan’s face then changing the subject asked, “do you see any of the others now?”

“There’s nobody to see, there’s no bugger left that matters.” He finished his pint and offered it to Tony who without asking refilled the glass. Alan watched then took the frothy pint and said, “Now let’s change the subject, thanks for asking, but it still screws me up. What do you say we go out for a few beers and see York at its worst on a race day?”

“I’ve a hotel to run, I can’t just walk out.”

“You’ve got staff, use them.”

“I don’t know if I want to be out with you in a mood!”

“A mood; I’m not in a mood; I’ve won at the races and I’ve worked hard today.”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I don’t. I’m OK. You asked about me and I told you; the past won’t go away, I lost my family and like you I lost a lot of mates which makes me bitter sometimes but I’m OK.”

“OK, we’ll do Micklegate and then come back but no nightclubs, I’ve got to do breakfast in the morning.”

“That’s a deal, I’ve got at least 30 calls to make tomorrow and I wouldn’t want to linger in Micklegate late at night, would I?” “Micklegate’s OK, it’s just Yorkies drinking in the pubs there,” Tony then changed the subject and asked, “what is it you do now?”

“I work for this furniture import company, trying to get their products into the UK, very boring really but it pays,” he finished his pint placed his glass on the bar and turned to go explaining, “I’m going for a bath now, what time can we go out?”

“About eight, do you want something to eat before we go?”

“No, I’ll have something as we walk about, fish and chips in the paper seems good, see you at eight and bring your wallet.”

“I’ll pay my round you sod.”

“Yeah, I know you will, see you at eight my friend.”

“Er Alan …. Just before you go, how long do you expect to stay?”

“At least another week and I’ll be happy to pay the going rate.”

“Not on your life my friend, this one’s on me.”

“Thanks, see you tonight.”

Alan lazed and soaked in the hot bath. “Not a bad hotel” he thought and a quiet room at the back. But perhaps he should not have stayed with a friend, perhaps his dealings in York could be linked and exposed through Tony. Perhaps Tony needed to know the part being played. “Oh no he doesn’t, the less he knows the better,” he argued with himself, then thought, “we’ll go for drinks in York, start with the Crystal Palace, then the Trafalgar Bay just outside the walls, then down into Micklegate. I won’t talk about business at all, just talk about old times, drink and then say I’m going racing again. If any trace is made to York and Tony he won’t know anything other than an old friend came to stay and went racing.”

It took 6 more working days to contact the remaining 120 plus companies who might be interested in importing his products from Turkey and he believed that at least 80 of them may take up the offer. However all 150 companies were prepared to receive the portfolio of products which had now been ordered from David Bentley’s design and print company along with all the product outers. The portfolios would be delivered to the office suite in York and the batches of outers would be delivered to an export company in Kent who would ship them out to Turkey. All had been prepaid and would be collected by a LOLTS representative in Turkey.

Alan informed Teresa he would keep the serviced office address as a post box for communications until the portfolios were ready and he would then return to York to rent his office suite again in order to receive and mail out the 150 portfolios. However, he had now been called to Turkey to discuss his progress so far with UK operations. That was the plausible story told to Theresa, the manageress in charge of the serviced office block and cash was paid for the maintenance of the post box and future use of the office suite.

The story to Tony was simpler. He was going home for a rest from the boozing and racing but would return soon for some unfinished business in York and a room had been gladly offered and accepted by both parties. One last Sam Smith’s pint had been quaffed before he thanked his friend as hands were shaken, backs were slapped and the two briefly hugged.

“Bloody hell Tony, I’ll be back in a few weeks or so. Get off.”

“See you then my friend,” he responded as he released his grip.

June 18
th
, The White House, London.

Alan Johnson sat in a corner where he could observe the comings and goings of the staff and customers, opposite him sat Shan again drinking orange juice. Alan broke the silence, “We need to buy a factory, already in production and close to the Middle East, I think Turkey is the place.”

“I agree with Turkey, I’m sure they’ll oblige, they want to become members of the European Union and they need our money. Sterling buys a lot in Turkey.”

“Can you do a web search for relevant companies?”

“Yes, but why do you need to buy the company, surely we can just purchase the goods from them?”

“I don’t think so, we need to general manage the project and to get our people involved in the production. Therefore I’ll need a chemist, and access to the WMD.”

“The chemist is no problem, his name is Onar, he’s Turkish but on our side. He trained in America and is low key so we believe he’s not on any terrorist database.”

“It’s essential that all people involved are clean.”

“It’s probably impossible; even we two may be being watched.”

“Yes, OK, but as clean as possible, no obvious targets.” He looked at Shan then changed the subject, “How do we get the WMD.”

“For that we need the captain of the SS Afyon.”

“How will he help,” enquired Alan.

“The WMD is on his ship or under the sea, he’s the one who will supply it, responded Shan.

“Is he clean.”

“We believe he is. His name is Amdarni and his ship is a small freighter which left Iraq before the war with a cargo treble sealed in watertight, airtight containers. He was paid handsomely to move this around the Persian Gulf and the Mediterranean Sea. He trades in general goods so has access to many small ports and is already well known by many port authorities.”

“How does he go undetected?”

“The 12 mile rule usually applies to all countries; therefore he cranes the containers over the side about 15 miles from his port of call, attaches a unique homing device and then does his regular trade. The triple sealing ensures that not even sniffer dogs or the most sensitive detection equipment can sense he’s ever had it on board.”

“What if he loses one in the ocean?”

“Then God help the world in about 200 year’s time when the 3 casings erode!”

“Jesus, who’d want to be a fish out there eh, how come he’s kept doing this for so long?”

“He’s paid well, very well and he’s loyal to the cause. There are still many people who support Bin Laden and Saddam, whether they are dead or alive. Even though the West thinks Saddam was a tyrant and many Iraqis do too, he still had about 20% support from his people and that’s a few million.”

“Saddam was no fool, maybe he played the wrong cards in the last days before the war but for the years before he’d been trading in illegal oil and building immense capital.”

“But surely the Yanks will now have all that, they must control the banks and the cash and gold.”

“Only the money in Iraq, as I say Saddam was no fool, he trades tanker loads of oil, his men leave the country and trade in other Arabic countries or even Switzerland. The money never goes back into Iraq but is useable by Saddam’s allies. It is possible that you, my friend, are being bank rolled from it.”

A wry smile crossed Alan’s face, a rare occurrence nowadays.

“Well we’ll certainly need lots of money, whoever is supplying it.”

“There’s probably billions out there and mostly in good currency.”

“And what about the WMD, how much is still available?” asked Alan.

“I don’t know, but what I do know is that over the past 5 years many containers were loaded onto freighters in ports around Iraq. God knows where it all is now, probably mostly at sea, but some could be in that freight terminal near Euston station. However what I do know is there’s certainly enough on that freighter for your needs, more than enough.”

“No wonder the weapons inspectors found nothing.”

“Saddam, as I say, was not as stupid as some might think. He’s left the biggest time bomb ever around the world and nobody knows if it’s ticking yet. Enjoy your days, each one moves the clock hand closer to midnight.”

“Then I’ll book a holiday in Turkey as fast as I can, I’d hate to be caught up in something I wasn’t a party to. We’ll probably need about a month to set things up and to ensure we all can meet in Turkey,” his eyes gazed into Shan’s as he again confirmed, “Please remember, no phone calls; you must use our usual drop points and runners and the same goes for the chemist and the captain.”

“OK, but everything takes so much longer this way.”

“Until you started talking about those containers floating about all over the place I thought we had all the time in the world. I hope they’re in crash proof containers.”

“Saddam may have been foolish but I don’t think he was stupid,” whispered Shan as he rose to leave, “Bye Alan, I’ll keep reading the Evening Standard.”

“Yeah, keep doing that, we may not need to meet here again but you’ll certainly need to know the time not to be in this country. Au Revoir my friend.”

As he watched Shan walk away he mused on the old phrase that, “Your enemy’s enemy is your friend; at least for now.”

The next day Alan left the White House, walked past the commissionaire, entered the bright sunlight of a June morning and crossed Euston Road towards Gloucester Road tube station, aware that the traffic noise, dirt, general fumes and people were as bad as ever in London. Walking down Euston Road he entered a travel agency and enquired about a holiday for two to Turkey. Brochures were forthcoming and he left with enough reading for the train journey home. With 20 minutes to go before his train was due to depart, he strolled down Euston Road toward the station thinking what an awful place London was now and he knew he wouldn’t miss it if he never saw it again. Turning left at the DSS offices he encountered his first beggar. “God, what a country,” he thought as he smiled at the guy, “probably earns more in a day than the accountants in the opposite building.”