Scion (33 page)

“Wait!” shouted his colleague as he was about to dial. “I’ve got something. Look here!” he added, pointing to his screen.

At the bottom of the screen four men could be seen shrouding a younger man. All wore baseball caps and from the angle of their heads were obviously avoiding the CCTV cameras. Facial recognition software could do many things but without a view of the face to compare against its target it was useless.

“I’ll bet that’s him, the timing is bang on,” stated the operator confidently.

The supervisor agreed and reading the station name, called Ernst to update him. Ramirez was in Anacostia.

Chapter 60

As the plane taxied to the arrival gate, Scott pressed the power button on the phone and realised how fundamentally his life had changed. Only four days ago, the thought of letting somebody know that he had arrived safely was as alien a concept as he could have conceived. Scott worked alone and the only person who knew whether he was alive, dead or exactly where he was, was himself. Now he was sending a text to Ashley telling her he had arrived safely and in so doing telling her exactly where he was. After committing that cardinal sin, he exited the plane and after a short wait at the immigration desk while the immigration officer checked his Canadian passport, he was out of the terminal and boarding the DLR to Canning Town and London’s Underground network.

An underground network that carried almost a billion passengers every year, between its 275 stations which meant, that, on average, during every hour of its operation over 150,000 people were being ferried within its confines. However, with over 8,300 cameras scanning every face that entered and exited, Scott was not taking any chances and had a baseball cap sitting firmly over his head with as wide a peak as possible. There was also no better way to travel around London.

After one stop, he changed from the Jubilee Line to the Hammersmith and City Line heading West and exited at the Barbican, in the heart of London’s financial district, most commonly referred to as the City. Home to the FTSE, the Bank of England and numerous members of the banking elite, the area was also a mecca for some of the world’s most prestigious corporate law firms. One of which was the particularly prestigious, Foxon Gerard and Smythe, of whom one of their most illustrious partners was John Butler-Jones, the former lawyer of Mr James Kennedy Esq. (deceased).

As Scott approached the building, a twinge of nervousness ran through his body. This man was partly responsible for the death of his father and Ashley’s parents, as an absolute minimum. Scott dealt with these kind of men all the time but he didn’t need to talk to them first.

The receptionist smiled warmly as Scott walked towards her. Even in a bizarre outfit of suit plus baseball cap, he cut a dashing figure. Catching his reflection in the mirror, he quickly removed the cap and received an approving wink from the receptionist, much better.

“Hi.” Scott flashed his best smile and donned an American accent with just enough drawl to suggest Southern state and certainly explain away the baseball cap faux pas.

As she smiled back, Scott could see her pupils grow in size, a good sign. He leaned forward conspiratorially.

“I hope you can help?”

“Of course,” she replied eagerly nodding her head.

“I’ve really messed up, I’ve got this really important document to deliver to Mr John Butler-Jones.”

“I’m really sorry but he’s not in today, he’s working from home.”

Scott had to stop himself from smiling, the news couldn’t have been better and thinking quickly.

“Yes I know that and that’s where I’ve to take these very important papers but somebody’s just pinched my blackberry which had his address on it.”

“That’s no problem,” she replied smiling, “I’ll just get his secretary,” she added picking up her phone.

Scott placed his hand tenderly on the back of the receptionist’s. “No, please don’t. My boss will find out and kill me for losing the blackberry. You see it’s my third in three months and if I lose another one, he’ll fire me.” Scott leaned in closer almost whispering, “Is there any way you could just give me the address. That way, no one needs to know I lost the blackberry which I’ll replace before they know it’s gone.”

The receptionist was about to say that she wouldn’t know the address but it was obvious from the pile of packages behind her desk that she dealt with the couriers and mail for the company.

“Please,” pleaded Scott. “Nobody will ever know.”

The receptionist looked around to check nobody was watching. “Oh all right, but just this once and you didn’t get it from me, OK?” She quickly scribbled down the address and handed it to Scott. “Before you get it, name and law firm, please,” she demanded.

Scott was used to giving false names and never stumbled for a second. He normally used the names of lesser known Prime Ministers of the UK but when he met particularly stupid ones, he used well known ones. Although very deserving of a Winston Churchill, Scott thought it more appropriate to flatter her.

“Andrew Law, Clifford Chance,” naming one of the least known PM’s who, due to ill health, had served only 7 months in office and paired this with the largest law firm in the world. She’d have to search for some time to check he wasn’t genuine. He hadn’t mentioned which office he worked out of.

As she handed him the slip of paper, he added. “And you are?”

“It’s on the back…with my phone number,” she blushed.

Scott read the name, Julie Hughes. “Well, it’s been lovely to meet you Julie and I can’t tell you how much this means to me,” replied Scott waving the slip of paper. Turning and walking towards the door, he heard Julie call out. “Call me!”

“Definitely,” replied Scott without turning around.

Once out onto the street, Scott checked the address. Gerrards Cross, Buckinghamshire. Not somewhere Scott immediately recognised but he knew enough to know that it wouldn’t be too far from London as Buckinghamshire was well within its commuter belt. That, however, could wait. Next stop was Companies House. Closing at five, he had just over two hours to try and trace the loan company. Back on the tube and ten minutes later, he was exiting Tottenham Court Road tube station and after a short walk, had located Companies House and was speaking to a research assistant.

Two hours later, the loan company information had not given him any more leads.

A nearby internet café gave Scott all the information he needed on Gerrards Cross. A very affluent commuter town just 20 minutes from Marylebone Station. Scott typed the postcode into a mapping website and printed off the exact location of the house in relation to the train station. Five minutes later, he was back in the underground and after a quick journey to Marylebone Station, he was on the 17.33 overground train to Gerrards Cross.

With twenty minutes to spare, he pulled out his phone and called Ashley.

***

Ashley’s journey, despite being significantly shorter, had taken almost twice as long, although she was the first to admit the scenery was spectacular and the time flew by. The train had left Geneva at precisely 12.45 and thanks to the efficiency of the Swiss railway had pulled to a stop at exactly 15.28 as published in the timetable. Her meeting with the Chairman had been scheduled for 17.45 and had allowed her some time to enjoy the vast array of stores before arriving at Union Bank of Zurich’s only branch, at 17.40. She was getting used to Swiss time keeping.

Although just as grand in appearance as Rothschild’s in Geneva, Ashley could not fail to sense the overwhelming lack of class in comparison to the Geneva bank. Everything seemed rushed and hassled whereas Rothschild had been quiet, relaxed and undeniably efficient. UBZ felt like a bank under pressure, which it was.

At 17.46 and 32 seconds, a flushed and harassed looking lady came bustling towards Ashley and introduced herself as the Chairman’s secretary.

As instructed, Ashley followed the secretary, struggling to keep up without breaking into a run and was led up to the first floor and towards an open door at the end of the corridor. She was shown through the door and saw a gentleman, in his sixties, sitting by his desk refusing to lift his head from the book that lay in front of him.

“Miss Jones,” announced the secretary who received nothing more than a gruff ‘Ja’ and a wave of dismissal from the man. Herr Meyer knowing Ashley’s real name had refused to accept any other name to secure the meeting.

The secretary pointed to a chair by the conference table for Ashley and hastily left the office, closing the door quietly behind her. The man behind the desk who Ashley could only assume was the chairman had still not looked up.

After waiting thirty seconds in complete silence, Ashley thought bugger this and cleared her throat. “Ahem.”

The Chairman looked up angrily but catching sight of Ashley immediately stood up and smiled the dirtiest smile Ashley had ever seen. She could almost feel his eyes peeling off every item of her clothing as he stalked towards her. She smiled as best she could under the circumstances. As he approached, he reached out for her hand which rather than shaking he bent down and kissed.

“Miss Jones, so lovely to meet you,” he slimed.

“Thank you for seeing me at such short notice,” she said.

“Anything for my good friend Herr Krauss,” replied the Chairman.

Ashley had to cough to stop herself laughing at the suggestion Herr Krauss would even stay in the same room as this letch, let alone call him a friend.

“Would you like coffee or perhaps tea, water or?” looking at his watch. “Perhaps something a little stronger?” he laughed suggestively.

“Water would be fine, thank you.”

Buzzing his secretary, the chairman demanded a water and an afternoon tea. Ashley couldn’t help thinking afternoon tea was some poorly hidden code for something alcoholic.

“So how can I help you, Miss Jones?” asked the Chairman, failing to raise his eyes higher than Ashley’s cleavage.

Ashley knew that the disgusting male who made her stomach churn was one of the only men in the world who could help her find the killers and as such she leaned forward. Her blouse moved further away from her skin revealing more cleavage and the majority of her lacy and extremely see-through bra.

A bead of sweat almost immediately appeared on the chairman’s brow as he struggled to remain calm and not look too obvious in his attempt to catch a glimpse of the stunning Miss Jones nipple which he could just make out and no more. He moved slightly in his seat to secure a less obstructed view.

“I need some information about a transaction your bank made.”

“I’m sorry but unless you are involved in the transaction that will not be possible.”

Ashley sat upright as the disappointment of the answer registered and the Chairman’s wonderful view disappeared.

The secretary knocked gently on the door and deposited the drinks without a word, before excusing herself for the evening; it was 6.00 and closing time.

Ashley’s heart sank, closing time would mean an end to her opportunity of getting the information.

“We’re not quite finished here, tell the night guard that I’m still in my office,” the chairman winked at Ashley immediately reawakening her spirits. The old dog thought he had a chance!

As the door closed, Ashley leant forward again ensuring her blouse fell open.

“I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t life or death and it was twenty-five years ago.”

The Chairman, now mesmerised by the glimpses of Ashley’s breasts, desperately wanted her to stay exactly where she was.

He leaned forward conspiratorially, catching a glimpse of the other nipple.

“Well, that is an awfully long time go,” he suggested. “Perhaps if you give me the details of the transaction I can check to see if client confidentiality would be breached. I mean, they might not even be clients any more.”

Ashley inched further forward. “That would be wonderful,” she said handing him the transaction date and the account which had sent the funds.

“Now, don’t move,” said the chairman, meaning exactly what he said, praying the view would be just as good on his return.

He made his way from the conference table back to his desk and entered the transaction details into an old looking system. Ashley looked on quizzically as the chairman waited for the information to appear on the screen.

“It’s pre 95, have to use the old system to get the details,” he explained.

The chairman took the details from one screen and entered them into a newer system that looked more like a traditional PC. After a few seconds, he began to read the details on the screen in front of him and smiled back at Ashley.

Ashley’s hopes rose as the old letch looked particularly happy with himself. However, as he walked back towards her, the excitement of the find had obviously aroused him a little too much and it seemed he had no intention of hiding his new found enthusiasm. Ashley averted her eyes and hoped he’d sit rather than stand in front of her.

Thankfully he did sit and Ashley was once again able to look  the chairman in the face.

“It seems we’re in luck. The account holder who transferred the funds is no longer with us. In fact I was only informed this morning of his sad demise. An excellent customer for many, many years,” he shook his head as he spoke.