Betrayed: (A Financial and Conspiracies Thriller – Book 1 in the Legacy Thriller Series) (10 page)

Chapter 12

Thursday evening,

Wilton Crescent, London W1

As with most things organised by Gustave at the Palace Hotel, Nat Matthews’s journey home was impeccably arranged. It was both fast and comfortable, and took just over three hours in all. From the Helipad near the hotel he was whisked in a Eurocopter to Zurich’s Engadin Airport. There a chartered Cessna six-seater jet flew him direct to London’s City Airport and he alighted from his taxi at Wilton Crescent at seven twenty-five. The journey, pampered all the way, also put new fight into him to deal with the potential demise of his company.

At exactly eight o’clock, Wheeler rang the doorbell at Matthews’s house. It was opened to him by a butler who welcomed him in and took his coat. Although Wheeler had extricated Matthews out of some embarrassing situations, and regarded himself to being as close to Matthews as anyone, it was his first visit here. He liked to think of himself as ‘a man about town’ and that there was therefore little that would surprise or shock him. He was wrong about that. As he looked about him in the hall and up the elegant unsupported spiral Georgian stairway of this classical house, he let out an involuntary gasp; never before had he seen such an extravagant, outlandish display of wealth. Gone were the staid furnishings and understated simplicity of its previous aristocratic owner’s taste in decoration. In its place, there was now a profusion of both pictures and furniture and as much gold leaf as might have rivalled an Austrian Baroque church.

‘Well, you’d better come up here, then,’ came Matthews’s voice from beyond the top of the stairs; it had a sharp edge to it. The Butler laid Wheeler’s coat temporarily on a small chair near the front door, led him up the stairs and ushered him into the drawing-room. This bright thirty by forty-foot room, with three tall windows looking out onto Wilton Crescent, was, like the rest that Wheeler had seen, over-furnished and decorated. There was an incongruous mix of classic Dutch School still-life paintings next to minimalist modern works in garish colours; it had an un-lived-in air, and it made Wheeler feel even more uncomfortable than before. Matthews himself had already crossed the room and seated himself in a large wing chair to the left of an ornate white marble fireplace.

‘Have a seat,’ he said, indicating a similar chair to his own the opposite side of the fireplace. Wheeler sat down on the front edge of it and looked back at Matthews with a degree of trepidation. He had witnessed the other’s temper before.

Matthews’s face was blotchily red and his small pale blue eyes darted here and there, agitated; his close-cropped hair glistened slightly − with sweat, Wheeler surmised. Sweating, darting eyes, red face, danger-signs Wheeler knew well. He quickly rehearsed again the opening lines he had practiced earlier.

‘I’m sorry to have dragged you away from your holiday, but as I told you on the ‘phone, I thought…’

Matthews cut his sentence short. ‘If I properly understood your call to me in St. Moritz, the Matthews Finch Hedge Fund has been hacked into over the internet and my unique trading algorithms have been illegally tampered with. Have I got that right?’

Wheeler had barely time to open his mouth to reply than Matthews continued, at pace. ‘This effing hacking team’s mucking about with the company’s trading may have lost us millions already; I’ll be checking that in detail in due course. Those losses, however, pall into insignificance against what will happen as soon as any of my clients discover that the money they have invested with the Fund is no longer under our complete control. Am I right in that too?’

‘I’m afraid that’s also true, but…’

‘And I told you over the telephone I needed two things right away. The first I said I needed a top PR storyline to be held in readiness in case this hacking story gets out. The second thing was for you and all your fancy contacts to make a start on getting this fixed. As you’ve had more than four hours since we spoke, where are we with those?’

Wheeler put up his hand as might a child in class; this time Matthews allowed him to speak.

‘First John Struthers and I felt that we needed to look at
all
the options open to us,’ he replied, pausing so that Matthews might get the point that rushing into immediate, frenzied action might not be the best way forward. ‘Would you like me to run through the options which we considered?’

‘I suppose so.’ Matthews let out a grunt of irritation. ‘But make it brief – all I want to know what you decided to actually
do
about this…this outrage.’

‘Okay,’ replied Wheeler, clearing his throat. ‘To start with, as this hacking operation seems to be under the auspices of the Bank of England, we ruled out trying to do anything like getting an injunction or mounting a legal challenge. We also thought these pointless as we felt we’d never get anything done along legal lines with the holiday weekend upon us. Next, bearing in mind the over-riding need to be trading normally come Tuesday morning, we decided that whatever we decided to do, it should be as under-cover or secret as possible,’

‘That sounds good to me,’ said Matthews. ‘So what exactly does that translate into?’

‘You’ll be pleased to hear, I think, that I’ve already got the first lot of people on board with this. I’m confident that they and another group I’m contacting shortly will have everything back to normal – as though nothing had happened – by Monday night.’

‘Well that sounds better.’ Matthews’s eyes closed for a moment as though he was lost in thought. ‘But that’s not very specific is it? Who are these people and what exactly are they going to do? If you can give me the outcome, it can’t be that difficult to tell me how they’re going to get there, can it?’

‘That brings me to one of only two conditions I need in all of this,’ replied Wheeler.

‘Conditions?’ Matthews face instantly reddened further and Wheeler noticed his hands go from a loose clasp to tight fists. Wheeler reacted to this apparent escalation in Matthews’s state of agitation. He did so by getting to his feet and going over to stand in front of the fireplace. From this vantage, he looked back down at Matthews. ‘You’ll recall that last year I got you out of that mess in Budapest and also dealt with the fiasco in Siena the year before that…?’

Matthews said nothing, struck silent by this unexpected turn in the conversation.

‘What you probably don’t realise,’ continued Wheeler, ‘is that I have sometimes have to do things to get clients out of trouble which it’s far better the clients know nothing about, do you understand what I’m saying?’

‘Yes, I understand, and I appreciate what you’ve done for me in the past. Are you now saying that it would be better I don’t know what people you take on or what they might have to get up to?’

‘That’s exactly what I’m saying,’ replied Wheeler. ‘You’re a notable City figure and a partner in a well-known company; not only must you not be involved in any way with what now needs to be done, but it will also be much better for you if you know nothing of what we may need to get up to.’

‘I understand,’ said Matthews. He looked down at his hands which were now just loosely clasped in his lap once again.

‘All you really need to know is of a satisfactory outcome once it’s all over, don’t you think?’

.Matthews gave a nod, his face now expressionless, though at least he now looked relaxed for the first time and some of the heightened colour had gone from his face.

‘I can’t tell you more for a further reason,’ continued Wheeler. ‘Because of the time-constraints, we’re going to have to use what I might call a gloves-off approach, a way which I believe this situation requires. Do you understand that too?’

‘Gloves off? That’s fine by me’ said Matthews. ‘A moment ago you said you had
two
conditions, one is that I don’t ask any questions about what you’re doing, what’s the other one?’

‘Money,’ said Wheeler but then quickly added, ‘to get the results we both want, I’m going to be using only the best of people, those with proven track records. You’ll just have to steel yourself to the fact that if you want to get your company back safe within this tight time-frame, is going to cost you. Do you need to talk to Paul Finch, about that?’

Matthews had not thought about his partner Paul Finch until this moment. Whereas Paul was an accountant at heart, Matthews saw himself as the vitality of the partnership, the one who had seen the future in algorithmic trading. Paul provided the gravitas of someone known throughout the City, and respected even by the City’s more traditional bankers. He did not mind being called ‘flash’ by some of Paul’s more staid friends, for, despite marked differences between the two of them, it had evolved into an ideal partnership.

At this moment, Paul was on business in New York and, was probably already in Florida for the rest of the weekend; it suited Wheeler that it would be nigh impossible to track him down there for a consultation.

‘No, I don’t need to talk to Paul,’ said Matthews, as though reading Wheeler’s mind. ‘This situation comes under operations, my side of the business anyway.’

‘Good, so let’s get the money side agreed and out of the way, shall we?’

‘Right, so what do want of me?’

‘Can you transfer one hundred thousand into my account straight away? That will allow me to make a down payment to the first of my contacts who have already started on the problem. Everything needs to be done in cash − we don’t want any pieces of paper leading back either to me or to you.’

‘Right, a hundred thousand and no paper-trails. Done.’

‘After that, we’ll just see how it goes,’ said Wheeler. ‘But I guess that if we’re going to secure a future of Matthews Finch, we’ll need to be prepared to spend whatever’s needed, won’t we?’

Matthews thought about this for a couple of seconds but simply replied, ‘Of course’. Going over to a small delicately inlaid chest of drawers, he took out an iPad. On it he logged into one of Matthews Finch’s accounts, the operations account.

‘If you give me your bank details, I can transfer the money to you right now,’ he said.

Wheeler read these details off from his smartphone and Matthews tapped them into the iPad; within a minute, the money had been transferred into Wheeler’s account.

As he completed this simple electronic task, Matthews seemed to brighten up, he even smiled a wan smile as though relief came in some liquid form and had somehow suffused right through him. By handing over of the problem to someone he now hoped could put it all back the way it had been before the hacking, he appeared to have gone from the irritated and angry to the calm and rational. He went over to a drinks tray in the corner of the room and poured himself a brandy. He looked across to Wheeler and, by gesturing, asked him if he would like one. Wheeler accepted. Returning, he handed Wheeler his drink, went back into his fireside chair, sank into it with a deep sigh and took a large swill from the glass.

The same wan smile lingered on his face as he seemed to be looking into the distance. Strange thoughts scampered across his mind, helped maybe by the brandy. He had instantly liked Wheeler’s use of the phrase ‘gloves off’. It had suddenly reminded him of his father’s excited stories of
his
father, Nat’s old grandad. Back in the great depression of the nineteen- thirties, almost any form of income could mean the difference between having a meal or not. He had been enthralled by tales of his grandfather’s involvement in the illegal bare-knuckle fights just off the East India Docks; tales of lookouts to warn of the police, of quickly snatched winnings, and of the hurrying of the young fighter back home to tend the hands for another fight another day. Yes, gloves off, they would show young Angus Macrae he could not play around with another’s business with impunity.

Whilst Matthews had apparently retreated into this mild trance, Wheeler too, relaxed somewhat. He was growing in confidence as his barely mapped-out plan matured in his mind; as soon as he had finished his drink, it was time to begin implementing it for, to meet the inexorable deadline of Monday night, he and the Major needed to get on with it. Their combined ideas and contacts would have to translate this sketchy plan into action and then implement it − fast.

He finished his coffee and rose to leave. Matthews got up too, came over to him, and facing him, put his hands on Wheeler’s shoulders. Looking into Wheeler’s eyes, he said, ‘Come to think about it, I don’t care what this costs. I’m putting my trust in you to get my company back for me by Monday night. Everything I’ve built up over these past few years is at stake here, so, for God’s sake, don’t let me down.’

‘I won’t. You’re safe to put your trust in me. I know the right people to get everything back to normal – sooner than you think.’

They parted and on leaving Matthews house, Wheeler headed down into Belgrave Square and through the darkening streets towards Sloane Square. Walking at a brisk pace, he reckoned it would be about a ten-minute walk from Wilton Crescent to Sloane Square – just in nice time for his meeting with the Major at the Antelope pub. Not only was he looking forward to hearing what the ‘interesting information’ was that the Major had found for him, he was also looking forward to hearing if the Major had acquired the people needed for the outline plan in his mind – time to turn it into a reality.

Chapter 13

Thursday, late evening

The Antelope, Eaton Terrace

Wheeler arrived back at the Antelope in good time for his meeting with the Major. He was pleased to find the pub was nearly empty, the commuter crowd having gone home. His usual table was empty and soon after he had got himself a pint of best bitter and settled comfortably by the fire. As he waited for the Major, he was surprised to get a call from Mina. She had forgotten to mention something which might mean more to him than it did to her but felt she should pass it on. She did
not
pass on that this something had come from Silayev or indeed that she even knew anyone in Moscow but the information had come to him from an Izolda Valik. This Izolda Valik had been clearing old messages from her mobile phone and had come across some which she had recorded off an answering machine though she had no recollection when she had recorded them. One message seemed significant, however, it was from Angus Macrae and simply said that he would not be back that afternoon as he was off to join the team on Craithe.

Like Mina, this did not mean a lot to Wheeler as he sat there – little did he know how significant it would become later. He put his mobile back in his pocket and on looking up he spotted the Major coming through the main bar towards the snug.

The two of them greeted each other with an embrace of camaraderie. Wheeler got him a pint the same as his own and they sat for a while catching up on what each had been doing since they had last met. After twenty minutes or so, Wheeler could hold back no longer from asking what the Major had for him.

‘Well, as soon as I got your call,’ said the Major, ‘I set about following your instructions – to find out as much as I could about Sir Jeremy Towneley and his connection to Athena. I had to improvise pretty quickly. Luckily for you, I still had contact with a young couple who had recently done a job for me and still had all the gear. They just had to get back into their police uniforms and they were ready to go. As you’d suggested, they were to look for a laptop belonging to Sir Jeremy and I think, in that regard, we’ve done pretty well for you.’ He leant down, pulled up a bulky leather briefcase he had brought in with him, and, after fiddling about for a moment unlocking it, eventually took out of it a small laptop.

‘Christ,’ whispered Wheeler, ‘you can’t use a stolen laptop here in the pub, suppose the burglary’s been called in.’

‘My young couple told me that wouldn’t happen for some time,’ said the Major, ‘still I suppose you’re right.’ He quickly put it back into the briefcase.

‘We’d better take that back to my flat, it’s round the corner from here,’ said Wheeler, ‘see if it’s got on it what we’re looking for.’

‘Looking for something in particular?’ asked the Major.

‘I’ll tell you when we get back to my place,’ replied Wheeler. They rose and downing their drinks, collected up their briefcases and hurried out of the pub. Turning right at the end Eaton Terrace into Cleveden Place, they walked for some fifty yards towards Sloane Square, crossed the street and approached Wheeler’s house. Letting themselves in, they made their way upstairs to the first floor sitting room where he hurriedly crossed the room and drew the heavy curtains; he gestured for the Major to sit on the sofa. The place had clearly been decorated by a woman for a bachelor in his late-forties like Wheeler would never have chosen on their own, the floral chintz and pastel colours. With his barrel-roll walk and the build of a one-time wrestler, Wheeler looked somehow out of place in it – even though it was his home.

‘Like a coffee or something?’ asked Wheeler.

‘Thanks, a coffee would be fine.’

Wheeler trundled out to make the drinks as the Major, who had already got Sir Jeremy’s laptop out of the briefcase, started it up. When the machine asked him for a password, the Major got a small memory stick out of his briefcase, stuck it into the side of laptop and the small light on it flickered away as it cracked the password.

Wheeler returned with a tray and some biscuits.

‘So what exactly are we looking for?’ asked the Major.

‘First I want confirmation that Athena is run from Sir Jeremy’s nephew’s place − or rather, his father’s place − Craithe Castle,’ said Wheeler.

The Major used the laptop’s general search facility to find the word Craithe on the computer. Numerous instances were immediately found. There were files detailing equipment which Sir Jeremy had been involved in purchasing for ‘the Lab’ up in Craithe Castle, and more information confirming that Craithe was indeed Athena’s base. They also got a good idea of some pieces of highly advanced computer equipment there, including a quantum computer from suppliers on the west coast of the US. Other files told of a spur had been taken off the new Oban fibre optic internet cable and run from the mainland out to the island. This particular file showed that Angus Macrae had gone to great lengths – and considerable expense – to hide exactly where on the mainland that spur was located. Although none of the emails or notes named the conglomerate that was working with the Craithe team, there was much to look at later detailing the advances in merging quantum and digital computing technologies.

Neither Wheeler nor the Major fully understood some of the technical phrases in both the files and emails, but it was clear nevertheless that they had stumbled onto much more than just a hacking team. It became clear that the team were indeed responsible for hacking into the Matthews Finch Hedge Fund, but files and documents also showed that Craithe was home to much more than just that – a subject of more searching later. For now, they had reached their first objective. They had confirmed beyond doubt Athena’s base and thus the location of the Matthews Finch Hedge Fund’s woes. They could now safely base their plans on that certainty.

Wheeler was so delighted with this that, taking over the Towneley laptop from the Major, he wrote an email to Nat Matthews to update him on the project.

‘
Pleased to be able to tell you
,’ it read, ‘
good progress in tracking the Matthews Finch tormentor’s location. Software called Athena, responsible for your troubles, and steps to end their control of your company now well in hand. Will report more soon
.’ He signed it Wheeler and sent it.

The two of them then sat for a while discussing the options for their next move.

‘When we first discussed your client’s problem I to the liberty of talking to of my most reliable contacts,’ said the Major, ‘and, with what we’ve had confirmed to us just now from the laptop, I think they’ll prove to be the answer to our problem.’

‘Tell me more,’ said Wheeler.

‘With this Macrae and his family all together on the island for the Easter weekend,’ said the Major, ‘it struck me that a pretty straightforward way of sorting out your mess would be to kidnap Macrae’s wife. These contacts I’ve just mentioned are experts in that field, having used it on behalf of the UK Government during ‘the Troubles’ in Northern Ireland in the nineteen-nineties.’

‘You reckon that if we were to take his wife hostage and hold her in captivity till they complied, Macrae would respond to our demands concerning the hedge fund?’ asked Wheeler,

‘Of course he would, it’s not as though he was ever trained in the army or Special Forces to cope with the pressure we could put on him that way. Anyway, what else could he do if we were holding his wife? With the Easter weekend making any kind of retaliation virtually impossible? My contacts grab her, remove her to Northern Ireland and then we make our demands – remove their team’s control of Matthews Finch’s trading software, maybe even give us this Athena software, we could be onto a real winner here.’

‘Right, so who exactly are these contacts of yours?’ asked Wheeler.

The Major went on to explain about Mick Rollo and his team of ex-coverts. ‘The Coverts’ were not even supposed to have existed. Indeed, anyone making enquiries about them through the Ministry of Defence, The Irish Office, or trying to conduct internet detective work on the Northern Ireland Troubles, would soon come to information cul-de-sacs. Even though the coverts had played a key role in establishing the peace in the troubled provinces, it was impossible to find anything about them even on infinite data sources of the world-wide web.

The reason ‘the Coverts’ had been needed in those times, explained the Major, was that individuals or small groups of renegades on both sides of ‘the Troubles’, posed serious threats of violence but could not be stopped through the normal processes of the Law. In such cases, successive UK Governments used small, highly trained teams of ‘Coverts’ to remove such renegades from the conflict. The Coverts became masters at kidnapping and delivering these undesirables to the authorities − though what happened to them after they had been delivered, no one seemed to know − or care. All the Coverts operations were carried out on a ‘deniable’ basis; if a mission became exposed or failed, the coverts were on their own. It was not a job for the faint of heart, but it was well paid and it had a special kudos to it as well.

These days, following the success of Northern Ireland peace process, most of ‘the Coverts’ had become redundant. They had mostly left the army and some fell by the wayside - like many soldiers do as they try to return to civilian life. A few had used their savings and skills to carve out new lives for themselves – some of them in illegal activities. One such surviving group was assembled over a period of time by Mick Rollo, the Major’s ruthless, highly organised ex-sergeant major friend. These two had known each other back during those times and had remained in contact since. As Rollo trained his growing team, the Major found work for them. He brokered three mercenary jobs for them in Africa, two in Bosnia and one recently in the Ukraine. Indeed, wherever trouble flared up one would be likely to find the Major sniffing around for business to pass on to Rollo and his team.

The Major assured Wheeler that not only would Rollo and his team be perfect for what, for them, would be the simple job of kidnapping someone on a remote Scottish island, they would also be adept at dealing with resistance, should they come up against any.

‘Well, they sound the right people,’ said Wheeler as he poured them each another coffee. ‘Do you think they’ll be available at such short notice?’ and, bringing the deadline date forward, added, ‘I gave my word to Nat Matthews that we’d have fixed his problem by Saturday or Sunday night.’

‘As I told you,’ replied the Major, ‘I took the liberty of contacting them as soon as you’d outlined the Matthews problem to me. Naturally I didn’t tell them any details or anything about you, so all they know at the moment is that it’s a kidnap job somewhere in the UK. I’m pleased to tell you, however, that, for the right money, they could have their best men available any time you give the go-ahead.’

‘That’s a relief, what sort of money are we talking about?’

‘I’ve used Rollo and his coverts before,’ replied the Major, ‘and I think around seventy-five thousand for a two or three-day job of this kind would be about right.’

‘Good, let’s give him a ring,’ said Wheeler, ‘get the job confirmed and get it under way.’

Even though it was by now getting on for ten o’clock, the Major picked up the telephone and rang Mick Rollo’s number in Northern Ireland. With business in the offing from the Major’s earlier contact, Rollo had been waiting for the call.

Wheeler sat back in his chair relaxing – though listening in on the telephone conversation next to him. The Major now gave Rollo a résumé of the Matthews Finch Hedge Fund’s problem and the outline plan to kidnap Macrae’s wife from the Castle on Craithe and holding her hostage until their demands had been met. Rollo had a few questions – not the least of them being about the money for the job. Wheeler pulled a face when the Major said that ‘money was no object’, though he admitted to himself that he had used the same phrase when recruiting the Major.

The upshot of the conversation between the two of them was that the Major was to be on the flight out of Stanstead about seven tomorrow morning and that he would be picked up at Londonderry airport. There was only one final stipulation, Rollo did ask for an email confirming the outline plan and non-refundable retainer fee. The Major sent his confirming email from the stolen Towneley laptop lying on the table in front of him.

* * * * *

Danil Morozov had gone off duty at seven Moscow time, four in the afternoon in London. His first coup at spotting the exchanges between Wheeler and Mina and of the existence of Athena had kept him working late. As it was now well beyond the end of his shift and he had to go, he was confident that if he was especially careful setting all the parameters of his searches, that, after he had gone off duty, his machines would still catch anything that mentioned Athena again or any of his other key words and phrases. He made sure – for a second time − that all the recording systems would also capture and retain in a file, whatever the searches came up with. He then packed up his daily belongings and, reluctantly, left his machines to do their job.

What the Wheeler and the Major did
not
know was that Morozov’s search engines began to pick up everything that happened on the stolen Towneley laptop from the moment that Wheeler had tapped the word ‘Craithe’ into his search for information on Athena’s location. Morozov’s machines had begun to record everything that followed on the laptop, the emails, their searches, everything they had been done on it. Most significantly, it had recorded Wheeler’s email to Matthews and the Major’s email to Rollo.