CHAPTER ONE
Marius Vassily pulled up the collar of his jacket that covered his scrawny neck. His gaunt features matched his body, thin and long, and his eyes darted from side to side, watching everyone and everything as he neared the prison entrance gates. If there was one thing that Marius hated, it was prisons. The seen and unseen eyes that scrutinised him as he passed through security. The irrational fear that he may never be allowed to leave.
His shirt was damp with sweat as he made his way to the designated seat. The face that looked out at him through the hazy perspex screen was puffy and almost translucent, framed by long, lank hair, receding at the middle parting.
“Boss, how’s it going?” asked Marius.
“Lousy, what do you fucking think? Look at me,” he indicated with his hand.
“Why do you want to see me, Boss?”
Spittle sprayed onto the partition as the Boss spoke, “before they put me away for life, I was collecting a lot of money owed to me. He still owes me.” He swatted a newspaper on the shelf between them as if he were killing a fly. The Boss looked around to ensure he had not attracted any attention and leaned forward close to the screen. Marius could smell stale breath through the small holes.
“I want you to find the bastard who stole my money and kill him,” he said, stabbing his finger on a heavily ink-circled name on the newspaper. “It’s all in here.”
“But if we kill this man, you will never get the money that’s owed to you.
“Can’t spend the fucking money in here, but it will make me feel better if that bastard is dead.”
Marius sat back in his chair, trying to distance himself from the rage distorted face that still turned his blood ice cold. He said, whispering, “do you know where he is?”
“Course, I don’t bloody well know where he is. He should be in here for nicking my money, and then I would deal with him myself without having to trust you idiots.” He wacked the paper again. This time the warder did look across in their direction.
“Okay, I got the message. Is there anything else I can do, Boss?”
“Apart from getting me out of here, which you ain’t going to do. Naw, just kill that man.”
The Boss rose to show that the conversation was at an end. Marius stared through the screen at the folded page of the paper with the circled name. The headline read ‘The Missing Millions.’
Head down and deep in thought, Marius made his way back through security and out onto the street. Out of habit, he checked behind him to make sure no one was following him. He had left his car a few roads away, so CCTV would not pick up the number plate.
Marius slumped into the driver’s seat.
“How was he?” asked Marius’s companion, Christophe Wesinivic, a chubbier version of Marius with similar coarse features.
“He looked like shit. Pale and thinner, and he has let his hair grow long. He looked a mess.”
“What did he want?” asked Christophe.
“He wants us to find the man who stole his money and kill him.”
CHAPTER TWO
Acid churned in the pit of his stomach. He began to read. He didn’t want to but knew he must, like the nightmare that sucks you into its fearful darkness, slithering forward, hiding in the shadows, where you cannot avoid the inevitable. Will Slater’s handsome aquiline features were distorted by a grimace as the words slowly filtered into his brain.
He knew the article had been coming but seeing it in black and white made him realise that this would rekindle old memories and hatreds. His life was now in danger.
He turned the pages, his fingers fumbling as he read the damning words. He had read many newspaper investigative reports and wondered how the subjects had felt, words condemning and maledictory. However, this article was not about someone else; it was about him.
“You look awful darling, what’s wrong?” said Jay, entering the room in her sweat-stained exercise suit that clung to her svelte physique.
“That piece, the investigative reporter called about a few weeks ago, it’s in today’s paper, a long article in the magazine section.”
“You were expecting it. The journalist asked if you wanted to comment, and you declined.”
“Yes, but when you see it in black and white, it looks bad. Very bad, it doesn’t portray me as the victim, quite the opposite. The implication is that I stole all the money. But there was nothing I could do. The money was all in that blasted Java company which ended up belonging to me. No one seemed to care, certainly not SO15. Well, you know that. They were just pleased to arrest the terrorists and the people behind the whole operation and move on. There was no one to whom I could give the money. You can’t just write a cheque for twenty million pounds to the Government.”
“That’s true. I think everyone forgot about the money.”
“I know, but if I hadn’t worked out the password to unlock the bank accounts and transfer the money, SO15 would never have caught Michael Bore,” said Will, looking down at the article again. “The whole thing has ruined my life, ruined my practice, my reputation and mentally scarred me. The only good aspect, and it is an incredibly good aspect,” he said, looking up at Jay, “was meeting you.”
“Well, all things have a price attached,” she replied, smiling, “what else does the article say?”
“The journalist suggests that it seems very unlikely that I could have been surrounded by all these people, who eventually betrayed me, and yet I didn’t know? It is easy for him to say that, but I didn’t. I hadn’t a clue.”
“You and I know that, so who cares what he thinks?”
“That’s not what’s worrying me; everyone involved in the whole ghastly affair will now know that I still have the money. Everyone thought the taxman or,” said Will shaking his head, “the Official Receiver had the money. Now they know that is not the case, it will encourage them to come looking for it. They are desperate people.”
“They are criminals, and why would they risk anything else by harming you? Look, you acted incredibly honourably. Without your diligence and perseverance, the authorities would not have caught these despicable people whose actions would undoubtedly have caused many deaths in the future. Anyway,” said Jay putting her arm around Will’s shoulder and running her fingers through his wavy, dark brown hair, “they are all in prison or dead.”
“I wish I had your optimism, but I still think this article will act as a reminder and stir up hatreds. Also, that blasted policeman, Dawkin, I suspect, still thinks I’m guilty. And who knows, he might still be trying to put together a case against me. This article will probably just encourage him.”
Will shook his head as if trying to axe something from his mind, but like a lot of unpleasant thoughts, they appear like wet knots, difficult to untie.
“Did the article mention me? I hope not?” asked Jay.
“It just talks about a mystery woman going to the Virgin
Islands with me. That’s it.”
“Good, anything else of concern?”
“Well, it covered the shooting of Peter Crombie by my ex-business partner, Sara, his wife. The trial of Michael Bore and his sentencing, along with that horrendous criminal gang leader, for their terrorist activities. To think I had known Michael all those years as a client and didn’t suspect anything.”
“People are strange. You can never be sure of anyone.”
“I suppose you’re correct, but a bit of a depressing thought.” Will paused. “What is strange is that the article says that the Crombie children – Justin and Chloe – were in court for their mother’s trial and Bore’s case. Why would they want to sit through Bore’s case? What could their interest be? Once Sara was sentenced for the manslaughter of their father, surely their interest was over?”
Jay shrugged her shoulders. “Perhaps they wanted to work out how their parents fitted into the whole sorry affair.”
Will couldn’t work out why this last piece of information disturbed him. He let the thought slide away. “We need to get out of London, and we need to do it now, somewhere remote. We can’t wait any longer. Someplace where we’ll see anyone coming first.”
“Well, we have already looked at a lot of houses in Scotland from a dozen different agents, but don’t you think you are overreacting?”
“No, I don’t. It may even be too late, now that article is out. I have an awful feeling about this. We must be extremely cautious. I’m now definitely a target.”
Again looking down at the paper, the headline staring back at him, ‘The Missing Millions.’
CHAPTERTHREE
Tie undone, paunch pushed tight against the desk, one hand rubbing his close-cropped hair, Inspector Jim Dawkin sat flicking through a file with his chubby fingers when his phone rang. Irritated by having his concentration disturbed, he grabbed the receiver. “Hello, Dawkin.”
There was a slight pause, “ah, Inspector Dawkin, my name is Chris Melody. I’m with the Financial Services Commission in the
British Virgin Islands.”
“How can I help you, Mr Melody?”
“We have been investigating a man called Justerini in connection with his banking activities on these islands. He was connected to a case that I believe you were dealing with involving a London solicitor called Will Slater.”
“Yeah, that’s correct,” said Dawkin, sitting bolt upright in his chair.
“We found a sheet of paper in Justerini’s desk, which was headed Java Plc, that was the company that collected all the terrorists’ cash.”
“Yes, yes, I know all that. I was the senior officer on the case.”
“Well,” continued Melody, “the piece of paper had two telephone numbers on it. The first number belonged to a Michael Bore, whom we understand has been convicted under terrorism charges in the UK. The second number was not traceable. Pay as you go, I imagine.”
“And?” said Dawkin, drumming his fingers on the desk,
“As far as I can tell from the reports that I have read, everyone involved in the case is either in detention or dead,” replied Melody.
“That’s correct, with one exception, I suppose, but what has this to do with this second telephone number?”
“Well, I was just coming to that. Out of curiosity, I have just phoned the second number again, and it was answered this time, but whoever it was didn’t speak. I wondered if you had any idea who that might be?”
Something close to excitement surged through Dawkin’s veins; his round face became florid.
“I’m afraid I have no idea, sorry I can’t help. Good luck with the case. Let me know if you make any progress. Bye,” replied Dawkin dropping the phone into its cradle.
He pushed himself up from the desk and shouted to his empty office, “I knew it, I knew it, Slater has made fools of us all.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Jay was hunched over her laptop, swearing under her breath.
“What’s wrong?” said Will.
“Blasted internet, it’s so slow, it’s as if we are sharing it with the whole of the street. Are you sure you password protected it?”
“Of course.”
“Are you sure you haven’t got anything running in the background?”
“No, nothing.”
“Anyway, these house details have just popped up,” she said, pointing an elegant finger at her computer screen. “I think this may be the ideal home for us; look at this blurb. It appears to be very remote, tucked into the back of nowhere in Scotland. End of a loch with little access from anywhere. Should suit us very well.”
Peering over Jay’s shoulder, Will read out aloud the property details from the screen. “Situated at the edge of Loch Rannoch, Gaur House is a large country home with spectacular views down the loch and sits in 2000 acres of land, with a long lochside frontage. Very secluded, well off the beaten track, would appeal to those who want to get away from the hurly-burly of city life. The house consists of a lounge, library, dining room, kitchen, snug and games room, nine bedrooms and three bathrooms. Large garage and various outbuildings. In need of some modernisation. Offers in the region of £1.5m.”
“It sounds the best by a long way. I think we should take a look.”
Will and Jay packed their bags for a few nights’ stay in Scotland. Even if Gaur House didn’t turn out to be what they wanted, they would take the opportunity to search the area for other suitable options.
Once they had landed at Glasgow airport and picked up a hire car, they headed for Loch Rannoch.
“You know the only time I have been to Scotland was when I followed you up here to protect you,” said Jay.
“How could I forget that trip? I think it was the coldest I have ever experienced. The wind was howling around the car, blowing huge clouds of gusting snow across the frozen landscape. I remember I struggled to keep the car out of the ditches along the side of the road. If only I had known what was waiting for me at journey’s end.” Will paused. “If it hadn’t been for you, it would have been a one-way trip. That assassin hired by Michael Bore and his associates would have killed me. I must have been mad,
