Darke Mission (56 page)

JJ had a bit of a lie in. He had felt excessively tired the previous evening and his meeting with Sandra Hillington was not until 10am. He texted Toby to say that he would be in late. The taxi ride from SW3 to Milbank SW1 was a variable feast. Around 7am it would take around fifteen minutes. Mid-morning it would be twenty-five to thirty minutes depending on how clogged up the Embankment had become. JJ left plenty of time. He didn't like being late for appointments and being tardy for the head of MI5 didn't appeal as a place to start, especially given the incredible tale he was about to tell. JJ was smartly dressed. Brioni suit, mid grey, black shirt, well-polished brogues and his favourite IWC Top Gun split second chronograph loosely fitted to his left wrist.

JJ easily went through security checks at Thames House. They were expecting him and some of the long serving ground floor staff recognised him. JJ didn't exactly feel nostalgic, he'd been out of the service for many years, but he did feel that he was not in a strange place. As JJ entered the elevator, headed for the Director General's office, he pondered as to whether he might have gone to the police first, given that it was financial crime he was about to report. It did not take him much of a ponder to conclude that he was right to be in Thames House. Any major country's police force can be porous when it came to sensitive, even secret, information. The UK's was probably better than most, but not wholly reliable. In the modern world crime had become more sophisticated, more electronic, more remote. MI5 and the Serious Organised Crime Agency (SOCA) had casual links. In 2013, however, the police formed a new elite unit called the National Crime Agency (NCA), dubbed Britain's FBI. Critics of SOCA claimed that it had never really cracked down on serious crime nor kept pace with the technological advance of criminals in the UK. The new NCA was meant to address these failings and was to bring in accountants, computer experts and even retired bankers to focus on financial crime. The intention was good but as the old aphorism goes, ‘the road to hell is paved with good intentions'. JJ had concluded that MI5, his clandestine alma mater, was more solid, more experienced, more intelligent in the specific and broad sense of the word, than a ragbag collection of so called experts as yet unproven.

Sandra Hillington met JJ at the lift. They shook hands warmly, she wasn't a hugger and definitely wasn't an air kisser. They went into the DG's office. Coffee, tea, milk, sugar and a modest selection of biscuits were on her oval dark wood table. They sat down and Ms Hillington was keen to get down to business.

“So, JJ what's this threat to Britain's security?”

Sandra was in her early fifties, looked younger and was quite slim. She had auburn hair, still cut in a ‘Rachel', blue eyes and a no nonsense attitude. She was quite tall, about 5ft 7in, wore sensible shoes and had lost track of fashion.

JJ had decided to come totally clean. For the next ten to fifteen minutes, without interruption, he unloaded his story, beginning with the insider trading threat, the Fin Sec's blackmail, his plan, the imminent inability of the British government to pay the armed forces, NHS, the police and even MI5, the gold heist from North Korea, the tangential involvement of dodgy Russians and finally, his suspicion, as yet unproven, that Neil Robson was responsible for the murder of a Treasury employee.

Sandra Hillington had heard or been shown many reports in her MI5 career, many were groundless, some were of critical importance. Today's account was coming right out of the mouth of one of the most reliable and perceptive intelligence officers ever to have worked for her. “For god's sake, JJ, how did this come about?”

“It's hard to fathom,” he said. “One domino falls then fifty others fall in sequence. I may have made some bad decisions but at the core I did what I thought best for my son, my friends and colleagues. I admit I put them, and myself, before country. However, I believe Neil Robson on one count and one count only and that is that without the proceeds from the North Korean gold, this government will be bankrupt before the month is out. There would be riots in the streets of London and other major cities. There would be many deaths, looting, lawlessness of a capital magnitude we have never before experienced. The resulting chaos, loss of life, paralysis of the system of government and normal daily life would be much greater than that caused by any terrorist bomb attack ever visited upon these shores.”

Sandra Hillington was a smart woman, capable of disseminating substantial amounts of information quickly, separating the wheat from the chaff, getting to the nub of the matter. Even with all that brain power this story was seriously challenging. “JJ, do you think the Prime Minister knows anything about this?” asked the DG.

“I don't know, Sandra. If I had to guess I'd say no. The Chancellor, Jeffrey Walker, might. It would seem unrealistic for his Financial Secretary to be aware of a £3 billion shortfall and not his boss. He could have concealed it from the PM, the Home Secretary, but in truth I just don't know.”

Sandra Hillington was beginning to put the pieces together. This was not the type of problem that the serious crime unit of MI5 were usually looking for. They were geared up to spot and stop cyber-attacks on the UK, to ferret out financial crime on a large scale, usually committed by foreigners on UK soil. They were not geared up for government incompetence and a financial time bomb, built and armed, from within the higher echelons of Britain's governing party. “I'm still getting my head around this,” said Sandra. “I can hardly believe any of it, especially the North Korean bit.” The DG was looking JJ right in the eye. He said nothing. What was done was done, it could not be undone with the best will in the world.

“I'm going to make a couple of discreet phone calls,” said Sandra. “Do you have a plan? Is there anything else I need to know?”

“I do have a plan. It begins this afternoon when I see Neil Robson. After that he will believe that he has nearly £4 billion to do with as he pleases. I doubt very much whether filling the government's coffers will be high on his priority list. In actuality, Robson will not be in control of the funds. I will. That's where you come in I hope!

“Sandra, you need to be absolutely certain who is and who is not clean at the top of the Cabinet. I'm doubtful about the Chancellor's position but you report directly to the Home Secretary. Check her out. If she's good then find out about Walker and the PM. Once you know who is trustworthy I will cede control of the £4 billion to MI5. You can then dispense it to the appropriate government departments and avoid political and social meltdown.”

“Anything else?” asked the DG.

“Yes. You may think that North Korea should get its gold bars back or the cash proceeds from their sale. This would not be a quality thought. My own extensive research suggests that they
do
still owe this country at least £3 billion from their bond default in the 1980s. Check that with the Attorney General. If it's legal then we are done on the financial side, even if the debt collection process was major league unorthodox!”

“And the non-financial side?”

“When Neil Robson cannot access ‘his' funds, he's going to go scary ballistic. He'll try to discredit me and my MAM colleagues by leaking the FCA file to the media. This afternoon I will have that file and a letter of exoneration from Robson, but he's a fucked up slimy toad and will not stick to his word,” said JJ.

“A DA-notice?” asked Sandra.

“Yes please. If you could issue the highest level confidential DA-notice to every outlet of the media including all social network sites and communication forums then that would be very helpful.”

Sandra Hillington would do as JJ asked. She remembered Neil Robson from his time at MI5. She thought then that he was an unsavoury individual. He had been asked to leave the service quietly after it was alleged that he had killed the wife and two daughters of a captured Iran sponsored bomb maker in Birmingham. The allegation had never been proven but it had been made by two other MI5 officers who were on that particular mission.

“From what I know of Robson,” said Sandra, “he probably won't stop at trying to discredit you. If one minute he thinks he's a near billionaire and the next he's broke, discredited himself, out of a job and facing serious criminal charges, he's going to be one unhappy bunny.”

“I know,” said JJ, “I'll be prepared for that.”

“We could take him into custody now and save you the bother?” suggested Sandra.

“It wouldn't work,” replied JJ. “For starters he'd find a way to leak the FCA file and probably before you had time to issue blanket DA-notices. Secondly, until there's hard evidence that he's attempted to access funds that are not his he'd claim I was a delusional financial maverick and that the whole idea was mine. He's the British government and I'm some low life hedgie would be his line of defence. He'd rat out the rest of my mission team as well. In addition to all that, as far as I know, the North Koreans still haven't an inkling as to who stole their gold. Maybe they need to know later and maybe they don't but if they do it would be better coming from a top level diplomatic source than a criminal mandarin shouting his mouth off.”

JJ's plan and explanations all made sense to Sandra Hillington. She didn't have a better plan. Her immediate task was to get hold of the Home Secretary, ensure that she knew absolutely nothing about this whole sorry mess and then find out who did. The Director General of MI5 and the former MI5 intelligence officer chatted a short while longer. Sandra Hillington knew that JJ had done this country a huge service even if it was not wholly selfless and the
modus operandi
somewhat unique. They parted that morning with a warm handshake and a renewed respect.

JJ left Thames House feeling a little cleansed, a bit like Roman Catholics do after visiting the confessional. So far, he hadn't needed to do any penance and the longer that was the case the better as far as he was concerned. Toby and Yves-Jacques gave JJ an update when he arrived at MAM. All was good with both MAM positions and gold delivery. He'd be seeing Neil Robson in a couple of hours and shortly thereafter no doubt, another level of anxiety would emerge. As he was contemplating this prospect his phone rang.

“Hi JJ, it's Ginger.”

“Hi Ginger. How are you today?”

“I'm good. Victor is here with me. We're going to pop out for a bite to eat in a short while.”

“That's nice. I'm pleased Victor is there. Don't get him drunk, he may need to be on his techno game later in the day,” said JJ.

“I won't,” replied Ethel. “Got a sec?”

“Sure.”

“I've looked into that favour you asked me for yesterday. Someone high up in the force was trying to keep it all hush-hush but my source, who was one of the detectives investigating the case, said it was very suspicious. The guy clearly had radiation poisoning but no one at his home or his office had any suggestions as to how he might have been exposed. They were going to investigate further but a missive from above said it was case closed.”

Ethel hadn't really told JJ anything he didn't already know apart from ‘case closed'. He was hoping for more. There was.

“I then got my best contact in the Coroner's Service to check it out. The guy's body was examined post mortem by the Coroner from Croydon. After extensive work he concluded that this Joel Gordon had been poisoned by polonium-210. There were several food remnants left in his stomach, the most prevalent being some kind of cake mixture. Does that mean anything to you?” asked Ethel.

“Yes it does. Why wasn't there an inquest?”

“My contact doesn't know. He did say, however, that in such circumstances cancellation of an inquest could only come from the very top, possibly the Lord Chief Justice himself, or the Prime Minister's office, on the grounds of national security.”

“Thanks Ginger. That was very helpful. See you in a day or so. Have a fun lunch with Victor and tell him to expect a call from me later in the afternoon.”

“Will do. See you anon.”

So Becky was right in her suspicions. This Joel Gordon cupcake puzzle was now less mysterious but more murky. JJ gauged that Neil Robson probably could not nobble or even lean on the Lord Chief Justice. The top legal eagle in the UK was meant to be politically neutral and surely would not entertain any subversive notion from a bag carrier like Robson. The Prime Minister's office was another matter. John MacDonald, the PM may himself be as clean as a whistle, but the PM's office would be full of ambitious political climbers and not all of them as straight as the proverbial bat. Robson's silvery but tarnished tongue could well have talked some unsuspecting underling into an illegal manoeuvre. JJ would let Sandra Hillington know the results of Ethel's investigation. The net was tightening around the Fin Sec but, hopefully, he was blissfully unaware.

JJ arrived at HM Treasury on time. A security guard escorted him into the Fin Sec's office. Neil Robson was waiting and anticipating.

“No Becky?” asked JJ knowing there would not be.

“No. She's got some trouble with her teeth or taking a few days off or something. I don't know and I don't care. I take it you've got something for me,” he snapped.

“I have,” replied JJ, keen to get this over with and then trigger the downfall of this pathetic criminal. JJ opened up the laptop he was carrying and placed it on Robson's desk, screen facing the Financial Secretary. “The password to log-in is
Bannockburn
, I thought you wouldn't like that. You will see the accounts that the money is in. There's nothing else on this laptop so you can keep it. Now where's my file?”

“Hold your horses, Darke. I need to acquaint myself with what's on here.”

JJ sat down uninvited. This was a time to be cooler than an icebox. No matter what Robson said, JJ told himself, this was definitely not the moment to launch another assault on the weasel. Neil Robson checked through the information on the laptop. There was a total of £3.8 billion in the accounts, spread over ten banks in three countries. They were all in the different shell company names which Robson had set up. Robson reached into the top right hand drawer of his desk and took out his own computer tablet. He fired it up.