Blood Money (33 page)

Already knowing exactly what the young woman has just uncovered, Alexis can only look sheepishly away. Vincent responds by saying “Well, I think we know where that's coming from.” The fund manager shoots a dirty look at the Detective Inspector but remains silent.

“Jackie, talk to the building's security guard in reception and get him to take you up onto the roof. You're looking for some mobile phone receivers…” Alexis is shocked. He's now certain that someone from within his own organisation has betrayed him.

“Don't be so surprised Mr Vasilakos, we have some excellent intelligence sources. I'm quite convinced we'll soon discover the equipment you have hidden up on your roof.”

The fund manager opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it again without saying a word. He has indeed been found out. It seems the FSA and the police have taken him on, and won.

“Right then Mr Vasilakos, we're now going to need to see what's in this vault of yours. Please, assist us by entering the correct combination.”

Panic stricken, Alexis feels a wave of dizziness and nausea sweeping over him. Too stunned to move he begins sweating uncontrollably. “Eh…Detective Inspector, I think before we go any further I need to see my lawyer.
Straight away, if possible.”

*

With Bishopsgate being the closest police station, Vincent Burrows tasks Bill with taking Vasilakos across to be detained in its cells, after (of course) allowing the Greek his ‘obligatory phonecall'.

In due course, Alexis's long-time barrister faithfully arrives. Full of his own self importance, the silk insists on seeing his VIP client straight away.

There's no need for introductions, Bill recognises him straight away as Rupert Freeman, a notoriously successful defence lawyer with whom he's crossed paths with several times before in court. The ironically named ‘Freeman' specialises in defending the rich (as they're the only ones able to afford his colossal fees) and his sharp-witted brain has been so over-taken by knowledge of the law that there's no longer space left for his conscience. On several occasions, Bill can recall how he'd given a jury seemingly conclusive and damning evidence in court only to see this sharp suited slime-ball bamboozle them with legal loopholes and technicalities.

By late afternoon, Rupert Freeman has come to fully understand his client's precarious position and he advises Alexis that the best option is to clarify the situation in a private audience with the chief investigating officer.

Bill Warren duly requests the presence of DI Burrows over at Bishopsgate Station. Begrudgingly, Vincent agrees to leave 60 Lombard Street only because he's so curious to understand why the fund manager is steadfastly refusing to open the vault.

Once the four men have assembled together in a small, stuffy interview room. Alexis's counsel begins to speak on his client's behalf. “To be quite blunt, Mr Vasilakos cannot allow you to open the vault because it will result in lives being put in danger.”

The Detective Inspector knows Freeman well, and suspects trickery. “
I beg your pardon?”

The lawyer uncomfortably continues, “Fearing that the vault was about to be attacked, by…persons unknown, he…What I'm trying to say is that my client has taken certain precautions to safeguard the vault and now it is completely unsafe for anyone to enter.”

Bill had never seen the Freeman looking quite so flustered, and Vincent Burrows can't quite believe what he is hearing. “He's what?”

“My client has allowed an employee to fill the chamber with carbon monoxide gas, as a deterrent to rumoured plans of a possible robbery attempt.” Even putting the best spin on the situation that he can, the lawyer visibly squirms at his uncomfortable explanation. “He will open the vault door only if proper air-breathing equipment is provided to any persons in the vicinity as he doesn't wish anyone any harm.”

On the other side of the table, Vincent looks at Bill Warren and Bill Warren looks back at the Vincent. There's a long pause before the Detective Inspector checks he's just heard the lawyer correctly. “I think you just told us that the bank vault has been rigged with lethal gas. And yet at the same time you're trying to tell me that Mr Vasilakos doesn't wish anyone harm.
Is that what you just said?”

Summoning-up as much sincerity and humility as his theatrical abilities can muster; Rupert Freeman attempts to defend his client's actions: “Clearly my client has made a very serious error of judgment. One that is totally out of character and he sincerely regrets what he has done.”

“Mr Freeman, this interview is terminated. Please remove yourself. Detective Inspector Warren, once you've handed Mr Vasilakos over to the custody officer, we have a few things we need to discuss.”

*

With Vasilakos returned to his cell once more, Bill walks back across to the interview room for Vincent to begin explaining how they're going to deal with this shocking revelation. “Your commanding officer DCI Jenkins very kindly assigned you to this operation because of your previous knowledge of both the premises and the chief executive officer, Alexis Vasilakos.”

Bill nods in acknowledgement, and inwardly prepares himself for bad news…because it sounds like Vincent's about to ask him to eat a shit sandwich, containing very little bread.'

“I'm going to be deputising you for a very special task. There are two rooms we need to get inside at Kronos Headquarters. Firstly, the locked security office adjacent to the foyer, and secondly, the vault itself. Now, I've been in touch with North Woolwich station, and the bodyguard is apparently refusing point-blank to assist us in opening-up his security office. So it appears he's got something to hide. He knows it'll mean added time to his sentence, but he simply won't cooperate. And the vault, well Alexis wouldn't defend it so recklessly unless there's something very important he's keeping in there.

Now…whilst I begin coordinating the dissemination and cataloguing of the data we've already collected and begin building a case, I'm going to leave it to you to gain access to the final two rooms. Kronos is effectively closed down until I say so. The premises will remain clear of employees for as long as you need. When you do gain access to these last two rooms, they need to be treated as crime-scenes; I don't want any ‘evidence contamination' so that means controlled access.

I'll team you up with someone at the London Fire Brigade who I trust implicitly. He'll help you clear the vault of carbon monoxide and'll supply all the equipment you need to get the job completed safely. Now, you're getting this highly important task because I have total trust in you. There's one other thing…until the building is safe and we know what's inside these two rooms, I want this situation kept completely hush-hush. I'm sure you understand.

It's quite a responsibility Bill, but I know you're the right man for the job. I'll be putting a very strong case forward that you should get a commendation for this. Now, any questions?”

“Well…actually yes. What's the priority, the vault or the security office?”

“Definitely the vault, purely on safety grounds. I firstly have to know the building's completely clear of carbon monoxide gas. It'll also give the bodyguard a bit more time to reconsider. If he's still playing games in a few days time we'll find some specialist who can break through such a highly reinforced door.” Vincent waits to see if Bill has any further questions, but none are forthcoming.

“Excellent Bill. My man from the Fire Brigade will be in touch with you this evening.” Vincent breaks out into a broad, beaming smile, “Tremendous, that's settled then!”

Once Bill gets home he phones John Gibson. “Alright Gibbo me ‘ol mate! How's it hanging?

“Alright I guess. ‘Spose things are slowly starting to get back to normal, bit by bit. Listen thanks for coming to the funeral last Thursday. I really appreciate your support, and in fact I didn't expect quite so many of the lads to turn up as they did.”

“It was the least we could do. Rebecca was a cracking girl; one in a million in my books. I'm just sorry there's no news on tracking down the man who did it. Anyway, I hope you've got time for a cheeky pint or two tonight, –there's a few things happening at work that you might like to know about.”

“Sounds interesting…tell you what, I'll meet you at 8 o'clock sharp in ‘The Pins', and you can tell me all about it. Oh and by the way, I think I've screwed up big-style on a spot of decorating, so I'm hoping you might take pity on me and help me sort it out.

*

Having got the first round in, Bill Warren leads John over to a quietish corner, far away from the busy front entrance. Once he's reluctantly sworn an oath of secrecy, Bill begins to recount the details of today's raid on 60 Lombard Street, revealing each juicy morsel, bit by precious bit.

When he gets to the part about the vault having been booby-trapped with poisonous gas John starts to appreciate just how ruthless and insane Vasilakos actually is. “Unbelievable! The guy's a total lunatic;
he might have bleedin' killed someone!”
As he utters those words, the actual thought going through John's mind is ‘That fat crazy bastard nearly killed me!'

Realising just how lucky he is to still be alive, at least this news confirms Alexis and Eddie to have somehow found out what he'd had in store for them. “Well, it's all been happening whilst I've been away from work then hasn't it?”

“I'm not finished yet…Get this! I've been screwed-over by the officer in charge, Vincent Burrows, and it's now down to me and some other guy I've never met before from the Fire Brigade to make sure the carbon monoxide is safely removed from the bank vault. I'm meeting up with him first thing tomorrow to be trained in the equipment we're going to use. Vincent's warned me to keep the fact that the bank vault is filled with poisonous gas a secret. I'm guessing he doesn't want a separate offence getting mixed-up with the insider-dealing investigation. Though I'm sure it'll get dealt with separately at a later date.”

“So it's just you and ‘Fireman Sam' who'll be in the building over the next few days?”

“Uh…no, actually. Vincent's told me the fire officer will only be around until he's happy we're purging-out the gas safely. Then he's going to come back later to perform the necessary checks before signing off that the vault is safe enough to enter. Oh, and there'll be two uniforms on the premises but they're only there to prevent Kronos employees or any snooping journalists from trying to enter an otherwise empty building.”

“Interesting. Seems like you're gonna be having quite a bit of fun without me then doesn't it?”

Happy to have distracted his grieving partner for at least a short while and with the second round of drinks almost finished Bill remembers his partners request for help. “So what's your problem Gibbo, you said you were in a bit of a scrape?”

“Yeah, I'm gonna need more help with some plastering and decorating. I've done a bit of damage to a wall and now I'm feeling a bit stupid ‘cos I've only just realised it'll be a two man job to put it right. Fancy helping me out?”

“Oh Gibbo…You screwed up on the dri-wall job in your flat didn't you? I knew as soon as I'd left you that you'd fuck it up.” John just shrugs his shoulders apologetically. “Okay, okay. I'll help you out, but for the next couple of days I'll be going up and down the steps to that bloody basement making sure the place is safe from all that carbon monoxide. So as long as it can wait ‘till after then…”

“Thanks mate, I'm sure we'll find a mutually convenient time. Ok, listen Bill, I've really got to get going, there's a hundred and one things I need to sort out.” John gets to his feet and pours the remaining mouthful of ale down his throat.

“You take care of yourself Bill, and remember, -no job's worth getting killed over.”

“Tell me about it!”
Bill replies wearily.

By early afternoon on the following day, an apprehensive Bill Warren slowly approaches 60 Lombard Street in an unmarked jet-black Volvo V50. In over three decades of service he's dealt with his fair share of strangeness. It's only to be expected, working as a copper in a big city like London. You name it; Bill reckons he's seen it. Decomposing bodies, autoerotic asphyxiation, a machete wielding lunatic and much more besides.

Except he's never been asked to deal with something like this…. making a subterranean bank vault safe enough to enter after some deranged security guard decided to fill it full of poisonous gas.

He shouldn't be dealing with this sort of crap anymore…at his age he should be slowing down…taking it easy…and letting the young‘uns risk their necks for a change. If only his missus hadn't of talked him out of retiring some six months ago he wouldn't still be getting himself into these kind of scrapes. And it didn't help having John Gibson still signed-off work, leaving him to tackle this task on his jack-jones!

Although to be fair, he isn't having to deal with this situation entirely by himself. The truth of the matter is he's getting plenty of help from a true expert in this sort of stuff. Travelling in the Volvo alongside him is Dave Picken, the semi-retired fire officer that Vincent trusts highly enough to oversee the technical and safety aspects of this danger-strewn operation. It's a mighty relief that he seems to know everything there is to know about staying safe whilst tackling poisonous gases like carbon monoxide. And so long as they apply all the safety measures and execute Picken's plan to the letter Bill feels pretty confident that no one's going to be getting themselves killed over the next few days.

Once he's checked that there's no reporters loitering outside, Bill drives past the front entrance and turns right into the narrow, shadowy confines of Birchin Lane. And as soon as the black estate is parked-up in the small deserted garage area built into the side of the bank, he radios the two uniformed officers stationed inside to come across and let them in. Whilst waiting for the side door to open, he and Picken open-up the tailgate and begin surveying the mountain of equipment they've brought along for the job.

One of the ‘lids' opens-up the steel door and warily checks their ids. Once he's happy that they are indeed the people they're authorized to allow entry to, he assists them by holding open the door whilst they shuttle armfuls of gear into the eerily quiet bank.

It takes several trips before they have everything they need stacked up on the floor up against the reception desk. Looking around him, Bill is pleased to see that the door down to the basement is wedged open and the iris scanner has been disabled, guaranteeing them free passage.

*

Bill and Dave have already spent most of the morning together at a recently closed-down fire station in the east-end, a location that had given them the space and privacy they'd needed in order to prepare for their assignment without people looking-on and asking awkward questions. Considering the nature and the difficulty of the task ahead, each had understandably harboured doubts about whether the other could be trusted, but they soon realised they were actually very similar people. Experienced servicemen, quiet, considered and largely unflappable.

Bill was highly reassured that the ex-fire officer had seen plenty of dangerous situations similar to the one they were about to face. His detailed explanations on the dangers of carbon monoxide and how they'd be able to expel the poisonous gas from the building safely had given him high levels of confidence that this man would keep them both from getting killed.

By the time Bill had been comprehensively drilled in using breathing apparatus and digital gas detectors he'd become pretty confident in their ability to accomplish what at first had appeared to be a suicide mission. And once Dave Picken had finished his safety briefing and equipment demonstration they then went through the layout of 60 Lombard Street paying particular attention as to how the ground floor and basement were arranged, linked and ventilated. By midday, the two of them had mutually agreed upon the best way to make the vault and building safe. And with the plan of attack decided, they'd then loaded all the necessary safety equipment into the Volvo before proceeding en route to buy themselves a suitable extraction fan and a pile of other stuff they'd be needing.

*

But despite the confidence he'd felt earlier on in the day, Bill now stands in the foyer, looking down at all the equipment they've brought with them and he's starting to have a few doubts. Downstairs in the vault there's a cloud of invisible death that they must eradicate, it's a daunting task and he's suddenly apprehensive.

Not wanting to dwell on his fears, Bill starts busying himself.

He opens the ground-floor sash-window that's closest to the door leading down into the basement and drops a length of ducting out of it; meanwhile Dave Picken begins connecting section after section of white flexible ducting together using tightly fitting plastic connection pipes. This is allowing him to create a sufficiently long length of tubing to reach all the way down into the vault, and then some. Dave disappears down the stone steps as he extends it further and further, meanwhile Bill stays in the foyer and finishes working on the window, using polythene sheeting to seal-up the opening. Gaffer-tape is liberally applied to secure everything in place. It ain't pretty but it'll prove effective.

Once the flexible tube is long enough to reach the door to the vault, Dave comes back up into the foyer to explain to the two uniformed officers that it's time for them to vacate the building. He warns them in the strongest of terms not re-enter until they're given the ‘all clear' to do so.

They're only too willing to accept his instructions unreservedly, wishing to remain a considerable distance away whilst the enormous steel door is opened.

With the two uniformed officers now safely outside on the street, Bill and Dave continue their work. Having arranged everything they need just outside the vault they run through their tasks in chronological order so they each know they'll be working in harmony to accomplish things as quickly and as safely as possible. Next, they turn on their gas detectors, which remain reassuringly silent, for now…

The primary function of their gas detectors is to display the changing levels of carbon monoxide present in the air but additionally they also serve as audible alarms, activating if the concentration rises above 35 parts per million (ppm). After this morning's training, Bill is now only too aware that it's almost impossible for humans to detect this slightly lighter-than-air highly poisonous gas without electronic assistance because it has the properties of being colourless, odourless, tasteless as well as being non-irritating. Without electronic detectors, the only way you might know something is wrong is if you were sufficiently self-aware that you'd suddenly started feeling slightly queasy and were rapidly being overcome by tiredness. Most people don't. Most people are simply overcome and die where they fall. Being almost impossible to detect is one thing, but the true danger of this gas is its ‘stickiness' once it gets inside your body.

It binds to haemoglobin 200-250 times more readily than oxygen, so inhaling even relatively small amounts of the gas can have extremely damaging effects. Trying to ‘exhale' it of your lungs just will not work. It becomes permanently stuck onto the iron-based proteins contained within your red blood cells and in minutes it renders your blood incapable of getting sufficient oxygen to your brain to keep it functioning. Unconsciousness is rapidly followed by death.

Bill and Dave remain in the basement and begin preparing the area with plastic sheeting before they dare contemplate opening the vault door. It takes a fair amount of clambering about on step ladders before they have a sufficiently large piece of polythene secured across the top of the vault door like a giant see-through shower curtain. They seal down the sheeting on the hinge-side, securing it to the wall whilst ensuring that there's sufficient slack to allow the door to be opened by at least a couple of feet. They now seal down the bottom edge of the plastic onto the linoleum floor as much as they can.

Bill sites the centrifugal fan they've brought with them on the centre of the basement floor and connects it on the one side to the flexible pipe that goes back up the stairs and out of the window. Dave makes absolutely certain they've got the fan connected the right way, as a simple screw-up like getting this one detail wrong could have disastrous consequences. After a brief recap regarding the internal size of the vault, Picken decides to add 20 foot of tubing to the fans ‘intake' side, sufficient in length to reach deep into the centre of the room. With everything in place they're now almost ready to open the vault, so it's time for Bill to contact DI Vincent Burrows with a status update.

“Hi Vincent, it's Bill Warren…I'm at 60 Lombard Street and everything's in place. All the safety precautions are good to go and we're ready to start pumping-out the carbon monoxide from inside the chamber. It's time for the Fund Manager to give us the code to the vault door.”

Whilst they wait for Vincent to pay Vasilakos a visit in his Bishopsgate cell, Bill notices that he's had a text from John Gibson: ‘Keep in touch about how it's all going.'

Bill appreciates that his young colleague is concerned for his welfare, especially considering he's got enough on his plate to be worrying about, and replies back immediately ‘Almost ready to open vault door. About to put hazmat suits on. Bricking it m8!'

Whilst they wait for the entry code, Bill and Dave begin the laborious process of putting on their puncture resistant hazmat suits. Each man has to wriggle himself inside these awkward one-piece garments through an opening in the side, adjusting the internal trouser braces before then putting their arms inside the pre-gloved sleeves. They now wait for Vincent's return call before they seal themselves inside completely.

Sitting down on the floor with their backs against a wall they think up random subjects to talk about as a way of reducing the tension they're both experiencing.

At last the phone rings and Bill gets the entry code that they need. Using a pad and pencil he writes down the ten digits and checks he's got them down right by reading them back again. Vincent's confirms the code is good and gives them his best wishes for a safe and successful outcome. And with that the brief phonecall ends.

This is it then….

They don their breathing apparatus and draw the hoods down over their heads before sealing themselves inside their suits by pulling down the gas-tight zipper on the left hand side. With the oxygen supply connected, Picken makes his final checks and when satisfied they're good to go he gives the police officer the thumbs-up to proceed.

Hermetically sealed inside his orange space-suit, Bill shuffles uncomfortably forward to the enormous vault door and slips inside the clear plastic sheeting. He reads off the numbers and punches the 10-digit code into the keypad. Next he winds the large stainless steel wheel in an anti-clockwise direction and after six complete rotations it hits the limit of its travel. Anticipating that the door can now be opened Bill gives Picken the thumbs up. The fire officer switches on the centrifugal extractor fan and checks that the loose end of the pipe is sucking (and not blowing), then he assists Bill in opening up the door by just a couple of feet.

Immediately their gas detectors rhythmically sound-out a series of bleeps which they try to ignore. Accompanied by this unsettling noise Picken wastes no time in throwing the loose end of the pipe deep into the chamber, as it hits the floor of the vault it uncoils like an enormous white serpent. The two men close the door a little so there's only a 10” gap and then they begin sealing down the loose side of the plastic sheeting with strip after strip of gaffer tape.

Through the clear plastic Bill can see the massively thick section of the round door with its retracted cylinder bolts and its stepped ridges. As they create an airtight seal, the sheeting begins to bulge inwards into the gap around the door. Before it strains so much that it splits Picken uses a pencil to puncture it with several dozen holes, enlarging many of them with his gloved index finger so that fresh air is allowed inside to replace the noxious fumes being sucked away.

Now that they have a little more time, the two men check the readings from their incessantly bleeping gas detectors. Bill's is giving a reading of just over 6,000 ppm, a lethal dose if you were to breathe it in for something like 5 minutes. The LED's at each corner of the screen are all flashing red, pulsing on and off in-time with the bleeping. It's an unnerving situation; even though they know they're not actually breathing-in any contaminated air.

Within a matter of minutes, the ppm levels begin dropping. The carbon monoxide (CO) released into the basement as they opened the vault door becomes less concentrated as time passes. Much of the contamination is now being progressively drawn back into the vault through the perforations in the plastic sheeting as the centrifugal fan continues to do its job. The CO levels soon fall below 800 ppm (death within 2-3 hours of exposure) but it takes over an hour for them to fall below 50 ppm. Eventually the alarms quit their incessant bleeping and silence reigns once more.

When the readings hit 9ppm (acceptable air quality) Dave gives Bill the thumbs-up to indicate that it's safe for them to remove their hazmat suits and disconnect themselves from their breathing apparatus.

Feeling much lighter and cooler, they ascend the stone steps, taking with them their portable gas detectors. As they leave the basement they take care to re-check all the connections between the lengths of ducting as they go. Finally they check around the piece of ducting that hangs out of the sash window in the foyer. Dave Picken nods his approval that everything is secure and they go over to summon back in the two policemen who've been waiting outside.