Authors: Scott Caladon
Dear Mr Darke,
Forgive me for contacting you out of the blue but I need some help. You've been to see my boss a couple of times in the past few weeks and, on the last occasion, you helped him with his bleeding nose. As you and he continued to talk I overheard parts of your conversation as I left his office door slightly ajar. What I heard did not really make sense to me. However, my best friend at work died recently in circumstances that did not make any sense to me either. I asked Mr Robson a couple of questions about this and he told me to cease and desist in no uncertain terms. In fact, he was downright rude and I felt more than a little intimidated. You seemed very pleasant when I met you and did not appear to be intimidated by Mr Robson, actually the exact opposite. When you were last here I heard mention of âthe solvency of the government' or it sounded like that. My friend Joel, the one who died, was working on something to do with the government's expenditures and the last time I saw him alive he had just come out of a meeting with Mr Robson in his office.
I would be really grateful if you would agree to meet me to discuss any part of this. Please do not tell Mr Robson that I contacted you, it may cost me my job.
Regards and thanks in advance,
Becky Martin
Well, well thought JJ. Young Becky had more to her than a pretty face and luminous clothes. If she keeps digging, however, it may cost her more than her job. Robson had put paid to women and children before. She may be in more danger than she thought. Better set up a meet sharpish and fill her in, on a need to know basis. JJ replied to Becky's email and they were to meet up at his office that afternoon. Becky asked for a half day off for emergency dental work. Robson did not object. He was on tenterhooks awaiting news on âhis' money and would have no need for her services for the rest of the day. Any services he wanted from Becky he could press for once he was loaded, thought the sleazy Fin Sec.
JJ informed MAM's reception area that a Becky Martin was due to meet him at 1pm. Sign her in as an interview candidate for the job of his PA, he instructed, a position that was vacant at present. His assistant of two years was on maternity leave and not expected to return until the end of the year.
It was 12.59pm. Reception rang and a security guard escorted Becky to JJ's office. JJ had organised a few platters of lunchtime food to be delivered, ranging from salady stuff, sushi, and a couple of baguettes. He had no idea if Becky had eaten lunch or not but food can often make any meeting go better. Becky looked very smart and professional today, less glowing than normal, wearing a well-tailored, predominantly black trouser suit with cream trimming and matching accessories.
“Becky, nice to see you again, even if the circumstances are a bit weird,” JJ said, smiling, trying to put the young woman at ease.
“Yes, thank you,” she replied a little nervously. “I'm sorry for putting you on the spot with that email, but I was getting really concerned, I wanted to know what happened to Joel, there was nobody to ask, Mr Robson was horrible, I⦔ blurted Becky.
“It's OK, Becky,” said JJ calmly and pulling back one of the chairs around the meeting table atop of which rested all the food. He motioned for Becky to sit, so she did. “Help yourself, I'm going to. Look Becky, I don't know if I can help or not but I'll try. May I ask you a couple of questions first?”
“Yes, of course.”
“How much do you know of Neil Robson's background, before he was a politician, at the Treasury, all that political malarkey?”
“Not much. I know he was in the secret services or something like that, but I never really delved into it.”
“Neil Robson and I were in MI5 together, Becky, that's how we know each other. We are not friends. I do need to do some business with him currently but after that I hope never to see him again,” said JJ, thinking it would reassure Becky if a few choice details came out right at the start of their discussion. It did, Becky asked JJ if he knew Joel Gordon, but he did not. Becky informed JJ of Joel's job at the Treasury, his untimely demise, that it was due to radiation, that neither his girlfriend nor his family had any idea as to how he could have been poisoned like that. She was relaxing a bit, had a couple of bites of salad, a few pieces of sushi and plenty water. JJ assimilated what he could of Becky's account. His prior knowledge of Robson and the alleged justification for the DPRK heist led him to conclude that his nemesis probably did have something to do with Becky's friend's death.
“Did the doctors say what kind of radiation Joel had been exposed to?” asked JJ, fighting his way through a brie and tomato baguette.
“Not precisely. From what I could gather from Talisha, Joel's girlfriend, the medical people said that there were no initial signs of external burns so it must have been ingested or something.” Becky was in full flow now. She felt comfortable in JJ's presence. He was listening to her; he wasn't ogling her or making inappropriate suggestions. Refreshing compared to Robson. She chatted on for a few more minutes and mouthfuls. She even told JJ about her key words observation âJoel', âcupcake', âRobson'.
“The cupcake thing, Becky,” said JJ after listening a while longer. “Did you see any in Robson's office?”
“No. As far as I know he's never had a cupcake. It was all so odd. Joel's thanking my mum for baking them, my mum who can't bake and is in a care home with Alzheimer's. It's just too much⦔ Becky sniffed. JJ offered his pristine clean handkerchief, but Becky had come with tissues in her designer handbag.
As Becky composed herself, JJ's mind was whirring away. Robson was probably complicit in Joel's death but he hadn't figured out how yet. JJ was going to investigate a little further but his immediate concern was for Becky's well-being. “Becky, can I make a suggestion or two?”
“Yes, please do,” she replied, still sniffling a little.
“OK. Being around Neil Robson for the next few days, maybe even a week, might not be the best thing for you. I don't want to alarm you, and you'd probably be fine, but he may get some bad news in a few days' time and start throwing toys out of his pram.”
“Wouldn't be the first time,” grumbled Becky.
“Can you take a week off work and go somewhere that Robson isn't aware of?”
“Yes, I can go to my aunt's in Hampshire, I feel like a break anyway and I can visit my mum more frequently for a few days,” she replied, now somewhat cheerier and warming to JJ's train of thought.
“Good,” said JJ. “In the meantime, I'll try to find out a little more about Joel Gordon's death. I'll let you know if I discover anything relevant. I'll be in touch in any case. Here's my business card with my direct line and mobile number. Ring me if you need to. I may be in Scotland while you're in Hampshire. Here's my home number there.” Becky took the information from JJ and gave him her various contact details in return. As she stood up to leave, JJ gave her a quick, friendly hug, involving no kissing of any variety.
“Thank you, Mr Darke,” said Becky. “You've been very kind.”
“It's JJ from now on, Becky. Take good care of yourself, be aware and if anything at all disturbs your psyche get in touch immediately.”
Becky smiled weakly and JJ showed her out of the MAM building. She was going home to pack for her week away and send the office a concise email detailing her holiday plans. She had initially thought that JJ Darke seemed like a nice man, now she knew it.
JJ returned to his office. It was 2.30pm. He would be catching up with Toby at around 5pm. He had his meeting table cleared of the food debris, with most of the crumb chaos being his responsibility. He sat back on his desk chair and dialled.
“Hello,” said the recognisable voice.
“Hi Ethel, it's JJ, how's my top girl?” he asked enthusiastically.
“I'm fine JJ, thank you,” replied Ethel equally pleased to hear JJ's voice. “Is everything going well? You don't want my bonus back do you? You've not got some other looney mental foreign excursion you want me for?”
“All is good on that score Ginger,” replied JJ, certain that he then heard a soft âphew' at the other end of the phone. “I'll pop round to see you in a couple of days if that suits?”
“Sure, that would be delightful.”
“I do have one non-dangerous desk bound type of favour to ask though. No such thing as a free lunch!” JJ added jauntily.
“You haven't bought me lunch you tight fisted Jock,” exclaimed Ethel, clearly well enough to tease her friend.
“True, but I was instrumental in getting you the means for loads of lunches, all over the world!” They both laughed and Ethel's shoulder ached only a little.
“What do you want then?” asked Ethel.
“A couple of weeks ago some guy called Joel Gordon died. He was taken to Newham General Hospital with radiation poisoning, lasted a few days, then passed away. The police, apparently, investigated and found it mysterious but no evidence of third party foul play. Can you use your contacts in the force to get eyes on the police report and the coroner's assessment too? I would like to know precisely how he died and how the poison was administered. Any chance?”
“Sure, I'll get on it first thing in the morning. Is that OK?”
“That would be fabulous Ginger, thank you. I'll text you a few more details to get you started. Have a good evening, see you soon.”
“You too, JJ,” Ethel replied, hung up and decided that a stiff gin and tonic was just what her achy-breaky shoulder needed.
The rest of JJ's afternoon went well. Toby had done all the currency transactions, Yves-Jacques was on top of the gold's whereabouts, with only Scotia Mocatta's still to reach its destination. Victor had all the recipient account details and access to them programmed into his tablet. He would be in total control of the funds, electronically, though he would do nothing without JJ's authorisation. There was a time when he may have been tempted to swipe a chunk of the money for his own account but (a) he had been very well paid for his part in the gold heist and at the ripe old age of nineteen was a solid multi-millionaire and (b) he had seen what JJ could do with a crossbow!
JJ was having a fine brew of green tea at his desk, reflecting on the day's events. It was a satisfying day. It had begun well with the young Japanese woman fluent in Scottish, progressed smoothly with the concluding transactions of gold and currency, and the unexpected and intriguing pleasure of the less than fully candescent Becky's company, a nice chat with Ethel and now a refreshing cup of green tea. The tea perked him up but was also being consumed for its claimed powers in fighting cancer and alleviating side effects from his hormone treatment. JJ still had occasional hot sweats and bouts of excessive tiredness, his willie was dormant but his head hair seemed a bit thicker. JJ would not know for a year or two whether he and the Royal Marsden had delivered a total ring out to his cancer. Most of the time he didn't think about it but when he did it still was a little deflating.
Enough of that for today thought JJ, finishing off his tea. There was one more call to make and then he would be done. JJ dialled from his landline. “Sandra Hillington, please,” he asked of the operator. The switchboard put him through to the woman's PA.
“Ms Hillington's office,” came the male reply.
“I'd like to speak to Sandra please, if possible,” asked JJ.
“Who's calling?”
“JJ Darke.”
“Does she know you?” asked the man.
“I hope so,” replied JJ. A few seconds elapsed.
“Putting you through now,” said the man.
“My goodness,” began a very proper female English accent, “talk about raves from the grave. How are you JJ? It's nice to hear from you. I guess we haven't spoken since⦔
“Since I did all those magnificent oil calculations for you Sandra!” interrupted JJ, chuckling away.
“Ah yes, only half magnificent I seem to recall!” They both laughed.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” asked Sandra, pleased to have heard from JJ, but with little time available for sweet reminisces.
“I need to come to see you, Sandra, soon. There's an imminent threat to our national security that I know more about than I ever wanted to. It's not a terrorist attack but if not addressed it will be equivalent to a financial cyber-attack that will bring down the government and maybe leave the streets of our major cities uncontrollable and seriously unsafe.”
“Better come in then, JJ. Is tomorrow at 10am any good?” asked Sandra.
“That's fine. I'll be there at 10. Usual place?”
“The building's in the usual place, JJ, but I guess I'm a few floors higher up since we last met.”
“Guess so, Sandra, well done. I'll see you in the morning.” JJ hung up.
So tomorrow's activities were already mapped out. In the afternoon he'd head to the Treasury and let Neil Robson press the button to transfer nearly £4 billion to a variety of accounts that he thought would be in his control. In the morning he'd meet up with Sandra Hillington, his old boss and the new Director General of MI5.
Neil Robson may have left MI5 under a cloud but JJ Darke had not. JJ was a respected intelligence officer and widely regarded within the service as having been key in estimating the size of Middle East terror funds, their whereabouts and their ownership. Sandra Hillington had been JJ's section head. She was disappointed to lose him to the private sector, but understood. Sandra ensured that the pioneering research undertaken by JJ was augmented and advanced by his successors. Preventing the largest, most devastating terror assaults often began with following the money. JJ's economic template had held MI5's efforts in good stead. From Sandra Hillington's perspective, JJ Darke was welcome at Thames House, anytime.
* * *