Royal Heist Part 11

Raymond stood up to check his watch. "Not got long."

"How about we arrange some private lessons? I need to get more familiar with chat rooms and retrieving information from the Net."

"I'm not cheap. One-on-one will cost you a hundred an hour." Marsh sat down at the computer. "Let's open her up and play," he said. His fingers flashed over the keyboard. "If you want to be a player in this community, you got to earn respect from them. So familiarize yourself with the geek-speak. There's a lot of goodwill around. Hackers don't work for money, they work for intelligence. The value system of a hacker, pirate or cracker, the good or the bad, is different from normal consumer society. If you want to be recognized as a good citizen in the Net community, you've got to contribute, and that means sharing material or information for free. Since I'm getting paid, I won't ask any questions about what you're up to." Marsh laughed.

"Get me up something on anyone who's worked in the Royal household recently. Someone who was on security," de Jersey said.

De Jersey hated to be at his mercy, but Marsh gave no indication that he was surprised by the request. He gestured for de Jersey to sit beside him. They worked together, pulling down newspaper reports, logging into various sites until Marsh had downloaded sheets of articles from numerous newspapers dating back about eight months. Exactly an hour later he said he had to leave. He put out his hand for his payment, and they arranged for the next session.

Alone, de Jersey read the news articles. One man's case stood out from the others. Gregory Jones had been convicted of murdering his wife and was presently serving life at Franklyn Prison. He was a former palace security guard who had discovered his wife in bed with another member of the Queen's household. It was imperative to find out about the security setup at the Palace and the procedures surrounding the Royals when they appeared in public, how many security men and ladies-in-waiting would accompany Her Majesty. De Jersey hoped Gregory Jones could provide this information.

He logged on to Web sites about the Royal Family. He was even sidetracked into reading about the Queen's love of horses. There were pictures of her at Ascot when her horse Enharmonic won the Diamond Stakes. The jockey, Frankie Dettori, stood beside her, wearing her racing colors. Then de Jersey scrolled through pictures of the Crown Jewels, pausing when the screen filled with the Queen Mother's crown. It was the only one mounted in platinum, and there, set in the front, was the magnificent Koh-i-noor Diamond, which drew him like a magnet. He touched the screen with his hand. Right now, it was so far out of his reach.

De Jersey planned to fabricate a plausible reason for occasional trips to London after Christina returned. Raymond Marsh was a frequent visitor to the apartment now, guiding his experiments. As de Jersey got to know the odd man, he admired him more. Marsh was not only a top cracker but a phacker. He was adept at disrupting and illegally tapping into phone systems via his computer. De Jersey felt sure all his experience would come in handy. When Marsh left, de Jersey would set timers on the lights to make it appear that the flat was constantly occupied, then travel back to his estate to carry on his work there.

Slowly he began to formulate a plan for the robbery. In order to visit the ex-security guard in Franklyn Prison, he had to acquire fake doc.u.ments. He researched Hunting and Letheby, the firm of solicitors who had dealt with Jones's case and printed out an imitation of their headed notepaper, then wrote to the prison requesting a visitor's pa.s.s for the solicitor handling the man's appeal.

Next he had to hunt down another ex-employee of the Royal household, someone who could provide inside information on protocol. He placed a message on various electronic bulletin boards: "U.K. novelist wishes to contact any employees (or recent ex-employees) of Royal household for confidential information." He was astonished at the number of replies. He knew that a vast percentage would be from idiots messing around, but after a while it became easy to a.s.sess them, and he made lists of those he would contact. It was time-consuming work, though, and the pressure was on.

De Jersey had been occupied at the stables virtually all morning. He discussed forthcoming racing events with his trainers, the twelve mares in foal, and various veterinary matters. A three-year-old colt that had cost him almost three-quarters of a million pounds had not been fit enough to race yet, and the strangles bacteria had struck a wing of the yard that stabled eighteen horses. Veterinary bills were always high, but this winter they were astronomical. And foot-and-mouth restrictions still held up traveling. The good news, however, was that his pride and joy, Royal Flush, was in fine health and training for the season, which, de Jersey hoped, would place him on track for the Derby.

De Jersey had only just returned to his office when he received a call from David Lyons's widow. Helen asked if he would see her that afternoon, on a personal matter that she preferred not to discuss over the phone. De Jersey agreed.

Helen waited outside her house for him. Her face was white and drawn, and she was not wearing any makeup. Usually an immaculate dresser, she was wrapped in a drab brown coat with a fur hat pulled down roughly over her hair. "Thank you for coming, Edward," she said, her eyes br.i.m.m.i.n.g with tears. "I had no one else to turn to." She led him inside the house, poured coffee, and they sat down at the kitchen table, where she fiddled with a teaspoon. Her eyes had the lost look of the recently bereaved. "I don't know where to begin. It's to do with David's death." She reached for a tissue and blew her nose. "He left everything to me. I'd always believed we were comfortably off, but . . ." She stopped.

"Go on, Helen," he prompted quietly.

"David borrowed on the house. He liquidated almost everything we possessed, and I don't know what trouble he had got himself into, but the savings accounts . . ." She took a deep breath. "David withdrew every penny we had. My sister, who's been overseeing everything for me, says he took out almost two million pounds. It's all gone." De Jersey said nothing. "I'm not asking you for money, please don't think that. I've still got a few thousand in my own account. I'll be all right." She twisted the sodden tissue. "I don't know what he was doing, I really don't. His a.s.sistant is devastated, and they're closing the office. My sister took a week off work to help sort everything out."

De Jersey was feeling edgy, but he gave nothing away.

"She is an accountant too. In fact, David and I met through her. She's gone through all of his business accounts. It seems he had invested in an Internet company based in New York, leadingleisurewear. Many of his clients also invested in this company." She glanced toward de Jersey. Although he didn't show it, de Jersey was furious at David's indiscretion. "My sister was stunned at the amount of money you and David put in, and those others, a man called Wilc.o.x, and I think Driscoll."

De Jersey's mind was racing. This was probably the only time that their names had been linked. He smiled. "I had presumed I was the only unfortunate gambler."

"I am so very sorry," she said, patting his hand. "The reason I asked to see you was because Sylvia-"

"Your sister."

"Yes. She works for an international investment company. This company had invested in a similar venture and lost a considerable amount as well. So she did some checking for me; she's thinking of hiring an investigator over there to help."

"Checking into what exactly?"

"Into leadingleisurewear. It was started by a young man called Alex Moreno. Now he and another leadingleisurewear ex-employee have been trying to set up another Internet deal. Sylvia couldn't believe their audacity. I said to her that if I told you this you'd want to do something about it. Sylvia said if there was a possibility of getting some of the money back, then I or you or the other men should contact this Alex Moreno and find out what's going on."

De Jersey leaned forward. "My new financial adviser has told me there is no possible recourse and that I simply have to accept I made a poor judgment."

"But you can't just accept it!" she exclaimed.

"I am afraid, Helen, that that is what I have to do. We are a part of a worldwide Internet collapse. There are not just a few losers but thousands. Many Internet companies have gone bust."

"You could find Moreno."

"I've accepted my losses."

"You're just going to walk away?" she asked, aghast.

"I've been advised that I have little or no hope of recouping them."

She looked at her hands. "Sylvia has consulted a private investigator in New York to try to trace Moreno."

De Jersey felt his gut tighten. "Has she succeeded in finding him?"

"No. It would seem he's disappeared. She thinks he has probably stolen a lot of the funds. She found a letter from the auditor dated shortly before leadingleisurewear collapsed, questioning the figures of the annual audit.

"And Sylvia found out that he sold his apartment in New York. The doorman said it went to a German. But Moreno has a house in the Hamptons too."

De Jersey was seething inside but reached across the table for Helen's hand. She gripped his, and the tears started again. "I feel so bad about what happened," she said. "I should try to trace the other men involved."

He released her hand. "The investors have never publicly admitted their losses, as I have not. It is highly confidential information. I can't advise you, Helen."

"But don't you think they would want to know what my sister has discovered?"

"I can't speak for them," he said quietly.

"Don't you want to find out about Alex Moreno?"

He chose his words carefully. "Hiring an investigator in another country is not something I have considered doing. I am sure if David believed he could retrieve any of the money, he would not have taken such a drastic way out."

"Would you look over some of the doc.u.ments I found?"

"Of course. But I want my involvement with this company kept from the press. This could all blow up if the investigator's discoveries were ever made public."

"I thought perhaps you'd help me."

"I doubt I can be of any a.s.sistance. And I'm confused as to how you gained access to my personal files."

"They were in the safe in David's study upstairs."

"Are the other investors' details there too?"

"Yes."

"Then I would like mine returned, and I advise you to return theirs as well."

"I'll tell my sister," she said, flushing.

David Lyons's study was in disarray. Boxes and files were stacked against the wall, and papers were heaped on every available surface. Helen gestured to the paperwork. "I've been sent these from his office." She crossed to the fireplace and lit the fake-coal gas fire. "It's cold in here. I've not had the heating on." She looked at the mound of files. "David kept all his files on his computer but always made hard copies for reference. Mostly they're quite old. These are the most recent ones." She looked around, puzzled. "Oh, I think I took your files to the kitchen," she remembered and hurried out. A few moments later, she returned with a large, square box. She handed it to de Jersey and moved aside some papers for him to place it on the desk.

De Jersey spent almost an hour in the study. Helen hovered for a while, then left him to answer the door to the removal men. They carried out the items of furniture and ornaments she had earmarked to sell. Fl.u.s.tered, she directed them around the house and frequently appeared to apologize to de Jersey. Eventually he walked into the hall. "I'm taking all my personal papers and details of transactions relating to my business, Helen."

"Oh, yes, yes, of course."

De Jersey ordered a local minicab and returned to the study to await its arrival. As he was going through the desk drawers one last time, he found an extra set of house keys, which he slipped into his pocket. He would have to warn both Driscoll and Wilc.o.x about the new developments.

As soon as he arrived home, de Jersey started to thumb through a stack of doc.u.ments with his name underlined at the top and a thick wedge of accounting ledgers. His head began to throb as he realized David had systematically plundered all of his accounts in a desperate attempt to salvage leadingleisurewear. To meet Moreno's requests for more funds, he had thrown good money after bad. Had de Jersey just lost his original investment, he could have kept running the stables, but this was far worse: he was heading for bankruptcy.

Although he welcomed her home warmly, Christina knew something was wrong. Her husband was deeply distracted and quickly retreated to his study. After unpacking she went to join him, but when he dismissed her concerns, she became angry.

"Please, darling, don't fend me off as if I was a child. I know something has happened. Stop hiding things from me. What is it?"

He sighed. Now that Helen and her interfering sister had details of his private affairs, he could no longer keep the situation from Christina.

"David Lyons lost millions of my money. He invested badly, then tried to salvage the investment by throwing more money at it. He lost his own savings too and a few other people's."

"Oh, my G.o.d, that's dreadful. Can you do anything about it?"

"No, it's all gone."

"Is that why Helen wanted to see you?"

"Her sister's thinking of hiring a private investigator to try to retrieve some of her losses."

"What can an investigator do?"

He shrugged. "I doubt he can do anything. The money has gone. The Internet company went bankrupt."

"What is this investigator looking for?" Christina asked.

"Some Internet whiz kid."

"If they find him, will they arrest him?"

"Even if they did they couldn't prove embezzlement. He kept the money he made from selling the company's software, but as he designed it, he owned it. The investment stank, and David was a fool. I have only myself to blame . . . and him, of course."

"But what about that banker you met up with? Can he help?"

"I hoped he might but he can't."

Christina looked shocked. "How bad is it, Edward? Tell me."

"Nothing I can't fix." He forced a rea.s.suring smile.

"Oh, thank goodness," she said, holding him tightly. "I know how much you love this place."

"We're not going to lose this." He kissed her.

He walked across the yard and let himself into the office, shutting the door behind him. He took out the cell phone he'd bought in Simmons's name and called Driscoll and Wilc.o.x, informing them about Helen's intervention. Then he locked away the phone and returned to the house. Christina was curled up in bed watching TV and laughing.

"What are you watching?"

"An advert," she said, pointing to the TV. "It's for royal jelly, and she's so like her it's unbelievable. For a moment I looked, and I thought, It can't be, surely she wouldn't, but it's . . . Look, she's identical!"

De Jersey stared at the TV. A look-alike playing the Queen was sitting on a throne wearing a fake diamond crown and holding up a pot of royal jelly. On the screen she mimicked Her Majesty's voice to perfection.

De Jersey pulled his tie loose, laughing. Another piece of the jigsaw had just fallen into place. It was the first piece of good news he'd had all day.

The following morning de Jersey was up early and went riding alone. He returned to the house for breakfast. He suggested to Christina that she invite Helen Lyons for lunch to show her there were no hard feelings. He said he felt guilty for having been so brisk with Helen yesterday and for not attending David's funeral. Christina slipped her arms around her husband's neck. "I'll call her if it's what you want, but I hardly know what to say to her, considering how David has treated us."

"Thank you, my love. Can you ring her now?" he asked.

"But it's too early."

"No, it isn't." He continued with his breakfast as he heard Christina arrange lunch for the following day.

Christina left in a chauffeur-driven car to collect Helen from the station. After watching her go, de Jersey took the helicopter to a small airport close to the Lyonses' home. He hoped the house would be empty. He had called ahead twice to make sure no one picked up the phone. He let himself in with the keys from David's desk, waited for the sound of an alarm; when nothing happened, he went straight to the study. He turned on the fake-coal fire and kicked some files closer to the grate, then he gathered all the doc.u.ments he could find relating to Wilc.o.x and Driscoll.

After de Jersey landed the helicopter, he went directly to the stables. One of the stable girls was waiting for him in his golf cart, and they drove toward the east wing.

"I didn't know for sure they'd reached you."

"How in G.o.d's name did it happen?"

"We don't know. He just stumbled on the way to the gallops, but when he returned, he was lame," she said. "It's quite badly swollen, but we don't think there's any bone damage."

In the center of the yard, his trainer and a couple of lads hovered around Royal Flush. The vet had instructed he be walked about; Royal Flush dropped his shoulder, showing a p.r.o.nounced limp. De Jersey was on his knees beside the vet when Christina and Helen walked across the yard.

"We'd given up on you," Christina said, then fell silent as her husband looked up at her.

"We don't think anything's broken, but it's badly swollen," he said. "Helen, I'm sorry, but as you can see this is a bit of an emergency."

"Will you be joining us for lunch?" Christina asked.

"Start without me, darling. I won't be too long, I hope."

To Christina's annoyance, de Jersey never made it to lunch. After a rather tedious and tearful meal, she saw Helen on her way, making promises to stay in touch.

When Helen arrived home, the house was blazing and the fire brigade struggled for control. The study, hall, and part of the staircase had been gutted. David Lyons's papers had fed the fire, and charred doc.u.ments fluttered in the chilly afternoon air. Helen, now faced with the destruction of her home, became so hysterical that her doctor had to sedate her.

Christina put down the phone, stunned.

"Who was that?" de Jersey asked.

"It was Helen. Said that the house was on fire when she got home. Started in the study. All of David's papers were destroyed. Does that matter to you?"

"I don't suppose so. Whatever doc.u.ments he had I'll have copies of."

"She asked me if I knew these other investors, Driscoll and Wilc.o.x."