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Authors: Robert Young

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BOOK: Gatecrasher
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‘Dear God,
’ Asquith muttered.

Campbell
looked him in the eye and nodded, happy and relieved that the old man had finally got it, surprised that it ha
d taken him so long to figure
out.

Asquith’s expression was almost as if
Campbell
had just told him that it was his own mother. ‘Andrew Griffin?’ he said.

 

65
 
 

Wednesday
.
7pm
.

 

 

The room was silent and Horner’s mask of self assurance had slipped just a little.
Griffin
was staring out of the window now looking relaxed and as though he were simply appreciating the view across the park outside and the glittering skyline beyond.

‘You know something Michael? I feel slightly ashamed. Underestimating you the first time around was one thing. I didn’t know you well enough then to have been able to get your true measure. But twice? That’s inexcusable really. I should have seen this coming.’

‘Is it worth it Andrew?’

‘And what’s that?’ he said, finally turning to look at Horner.

‘Is it worth turning down a six figure sum – the security of your family, your future – just so you can preach to me for a few short moments? Make it good.’

‘My family? My future?’
Griffin
’s tone was mocking now and he looked as if he might start laughing. ‘Always the cheap shot isn’t it? Always the obvious approach. No subtlety about you, no vision, that’s the problem. No tact. It is always the way with men like you whose self-regard is so divorced from reality. They say that childhood ends the moment you realise that the world does not revolve around you. You should think about that.’

‘Moral instruction and philosophy too? You do surprise me Andrew. Are you finished?’ Horner’s anger was barely concealed,
Griffin
’s word
s stinging him as much as the rejection of his offer which still lay there, a small black stain on the polished veneer of the table.

‘With you Michael, yes. Quite finished. Good night.’

M
ichael Horner was facing the window when the door closed but he could see the triangle of reflected light grow and then fold into nothing in the plate glass. He watched the night for a minute longer and then decided that he shouldn’t ought to waste the
Bordeaux
he had arranged for and got up and poured himself a glass.

 

 

 

‘Of course. Andrew has access to all of the records at any time he wants them. He must have known for years, perhaps even decided years ago to do something like this. What an opportunity! And the money of course to set up the stock purchases, the nous to know where to place them, how to layer them. The perfect cover too because, after all, why would he jeopardise his own livelihood? His own firm?’

Daniel Campbell watched as Asquith became more animated and then finally stood and began pacing, barely pausing even to look in his direction.

‘He could arrange the break-in with minimal damage, make it look like industrial espionage. He played the subservient role perfectly of course. Yes Geoffrey, of course we are working around the clock to resolve all of this! Oh dear, Geoffrey, you’ll never guess what they took! All the time manipulating me, feeding me exactly the right titb
its at exactly the right times…
’ Asquith stopped and turned to
Campbell
. ‘You’ve got to hand it to him I suppose.’

Campbell
was shaking his head. Asquith frowned at him and stopped talking.

‘Its not Andrew Griffin,

Campbell
said and Asquith stopped his pacing. ‘Andrew’s been played just as effectively as you. He was supposed to come running to you, to say all the things he said about finding out what had happened and then what had been discovered. That just helped move all the pieces into position.’

Asquith’s frown hadn’t shifted at all but
Campbell
thought that he saw something flicker.

‘For God’s sake! It’s Michael
Horner
.’

‘Michael?’

‘Yes. Of course. He’s been in banking all his life, you know that better than anybody. He has all the cover in place for the deals through his business interests. He has directorships in two offshore investment funds and a majority shareholding in another one. He would have been able to sanction any large purchase of stock as Director, instruct the purchases through different companies at different times almost as if it were the everyday moti
ons of the business. He
bought up stock personally as well as through his business interests.’

‘But that’s preposterous. I know Michael. We’re friends for God’s sake. He would never dream of something like this.’

‘And what about the diamonds? Would he dream about doing that?’
Campbell
tried to fight down the anxiety in his voice. Asquith, who had seemed so fired up when he thought he had pinpointed
Griffin
as the culprit, seemed positively crestfallen now and
Campbell
wondered if he would be able to convince him after all
, particularly if the man didn’t want to be convinced
.

‘But …I mean that was years ago. I know this man! And who a
re you? Some spider,
come to spin
a web
of
tales and lies. I know Michael. We have a long relationship together, we spent years building that company up. Are you trying to tell me that Michael really orchestrated all this, this break in, this so-say attempt to have you killed? This blackmail of me, one of his oldest associates?’

‘Yes.
Precisely
. What risks was he taking? He knew that he could contain any leaks because he would be stealing the information himself. And that led them to you, through
Griffin
who had no choice but to remain silent. And then, when he thinks things are going wrong he uses his contacts to get to me and tries to have me eliminated, murdered for Gods sake! He probably figured that you’d go along with it. Why not, it’s your decision after all who get these contracts, why shouldn’t they go where you say? You’ve read the tenders, the information, you’re hard working, diligent, trustworthy. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened in the British establishment and it would be forgotten in a month or two.’

Asquith was shaking his head as
Campbell
spoke but with less vigour at each word. ‘It can’t be. It just can’t be Michael.’

Campbell
walked to the desk that sat behind the two armchairs and slid open the drawer. Pulling out a plain brown A4 envelope he walked back to Asquith and held it out. Asquith looked at it for a moment but didn’t move. He stared at the brown paper as if it were poisoned, polluted. As if by taking it and looking inside he might be betraying his old friend the way this young man was telling him that he had been betrayed.

‘Some of it is what I have been able to find out through relatively straightforward means. If you know where to look. Shareholder registers, fund-holding information, registered directors of com
panies. That sort of thing,

Campbell
told him and continued to hold it out.
‘Some of it not so simply obtained.’

Hesitantly Asquith took it and tore it open, sliding out a sheaf of papers.

‘The top three sheets you will note are on original company letterheads. They are not copies or computer downloads. They are the original documents from the offices of the three companies for whom Michael Horner occupies a shareholding or executive role. These forms look slightly different but they serve the same purpose. Most companies of this type operate a ceiling above which major purchases of stock must be signed-off by a senior member of staff.’

Asquith was staring at them now, flicking between pages.

‘These forms give instructions to dealers for specific and significant purchase of stocks. You will recognise the names of the companies in which large investments were being made. Indeed you will also recognise other names. The orders against them are sell orders. You know what short-selling is?’

Asquith looked up at Campbell, half pleading with him to stop, to say it was all an invention. But the realisation was setting in. He nodded slowly.

‘Selling shares you don’t own.’

‘Pretty much. Basically betting that a share price will fall, rather than rise. Except it isn’t a bet when you already know the outcome.’

For a beat he felt almost sorry for the other man, but knew he had to arrive at the point.

‘You will recognise the signature at the foot of each page, authorising these trades.’

Slowly, Geoffrey Asquith moved back to the armchair he had sat in earlier and he dropped into it heavily and then he looked Daniel Campbell in the eye and he nodded.

 
66
 

 

Wednesday
.
8pm
.

 

 

Michael Horner reflected that in leaving so hastily and such a flurry of self-righteousness, Andrew Griffin really had not done himself any favours. Not only had he denied himself a rather lucrative payment for his silence he was also missing out on a quite delicious glass of wine.

Horner sat enjoying the peaceful silence of the room and watched the city relax into its evening routine beneath him, taking time to think everything through as he sipped the
Bordeaux
.

In addition to his costly, short-sighted reaction
Griffin
had failed to see that there would of course be other consequences.

He had never intended to involve
Griffin
to this degree but when the call had come from
Griffin
’s office requesting a meeting to discuss a personal and sensitive matter Horner had agreed to it with a sense of suspicion and caution. Things had already been allowed to go wrong, mistakes made and made again. But not this time. Not where he was personally in charge. The business with the young man in Fulham and his persistently slippery behaviour had worried him. What ought to have been a watertight operation had sprung a number of leaks and Horner had determined to plug them. When he heard that
Griffin
wanted to talk he decided that he would pre-empt the man and head off any further problems. He was surprised the other man had rejected him and stormed out with his wounded pride.

Now he would have to try something different. He could probably find some dirt on
Griffin
somewhere and if not, he could have it fabricated. Otherwise a simple threat or two might be more effective than appealing to the man’s wallet. A few photographs of his wife and child. Nothing nasty, just engaged in normal activities but the suggestion would be enough. This time we were only pointing a camera at them Andrew.

That could wait though, for the time being. He’d talk about that with Drennan once the data was handed over. Horner was fed up waiting and once Drennan had paid the useless rabble – something he’d had to think twice about approving given their incompetence – he would set about upping the pressure on Asquith a little, just as a reminder.

The old man was principled but he would not be stupid enough to risk everything for those principles. Standing up to Horner’s ‘blackmailers’ would be precisely the sort of thing he’d want to do but faced with this sort of leverage the old man would buckle, not least because he wouldn’t want to betray an old friend despite what mistakes that old friend might have made.

Horner tipped the glass up to his nose and took in a deep breath though his nostrils. It was almost done now, he though to himself, almost finished. Two years in planning and execution and once Asquith announced the contracts Horner would reap what he had sown.

 

67
 
 

Thursday
.
5 pm
.

 

 

The two men sat on either side of a dark stained wooden table with a nondescript glass ashtray in the centre and two cardboard
beer mats
with the pictures half peeled off.

Slater was hunched over his pint of lager, arms folded, jacket still on. His face was blank and his expression did not betray the crackling rage he felt underneath. He had been given a real run around in the past week and a half, made a fool of at every turn and he had probably dropped in his boss’s estimation as a result. It was, in all honesty, attributable to the man sitting opposite him.

Well dressed and looking faintly self-satisfied for reasons not apparent to Slater, Drennan sat rolling the long neck of a beer bottle between thumb and forefinger. Even his choice of drink riled Slater. Fucking poncy Italian lager, why couldn't the prick just have a pint? But he knew he had to play nice. He was here for a simple job and once it was done they could all relax again, in the clear and in the cash.

BOOK: Gatecrasher
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