Chapter 28

CHAPTER 28

D URING THE NEXT FEW DAYS, Ross had assumed the Hawk would summon him to his office at a moment's notice to tell him he'd had a call from an outraged QC who was demanding an explanation as to why one of the Met's senior officers had been attempting to bribe one of his clients while he was out on parole. Ross accepted if this were to happen, it would be him and not Mumford who would be looking at an arrest warrant, and this time it would already have been signed by a local magistrate. But the summons hadn't come.

As soon as he sat down at his desk on Monday morning, Ross gave the local police at Little Hampton a call to check that Billy had reported – on time – for his weekly probation meeting. He had, the desk sergeant confirmed, which gave Ross some confidence that Mumford was keeping to his side of the bargain. It didn't stop him lying awake at night.

The next morning, he left the flat before Alice and Jojo had woken, closed the front door quietly, climbed into his car and headed for the Great North Road. This time Ross had decided – once the exchange had taken place – that he would be travelling on to Bucklebury and then Heathrow. He wouldn't have a moment to spare if he still hoped to be on time for his flight.

When he drove into Little Hampton three hours later, he was already running a few minutes late, so didn't waste any time admiring the Norman tower. He parked his car outside the pub, grabbed his briefcase, and immediately went into the Dog and Duck.

When he entered the pub, it was as if time had stood still. At the bar were the same locals sipping the same ale, who this time didn't even bother to give him a second look. Ross only had to glance around the snug to see Billy was sitting at his usual table, but this time there was no sign of the Yorkshire Post – just the copy of Monticello and a large brown envelope, accompanied by a smug smile on his face.

Ross took the seat opposite his unaware accomplice, who wasted no time in passing over the envelope, the smile remaining in place.

Ross could feel his heart beating as he pulled open the flap and slowly extracted a single sheet of paper and a small faded cream envelope addressed in black handwriting to the Rt Hon. David Hartley MP, Hartley Hall, Bucklebury, England.

He turned to page 171 of Rosenberg's Monticello before he began to study the letter. After making a comparison between Jefferson's script and Mumford's forgery, he had to admit he couldn't tell the difference between them. Billy had earned his reputation as a master forger.

Ross placed the envelope, the letter and his copy of Monticello back in the briefcase before he extracted another arrest warrant, which also hadn't been countersigned by a local magistrate. But before Billy could take a closer look, he once again tore it to shreds, dropping the little pieces back in his briefcase.

‘Now listen and listen carefully,' said Ross, as he stood up and peered down at his accomplice, ‘if you don't want to go back to the Scrubs, this meeting never took place. Don't even think about contacting Booth Watson or sharing our little secret with anyone else, because if you do—'

‘It wouldn't even cross my mind, Mr Hogan,' said Billy. ‘Not a word, I promise, to anyone.'

Ross closed his briefcase and said, ‘Let's hope we never meet again.'

‘The feeling's mutual, Mr Hogan,' said Mumford.

Ross quickly left the pub and got back into his car, ready to set off on the second part of the triangle.

Before he turned on the ignition, Ross couldn't resist opening the briefcase once again and taking another look at the letter. Nothing had changed, except that he was running late. He switched on the engine, and quickly made his way out of the village. As the miles ticked over on the journey back along the motorway, Ross began to think about just how much he would tell Lady Hartley and, equally importantly, how much he would leave unsaid. No more than necessary, he decided, and rehearsed his script several times before he arrived outside the gates that led up to Hartley Hall.

The beautiful Elizabethan mansion looked far more welcoming than a rundown pub in Little Hampton, and the warm greeting he received from Lady Hartley couldn't have been in greater contrast to the monosyllabic grunt he'd got from the landlord of the Dog and Duck.

Ross had heard on the news that Simon Hartley was back in England and even wondered if he might be staying with his mother. It was a relief to discover he wasn't.

Once he had settled in the drawing room – he admired the watercolours, particularly the Russell Flint – and been offered a welcome cup of tea and a shortbread biscuit, he ventured, ‘You may be wondering why I asked to see you again, Lady Hartley.'

‘I assumed it must have something to do with the auction that's being held in New York tomorrow and the missing letter I foolishly gave to …' She paused mid-sentence.

‘You're quite right,' said Ross, not wasting a moment. He opened his briefcase, took out the large brown envelope and extracted Mumford's copy of the letter, which he handed over to her.

The old lady's hands began to tremble as she read it. ‘How clever of you, Inspector,' said Lady Hartley. ‘I had assumed he'd destroyed it,' once again not mentioning Faulkner by name, ‘and that I would never see the letter again.'

‘Are you absolutely sure that is the letter you gave him, Lady Hartley?' asked Ross.

‘It has to be,' said Lady Hartley. ‘I remember my husband repeating it word for word. But may I ask you a question?'

‘Of course,' said Ross.

‘Does this mean …?'

‘Let's hope so,' Ross replied, before she could complete the sentence.

‘Then we ought to be opening a bottle of champagne to celebrate,' said Lady Hartley, ‘whereas all I can offer you is another cup of tea.' She picked up the teapot.

‘That's very kind of you,' said Ross, slipping the letter back into its large brown envelope, ‘but sadly I must leave you if I'm to get to Heathrow in time to catch the last flight to New York this evening.'

‘Then I won't hold you up any longer,' said Lady Hartley, rising from her place, and without another word, she accompanied her guest back to the front door.

‘Thank you once again,' said Ross as he stepped out onto the drive. ‘And congratulations on your son's release – I know you must be relieved.'

‘More than I can say,' said Lady Hartley. ‘But can I ask you one more thing before you leave, Inspector?'

Ross stopped in his tracks. He waited for a question he'd been anticipating but had hoped she wouldn't ask.

‘Does that mean Mr Faulkner will be expecting me to return his money, because I fear …'

‘No. I can promise you, Lady Hartley, you won't be hearing from Mr Faulkner again,' said Ross, as he climbed into his car. She couldn't hide her relief as she watched him drive away.

Ross waved to her as he drove out of the grounds and back onto the main road. An innocent bystander, he thought, who was about to play a major role on the world stage without even realizing it.

Once he was back on the motorway, Ross pressed a number on his mobile, aware that his co-conspirator would be on the other end sitting at his desk, anxiously waiting for the call.

A voice answered after one ring and said, ‘James Buchanan.'

‘I have the letter you require,' said Ross, ‘and with a fair wind, I should be landing at JFK at around ten tomorrow morning.'

‘I'll be there to meet you when you get off the plane,' said James, ‘and by then I should have everything in place. Have a good flight.' Not a man who wasted words or gave anything away that might be overheard.

Ross switched off his phone. When he wasn't looking out for airport signs revealing the number of miles to go, he was continually checking the clock on his dashboard that was ticking over far too quickly. It was going to be tight, even though he continued to ignore the speed limit while he was on the motorway. Once he joined the slip road leading to the airport, he ignored several amber lights, forgetting he was an ordinary citizen and not a policeman on official duty.

On arrival at Terminal Three, he dumped his car in the short-term car park, jumped out and began running, now checking his watch every few seconds.

As he charged into the airport, he looked up at the departure board to see Gate 19 flicking over to be replaced by the words Gate Closed. He accelerated out of the blocks like an Olympic sprinter, and began to follow the signs to Gate 19, relieved he was only carrying a briefcase, which contained his passport, ticket, mobile phone, car keys and the large brown envelope. But by the time he arrived at the check-in desk, he looked out of the window only to see the aircraft steps being wheeled away.

‘I'm so sorry, Mr Hogan,' said the lady after checking his ticket, ‘but as you can see your flight is about to take off.'

‘Are there any other planes going to New York tonight?' he asked desperately, between breaths.

‘Only Concorde,' she replied. ‘But I can book you on to our first flight in the morning.'

‘That will be too late,' Ross said without explanation, as he wondered what a flight on Concorde would do to his bank balance. ‘Are there any seats available on Concorde?' he asked, painfully aware he'd been left with no choice.

‘Let me check,' said the attendant as she began tapping away on her computer. Moments later, a smile appeared on her face. ‘Yes, I can still get you on that flight, but you will have to hurry.'

‘Thank you,' said Ross, who set off again, and this time managed to reach the Concorde desk with a few minutes to spare. He handed over his credit card, relieved when moments later he saw the word APPROVED appear on the little screen.

He quickly made his way to the departure gate, still out of breath. Once on board, he settled into his seat and phoned James Buchanan just before the plane took off. ‘Slight change of plan!' he announced.

···

Ross woke to find a flight attendant standing by his side. ‘Mr Hogan?'

‘Yes,' said Ross, stifling a yawn as he looked up at him.

‘Once we land, we've been allocated an airport apron and my supervisor has asked me to make sure you're the first passenger off the plane.'

‘Thank you,' replied Ross, and then frowned. ‘I had a bad dream.'

‘I'm sorry to hear that, sir.'

‘Could you please open the compartment above me and tell me what you see?'

The flight attendant carried out the passenger's request, and said, ‘A black leather briefcase with the initials RH etched in gold.'

‘It wasn't there in my dream.'

‘I'll come and get you, sir, once we've been cleared to disembark,' said the senior flight attendant, none the wiser.

‘This is your captain speaking,' said a voice from the flight desk. ‘We will be starting our descent shortly and the good news is that we're a few minutes ahead of schedule.'

Only Ross knew why.

···

Special Agent Buchanan thanked the director of air traffic control for his assistance. A triple-A request from the FBI usually meant the arrival of a head of state or a criminal on the ‘most wanted' list. He hadn't asked which.

James left him and made his way across to Gate 41, the nearest exit to the highway, although he accepted not even his boss could control the bumper-to-bumper traffic into Manhattan – a monster with a mind of its own.

‘BA017 has just landed,' said James over the radio to his number two back at HQ. ‘Make sure the operations team are waiting for me in the briefing room by the time I get back, and ask Professor Rosenberg if he would be kind enough to join me in my office, as I need to ask him to make a sacrifice for his country.'

He made a second call to the director to bring him up to date as he watched Concorde turn off the runway and begin to taxi towards him.

The director told his special assistant, ‘I have spoken to the President and assured him the letter is on its way.'

···

When the seat belt light went off, Ross was the first out of the blocks. He quickly opened the locker above him, grabbed his briefcase, and clung on to it as if it were full of precious gems. One uncut diamond.

‘Follow me,' said the authoritative voice of the chief steward – a command Ross was happy to obey, stopping only when he reached the front of the cabin to observe several inquisitive eyes staring up at him, wondering who he was.

When the door was finally heaved open, Ross jogged down the steps and almost fell into the arms of Special Agent Buchanan. Without a word passing between them, Ross opened his briefcase, took out the large brown envelope and handed the baton on to the next relay runner in the team.

James extracted the letter but didn't comment until he'd finished reading it – a second time.

‘I'm convinced,' he said with a shrug of the shoulder, ‘but I'm not the person who can offer an authoritative opinion. But if Rosenberg isn't willing to stamp his imprimatur, I may have to stand my team down.' He slid the letter back into the envelope, opened the back door of the car and asked, ‘Do you want to join us at the auction?'

‘Can't risk it,' said Ross. ‘There will be two people sitting in the front row who, if they spot me, just might work out why I'm there.'

James simply replied, ‘On behalf of a grateful nation, thank you, Inspector.' He then shook Ross by the hand as if he was an American general awarding him a medal. ‘That sounded a bit pompous, didn't it?' James added. ‘But I meant it.'

‘Will I see you at my wedding?' asked Ross as James climbed into the car.

‘Wouldn't miss it. I can't wait to meet the woman who's willing to marry you.'

Ross left him to join the other passengers as they made their way into the airport.

Once he'd gone through passport control followed by customs – nothing to declare other than a half-empty briefcase – he headed straight for the BA counter to book the next flight back home.

···

‘Out on Concorde and back on economy on the same day,' said the booking clerk, unable to hide her surprise. ‘That's a first for me.'

‘Me too,' admitted Ross without explanation.

The booking clerk began tapping away, looked up and asked, ‘Are you Mr Ross Hogan, by any chance?'

‘Sure am.'

‘Then you're already booked to fly back on the Concorde.'

‘Can't afford it, I'm afraid,' said Ross.

‘Yes, you can,' said the booking clerk, ‘because you won't be paying.'

‘How come?' asked Ross, genuinely puzzled.

‘Your flight has already been paid for by the government – the FBI no less,' she said, giving him a warm smile, ‘so you're either being deported, or you're very important.'

‘Neither,' admitted Ross, as he looked up to the heavens and thanked James.

‘And for your bonus point,' added the clerk, ‘your inward flight has been refunded, so clearly you're not a fugitive.'

‘Is there somewhere I can get a cup of coffee and a sandwich before we take off?' asked Ross.

‘You're welcome to have a complimentary meal in the Concorde lounge, and I can recommend the sole meunière, with a bottle of Chablis to wash it down.'

Ross took her advice and joined a group of passengers in the Concorde lounge who he'd never travelled with before, and doubted he would ever again.

···

The front doorbell rang. Although he'd been home for only a few days, Simon wasn't altogether surprised to find Hani Khalil standing on the doorstep. It had to happen sooner or later. Better sooner.

‘You look fantastic, Simon, given what they put you through,' were Khalil's opening words.

Don't you mean what you put me through, Simon wanted to say, but not while he still needed to pick up some inside information, even if it came from such an unreliable source.

‘I thought you'd want to know the latest news concerning our contract,' said Khalil, emphasizing the word ‘our'.

Simon reluctantly stood aside to allow Khalil to come in. He took him through to the drawing room, where he plonked himself down in the most comfortable chair, as if it was his own home. Simon took the seat opposite him, while making no suggestion of offering him a drink.

‘You wouldn't believe how much I had to cough up to get you out of that hellhole,' said Khalil. ‘But then it was the least I could do for an old friend.'

You're right, I wouldn't believe it, thought Simon, but let him go on talking.

‘But I always knew it would work out for the best, because you're the type of guy who always keeps his side of a bargain. Which is why I wanted you as my partner in the first place.'

‘How much do I owe you?' asked Simon, somehow controlling his temper.

‘It cost me three hundred thousand dollars to ensure you got away safely, but let's settle on a couple of hundred for old times' sake.' Simon wondered if the man even listened to his own words. ‘Of course, you'll appreciate there were a lot of people who had to be paid off,' continued Khalil. ‘Not least the Governor and several of his officers who were on duty that day, not to mention countless airport officials.'

Simon could only admire the man's nerve and his ability to deliver lie after lie, while a look of sincerity never left his face. Time to throw in a few questions of my own, thought Simon.

‘I presume we've lost the arms contract to the French?'

‘No, no,' insisted Khalil. ‘Thanks to my efforts, the British secured the contract as your Foreign Secretary announced in the Commons this afternoon.' Something Simon was well aware of, but he hadn't finished with Khalil yet.

‘I wouldn't have thought that possible,' said Simon trying to sound surprised.

‘I confess it took me some time to convince the new Defence Minister that they should back you rather than the French. Mind you, the final contract can't be signed until you've confirmed my ten per cent.'

‘Only ten per cent,' said Simon.

‘That is what we agreed,' said Khalil, ‘but as you well know Simon, once I've given my word …'

Simon did know, but couldn't resist, ‘I thought the French—'

‘Were definitely in with a chance,' said Khalil, ‘until I was able to persuade the new Defence Minister that the British equipment was far superior to anything the French had to offer.'

‘True enough,' said Simon, playing along.

‘I think I can honestly say, with hand on heart, that I've earned my meagre commission.'

And I think I can honestly say, with hand on heart, you won't be getting it, Simon was about to tell him, when his wife entered the room, a wicker basket filled with roses cradled under one arm.

‘How very kind of you to take the trouble to visit my husband, Mr Khalil,' Hannah said, taking Simon by surprise.

‘What beautiful roses, Mrs Hartley,' responded Khalil. ‘In full bloom, just like you, if I may say so.'

‘How sweet of you,' said Hannah, ‘and I'd love to show you around my garden, if you have time.'

‘I can think of nothing that would give me greater pleasure, Mrs Hartley.'

‘Hannah, please,' she said as she led him out of the room, with a dumbstruck Simon following in her wake.

When they reached the front door, Hannah opened it and stood aside to allow her guest to step out onto the path while she remained on the doorstep. ‘My grandfather used to tell me when I was a little girl,' said Hannah, ‘that the English language was so exquisite, every word should be treasured.'

‘I couldn't agree more,' said Khalil.

‘Then I can only hope he'll forgive me when I tell you to fuck off, Mr Khalil, because you won't be getting a penny.'

Hannah slammed the door in his face and couldn't resist a smile.

Simon stared at her in disbelief and said, ‘It's possible, my darling, that you've just lost the British government three billion pounds.'

‘Worth every penny,' said Hannah as she walked into the kitchen, selected a vase and began to arrange the roses.