Dreams to Die For (8 page)

Turning round she studied her back. No spots. Bum could be a little firmer but it still had good shape. The five minute evaluation over, she didn't need to summarise the result. In many respects, she had been overly harsh on herself. She was a very attractive woman who looked considerably younger than her thirty-five years. She showered, put her cream silk dressing gown around her and made her way to the kitchen where she had a leisurely breakfast of natural orange juice, coffee and two slices of toast whilst watching a twenty-four hour news channel.

After breakfast, she had spent the morning trying on different outfits. She did not want to go over the top. She tried to imagine what Gordon might wear. Jeans? A summer suit perhaps? Surely not shorts? She wished she knew him better as then she could have dressed herself with more certainty, but she concluded that he definitely would not be in shorts nor so laid-back as to look even mildly scruffy. Probably smart casual, whatever that meant.

Eventually, and with the digital clock in the room reminding her that a decision had to be made, she decided on a very pale yellow summer dress with tan shoes and small handbag. She had visited her hairdresser the previous day and her usual stylist and colourist had, as always, earned their generous gratuity. The natural wave in her hair had been slightly accentuated, and the subtle blonde highlights merged smoothly with the flowing range of light browns, giving her hair an overall effortless but vibrant appearance. It rested naturally away from her face and hung softly around her ears, complementing the outfit and glowed in the sunshine that now flooded the room. Cindy knew she looked stunning but not in any way powerfully or overdressed. The only downside she thought was that her plastered leg was all too visible, but that didn't persuade her to wear trousers.

The taxi arrived exactly at the time she had asked, midday, which she estimated would mean a deliberate slightly late arrival at the pub. She had booked it with a company in Lower Dister, not the local Stillwood firm, and was pleased to see that they had remembered she needed a vehicle with plenty of leg room. The driver dropped her by the front entrance of the pub but before entering she glanced at the car park. Barely half-full, Cindy was able to look carefully at all the vehicles, expecting to see a really expensive model, perhaps a high-powered sports car or possibly even a limousine. There were none that really caught her eye, only the usual mixed assemblage one would expect, and she wondered anxiously if Gordon was either going to be late or perhaps may not come. She turned to face the door, drew a deep breath and turned the handle. Almost instantly, Gordon came across and introduced himself.

“Hello, I'm Gordon” and with a quick glance at her legs said “and you just have to be Cindy”. He pointed to the large bay window on the far side of the room and asked if the table there would be suitable. Anywhere would have been acceptable to Cindy, though she noted that the place he had chosen was in a spacious area, well apart from other diners.

She was pleased to see that he was wearing light cream coloured slacks and a sports shirt, confirming the assumption she made in the morning. A few brown hairs could just be seen at the top of his chest and he was noticeably sun tanned. He wore his Omega watch on his right wrist from which she deduced, correctly, that he was probably left handed. He was slightly taller than the web page photographs of him suggested and his hair longer. She deliberately avoided any awkward shaking of hands and having exchanged the introductions made her way to the table.

The predominant conversation while waiting to order their meals and wine was, unsurprisingly, about Cindy: the exact nature of her injuries, how many days she was kept in hospital, how she was coping around the house and other small talk. She managed to reciprocate the questioning a couple of times and learnt that Gordon's cuts and bruises were very minor and of no consequence to him. He seemed willing to talk and she found conversation easy with him. They both quickly relaxed and by the main course they were chatting as if they had been friends for years. Gordon told her of Mealag Lodge and made her laugh as he described the scene of the executives rapid descent into chaos and farce within minutes of alighting from the Transit van.

“I should have liked to have seen that,” said Cindy.

“Maybe you will sometime, if you would like to. It's usually pretty much the same on all of the courses, which is why I like to observe their arrival.”

It was obvious that Gordon was not the sort of person to make such an apparent throw away invitation unless he meant it, and the muscles in her stomach involuntarily fluttered with excitement. Gordon could indeed have told her more such stories but the two of them were so enjoying listening to each other and making comments that no single subject dominated their time. As the coffee was being served, either deliberately or inadvertently, (Cindy was not sure which) Gordon let it be known that he had never married and there was no one in his life.

In addition to his home in the Highlands, Gordon had mentioned he had sold his business a while back but still had a property company and a London apartment. They quickly discovered their common interest in Southern Greece, though Gordon did not tell her that he owned an extremely large villa in Monemvasia. She thought that slightly curious but assumed it was probably because he did not want to appear to be immodest or showing off. Cindy deliberately did not mention her husband Alan; neither did Gordon.

They were so absorbed with each other that it was 3:30pm before Cindy glanced at the ostentatiously ornate wall clock mounted high above the original black iron fireplace, and suggested that perhaps they ought to leave as she couldn't face another coffee. Gordon offered to drop her home, but she declined saying untruthfully that the cab firm was only a few minutes away and started keying on her mobile before he could interject. Gordon called for the bill which he insisted on paying despite Cindy's pleas that she wanted to thank him for being of such comfort when she was injured. Gordon remarked how much he had really enjoyed their meeting and, somewhat awkwardly and hesitatingly, enquired if they could meet up again soon. Cindy's heart leapt and she accepted the invitation a little too quickly, but she didn't care.

“I have the plaster removed in a couple of weeks and then I should be able to drive, but I can make lunch again next Tuesday here, same time, if that's OK.”

“Agreed then,” he said and then continued, “it has been really great to meet up and I'm so pleased your leg is pretty much healed. I shall look forward to next week very much.”

The taxi finally arrived and as they stood, Gordon took her arm and led her to the waiting car. He made no attempt to kiss her but just lightly squeezed her hand as she settled into her seat.

“Thanks again,” he said as he shut the door.

“And you too, Gordon. Take care, bye” and with that she gave a quick wave out of the window and was gone.

Gordon opened the door of an ordinary saloon car and as he sat behind the wheel gave a long, soft whistle through his teeth. He thought that Cindy Crossland was one hell of an attractive woman and he knew that he was about to embark on an adventure, but to where it would lead he had no idea. Cindy spent the journey home regretting she had suggested meeting again seven days later. She wished she had said tomorrow.

The next few days passed slowly and uneventfully for both Cindy and Gordon. She sent him a short text message thanking him for the meal and saying again how much she had enjoyed it, and he responded with a brief ‘Ditto. See you next week. G'.

In marked contrast to his wife, Alan Crossland was enduring some mounting difficulties. The three officers comprising the financial investigation team of the Anti-Terrorist Unit had paid a visit and asked to go through the bank's records. Alan knew that it was not a request, but merely politeness that they posed the question. They indicated they might be two or three days, which caused Alan to gulp deeply before he offered them the exclusive use of the interview room. Their first request was to ask for a printout of all the bank's open accounts, of whatever type, detailing account holder(s), numbers and summary balance of financial information for each. The second request was to obtain the same information for all accounts closed in the past twelve months. They asked if the same data could also be supplied on optical disks or tapes and suggested that whilst that was being gathered perhaps he might like to discuss any particular problem accounts or concerns he may have regarding any of his clients or overseas banks that conduct business with the Hannet-Mar. Thus began almost a day of questioning and probing, which at its conclusion left Alan exhausted and irritated. He hoped he had not shown it.

The requested data, copied across to commercial tape drives, was obtained late afternoon and the ATU decided to continue their work the next morning. They arrived in an unmarked car along with a marked police van, which did nothing to dispel Crossland's anxiety. They unloaded several computers, printers and associated equipment, and set them up in the interview room. At 4pm, one of the officers produced a printout of thirty two accounts and asked if he might have full computer access for these accounts plus a look at the paper files. Alan said stiffly that he was sorry but it was not possible to give anyone unfettered access to the bank's own computer systems, but if it helped he would make a senior member of staff available to sit with them. The member of staff would access the full computerised record of any account they wished and they could ask for the detail they required. This satisfied the ATU and Alan asked Glen Simmons, who was one of the brightest young managers at the bank and regarded by Alan as something akin to a computer whiz-kid, to undertake whatever was needed in the quickest possible time. Simmons was a wise and sensible choice and by mid-morning on the third day the list had been reduced to seven accounts, all of which were marked as Code G, and for which Alan was sole keeper of the paper files. The ATU senior officer and Alan then met to discuss the files. The officer asked to see certain documents for himself and every so often jotted down some notes which were then handed to another officer who disappeared into the interview room before returning. Alan found the whole experience quite unnerving. They had finished with four files when the officer asked for the Chalthoum Universal Holding file. Again he made some notes which were passed to the interview room.

“I see this is a recent account with two deposits made, one as recently as a week ago” the officer remarked casually, but it was a question, not just a statement of fact, that invited comment from the bank manager. Alan knew of the subsequent deposit when a further £100,000 had been deposited by Halima Chalthoum through the El-Hamisra Bank of Cairo, the same bank but a different branch as before, and was able to respond in positive terms.

“Yes, it is. I hope it turns out profitable for all concerned,” Alan said blandly, giving a typical banker's reply.

“When did you meet with Halima Chalthoum? I see the original email refers to a discussion.”

“Actually, I haven't seen her. She telephoned me and I was initially very reluctant to take such instructions from someone I didn't know so I turned down her initial approach. She then said I had been recommended to her by a friend of mine and asked what I would need by way of verification and certification as it was impossible for her to fly to London. I told her, but stressed that I would need to make very detailed enquiries before I could agree to open an account. The next I knew I received the email.” Alan was beginning to sweat despite the air conditioning.

“That is highly unusual isn't it?” asked the officer.

“Well, er, no, not necessarily. As you will see from the file, there are certified photographs – even an Affidavit if I remember correctly – plus impeccable references, one from that long-standing friend whom I would trust implicitly. Ms Chalthoum represents a very important consortium. You can see their impressive prospectus is also in the file.”

The officer did not respond directly but asked another question. “I see you opened the account and actioned the email on the 7
^th
July. Why that particular day? Why not earlier?”

Bloody hell, of all days
thought Alan, as he recognised the date of the London bombings.

“I had only just returned from holiday and that was my first day back.” He lowered his voice adding sombrely, “in fact my wife was quite seriously hurt by the Liverpool Street bomb, suffered a broken leg and other bits and pieces. We travelled to London together but I got off at Liverpool Street.” If Alan thought this might invoke some sympathy and introduce a slightly less formal note in their discussion, he was mistaken.

“Yes, I suppose you would get off there. I'm sorry to hear about your wife; I hope she recovers soon. Sadly others, of course, lost their life. I presume the bank logs all phone calls and retains a recording of them?”

Crossland smiled. “You must appreciate we are a very traditional, rather old fashioned bank and that, sadly, extends into our use of what I would call hi-tech equipment like that. So, no, we don't have automated recording but you will be pleased to hear that the Board have agreed to install a system next year.”

The officer fiddled with the papers. “I think that will be fine, perhaps we should go onto the next one. Oh, one last question. Why is the Chalthoum file marked Code G? I can appreciate why the others are, their size and political sensitivity etc but this Chalthoum case just looks pretty ordinary. Other than the highly unusual circumstances of not knowing the client, it would appear this case has little to merit your personal involvement.” The question caught Alan slightly off guard and he stumbled over his words.

“It is. Well it isn't, but might be. I will probably remove the code if the account amounts to very little but I thought this might be a promising new client and really only marked it G so that I could monitor its early development, especially, as we said earlier, since I hadn't met Ms Chalthoum.”

The officer closed the file saying nothing and the remaining accounts were discussed until they had concluded them all. He then stood up, thanked Alan and walked into the interview room. “Anything turn up?” he enquired.

“No,” answered a young man in civilian dress from one of the computer stations.

The officer however was not convinced that all was in order at the bank and had noticed that Crossland had seemed ill at ease during certain aspects of the interview. He also regarded some of the bank procedures as less than transparent, especially in relation to Crossland's own files, and would ask the other agencies for some help to ensure that each and every transaction on the manager's personal accounts would be monitored very closely indeed.

“We're finished then,” he said. “When we get back, I want all those code G accounts fed into the Watch system. If anything moves on those, I want to know. Continue running checks against every name we have from the last lot of files and let Five know the names as well, particularly that Halima Chalthoum woman. Maybe the gooks will find something we can't, if not get our overseas friends to help. ”