Not a Penny More, Not a Penny Less (14 page)

They lunched together at the Empress, James’s
favourite eating place in town. He told Anne why it had been Lord Clarendon’s
favourite restaurant as well–”ah,” he declared, “the millionaires are just a
little fatter and the mistresses are just a little thinner than in any other
restaurant in London.”

James invited her to go and see one of The
Norman Conquests. He had chosen the Alan Ayckbourn plays as they formed a
trilogy, so if they enjoyed the first, he would be able to invite her to see
the other two.

The play was a resounding success and they
agreed to see the others. Anne was the first good thing that had happened to
James for a long time. The next ten days shot by and James spent more time with
Anne than he had bargained for. When Thursday came he had no plan to place in
front of the Team. He only hoped they were in the same position and the whole
exercise would be abandoned.

He travelled to Oxford in his Alfa Romeo and
was again last to arrive at Magdalen. Stephen, Adrian and Jean Pierre greeted
him with open arms. Oh hell, he thought, they all look very confident.

S
tephen shook James warmly by the hand the
way the Americans will and gave him a large whisky on the rocks. James took a
gulp to give himself a bit of Dutch courage, and joined Adrian and Jean Pierre.
By unspoken mutual consent, the name of Harvey Metcalfe was not mentioned. They
chattered inconsequentially of nothing in particular, each clutching his
dossier, until Stephen summoned them to the table. Stephen had not, on this
occasion, exercised the talents of the college chef and the butler to the
Senior Common Room. Sandwiches, beer and coffee were stacked neatly on the
table, and the college servants were not in evidence.

“This is a working supper,” said Stephen
firmly, “and as Harvey Metcalfe will be eventually footing the bill, I have cut
down a bit on the hospitality. We don’t want to make our task unnecessarily
hard by eating our way through hundreds of dollars per meeting.”

The other three sat down quietly as Stephen
took out some papers.

“I will start,” he said, “with a general
comment,
I have been doing some further research into Harvey
Metcalfe’s movements over the next few months. He seems to spend every summer
doing the same round of social and sporting events. Most of it is already in
the file. My latest findings are summarised on this note, which should be added
as page thirty-eight of your dossiers. It reads:

Harvey Metcalfe will arrive in England on
June 21 on the
Q.E.2
docking at
Southampton. He has already reserved the Trafalgar Suite for his crossing and
booked a Rolls Royce from Guy Salmon to take him to Claridge’s. He will stay
there for two weeks in the Royal Suite and he has debenture tickets for every
day of the Wimbledon Championships. When they are over he flies to Monte Carlo
to his yacht
Messenger Boy
for just
over another two weeks. He then returns to London and Claridge’s to see his
filly Rosalie run in the King George VI and Queen Elizabeth Stakes. He has a
private box at Ascot for all five days of Ascot Week. He returns to America on
a Pan American jumbo jet from London Heathrow on July 29, Flight No. 009 at
11:15 to Logan International Airport, Boston.”

The others attached page 38 to their
dossiers, aware once again how much detailed research Stephen had undertaken.
James was beginning to feel ill and it certainly was not the sandwiches that
were causing his discomfort.

“The next decision to be taken,” said
Stephen, “is to allocate the times during Metcalfe’s trip to Europe when each
plan will be put into operation. Adrian, which section would you like?”

“Monte Carlo,” said Adrian without
hesitation. “I need to catch the bastard off his home ground.”

“Anyone else want Monte Carlo?”

Nobody spoke.

“Which would you prefer, Jean Pierre?”

“I would like Wimbledon fortnight.”

“Any objections?”

Again, nobody spoke. Stephen said:

“I am keen to have the Ascot shot and the
short time before he returns to America. What about you, James?”

“It won’t make any difference what period I
have,” said James rather sheepishly.

“Right,” said Stephen. “At the moment Jean
Pierre goes first, Adrian second and I am third. James will fit in according to
how this discussion goes.”

Everybody, except James, seemed to be
warming to the exercise.

“Now expenses.
Have all of you brought cheques for ten
thousand dollars? I think it wise to work in dollars as that was the currency
Discovery Oil shares were purchased in.”

Each member of the Team passed a cheque to
Stephen. At least, thought James, this is something I can do as well as the
others.

“Expenses to date?”

Each passed a chit to Stephen again and he
began to work out figures on his stylish little HP 70 calculator, the digits
glowing red in the dimly lit room.

“The shares cost us one million dollars.
Expenses to date are $142 so Mr. Metcalfe is in debt to us to the tune of
$1,000,142. Not a penny more and not a penny less,” he repeated. “Now to our
individual plans. We will take them in the order of execution.” Stephen was
pleased with that word. “Jean Pierre, Adrian, myself and finally James. The
floor is yours, Jean Pierre.”

Jean Pierre opened a large envelope and took
out four sets of documents. He was determined to show that he had the measure
of Stephen as well as of Harvey Metcalfe. He handed round photographs and road
maps of the West End and Mayfair. Each street was marked with a figure,
indicating how many minutes it took to walk. Jean Pierre explained his plan in
great detail, starting with the crucial meeting he had had with David Stein,
and ending with instructions to the others.

“All of you will be needed on the day.
Adrian will be the journalist and James the representative from Sotheby’s.
Stephen, you will act as the purchaser. You must practise speaking English with
a German accent. I shall also require two tickets for the whole of Wimbledon
fortnight on the Centre Court opposite Harvey Metcalfe’s debenture box.”

Jean Pierre consulted Stephen’s note.

“That is to say, opposite Box No. 17. Can
you arrange that, James?”

“No problem. I’ll have a word with Mike
Gibson, the club referee, in the morning.”

“Good. Finally, then, you must all learn to
operate these little boxes of tricks. They are called Pye Pocket Phones and I
had the devil of a job getting a licence from the Home Office and a registered
wavelength, so treat them with respect.”

Jean Pierre produced four miniature sets.

“Any questions?”

There was a general murmur of approval.
There were going to be no loose ends in Jean Pierre’s plan.

“My congratulations,” said Stephen. “That
should get us off to a good start.
How about you, Adrian?”

Adrian relayed the story of his fourteen
days. He reported on his meeting with the specialist, and explained the toxic
effects of anticholinesterase drugs.

“This one will be hard to pull off because
we will have to wait for the right moment. However, we must be prepared at all
times.”

“Where will we stay in Monte Carlo?” asked
James. “I usually go to the Metropole. Better not make it there.”

“No, it’s all right, James, I have
provisional reservations at the Hotel de Paris from June 29 to July 4. However,
before that you are all to attend several training sessions at St. Thomas’s
Hospital.”

Diaries were consulted, and a series of
meetings arranged.

“Here is a copy of Houston’s Short Textbook
of Medicine for each of you. You must all read the chapter on First Aid. I don’t
want any of you to stick out like sore thumbs when we are all dressed in white.
You, Stephen, will be coming to Harley Street for an intensive course the week
after next as you must be totally convincing as a doctor.”

Adrian had chosen Stephen because he felt
with his academic mind that he would pick up the most in the short time
available.

“Jean Pierre, you must attend a gaming club
every evening for the next month and learn exactly how baccarat and blackjack
are played, and how to be able to play for several hours at a time without
losing a great deal of money. James, you will learn to drive a small van
through crowded streets, and you are also to come to Harley Street next week so
that we can do a dry run together.”

All eyes were wide open. If they pulled that
one off
they
could do anything. Adrian could see the
anxiety in their faces.

“Don’t worry,” he said, “my profession has
been carried out by witch doctors for a thousand years. People never argue when
they are confronted with a trained man, and you, Stephen, are going to be a
trained man.”

Stephen nodded. He commented that academics
could be equally naive. Had not that been exactly what had happened to all of
them with Discovery Oil?

“Remember,” said Adrian, “Stephen’s comment
at the bottom of page thirty-three of the dossier... ‘At all times we must
think like Harvey Metcalfe.’” Adrian gave a few more details of how certain
procedures were to be carried out. He then answered questions for twenty-eight
minutes. Finally, Jean Pierre softened:

“I thought none of you would beat me, but
that is brilliant. If we get the timing right we will only need an ounce of
luck.”

James was beginning to feel distinctly
uneasy as his time drew nearer. He rather wished he had never accepted the
invitation to the first dinner and egged the others into taking up Stephen’s
challenge. At least the duties he had been given in the first two operations were
well within his scope.

“Well, gentlemen,” said Stephen, “you have
both risen to the occasion, but my proposals will make more demands on you.”

He began to reveal the fruits of his
research of the past two weeks and the substance of his plan. They all felt
rather like students in the presence of a professor. Stephen did not lecture
intentionally. It was a manner he had developed and, like so many academics, it
was one he was unable to switch off in private company. He produced a calendar
for Trinity term and outlined how the university term worked, the role of its
chancellor, vice chancellor, the registrar and the secretary of the University
Chest. Like Jean Pierre, he supplied maps, this time of Oxford, to each member
of the Team. He had carefully marked a route from the Sheldonian Theatre to
Lincoln
College,
and from Lincoln to the Randolph
Hotel, with a contingency plan if Harvey Metcalfe insisted on using his car,
despite the one-way system.

“Adrian, you must find out what the vice
chancellor does at Encaenia. I know it can’t be like Cambridge; the two
universities do everything the same but nothing identically. You must know the
routes he is likely to take and his habits backwards. I have arranged a room at
Lincoln to be at your disposal on the final day. Jean Pierre, you will study
and master the duties of the registrar at Oxford and know the alternative route
that is marked on your map. James, you must know how the secretary of the
University Chest goes about his work–the location of his office, which banks he
deals with and how the cheques are cashed. You must also know the routes he is
likely to take on the day of Encaenia as if they were part of your father’s
estate. I have the easiest role because I will be myself in all except name.
You must all learn how to address each other correctly and we will have a dress
rehearsal in the ninth week of term on a Tuesday, when the university is fairly
quiet.
Any questions?”

Silence ruled the day, but it was a silence
of respect. All could see that Stephen’s operation would demand split-second
timing and that they would have to run through it two or three times, but if
they were convincing they could hardly fail.

“Now, the Ascot part of my plan is simpler.
I will only need Adrian and James in the Members’ Enclosure. I shall need two
Enclosure tickets, which I am expecting you to acquire, James.”

“You mean badges, Stephen,” said James.

“Oh, do I?” said Stephen. “I also require
someone in London to send the necessary telegram. That will be you, Jean
Pierre.”

“Understood,” said Jean Pierre.

For nearly an hour the others asked several
questions of detail in order to be as familiar with the plan as Stephen was.

James’s mind drifted again, hoping the earth
would open up. He even began to wish that he had never met Anne, although she
was hardly to blame. In fact, he could not wait to see her again. What was he
going to say when they
... ?

“James, wake up,” said Stephen sharply. “We’re
all waiting.” All eyes were now fixed on him. They had produced the ace of
hearts, diamonds and spades. But had he the ace of trumps? James was flustered
and took another drink.

“You bloody upper-class twit,” said Jean
Pierre, “
you
haven’t got an idea.”