Lynda La Plante: Royal Heist

Wilcox had stupendous energy and required only five hours’ sleep a night. He practically rattled with the vitamin pills he swallowed in handfuls every morning. He ate sparingly, drank little, and smoked only the occasional cigar. His one vice was cocaine; he snorted mountains of it and depended on it to kick him into gear every day.

Wilcox was not as wealthy as Driscoll or de Jersey, but through wise deals in the car trade he had turned his earnings from the robberies into a lucrative business. At one time he had owned restaurants and garages, but he had recently liquidated the majority of his holdings in favor of a semiretirement plan: he planned to pack up and live abroad. He had stayed on in England all these years only to educate his six kids. Since all of the older teenagers now either boarded at school or were heading for university, and only the twins still lived at home, it would be simple now to send them to boarding school, move to Geneva, and keep just a small house in England.

Wilcox and de Jersey had left Sandhurst at around the same time. Wilcox, though, had been thrown out for punching an officer. He had been enjoying his semiretirement, content to buy and sell expensive cars. The last robbery the three had pulled off had set him up for life. Like his hero de Jersey, Wilcox was legitimate now, but over the past few years he had overstretched his finances, unable to resist women and top-of-the-range motors. So when de Jersey had suggested the Internet venture, he had agreed to join in. At first, Wilcox had been uneasy about what de Jersey was going to propose. He discovered that Driscoll too was loath to get involved in any further criminal activity. But de Jersey had soon eased their worries. In fact he had laughed. He wasn’t in any way going to suggest another robbery, far from it. “The Colonel’s retired, my friends,” de Jersey said. “I am about to offer you the chance to double your savings, no risk, nothing illegal.”

He explained in detail. The investment was a new Internet company with its main base in the United States. He had inside information that, if they invested now, they would become billionaires within six months. De Jersey had seen his investment treble. So the three of them had become the main investors in leadingleisurewear.com. They released millions, and their shares doubled, then trebled, then skyrocketed. The company’s Web site became one of the most popular in the country, and the press heralded the enterprise as a major success. Wilcox even remortgaged his house to invest more.

He was leaning back drenched in sweat in the chalet sauna when Rika opened the door. She was wearing a silk wrap, her long blond hair was in a braid, and her face was taut with anger. “I fund dis inda luggage!” she snapped.

“What?” He wrapped a small towel round his waist.

“I’m nut stupid, Jimmy,” she shouted. “I bring ta Aspen da Christmas presents you give me, the ones from you to me and to da children. So who is diss for?” She wafted a ring box in front of his nose.

He stood up, towering over her, then walked out.

“Don’t turn da back on me. I hate you!” she screamed.

He sighed, taking the box and flicking it open. “Don’t you recognize it, Rika?”

“No, I do not.”

“Well, you should. Go back to last Christmas, to that charity dinner. Sylvester Stallone was there. We were at the same table as Goldie Hawn.”

“Vat about it?” she said, her hands on her hips.

“Well, this ring is identical to the one Goldie Hawn was wearing, which you admired. She said it was from a local jeweler, so I ordered one for you last year but it wasn’t ready in time. I paid for it and asked them to keep it for me. Yesterday I picked it up. It’s three diamonds on platinum and yellow gold. You don’t want it? Fine, I’ll chuck it out of the goddamned window!”

He strode to the window, and she ran after him. “No, don’t! I am sorry.”

“Yeah, well, you ruined the surprise. I’m getting sick of this, Rika.”

She started to cry, and he wrapped his arms around her. After they kissed, she slipped on the ring.

“Can I finish my sauna now?” he asked.

“Yes, I make breakfast. I so sorry. I just love you so much.”

He walked into the sauna and closed the door. It was all a lie, of course. He’d bought it for Cameron, his mistress in England. He had just poured pine essence over the coals when the door opened again. “A call for you.”

“Who?” he snapped.

“I not know. You want me to bring it in here?”

“Yeah.”

She returned a minute later and passed him the cell phone, then backed out and closed the door.

“Wilcox,” he said.

“Hello, Jimmy,” came the soft reply. “It’s the Colonel.”

His stomach lurched.

“Listen, this isn’t a social call, it’s bad news, so I’ll give it to you straight.”

Wilcox listened without interruption as de Jersey outlined the Internet crash. “But I don’t understand. Can’t David Lyons sort this out?”

“’Fraid not, Jimmy. He’s dead. He topped himself.”

Wilcox was meticulous about how his food should be served, and Rika had it down to a fine art. Fresh white linen napkins lay next to the fine bone-china plates and coffee cups. She had changed into a navy ski suit. “I’m meeting the boys on da slopes. Will you see later?”

“I have a few things to do. Maybe we could meet for lunch, take the boys to the hamburger joint.”

“But you no like dat place.”

“I know, but they love it. Tonight I’ll arrange a nice place for us to go and eat, maybe dance. What do you think?”

She curled her arms around him. “Vatever you vant. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

She cupped his chin in her hands. “You vould tell Rika somethink happen if it’s not good, yes?” she asked.

“Of course. Go on, now, see you later.”

She paused at the door. She was seeing something in Wilcox that she had never seen before. Something was weighing him down.

He smiled. “Now, go on, go meet the kids.”

This time she left, and he closed his eyes. His entire fortune, bar a few hundred thousand, had gone. David Lyons had killed himself and, as he sliced the top off his egg, Wilcox wished he had done it for him. He did not blame de Jersey; it had been his own decision to bankroll the Internet company. And he still trusted de Jersey to get them out of the mess. Deep down, though, he was afraid. He wondered if de Jersey would have to resurrect the Colonel.

De Jersey sat at his desk jotting notes. An opened newspaper had an article ringed in red about the falling prices of Internet stocks. Some compared it to the Wall Street crash. The headline screamed, TYCOONS WHO LOST A BILLION OVERNIGHT and THE STARS WHO SAW THEIR INTERNET FORTUNES CRASH. Five British investors had lost a billion in less than a year; five others had lost more than half a billion. The only compensation for de Jersey was that his name was not mentioned in any of the press reports.

Leadingleisurewear.com had grown into one of Europe’s largest Internet retailers as well, but it had now been confirmed that they had brought in liquidators. The company had spent nearly 230 million pounds since its inception eighteen months previously. Staff at its New York headquarters learned that the fledgling enterprise had collapsed, taking with it the entire backing of its investors. The founder, Alex Moreno, admitted that the company had failed to control costs.

De Jersey wrote and underlined the man’s name on his pad. He turned back to his computer, took out one disk, and slotted in another. He continued scrolling through David’s reports, which detailed previous companies started by Moreno. Apparently, he had successfully launched four companies on the Internet over the past six years. In a lengthy article, Moreno expressed his deep regret but said he still believed leadingleisurewear had been on the right track in aiming to become the largest Internet retail clothing business in the world. He admitted they had spent money too freely opening lavish foreign offices in Britain, Germany, and Sweden, and offering perks to lure the best employees.