Ian Hamilton - The disciple of Las Vegas

“Good. And when do you expect to use them?”

“Today.”

“I will not say anything to Chang yet. Let’s wait to see how things go.”

“Yes, I think that’s best. But in the meantime, Uncle, I could use some help getting information. His name is Jeremy Ashton. He’s English and he worked for the Whiteburn Group in New York. I would like to speak to one of his former bosses or colleagues. Whiteburn has a big presence in Asia. We must know someone who’s worked with them, someone who can exert enough influence to find me a contact to talk to.”

Uncle paused. “I think I may know someone myself, and if I do not, then Chang might. And if he does not, between us we will find what you need.”

It was her turn to hesitate, a question about Jackie Leung on the tip of her tongue. She left it there. If Uncle had any news he’d tell her. “I’ll call after we’re done. It could be early in the morning your time.”

Ava turned off her phone and went back to the computer. She reread the data she’d already dug up on Ashton and then googled a name that was linked to his several times: Lily Simmons. Ava was impressed. Simmons seemed to be something of a party girl, but she attended only the best parties. She had gone to the finest schools — Marlborough and then Cambridge — and she had been a champion show jumper, representing Great Britain internationally, including in one Olympics. Now she worked for Smyth’s Bank in London, and Ava assumed that’s how she and Ashton had met. Her mother was Scottish, the daughter of a peer whose title was hereditary. Her father, Roger Simmons, had been a successful businessman who manufactured generators and then turned to politics. After being elected to the British House of Commons and serving three years as a backbencher, he had been appointed to the Cabinet and was now minister of industrial development. Ava saw that he was still listed as the major shareholder of the generator company. Given that the British political system operated much like Canada’s, she assumed his assets were being administered by a blind trust.

She has great pedigree, Ava thought, and then wondered why Simmons was linked to Ashton. What was the connection? She knew enough about England to know that a man from Sheffield who had attended Leeds University and now ran an online gambling site would hardly be a catch for a woman in her social circle. He’d be strictly downmarket to someone like her.

She drank another coffee and downed two Tylenols. Her hip was feeling better, but the pain in her ribs wouldn’t let up. She got up and took a long, hot shower.

When she had dried herself off, Ava put on her bra and panties. Normally for this type of job she would have thrown on a T-shirt and a pair of track pants. Instead she chose her black linen slacks, a white Brooks Brothers shirt, and her black Cole Haan pumps. She dressed slowly, carefully inserting the jade cufflinks, securing her chignon with the ivory pin, slipping her Cartier watch onto her wrist, and finally putting on her gold crucifix pendant. She went to the bathroom and applied black mascara and a light touch of lipstick, and then for good measure a spritz of Annick Goutal perfume. She stood back and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. I may not feel confident, she thought, but I sure as hell look that way.

She made a fresh coffee and then went over to the table where she’d left the gear. She loaded the gun and put it in a paper bag for Carlo. She put the cleaver in a separate paper bag. Two rolls of duct tape and the vial of smelling salts went into her Chanel purse. Then she retrieved her notebook and sat down next to the computer. Taking out copies of the emails she had received from Jack Maynard, Felix Hunter, and Martin, she started going through them, her focus not on entering the house but on what would happen when she was inside.

Ava knew the money wasn’t going to be all in one place — this was not going to be a simple one-time transaction. Douglas and Ashton had the holding company and a controlling interest in The River. Undoubtedly each of them also had personal accounts and assets spread out over various locations. One way or another she had to get at both of them, and she also needed time to execute multiple transactions.

She glanced at her cellphone and saw that she had missed calls; her phone must have rung while she was in the shower. There was a message from her mother telling her about the planned cruise, which she implied had been her idea. That didn’t take long, Ava thought. Uncle had called to say he had found a contact at Whiteburn and to expect a call. Maggie Chew had left a message saying that her father was out of intensive care but the doctors were worried about his will to get better. Ava deleted the messages and had turned back to her paperwork when the phone rang.

“Ms. Ava Lee?”

“That’s me.”

“My name is Jeff Galley.”

“I’m sorry, I don’t know you.”

“I was told to call you by Harold Knox.”

“And I don’t know anyone named Harold Knox.”

“Mr. Knox is chairman of the Whiteburn Group.”

“Oh, yes,” Ava said. “I’m sorry about the confusion.”

“Evidently Mr. Knox was speaking with a friend of his in China, who requested that someone from Whiteburn call you to chat about Jeremy Ashton.”

“And that’s you?”

“It is.”

“Good. So tell me, how do you know him?”

“I worked with him for three years, side by side.”

“What kind of work?”

“We were on the investment side, mainly doing analysis — real drone work.”

“You’ve moved on since then, I imagine.”

“I’m a senior manager. I handle the energy sector.”

“You’re American?”

“A New Yorker.”

“Jeff, let’s talk about Jeremy Ashton. I need to understand him — professionally, personally, it makes no difference.”

There was a long pause. “Personally?”

“I’m assuming that Mr. Knox told you to be candid.”

“I didn’t actually speak to Mr. Knox. George Hall called me — he’s my boss. Mr. Knox called him. George didn’t say anything about personal. I thought this was more of a professional reference kind of thing.”

“So do I need to call my friend in China, so he can call Mr. Knox, so Mr. Knox can call Mr. Hall, and Mr. Hall can call you back to tell you to give me what I want?”

“No, you’ve made your point.”

“Good, and thank you. Now, what was Ashton like to work with?”

“Well, you never really worked with Jeremy. He was on a little island, looking after himself. When it came to the job, he was a loner, a one-man band.”

“Selfish, self-centred?”

“Yeah.”

“Secretive?”

“Absolutely.”

“Give me an example.”

“The job he ended up with is almost perfect for Jeremy. The guys behind that gaming site came to Whiteburn looking for funding. The first and only guy they talked to was him. He was still kind of junior but he was the first point of contact, and he saw an opportunity to get into something from the ground floor and leapt at it. The only reason we found out they had approached Whiteburn at all was because the IT staff cleaned up his computer after he left. There was a long email trail.”

“A conflict of interest, surely.”

“Yeah, but so what? In our business that’s called taking the initiative. No one cared. Besides, it was a fairly small placement.”

“Did he make many friends at Whiteburn?”

Galley snorted. “Hardly. Jeremy thought he was too good for us and he didn’t hesitate to let us know. I mean, he had the Oxford education, the fiancee connected to royalty, the big-shot future father-in-law. He was always harping on about how bush-league Whiteburn was. He came from Smyth’s Bank in London, and his girlfriend was still working there. Smyth’s is, I admit, the penthouse of investment banking but, I mean, we’re hardly the fucking basement.”