Tom Clancy - Command Authority

“Kill you? Is that right?” He did not believe the American.

“You ever watch the news? Corby? A couple hours north of London? Four dead Russians.”

Malcolm Galbraith sat back down now.

Jack said, “Yeah. That was all about you.”

“What are you on about?”

“I’ve been digging too deep into your case. I found out this guy Dmitri Nesterov was tied up in this, and then suddenly a group of Seven Strong Men assassins came over from Ukraine to stop me, and to kill one of my contacts.”

The Scottish oil services tycoon softened his tone. “You are completely serious.”

“I’m afraid I am.”

“Why isn’t Castor telling me any of this?”

Jack decided to level with him. “Mr. Galbraith, I think it is very possible that Mr. Castor is somehow… compromised by Mr. Nesterov.”

Malcolm Galbraith stared Jack down for an uncomfortably long time. Jack thought he was about to meet resistance in his theory, but instead, Galbraith said, “Castor’s a fucking crook.”

Jack raised his hands and began to temper his comment. “I can’t say for sure just what—”

The Scotsman said, “I knew he worked with sketchy, powerful Russians. I just didn’t know he worked with the sketchy, powerful Russians who took my money. Who is this contact they want dead?”

“He’s an old British spy. I don’t know how he is connected yet, but I’m hoping you can help out.”

“Name?”

“Oxley. Victor Oxley.”

“Never heard of him,” Galbraith said, disappointed.

“He was involved in a case in Switzerland in the 1980s. That case, believe it or not, involved RPB.”

“The bankers killed by Zenith.”

“That’s the story. Nothing proved.”

“Yes. I remember. I was banking at RPB at the time.”

“I came to you hoping you could help me connect the dots between the murders there and the theft of your property. Oxley and Castor are connected, but the same Seven Strong Men henchmen who tried to kill Oxley also had been following me while I worked on your case. I don’t know why.”

“The connection, lad, is the Russians.”

“What do you mean?”

Malcolm Galbraith pressed a button on his desk, and a female voice came over the intercom.

“Sir?”

“Tea for me, coffee for my new friend.”

“Right away, sir.”

Galbraith and Ryan had moved to a parlor; in front of them was a tea and coffee service, and Ryan was putting it to good use. He’d slept little in the past twenty-four hours, and he didn’t know when he’d get another chance to rest.

Galbraith’s mood had made a 180-degree change since the moment he learned Jack wasn’t up here with a business proposition. The old man even apologized for his appearance, telling Jack he’d been working on one of his classic cars in his garage and had not bothered to change because he expected nothing more than a visit by a shyster junior analyst.

As they sipped their beverages Galbraith got into his story about RPB. Jack wanted to take notes, but he wasn’t about to break the flow by asking for paper and a pen, so he just listened very carefully.

Galbraith said, “Shortly before the death of Toby Gabler—he was the first of the two bankers to die—he came to a friend of mine who held some assets at RPB. Gabler said he had a client who wanted to buy out hard assets the man held in safety deposit boxes.”

“What kind of hard assets?”

“Gold. Don’t know the value but this bloke had gotten out of the markets and put everything in gold bars. The deal fell through, don’t remember why, but immediately after—I’m talking like the next day—Toby came to me and tried the same thing. He said he had a client with a problem. The client had funds in a numbered account, but he didn’t trust the system anymore. He had to get the funds out of the bank in a hurry, couldn’t transfer them to another bank because of some sort of corporate dispute. Toby hinted the men were East European. Didn’t say they were Soviet, that I would have remembered.

“At the time, I had multiple drilling operations going in the North Sea, I’d done quite well for myself when oil prices went up in the seventies, and I had a deal in the works with one of the young Saudi princes to expand my operations into the Middle East. To do this, I had arranged some hard assets.”

“What kind?”

He shrugged. “The prince liked gold. Turned out it was a good investment. I thought he was crazy. Anyway, I began amassing it for the deal, and I kept several safe-deposit boxes full of bars at RPB.”

“Okay,” Ryan said. He realized the man was talking about some sort of a kickback, but there was no shame in his voice. “What did Gabler say?”

“Toby said he operated as an agent for his client. Said he’d pay way beyond top bloody dollar for the lot of my gold. I had over one hundred million, laddie. At what he was offering for it, I would be a fool not to take the deal.”

“What happened next?”

Galbraith lifted his teacup and laughed. “I was a fool. I didn’t take the deal. I knew the Saudi contract could pay me for decades, so I hung on to the gold, despite the offer. Sadly, the prince was arrested by his brothers and I never made a shilling.”

“And then Gabler was killed?”

“Yes. And Wetzel, one of the VPs of the bank. Didn’t know him. The Germans were blamed, as you know, and that was the end of it. I didn’t learn anything else about the affair till the early nineties, when I got a visit from a group of Russians.”

“KGB?”

“No, no. Far from. These chaps were just accountants. At the time Russia was swirling down the toilet, and they were in search of a mysterious black fund of ex-KGB money filched from Soviet coffers. They were quite up-front about it, and they only came to me because I had mentioned the affair with the RPB gold offer a few times at cocktail parties and the like. That got back to these accountants.” He laughed. “I remember thinking that the new Russia didn’t stand a chance because the KGB had been replaced with these friendly accountants asking friendly questions. Little did I know the KGB would eat blokes like that for lunch soon enough and take charge once again.”

“Did you learn anything from them about this black fund?”

He leaned forward. “No. Nothing to speak of, other than the obvious fact they didn’t think the RAF killed Swiss bankers in the eighties. Instead, it was clear to me, someone in the KGB stole the money, had it in a numbered account at RPB, and somehow KGB found out where the money was.”

“Any idea how?”

“No, but I can guess. I’d wager KGB was already inside RPB. Whoever stole the money and parked it there either didn’t know this or else they thought they were cleverer than they were. Word got to KGB that other Russians were moving large sums of money into the West. The KGB came looking for answers. When this happened the account holder made Gabler run around looking for someone inside the bank who had hard assets so they could physically take the money and run.”

Jack said, “But we don’t know if they found anyone to do the deal with.”

“We don’t,” Galbraith said with a smile. “But I have a suspicion who does.”

“Who?”

“Hugh Castor. Hugh and I knew each other from Eton. We weren’t chums, but I knew enough to know he was in the security services. When the Russian accountants met with me and asked me all the questions, I passed on all the information to him. He was quite excited by the prospect of missing KGB riches. He even had me introduce him to the president of RPB.

“I found out later Castor himself became a client of the bank. He grew quite wealthy over the next few years—this was the nineties. He was connected in the new Russia, left MI5 and went into private-sector intelligence. I knew he was trading in information, and that’s why, when I lost my company there last year, I went straight to him. I thought he’d be able to clear the matter up with his inside connections.”