Robert Young - Gatecrasher

‘It’s a long story.’

‘And while we’re at it what on earth is this charade? I thought I was meeting an old business associate.’

‘I know that, I had it set up,’ Campbell replied. How much of the story should he tell? How much would the other man really want to hear? The idea crossed his mind that Asquith was starting to play along now as a stalling tactic. Perhaps he had some way of signalling someone or a prearranged time when he should have reported in.

‘Very resourceful, young man.’

‘I’m not so clever, or resourceful. Just scared.’

‘Well I’m confused. Do go on.’

‘OK.’ He stared at the ceiling for a moment. Where to begin? ‘Right then. The guy that left the memory stick with me, the one with the evidence of what your old business partner was up to in West Africa?’

Asquith nodded for him to go on and Campbell recounted everything. The original hiding place of the stick, the break in at his flat and the night with Slater and Gresham in the east London lock-up. He told him about his escape and his subsequent flight to Cornwall where he was found and attacked and his return to London, running out of options and deciding finally that he might have to go to the police but being snatched before he could do so. He told him about the showdown in the house where Walker had been gunned down and the deal that he had struck with Gresham.

He left out any reference to Sarah, unwilling to involve her any more in the whole situation. If he could bring the other man around to his way of thinking then all this could end and Sarah would be in the clear and him too and then they could try to get back to having normal lives again.

‘Come on. Who would have access to that information? Who was best placed to know exactly what had gone on? Who would be in a position to maintain ties with you down the years, to be able to get to you whenever they decided they needed to? Someone who had influence and capital, someone with nous and business sense and intelligence.’

‘Dear God,’ Asquith muttered.

Campbell looked him in the eye and nodded, happy and relieved that the old man had finally got it, surprised that it had taken him so long to figure out.

Asquith’s expression was almost as if Campbell had just told him that it was his own mother. ‘Andrew Griffin?’ he said.

Wednesday. 7pm.

The room was silent and Horner’s mask of self assurance had slipped just a little. Griffin was staring out of the window now looking relaxed and as though he were simply appreciating the view across the park outside and the glittering skyline beyond.

‘You know something Michael? I feel slightly ashamed. Underestimating you the first time around was one thing. I didn’t know you well enough then to have been able to get your true measure. But twice? That’s inexcusable really. I should have seen this coming.’

‘Is it worth it Andrew?’

‘And what’s that?’ he said, finally turning to look at Horner.

‘Is it worth turning down a six figure sum — the security of your family, your future — just so you can preach to me for a few short moments? Make it good.’

‘My family? My future?’ Griffin’s tone was mocking now and he looked as if he might start laughing. ‘Always the cheap shot isn’t it? Always the obvious approach. No subtlety about you, no vision, that’s the problem. No tact. It is always the way with men like you whose self-regard is so divorced from reality. They say that childhood ends the moment you realise that the world does not revolve around you. You should think about that.’

‘Moral instruction and philosophy too? You do surprise me Andrew. Are you finished?’ Horner’s anger was barely concealed, Griffin’s words stinging him as much as the rejection of his offer which still lay there, a small black stain on the polished veneer of the table.

‘With you Michael, yes. Quite finished. Good night.’

Michael Horner was facing the window when the door closed but he could see the triangle of reflected light grow and then fold into nothing in the plate glass. He watched the night for a minute longer and then decided that he shouldn’t ought to waste the Bordeaux he had arranged for and got up and poured himself a glass.

‘Of course. Andrew has access to all of the records at any time he wants them. He must have known for years, perhaps even decided years ago to do something like this. What an opportunity! And the money of course to set up the stock purchases, the nous to know where to place them, how to layer them. The perfect cover too because, after all, why would he jeopardise his own livelihood? His own firm?’

Daniel Campbell watched as Asquith became more animated and then finally stood and began pacing, barely pausing even to look in his direction.

‘He could arrange the break-in with minimal damage, make it look like industrial espionage. He played the subservient role perfectly of course. Yes Geoffrey, of course we are working around the clock to resolve all of this! Oh dear, Geoffrey, you’ll never guess what they took! All the time manipulating me, feeding me exactly the right titbits at exactly the right times…’ Asquith stopped and turned to Campbell. ‘You’ve got to hand it to him I suppose.’

Campbell was shaking his head. Asquith frowned at him and stopped talking.

‘Its not Andrew Griffin,’ Campbell said and Asquith stopped his pacing. ‘Andrew’s been played just as effectively as you. He was supposed to come running to you, to say all the things he said about finding out what had happened and then what had been discovered. That just helped move all the pieces into position.’

Asquith’s frown hadn’t shifted at all but Campbell thought that he saw something flicker.

‘For God’s sake! It’s Michael Horner.’

‘Michael?’

‘Yes. Of course. He’s been in banking all his life, you know that better than anybody. He has all the cover in place for the deals through his business interests. He has directorships in two offshore investment funds and a majority shareholding in another one. He would have been able to sanction any large purchase of stock as Director, instruct the purchases through different companies at different times almost as if it were the everyday motions of the business. He bought up stock personally as well as through his business interests.’

‘But that’s preposterous. I know Michael. We’re friends for God’s sake. He would never dream of something like this.’

‘And what about the diamonds? Would he dream about doing that?’ Campbell tried to fight down the anxiety in his voice. Asquith, who had seemed so fired up when he thought he had pinpointed Griffin as the culprit, seemed positively crestfallen now and Campbell wondered if he would be able to convince him after all, particularly if the man didn’t want to be convinced.

‘But …I mean that was years ago. I know this man! And who are you? Some spider, come to spin a web of tales and lies. I know Michael. We have a long relationship together, we spent years building that company up. Are you trying to tell me that Michael really orchestrated all this, this break in, this so-say attempt to have you killed? This blackmail of me, one of his oldest associates?’

‘Yes. Precisely. What risks was he taking? He knew that he could contain any leaks because he would be stealing the information himself. And that led them to you, through Griffin who had no choice but to remain silent. And then, when he thinks things are going wrong he uses his contacts to get to me and tries to have me eliminated, murdered for Gods sake! He probably figured that you’d go along with it. Why not, it’s your decision after all who get these contracts, why shouldn’t they go where you say? You’ve read the tenders, the information, you’re hard working, diligent, trustworthy. It wouldn’t be the first time something like this has happened in the British establishment and it would be forgotten in a month or two.’