The Keepers of the Persian Gate (13 page)

“I was not, you wanker. I’m on my way to the pub,” replied the man, pushing Paddy away.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean…”

“Whatever, you prick,” said the man as he stormed off.

Paddy was beginning to wonder whether the stress of the day, combined with the few drinks he’d had in the afternoon, had affected him. After taking a few minutes to cool off, Paddy continued down to Fleet Street. He walked along to the very ornate entrance of the Old Bank of England. Paddy took a chance that the man smoking a cigarillo by the entrance might be Mark, and said hello. “Mark?”

“Paddy…?”

“Yes, nice to meet you,” said Paddy. The pair shook hands.

“Excellent to have you here,” said Mark.

“Not at all, thank you for inviting me.”

“Unfortunately, the old girl can’t make it. She’s too busy with work, so we can afford to let our hair down a bit,” said Mark.

“Isn’t it a school night?” joked Paddy.

“Well, the only person checking up on you tomorrow will be me,” said Mark.

“Ah yes, that’s the thing…Will’s expecting a brief from me about some issues early tomorrow morning. I had hoped to get back to the office to do some work into the early hours,” said Paddy.

“Nonsense, forget that. I’ll send him a text now to wind his neck in,” replied Mark.

Mark pulled out his phone and typed up a text message, then showed it to Paddy. The message read: ‘WD, cancel meeting with Paddy tomorrow morning. Giving him “the Induction’”.

Paddy laughed. “So, what’s the plan?”

“Well, we’re eating here, and we’re going to meet a few well-established clients in the form of the Timpson Brothers,” said Mark.

“Don’t they own the Spectacle Newspaper Group?”

“Yes. But I’m not advising them in their capacity as owners of a newspaper. I’m advising them in their capacity as the owners of an island called Brecqhou in the Channel Islands. I think you’ll find it most interesting. Oh here, where are my manners…Cigar?” asked Mark.

“Why not?” said Paddy.

Although he would indulge in the odd social cigarette, Paddy hadn’t had a cigar since the days of law school formals in the grand Dunstable Hall in Norfolk. He peeled off the wrapping and lit it up, coughing upon the first inhale. Mark burst into hysterics. “Not a smoker, eh?”

“It’s been a while!” replied Paddy.

“You know, this place has quite the ugly history. It supposedly lies between the old barber shop owned by Sweeney Todd and Mrs Lovett’s pie shop. Could you imagine if these walls could talk?” said Mark.

When Mark and Paddy had finished talking, the pair walked into the main bar and restaurant area. The surroundings seemed to be a perfectly preserved piece of London’s past, harking back to a bygone era. The restaurant manager approached Mark. “Mr. Glover, we have your table ready in the vault and your guests will be here shortly.” They were led through a side door down and down a set of old steps which brought them into an opulent medieval cellar.

“Isn’t this something?” said Mark.

“Is this the actual vault?” asked Paddy.

“Well, it’s where the old vault used to be. It used to store gold bullion right up until the building was sold by the Bank of England,” replied Mark.

“Yes, indeed, rumour has it Sweeney Todd used to take his victims down here,” said a voice coming from the stairs. Paddy and Mark turned to see two old men who Paddy instantly recognised as being the Timpson Brothers.

“Frederick! David! How are you both?” said Mark.

“Excellent, thank you,” replied Frederick.

“Very good, Mark, brilliant to see you on such short notice. Where’s your lovely girlfriend?” said David.

“Oh, she’s very busy tonight. So I’ve brought one of our new chaps along in Paddy Trimble.”

“Nice to meet you, gentlemen,” said Paddy.

After everyone had made their introductions and exchanged pleasantries, the four sat down to a large dinner courtesy of the owners of the Old Bank of England. To start was baby lobster, followed by sorbets au champagne to prepare the pallet for the main course of jowl of pork with fennel, mousserons and elderflower honey. The meal concluded with a chocolate soufflé. As the night progressed into cheese board and port, lips were becoming looser and looser.

“So, Paddy, as I explained to you, these chaps own Brecqhou, which is an island in the Channel Islands, a tenement of Sark. The noble brothers here believe that they have a case for declaring it independent of Sark which is a fiefdom or crown dependency of the UK,” said Mark.

“You see, Paddy, we believe that the constitution of Sark was not designed to include our little island,” said David.

“How do you figure that?” asked Paddy

“Well, it doesn’t mention it, for one,” said Frederick.

“What’s the plan once you declare it independent?” asked Paddy.

“Well, the plan is Dunlop & McLaine will negotiate with the Privy Council, whom we also represent. They will recommend to the Queen and in turn the current government that Brecqhou should be cease to be a Crown Dependency and instead join the Commonwealth. Simultaneously, Brecqhou will become a principality or something similar,” explained Mark

“It means we can pay no tax, and effectively be answerable to nobody,” said David.

“Wow. Why would the government agree?” asked Paddy.

The French were interested in the islands due to potential gas reserves. In recent months, there had been rumours that the French were beginning to pursue a policy which would have the islands returned to French control. However, if the islands were declared principalities of the Crown, their future in the British Commonwealth would be ensured.

“So, in many ways, we are acting in the best interests of both of our clients,” explained Mark.

“Just shows money can buy anything,” Paddy thought to himself.

After the dinner, the Timpson Brothers parted company with Paddy and Mark. Paddy turned to Mark and asked where they were headed next.

“Greek Street!” said Mark.

“Where’s that?” asked Paddy.

“Soho. It’s a gentleman’s club that I frequent at this stage of the evening. You’ll love it,” replied Mark.

The pair walked down to the club while each enjoying another cigarillo. Mark certainly was much more jovial than his past history would have led one to surmise. He was extremely friendly and managed to appear interested in everyone he spoke to - a unique trait for a lawyer. As they were walking, Mark noticed that Paddy’s watch had stopped working.

“Here, let me take that off you. Major Howard’s a good chap for this sort of thing. He makes watches as a hobby. He’ll have that back to you in no time,” said Mark.

Paddy handed Mark his watch as they turned on to Greek Street. It was strange to see a cul-de-sac in the middle of London, but there it was. They walked the length of the street before reaching a blue door.

“Here it is. Now, there’s a secret knock.” Mark tapped the door twice sharply, and then gave the door three gentle bangs with a pause in between each, followed by a single thump. The door opened.

“Who goes there?” asked the doorman.

“Mr. Livingstone,” replied Mark.

“Ah, but of course, come in, Mr. Livingstone,” said the doorman.

“Livingstone?” asked Paddy.

“Ah yes, all members go by pseudonyms here; you’ll learn why in a moment,” explained Mark.

As they walked up the stairs Paddy entered a den of sin like nothing he had seen before. Middle-aged men getting lap dances, women snorting cocaine off coffee tables, and champagne by the bucket load. Paddy walked up to the bar with Mark.

“Two large Lagavulins, please,” said Mark to the barman.

A waiter took Paddy and Mark’s blazers as they sat down in one of the quieter corners of the room. Paddy noticed that as the waiter did so, Mark gave him a bit of a wink. He didn’t think much of it at the time, as he was well on his way with the amount of alcohol he had consumed over the course of the evening. Paddy thought this might be a good opportunity to question Mark on a few aspects of the firm. “Mark, it would be silly of me not to bring this up…”

“I already know what you’re gonna say. Where on earth did I find Vera?” replied Mark.

“No actually, I was going to ask you about some of your previous work,” said Paddy.

“For God’s sake man, I take you to a place like this and you want to talk about nothing but work,” replied Mark.

“Sorry, it’s just - you were SAS, weren’t you?” asked Paddy.

“I’ll show you the tattoo later if you want proof?” replied Mark.

“You were also an international observer in the Iraq Weapons Inquiry, weren’t you?” pressed Paddy.

“Yes, so?” replied Mark.

“Well, what about the rumours - all that stuff about the build up to the Iraq war? About planted evidence?” said Paddy.

“Paddy, if the truth be told, it was all just a series of unfortunate events and bad intelligence, combined with an extremely conservative American regime, that led us to war in that place. Trust me, Paddy, if you think there was some sort of grand conspiracy, you’re looking in the wrong place,” said Mark.

“Well, what about Operation Paget?” asked Paddy.

Mark explained how William Dunlop led the Royal investigation into the Princess Diana’s death. Apparently, at the conclusion of his investigation, he closed the books, ordering the firm to delete any and all papers relating to it. The investigation itself operated independently of the other judicial and government investigations of the time. One thing they could never figure out was why an SAS helicopter disappeared from CCTV footage of their base at Hereford and was missing for a period of forty-eight hours. There were no planned operations in the area during this period, and there was no record of the helicopter ever having left the base. Yet from the day before Diana’s death to the early hours of the morning after, that helicopter disappeared from that base.

“It all seems a little far-fetched though, doesn’t it?” said Paddy.

“It usually is, in reality. One thing I do know for sure is that there are always illegitimate elements operating in the background. Dunlop & McLaine was, for example, approached by Harold Wilson in the 1970s, then Prime Minister of the United Kingdom. Wilson was terrified that members of the Privy Council were planning a coup against him. He asked us to carry out an investigation. However, we were unfortunately not allowed to accept this instruction on the basis that were conflicted. We represented the Privy Council. Nevertheless, unofficially, we did send out some feelers and we discovered that there was something happening. Really quite frightening when you think about it…Whether it would ever have been successful is an entirely different matter,” explained Mark.

Mark’s phone was ringing. He pulled it out. It was Catherine Wood calling.

“Oh, bollocks!” said Mark.

“The missus?” guessed Paddy.

“Yeah, hopefully she won’t call again,” said Mark.

The phone buzzed with a text. Mark didn’t show the message to Paddy, but it read: “Mark, If you’re in Greek Street you’re dead, get home now or that’s it.”

“Right, Paddy, the lady of the house has commanded me to return home. I’m afraid we’re going to have to call it an evening,” said Mark.

Paddy was really okay with this as it was already well past 0100 hours. He thought he might even be able to make it into work in the morning without too much of a hangover if the night ended now.

“That’s ok Mark, no worries,” said Paddy.

“We’ll continue this another time,” replied Mark.

The club itself operated a private taxi service for its members so that they could keep clear of prying eyes and taxi drivers in the pocket of the press. Once he had loaded a very drunk Mark into the unassuming Audi that arrived to pick him up, Paddy made the short stroll back to Doughty Street. Although he was quite drunk, Paddy wasn’t completely hammered and he was looking forward to having a glass of water and going straight to bed. He had forgotten that he didn’t even have his keys.

When Paddy got to his door of his apartment, however, he found it to be lying ajar. Inside, the place was absolutely trashed. The cushions and pillows had all been ripped open, the cupboards had all been opened, and the contents of Paddy’s bags were now spread all over the floors. The back window was smashed, although it seemed strange to Paddy that the intruders had managed to make it to a second floor window in an apartment block, let alone smash the window, without being seen. When he walked to the window he also noticed that there was no glass on the inside; rather, the glass was lying outside on the ground two floors below. Whoever had broken in hadn’t come through the window. Paddy counted his blessings that he still had the memory stick in his possession; however, his immediate concern was for the hard copy papers which Will had given him earlier. Paddy removed the bottom drawer to uncover the safe in which he had placed the papers prior to leaving for dinner. It was still locked and the intruders had not found the papers.

“Thank God for that!” Paddy muttered to himself.

Chapter 8

Mens Rea

PADDY AWOKE TO THE SOUND of his phone alarm and realised that he had only managed about five hours sleep. He rolled over to check and see whether what had happened the night before wasn’t all just a bad dream. However, when he rubbed his eyes it was clear that the flat had indeed been trashed. His suspicions shifted back to the individual he thought might have been following him the previous evening. It may have just been the case that someone knew the apartment had been empty for an extended period of time and was just waiting to pounce.

Before going to bed, Paddy had made a point of e-mailing the head of security at Dunlop & McLaine to inform him of the break-in. Paddy found it exceptionally odd that nothing had been stolen, which would perhaps indicate that someone knew he had sensitive information in his possession. Once he got showered and changed, he left his apartment and went to shut the door. He instinctively reached into his blazer pocket to find the key that he had thought he had left in the apartment the night before. “That’s very strange,” he thought to himself; the key had returned.

As he walked out the front door of his building, he noticed some commotion further down the road. When he came closer, he realised that there were news crews collected outside Dunlop & McLaine. Paddy slowly walked up to the crews and pushed his way through the crowd. An area just at the side of the road had been cordoned off by the police and Major Howard was fielding questions from journalists. Paddy approached one of the members of the press.