It’s five o’clock on a beautifully warm cloud-free morning in Monaco.
Wearing an immaculately tailored suit and hand-made Italian leather shoes, Eddie Slater walks alongside the Fontvieille harbour where Alexis’s new super-yacht will soon be moored. If it wasn’t for his shaven head, his broken nose and a jaw-line like a busted breezeblock the smartly dressed psychopath might even appear to be a gentleman.
Turning the corner of Quai Jean-Charles Rey, the bodyguard approaches one of the many sandy coloured ‘neo-provençal style’ residential blocks that occupy so much of the available land-space. Smoking as usual, he stops outside the entrance where up on the 5th floor, his VIP boss owns a sea-view apartment. Perched high above on the cliff that overhangs the harbour, the Palace of Monaco looks down upon the beautiful azure waters and the multitude of luxury yachts.
Monday mornings always follow the same well-drilled routine and with perfect timing, Alexis makes his appearance moments later. The pair then walk, side by side, for 300m along the sea-defence wall to the Heliport. Within minutes they are in the sky, fast-tracking toward the flight-prepared Cessna Citation waiting at Nice airport.
*
At 6am, timed to coincide with Alexis and Eddie being in the sky over France, synchronised dawn-raids commence on the homes of the four senior portfolio managers.
Eight-person strong collaborative deployments of investigators from the Serious Organised Crime Agency (SOCA) and the Financial Services Authority swoop on the exclusive addresses spread across the commuter-belts of Oxfordshire, Kent and Surrey. At each house the family’s morning routines are rudely interrupted by a loud knock on the door. When opened, a uniformed policeman is standing on the doorstep to show the householder a signed search warrant. As officers enter each of the four homes, children cry in bewilderment and trophy wives scream-out for their horrified husbands to ‘Do something!’
Troops of officers begin carrying away armfuls of computers and paperwork from each family home. The four men: David Pritchard, Mark Harvey, Oliver Robertson and Ben Willington can only stand open-mouthed in disbelief. They never thought this day would come. Protesting their innocence, they try to maintain some semblance of dignity as they’re removed from their executive homes in marked police-cars that have been conspicuously waiting in the background since the foray began.
Awoken neighbours pull back curtains to catch glimpses of the shameful scenes being played-out on next door’s gravelled drive. Faces fill with disdain as their over-active imaginations jump from one conclusion to the next as to why the ‘man next door’ has just been taken away by the police.
Laptops, smart phones, i-pads, memory sticks, games consoles, hard-drives, CD’s and DVD’s are all seized. Anything with the facility for the storage of electronic data is ‘bagged and tagged’ before being loaded into a waiting transit van for later examination.
*
At the same time, a synchronised operation is in progress (though rather more discretely) at the highly exclusive ‘Mayfair Astoria’ in Stratton Street, in which Alexis’s presidential penthouse suite occupies half of the top floor. A smartly suited plain-clothes officer approaches the attendant receptionist. Quietly and calmly he asks to see the duty manager and with a guarded show of his warrant card he leans over the desk, adding in hushed tones “It concerns a private matter.”
Once the duty manager has fully understood the situation, he asks for a show of sensitivity and discretion before allowing the uniformed officers waiting in a white van at the end of the street to use the rear delivery entrance and the service elevators at the back of the building. Once they’ve been given entry, they begin to search Alexis’s suite for evidence. The SOCA/FSA team quietly and professionally sweep the penthouse for paperwork, electronic devices and digital storage media. All such items are catalogued and removed. The search is so thorough that one of the officers even finds five little plastic zip-lock bags hidden in a water cistern in one of the en-suite bathrooms. Each looks to contain something like a gram of fine white powder. After firstly taking photographs of them in-situ, the officer in charge declares that he suspects them to contain Class A drugs and he has them removed as evidence.
*
In Hill Street, Mayfair, just around the corner from Alexis’s residence, another team begins a raid on Eddie Slater’s rented apartment. The officers get one of the tenants to let them in through the communal entrance and from there they go straight to up to the top of the grand staircase to begin drilling-out the bodyguard’s door lock.
Inside, a pervasive stale smell emanates from the overflowing ash-trays. The deployment is surprised to find so few possessions as they move from room to room. There’s a flatscreen TV, a few basic pieces of furniture and the only electronic items worth removing are a games console along with a selection of highly violent video-games.
The larder is sparsely stocked and the kitchen cupboards and drawers are practically empty except for a few utensils and a couple of plates and bowls. In the bedroom, there’s a mattress on the floor, apart from that, the space is filled with a vast array of fitness equipment. There are no books, no DVD’s, no computers, no ornaments, no pictures or decorations and no house plants either. The only ‘furnishings’ that exist are the curtains, and they undoubtedly came with the flat when it was let-out. The team have been briefed to look for fire-arms and knives, but despite their best efforts, no weapons of any description are found.
*
At 5:58am Lombard Street is all quiet and peaceful.
Sixty seconds later, three transit vans and three mini-buses arrive in convoy, stopping just outside the Kronos Headquarters. Made-up of 15 officers from SOCA, 15 from City of London Police and 20 FSA employees, this is the biggest of all the raids being simultaneously deployed this morning. The SOCA officer in charge alights from the lead mini-bus and walks up to the front door. Impatiently, he buzzes for attention via the small intercom panel. After a brief exchange of words, the nightshift security guard decides it’s best interest to cooperate and he proceeds to open-up the front door. A thorough examination of the search warrant confirms it to be bona fide, so he can only stand aside and contacts his line manager to explain the situation.
The lead officer signals for his team to enter the building without delay. Obeying his instructions the search team begin exiting their vehicles and start pouring into 60 Lombard Street.
Safe in the knowledge that there are no employees on the premises to obstruct them, they take inside dozens of empty crates, stacked on tri-wheeled trucks, and begin systematically setting about their allotted tasks.
*
The Cessna Citation descends smoothly on its approach over the Thames estuary; in the final stages the pilot flares the aircraft to ensure its touch-down is as gentle as possible. It takes just a few minutes for him to taxi over to the south-west corner of the airfield and on reaching the Jet Centre ramp he’s directed to an available parking location by the attendant ground staff.
Just before 7am (and bang on time) Eddie opens the cabin door and descends down the steps onto the asphalt. As normal, he proceeds over to arrivals, but as the bodyguard waits at the immigration control booth, instead of having his passport handed straight back to him the officer retains it and then looks nervously across at two nearby security guards. As soon as they see his nodded signal they begin walking forward. Confused, but not panicking, Eddie decides it’s sensible just to find out what the problem is. But rather than offering any explanation, the serious-faced guards merely invite him to accompany them over to an office on the far side of the arrivals hall.
“Look, I really haven’t got time for this. I’m very busy and I’m on a tight schedule. Please understand, I’m not trying to be difficult, it’s just that I really don’t have the time for any nonsense.”
“I’m sure you can spare us just a few moments sir, please take a seat in here as there’s a small detail we need to check. It won’t take long I promise.” The more senior of the two guards has a kind face, but Eddie can sense his anxiety. The senior man nods his head reassuringly over to the small office just a few steps away. The door stands open.
“I promise we won’t keep you more than a few minutes.”
Eddie hasn’t got time for these clowns, but he’s not in a position to argue either. So he steps inside and sits down on one of the two plastic chairs that are placed either side of a small table. The two officials leave without saying a word, shutting the door behind them, something that Eddie finds both rude and odd. Within seconds the door opens again and two gigantic police officers the size of barn doors enter. Suddenly the small office seems very crowded indeed. “Please stand up sir.”
Slater can’t for the life of him understand what the hell is going on. This surely must be some kind of a mistake, so it seems foolish to attempt to fight his way out of the room, after all…if these gorillas are as dumb as they look, he’ll most likely be released without charge after answering whatever stupid questions they have.
Deciding to co-operate, Eddie stands to his feet. He figures so long as he doesn’t antagonise them and keeps his mouth shut…
“Please turn around and face the wall.” Eddie compliantly does as he’s told. “Now put your hands behind your back.” Eddie lowers his head and then shakes it in disbelief. He has no other choice but to do as he’s asked. Inevitably they clamp handcuffs across his brawny wrists. “Edward Archibald Slater, I am searching you under Section 60 of the Criminal Justice and Public Order Act 1994, under the suspicion that you may be in possession of a dangerous weapon and evidence relating to an investigation into alleged insider dealing.”
As soon as they have uttered those words, the larger of the two officers begins to pat him down. His wallet is removed, then his keys and his cell-phone. Eddie’s now realising that this is just the start of what’s going to become a very bad day.
“Come on pal” says the slightly smaller of the two gigantic policemen, in a deep, guttural voice, “let’s all go and take a look at your car…then after that you can accompany us to the station to answer a few questions.”
As the hulking policemen lead him out of the office, Eddie sees that there are a second pair of coppers, almost as big, standing just outside. He’d certainly made the right decision not to resist; perhaps he should be flattered…they’d certainly come mob-handed and were well prepared for trouble.
Eddie is leaving the arrivals hall just as Vasilakos is entering. The Greek stops in his tracks as he sees his bodyguard being placidly led away by two enormous policemen. Now he notices the other pair of uniforms who have remained behind and sensing the danger he stops dead in his tracks. Initially, the two officers seem pre-occupied with watching Eddie being escorted away, but then they turn their eyes in his direction, and with no one else in the hall, there’s no confusion as to whom they are looking at.
Still rooted to the spot Alexis looks back at the Jet Centre ramp and thinks of turning-tail and getting back onboard his aircraft, but the plan has one fatal flaw. His chubby mouth falls open causing his sagging jowls to wobble. A team of police officers are ascending the steps and entering the private jet that he’s only just disembarked from.
Intent on having them ejected at once, Alexis’s rotund frame moves for the glass door, but he finds himself being held back.
Alexis struggles valiantly, but he’s unable to shrug off the attentions of the two policemen holding onto his shoulders. “What’s the meaning of this? Get your filthy hands off me this instant! And tell your retarded colleagues to get off my private property! I want to see identification! I want your numbers and the name of your commanding officer! You’re making a big mistake, I can promise you that! Do you have the slightest fucking idea who I fucking am?!”
“You are Alexandros Vasilakos and you’re coming with us.” But Alexis has no intention of submitting to their ‘authority’.
“I’m not coming anywhere until you begin treating me with some respect. What right do you think you have to tell me what to do?! I said get your filthy hands off me this instant!”
But the officers do not remove their hands, they only tighten their grip as Alexis tries to pull himself free of his tormentors. When he continues to resist, one of the two officers places a boot behind his knee and pressing down hard against the top of his calf they drop him to the floor. As his corpulent body writhes and bucks, he attempts to kick out at them with his short stubby legs, but it’s wholly ineffective against the strength and weight that’s holding him down.
Now handcuffed and sweating profusely, Alexis expends what little bit of fight he has left, but the officers keep him pinned to the floor and repeatedly tell him to calm down. When Alexis’s resistance finally stops it’s simply down to sheer exhaustion. The two policemen help their restrained detainee to his feet so they can man-handle him towards the same office where Eddie had been held only a few minutes earlier.
Having told him he’s about to be searched and having explained why, they examine Alexis’s wallet, they confiscate his phone and the memory stick he keeps hung around his chubby neck. With no further energy to resist, he begins to verbally harangue them. “Call yourself copper’s?! You’re a laughing stock! An embarrassment! You should be out protecting the public from muggers and rapists! You really have no idea who you’re dealing with. By the time I’m finished with your superiors you’ll be booted off the force never to work again. Give me my property back and give it back RIGHT NOW!”
His tirade is relentless. “If so much as one thing goes missing I’m going to be holding you two fuckwits fully responsible!”
The two uniformed officers show remarkable restraint throughout the volley of abuse. “I’d think very carefully if I were you…release me now and I might not make an official complaint about your heavy handedness. You clearly don’t understand the big mistake you’re making, but you will…. VERY SOON! Now get these fucking handcuffs off me!”
Outside, Eddie Slater is co-operating fully with his police escorts. And reckoning that his detention is purely in connection to Alexis, he believes he has little to fear, as there’s nothing to connect him with any of the Greek’s insider dealing practices.
He takes them over to the brand new Mercedes S-Guard in the airport car park, where a tow-truck is waiting to remove the £300k vehicle for forensic examination. Before he sees it winched onto the flatbed, he informs the policemen that if they bother to look in the glove-box they’ll find his unlicensed hand-gun. Unsure of whether he’s joking or not, one of the two officers dons some latex gloves and cautiously approaches the front passenger door. Moments later, he holds up the semi-automatic pistol by his index finger, and asks rhetorically “Is this yours sir?”
He’s more than happy to take the rap for the possession of an unlicensed firearm and as he’s being taken to North Woolwich police station to be duly arrested he thinks ‘Smart move. -That’s all they’ve got on me, but I bet Alexis won’t be getting off as lightly!’
*
At this same moment in time, Alexis has just been bundled into the back of a City of London police car and he continues to berate the officers sitting up front. “Look, I think we may have gotten off on the wrong foot, but I assure you this must be some kind of mistake. I insist on talking to the Police Commissioner straight away and then perhaps then we can get this whole mess cleared up.” The officers are still doing their level best to ignore him, but his indignant protestations continue unabated. “Hey! I told you to contact the Police Commissioner, this instant; I have to speak to him immediately.”
The officer sitting in the driver’s seat turns round to look at the small fat man who’s making all the big noise. Alexis is pleased to see he now has their attention, however the policeman looks him dead in the eye and tells him firmly. “You are in no position to be making demands Mr Vasilakos. I am arresting you on suspicion of insider dealing; you do not have to say anything, but it may harm your defence if you do not answer in questioning something you later rely in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
“I can assure you, there has been some kind of a dreadful mistake!” he’s infuriated to have been read-out his rights. “I run a totally legitimate business and have never broken the law in my life!” Taking a breath, he calms himself down and lowering his tone somewhat he continues “Look at me, can’t you tell that I’m a respectable businessman?”
From their silence he knows he’s not getting a hint of empathy let alone a whiff of compassion. “I insist you tell me right this very minute who has accused me of insider dealing! Whoever the slanderous bastard is, he’ll be FUCKING SORRY he ever crossed me!”
Despairingly, the officers face forward once more. They start the engine and begin driving away. Alexis realises he’s not getting through to these cretinous buffoons. “Look, can’t you see that this is utter madness? You’ve got to listen to me; I’m an extremely powerful man.”
Still the police officers are unmoved, and Alexis decides at last that he may be wasting his breath. He shuts his mouth and begins thinking through his options. After five minutes of silence, Alexis suddenly has a curious thought. “Hey, we appear to be going into the Square Mile. Exactly where is it that you’re taking me?”
The policeman in the passenger seat responds positively: “I’m glad you’ve decided to calm down Mr Vasilakos. Things will work out much better if you cooperate with us. Perhaps if you stay relaxed for a little bit longer we may think about removing your handcuffs…And to answer your question we’re going to your headquarters in Lombard Street. There’s a search of the premises in progress as we speak, and the officer in charge has requested that we bring you over to assist.”
“You what?!”
“There is a signed search warrant authorising the complete search of your premises and just as your plane landed they radioed to say that apparently they’re going to need your presence to gain access to the basement.”
Just when he thought his day couldn’t possibly get any worse…“And what happens if I refuse to help?”
“You’ll be charged with obstruction and perverting the course of justice and you may end up spending a few months in prison for your trouble. Which is all a bit silly because they’ll still gain access eventually, but may cause considerable damage to your property in doing so.”
Vasilakos remains silent for the rest of the journey. For the first time in over 15 years he feels like a mere mortal. Things are out of control, people aren’t listening to him, his property is being defiled and his enemies have outflanked him. Hot blooded and bewildered, he’s so out of his mind with rage he’s struggling to think.
Who is behind this charade? Who has betrayed him? Who would dare start this war against him? Closing his eyes, he can see his father’s face, full of scorn and disapproval. Could his own flesh and blood have done this? It’s possible, but is it likely?
The Kavanagh girl? –Had she have gone over Vaughan’s head and handed damning evidence directly to Hillary Demming? No…though she had a big-mouth she’d got nothing but statistics, proved by the fact that she’d needed to ask John Gibson for help.
It’s got to be someone on the inside. Some snivelling, arrogant, ungrateful little upstart. One of the boys perhaps? He’s maintained a careful watch on them at all times and there’s been no sign of treachery. And even though he pays them well, that in itself is no guarantee of their unconditional loyalty. Maybe he’d trained them to be too greedy and this is the inevitable result?
Was it Pritchard? –Strong and smart. A natural successor, yes. But simply not ruthless enough.
Mark Harvey? –An intellectual snob but ultimately a coward. The spineless upstart would shit his pants.
Ben Willington? –A highly disciplined machine, uninterested in politics, fully focussed on his job. No…it couldn’t possibly be him.
Ollie Robertson? –Mmm, an impudent coke addict, a snake in the grass who’d love to see his boss’s fall from grace. Perhaps the little shit was being blackmailed by someone…?
What about Eddie Slater? –At first glance, reliable and loyal. However, can you ever trust a dangerous psychopath, someone consumed with bloodlust? A bully, a manipulator and a cold, emotionless killer. Slater’s recent lapses in professionalism had created this mess? For far too long Alexis had taken Eddie at his word that no evidence was being left behind after each ‘assignment’. Perhaps he’d lied? Perhaps he’d been covering up his many errors? Recently he’d been decidedly sloppy in his work. Perhaps the time had come to terminate their long-standing business relationship? Permanently. A bullet to the back of his skull should work; the problem would be in finding someone brave enough to do it…
*
When the patrol car reaches Lombard Street, it has to pull-up short of the bank because of all the white vans blocking the road ahead. Having helped Alexis out of the car, his police escorts make good on their promise and remove the handcuffs from Alexis’s swollen wrists.
Feeling battered and bruised, Vasilakos makes the officers wait as he rubs his sore wrists whilst scowling his resentment at them. When he’s finally ready, he allows himself to be escorted past the blockade of vehicles and walking across onto the pavement only now does he see the stream of men and women carrying crates of seized documents and computers out of his bank’s front entrance.
Shocked to see his financial empire being so brazenly plundered, he waits for a gap in the foot-traffic before stumbling inside. Dozens of people are jostling past one another in an effort to remove the huge volumes of confiscated evidence. Standing in the centre of his grand entrance hall, the Greek begins calling out pitifully “All of you, listen to me! You simply cannot do this! I command you to put everything back this instant!”
At this point the SOCA officer in charge abruptly stops supervising the clear-out and recognising the fund manager for who he is, walks over to attend to the formalities of introducing himself and showing him the search warrant. “I’m Detective Inspector Vincent Burrows from the Serious Organised Crime Agency and I’m in charge of this operation.”
He continues, barely pausing for breath, “Mr Vasilakos, it really is in your best interest to help us, because the sooner we finish, the sooner we’ll be off your premises.” The dumbfounded Greek remains silent, unsure quite how to respond. “Now…I do need to ask for your assistance. There are two highly reinforced security doors on this floor. Both of them are locked, and we need them opening.” Pointing firstly over to Eddie’s office “That one,” and then pointing behind the long reception desk he adds, “And this one over here.”
“Now…” the officer in charge shoots a glance at Vasilakos, “which one shall we take a look at first?”
“Well, even I can’t help you with the first one. The only person with the code for that door is my security advisor. –And I’d be amazed if he lets you in there, he only allows me inside about two or three times a year.”
“Ok, then that leaves this one. Come along…I’m sure you know how to operate this retina scanner.”
Hiding his irritation that they cannot recognise a far superior iris scanner when they see one; he nevertheless appreciates the fact that these Neanderthals are holding all the cards right now. As soon as he sees an opportunity to extricate himself from this mess, he will, but right now it’s probably best to retain his cool. For the time being he accepts the situation. “Oh all right, let’s get this farce over with.”
Having unlocked the single point of access down into the basement, the SOCA chief beckons over a small team of senior personnel to accompany him. “Jackie, Pete and Bill…stop what you’re doing and come with me.” The selected group gathers around the officer in charge and they follow him down the steps into Kronos’s inner sanctum. Alexis’s heart drops as soon as he recognises one of the group to be the copper who partners Detective Sergeant John Gibson.
*
At the bottom of the flight of stone stairs, Bill Warren remembers back to the last time he stood on this exact same spot, some 20 long years ago. But it’s no coincidence.
When your boss habitually assigns the same officers to the same sections of the city it’s no surprise that he should find himself here yet again. The head of CID at Bishopsgate had phoned him late last night to ask him to lead a team of fifteen City of London policemen assigned to join a SOCA/FSA dawn raid on the Kronos Headquarters. With seniority and prior knowledge of both the building and Alexis Vasilakos he had been the natural choice to lead his station’s contingent. And if it wasn’t for the fact that his partner was still on bereavement leave then John Gibson might also be standing alongside him to witness this.
Bill is aware of the silence. Everyone else in the basement (apart from the fund manager and himself) having been awestruck by the size of the massive round door to the bank vault. Vincent Burrows is the first to break the silence, “Jackie, check what’s in there please.” The FSA woman looks across to where the commander has indicated.
The plain door is unlocked and opens outwards. It feels several degree colder in the little room and as she momentarily steps forward she can smell something nasty as if there’s a long dead rat hidden somewhere inside. “Nothing in here guv. Just a couple of trolleys and a ramp for getting stuff in and out of the vault.” Jackie retreats and closes the door behind her to prevent the ‘funky’ smell from following her.
Nodding his acknowledgment, he now begins to galvanise the team into action, “Okay guys, listen-up! This computer over here looks important. Let’s get it disconnected and taken away.”
Alexis cannot stand by and allow this outrage to continue, “IT LOOKS IMPORTANT!!?!”
Speaking loudly and firmly, he commands those around him to listen. “Don’t even think about removing it. That machine processes over two-thirds of my fund’s financial transactions. That machine is my company. Remove it and you’re costing this business tens of millions of pounds worth of turnover each and every day. Remove it and I will personally demand that you compensate me for every single penny of that lost income.”
The Detective Inspector is in no mood for nonsense. He holds the search warrant aloft for all to see and then sets the record straight. “This gives me the authority to search these entire premises for evidence in relation to allegations of insider trading. Remove it.”
They obey Vincent’s command and move in. Once the supercomputer has been safely shut down Jackie squeezes behind the Cray’s black cabinet to disconnect the peripheral equipment and unplug it from the wall. The Detective Inspector makes the situation clearer to the fund manager: “Mr Vasilakos, we have very good reason to believe you’ve been using this computer for more than just automated trading, and for that reason, it and every other computer and electronic device in this building is being removed. Whether evidence is found or not, any costs or damage caused by this investigation cannot and will not be borne by the taxpayer.”
As the team shifts the Cray’s processor cabinet onto a stair-climbing truck, the FSA woman has space to stand back and look at the cables she’s just disconnected. Alongside the power supply and Ethernet cables, there’s a large grey ‘industrial’ looking feeder cable which appears to come down from the ceiling in a length of plastic conduit. Jackie is mystified. “Detective Inspector, you’d better take a look at this…”
Already knowing exactly what the young woman has just uncovered, Alexis can only look sheepishly away. Vincent responds by saying “Well, I think we know where that’s coming from.” The fund manager shoots a dirty look at the Detective Inspector but remains silent.
“Jackie, talk to the building’s security guard in reception and get him to take you up onto the roof. You’re looking for some mobile phone receivers…” Alexis is shocked. He’s now certain that someone from within his own organisation has betrayed him.
“Don’t be so surprised Mr Vasilakos, we have some excellent intelligence sources. I’m quite convinced we’ll soon discover the equipment you have hidden up on your roof.”
The fund manager opens his mouth to protest, then shuts it again without saying a word. He has indeed been found out. It seems the FSA and the police have taken him on, and won.
“Right then Mr Vasilakos, we’re now going to need to see what’s in this vault of yours. Please, assist us by entering the correct combination.”
Panic stricken, Alexis feels a wave of dizziness and nausea sweeping over him. Too stunned to move he begins sweating uncontrollably. “Eh…Detective Inspector, I think before we go any further I need to see my lawyer. Straight away, if possible.”
*
With Bishopsgate being the closest police station, Vincent Burrows tasks Bill with taking Vasilakos across to be detained in its cells, after (of course) allowing the Greek his ‘obligatory phonecall’.
In due course, Alexis’s long-time barrister faithfully arrives. Full of his own self importance, the silk insists on seeing his VIP client straight away.
There’s no need for introductions, Bill recognises him straight away as Rupert Freeman, a notoriously successful defence lawyer with whom he’s crossed paths with several times before in court. The ironically named ‘Freeman’ specialises in defending the rich (as they’re the only ones able to afford his colossal fees) and his sharp-witted brain has been so over-taken by knowledge of the law that there’s no longer space left for his conscience. On several occasions, Bill can recall how he’d given a jury seemingly conclusive and damning evidence in court only to see this sharp suited slime-ball bamboozle them with legal loopholes and technicalities.
By late afternoon, Rupert Freeman has come to fully understand his client’s precarious position and he advises Alexis that the best option is to clarify the situation in a private audience with the chief investigating officer.
Bill Warren duly requests the presence of DI Burrows over at Bishopsgate Station. Begrudgingly, Vincent agrees to leave 60 Lombard Street only because he’s so curious to understand why the fund manager is steadfastly refusing to open the vault.
Once the four men have assembled together in a small, stuffy interview room. Alexis’s counsel begins to speak on his client’s behalf. “To be quite blunt, Mr Vasilakos cannot allow you to open the vault because it will result in lives being put in danger.”
The Detective Inspector knows Freeman well, and suspects trickery. “I beg your pardon?”
The lawyer uncomfortably continues, “Fearing that the vault was about to be attacked, by…persons unknown, he…What I’m trying to say is that my client has taken certain precautions to safeguard the vault and now it is completely unsafe for anyone to enter.”
Bill had never seen the Freeman looking quite so flustered, and Vincent Burrows can’t quite believe what he is hearing. “He’s what?”
“My client has allowed an employee to fill the chamber with carbon monoxide gas, as a deterrent to rumoured plans of a possible robbery attempt.” Even putting the best spin on the situation that he can, the lawyer visibly squirms at his uncomfortable explanation. “He will open the vault door only if proper air-breathing equipment is provided to any persons in the vicinity as he doesn’t wish anyone any harm.”
On the other side of the table, Vincent looks at Bill Warren and Bill Warren looks back at the Vincent. There’s a long pause before the Detective Inspector checks he’s just heard the lawyer correctly. “I think you just told us that the bank vault has been rigged with lethal gas. And yet at the same time you’re trying to tell me that Mr Vasilakos doesn’t wish anyone harm. Is that what you just said?”
Summoning-up as much sincerity and humility as his theatrical abilities can muster; Rupert Freeman attempts to defend his client’s actions: “Clearly my client has made a very serious error of judgment. One that is totally out of character and he sincerely regrets what he has done.”
“Mr Freeman, this interview is terminated. Please remove yourself. Detective Inspector Warren, once you’ve handed Mr Vasilakos over to the custody officer, we have a few things we need to discuss.”
*
With Vasilakos returned to his cell once more, Bill walks back across to the interview room for Vincent to begin explaining how they’re going to deal with this shocking revelation. “Your commanding officer DCI Jenkins very kindly assigned you to this operation because of your previous knowledge of both the premises and the chief executive officer, Alexis Vasilakos.”
Bill nods in acknowledgement, and inwardly prepares himself for bad news…because it sounds like Vincent’s about to ask him to eat a shit sandwich, containing very little bread.’
“I’m going to be deputising you for a very special task. There are two rooms we need to get inside at Kronos Headquarters. Firstly, the locked security office adjacent to the foyer, and secondly, the vault itself. Now, I’ve been in touch with North Woolwich station, and the bodyguard is apparently refusing point-blank to assist us in opening-up his security office. So it appears he’s got something to hide. He knows it’ll mean added time to his sentence, but he simply won’t cooperate. And the vault, well Alexis wouldn’t defend it so recklessly unless there’s something very important he’s keeping in there.
Now…whilst I begin coordinating the dissemination and cataloguing of the data we’ve already collected and begin building a case, I’m going to leave it to you to gain access to the final two rooms. Kronos is effectively closed down until I say so. The premises will remain clear of employees for as long as you need. When you do gain access to these last two rooms, they need to be treated as crime-scenes; I don’t want any ‘evidence contamination’ so that means controlled access.
I’ll team you up with someone at the London Fire Brigade who I trust implicitly. He’ll help you clear the vault of carbon monoxide and’ll supply all the equipment you need to get the job completed safely. Now, you’re getting this highly important task because I have total trust in you. There’s one other thing…until the building is safe and we know what’s inside these two rooms, I want this situation kept completely hush-hush. I’m sure you understand.
It’s quite a responsibility Bill, but I know you’re the right man for the job. I’ll be putting a very strong case forward that you should get a commendation for this. Now, any questions?”
“Well…actually yes. What’s the priority, the vault or the security office?”
“Definitely the vault, purely on safety grounds. I firstly have to know the building’s completely clear of carbon monoxide gas. It’ll also give the bodyguard a bit more time to reconsider. If he’s still playing games in a few days time we’ll find some specialist who can break through such a highly reinforced door.” Vincent waits to see if Bill has any further questions, but none are forthcoming.
“Excellent Bill. My man from the Fire Brigade will be in touch with you this evening.” Vincent breaks out into a broad, beaming smile, “Tremendous, that’s settled then!”