'You're saying even the Swiss don't know where the money is?' said Matt.
'Al-Qaeda are smart,' Alison interjected. 'They hide it well. It's all stored away in accounts nominally belonging to Kuwaiti or Pakistani or Jordanian businessmen. Nobody knows whether they exist or not. And not asking questions is the first principle of Swiss banking.'
'Now they are clearing the money out,' said Perky. 'It works like this. An al-Qaeda Arab turns up in Zurich. He goes to the bank and withdraws say $25,000 in cash. Euros or dollars or Swiss francs, it doesn't matter. He walks down the street to a jewellery store or a goldsmith and he buys diamonds or gold, pays cash, and stashes the goods away. Next day, another $25,000 from another bank, more gold and diamonds. The next day, the same again. By the end of the week that's $125,000 turned into commodities. If there's eight of them, that's a million dollars. They spread it around as well, just so no one gets too suspicious or starts recognising them. Sometimes they get a train up to Munich or down to Milan and buy the gold and diamonds there.'
Matt listened closely. Five wouldn't be sharing this information with him unless they wanted something very badly.
'The CIA calculates that about a million dollars might have been taken out of the Swiss banks so far, and just about all of it has been turned into gold and diamonds,' Pinky said. 'You can see it in the prices. Both gold and diamonds are up this year. That amount of money going into a market has an impact.'
'So what's the point?' said Matt. 'What do they want the stuff for?'
'To hide,' said Perky. 'They've realised that money kept in a bank is never going to be safe. Not when you are fighting a war against the United States. Eventually it's going to get tracked down and seized. They'll keep small amounts, carefully laundered. But not the big stuff. They want that somewhere they can keep their eye on it.'
'The diamonds and gold are being hoarded for a few days, then taken in vans down to the north Italian or the French coasts,' Pinky continued. 'They are loaded on to boats, then taken out across the Mediterranean to the Middle East. The stuff is picked up by al-Qaeda and driven out to safe locations. It could be anywhere — the Saudi desert, the Atlas mountains in Morocco, along the Nile delta, somewhere in Iraq or Iran. The point is, nobody is going to see it again. The Americans aren't going to track it down, and nobody's going to freeze the account. It's safe.'
'And the beauty of gold and diamonds is that they are both the world's oldest, most internationally accepted currency,' Perky interrupted. 'You can walk into any jewellery shop in the world and get cash for either. Instantly. No questions asked.'
'Al-Qaeda can keep their money safe for when they really need it,' Perky continued. 'And there's nothing we or the CIA or anyone else can do to touch it. The Moroccans or the Iranians aren't exactly going to let us go in and start searching around for it.'
'Thanks for the lesson in global economics and financing terrorism,' said Matt. 'But where do I come in?'
Somewhere in the pit of his stomach, Matt knew the answer. Alison turned to look at him, brushing away a lock of blonde hair that had fallen across her face. 'We want you to steal their money.'
The coffee tasted good. Matt swilled it down quickly, keen for the caffeine to kick into his bloodstream. He looked towards the window. In the distance he could see the Thames winding eastwards, a barge chugging slowly through the fading light of the afternoon. Across the road he watched a young couple emerging from B&Q with tins of paint under their arms. Ordinary suburban life. Just what he'd been planning.
There must be lots of honest, safe ways of making a living. It's just that none of them seem to suit me.
Alison had suggested they take a ten-minute break. Matt had walked back down to the lobby and bought himself a coffee from the bar. He needed a few minutes to himself. What he thought of the proposition, he couldn't yet say.
Whatever I decide, one thing is for sure — this time is the last time. The pay-off will have to be good enough that I'm out of this game for ever.
He swilled back the last of the coffee and took the lift back up to the second floor. Alison was already waiting in the room with Pinky and Perky. Matt looked directly towards her. 'So what's in it for me?' he said.
'We want to cut off the money to al-Qaeda,' she replied. 'It's the most effective way to hurt them. They can plot all they like, but any really big terrorist spectacles are always going to be expensive. Without money they are nothing, just angry Arabs waving placards.'
Pinky looked up and scrutinised Matt's face, perhaps searching for signs of weakness or indecision. 'We have flows of intelligence reports coming through,' he said. 'We could identify one of the boats shipping the gold and the diamonds across the Med. Our proposition is this: we put together a small group of men, highly trained men like yourself. We give them the information, the practice and the equipment. They go out and hit the boat.'
'Our sources tell us that each boat contains at least thirty million dollars,' Perky said. 'They travel across the Med from Italy, usually with a crew of about six al-Qaeda men on board. They are always armed, but they aren't trained to special forces standard. Nothing you couldn't handle. Five would give the team all the technical training necessary to take out the boat, and all the specialist equipment. You'd get all the logistical help you needed.'
'When the job is done, you'd get to keep the money.' Pinky cleared his throat. 'No questions asked. Our interest is not in collecting al-Qaeda's money, and we don't care what happens to it. We just want to make sure it's not under their control any more. The thirty million is your pay-off for the mission. Even after it's fenced, that's got to be worth ten million or so. Ten million dollars between five men. You can do the maths yourself. Not bad for a week's work.'
'Think about it.' Alison took a step closer to where Matt was sitting. Her eyes locked on to his, peering down at him, the expression hovering between sympathy and a challenge. 'It's the perfect crime. Lucrative and patriotic.'
FIVE
Matt slammed the door shut on the Boxster and dropped the keys in his pocket. He walked swiftly towards the doors of the Novotel Hammersmith. Another day, another anonymous hotel — those Five boys should think of a new trick sometime.
Matt's head was bowed as he walked, the lines of his forehead creased. Before stepping inside he glanced up towards the sky. Sunshine was breaking through the clouds, sending a shaft of light down on to the traffic snarling its way across the flyover. 'Room 662,' he told the receptionist. 'They're expecting me.'
'Sixth floor,' she said. 'The lifts are over there.' Matt walked purposefully. The decision had been easier than he might have imagined. After the meeting with Alison and her two stooges he had gone back to the flat by himself. She had suggested coming with him but that hadn't felt right: this was a decision he needed to make by himself. There were plenty of friends in London he could have gone to see — his parents, schoolmates, even Gill's brother Damien — but it was a conversation he needed to have with himself. It was his choice. Nobody else could make it for him.
He went out for a curry and a beer. One thing the Regiment had taught him was that you shouldn't fight on an empty stomach — and you can't think straight if you're hungry. After a chicken jalfrezi and two bottles of Cobra, Matt reckoned the calculations had been made and the odds stacked neatly into place.