‘I’d like to transfer some funds please.’
‘Certainly sir. We just need to go through some security?’
‘Yes, of course.’
‘May I have your account designation, sir?’
‘Blue, 1. 1. 5. 1. 6. 1. Gold.’
The line was silent for some time and then. ‘Ah. I’m sorry, Mr Boston, sir. That account is now closed.’
‘I’m sorry?’
‘Closed and the funds transferred, sir.’
Washington’s throat was constricted. He couldn’t speak for several seconds. He swallowed hard. ‘What? That’s impossible. What the hell have you done with my money?’
‘I can’t really say, sir. There has been an intervention from our government.’
‘Intervention? Your government? What do you mean? There should be almost a billion sterling in there.’
‘Not any more, Mr Boston. I’m sorry. I don’t know what to tell you, sir. I have no idea what…’
‘I’m coming there to sort this shit out. You’re a bunch of thieving cock-suckers.’
‘Mr Bost…’
Washington threw the phone across the room. He collapsed onto the couch as his legs buckled under him. His breath came hard and fast. Heart pounded. He looked at the phone up against the wall, then jumped up and retrieved it. Frantically scrolling through the contacts, he called the other two banks.
After the calls, he remained slumped on the couch. For almost fifteen minutes he sat in a daze. Then his heart rate returned to normal and his breathing steadied. He stood up and went to the window. The busy street below, with the smiling happy people going about their business, suddenly annoyed him. He opened the window and sucked in the warm air. His mind was calm now. The realization of what had happened to his money hit him hard. Gone. His money was all gone. ‘Those fuckin Brits,’ he said out loud.
The journey from Monaco to Marseille had taken a little over two hours in the Audi. The bus would take almost five, calling at Toulon, and several other lesser towns on the way east. The express would have been faster, but the one that trundled along the old coast road was more discreet.
It was not his ideal mode of travel, but it did however offer the most low-key, with no security checks at the Bus Station. Get back to the villa he’d thought. The four-hundred-grand in the floor safe. Risky, but necessary. It’ll get me out of France. Out of Europe. Then I’ll deal with Mr Jack Castle and the Templari.
Chapter Forty Three
The bus pulled into the Principality Central Coach Station a little after 8pm Before disembarking Washington carefully scanned the area. The place was busy, but that was to be expected. He waited until everyone had left, and the driver shouted, ‘Ici Monaco, monsieur.’
He raised his hand and said, ‘Merci.’ At the coach door he looked around one more time, then quickly disappeared into the hustle and bustle of the station.
The taxi let him out a good two hundred yards from his villa. He waited until the cab had turned around and left, then scanned the area. A set of approaching headlights made him step back off the road and into the shadow of a gnarled old olive tree. He waited for several minutes and then walked slowly towards the house. Fifty yards away, he moved down the hillside and approached the property from the rear.
He waited for at least half-an-hour, watching the back of the villa, looking for movement, shadows, anything. Slowly he entered the pool area. He could see all the way through to the front of the house and the illuminated drive and gardens. Again, he waited. Nothing.
He tried the patio doors. Locked. Then he slowly moved round the side of the building to the front corner, always vigilant, ever cautious. Again, nothing. He quickly let himself in and flipped the switch on the exterior light’s timer. The front of the house fell into darkness.
The moon gave enough light to see, and he quickly checked all the weapons-stashes. Three guns had gone, whoever had found the guns were good. Professionals. He smiled when he discovered the Glock in the bottom of the dishwasher was still there. He deftly racked the mechanism and checked it was still fully loaded.
In the bathroom, he knelt and carefully eased the side-panel from the bath. He took his smartphone, switched on the torch and leaned into the cavity. The light glinted on the steel of the floor-safe. He quickly tapped in the combination and the door sprung open with a metallic click. He removed a small Smith & Wesson revolver, then the bundles of cash.
Back in the bedroom he found a money belt and loaded most of the cash into it. The rest he stuffed into the bottom of a lightweight rucksack, along with a few clothes, the Glock and the revolver. From the back of his underwear drawer, he took an ivory handled switch-blade and slipped that into his back pocket.
In the lounge he went to the patio, looked out and down to the glittering harbour, three miles below. For several seconds he enjoyed the view, then turned back to the small bar and poured himself a large shot of Bourbon. He raised the glass and said, ‘Cheers, Rick,’ then swallowed the fiery amber liquid.
He went to the big windows again, swiped his phone’s screen and scrolled through the contacts. It took several beeps before the answer came. ‘Yes?’
‘It’s me,’ said Washington.
‘I know it’s you. Why are you calling me?’
‘You know why. What the hell happened?’
‘I said I’d do what I could. I’m only one of thirteen.’
‘You’re a lying sack-of-shit.’
There was silence for several seconds, then Washington said, ‘You still there?’
‘I’m here, but I won’t be if you keep talking like that.’
Washington chuckled. ‘Oh, spare me the indignation.’
‘What do you want? There’s nothing further I can do for you, Rick.’
‘Firstly, I want the two million I gave you. You didn’t deliver. You don’t get to keep my money.’
‘I’ll see what I can do.’
‘Bullshit. You’ll pay me back or…’
The other voice snapped. ‘Or what, Rick? What will you do. You can do nothing.’
‘I can let your friends on the council know what you’ve really been up too.’
Again, several seconds past. ‘And what was the other, Rick?’
‘What?’
‘You said, firstly. What was the other thing?’
‘Ah, yes. I want Jack Castle’s location in the UK. His home.’
Chapter Forty Four
The MV Salena slowly eased up to the dock in the Port of Algiers. It took several minutes for the lines to be secured and the covered gangway attached. Jack and Bogdan, feeling decidedly better than the night before, had managed to get a shower and clean up. They now stood with the hundreds of other eager passengers, waiting to disembark. From their boat-deck vantage point, Jack could see the British Embassy vehicle, a shiny new Land Rover, waiting next to the Terminal. As each passenger disembarked, four stewards scanned their boarding cards, electronically removing them from the ships manifest. The procedure took a lot longer than Jack would have liked, but twenty minutes later they were in the Arrivals Hall.
A young man, dressed in an immaculate pale grey linen suit, approached. ‘Mr Castle, Mr Markov?’
As he offered his hand, Jack said, ‘Yes, I’m Castle.’
‘Good evening, gentlemen. I’m Tony Havers, British Embassy. Welcome to Algiers.’ The accent was North of England.
‘Thank you, Tony,’ said Jack. ‘Where you from?’
The Embassy man smiled. ‘Cumbria, a little place near Kendal.’