John nodded. It would suit him very well if she was safely off the scene for a few weeks.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
_________________________
Mayfair, London, Wednesday, 24th January 1979
The Clarks installed a camera behind a mirror in the office and microphones in four places. Armed with a silenced Berretta and having hidden a rifle close by, Jim would wait on the roof, watching the office through a skylight, while Neil was to act as minder and monitor proceedings inside the shop.
At exactly ten o’clock that night the black Mercedes drew up to the shop. An inoffensive‑looking elderly man, heavy built and with an abundance of silver‑grey hair, emerged from the vehicle carrying a thin briefcase. Inside Neil Clark took his long black coat and frisked him expertly, looking into the briefcase. Then he led the visitor up the stairs and into the empty office. John had decided to make Grattini wait, to give Neil time to take photographs using the concealed camera.
When he was ready, John entered the room and introduced himself.
‘Very pleased to meet you at last. I am Rudi Grattini.’ The heavy set man spoke with a strong Italian accent.
‘Can I offer you coffee or a drink?’
‘A small cognac would be most welcome.’ The man smiled a somewhat lascivious smile. ‘I like the shop. It is most beautiful.’ John sent Neil for drinks.
‘It’s been owned by my friend for many years.’ John was impatient with these courtesies. He was interested only in finding out where Grattini had obtained his information.
But the visitor was in no hurry. ‘So many beautiful things. And your home too, my associates told me all about it.’
‘It belonged to my wife’s family originally. Naturally she is very attached to it, as am I.’ He suppressed the memory of Catherine’s still sleeping form being stretchered from Cerne the night before. Grattini was leading up to something and John had to be ready for it. He looked to John like a man at ease with meetings like this.
The Italian got up slowly and walked round the office. He stopped along side the display of bonsai Serissa trees. David Kennedy kept improving John’s collection and he had given these to Arthur. ‘What are these delightful little things?’
‘It’s a bonsai forest,’ John replied shortly. ‘They’re Serissa trees, meaning ‘tree of a thousand stars’.’ A thought passed through his mind then: had Grattini mentioned the bonsai to make John aware that he knew of David’s hobby? But the beautiful white‑blossomed trees would make anyone comment upon them, he decided.
Coffee and Cognac were brought in as they maintained their polite conversation.
‘I would like to apologise for sending my two associates yesterday,’ said Grattini. ‘But I had no choice. You have been very difficult to locate, Mr Forbes. If I had not seized the initiative in that way, you would never ever have agreed to see me.’
‘So what organisation do you represent?’ He demanded. ‘If I don’t find out who I’m dealing with, I don’t think we will get very far.’
‘I represent only myself. I have worked independently for the last fifty years. My organisation offers a different service from yours, but like yours it has contacts all over the world. I also deal with other major Italian organisations. I am respected by them, a man of honour. They do not interfere with my operation in any way.’
‘So what do you want of me?’ John was unsure what to believe.
‘I would like to fulfil a personal ambition to introduce a new product into the market.’
‘What product?’
Grattini hesitated. ‘Before I tell you, Signor Forbes, I must have your word that what passes between us will remain of the utmost secrecy. I must talk very openly. Afterwards you can refuse my offer and we need never see each other again. Your knowledge of my product and my knowledge of you and your organisation will remain inviolate.’
John nodded. ‘Agreed. But before we part, I want the name of your informant within my organisation.’
‘I like your directness.’
‘So tell me about this product, Signor Grattini?’
Grattini seated himself and adjusted the diamond links in his cuffs. ‘It is an entirely new drug, which does not derive from heroin or cocaine. A pharmaceutical innovation with amazing potential.’
‘Tell me more.’
The elderly man smiled genially. ‘All in good time. First a little introduction about myself and my bona fides. Many years ago I started my working life as a diamond cutter. Then I became a site‑holder at De Beers, influential and well respected in the trade. I can set a price and no one will dispute me. I will even buy a stone back at the same price within three months, less costs incurred. Over the years diamonds have become the most important commodity in money‑laundering. When I tired of the trade itself I made it my business to locate people who might have need of such a service. Third‑world dictators, big industrial owners, cash rich entrepreneurs, large scale tax fraudsters, commodity dealers and criminal enterprises....., believe me, Mr Forbes when I say I am extremely well connected.’
Grattini sipped his drink before continuing. ‘Then, five years ago, a professor of biochemistry was introduced to me. He had just come out of prison after serving six years for poisoning his wife’s lover. He wanted to borrow money to set up a laboratory and for me to introduce him to people who could market his product. I was not at all interested at first but the man is very gifted, probably a genius, so I agreed to lend him money.’ He replaced his glass carefully on the table and opened his briefcase, bringing out a small envelope. ‘This, Signor Forbes, is the end result.’ He shook out the contents of the envelope on to the table.
It was a half inch‑long transparent capsule containing blue and white grains. John drew in a deep breath. ‘What is it?’
‘There is a nerve in the human system called the Vagus nerve. This is medical fact. No one can dispute it. It has not formerly been regarded as a very important nerve, just the one which controls itches, sneezes, yawning. But my friend firmly believes that it is also the link between our sexual organs and the brain. All things to do with sudden release.’
Grattini stopped and looked at John to see if he had any questions. John said nothing.
‘If he is right, then maybe it is possible to create a drug which can help trigger sexual arousal. My friend believes he has now found it.’
Grattini passed John a piece of paper. ‘These are the ingredients. When you read them, you will see why the pills are so difficult to produce.’
John ran his eyes down the list. Amphetamine, Glycogen, Amyl nitrate, Testosterone nitrate, Dacha,, PCP, concentrated alcohol, Ephedrine, Mahuang, Yohimbine...
Many of the names he had never seen before. He passed the paper back without a word.
‘My colleague has been experimenting with these ingredients and he has now perfected a technique for producing pills in large quantities. I should mention that unfortunately, because of the nature of some of the ingredients, the pills cannot be sold legally.’
‘So you obviously believe that they work and that there is a large market for them?’
‘Large, yes, but discriminating. This isn’t a street drug. Our initial trials on an upmarket sample of consumers were an enormous success. Even by the initial manufacturing stage I had recouped a large part of my original investment, which had run into close to a billion lire.’
‘You obviously had a distribution network in place at that time. Why not continue?’
‘Ah. Then I was using a Mafia‑supported organisation. They dealt with everyone and everything. A heroin deal went wrong and the boss was shot dead. I do not wish for that publicity if – or should I say when – I begin to market this product on a worldwide scale.’
Grattini leaned forward, looking John directly in the eye. ‘Signor Forbes, the market for this product is bigger than you can imagine. No one else in the world has the knowledge and the resources I have. And no other organisation has the distribution network and t
he marketing expertise of yours.’
John got to his feet and began pacing the room. Despite himself he was intrigued by Grattini’s sincerity but remained unconvinced about the product.
‘I need proof that these pills of yours are as effective as you claim.’
Grattini smiled and relaxed into his chair, knowing his opponent was trapped.
‘Then don’t take my word for it!’ he passed over a file from his briefcase. ‘Here is a report about the physiological reaction of the body after one of these pills has been swallowed.’
‘How do I know this is genuine?’
‘The author can be introduced to you any time you care to visit Rome. He is a professor of Medicine at the University, a very respected scientist in his field. He has, I hasten to say, no track record in the manufacturing of the pills, but has merely studied their effects.’
John scrutinised the papers inside the folder. They contained a lot of diagrams.
‘The report is very complicated. Perhaps these will be easier to understand.’ Grattini handed him another envelope containing large glossy photographs. ‘Here, you see. We have pictures of a man and woman. These were taken with an infra‑red heat sensor camera which is why they look different from ordinary photographs. Here,’ he said, pointing to another picture, ‘we see the same people taken with the same camera, twenty minutes after they have each swallowed a pill. They have been in different rooms, and have not seen each other. Can you see the difference?’
John compared the photographs. On the first ones, which had a time and a date printed in the bottom right‑hand corner, the outlines were mainly in blues and greys. On the later ones, timed twenty minutes later the same date, there were areas of red around the groin area of the man, and the breast and groin area of the woman. Both outlines had a slightly pink colour.
‘Besides these photographs,’ Grattini said, ‘I can also show you films of these people, taken at the same time. Also timed and dated by digital recording. You will also see what happened when we introduced them to each other, after the pills had taken effect.’ He smiled lasciviously.
‘And these physiological changes happened because of the capsules?’
‘Yes. See. The man has an erection. The woman is flushed and panting. Their pulse rates have increased. But they have not been together, or seen anything which could have aroused them. The film will prove this.’
In spite of himself, John started believing that Grattini was genuine. The report looked authentic and the photographs seemed to corroborate the written evidence. If a drug existed which heightened sexual pleasure, without any side effects, there could indeed be an enormous market for it all over the world. And people would pay through the nose – gladly.
‘And you’re sure there are no adverse reactions to this drug?’
‘I am positive,’ Grattini said firmly. ‘Our little pill – let’s call it the Serissa – has a relaxing, calming effect. Every person who has tried it reports that their energy and confidence increased for up to three hours afterwards, even after strenuous sexual performance. Of course, as the heartbeat also increases, there is a slight possibility of a heart attack in those people who have pre‑existing medical problems. This is why we must target our market very specifically.’
‘You’re slowly convincing me,’ John said. ‘But I must carry out my own experiments before I commit myself.’
‘I can arrange delivery of samples wherever you like.’
‘So what exactly do you want of me and my organisation?’
Grattini smiled. ‘I want your existing wholesalers to have five hundred capsules each, free of charge, to distribute to what I will call, for want of a better expression, the opinion‑former, the legal profession, financiers, people in the arts, bankers, company directors; people like that. They will appreciate what our little pills can provide. If the demand is as high as I confidently expect, the price of each Serissa subsequently sold should be in the region of fifteen pounds.’
‘And what is the wholesale price?’
‘Two pounds.’ Grattini leaned back, studying John closely, a small smile playing round his lips. He had played a second card his opponent could not ignore.
John made swift calculations. If the capsules were as efficient as the evidence seemed to suggest, it should be easy to sell half a million or more a week throughout Europe. The Company would earn a million clear of expenses. This prospect was too good to ignore.
‘All right,’ he said. ‘Have some samples brought over. Once I’m satisfied they work, we’ll buy them from you for two pounds per unit. I have a condition, however, before we take this further.’
Grattini sighed. ‘I demand to know, today, the name of the informant.’
‘I’m an honourable man, Signor Forbes. I applied pressure. I cannot deny it. I used people you do not challenge. Give him another chance, I beg you.’
John said grimly. ‘One weak link and any chain will break. I’m sure you realise that.’
Grattini waved his hand. ‘We are now friends and business colleagues. Call me Rudi, please.’
‘Rudi. Call me John. Now, the name?’
‘Very well, John.’ Grattini took out a slim gold pencil and a leather notebook from his inside pocket and wrote something. He tore off the page, folded it twice and held it in his hand. ‘I must be getting back now. It’s been delightful to meet you. John, I have a feeling our association will be long and very profitable.’
While he spoke the big man descended the stairs of the shop, his large white hand clutching the piece of paper which seemed to float before John’s eyes, tantalising him with the revelation it contained.
Grattini nodded to his chauffeur who was standing to attention by the open passenger door of the Mercedes and carefully closed the door behind him.
With an electronic whirr the tinted window slid down. John stepped forward and took the paper in nerveless fingers as the Mercedes glided away. He stood in the deserted street for a moment, his head bowed, in no hurry to read the name that was now in his possession.
When finally he did he closed his eyes for a moment and waited for the roaring in his ears to die down. Of all the possible names it was the one he had most dreaded to see. But now that he had there was no way out. John knew what needed to be done.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
_________________________
London, Friday, 26th January 1979
Though it was after midnight, he called Rose at her house in Totteridge and told her that he was planning an extraordinary general meeting of the team tomorrow night.
‘I want somewhere where we’re not overlooked and with plenty of parking. Can you help me out?’
‘It took her a minute or so to shake herself awake. Normally she’d have given anyone waking her in the middle of the night a few choice words but not John. Not tonight. Something important was going on and his attention was focussed solely on that.
‘There’s Dalton,’ she volunteered after considering his request. ‘It’s a wrecker’s yard we took in part payment of a debt? Plenty of parking and a large rundown garage smelling of oil. It’s not exactly luxurious, mind.’
‘Sounds perfect. Give me the directions and give the keys to the man who’ll arrive in one hour.’
‘Bloody hell, John! It’s the middle of the night and the keys are in the office.’
‘Rose, it’s important.’
She could hear from his voice that this was not something to argue about and agreed without further protest.
An hour and a half a motorcycle courier arrived at the office. A fine drizzle had set in.
‘Not much of a night for it,’ Rose commented to the leather‑clad figure as she handed over a padded envelope. He said nothing, didn’t even push back the black‑tinted visor of his crash helmet to meet her eyes. Instead he held out his hand which seemed unnaturally big against his skintight biker’s leathers and was dusted with coarse red hair. He took the envelope and turned on his heel. Rose shivered in
the cold breeze which blew in after his retreating figure.
* * *
When Jim Clark delivered the keys, his brother and their boss were waiting outside in one of the discreet Ford saloons the Company used for business. They inspected the garage, where the smell of oil hung heavy in the air and the inspection pit was filled with discarded rubbish. The Clarks arranged to clear that up and bring in folding chairs for the visitors and some heavy duty lighting. They paid particular attention to a small lockable storeroom to the rear – damp and cell‑like, dimly lit by a bare forty‑watt bulb hanging from a frayed flex.
John nodded his head. ‘This’ll do. I’ll leave you to make your own arrangements for collecting. The meeting’s at eight pm and I expect people will be arriving up to half an hour early so everything must be in place before then. I’m going to make the calls within an hour.’
‘Leave it to us. No worries.’ Jim Clark smiled reassuringly.
John looked at him, then at Neil. It was incomprehensible to him how lightly the twins took their chosen trade even if tonight he thanked God for it.
For John Forbes had just ordered a killing. Now he could walk away to make phone calls to each member of the team, confident in the knowledge that his orders would be carried out to the letter. The informant would be dealt with but, more than that, the Clarks intended to mount a spectacle that no one would forget.
* * *
Arriving there at ten to eight on a chilly January night, Ray Immerman parked his Bentley Coupe and shivered as he hunted through the boot for the old car coat he kept there. The door to a ramshackle garage stood partly open, etched by the faint light from within. He knew just by looking it would be cold enough to freeze the balls off a brass monkey inside and was glad of the coat.
As he turned up his collar and walked briskly across, he caught up with Shastri and his sister. Ramona was picking her way delicately across the potholed ground, in delicate open sandals under her richly embroidered sari.
‘I don’t mind telling you, Ray, I don’t like the feel of this,’ Shastri greeted him nervously.’
‘Oh, stop it,’ snapped his sister. ‘This is supposed to be an extraordinary meeting, isn’t it? Stop going on, let’s see what it’s all about.’