Diamond Dust (7 page)

* * *

His spirits improved. He was putting his career on the line and maybe his life. Bugger that, he thought. This is the right decision. I refuse to be sidelined. She's my wife and no one can make me walk away from her.

At home that evening he opened a can of lager and dug about in the freezer and cooked himself a satisfying meal of one of Steph's beef casseroles with fresh potatoes and carrots. He watched a repeat
of Fatuity Towers
on TV and smiled for the first time in weeks.

Towards midnight, he woke in the armchair and realised he'd dozed off. He'd been dreaming, an anxious, vivid dream of being shot in the leg by an invisible man with a gun. Of limping away and feeling more shots, and dripping blood. The shots fitted the film that was running on the box, some spaghetti western with Clint Eastwood. Clint looked in fine shape still. The film bullets had obviously missed.

Diamond fingered his own leg.

'Daft.'

But it had got to him, that dream. He decided to fetch his handgun from the loft. In the coming days he might need to defend himself. He had no plans to use it, except as a deterrent. So he went upstairs, opened the hatch and let down the folding ladder. Switched on the loft light and of course the sodding thing flickered and went out.

No matter. He knew where the shoebox was that contained the gun wrapped in a cloth with two rounds of ammunition. At the top of the steps he put his head and shoulders through the hatch, reached and found what he wanted at once.

But there was no weight to the box. Nothing was inside. He took off the lid. Not even the cloth was in there.

Impossible.

He groped around the plasterboard where the box had been. Dust and cobwebs. Nothing else. No other box, no Smith & Wesson .38 wrapped in cloth.

Deeply worried, he collected a torch from downstairs and replaced the light bulb. Spent the next hour searching the whole of the loft, struggling with old suitcases, among unwanted rolls of wallpaper and discarded carpets. He tried to remember if anyone except himself had been up there. A plumber, to look at the cold storage tank? Electrician? TV aerial man?

Not to his knowledge.

What in Christ's name was going on?

10

T
he two men talking in a London taxi knew only as much as the media had told them about the shooting of Stephanie Diamond, but after the shock wave of a killing there are ripples washing up on some unlikely shores.

'It's beautiful, Harry.'

'It always is at the beginning,' the voice of experience spoke. 'I hate to disillusion you, old friend, but the beauty soon wears off. By the end it's revolungly ugly.'

'Not this time, I promise you.'

'Would you care to take a bet on that?' Harry Tattersall gazed out of the window at the traffic in Piccadilly. At forty-two, he'd seen many a pretty plan turn to dross. 'Who else is in?'

'That's the beauty,' Rhadi said. 'We are a small, talented team. Five only.'

'Who?'

'Wait and see.'

'I don't work with failures.'

'These are pros. \bu're going to be impressed.'

'Where's the meeting?'

'This is a top job, Harry. Top job needs a top meeting place.'

The cab wound its way around Trafalgar Square, under Admiralty Arch and up the Mall towards the Victoria Memorial. Tourists stood snapping the sentry at the gates of Buckingham Palace.

'Not there?' Harry said, only half joking. This was such a weird set-up, he was ready to believe anything.

'No, not there.'

They were driven up Constitution Hill to Hyde Park Corner and came to a halt outside one of the more exclusive hotels. A white-gloved hand opened the door.

'Didn't I tell you?' Rhadi said.

'It takes more than one flunkey to impress me,' Harry said. He had been to a good public school and liked everyone to know it.

A doorman ushered them in and a black-suited young man wished them good afternoon in a way that asked to know their business.

'We're expected,' Rhadi said with a princely air. 'The Napoleon Suite.'

'Very good, sir.'

In the lift, Rhadi said, 'What do you think? An improvement on the Scrubs?'

'So long as it isn't a short cut back to the Scrubs,' Harry said. He'd done one six-month stretch in an otherwise unblemished fifteen-year career of confidence trickery, and he hadn't cared for it one bit. 'I'd better warn you, I'm not going to be bounced into anything.'

'Lighten up, old friend.'

Rhadi knocked and the door was opened by a Middle Eastern man.

'What's this - Ali Baba and the Forty Thieves?' Harry said.

He'd known Rhadi so many years that he never thought of him as an immigrant. Wasn't even sure where he came from originally. Confronted now by two more Arabs in expensive suits, he felt outnumbered. Rhadi hadn't said a word about the nationality of the personnel involved.

'Is there a problem, Mr Tattersall?' one of them asked, a near-midget with a set of teeth that wouldn't have disgraced a camel.

'I didn't expect . . .' Harry started to say, and let his voice trail away when he saw the second Arab's hand slip inside his jacket.

'This is Ibrahim,' the teeth said, 'and I am Zahir. You were not expecting to be involved in an international enterprise, I dare say.'

'If it's terrorism, I'm leaving.'

Rhadi gave him a gende push in the back. 'Go in, Harry. Forget about terrorism. This is big-time.'

'It had better be,' he muttered. 'Where are you all from, anyway?'

Zahir ignored the question. '\bu want a drink? It's against our religion, but there's plenty here if you want something.'

'I think I will.' It wasn't a mini-bar, either. This was a drinks cabinet, courtesy of the hotel. He poured himself a large single malt while he pondered that remark about religion. He didn't think he'd been invited to a prayer meeting.

Ibrahim had closed the door. Harry took stock. Zahir, the spokesman with the teeth, had to be Mr Big, though not in stature. Ibrahim, silent, built like a water buffalo, was the muscle. The fifth man apparently hadn't turned up yet.

'You were at King's, Canterbury, I believe?' Zahir said out of nowhere.

'Is my old school important?'

'That's true, then? Straight up, as they say?'

'Anyone can check the register.'

'Did you row?'

'No. I was a cricketer. Opened the batting.' Harry refrained from revealing that he opened for the third eleven and ended the season with an average of nine.

'In that case,' Zahir said, 'we wouldn't have met. I coxed the first eight. Eton.'

With the pecking order established, Zahir invited Harry to take a seat. 'Rhadi tells us you're the smoothest con artist in London.'

'Rhadi isn't bad at it himself,' Harry commented.

'You once took one of the big merchant banks for a cool fifty thousand?'

'Three banks together,' Harry said. 'It was a matter of persuading them it was a notional adjustment.'

'And none of them understood what was going on?'

'They still don't'

'Rhadi also tells us you might not be averse to another payday.'

'That depends.'

'Naturally. Have you ever dealt in diamonds?'

'Diamonds?' He twitched and frowned. 'I'm not a diamond man.'

'Don't look so alarmed,' Zahir said. 'No one is asking you to do anything outside your experience.'

'So what's the scam?'

Zahir hesitated. 'This is more than a scam. We're not talking thousands, Mr Tattersall, but hundreds of thousands. We can all retire on the proceeds. But you'll understand that I need your total commitment before I unfold the plan.'

'Before? That's asking a lot. I don't know you. Rhadi is an old friend, but the rest of you . . .'

'Well, it's a good thing some of us aren't familiar to you. You wouldn't want to be getting into bed with a bunch of well-known criminals, would you?' He flashed the enormous teeth.

'You've got a point there.'

'Let's see if we can resolve this. What if you were guaranteed a hundred thousand pounds?'

'A hundred grand? What are you snatching - the Crown Jewels?'

'Better. These are uncut stones. Some of the finest gem-crystals in the world.'

Harry was silent for a while, still cautious. 'It sounds wonderful, but why have you come to me? What am I supposed to do?'

'What you're best at doing, Mr Tattersall. Conning people.'

'Ah, but I know damn all about the diamond industry. I need to understand what I'm talking about.'

'No you don't.'

'Sorry, my friend,' Harry insisted. 'That isn't the way I work. I absolutely refuse to wing it.'

'You're not listening, Mr Tattersall. Your part in this project doesn't involve the diamonds. You don't need to talk about them. In fact, you are expressly forbidden to mention them. You will be a go-between. We require someone who is English, not Arabian, a true-blue English gendeman.'

'That I can do.'

'So you're on the team?'

'Hold on,' Harry said. 'First I want to know the job - and who else you've signed up for this.'

'You know Rhadi, and you've just met Ibrahim and me.'

'I was told there are five.'

'Who told you?' Zahir's eyes flicked to Rhadi. 'The fifth man must remain anonymous for the time being.'

'Why?'

'He's the key to everything.'

'The peterman?'

'The what?'

'Safe-breaker. The fellow who liberates the rocks.'

Zahir's face was a study in distaste. 'We're not proposing to break into a safe, Mr Tattersall.'

'How else are you going to lay hands on them?'

Rhadi broke into the dialogue in some excitement. 'This is the beauty, Harry.'

Zahir said, 'We're having the diamonds delivered to us.'

'Delivered?
Who by?'

'The owners. The top dealer in Hatton Garden, the home of the London diamond trade.'

'How do you arrange that?'

Zahir exchanged more looks with Rhadi and Ibrahim. 'This is what will happen. Rhadi will go to Hatton Garden and inform the dealer that a prince of the Kuwaiti Royal Family has come to London to buy rough diamonds and is staving at the Dorchester Hotel. In Hatton Garden they know that the Kuwaitis are rich beyond dreams. They will arrange to take their best stones to his suite for inspection.'

'Before you go on,' Harry said, 'these Hatton Garden people aren't fools. They'll check with the hotel.'

'And when they check, they'll find that it's true. There will be a Kuwaiti prince on the hotel guest-list.'

'You, I suppose,' Harry said, not over-impressed.

'No. A true member of the blood royal. The Kuwaitis visit London frequently and stay at the Dorchester. They have a financial stake in the City. Anyone checking will find this is totally on the level.'

'Get away. The fifth man is a Kuwaiti prince?'

'No, no. You're still not listening. The prince isn't in the plot. We time our heist to coincide with the visit.'

Harry still needed convincing. 'How will you know when one of the princes is over here? Private visits by royalty are arranged in secret. They're very aware of security.'

'Rightly so,' Zahir said, unfazed. 'We'll know because we have a man inside the Dorchester.'

Harry digested this.

'Clever,' he said, after a pause. 'The fifth man?'

'Yes. He's on the staff, on the catering side. When royalty are coming, they have to order food supplies specially, so he's one of the few to be entrusted with advance information about VIP guests. He will advise us - through you - when one of the princes has a booking. We will then book one of the best suites for you under the name of Lord this or the Earl of that. Your job. You can impersonate one of the aristocracy, I hope?'

'With ease.'

'Good. I suggest you are disguised. Dyed hair, glasses, moustache. You will check in, and occupy the suite. Presently I will arrive with Ibrahim. Within a short time you will remove your disguise and leave by the back stairs. Your job will be over. It's as simple as that. Shortly after you depart,' the Hatton Garden dealer will arrive, and be met in the foyer by Rhadi, posing as the emissary of the Kuwaitis.'

'He may have security with him,' Harry warned.

'We're prepared for that. Rhadi will escort him to the suite, where I will be waiting, with Ibrahim, both dressed in the
jubbah.
If they bring a security officer, he will be ordered by Rhadi to remain outside the door. You don't bring functionaries such as that into the presence of the blood royal. The dealer takes out his parcel of diamonds and we relieve him of them. As smoothly as possible. Minimum violence. He is tied up and gagged. We leave by another door.'

'Isn't that the neatest scam you ever heard?' Rhadi said.

'Sounds all right,' Harry grudgingly admitted. 'But why do you need me?'

'For your special talent, and our protection. You have two functions. First, you are the go-between, as I mentioned. Our man on the Dorchester staff will communicate with you, not with Arabs, which might arouse suspicion. There is sure to be a security enquiry after the heist. He will, of course, deny having given information to anybody.'

'And secondly?'

'You are the decoy - the peer who booked the suite. It will take some time for them to realise how it was done.

For all they know, you may have been a genuine peer abducted by the gang.'

Harry was silent for several seconds as he reviewed the plan. Certainly it had attractions. No safe-breaking, fiddling with security systems, no guns, no excessive violence. The concept of the dealer being conned into bringing the rocks to the hotel was neat, as was the idea of timing the scam to coincide with a genuine royal visit. Yes, it appealed. His own part didn't sound too demanding. He'd taken bigger risks in the past.

'And if it all goes to plan,' he said, 'how will you fence the diamonds? If they're tiptop items, they'll be well known in the trade.'

'These are uncut stones, Mr Tattersall,' Zahir reminded him. 'The industry is worldwide now. Huge. There are factories in Bombay, Tel Aviv, Smolensk. Every damned place. There is no difficulty in unloading top quality roughs for a decent price, believe me. They will be out of Britain within hours and cut and polished within days. And once a stone has been cleaved, it changes personality, just as you do for a living, or so I'm told. Are you in?'

'For a hundred K guaranteed?'

'Guaranteed.'

'I'll incur some expenses.'

'We can take care of that.'

'Over and above my hundred grand?'

'Expenses - yes. What do you have in mind? The disguise?'

'A suit. I can't walk into the Dorchester in what I'm wearing.' It was worth the try, Harry thought, and he was mightily impressed when it got a result.

'I was thinking the same,' Zahir said, looking him up and down. 'Fifteen hundred in expenses, then.'

'Upfront?'

'Rhadi will see to it'

They shook hands.

'What next?' Harry asked, trying not to show his awe at the deal.

'You buy some decent clothes, and then you wait. We all wait.'

'For the word from your fellow in the Dorchester?'

'Which he will give to you.'

'Is this hotel man reliable? One hundred per cent?'

'Be assured of that. He held the Queen's commission. He was an officer in the Royal Air Force Catering Branch.'