Skinner's trail

Gruber grunted. 'No, everything in that letter is true. I was going away on that cruise, but I had the accident with that poor man, and now I am here'

`That accident, after you planned your escape, then stole a boat.'

Gruber spread his hands wide in a theatrical gesture. 'I do crazy things sometimes, when I am drunk.

`Okay,' said Pujol. 'That is of little importance for now. The second thing I have for you, here it is.' He produced a second letter, folded, from his left breast pocket and waved it in the air. As he did so, he fished in the same pocket with his left hand, and found a further piece of paper. He threw the letter on to the table with a broad smile.

`That is for you, from Hilda. It is written in German, but I have had it translated into Spanish. Let me read it to you. Our friends in the corner will enjoy it too. She says:

Dear Hansi

How big a fool can you be? Your friend Lucan came to me with your letter, your story, and your money. Then two policemen arrived and told me the truth, that you are lying in a stinking jail in Spain on a murder charge. What have you done? You went away to find a new life for us, one free of trouble, and all you have done is throw away the little that we had. Your friend Lucan, some friend he is. He told to me that your trip might last much longer than you thought, and that the money might not be as good as you had been led to expect. He even said that if I needed comfort while you were away, then all I had to do was call him and he would come back to Germany just for me. Your friend is a pig, Hansi.

The two policemen who came to see me said that, the way things are for you, you will go to jail for ever. But they also said that if you were to tell the truth — that you were paid to kill this man — and that if you gave evidence against the man who paid you, then you could go free. Be sure of this, Hansi, I will not grow old waiting for you. If you continue to protect these people, I will not be outside the prison gates when you come out, old and bent and leaning on a stick. If you ever want to see me again, and to feel free air in your lungs while you have the strength to enjoy it, then, for the first time in your stupid life, do something sensible. Tell the Spanish police what they want to know, and give evidence against this man. Otherwise, rot in there; at least until they eliminate you as a risk to them by arranging another accident — for you this time.

'Hilda' '

Some love letter, eh, Hansi.'

As Pujol had read aloud, Gruber had been following Hilda's words in her original letter. He now re-read it in silence, then dropped it on the table and buried his face in his hands.

`Nice man, that Lucan, isn't he, Hansi; said Pujol sympathetically, 'offering to look after your girlfriend for you while you're inside. He could get to look after her for a long time. Now, are you going to do the sensible thing? Here is the deal. You give evidence, and when Vaudan is convicted you walk free. Otherwise. . well, you can forget about the sound of birdsong, the surge of the sea, and the smell of a woman for a long time, maybe forever. You going to do it?'

Gruber's eyes seemed beaten as they looked up and across the table. He nodded briefly.

`Good,' said Pujol. 'Now I want to hear you say it. You were paid to stage Inch's accident, yes?'

`Yes,' said the German hoarsely.

`By whom?'

`By Nick Vaudan.'

`He gave you your orders in person, yes?'

`Yes.'

Was anyone else there?'

`Yes. That filthy bastard Serge Lucan.'

`All very good. Now I am going to bring in a secretary who is fluent in German. You will dictate your story to her, she will type it up, and you will sign it. Then we will have copies made in Spanish, French and English. In whatever language you say it, Senor Vaudan will be cooked!'

Sixty-seven

‘Nice little bank, Sneyder et Fils. I had a good rummage while I was there. I looked at a dozen numbered accounts, as well as the one you gave me. Two were held by terrorist organisations, one by a Mafia don, and a third by a company which is known to us as a CIA front. Once I can set aside some more time, I'm going to take a longer look. Congratulations, Mr Skinner, you're a hero of the Service.' Angie Dickson's voice sounded even more effervescent than before.

`Don't think I really want to be,' said Skinner. 'Don't think I want to know too much, either, about what you can do to banks. As a policeman, it'd make me feel too uncomfortable. Apart from that rogues' gallery, what have you got on the account you went in to look for?'

`All there was to know. Opened a couple of weeks ago. Joint holders: Nicolas Vaudan, French national, and Paul Ainscow, British. The day after the account was opened, a deposit of one and a half million US dollars was made by EFT from a lending bank in Holland.'

`And it's still there?'

`No, I just missed it. It was pulled at eight thirty this morning. French time.'

Bugger!' Skinner snapped. 'All of it?'

The lot,' said Angie Dickson. 'One-point-five mil. In greenbacks. It would have to be on the signatures of the joint holders.'

`Would both need to be there?'

`I don't know. I wouldn't have thought so, though. The Red Brigade are hardly going to turn up in person to pick up their cash.

Skinner grunted. `No. Silly question really. I know that one of the signatories is in Scotland. Anything more to tell me?'

`No, that's it. Glad to have been of help, though.' She added, 'That's assuming I have been'

`Oh yes, Ms Dickson,' said Skinner. 'You surely have' `Good. I love being given the chance to show off! Bye'

There was a click and the scrambled line went dead.

Skinner replaced the black phone in its cradle. He looked across at Maggie Rose. 'There you are, Mags. An electronic bank job, by request, and it isn't even lunchtime yet.' `What did she have to say?'

`Enough. Let's go see DCI Mackie, international liaison officer.'

As they walked the short distance from the Command Suite to the Special Branch office, Skinner briefed his assistant on Angie Dickson's report. 'That money's on the move, Mags. I want to follow it to wherever it's going.'

He threw open the door of the DCI's office, calling out as he did. 'Brian, get on to your French friends and-' He stopped short when he noticed Mackie was hunched over his desk with the phone pressed to his ear.

He looked up and cupped a hand over the receiver. `They're on to me, sir.'

As Skinner and Rose watched, he nodded, grunted, muttered the odd `Oui' into the phone. Suddenly, quite unexpectedly, he sat upright in his chair, and slapped his palm on the desk in frustration. `Oui, oui, oui, je comprends. Au revoir a vous aussi.'

Mackie put the phone down and looked up at Skinner. 'Go on, Brian,' said the big ACC. 'Tell me whatever it is. I know all this was too good to last’

Mackie stood up. ‘The French have lost them. Vaudan and Lucan. They're off’

`How?'

`It went like this. Vaudan's in his office around nine. Then Norrie Monklands shows up, carrying a hold-all, and goes inside. Meanwhile the guys watching Lucan see him playing about with a big, fast, sea-going cruiser. They think he's just turning the motor over, when he slips the cable and eases out of the berth. He's on his own, and they don't think for a minute that he's gong to take the thing out to sea, but he does. He drifts out of the marina, and he guns the bugger.

`Back at Vaudan's place, the watchers suddenly see Monklands and Vaudan in a speedboat. They can't see