Group Captain Charles Bowman was in bed and asleep when his mobile phone rang. He groped for it on the bedside table, knowing that it had to be something more than a routine call. He looked at the illuminated display panel on the phone and saw it was Will Bartlett. Now he knew it was important.
“Hello, Will,” he said. “What’s the problem?”
“Sorry to disturb you at this time of night, but I thought I should, rather than wait until the morning,” explained Will.
“Sounds important,” said Bowman.
“Are you quite sure this phone is totally secure?” asked Will.
“Guaranteed,” confirmed Bowman. “Where are you calling from?”
“I’m in Nairobi, - Kimathi Street, outside the New Stanley. I don’t think I can be overheard.”
“Should be OK then. What’s the problem?” Charles Bowman asked again.
“My contacts have got hold of some documents, and they don’t know what to do with them now they’ve got them,” explained Will. “The documents are red hot, and if my chum who’s got them gets caught with them, he’s had it. We thought you might know what to do.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” asked the attache.
“Your friend Robin Hood suggested it,” replied Will. “He’s staying here for a couple of days with Marian.”
“What sort of documents have you got hold of, then?” asked Bowman.
“The President’s been raiding the till again, to recoup what he’s ‘lost’. We have copies of the transfer documents from the Reserve Bank showing the payment, and a copy of the man’s account showing the deposit.”
Charles Bowman sat up in bed. Christ Almighty, he thought.
“No question about them being genuine, is there?”
“None at all. They’re both rubber-stamped as authentic copies.”
“How much money are we talking about?” he asked.
“He’s apparently taken more than he lost,” replied Will. “Much more.”
“And the documents you have show that, do they?”
“Everything,” replied Will. “Dates, amounts, account details, everything.”
“Where are these papers you have?”
“They’re in Harare,” replied Will. “We could hand them over to the opposition, or we could get them to the media, perhaps in SA, but we don’t know what to do for the best. We simply want to get rid of them, that’s all, but thought they might be useful to someone, rather than just flush them down the loo.”
“You’re quite right,” said Bowman. “I need time to think about this, but I can understand you wanting to get rid of them. They’re hot property, all right.”
“If my bloke gets caught with them, he a goner for sure, and it won’t be a quick end, either,” said Will. “Do you want them?”
“Not bloody likely, Will!” replied Charles Bowman. “They would be political dynamite, and the UK’s being blamed for all sorts of things already.”
“I need some advice,” pleaded Will Bartlett.
“So do I,” said the attache. “I shall have to consult colleagues, and come back to you, but I promise to be as quick as possible. Whatever you do, don’t switch off your phone.”
Bowman rang off, and jumped out of bed.
“Is there a flap on?” asked Sally, sleepily.
“Not yet,” replied Charles, “but it looks as if there soon will be. And I’ve been asked for advice. Black coffee is what I need. Do you want one?”
She didn’t. While Bowman waited for the kettle to boil, he got the Ambassador on the secure phone, and briefed him about what Will had told him.
He never minded bothering the Ambassador, who was a true diplomat of the old school, and professional to the core. He immediately agreed that this was not something for a local decision, and that it was probably also something the UK Government should avoid being seen to be involved in, but he also acknowledged that the papers were too good to waste. The Ambassador rang the duty officer on the Africa desk in Whitehall, who rang one of the junior Ministers, who rang the Foreign Secretary, who rang the Ambassador. They were on Christian name terms, which always helped at a time like this, especially as they had both been disturbed from a good night’s sleep.
“My view, quite positively, is that HM Government should not get involved in any way,” pronounced the Foreign Secretary. “At least, no more than we are already,” he added. “And I would not be inclined to suggest that the papers are given to the news media, either, who would undoubtedly do nothing more than make mischief with them, which would then get out of control. That is not to say that the media should not eventually be briefed, but not by us. Other parties need to decide how to handle this Presidential pillaging, of which there is documentary evidence, and which will undoubtedly be of the greatest possible embarrassment to the ruling party when made public. With millions nearing starvation and hospitals unable to afford drugs, the opposition will be outraged when they get to hear of it. My advice therefore is, if you agree, that the main opposition party should be handed the documentary evidence of this appalling act, and be left to make of it what they will, when they judge the timing to be right. Can the documents be passed to the opposition leadership without the UK becoming involved?”
“Yes, I believe they can,” replied the Ambassador. “My understanding is that our informant is a Zimbabwean, and that it is one of his fellow countrymen who is at present holding the papers. Having got them, he is naturally keen to be shot of them as soon as possible.”
“I can certainly understand that,” replied the Foreign Secretary. “I take it we have secure communications with our informant?”
“Very secure,” replied the Ambassador.
“Good. Since we are not involved, therefore, except in an advisory capacity, I suggest we advise that the papers should be passed as a matter of urgency to the opposition leadership, by which I mean the man at top, whatever his name is - it escapes me at present - and not to some underling,” instructed the Foreign Secretary.
“I agree,” said our man in Harare. “I’ll see to it straight away.”
“Let me know, if you will, when the opposition has been briefed, and I will inform the Prime Minister tomorrow. I ought to brief him about the banking scandal unfolding out there, anyway, so this will give me a chance to do so, since both events are obviously linked. I would also welcome your assessment at some time of what might happen next.”
The Ambassador rang his Defence Attache, who thought about ringing Paul Bridges at the Cabinet Office, at least to warn him that the PM was soon going to be briefed, but decided to ring Will Bartlett first. Will immediately rang his contact, who had the documents, who in turn decided not to ring his pal who worked for the leader of the opposition until the morning - which it nearly was, anyway.
The leader of the main opposition party decided that he would like to see the documents. In fact, he would definitely like to see them, and soon. Indeed, the sooner the better. One of his trusted aides was sent to collect them, and he, since he was early for his planned rendezvous, decided to stop for a coffee in a crowded cafe near the busy Rezende Street bus terminal. The man opposite him at the table looked at his watch, finished his now-cold tea, folded his copy of The Herald, and walked towards the street.
“Your paper!” the aide called after him, holding it up.
“Keep it,” replied the man. “As usual, there’s nothing in it worth reading.”
The aide nodded his thanks, and scanned the front page. He was right, he thought, taking a swig of his coffee. Nothing in it worth reading. Except that this edition was different. He left the cafe with the newspaper tucked under his arm, and the two documents safely stapled to an inside page.
The man rang Will, who rang Charles Bowman, who walked along the corridor of the embassy to see the Ambassador, who rang the Foreign Secretary, to report that the documents were now safely in the hands of the main opposition party’s leader.
“What happens now, do you think?” asked the Foreign Secretary.
“I would guess that the shadow cabinet will get together urgently, and then the President will be challenged about the cash transfer, probably privately rather than in public at this stage,” replied the Ambassador.
“And no doubt the President will allege they are forgeries, and blame us, claiming it to be another attempt on the part of the British Government to de-stabilise his regime,” forecast the Foreign Secretary.
“I’m sure you’re right,” agreed his representative in Zimbabwe. “But what he will actually do is anybody’s guess - probably hang on to the money and hope for the best. The documents certainly appear not to be forgeries, though. I am told they have a Reserve Bank of Zimbabwe rubber stamp on them, certifying that they are authentic copies of original documents, or some such phrase, and the rubber stamps have been initialled.”
“Whoever initialled the copies will be for the high-jump if ever he is found out, but I suppose I’d better brief the PM later, in case we get another public blasting from the head of state,” sighed the Foreign Secretary. “Keep me informed, there’s a good chap.”
Group Captain Charles Bowman decided it was high time he had another word with Paul Bridges at the Cabinet Office.
***
After nearly a day of exchanges between the offices of the President and the leader of the opposition, it had become obvious that the head of state was not prepared to meet his opponents to discuss ‘the pack of lies and forgeries put about by London’. Threats of publicity did nothing to bring a meeting any closer, and indeed the President’s confidence was such that the opposition party almost began to believe that the documents might, after all, not be genuine.
However, before the shadow cabinet could meet again to discuss what to do next, the President almost took the decision for them, by sacking his Finance Minister and arresting the Governor of the Reserve Bank, charged between them for being responsible for the leak.
So the documents were genuine, after all.
Will rang the British Embassy on his secure phone, and spoke to Charles Bowman.
“I never know what you’ve heard and what you haven’t,” said Will, “but in case you didn’t know, I thought I would tell you that the Finance Minister has been sacked, and the Governor of the Reserve Bank has been arrested. The Finance Minister could be charged with something soon, too, but the two bank chairmen who were arrested earlier have been released, none the worse for wear it seems.”
“That’s very useful information, Will,” said the Group Captain. “And never worry about telling me something you think I might already know - the more sources that tell you the same thing, the more you can be sure it’s accurate.”
“Oh, right,” said Will.
“As it happens, I had heard about the sacking, and knew that the Governor had disappeared from the scene, but I didn’t know he’d been arrested or why,” said the attache.
“Because the documents are accurate and genuine, that’s why,” explained Will. “They have been accused of leaking the information about the head of state’s recent financial dealings, and copying the papers specially.”
“Nothing has been said publicly about any of this yet, I notice,” said Bowman.
“Apparently, the opposition party means to brief the press in a few days, but they are making the man sweat a bit first,” relied Will. “They are still hoping for a meeting with the President, but so far he’s refusing, even in the face of threatened exposure. He says the papers are forgeries, put about by the British Government.”
“Which plainly they are not, else he wouldn’t be accusing senior people of leaking,” said the Group Captain.
“Exactly, so that’s good news for your Government. I gather he means to hang on to the money, though, in spite of everything!”
“Nothing surprises me about that man,” said Bowman. “Thanks for the call, Will - keep in touch.”
“I may not be in touch for a few days, I’m afraid,” said Will. “I have to go to see my father in the Western Cape, but I should be back at the weekend. Can I tell Robin what I’ve told you, by the way? I know he’d be interested.”
“I see no harm in that, provided you’re not overheard,” replied Bowman. “Is he still in Nairobi with you?”
“Only until tomorrow, when we both leave town,” replied Will Bartlett. “He and Marian are returning to Oxford. Work to do, he says. If anyone rings me with any hot gen while I’m down south, I’ll let you know right away, providing the phone works from that distance.”
“It will,” the attache assured him. “Have a good trip.”
***
Robin was both fascinated and appalled at what Will had to say over dinner that evening. He and Marian were off, back to UK, quite early the next morning, while Will and Bonkers had booked themselves on a mid-morning flight to Johannesburg and then on to Cape Town, so that Will could tell his father personally about the financial settlement that was on the way.
They had all laughed earlier, when Bonkers had insisted on looking at a statement of his account at almost every cash machine they had passed, in case his settlement had come through early. Neither he nor Will could quite come to terms with what Robin had organised for them, and, secretly, would only really believe it when they could see it - cash in the bank.
So this was both their farewell dinner and a celebration, but Robin could not help but be concerned about what Will had told them all. It was bad enough that the Zimbabwean head of state could have the nerve to rob the country’s treasury to fill his own coffers, but quite something else that, when confronted with evidence of the deed and the threat that it would be made public, he should still cock-a-snoop at his opponents and resolve to keep the money. It was cash that his country desperately needed, and for any man to make a priority of feathering his own nest when the people he led were in such dire straights was something that Robin could not understand or forgive.
Robin knew that he had both the knowledge and the skill to return the money to the Treasury from which it had been stolen, and was sorely tempted to do just that. But what would happen if he did? That was his dilemma - he really couldn’t begin to understand how that man’s mind worked, and how he would react if, once again, his personal fortune was wiped out.
Suddenly, Robin wished he was within reach of his Padre friend, Frank Tucker. He needed the wisdom and the comfort of the man’s advice. Thinking about it, he also needed the peace and solitude that went with a day’s fishing. Robin was tired, and needed a break. Perhaps, when they got back to Oxford, he would be able to get away with Marian for a few days at home; a few days away from the office, away from the problems of East Africa and Russian mathematicians, away for a bit of fishing and the quiet common sense of Frank Tucker. He should also pay a visit to his Aunt Gladys before it was too late - his father had said that she had been remarkably strong since she had moved to the hospice, where the care was magnificent, but that she couldn’t hang on for much longer.
It was Marian, who leant across and put her hand on his arm, who brought him out of his reverie.
“You’re miles away, my love,” she said. “Are you all right?”
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m quite all right really. Just a bit tired, that’s all, and worried about what to do next that will be for the best.”
“There’s nothing you can do, is there?” asked Bonkers Mbele.
“There is something I could do, as a matter of fact,” replied Robin. “I could put that wretched man’s stolen money back where it rightly belongs, in the Reserve Bank, so that it can be put to good use for the benefit of the country that he and his cronies have ravished, but I really don’t want to.”
“I never thought of that,” said Will, excitedly. “Of course you could! You’ve done it once, so you could do it again!”
“So why don’t you?” asked Bonkers.
“Because I can’t work out what might happen if I did, that’s why,” replied Robin Hood. “I don’t understand the man we’re dealing with, and I don’t want to make matters any worse than they already are. And with all due respect, there’s nobody I can ask.”
“You could ask Charles Bowman,” suggested Bonkers.
“Don’t be an idiot, Bonkers,” said Marian. “The last thing we want to do is to broadcast the fact that Robin can rob banks, so to speak, and in any case, the UK Government wants to keep well out of this. No; we’re going to have to work this out for ourselves.”
“If you ask me,” opined Will, “there’s no working out to do. You’ve been valiantly trying to take money from the rich to repay those whom they have impoverished, Robin, while this man is doing just the opposite. If you’re still able to do it, you really must try to put that money back where it belongs, and to hell with the consequences.”
“I must say that I tend to agree with Will, Robin,” said Marian.
“I had hoped,” sighed Robin, “that I’d done the last of that sort of thing. I really want to concentrate on running my computer business now.”
“One more time,” pleaded Will.
“I’ll sleep on it,” said Robin. “Now let’s enjoy our meal.”
***
Eventually, the two documents found their way into the South African newspapers, and immediately the government there, which in the past had been reluctant to condemn its neighbour, turned against the Zimbabwean leadership. So did every other country in the world that had not already done so. There was brief pressure on the UK government, which was accused of forging the documents in an attempt to discredit the Zimbabwean authorities, until Downing Street pointed out that the Finance Minister and the Governor of the Reserve Bank had both been accused of leaking the documents, which therefore had to be genuine.
There was also an immediate reaction by the people of Zimbabwe, who were suffering enough already, and for most of whom this was the last straw. In many of the country’s rural areas there were demonstrations demanding that the money be returned at the very least, or that the leadership should stand down; in some cases both. The police and the army, who plainly felt that their loyalty had already been tested to the limit, more or less stood by for once, and let people get on with it. Even in Bulawayo, where there was a limited protest, Captain Conteh and his men did little to prevent a largely peaceful march through the city centre. Certainly, they did not don riot gear and fire teargas as they might have done a few months ago.
The Government steadfastly refused to discuss the issue with the opposition, who were having a field day. Even the state owned newspaper The Herald carried reports of the unrest caused by ‘the unfounded rumours about the President’, but their appeals for calm went largely unheeded. While the opposition was giving currency to even more rumours, about a popular uprising and even a coup, Ministers continued to stand behind the head of state.
After a Cabinet meeting at which they all decided that they could withstand their immediate loss of their personal fortunes, a vote of no confidence in the leadership was quickly defeated in parliament. That was not to say, however, that all the president’s cronies were comfortable with the situation in which they now found themselves. While it had been agreed in Cabinet that the generous State remuneration that they all received, plus even more generous expenses, would soon replenish their depleted coffers, many realised that the farms and land to which they had helped themselves earlier were now largely valueless. Some even ventured to think, although not to say, that the President’s action in helping himself to even more cash from the State coffers was unwise to say the least, especially as the fact had now gained some public currency.
Of course, the documents were forgeries circulated by the Government in London, but there remained unease in some quarters that the sacking and subsequent arrest of their colleague, the Finance Minister, for ‘crimes against the State’, might be seen as ill-judged, and could even be interpreted as evidence that the papers might, after all, be genuine. Some of those in the leadership were also far from convinced that it was the UK Government that had removed their bank deposits, again because the arrest of the chairmen of the two leading banks and the Governor of the Reserve Bank suggested otherwise. There was a distinct feeling in some quarters that the President was not being as open as he might have been about some aspects of this bewildering chain of events.
Word of this unease quickly reached the leadership of the main opposition parties, who were equally quick to take advantage of it. Although they had no control over the media in Zimbabwe, they were able to make statements to, and to brief, the media in other countries, as well as print posters and newsletters for distribution internally.
After a day or so, the Government became distinctly uneasy about the mood of the country, and of some of their erstwhile friendly neighbours. The lack of an immediate crackdown on the earlier signs of unrest had simply encouraged more demonstrations, especially in the rural areas, but also in the previously loyal townships. No end of orders to the military and police leadership produced any apparent improvement, probably because the management of those two bodies was in the same boat as most others in positions of power - impoverished by the sudden disappearance of their capital assets.
An increasingly jittery Cabinet met again to discuss the apparent worsening situation round the country, and to receive reports from the regions. It was obvious that things had deteriorated somewhat since their last meeting. Crowds of cheering, banner-waving people, who plainly had little to lose, were gathering in increasing numbers every day, demanding either the resignation of the Government or that the opposition should stage a coup. Reports from the Foreign Ministry suggested that countries aboard were taking a keen, but totally inactive, interest in what was going on. Of increasing concern, especially to the Interior Ministry, was that the loyalty of the police and the armed services appeared to have dwindled to the point where it could no longer be totally relied upon. Some of the few remaining aid agencies had decided to pull out, and even the ‘war veterans’, who had been quite useless in running the farms they had commandeered, were now leaving their new properties and taking to the streets, in some cases torching the farms before they left. This had the added effect of making the apparent wealth of some of the hierarchy dwindle even faster, as many of the farms had been handed to them to ensure their continued loyalty to the Government. That, too, was now in doubt.
There still appeared, after all this time, to be no logical or factual explanation for the emptying of so many bank accounts belonging to so many ‘top’ people. Specialists in that particular black art had ‘rigorously questioned’ the chairmen of the two major banks during their arrest, but they had continued to protest their innocence of any wrongdoing. Neither had they been able to offer any explanation of what might have happened, not least because it had happened to them as well. The only thing that was certain was that there had been no major malfunction of the banking system or its computers, otherwise everyone in the country would have been affected, rather than just a chosen few.
Reports of all this were, to a greater or lesser extent, reaching Oxford, where Robin probably knew more than most other citizens of that City, who had only the media to rely on. Robin also had the benefit of regular phone calls from Will, who in turn was being kept fully briefed by his network of contacts in Zimbabwe while he and Bonkers were enjoying a few days at the vineyard, where Will’s parents were now happily settled. James and Beatrice Bartlett were following events in their old homeland with great, if now somewhat detached, interest. Other reports were also reaching Robin of overjoyed white farmers who had unexpectedly received a form of compensation through Justice for Farmers, but from an unknown source, and all this finally decided him to act, for the last time, against the corrupt leadership in Zimbabwe.
Robin had already decided anyway to use his specialist knowledge of the banking security system for another purpose as well. He had been furious, on returning to Oxford, to discover that Rupert’s attempt to arrange a presentation to the Bank of England of their new encryption programme had been unceremoniously rebuffed.
“There was just no way I could get them interested,” said Rupert crossly. “I couldn’t even get access to the Head of Security, but was constantly shuffled off to the number two, a guy called Stan Griffin.”
“What was his role in life?” asked Robin.
“Security Manager, I think he called himself,” replied Rupert. “He maintained all along that there was nothing wrong with their present system, which was the best in the world and universally used.”
“Well, he’s either lying, or hasn’t been properly briefed by his boss,” said Robin. “But even he must at least know about Jim Farlow, and if his activities don’t prove that there is a grave fault in their present system, then nothing does.”
“Exactly,” said Rupert. “Head in the sand stuff, this was.”
“I can understand them not wanting to admit publicly that their system is capable of being breached,” said Robin, “but you’d think they might at least want to hear about a new system which is so much better.”
“Part of the problem, I’m sure,” said Marian, “is that they have never heard of Computer Solutions. If we were one of the big players in the computer security business, we might have had a better reaction.”
“One day we shall be,” said Robin, “but in the meantime, we somehow have to get to see the top man in Threadneedle Street.”
“Well, I don’t know what to do next, to be honest,” admitted Rupert. “Neither Marian nor I have managed even to get through to the Head of Security’s outer office, let alone speak to the man himself.”
The team was silent for a few moments, trying to think of a way through this apparent impasse.
“Why don’t we offer them a challenge?” suggested Robin thoughtfully.
“How do you mean?” asked Marian.
“Why don’t I move a large sum into the man’s personal account - say £100,000 from our company reserves? We can then tell him that if he thinks there’s nothing wrong with the banking encryption codes and its secure computing system, then he can jolly well move it back to where it came from. If he can’t - and he won’t be able to, as we know - then we can offer to do it for him, tell him how it was done, and present him with a system which is totally impervious to any future attempted intrusions of that sort.”
“Now that’s what I call a good idea,” said Rupert. “We can suggest he should transfer the money back to its original source before it becomes an embarrassment to him, which it would be if his boss, the Governor, discovered that his account had suddenly been credited with a sum of that size, apparently from nowhere.”
“Would you be able to do it?” asked Marian.
“I don’t see why not,” said Robin. “What’s the name of their Head of Security?”
Rupert thumbed through some papers. “Alistair Vaughan,” he declared at last.
“Know anything about him?” asked Robin.
“I think he used to be at Scotland Yard,” replied Marian. “Fraud Squad, or something.”
“We shall need to be a bit careful, then,” said Rupert. “He’s probably quite a sharp cookie, if that’s his background.”
“Probably,” replied Robin. “If we go ahead with this, I think I’ll keep well away from the presentation when we are eventually allowed to put on one for them.”
“With any luck,” said Marian, “they’ll think it was done by poor old Jim.”
“That would be helpful,” admitted Robin. “Perhaps I’ll have a word with him, if he’s still around.”
It was not so easy this time, without Jim Farlow’s help at the Bank of England, but eventually Robin succeeded in making a full refund to the Reserve Bank in Zimbabwe, and move a huge lump sum into the personal account of the Bank of England’s Head of Security, Alistair Vaughan.
Rupert rang Stan Griffin, and suggested he got his boss to check his account, where he would find an unexplained £100,000 deposited. He told the Security Manager that if the combined talent of Threadneedle Street was unable to return the money to its original source before it became an embarrassment to its new owner, then Computer Solutions would be only too pleased to assist.
Vaughan was furious, for several reasons. First of all, the idea that some stranger somewhere had been able to interfere with his personal account had been something of a shock, not least because it was supposed to be impossible. Secondly, he was equally cross that nobody had been able to discover where the money, so unexpectedly deposited, had come from, and that they were therefore unable to return it. Finally, he had the distinct impression that he and the Bank of England were being blackmailed, by some two-bit upstart company that no-one had ever heard of.
Stan Griffin was being singularly useless, too. Having taken the phone call from Rupert Bland, it was Griffin who had suggested that Vaughan should take a look at his statement. They went together to the cash machine in the lift lobby next to Vaughan’s office. Vaughan was staggered to find his balance in credit to the tune of £99,772.14p.
“What the hell’s going on?” demanded Vaughan.
“I wish I knew,” replied a perplexed Griffin. “All I know is that I had a phone call saying t