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112 pages

English

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In the Scottish Highlands an enigmatic billionaire and private investor masterminds a perfect crime - the theft of The Royal Orb. Two hundred years ago a Duke and his friend hid this precious object from a King. Recently discovered, its public display in a museum gives the man known as Pakhan a chance to take it for himself. In Edinburgh, Ken Lacey is a fine art expert and former military intelligence officer who works with the police to prevent illegal trade in rare and expensive artefacts, and their counterfeits. When Pakhan's thieves steal the Royal Orb, Ken's nephew Rob and best friend Alex stumble across its temporary hiding place and are kidnapped. The only person who can help them stay alive is a double agent working under deep cover for the Italian Guardia di Finanza.In Venice, six months later, a cache of Jacobite Gold appears on the open market and Ken is back on Pakhan's trail. Pakhan plans to buy the treasure legitimately and Ken's brief is to attend the auction then follow the money to lure Pakhan into the open. Ken doesn't believe the plan will work and changes the mission. If he fails, his bold stunt will cost Ken not only his job but his life.

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Publié par	eBookPartnership.com
Date de parution	27 mai 2014
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781783014477
Langue	English
Poids de l'ouvrage	1 Mo

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0100€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

PAKHAN S BLUFF
BY
SUSAN MAY
WRITING AS
DARREN BELL
2014 Susan May

Susan May has asserted her rights in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988 to be identified as the author of this work.
Published by eBookPartnership.com
First published in eBook format in 2014
ISBN: 978-1-78301-447-7
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of the Publisher.
All names, characters, places, organisations, businesses and events are either the product of the author s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
eBook Conversion by www.ebookpartnership.com
Contents
Prologue
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Epilogue
Prologue
The man in the grey suit stepped in to the shadow of the building and checked his phone. Nothing new - no change of plan; one more hour and he d be free of his tormentors. They said he d be watched all the way to the rendezvous and with no way of disproving them he was following every instruction to the letter.
Shouldering a heavy work bag he walked along the busy street towards The Royal Mile. His cover was perfect; nobody would think his behaviour strange - as a senior official at the museum with a remit for international liaison, he regularly worked a twilight shift. His current project was an exhibition in New York and he d been working in their time zone - some five hours behind the UK- for a number of weeks.
Pausing as he reached his first destination, he entered a cluttered shop and bought a rucksack, two souvenir hats and a waterproof jacket. He came out with a bulging plastic carrier and walked slowly down the Mound. On this mid August evening the sun was still bright but low in the sky. From behind his dark glasses he scanned the faces of the hustlers and beggars until he found his man. Anyone observing the lightning exchange that followed would think he d simply taken pity on a soul less fortunate, as he handed over his new purchases and some cash. Within minutes later he was on a 23 bus, heading north. The down and out had already disappeared into an alley.
The old close was narrow and lined with city council dumpsters. It was currently also shut off at one end - a result of fallen masonry. The former tramp reappeared as a man transformed, now dressed in a magenta cotton jacket, Panama hat, loafers and dark jeans. He was known in certain circles as The Fixer , and the Jakey disguise had served its purpose. The Fixer switched the small leather holdall he was carrying from his left to right hand and pulled out his mobile. He pressed speed-dial. It was answered immediately - the short exchange was in Russian,
We have The Prize. Is everything ready?
All good. Have you dealt with the final loose end?
On it now. We meet tomorrow as agreed?
Yes.
He ended the call and joined the short queue for tickets on the next available open top bus. Choosing to sit upstairs with the sweating tourists The Fixer took out a camera and pretended to join in the frenzied recording of the city s landmarks as they pulled away from the kerb and headed towards the New Town. The summer sunset tours were proving lucrative for the operators, and were marketed on the spectacular skyline and twilight silhouettes of landmark buildings.
Twenty minutes later The Fixer got off at the stop for the Royal Botanic Gardens, but hung back as the small crowd who d alighted with him entered the carbuncle that passed for the visitor centre and gateway to Eden. The place was running a pilot of late open evenings as the hot summer -and media pressure - had demanded more than niche botany projects and quaint public access hours. He looked left and right then crossed the wide avenue and entered the adjacent municipal park, strolling past the tennis courts and swings en-route to the old sundial garden. The replacement of high beech hedges gave ideal cover for the next few minutes, as the garden was closed until the new plants were fully established. At this time of night hardly anyone was about - perfect. The Fixer s research was always impeccable. He moved the large sign on the heavy old gates that stated the area was closed, opened the padlock and slipped through, carefully relocking them before he stepped inside. The place was deserted except for two people. One was dressed in the uniform of the local gardening department. He was clean shaven, tall and blond. The other man had ditched the remainder of his earlier purchases and stood, nervously swinging his briefcase by the shoulder strap. Approaching their bench The Fixer put down the bag and took off his jacket, the warmth of the evening finally penetrating his cool demeanour,
You put the fake in place last night, unobserved? It is all quiet in the press, so I presume no arse up?
Yes. We ll run the fake theft with the other guys tonight, and I ll keep to the bluff. We are the only people who know the real plan, as instructed. Now give me my money and the clone of my hard drive,
The Fixer gave a nod to his partner, who stepped forward and pulled out a knife. It was only then the third man realised the other two were putting on latex gloves.
In ten minutes it was all over. Wearing disposable coveralls the pair placed the dead man on some plastic sheeting they d hidden in the large hedge, before the blond chopped him into pieces using a portable electric saw. The Fixer could not stand paedophiles, and when his research confirmed their inside man at the museum was depraved, he had the perfect reason to dispose of a weak link. The blond swiftly divided the body parts into three piles then stuffed the majority of pieces, plus the man s bag, inside two nearby yellow grit bins he d emptied the night before. A couple of hours earlier he d prepared them with quicklime. It was an urban myth that the chemical compound dissolved bodies, but it was superb at concealing odours, and they only needed a short time to clear the scene.
The last item was put into a biodegradable carry sack - the same one the man in grey had picked up earlier along with his shopping. Some sick version of eco-friendly recycling, if you want the weirdo take on what happens next. The grim pair then shook hands and parted. They d done a few jobs like this in recent months, and always had perfect exit plans.
The big blond pushed through a gap in the hedge into the parks department yard, opened the door of a shed he d unlocked earlier and ducked inside. He reappeared minus the wig and carrying an expensive camera. He was now dressed in dark jeans and a long black leather coat. He put on a pair of sunglasses and walked briskly past the bowling green towards a car he d boosted that afternoon, ready to play his part in the bluff.
The Fixer walked down the steps at the far end of the enclosure, carefully replacing the temporary barriers preventing public access into the garden. He cut along the dank path behind the cricket pitch, and lobbed the dead pervert s head into the dense undergrowth, hoping for foxes.
Chapter One
Pakhan knew he had taken a risk coming to Scotland at this time, but the lure of golf - his second obsession - coupled with the perfect opportunity to add to his collection of Royal treasures had proved irresistible. Pakhan reached into his jacket and taking out his smart phone pulled up the article he d found in this month s edition of Scottish Country ; the billionaire was particularly taken with the author s romantic and yet accurate description of the object Pakhan had codenamed The Prize . Sitting back on the comfortable leather chair in the bar, he sipped from a glass of champagne and re- read the now familiar narrative,
The recently discovered Royal Orb is genuine. Eight international experts have confirmed the treasure is the real deal.
Yesterday this distinguished panel were joined by some renowned auctioneers and dealers from the world of fine art and antiques to decide how much The Orb is worth. In historical and cultural terms it s obviously priceless, but what s the value in hard cash? After much debate, the final votes were cast and the result was staggering. Based on the provenance and superb quality of the unique artefact, the amount at today s prices was confirmed as sitting somewhere between eight and twelve million pounds sterling. The valuation and lunch took place in the refurbished Assembly Rooms on Edinburgh s George Street, jointly sponsored by Historic Scotland, The National Trust and Scotland Now Media Group.
After the meal I spoke exclusively with two of the specialists who have spent the past few months working together to test allegations that the object was a fake. Professor Sir William Burt is a world authority on Royal Regalia. Dr Jessica-Jean Avon is an academic with a formidable reputation in both palaeography, the study of ancient writing, and carbon dating of documents. Sir William, barely able to contain his excitement at their result, said, It s been an honour and a privilege to be part of this project. We ve also had treme