The Freedom Trap - Desmond Bagley

Desmond Bagley

The Freedom Trap

One

I

Mackintoshs office was, unexpectedly, in the City. I had difficulty in finding it because it was in that warren of streets between Holborn and Fleet Street which is a maze to one accustomed to the grid-iron pattern of Johannesburg. I found it at last in a dingy building; a well-worn brass plate announcing innocuously that this Dickensian structure held the registered office of Anglo-Scottish Holdings, Ltd.

I smiled as I touched the polished plate, leaving a smudged fingerprint. It seemed that Mackintosh knew his business; this plate, apparently polished by generations of office boys, was a sign of careful planning that augured well for the future the professional touch. Im a professional and I dont like working with amateurs theyre unpredictable, careless and too dangerous for my taste. I had wondered about Mackintosh because England is the spiritual home of amateurism, but Mackintosh was a Scot and I suppose that makes a difference.

There was no lift, of course, so I trudged up four flights of stairs poor lighting and marmalade-coloured walls badly in need of a repaint and found the Anglo-Scottish office at the end of a dark corridor. It was all so normal that I wondered if I had the right address but I stepped forward to the desk and said, Rearden to see Mr Mackintosh.

The red-headed girl behind the desk favoured me with a warm smile and put down the tea-cup she was holding. Hes expecting you, she said. Ill see if hes free. She went into the inner office, closing the door carefully behind her. She had good legs.

I looked at the scratched and battered filing cabinets and wondered what was in them and found I could not possibly guess. Perhaps they were stuffed full of Angles and Scots. There were two eighteenth-century prints on the wall Windsor Castle and the Thames at Richmond. There was a Victorian steel engraving of Princes Street, Edinburgh. All very Anglic and Scottish. I admired Mackintosh more and more this was going to be a good careful job; but I did wonder how hed done it did he call in an interior decorator or did he have a pal who was a set dresser in a film studio?

The girl came back. Mr Mackintosh will see you now you can go right through.

I liked her smile so I returned it and walked past her into Mackintoshs sanctum. He hadnt changed. I hadnt expected him to change not in two months but sometimes a man looks different on his home ground where he has a sense of security, a sense of knowing whats what. I was pleased Mackintosh hadnt changed in that way because it meant he would be sure of himself anywhere and at any time. I like people I can depend on.

He was a sand-coloured man with light gingery hair and invisible eyebrows and eyelashes which gave his face a naked look. If he didnt shave for a week probably no one would notice. He was slight in build and I wondered how he would use himself in a rough-house; flyweights usually invent nasty tricks to make up for lack of brawn. But then Mackintosh would never get into a brawl in the first place; there are all sorts of different ways of using your brains.

He put his hands flat on the desk. So you are, he paused, holding his breath, and then spoke my name in a gasp, Rearden. And how was the flight, Mr Rearden?

Not bad.

Thats fine. Sit down, Mr Rearden. Would you like some tea? He smiled slightly. People who work in offices like this drink tea all the time.

All right, I said, and sat down.

He went to the door. Could you rustle up another pot of tea, Mrs Smith?

The door clicked gently as he closed it and I cocked my head in that direction. Does she know?

Of course, he said calmly. I couldnt do without Mrs Smith. Shes a very capable secretary, too.

Smith? I asked ironically.

Oh, its her real name. Not too incredible there are plenty of Smiths. Shell be joining us in a moment so I suggest we delay any serious discussion. He peered at me. Thats a rather lightweight suit for our English weather. You mustnt catch pneumonia.

I grinned at him. Perhaps youll recommend a tailor.

Indeed I will; you must go to my man. Hes a bit expensive but I think we can manage that. He opened a drawer and took out a fat bundle of currency. Youll need something for expenses.

I watched unbelievingly as he began to count out the fivers. He parted with thirty of them, then paused. Wed better make it two hundred, he decided, added another ten notes, then pushed the wad across to me. You dont mind cash, I trust? In my business cheques are rather looked down upon.

I stuffed the money into my wallet before he changed his mind. Isnt this a little unusual? I didnt expect you to be so free and easy.

I daresay the expense account will stand it, he said tolerantly. You are going to earn it, you know. He offered a cigarette. And how was Johannesburg when you left?

Still the same in a changing sort of way, I said. Since you were there theyve built another hundred-and-sixty-foot office block in the city.

In two months? Not bad!

They put it up in twelve days, I said drily.

Go-ahead chaps, you South Africans. Ah, heres the tea.

Mrs Smith put the tea tray on to the desk and drew up a chair. I looked at her with interest because anyone Mackintosh trusted was sure to be out of the ordinary. Not that she looked it, but perhaps that was because she was disguised as a secretary in a regulation twin-set just another office girl with a nice smile. Yet in other circumstances I thought I could get on very well with Mrs Smith in the absence of Mr Smith, of course.

Mackintosh waved his hand. Will you be Mother, Mrs Smith? She busied herself with the cups, and Mackintosh said, Theres no real need for further introductions, is there? You wont be around long enough for anything but the job, Rearden. I think we can get down to cases now.

I winked at Mrs Smith. A pity.

She looked at me unsmilingly. Sugar? was all she asked.

He tented his fingers. Did you know that London is the world centre of the diamond business?

No, I didnt. I thought it was Amsterdam.

Thats where the cutting is done. London is where diamonds are bought and sold in all stages of manufacture from uncut stones to finished pieces of jewellery. He smiled. Last week I was in a place where packets of diamonds are sold like packets of butter in a grocers shop.

I accepted a cup of tea from Mrs Smith. I bet they have bags of security.

Indeed they have, said Mackintosh. He held his arms wide like a fisherman describing the one that got away. The safe doors are that thick and the place is wired up with so many electronic gimmicks that if you blink an eyelash in the wrong place at the wrong time half the metropolitan police begin to move in.

I sipped the tea, then put down the cup. Im not a safe cracker, I said. And I wouldnt know where to begin you need a peterman for that. Besides, it would have to be a team job.

Rest easy, said Mackintosh. It was the South African angle that set me thinking about diamonds. Diamonds have all the virtues; theyre relatively anonymous, portable and easily sold. Just the thing a South African would go for, dont you think? Do you know anything about the IDB racket?

I shook my head. Not my line of country so far.

It doesnt matter, perhaps its for the better. Youre a clever thief, Rearden; thats why youve stayed out of trouble. How many times have you been inside?

I grinned at him. Once for eighteen months. That was a long time ago.

Indeed it was. You change your methods and your aims, dont you? You dont leave any recurring statistics for a computer to sort out no definite modus operandi to trip over. As I say youre a clever thief. I think that what I have in mind will be just up your street. Mrs Smith thinks so, too.

Lets hear about it, I said cautiously.

The British GPO is a marvellous institution, said Mackintosh inconsequentially. Some say ours is the best postal system in the world; some think otherwise if you judge by the readers letters in the Daily Telegraph, but grousing is an Englishmans privilege. Insurance companies, however, regard the GPO very highly. Tell me, what is the most outstanding property of the diamond?

It sparkles.

An uncut diamond doesnt, he pointed out. An uncut stone looks like a bit of sea-washed bottle glass. Think again.

Its hard, I said. Just about the hardest thing there is.

Mackintosh clicked his tongue in annoyance. Hes not thinking, is he, Mrs Smith? Tell him.

The size or the lack of it, she said quietly.

Mackintosh pushed his hand under my nose and curled his fingers into a fist. You can hold a fortune in your hand and no one would know it was there. You could put diamonds worth a hundred thousand pounds into this matchbox then what would you have?

You tell me.

Youd have a parcel, Rearden; a package. Something that can be wrapped up in brown paper with enough room to write an address and accept a postage stamp. Something that can be popped into a letter-box.

I stared at him. They send diamonds through the post!

Why not? The postal system is highly efficient and very rarely is anything lost. Insurance companies are willing to bet large sums of money on the efficiency of the GPO and those boys know what theyre doing. Its a matter of statistics, you know.

He toyed with the matchbox. At one time there was a courier system and that had a lot of disadvantages. A courier would personally carry a parcel of diamonds and deliver it to its destination by hand. That fell through for a number of reasons; the couriers got to be known by the wide boys, which was very sad because a number of them were severely assaulted. Another thing was that human beings are but human, after all, and a courier could be corrupted. The supply of trustworthy men isnt bottomless and the whole courier system was not secure. Far from it.

But consider the present system, he said enthusiastically. Once a parcel is swallowed into the maw of the Post Office not even God can extract it until it reaches its destination. And why? Because nobody knows precisely where the hell it is. Its just one of millions of parcels circulating through the system and to find it would not be like finding a needle in a haystack it would be like searching a haystack for a particular wisp of hay. Do you follow me?