Black Diamond Baroness: The Peter Hacket Chronicles

By M B Chattelle

Perth and Rockingham, Western Australia were turnaround locations for uncut diamonds originally smuggled out of the Zimbabwean Marange mines and destined for secret auction in Monaco, Europe.

It was an illegal operation set up by Viscount Rupert Blicksworth, an executive of the Bellerose Investissments de Monaco. He engaged Iranian arms dealer Omar Sahran to co-ordinate the operation within Australia. Sahran in turn involved two Aussie crime families, the Russos in Sydney and the Petris in Perth.

The Secret Intelligence Services (SIS) in London had information that it was Blicksworth family member in Monaco who was actually handling the final stage of delivery to auction. To find out more, the SIS engaged a new operative in Monaco.

On learning about Sahrans involvement, alarm bells rang. His association with terrorists and revolutionaries sparked off memories of how he had doubled crossed the SIS over an arms deal in the Middle East.

When intel about a delivery of diamonds were departing from Zimbabwe, the covert SIS interest shifted to Perth, as did their field operative and his Blicksworth contact.

Hacket. London based controller Charles Grimshaw had said. Keep it low profile surveillance. The Aussies arent being told anything so no bodies, just useful information we can use against this Baroness Blicksworth when back in Monaco.

And Omar Sahran? Hacket questioned and Grimshaw simply grinned.

What developed after the disappearance of a small, but valuable, black diamond would crystallise allegiances and cause feuds between, not only, the Russo and Petri crime families, but also within the Blicksworth family and who would live to enjoy their accumulated wealth and title.

www.mbchatelle.me.uk

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse UK
• Release date: Jan 23, 2013
• ISBN: 9781477246801

M B Chattelle

Author Biography & more available  - on web web site : http://www.mbchattelle.me.uk

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2013 by M B Chattelle. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 01/17/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4679-5 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4680-1 (e)

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by and copyright MB Chattelle/Fotolia LLC are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

1. September, Western Australia

2. August

3 September, Portugal

4 Epilogue

Occasional [adj]

Support Operatives (to Retread [adj]). Contractor status engaged on commission by commission basis.

Retread [adj]-Retreads [pl]

Special Intelligence Service (SIS) Field Operative

officially retired.

Contractor status engaged on commission by commission basis.

Rockingham City [n]-Rocky City [n, col] Suburb and primary centre in Western Australia southwest of the Perth city centre and south of Fremantle. Estb. 1847.

1. September, Western Australia

"So F.G., I hear that you’ve had early snow in the UK. Hacket remarked to Freddie Gold. Oh…give me a moment…" He said and cupped a hand over his brow to shield out the early morning Western Australian coastal sunshine.

Sarah? He asked as he dangled his photo binoculars over her prone body laid beside him on the Rocky City’s deserted, sandy beach.

Hacket? She questioned on opening and blinking her tired blue-grey eyes.

There’s a motor boat racing out from that Bellerose cruiser. Go see if you recognise any faces and, if possible, take some photographs.

Sure. She mumbled, slowly climbed to her feet on the sand dunes and clipped up her bikini top.

She took the binoculars and gazed out over the sparkling and motionless Swan River for a moment before strolling over the damp golden sands toward the gently lapping waters edge.

"Sorry about that F.G." Hacket apologised whilst concentrating on the sensual roll of her buttocks. You wouldn’t believe how things have moved in the last twenty four hours and it appears that we might have some more action.

Yeh right. Gold replied and coughed down the phone. Does London know you’ve put your own pussy team together down there?

"Needs must F.G. and my lungs are too shot if we have to dive for those smuggled Zimbabwe diamonds."

"And just how old are these lungs?" Gold enquired and chuckled.

"They’re in their twenties F.G., so too old for you. Hacket replied in jest. Where are you now? I’m at KL airport and about to board the onward flight to Perth."

"And it’s about time F.G. Did London and Uncle Charlie give up on that need to know crap before you left?"

"They did and yes that transgender nuisance of yours, Hartley…he was at one time considered a potential asset to support the retread team. He even survived a while on the SIS Milford House training programme until his real father intervened."

"But I bet neither Uncle nor London actually confirmed he was the payroll?"

Nope, but you think differently right?

He says that he’s working for him self but I’m not so sure. I saw him in action last night and he’s quite the professional.

Oh yes? Gold replied as he was passed back his boarding pass to the woman on the Qantas desk.

"If he’s not actually firing the gun then he’s behind the increasing body count down here and it smells of that spider leg strategy London so prefers."

Look, I’ve only a few minutes but I’m listening Hacket.

2. August

2.1 Manchero, Portugal

The Australian assignment proposed by Hacket’s UK handler, the ageing and terminally unwell Charles Uncle Grimshaw, was timely. It

was rare that Grimshaw left his decaying and cramped single bedroom apartment in Enfield, North London. So for Grimshaw to travel down to the Portuguese Algarve had been quite unexpected and concerning to Hacket.

Grimshaw had been Hacket’s immediate boss within the UK Secret Intelligence Service, SIS/MI6 where they worked out on the grid. Their last assignment together, before Grimshaw became UK based and later the service had been restructured, had been in the Middle East.

The UK Government’s financial cuts had forced restructuring and many field specialists accepted, reluctantly, early retirement packages. The issue for all ex-field operatives would be finding new employment. Hacket’s experience was the black operation with a specialism in the wet assignment, not exactly something he could include when compiling a curriculum vitae for a prospective employer. That aside and similar to other ex-SIS, he could discuss little of his history for fear of contravening the UK Official Secrets Act.

At the time when the UK Home Secretary imposed budgetary cuts the head of SIS London Specialist Operations was Frederick Marsh, or Mr. M., as he was referred to by many service insiders. Marsh had worked out on the grid with both Grimshaw and Hacket and was deeply disturbed at loosing field expertise. His unwavering belief was that the MI6 Service in London’s Vauxhall Cross building could not fully function from simply employing staff who sat behind computers and who were reliant on electronic surviellance. Marsh was accused of being a dinosaur but it would be the UK Government’s Investors in People initiative that would break weeks of sleepless nights in his Westminster, London town house.

Within days Marsh approached ex field leader Charles Uncle Grimshaw and capitalising on the new initiative, CG Consulting Limited was formed by Grimshaw. Following a few minutes discussion between Grimshaw and Marsh, CG Consulting filed articles of memorandum to provide security training and consultancy services with UK Companies House.

Strictly speaking, Marsh was investing in people, it was just that these individuals were ex-SIS, affectionately called retreads and hired through the new CG company.

Peter Hacket was not an early retread recruit having initially managed to find numerous well paid private black ops commssions which, if nothing more, had funded the purchase of a secluded villa with adequately sized swimming pool on Portugal’s Algarve and had enabled him to open a Swiss Bank account.

In the valley below the town of Manchero, Portugal, Hacket assumed the alias of a long deceased Portuguese movie star called Pira Hascombe. He rarely ventured far from his Villa Castillo mostly this would be to patronise a local bar in Manchero and whilst in the town he would replenish and purchase supplies of his favourite Caribbean Morgan’s Spiced rum and Detroit American cigarettes.

Between private commissions, life in Villa Castillo was tranquil and Hacket spent hours slumped in a broken wicker chair alongside his swimming pool, enjoying the sunshine, consuming alcohol and chain smoking. When he became conscious that he might be becoming lax or whenever he received news from his

Swiss Bankers that his funds were dwindling he would spend time on the internet and phone to seek out further commissions. However, it would be Hacket’s visit to the Bar Montero in Manchero where he overheard that the local Portuguese Policia had been asking questions about Pira Hascombe that he decided it was time for him to vanish for a while. His retread work had caught up with him.

"This is not about saving your arse from the Portimão Policia Hacket." Grimshaw stated and glanced around the quiet Algarve restaurant.

"I appreciate that Uncle, but Western Australia, well it’s appealing I suppose."

Bullshit Hacket, you suppose. Why in hell you had to bury those bodies so close to your villa…that was a stupid mistake that’ll you’re going to pay for unless you..

What, disappear? Hacket interrupted but without smiling as he raised his hands up. "But you and Mr. M. got a result didn’t you?"

It wasn’t as tidy as it should have been Hacket. That said…all I can offer you is a low level surveillance job to remove your arse. You do understand that don’t you?

"Shit, sure Uncle. So, this newbie Clive Sterling, is he one of your occasionals?"

Not exactly Hacket. Grimshaw said and looked directly into Hacket’s eyes. "He joined our circus on Mr. M’s insistence when I couldn’t find him somebody in Monaco. Sterling comes across as a well educated boy on Skype, even if a little borderline gay. He plays the short con mostly on the titled rich bitches in Monaco to make ends meet. His problem, and the leverage we have against him, is his gambling habit."

"Look, no pun intended, but are you covering your arse with me watching this Sterling or is it Mr.M.?"

I don’t like being hoisted on Hacket.

Yeh right, so what’s the background?

Ok. Grimshaw mumbled and leant forward. "London is twitchy about uncut diamonds coming into Europe from Perth, Australia. Sterling, he was well placed in Monaco to monitor some fancy sea crusiing vessel called the Bellerose who, it’s believed, is responsible for smuggling these diamonds into Europe."

But Perth doesn’t have diamonds does it?

Zimbabwe does though. The Bellerose cruiser is registered to a financial house called the Bellerose de Principauté de Monaco and they, the company, they have business interests in Zimbabwe. He explained and Hacket glared at him and shook his head. The thing is it’s believed that one of the company nominee directors, a Viscount Rupert Blicksworth, is the company business contact over there and in particular with the diamond mining industry. It’s thought that the Viscount has kind of side stepped things and has recently handed over things over to his daughter Carolyn who has cultivated the Zimbabwean contacts.

"Yes, yes, but to do what exactly Uncle?"

The Baroness, she’s thought to be responsible for overseeing uncut stones to travel from Zimbabwe via Indonesia and into Perth, but it’s the turn around in Perth for onward movement into Europe and the subsequent resale that she’s in real control of.

And when in Monaco, this Baroness does what?

That’s what Clive Sterlng has been onto. He got alongside this Baroness and is now out in Perth where he’s seen what’s going on and…well, I have to admit it, the bitch has been clever. You see, what arrives into Perth is a mix of crap and some real quality which ends up in these auctions in the Bellerose de Principauté de Monaco building. The crap pays off the soldiers on route but the high grade stuff being sold off is what London is interested in.

Because?

Because London, it’s convinced that the auction money is financing of the anti Zimbabwe government insurrectionists.

So what’s the bloody problem for goodness sake?

The human rights Kimberley Process people are the problem Hacket, that’s what.

"You are taking the piss, right?"

It all political correctness and human rights these days Hacket and the KP people have their pubic hairs in the vice.

So it’s diamonds for guns right?

That’s the broad picture Hacket, yes.

Right and nothing much to do with stopping terrorists or is it about saving the diamond market being fucked up by being flooded with Marange mined stones?

My, my, Hacket, so you do lift your nose from your bottle of Morgan’s rum at sometime don’t you?

"Oh, very humorous Uncle.…so this Baroness?"

"Sterling is down under and waiting for her to arrive. We, London, believe she is currently at the Blicksworth property outside of Hamilton."

Hamilton, Bermuda?

It’s the capital and a British Overseas Territory with..

"Please Uncle, I do know something about the world. Have we, you, any real intel on Baroness, like a recent photo or anything?" Hacket enquired and Grimshaw lowered his gaze.

Nothing you couldn’t dig up in Debrett’s.

Oh joy. Hacket grumbled and Grimshaw simply looked up and stared at him.

What? "So what we have here is an occasional which you don’t really know or trust. We’ve him watching the daughter of a Viscount who we’ve no photo of and it’s thought or believed is involved in smuggling diamonds to raise money for black Zimbabwean terrorists. Jesus Uncle is there anything else that I haven’t heard on this need to know shit before I go humpy dumpty?"

Omar Sahran, the arms dealer.

What!? The Iranian?

Shush Hacket. Grimshaw hissed and glanced around the restaurant. London is positive that he’s involved with this shit. They believe the Blicksworth’s have him on board to organise things in Aussie.

"Oh come on Uncle, now you’re really pulling my chain. Sahran is no team organiser, it’s not his style. He’s just import and export to the highest bidder."

Think about it Hacket. Terrorists with a shit load of money from selling diamonds and looking to purchase arms? Sahran has to have some organisation in place to do his import, export?

"Is this unfinished business Uncle?"

"At this moment it’s just humpy dumpty surveillance on this Sterling guy."

Not when it comes to that Iranian bastard nothing is that simple.

It was whilst both Grimshaw and Hacket had been in Iran during the Ayatollah Khomeini insurrection that they had come across the name Sahran. The SIS were in Iran to equip pro British supporters with arms and an Australian called Robert Petri was the buffer between them and the dealer Sahran who Hacket had only met the one time after which he expressed his concerns.

"I don’t trust that Iranian Uncle." Hacket had said at the time.

Look, you and me neither. But London loves him and he’s all we’ve got.

"I’m telling you Uncle, that Sahran, he’s one fucking untrustworthy two faced Muslim."

Hacket was to be proved right when arms purchased were proved to be defective and cost the lives of two local Farsi speaking Agents which had been recruited by Hacket.

2.2 Western Australia

With rumbles of thunder in the darkening night sky over an already rain drenched Northbridge district, the cab driver showed a fleeting concern for his passengers’ safety by asking the jet lagged Hacket twice if he was sure that he wanted to be dropped off at the Baric Club in downtown Perth.

Hacket, no stranger to being in places which placed him at personal risk, simply smiled and dismissively shrugged his shoulders. However, he would have been more comfortable if he was armed, but that was something he would soon address through Grimshaw’s old contact from Iran, Robert Petri.

Petri owned several adult only establishments in W.A., including the Baric Club in Northbridge. He rarely visited his Clubs him self, leaving that to his niece Sarah, his only blood relative to remain living in Perth and, for that matter, even talk to him. She was a confident mid twenties woman with a bundle of brown curly and contrasting blue grey eyes with which she could seduce any man or woman she so desired.

During the prolonged economic recession the Petri Clubs had financially suffered and as her uncle lost interest it would be on Sarah’s who would instigate a change in the business. What materialised was that the Clubs would offer punters two types of entertainment. During daylight hours the Clubs offered a table and pole dancing service. This proved mildly profitable compared to the karaoke performances, by the mostly amateur drag queens, presented after the sun had set.

Hacket stood on the uneven and wet pavement outside of the Baric Club, whose red neon lights above the entrance advised adult only admittance. He ignored the unfriendly gaze from the doorman, Sammy Childs, and pushed his hands into the pockets of his creased brown Chinos whilst studying the array of laminated posters pinned to the Club’s outside walls. Amongst the poorly designed posters of topless pole dancers and transvestite entertainers it took Hacket some time to identify the artist called Clare, who he knew as Clive Sterling and had come to introduce him self too.

"Why am I doing this?" Hacket mumbled to himself whilst he swiped the back of one hand across his forehead to remove the dribbles of rain which had begun to fall on him. In his mind it was not just that he had learned that Omar Sahran was involved but more so, and what had made him pick up the Qantas plane ticket from the table in Portugal, had been Grimshaw’s less than subtle mention that Megan Riley had recently worked the Sydney end of the diamond operation.

I’ve taken the liberty to e-mail Riley that you’ve a two night stop over in Singapore’s Three Sixty Express hotel. Grimshaw had said then had coughed violently several times behind his clenched fist so to avoid Hacket’s glaring eyes. I appreciate it’s all hush-hush about you and Riley and I’m not normally one to play cupid, but on this occasion, well she’s finished in Australia and

Please Uncle. Hacket had interjected without any noticeable emotion in his voice. It’s not that I don’t appreciate you being mindful of my personal happiness and all, but I don’t even know if Riley knows the real me? Pardon?

Look, is she expecting to meet me Hacket, the real me, or my alias Peter Haslope? Ah yes, I think I said to her Haslope but I’m still waiting on a reply. Grimshaw had remarked before he had then beckoned a waitress with the wave of his hand.

It had been Grimshaw who had employed Riley to track down Hacket after the Richmond, London assignment. Hacket was in hiding after a contract had been put out on him and Riley had succeeded in locating him in Edinburgh, Scotland. The physical attraction between Hacket and Riley had been instant and together they had one explosive night before she suddenly disappeared. It would be a night he would never forget and spent days attempting, but failing, to find her.

They would next meet again in Florida, USA where Grimshaw had had her working undercover within the Ruiz crime family on the Million Reasons to Die assignment. Riley’s appearance had considerably changed unlike her feelings toward Hacket. In Florida she had saved his life twice and in doing so the bond he sensed between him and Riley intensified.

When in the Singapore Three Sixty Express, Hacket so frequently enquired about any messages that he became regarded as a nuisance at the hotel reception desk. He never had received any messages and Riley never showed before he checked out.

Are you here for the evening show mate? The huge suited Baric doorman asked of Hacket.

What? Oh sort of…. Hacket replied, paused and then looked at the name badge on the doorman’s jacket. Sammy. He said and looked up into the man’s un-flickering brown eyes. I’ve got an old mate working the stage who invited me along.

Is that so? Sammy Childs questioned and folded his arms across his barrelled chest.

Clive?

Sorry mate, don’t know the name.

"He goes by the stage name of Clare?"

Oh you mean the new Pommy. Childs remarked with a grin and unfolded his arms. You don’t look the sort mate.

Pardon?

Nothing. Get the girl on the desk inside to give the bloke a ring.

Sterling was the only occupant in what was a communal dressing room in the building’s basement which was small, dilapidated and smelt of a combination of cheap aerosol spray and human sweat.

Whoever you’re after ducky they’re not here. Clive Sterling remarked whilst pausing from applying his stage makeup and peering at Hacket’s reflection in his poorly illuminated mirror.

And I’ve flown in especially from Monaco to see the world famous Club Baric karaoke evening show.

Sterling turned, looked at Hacket and then glanced at the open dressing room door.

"Oh my dear Haslope!" Sterling enthusicasilly yelped, stood up with a mascara stick held in his hand and leant forward to brush his painted lips across Hacket’s left cheek. Have you missed me!? He questioned loudly, stood back from Hacket and rolled his eyes toward the ceiling.

"Of course I have Clare." Hacket responded joyfully then followed Sterling’s lead and perched down on a metal stool beside him and infront of the makeup mirror.

"And how is our Uncle these days ducky?" Sterling enquired and leant forward.

You’re in his thoughts every day. Hacket replied and as he looked around the room.

Be careful. Sterling hissed quietly. I’ll have my arse whipped if these people tumble.

I’d have thought that would be considered a perk with this type of work?

Not for bloody me it isn’t. Sterling objected in a whisper as a curvaceous woman with long brown hair bustled into the room.

"How ya doing Clare?" She enquired with her speckled blue eyes focused on Hacket.

I’m ok Miss Collins. Sterling replied cheerfully and picked up a tissue which he used to dab his orange painted lips. This is my dear, dear friend from the UK Miss Collins….remember me saying he might call in.

"Ah yes. So Mr Haslope, are you staying to see Clare’s turn, he does a bloody good Kylie? You’ll enjoy it."

I’m sure I will Miss Collins. Hacket responded with a smile and then swivelled around to see Sterling’s concerned face.

"That’s the Club’s cheerleader, Jayne Collins. She takes care of the table and pole girls. Sterling whispered. She pulls a lot of clout around here with the Petri family If you’re staying to watch the show then.. He began to say then looked up as two topless giggling girls hurriedly swayed into the room.

Not tonight thanks, I’ve seen enough Kylie routines in my time. Hacket responded sarcastically and stood up. "We need to meet up later when you’re not being Clare." "What on a real date?" Sterling said loudly enough for Collins to hear, grinned mischievously and placed a hand playfully on Hackets’s shoulder.

Don’t piss me around. Hacket whispered uneasily. The Burger King in the city centre when you’re finished up here.

Oh you’re a naughty boy. Sterling quipped aloud with a boyish grin then ran his fingers over his orange nylon hairpiece. Kiss, kiss. Sterling demanded on spotting Collins watching the both of them. He quickly stood up and presented a cheek to Hacket’s lips.

Don’t you push this transvestite thing too far with me? Hacket snarled quietly as he obligingly brushed his lips on Sterling’s powdered face before turning and then slowly departing.

I’ll wear something special for you ducky! Sterling shouted after Hacket and winked slyly at Collins.

On leaving the Baric, Hacket nodded his head at the doorman Sammy and stopped on the pavement to light a cigarette.

Sorry mate. You can’t smoke this close to the Club.

What?

W.A. has got this rule about committing suicide within two metres of a public building.

You can’t be serious? Hacket remarked and blew smoke out of the corner of his mouth.

I don’t make the rules mate. Sammy replied and stood to one side to usher two scruffily dressed male punters down into the Baric. "How was your umm, your friend Clare?"

"Clare’s doing ok. Hacket responded and rolled the filter tip across his dry lips. I can’t imagine that you get many English acts this far from anyplace?"

"Occasionally, but it’s mostly backpackers looking to make a quick Buck on the tables. Few last more than a couple of shifts. Mind you, there are some exceptions like Clare’s friend Carole."

Carole?

"The English Baroness."

"Oh right, that Carole."

Of course you probably know about her don’t you? Well she certainly attracted the punters in for a short while.

"The Baroness seems to be able to do that Sammy."

So is it bullshit was it that she’s actually some Royal Blicksworth or something like?

That’s the story Sammy so why ruin it eh? Hacket replied and grinned. This is sure some way off her usual territory.

I heard that the Boss and she met up in Thailand. He thought the Royal title thing would attract the punters and you don’t question Mr. Kelvin if you want to keep working here.

He sounds a barrel of laughs.

As much as any ex-docker with attitude issues can be I guess.

Presumably Carole she moved on? Hacket questioned and drew on his filter tip.

"It’s called artistic differences which arose between her and our cheerleader." Sammy said and the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Ah yes, Clare introduced me, Miss Collins right?" Hacket said and flicked his cigarette into the street.

Every Club has one mate but ours is a bit of a dingo about the punters getting the full nipple and pussy show for their Bucks.

And Carole refused or what?

As I said, it was artistic differences. She did better with the evening crowd, he remarked then briefly stretched forward to glance up and down the deserted evening street. So are you going back down to see your friend do his Kylie or what?

I’ve seen it all too many times Sammy.

To be honest mate, and all respect him being your, err, friend and all, but he’s got a lot to learn to please these punters. He explained then pushed passed Hacket as a black limousine appeared at the end of the street. Here we go let’s hope the Boss is in a good mood tonight.

Hacket swiftly moved a few doors down the street as the limousine pulled up to the kerb and turned to see Sammy open the vehicles’ rear passenger door. When a rotund, white moustached middle-aged man emerged he was nothing like Hacket had expected of John Kelvin.

The manager of the Baric Club had squeezed his huge, muscled and tattooed frame inside of strapless, sequined pink dress, and on seeing him, Hacket could not refrain from smiling. ‘I think your Boss has got more than just attitude issues.’ Hacket muttered to him self as Kelvin pushed passed Sammy to rapidly disappear into the Club.

When Hacket spotted Sammy shaking his head and glaring at him he began to stroll away from the Club whereupon he heard someone whistle call from across the street. When he turned, he saw a long haired, emancipated white youth running toward him.

Are you looking to party mate? The youth asked in a gasp but with a grin on his thin lips.

Not tonight thanks. Hacket replied as the scrawny faced youth stepped in front of him and began to walk backward.

I’ve two beautiful Abo girls all revved up and ready to party. The youth advised and glanced skyward as the next drops of rain fell.

I’m sure you do. Hacket remarked with an expressionless face as he tried to side step the pimp.

I’m ok with either Buck’s or glass. The pimp explained and Hacket suddenly stood still and stared questioningly at him. I saw you talking to Sammy.

So? Hacket asked and spotted the pimp look over his shoulder. What he did not see was Sammy Childs shaking his head from side to side at the youth.

I thought maybe….you and Sammy…I’ll tell you what, how about twenty Bucks?

I’m not interested. Hacket asserted and eased around the pimp. Anyhow I’ve got a serious case the clap pal. He lied and began to immediately walk away.

My Abo beauties, they’re all ok if you use a rubber mate! The pimp shouted after Hacket.

Close to midnight another heavy rain downpour had driven those still out in central Perth to take shelter in the few remaining open fast food outlets.

In the crowded and noisy Burger King, Hacket occupied a corner table. The burger and fries accompanied by several coffee refills had done little to ease the jet lag he felt and he was yawning when he spotted who he thought was Sterling saunter into the fast food restaurant.

"Hey there again Mr. Haslope." Sterling remarked joyfully as he slid down in a plastic seat across Hacket’s table.

"Is that really you Sterling?" Hacket enquired as looked over Sterling’s expensively cut two piece suit and his open necked silk white shirt.

We’re you expecting someone else? He asked and sighed. "Work is work Mr. Haslope. Though tonight’s audience was hard work and even that arsehole John Kelvin remarked as much, though I believe that you missed my very best performance yet." He stated and placed his hands palm side down on the formica table top.

So you’re happy then? Hacket suggested sarcastically but grinned.

As much as I can be after doing this rubbish for three weeks, two days and almost three hours working for a Boss who is almost bordering on the schizophrenic.

Kelvin does have a certain style. Hacket remarked and fell back into his plastic seat. I was talking to the doorman when he arrived at the Club.

So you saw how Kelvin was decked out tonight? God save us all. Sterling said and glanced up at the ceiling.

Party night again was it Sterling? Hacket suggested as his fingers pushed the plastic tray of part eaten cold food away from him.

"Not exactly Mr. Haslope. So what did Sammy have to say? Not that he ever really has much other than gossip when when it comes down to it."

"Yeh Sammy, well he certainly thinks that we’re big buddies and that because of that, that I knew your Baroness."

That’s him alright, all hearsay and looking for an angle which he might use.

And you’re sure about that are you Sterling?

"Sammy looks after himself Mr. Haslope."

I’m sure he does Sterling, but you shouldn’t underrate what a doorman like him sees and knows.

Really? Sterling questioned and slowly drummed his fingers of one hand on the table top. So you being here is all a little last minute isn’t it? Are you going to open up and tell me what that is all about?

"For me it’s all about getting some sunshine Sterling but you know how Uncle is and how he worries?"

"Actually I don’t since we’ve never actually met. Our love affair has been all Skype over the net and the occasional text message. Is he really as old and ill as he looks and sounds?"

Let’s say that’s the consequences of suffering for UK Limited for countless years. Hacket responded and reached out to slowly push his discarded coffee away from him. But you, as I understand things, you’re here because of a little careless slip of yours in Monaco?

"Oh how very diplomatic Mr. Haslope, but yes, hands up. I was trying to resolve some financial obligations and messed up. But being here on this humiliating assignment and being paid the pittance I am, that’s hardly going to resolve those problems."

"What, and you being back in Monaco and syphoning of a little of the Baroness’s merchandise is worth the risk to your health?" Hacket suggested in a solemn tone of voice and looked down as he used his index finger to draw circles on the table top.

One day it’s hustling rich babes in Monaco… Sterling remarked, sighed and interlocked his fingers of both hands. And then suddenly London has me by the balls.

Better them than friends of this Baroness.

I never knew what I was getting into with Blicksworth woman. He lied. "This suit approaches me and says I could either be turned over to the local authorities as working short cons in Monaco or, or he could smooth over that if were to focus on just one mark. The basic money was.it was bugger all but then I didn’t relish time served. However the all expenses tract was enough for me to come on board to provide information on this Blicksworth’s movements. What I hadn’t signed up for was travelling here to do this shit Baric Club stuff Mr. Haslope."

So humour me Sterling, give me some background.

What? Sterling questioned and stared into Hacket’s tired eyes.

Just the highlights will do.

"OK, look I’m told to go to some side street Bar Parid in