Flight from Llan

By Mark D'Alby

Piers Urquhart is caught up unwittingly in a large scale scam, trying to help his friend fulfil his obligations to his Swiss boss, which involves releasing United Nations funds in the United States for the purchase of baby food, tractors and diesel fuel, to benefit third world countries.

Instead of being able to help with such aid, Piers is wrongly imprisoned on the island of Llan. He manages to escape with the help of a beautiful girl from Berlin, who, believing in Pierss innocence, enlists the help of a fellow countryman and former lover, who is now a leading secret service agent based in Bonn, and who is assigned officially by his government to help unravel the fraud.

There follows a thrilling chase across Northern Europe to Switzerland, then New York state, The Everglades, and finally the Pyramids in Guatemala, where an unusual fate awaits the principal fraudster.

The tale is one of intrigue, police corruption and a total collapse of everything familiar in Pierss life, culminating in an unexpected and dramatic ending.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris UK
• Release date: May 5, 2015
• ISBN: 9781499086942

Mark D'Alby

Mark D’Alby’s debut novel is partly biographical and partly fiction. His original background being in medicine, he also has gained journalistic experience in the United Kingdom, Europe, and indeed worldwide. He has supported the birth of a new weekly newspaper in Southern Thailand, which covers news stories, articles, health, humanitarian, and animal welfare issues, not only in Thailand, but expanding into nearby Laos, Cambodia, Burma, Malaysia, and Singapore. His next novel Teardrops in Siam is set on the Island of Koh Samui, involving an attractive girl from Isaan, who gets caught up in the bright lights and need to earn big money and deals with the pain and emotions involved in cross-cultural differences between East and West.

Book preview

Chapter One

P iers drove up to Oxford on New Year’s Eve. It was one of those glorious, almost magical winter days, with the low sun throwing dancing shadows between the stark, leafless trees and branches, with just a faint suggestion of an early mist about to rise from the waterlogged meadows and fields, sodden by several recent days of almost continuous rain.

He thought, as he drove up in his family-sized estate, about all that had happened over the past year. He did not have any regrets about throwing in his hand in the legal profession and had decided instead to concentrate on research into several medical products his family was involved in. He was looking for research backing but was quite prepared to wait for the breakthrough he was expecting in both the major fields he was working in. He found his work both exciting and challenging, and he would normally rise very early in the morning, as it was easier for him to concentrate on work before anyone else stirred.

He had acquired his doctorate four years earlier, at the age of thirty-eight, working on one particular facet of slowing down the degenerative processes involved in ageing. He could not help smiling when he recalled the way in which he had first become intrigued with the product concerned. An Irish businessman he scarcely knew had told him about a miraculous new discovery which had the power to cure both cancer and AIDS. Piers had insisted on meeting the managing director of the company concerned, only to find that those were two of the conditions it could not help with at all! However, he found some of the other claims for the product almost equally unbelievable; yet within three months, he found himself at a hospital in the Eastern bloc where the original discovery was made, discussing the methods of treatment with the professor concerned. He had travelled there with his wife, Catherine, a consultant in the National Health Service, so that they could both form independent views. They both returned very impressed by what they had seen and learnt, and within three years, they had bought a controlling interest in the company which was manufacturing the product in England.

This work had led Piers on to investigate a natural product emanating from South America, which it was claimed could cure or at least halt certain types of cancer and leukaemia. It was also a very powerful natural antibiotic, though displaying no adverse side effects, and it was this aspect that had led Piers to supply a Swiss clinic with numerous bottles in time for the qualifying rounds of the Winter Olympics in Abbeville.

He was soon on the outskirts of Oxford, when he swung in through the wrought-iron gates of an impressive but rambling Elizabethan manor house. His mother now lived there alone after his father, a well-known and respected local doctor, had died just a few months before. In his younger days, he had always wanted Piers and his younger brother, David, to take over his practice, but neither had done so. Their sister, Hannah, had married a successful buyer in a large chain store and lived in Sussex.

As this was her first year alone, his mother particularly wanted all three of her children to be with her at New Year. David and Hannah arrived separately within the next hour with their respective spouses, though Piers had driven up alone. He had suffered an amicable divorce two years earlier from Catherine, though they still had a great deal of respect for each other. Perhaps he should have concentrated less on his work, particularly those aspects that took him abroad so frequently. He had allowed his enthusiasm for his new work to assume too great an importance, and reflecting impassively, he should have put his family before his quest for more and more data, wherever he could find an opening, whether it be in South America, United States, Europe, or even the Far East. It seemed so tempting at the time, but it had cost him his marriage.

Now forty-two years old, Piers kept himself fit and in good shape. He did a great deal of walking, and whenever possible, he would go swimming and would try to cover at least a hundred miles every week on his mountain bike.

His new girlfriend, Jill, was a doctor living in Bournemouth and also working as a young consultant. He would have loved to have brought her up to Oxford too, but her own family had wanted her to spend New Year with them. Piers was invited but had reluctantly had to decline in favour of his mother’s more pressing demands. His own mother could be somewhat difficult and overbearing at times, and as the ‘materfamilias’, she made it clear that she expected to get her way over matters. As children, they had found that they effectively had no choice but to accept that state of affairs, but as they grew older, they began to resent it and did not come back to their family home any more than they felt obliged to.

Within half an hour of everyone arriving, they were all sitting down to a magnificent meal of Pacific prawns accompanied by a delicious light sauce, followed by traditional turkey with every conceivable trimming to go with it. The sweets varied from home-made Christmas pudding to fresh fruit salad with mangoes and kiwi fruit or a special Black Forest gateau. Their mother had always been an extraordinarily good cook, and even though none of her children looked forward much to visiting her too often, they could at least be assured of a veritable feast when they did.

As midnight approached, they raised their glasses to toast the New Year. They were all standing round a roaring log fire set in a large Minster fireplace. The ample supply of logs came from one of the giant elms that had fallen in a gale several years earlier at the bottom of the tennis court, and the seasoned wood gave off a magnificent heat. What a pity that they could not all be more relaxed and enjoy the occasion without such a feeling of restriction. It was Piers who raised his glass first and gave the toast. ‘To the New Year,’ everyone echoed in unison, ‘may it bring every success and happiness.’

Piers thought wistfully that the proceedings would have been happier for him if Jill had been able to be there, but he was satisfied with the way his life was going and was looking forward to the year ahead with eager anticipation. He would have liked to have been able to watch some of the Hogmanay celebrations on television, but that ‘curse of modern society’ was banned from the house! Perhaps next year?

Little could Piers imagine just how testing the year ahead was going to be for him. He was going to be subjected to a life that would seem inconceivable to him at that moment, and he was going to have to face challenges and despair that all his experience and training hitherto had hardly prepared him for.

He smiled and returned the toast. ‘To the New Year!’ He never drank, not even on occasions such as this, but he was happy to refill his glass with Apfelsaft, which was favourite choice whenever it was available. Perhaps his lack of interest in alcohol was something that was engrained in him from his strict upbringing in that very house.

After a little while, farewells were said, leaving only Piers and his mother in the house. Piers had agreed to stay for most of New Year’s Day, in order to help with some jobs around the house and sort through some of his father’s papers with her. He took a large holdall out of his car and took it up to his bedroom. It seemed strange to be back in the room he had known so well as a child, and it was not many minutes before he fell into a deep sleep.

The next morning was bright and frosty. The ground was rock hard and covered with a layer of frost. Piers rose early and decided to take his mother’s boisterous young English Setter, Sacha, for an early morning walk. She was so excited at being allowed to go for a longer walk than usual as well as being let off the lead that she rushed off wildly towards a nearby clump of trees. Suddenly, there was a momentous screeching noise and flapping of wings as a spectacularly coloured cock pheasant rushed out of a copse, trying in vain to take to the air. In hot pursuit, Sacha never saw the small pond, which was in any case covered with a thin layer of ice with an overlay of frost on top. She crashed onto the slippery surface, and her legs spreadeagled beneath her in a most ungainly fashion. Piers rushed over to her, but already ominous cracks were appearing, and suddenly, she fell into the icy water. The temperature of the water came as such a shock to her that she yelped loudly. The water was not deep, but Piers had to cajole her to take even the most faltering steps back to the bank. She emerged slowly, shook herself vigorously, then ran with Piers for quite a while, but fit as he was, she could easily outpace him. Warming to what she thought was a game laid on for her benefit, she charged to and fro towards him, then ran round in ever increasing circles, barking all the time but thoroughly enjoying herself. In no time, she began to dry out and regain her body warmth.

‘What on earth has happened to that animal!’ exclaimed his mother on their return.

‘Can’t you even take her for a walk without problems? That has never happened with me—it’s only when you decide to break with her routine.’

Piers refrained from pointing out that this had only happened because she never normally had the freedom of a run off the lead, which she needed so desperately. Anyway, the pond was probably only frozen over for a few days each year! He was a little stunned by her remarks, but at such times, he had learnt that it was always better to say nothing. However, he remembered his sister’s advice from the previous evening, cautioning him not to stay longer than it was really necessary. He was suddenly grateful for the wisdom of those words.

He was able to complete the various jobs around the house and sort through the papers, which he had promised to help with, before leaving for Poole in the early evening. The roads were deserted, but in places, the gritting lorries had been out earlier and caused the frost to melt on the dark road surface. He managed to make good time and reached home just before the ten o’clock news.

Chapter Two

V ictor Effenbach sat back contentedly in a soft leather high-backed swivel chair and gazed out of the window. He was puffing at a large Havana cigar and was congratulating himself on his latest coup.

From the window of his plush office in the best quarter of Geneva, near the famous Hotel du Rhone, he could look out at the narrow end of the lake, as the waters cascaded noisily over the rocks and shallows into an enforced defile, swirling under the nearby bridge at the western end of the lake. He could see the famous fountain thrusting its majestic plume of water high into the afternoon sky, whilst the wind spread it over a vast area, catching it at its pinnacle, then blowing it as far down the lake as possible so that the water descended in a wide arc eastwards in deference to the prevailing wind. Far behind, the last low sun of the afternoon was creating an eerie purple tinge, mixed with an almost undetectable orange hue, where the sun caught the snow on the mass of pine branches bedecking the heavily clad slopes.

Strikingly tall with a gaunt figure, Victor was born fifty years earlier in Budapest, with a Swiss father and Hungarian mother. His father had had business interests in Hungary, working there for several years before meeting and falling in love with the daughter of the owner of a steel mill near Lake Balaton. Unfortunately, his mother had died of cancer when he was only seven years old, and his father had returned with him to his native Switzerland. There he devoted much of his energy to bringing up his young son, hoping that he would one day become a lawyer. He anticipated that his son would join a thriving legal practice in Berne, run by a great friend of his, whom he had known since his school days in Lucerne. He himself had never been offered such a chance when he was younger, but he wanted to make doubly sure that his only son never lacked such an opportunity.

Victor had done well at school, but to his father’s intense dismay, spurned the chance of going to University, saying that he wanted to make his own way in life as soon as he was able. Money seemed to play far too great an importance in his son’s life, and his father began to worry about Victor’s almost obsessive desire for riches. He felt that it could lead him to seek out short cuts in life, which could spell disaster unless he were to exercise far more caution.

The empire which Victor had begun to build around himself assumed no particular identifiable pattern. He spread his dealings between vehicles of all types, scrap metal, ageing military aircraft, and commodities of all kinds—in fact, anything which might bring him in more profit. He did not care whose feelings he damaged, whose integrity he dented, or how many enemies he made along the way, as long as he succeeded in winning out. The end result was paramount. His reputation soon spread, and it was rumoured that he was even dealing in arms shipments, including one or two instances where there was an arms embargo in place.

He soon came to the notice of several high-ranking generals around the world, and he had been introduced to more than one leader of various third world countries. They always seemed to be in the market for arms of some description.

It was while he was working in this twilight world of dubious dealing that he was introduced to Harry Beckenheim. Harry had held a prominent post in the Nixon administration but had been forced to resign when Nixon fell from power over the Watergate scandal. He bore a very great animosity towards the Administration in general, and was prepared to resort to almost anything in order to gain revenge. It was at this time that he met Victor Effenbach at a reception in Washington. He recognised him as a man who might be prepared to take risks, provided enough money was involved. He arranged to meet Victor for dinner the following evening and sounded him out in broad terms. He was more than satisfied with the responses he was getting and arranged for Victor to spend the whole of the next day with him in the country so that they could be alone and discuss a proposition without interruptions.

Harry had been approached by someone working in a top-secret military computer centre in California. This person had in his possession a book of unused U.S. Government cheques, destined for military procurement purposes, but which had gone missing three years previously, when the centre was moving location. This book of cheques, authorising virtually unlimited amounts, had been presumed missing or destroyed. In fact, its loss was not even detected for twelve months, and then as not one single cheque had been used or come to light, it was presumed that the book no longer existed. Thus, after three years, Harry, with his detailed knowledge of such departments, was sure that with sufficient care, the cheques could be brought back into use, though only with extreme caution and secrecy.

The plan in itself was simple. The danger lay in extending knowledge to a wider circle of players or ‘dupes’ as Harry liked to call them. He had in all, 240 Government cheques, superimposed with the Statue of Liberty in the top left-hand corner, and bearing the unequivocal instruction ‘payment by order of the U.S. Government.’ Harry explained that he would personally look after the Americas, North and South, but he would like Victor to handle the European and Middle Eastern operation. Each cheque would be issued for a different amount, totalling an overall 250 million dollars.

Victor would be responsible for selecting a totally reliable team of people, who would pay the cheques into various bank accounts in different areas, preferably offshore, so that all the amounts would clear on the same date, 26 February. In that way, no communication should take place between the various banks until after clearance, by which time it would be too late. In any case, Harry and Victor would take great care to distance themselves from the front line operation itself. Some cheques might not clear, but even if only a few got through, they could both be extremely rich.

Everyone else would be dispensable.

Harry could see that Victor was more than interested, so he drew an analogy.

‘Think of it as applying simultaneously for a large bank loan to three different banks. Each of them will naturally check to see what outstanding loan commitments you might have at the time, but no mention of the other two applications will show up, and all things being equal, all three will make you an offer of a loan!’

Harry suggested dividing up the number of cheques into two halves, but he first took the precaution of typing out a specimen one for just over four million dollars, with all the correct codes in place. He then gave Victor a rubber-stamp signature, which he had prepared specially for his use. The two men agreed to keep in constant touch but would only telephone each other by using a sophisticated scrambling device. There was far too much at stake to risk identification or interception by an agency such as G.C.H.Q., who were known to scan both incoming and outgoing from all over the world. If they were able to track Robert Maxwell’s dealings and even calls made by the Royal Family, then there would be many around who would be interested in what was now being planned. Every precaution they could possibly take should be taken. They were both in complete agreement over that.

Victor flew back to Geneva on the next Swissair flight, preparing on the way a shortlist of possible contacts whom he felt that he could trust implicitly. He had just over four weeks to execute the entire operation. He would prefer, where possible, to recruit only single men. He had found from bitter experience that family men could not always be relied upon to keep details of such projects from their spouses. Something invariably leaked out, or was just hinted at in an off-guarded moment. Such a slip, however innocuous, could jeopardise the entire operation. By the time his flight touched down in Geneva, he had listed just twelve contacts, but he was sure that more would emanate from the original twelve names he had drawn up. He would insist, however, that he handled every briefing personally. This was far too big an operation for him to take any unnecessary chances.

Chapter Three

L eona, at twenty-six years old, was a remarkably attractive young woman, who never failed to turn heads in any company. She was tall, with a strikingly athletic, nubile body.

Born in Buffalo, close to the Niagara Falls, she had been brought up in a well-to-do family, even if she had been somewhat starved of affection. Her father was a busy doctor, and her mother spent as much time as possible socialising and participating in charity work. Leona had gone through college but inevitably returned to an empty house, with the result that she soon became self-sufficient and hardly missed her parents.

She had several friends, but on the whole, would have described herself as a loner. She loved animals and took up riding at an early age. However, unlike many of her friends, she did not lose interest in horses and found herself devoting more and more time to all aspects of equestrianism.

Her mother decided that she should attend a full-time course on horse management. The course covered every facet of the business ranging from riding, dressage, stabling, veterinary care, accounts to management skills. Leona was a willing pupil and excelled all-round. She apprenticed herself to some large stables, first in Ohio, then in the ‘blue grass country’ of Kentucky. However, she found that she was missing her friends from her home state of New York. So after two years away, she decided to move back. She had no trouble finding work and was soon established at a large ranch in the foothills of the Adirondacks.

It was there, while at a party, that she first met Harry Beckenheim. Although she did not find him attractive, he was clearly smitten by her good looks and proceeded to monopolise her throughout the evening. He asked her advice about horses in general and in particular, about the best layout for a group of stables. He made her promise that she would come up the next evening to help him choose some stock, as well as advise him generally on equestrian matters. She refused at first, but he was so insistent that she eventually felt sorry for him and agreed to go up for an hour after she had finished work.

The following evening, she arrived punctually at the appointed hour. Harry seemed genuinely delighted to see her. He showed her round the ranch and asked her for advice on positioning the stables, sizes, drainage, foaling pen, tack room, and finally, a choice of horses suitable for general riding. He explained that what he wanted most of all was for Leona to choose a horse for herself, which she could use for riding out, eventing, or whatever she liked. Leona was overwhelmed but felt that she had to refuse. Harry insisted, saying that she should have her own stable there, which she could count on as her own. Leona felt so happy that she gave him a kiss of gratitude on his cheek. To her surprise, he held her there for a full minute before he let her go. He was thirty years older than her, heavily built, and exuded an air of self-confidence, which she was beginning to find not altogether unattractive after all.

The next evening, she came over for a meal, ostensibly to look over some plans he had drawn up for the stables. She did not like the layout and suggested all kinds of changes. Harry readily accepted all her modifications and asked her when she would go with him to choose the horses, including hers. He insisted that price did not come into it. She had to have exactly what she wanted, and she had to look upon her horse as her very own. It was his present to her for all her help. She felt totally overcome.

It was strange. She had broken up with a previous boyfriend because of his lack of interest in horses, yet here was a man she had only just met, who was insisting that she design some stables for him and choose a horse of her very own. She had always suspected that she preferred older men, and she suddenly realised why. They had more experience of life, had achieved more, and exhibited so much more confidence. In Harry’s case, he was divorced but obviously successful, yet lacked a female touch around the home.

Harry folded away the plans and found himself looking at Leona as she sat near him on the soft leather settee. She was immaculately dressed in a new pair of jodphurs and wore an elegant close-fitting silk blouse, with a touch of lace embroidered around the collar. It was a warm evening, and she had the two top buttons of her blouse undone. He ample breasts were firm and unfettered, and he could not help seeing her delicious cleavage through her blouse. The evening sunlight, which was flooding into the room from behind her, showed off her bust to superb effect.

Looking back to that evening later, Harry could scarcely believe what happened next. He held out both his arms to her, but she did not move. Neither did she resist. He moved towards her and slowly ran both his hands through her hair, one after the other. He locked his fingers together behind her neck, and looked enquiringly into her eyes. Her lip quivered. Harry could not bear it any longer. He could not help himself blurting out, ‘My God, you’re so beautiful.’

He looked into her eyes for a full two minutes, before she gave him the faintest hint of a smile, followed by a tear, just one solitary tear, which rolled slowly down her cheek. Harry moved his hands and placed them behind her back, pulling her slowly towards him. He kissed her ever so gently and smelt the delicious fragrance of her perfume delicately pervading his nostrils. He sensed the warmth of her skin and kissed her neck. Slowly, ever so slowly, she lifted her arms from her side and placed them round the back of his head and then kissed him passionately. Harry felt first one breast and then the other. Slowly, he undid the remaining three buttons on her blouse, exposing her naked beauty. Without a word, he drew faint circles round her nipples, which immediately grew in size in response to such a tactile sensation. She threw back her head and sighed and then uttered a groan of contentment.