The American Broker Read online

  The

  American

  Broker

  by Andrew Hill

  No part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronically or mechanically, including photocopying or any information storage or retrieval system, without the prior permission in writing from the author

  Copyright © Andrew Hill International 2009 Astcote, UK

  Contents

  Contents 3

  Foreword 6

  Chapter I A Death In Surburbia 7

  Chapter II Pieces 8

  Chapter III Past 10

  Chapter IV Spirit 11

  Chapter V Riddles 12

  Chapter VI Another Death 13

  Chapter VII Mistaken Identity 15

  Chapter VIII Hit-and-run 16

  Chapter IX Hi There, Smiley 17

  Chapter X Plans 21

  Chapter XI To France 27

  Chapter XII Monza To Switzerland 28

  Chapter XIII June 32

  Chapter XIV Mrs Reilly 34

  Chapter XV Collette and Gill 35

  Chapter XVI Sally 39

  Chapter XVII Girls Alone 40

  Chapter XVIII News 42

  Chapter XIX Evelyn 43

  Chapter XX Cut! 44

  Chapter XXI Lunch 49

  Chapter XXII Time To Think 50

  Chapter XXIII Kos 52

  Chapter XXIV Misdirection 59

  Chapter XXV Talking To Gill 60

  Chapter XXVI Followed 62

  Chapter XXVII Tina 66

  Chapter XXVIII Take Me Out 68

  Chapter XXIX Brian 69

  Chapter XXX Harry 72

  Chapter XXXI Diplomatic Immunity 75

  Chapter XXXII Break In 77

  Chapter XXXIII A Sense Of Danger 78

  Chapter XXXIV Something Else 80

  Chapter XXXV Attack 81

  Chapter XXXVI Which Mr Lindon? 84

  Chapter XXXVII Harry’s Story 86

  Chapter XXXVIII Coma 87

  Chapter XXXIX Escape 88

  Chapter XL The Bourbon Run 92

  Chapter XLI The Chase 95

  Chapter XLII Believe 101

  Chapter XLIII Violet 103

  Chapter XLIV Perfume 106

  Chapter XLV Mountains 117

  Chapter XLVI Mr & Mrs Canterbury 119

  Chapter XLVII Ill 121

  Chapter XLVIII Ten Bob 122

  Chapter XLIX Folk Singer 126

  Chapter L Set Up 131

  Chapter LI Collette’s Drive 135

  Chapter LII Gone 138

  Chapter LIII Hazy Horizon 139

  Chapter LIV One Of The Two 140

  Chapter LV Farewell Maria 143

  Chapter LVI Welcome Collette 146

  Chapter LVII Familiar Words 149

  Chapter LVIII Papers 151

  Chapter LIX C J Lindon 152

  Chapter LX Fade 153

  Foreword

  Chris Austin made one mistake in an otherwise brilliant career. He risked the livelihood of those close and dear to him in his personal and business life, and he risked funds entrusted to him by his company's clients when an American, Robert Lindon entered his life.

  Bob Lindon described to him a financial scheme which, with powerful logic, produced an opportunity for very, very large amounts of money to be made available. So vast was the amount, and so certain of the success of the scheme, Chris became totally pre-occupied with it. Bob Lindon's reassurance that Chris's actions were fully protected by funds already under the American's control in the States effectively countered a feeling that there might be any problem. Chris and, to a lesser but nonetheless significant extent, his friends, had before them a vision of a whole new and exciting future coming to reality. It was, indeed, the stuff that dreams are made of.

  Dreams, though, can become nightmares, and when Bob Lindon failed to honour his promises the reality of life for Chris Austin and many others became that nightmare. Brave efforts were made to recover or to replace the £1 million or so lost through following Bob Lindon's advice but these efforts served only to increase the vulnerability of those making them. Vulnerability, not only to the inevitable actions of the authorities but also to the sinister implications of their beginning to learn more about the reasons for Bob Lindon's failure and the type of people involved in the background than those people desired to become known. Gradually, support for Chris by his colleagues petered out and finally, reluctantly, in early 1985, he too had to give up. His career ruined, his physical reserves depleted and his dreams shattered, he stood alone to face the consequences.

  This story commences a couple of years later, when Chris Austin walks away from a London court and experiences a freedom of a sort that had evaded him for so long. The events of the past, though, still haunt him, as does a determination to discover the truth about Bob Lindon.

  A dramatic sequence of events results in old associations being renewed. Complex twists of motives and emotions emerge as the loyalty of once-close friends comes into question.

  The unpredictability and unusual appearance of a little-known race in the Slav mountain lands brings starkness to an already tense atmosphere and in another part of that country English and Greek are silenced, stunned by the moving tones of a small town folk singer.

  Other feelings, friendships and fears will be found as the story unfolds. A story that is credible, because it is based largely on fact, yet incredible, because it is not easy to believe that such things could happen. A story that will shock with the violence of some, yet calm at the care shown by others. A story where sensations are vivid but senses still reel. A story that attacks the emotions then tends its wounds. A story with few explanations because only a few of the people still exist.

  Chapter I A Death In Surburbia

  Tyler kicked the body. Two blue eyes stared up at nothing. They could see no longer. Whatever it was that they saw last was gone. "Shit", muttered Tyler as he quickly searched the young man's body for any identification. Grabbing some papers, a wallet and roughly unfastening the watch still running on the lifeless wrist, he walked back to the car. His eyes darted about trying to detect any movement in the street. Nothing moved. Nothing would move at five on a Sunday morning on this run-down housing estate. Suburbia slept. The Sierras sat newly polished in the gravel drives of neat but dismal semi-detached houses.

  "Was it Chris?" asked Sally as John Tyler kicked off his black leather boots and leaned back on the chair, hands clasped behind his head which shook to reply in the negative.

  "Bloody wish it was, in a way," he said, "can't take much more of this."

  "Oh, come on John. He wasn't perfect but he doesn't deserve to die," shouted Sally as Tyler walked into the kitchen and noisily grabbed a jar of coffee. The kettle boiled and he poured the water into two mugs. Stirring them and throwing the spoon into the sink, where it lay with the previous night's dishes, he went over to the sofa and sat down next to the girl. A good ten years younger than Tyler, Sally seemed to be catching up with him fast. She had passed forty a few weeks before and her face was drawn. How much could be attributed to staying up night after night waiting for her husband to return and how much was due to the pain she suffered a few days earlier when thugs had beaten her and left her to crawl two miles home was anyone's guess.

  "Look Sal," said Tyler, "they're going to get him sooner or later. He's not the sort of guy that can last long on the run - not when both sides are after him." He glanced over at the watch and papers he had brought back. "This one seems to be another set-up job. Looked a bit like Chris but too young. Only about forty. I guess they just wanted to see what I do. And what do I do? Jump at their command. Yes sir. No sir. Three bags bloody full sir! Probably watching from one of the
houses, making sure I do exactly as I'm told!"

  Chapter II Pieces

  Collette picked up the phone and pressed out Harry Gordon's number.

  "Harry?"

  "Hi there, Collette. What are you doing calling at this time of day?"

  "Harry - have you seen The Chronicle?"

  "No . . ."

  "Another person's been killed on the Newlands estate. You know - the one where Chris was staying. It isn't Chris but June says that both of the men killed are of similar build and appearance to him and the police want anyone who may have any information to contact them urgently before any more innocent people get hurt." Collette's voice was desperate. "Harry, if you know where he is now, you've got to do something. This is crazy."

  "Collette, I've told you already - I haven't seen him since he was arrested, apart from on the box, of course. He called me once and told me where he was going to stay until things died down a bit but after they did Lynn I kept well away from him. Someone's out to get him. The police sure worked on all of us before the trial and I don't know about you but I don't fancy another visit."

  "OK." said Collette. "I'm sorry. I just can't get that man out of my life. It's been two years now. First there's all the secret stuff at the office. Then he disappears and the Government starts asking questions. Then he comes back with this crazy story about being threatened and the police come running round asking questions. Chris gets away again and hides out with that girl Gill Chalmers. Sally Tyler, Lynn, June Franklin, Keith . . . God knows who else gets to keep quiet or else . . . now someone's trying to kill him!"

  "Again." added Harry.

  "Yes, well," said Collette, calming down a little, "at least we know it's for real this time."

  "Look, Col. Stay out of it. We've all had one hell of a rough time. All I'm trying to do is forget the past and start afresh. I've got to think of little Mark. Lynn won't even let anyone speak about Chris in the house. He let us all down pretty badly and none of the old gang that I know are doing anything except getting on with whatever they can do to put themselves back together again. He's on his own now wherever he is. There's absolutely nothing we can do."

  "OK, OK, cut the lecture. I just wanted to talk to someone. I don't suppose John..."

  "Collette. Forget it."

  "Sorry. I'll let you get on with some work."

  "Don't worry. It's nice to hear from you again. You should come over and see us sometime - what about next weekend? It's Mark's second birthday.... ah, er, well, that's not really your scene is it.... er . . . well, look, just call in when you're over this way and we'll have a drink."

  "Yes Harry. Thanks. I'd better go now. See you."

  "Sure. Bye Col."

  Collette put the phone down and went over to the window. Everything seemed so normal out there. Despite all that had happened she still felt guilty about leaving Chris. She had only worked for him. He had never touched her - never even hinted at anything - but there had been some sort of excitement about being involved with all the events and people around in those days. She remembered the parties. How happy everyone was. Then the drama. She had never really understood what it was all about but, being at the sharp end of clients' abuse over the telephone, she certainly knew that something had gone wrong.

  She had never thought that Chris had actually gone off with the million they said he had. Anyone that knew him would have said the same. They did and a brilliant young barrister convinced the Court that young Mr Austin had already suffered quite enough for his mistakes. As the sun broke through from behind a cloud Collette could not help wonder though, why all the violence had erupted afterwards. She had been lucky and had missed the worst. "But the others," she mused, "the others - God, had they been hit hard; and they knew hardly any more than she did. In fact, apart from Keith, they weren't even directly involved. And now people are getting killed!"

  She turned back and sat down at the kitchen table, her nightdress falling open as she reached for a cigarette. Drawing deeply she watched the smoke curl round towards the porcelain lamp Chris had bought her for Christmas. "The last Christmas in the 'good old days'". For a moment, she stared at the shapes in the smoke. "Bastard!" she muttered to herself and fleetingly she could make out the silver-haired head of Bob Lindon. Robert K Lindon, the charming and cunning citizen, apparently, of the world.

  "Where are you now?" she asked. "Just where the hell are you and your friends?" She swung her arm through the haze to slap the grotesquely distorted image of the man she had grown to hate. Almost as if she had really expected to make contact with the lined flesh of the sixty-year-old American, she started as her hand carried on through and in the next instant caught the lamp, sending it crashing to the floor, exploding into a myriad fragments of glass and china. Even before the patterned pieces had stopped spinning wildly over the cold kitchen floor she was on her knees, sobbing, as she tried to gather them up and rebuild them. Both hands cupped together, the pieces she had collected poured onto the solid base in a discordant cascade. A tear fell onto one of the fragments and she gently turned it so that the salty water ran along a rough edge. Picking up another she pushed the two pieces together, squeezing her tear between them as if the water were glue. Still holding the two pieces together tightly she stood up. The cigarette lay in the ashtray. Its smoke spiralled upward until the current of air from her movement scattered the grey.

  Chapter III Past

  John Tyler woke and swore as he realised that he was still lying on the sofa. He massaged his left arm with his other hand to try and encourage some feeling back into it that had gone while he had slept awkwardly for the few hours since he had been back. The mug of cold coffee was on the floor by his feet as he manoeuvred himself into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes with his palms and then ran both hands back across his thinning hair. Still pretty fit at fifty, he was wide-awake within a matter of minutes. He pulled off yesterday's socks and disdainfully rolled them into a ball then leaned back and pulled off the dirty blue jeans. If Sally had been around he would have screwed hell out of her. She wasn't and before he could allow himself the opportunity to regret it he grabbed his boots, socks and jeans and marched into the bedroom, stripped off and turned on the shower. John never thought much about himself. His life had always been lived along the lines others had led. His everyday actions were automatic. The navy had given him self-discipline, to follow orders and to respect those more intelligent than him. A period in the police force had taught him how to get away with a few tricks but he had spent most of his life in the building trade. He had built his own house, plumbed it, painted it, laid the carpets and had not particularly wanted any help with the wiring but the man from the Electricity Board had insisted. If he had not met Chris Austin that is probably what he would still be doing. Soapy water began to trickle slowly down his back then turned to a clear torrent as the shower spray burst upon him. He energetically cleansed himself of the previous day's sweat as if with it would be washed away the memories of what he had done.

  It was generally agreed, amongst 'the old crowd', that John Tyler knew a lot more about what had happened to Chris than he would say. The police knew it and had got pretty close on one of the several interviews, as they politely termed the grilling they had put him through. Few really cared now. The past was the past. They had all lost something - money in most cases, one way or the other - pride, too, and, for a while, a future. Tyler had not lost anything to speak of. He had been grateful to Chris for a chance to get into something a bit more challenging than putting bricks together. He had been paid right up to the end and had no complaints, except for what was going on now.

  The phone was ringing but he didn't notice.

  Chapter IV Spirit

  After the trial Tyler had gone off to celebrate with Chris Austin. The judge had been pretty severe but, as Chris had more or less resigned himself to a heavy penalty of some sort, to get off effectively free had delighted him. Tyler had been pleased that Chris had not got everyone together. So
me people still resented the bad feelings, the letdowns, the 'behind the scenes' activity and just not being kept informed. He had known Chris pretty well - but he had known the others too, and their lot had not improved in the slightest. In fact, some, like Harry, had found themselves being dragged further into the mire when the facts started to emerge. Old Keith had had quite a ticking off too. It would have been just typical of Chris to have brought everyone round to a party and to try to recapture the old spirit of the London & Newbury days. The girls would have liked it - but even for them it had been better not to open old wounds and there would have been no way, in Tyler's view, that June would have come anyway. She really had been bitter. The two men found a decent bar on the bridge in Holborn and pretty quickly downed a couple of large gins.

  "So what are you going to do now?" John had asked.

  "God knows!" Chris had laughed. "I hadn't actually made any plans for obvious reasons." Chris had been gently stroking the glass and looked thoughtful. For an instant the smile had disappeared and the tenseness of a man deep in thought returned. As if to dispel the image he had lifted his gaze and glanced over at another table where two girls were giggling over some joke about the office they worked in.

  "I know what I'd like to do now," he said, nodding purposefully in the girls' direction.

  "Now, just remember - that's what got you into trouble in the first place!" Tyler had said this with the tone of a parent scolding an errant son. "Put that head of yours into gear", he had continued. "Women cost money and you need to earn a living first".

  "Yes, I know." Chris had admitted, with a smile. "I don't think I'll have much luck in this country for a while and I reckon I've just about got enough for a few weeks in Greece. It's still pretty warm out there and I could do with a break. Then maybe I'll be able to figure out what to do next."

  Then, as was always the case when those two got together, the conversation had turned to the events that had gone before and fresh attempts to answer so many unsolved mysteries were proposed, discussed and, true to form, rejected once more.