This novel was finished some time ago and published through PublishAmerica, a lousy publisher I wouldn't recomend to my worst enemy. Since then I published it on Kindle but have taken it off until I made a couple of changes. I will publish it under a different name during the next two weeks. I'll keep an update going. It is a full legnth novel of 140,000 words and I think it should sell well at 99p.
THE TROJAN TOWERS
by
Dawson Strange
Harry Cohen, London desk for Mossad, must retrieve a priceless icon - crucial to the success of a secret Middle Eastern peace deal brokered by America and the Russians – that’s been stolen by a ruthless mercenary. Harry knows who can steal it back. A convict, whose daughter, Natalie, he has mentored. Raithe Ravelle, a professional thief released on appeal and with a score to settle, reluctantly agrees to help Harry. Both men embark on a daring robbery but are soon thrown into a race against time as Natalie is kidnapped. They must find a way to stop a Middle East crisis and rescue Natalie. In a breathtaking roller coaster ride through London, Zurich, Amsterdam, and finally to deserted wartime forts in the River Thames, they are involved in a life-and-death struggle to reach the frightened teenager – and the treasure in THE TROJAN TOWERS.
Copyright August 2011
All rights are reserved. No part of the book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without the written permission of the author.
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
To my wife and fellow writer, Mrellan Harahan, I am indebted for all the hours of hard work, inspiration and dogged determination to see me succeed. I owe her so much and love her to bits for putting up with my tantrums.
To all the wonderful – and interesting – Londoners I have met over the years that now live and work within my fiction.
To a great author with four publications to date, Tim O’Rourke, whose support in many ways helped to make my debut into Epublishing a breeze.
Finally to my family in England, my mother Irene, brother Christopher and my sisters Valarie, Margaret and Susan, thanks for your support.
For my daughter
NATALIE
CHAPTER ONE
“What the hell do you mean, ‘there’s been a hitch?’”
“Harry will explain. He’s on the way.”
Michael Garrett Jr. bit nervously on the end of his cigar. He had been Ambassador to the court of St. James for two months before Washington
“One of our men is dead.”
“For crying out loud, Jerry, this is getting worse by the minute!”
“Not necessarily. He passed on information before he died. We know where the package is.”
“I take it you can arrange its return then? If you want anything, just ask.” As an afterthought, Garrett added, “Except men, of course.”
“It’s a little tricky. The men who stole the package were killed too but not before they put the package into a safe depository.”
Garrett sighed and smoothed a few lose strands of silver gray hair. He hated political puzzles, particularly those that involved the Middle East . They were all walking a tightrope and one slip would bring the whole peace process crashing down. Success was so close, and now this.
Jerry Harman, the Israeli Ambassador, was a wily fox. It was no secret that he was totally opposed to the latest American-Israel initiative. It went against everything he believed in. Most of all, according to him, it meant bribery on a grand scale. Garrett sympathized with him. The deal meant that the Americans were the real winners, not the three protagonists. Long term it meant potential trouble for all concerned if the most crucial part of the deal were made public during the first two years after the agreement had been signed. Absolute secrecy had to be maintained.
“Then we don’t have a problem, do we?” Garrett asked, irritably.
“Well, yes we do. Our man got rid of the key. He didn’t want it falling into the wrong hands.”
Garrett closed his eyes and thought for a moment. “So what are you saying, Jerry. We know where the package is but we can’t get at it?”
“I’m saying we know where it is and it will take a little longer to retrieve.”
“Should I ask how you intend to get it?”
“No,” replied Harman, sharply. “If you don’t know, Michael, then you can’t tell.”
“Have you called the Russians?”
“No, I’ll give the Ambassador a ring later when I’ve thought of something to say.”
Garrett tapped his fingertips on the desk blotter and tried to remain calm. “Jerry, I don’t have to remind you that we agreed with the Russians on a three month timetable. We have two months left.”
“Why remind me then? It’s my country that’s been fighting for its life since 46, not yours. It’s my country that stands to lose most whether the talks fail or succeed, thanks to your President. The Palestinians, Lebanese and Syrians won’t lose. Whatever happens
they have nothing to lose but everything to gain. And don’t forget I’ve been involved in these talks from the start.”
“I’m sorry, Jerry, I know how concerned you are but this whole damned business has got to me.” Garrett bit his lip, annoyed at himself for the insensitive insinuation.
“Don’t worry about the package, Michael; I’ll make sure we get it back. Just worry about our Russian friends. After all, you shouldn’t have had their property in the first place - and before you give me the official line let me tell you I don’t believe it.”
“Okay, I take your point. Do you believe their responsible for your man’s death?”
“No, I don’t. They wouldn’t throw away the opportunity of having the United States Treasury bailing them out of bankruptcy for free. No, whoever it is though means business.”
“Russian Mafia?” Garrett asked, thinking out loud, although he was already sure of the answer to that.
“No, most of them have corrupt connections in the Russian government keeping them safe from prosecution. It wouldn’t be in their best interests. We know the gang who stole the package was working for someone else and the Russians don’t operate like that. Unfortunately, I’m just as certain that the person who hired the gang also knows where the package is.”
“There’s going to be one hell of a worried President if we can’t sort this our, Jerry.”
There was a pause. “Whatever way it goes, we should all be worried. Whoever killed my man is not about to give up. He may or may not know about our arrangements but we can’t afford to take any chances. As soon as I have the package I’ll find him and his associates and make sure there are no lose tongues.”
Garrett looked up as his secretary opened at the door. He smiled briefly as Harry Cohen appeared behind her. “Well, at least you sent the right man to sort this out.” He ended the call and motioned Harry to a comfortable armchair.
CHAPTER TWO
Raithe’s eyes focused on the face. He could feel a hand gently shaking his shoulder.
“Charring Cross, sir?”
“Thanks.” He yawned deeply and stretched. His body ached from the awkward position he’d slept in. The guard left him and walked on, whistling.
Raithe yawned again. Bad memories haunted him every time he fell asleep: every time he was reminded by the guards, and every time he was beaten by Frank Parson and his thugs. When the cell door banged shut at night he heard the shot again and again echoing through his head.
He wiped the window with the back of a sleeve and looked out with tired eyes. Most of the passengers had left the train and were walking down the platform. He focused on the reflection of black wavy hair graying at the sides. The face, once tanned and chiseled, was now lean with a sickly gray pallor to it. It was growing old prematurely. A fresh scar, a thin red line, ran across his chin at an angle. Hidden under his right eyebrow was a thin white line, another much older scar, and on his right jaw was a small scab. He stood up, shivered, and pulled the long woolen navy coat around him. The light gray suit underneath fitted like a glove.
Using the sparsely equipped gymnasium at the prison was a daily routine. Over six feet tall, his body had stayed lean. The workouts made him strong in the arms and chest. He had to be. The beatings became a regular test of his endurance. Asking for solitary, rule 43, became a necessity in the end and although he was not completely free from attack in the segregation unit, things did get better.
For the first time in what seemed like an eternity, he felt like a human being again. He adjusted his tie and reminded himself to thank Harry. It was Harry who’d bought him all his clothes and had them delivered in time for the appeal hearing. Smart in crisp white shirt and gray suit, he took Harry’s advice and looked their Lordships straight in the eye, never allowing his head to drop. His counsel clinically and systematically proved beyond doubt that the police evidence was at the very least, tainted.
Their Lordships didn’t need time to deliberate but agreed without retiring. In his summing up, Lord Fenwick was scathing in his criticism of the police investigation. No real forensic evidence was produced to show that Raithe Ravell had been the actual murderer of three year old Amanda Stevenson. It was also clear that the police had tampered with witness statements and ‘mislaid’ vital evidence, since found, that proved the fatal shot came from the direction of the getaway car. There was a statement from a bank employee who’d been adamant that shots were fired inside the bank. No bullet holes were found, giving credence to Ravell’s statement that he only fired blanks in order to frighten people.
He concluded that whilst Ravell was guilty of a terrible crime, that of murder, planned or otherwise during the committing of a robbery, it was not his hand that had actually killed the child. His sentence should not have been life with a recommended minimum fifteen years; it should have been a recommended minimum eight years.
“The court recognizes that the defendant admitted his part in the robbery when arrested. It also takes into account his prison record that shows him to have co-operated in reform programs during the nine years that he has served. The Home Secretary is therefore satisfied that he does not represent a danger to the public.”
Raithe showed no emotion as the court released him, except a brief smile when it was announced that there would be an inquiry into the conduct of the police.
No one had believed him. Now they would. Soon he would settle the account. Harry warned him not to do anything stupid. There’d be plenty of time to sort the bastard out. Harry was always right.
Raithe stepped out of the carriage, his coat flapping in the stiff breeze. He looked up at the platform clock. It showed five past three. He fingered the postcard in his pocket and knew that Maggie, his mother in law, would have heard the verdict and passed it on to Terri. Maggie never liked him and spent no time at all in letting him know it. He was a no good petty crook. That’s what she’d called him at their first meeting. He reached the end of the platform.
“Ticket!”
Raithe handed his ticket to the young inspector. “Where’s the cab rank?” he asked.
“Where it’s always been, mate. Out front.”
Raithe didn’t answer. The rank used to be inside the station but that was several years past. He walked on through the ticket hall thinking of his wife.
Terri was a stunner. She never went anywhere without making up. Bright red lipstick, long red nails and a hint of Chanel, she was the long haired blonde with deep blue eyes who featured in the ‘Mickey Spillaine’ stories. The boys in the local club all agreed to that. Her tall hourglass figure turned heads. Everyone wanted her but she only had eyes for Raithe.
They were introduced by one of his friends. Within a couple of months they were seeing each other several times a week. Maggie wouldn’t let him in the house but he didn’t care. Terri would marry him come what may. A year later, just after Maggie moved to Southampton , Terri married him in Stepney Registry Office.
It wasn’t until Natalie was born that he stepped inside Maggie’s house for the first time. By then Terri’s father was dead and Maggie lived alone. She doted on the child and despite her misgivings about his criminal activities, invited Raithe and the family down from London
Raithe never concealed anything about his business from Terri. He didn’t have to. She never asked him about it or interfered. A month before the robbery, however, she did.
In the back room of their basement apartment in Stepney he and the boys met one night a week to play cards and discuss impending business. At one particularly long meeting, Terri had unexpectedly brought some tea and sandwiches into the room. He saw her face as Peter tried to hide the revolver. She looked accusingly at him but said nothing until they were alone. For days she tried to make him get rid of the gun but he wouldn’t listen. He tried to explain that the gun was going to fire blanks. They argued and in the end he arranged with Maggie for Terri and the baby to go to Southampton . By then Natalie was five. He told them both he would see them after the weekend, back in Southampton . It was not to be. The next time he saw Terri he was on remand in Wormwood Scrubs.
Outside the main ticket hall he hailed a cab and climbed in, glad to be out of the wind. “St. Katherine’s Dock, please.”
The cab sped off and Raithe closed his eyes. For the last week, since his release, he’d
found it difficult to sleep in the hostel room the Social Services had found for him. For three days he sat looking out of the window, unable to venture out and walk across the street. It felt strange watching people shopping and walking nearby or seeing a dog pee up against a lamppost. It was as though he were in a prison without walls.
Harry hadn’t been able to meet him right away and they’d made arrangements to meet at St. Katherine’s a week later. He couldn’t go home. There was no home to go to. Terri was in Spain
A year after being transferred to HM Prison Strangeways, he told her not to keep making the train journey each week. It was best for her and Natalie if she stayed at home and they wrote. She could visit again when he was moved back south. In truth, it became more and more difficult to keep his injuries from her. His face always had some bruise on it and she remarked on one visit about a bandage that covered two fingers on one hand. Two cons had jumped him on the landing and held him down. The guards watched on as Parsons, the ‘A’ Wing cappo, stamped on the outstretched hand. They’d even cheered.
Watching Terri leave broke his heart. That was the last time they saw each other. She said she would wait but in the years that followed her letters eventually stopped arriving. He missed seeing Natalie growing up but not hearing from her was worse. One letter after another was sent to Maggie’s address, in case Terri had moved. Nothing came back. In the end he gave up. That was the most miserable time of his life.
He did get a letter once a month from Harry.
The two men had first met in Harry’s shop
in Hatton Garden shortly after Raithe stole some highly valuable jewelry from a country house. The old Jew with a genial smile immediately impressed him. Around five feet six tall and dressed in a smart pin-stripe suit, he was big physically with a balding shiny head and black bushy eyebrows. A large cigar was balanced precariously between his lips as he’d studied the jewelry through thick rimmed glasses. Harry was Raithe’s idea of what a rich Jewish businessman looked like and it excited him to be associated with the man.
When he received the first letter from Harry he expected the old man to commiserate with him. Instead he was surprised and a little annoyed to find that he was torn off a strip for being so stupid. Harry left him alone for two months before he wrote again. After that he wrote regularly. His letters meant so much for they were the only contact with the outside world. Although he never told Harry about his treatment, it was Harry who suggested that he take Rule 43. Harry knew. No one had to tell him.
“Main entrance, guv’?”
“Yes please.”
The cab crawled along East Smithfield and stopped in the middle of the road, opposite the dock entrance. After the traffic had cleared, the cab U-turned and pulled into the curb. Raithe gave the driver his last five-pound note, slammed the door behind him and walked across the cobblestones into the dock.
Lines of cruisers and yachts of all sizes swayed gently up and down at their moorings. The ‘Seagull’, a Thames Barge, lay moored at one end of the marina. Behind her the floating museum collection of marine craft lay lifeless and devoid of visitors.
On one of the larger cruisers a well-built man sat in the aft deck-well reading a newspaper. Dressed in bright orange sou’wester and green cords, he looked oblivious to the chill air. The craft was bathed in bright sunlight from the autumn sun while most of the quayside next to it lay in deep shadow from the tall buildings and shops that skirted
the marina. From outside the chandlers, Raithe watched the man.
Harry Cohen was everything expected of an upper class Jewish gentleman. Respected businessman, pillar of society, successful and very rich, his reputation across Europe as a first class dealer in fine art and rare stones was unsurpassable. His colleagues, including top executives and assessors from major insurance companies, trusted him both as a friend and business associate. He knew where most of the rarer pieces of jewelry and stones were and who owned them. More importantly, he knew who was fishing in the market and for what.
Now and then Harry would aquire certain items for the more discerning of his clientele, especially those with huge financial assets to invest. Americans, Japanese and royalty were reputed to be among those who enjoyed his special confidential services.
He did business with others too; people who supplied on demand or came into possession of items that he could place with ease. These were people who never attended any of his cocktail parties. None-the-less, he had total respect in both camps, something he had enjoyed for many years.
Raithe knew he was an exception to the rule. Educated in Grammar school, Harry told him he was impressed with his general knowledge on literature and fine art, in particular paintings and gemstones. Harry taught him a lot once he had earned the old man’s trust and it hadn’t taken long to do that.
On his second visit to the shop, he was asked to wait while Harry did business with a dealer upstairs. After several minutes a small foreign looking man came downstairs into the showroom. In one hand he carried a briefcase and in the other a small leather bag. Stopping at the counter to place the small bag in the briefcase, the contents had spilled out. Raithe watched the man put the small stones back into the bag. After snapping the briefcase shut, the man had turned to leave.
Harry’s assistant was standing by the door, ready to see the dealer out and into a cab. As the dealer left, something dropped from the counter top to the floor. Raithe bent down and picked up a small diamond. The door closed behind the dealer and Raithe dashed out into the street after him. He handed the surprised dealer the diamond.
Back in the shop, Harry stood eyeing him, as though weighing him up. He said nothing about the incident until the next time they met when he informed Raithe that he would teach him a little about the business.
A little turned out to be a lot and a genuine friendship developed over the next three years. Harry became a father figure who could be relied on for sound advice, not only on business matters but on matters of the heart and family as well.
Peter and James never knew that Harry existed, not even Terri. It was a secret that Harry insisted he keep. It wasn’t just because of security, important as it was for only the select few to know of his hidden talents. He didn’t like what he’d heard about the men. Raithe and the two men were friends from the same school and Harry didn’t trust them. Peter was too devious and James liked talking about himself too much. He liked talking to other people too, especially women. Harry saw that as a bad flaw.
All this was before the robbery. Even though his friend still supported him, Raithe wondered if things would ever be the same again. He’d violated the trust they shared in each other and completely disregarded Harry’s advice. A child was dead and Harry would never forgive him for that.
He crossed from the shadow of the tall buildings into the sunlight and felt the breeze
on his back. There were no other people around but he felt strangely conspicuous: the same feeling he’d experienced the first day in prison. No one was around as he crossed the landing ahead of the guards, their feet making the only audible sound on the grating,
I'm definitely interested at the end of Chapter One! I didn't know until the end that Garrett was on a telephone. I assumed it was a face to face conversation. It was jarring to find out I was wrong. I also missed your descriptions of what the office looks like. I don't need a lot, but a line here or there. Loved the pass of fingers through Garrett's hair. Nice visual! There's a lot of information, very little action, and some long sentences. Over all I am intrigued & want to read more!
ReplyDeleteChapter Two had the description I so missed! I was a bit confused by the back story, wondering when some of these things had happened with Raithe. Again, I got the answer toward the end, "All this was before the robbery." I easily came back to the current plot after the back story. I like Raithe. Harry is a curious character, too. I look forward to more.
ReplyDelete