Best Kept Secret (The Clifton Chronicles 3)

'In return for another year off his sentence, Kruger informed us that Himmler, along with a handful of carefully selected members of the top Nazi leadership, including possibly even Hitler himself, were hoping to escape their fate by somehow getting to Buenos Aires, where they would then live out their days at the Bank of England's expense.

'However, when it became clear that Himmler and his cronies would not be showing up in Argentina,' continued Spencer, 'Martinez found himself in possession of twenty million pounds in forged notes that he needed to dispose of. Not an easy task. To begin with, I dismissed Kruger's story as pure fantasy, invented to save his own skin, but then, as the years passed, and more and more bogus five-pound notes appeared on the market whenever Martinez was in London or his son Luis was working the tables in Monte Carlo, I realized we had a real problem. This was proved yet again when Sebastian spent one of his two five-pound notes on a Savile Row suit and the assistant didn't suggest that they were not genuine.'

'As recently as two years ago,' chipped in Sir Alan, 'I expressed my frustration with the Bank of England's stance to Mr Churchill. With the simplicity of genius, he gave orders that a new five-pound note should be put into circulation as quickly as possible. Of course, bringing such a note into circulation could not be done overnight, and when the Bank of England finally announced its plans to issue a new five-pound note, they gave Martinez notice that he was running out of time in which to dispose of his vast fake fortune.'

'And then those mountebanks at the Bank of England,' came back Mr Spencer with some feeling, 'announced that any old five-pound notes presented to the Bank before December thirty-first, 1957, would be exchanged for new ones. So all Martinez had to do was smuggle his forged notes into Britain, when the Bank of England would happily convert them into legal tender. We estimate that over the past ten years, Martinez has been able to dispose of somewhere between five and ten million pounds, but that leaves him with another eight, perhaps nine million still secreted in Argentina. Once we realized there was nothing we could do to alter the Bank of England's stance, we had a clause inserted into last year's budget, with the sole purpose of making Martinez's task more difficult. Last April, it became illegal for anyone to bring more than one thousand pounds in cash into the United Kingdom. And he's recently discovered, to his cost, that neither he nor his associates can cross any border in Europe without customs taking their luggage apart.'

'But that still doesn't explain what Sebastian is doing in Buenos Aires,' said Harry.

'We have reason to believe, Mr Clifton, that your son has been sucked into Martinez's net,' said Spencer. 'We think he is going to be used by Don Pedro to smuggle the last eight or nine million pounds into England. But we don't know how or where.'

'Then Sebastian must be in great danger?' said Emma, staring directly at the cabinet secretary.

'Yes and no,' said Sir Alan. 'As long as he doesn't know the real reason Martinez wanted him to go to Argentina, not a hair on his head will be harmed. But if he were to stumble on the truth while he's in Buenos Aires, and by all accounts he's bright and resourceful, we wouldn't hesitate to move him into the safety of our embassy compound at a moment's notice.'

'Why don't you just do that as soon as he steps off the ship?' asked Emma. 'Our son is worth considerably more to us than ten million pounds of anybody's money,' she added, looking to Harry for support.

'Because that would alert Martinez to the fact that we know what he's up to,' said Spencer.

'But there must be a risk that Seb could be sacrificed, like a pawn on a chessboard you have no control over.'

'That won't happen as long as he remains oblivious to what's going on. We're convinced that without your son's help, Martinez can't hope to move that amount of money. Sebastian is our one chance of finding out how he intends to go about it.'

'He's seventeen,' Emma said helplessly.

'Not a lot younger than your husband was when he was arrested for murder, or Sir Giles when he won his MC.'

'Those were completely different circumstances,' insisted Emma.

'Same enemy,' said Sir Alan.

'We know Seb would want to help in any way he could,' said Harry, taking his wife's hand, 'but that's not the point. The risks are far too great.'

'You're right, of course,' said the cabinet secretary, 'and if you tell us you want him taken into custody the moment he disembarks from the ship, I'll give the order immediately. But,' he said before Emma could agree, 'we have come up with a plan. However, it cannot succeed without your cooperation.'

He waited for further protests, but his three guests remained silent.

'The South America doesn't arrive in Buenos Aires for another five days,' continued Sir Alan. 'If our plan is to succeed, we need to get a message to our ambassador before it docks.'

'Why don't you just phone him?' asked Giles.

'I wish it was that easy. The international switchboard in Buenos Aires is manned by twelve women, every one of whom is in the pay of Martinez. The same thing applies to telegraphs. Their job is to pick up any information that might be of interest to him, information about politicians, bankers, businessmen, even police operations, so he can then use it to his advantage and make himself even more money. Just the mention of his name on a phone line would set alarm bells ringing, and his son Diego would be informed within minutes. In fact, there have been times when we've been able to take advantage of the situation and feed Martinez with false information, but that's too risky on this occasion.'

'Sir Alan,' said the assistant treasury secretary, 'why don't you tell Mr and Mrs Clifton what we have in mind, and let them make the decision.'

35

HE WALKED INTO London Airport and headed straight for the Crew Only sign.

'Good morning, Captain May,' said the duty officer after he'd checked his passport. 'Where are you flying today, sir?'

'Buenos Aires.'

'Have a good flight.'

Once his bags had been checked, he passed through customs and headed straight for gate No. 11. Don't stop, don't look round, don't draw attention to yourself, were the instructions given by the anonymous man who was more used to dealing with spies than authors.

The last forty-eight hours had been non-stop, after Emma had finally agreed, albeit reluctantly, that he could assist them with Operation Run Out. Since then his feet, to quote his old master sergeant, hadn't touched the ground.

The fitting of a BOAC captain's uniform had taken up one of those hours, the photograph for the fake passport another; the briefing on his new background, including a divorced wife and two children, three hours; a lesson on the duties of a modern BOAC captain, three hours; a tourist's guide to Buenos Aires, one hour; and over dinner with Sir Alan at his club, he still had dozens more questions that needed to be answered.

Just before he left the Athenaeum to spend a sleepless night at Giles's house in Smith Square, Sir Alan had handed him a thick file, a briefcase and a key.

'Read everything in this file during your journey to Buenos Aires, then hand it to the ambassador, who will destroy it. You're booked into the Milonga Hotel. Our ambassador, Mr Philip Matthews, is expecting to see you at the embassy at ten on Saturday morning. You will also hand him this letter from Mr Selwyn Lloyd, the foreign secretary, which will explain why you're in Argentina.'