Chameleon - A City of London Thriller Read Free Page A

its position that the woman is nothing more than a
Marxist rabble-rouser who wants to take Marat towards the Far East
and nationalise British investments?”
    “ Yes. I want
to know that the UK government will not threaten our aid too
robustly if there is a liberal outcry at her absence from the
conference.”
    “ I can
arrange that. A report from MI5 with a ‘dodgy dossier’ on Mrs
Hokobu will be prepared today. Shall we say the usual fee, payable
to the usual company?” His tone had changed and he suddenly sounded
excited.
    “ Yes. One
hundred thousand pounds will be paid to Britannic Investment Group
in the Isle of Man later today.”
    “ Thank you.
You will receive an authenticated receipt, for tax purposes, for
the sum paid, which will itemise a number of consultancy
services.”
    Maureen’s
sweaty lover paused before he continued, smiling at her as they
shared a secret Jalou Makabate could never be a party to. Namely,
that when the African diplomat had visited this very office four
years ago, to garner support from the UK for the suppression of
awkward Marati tribesmen, he had received nothing from the visit
except the names and numbers of a few mercenary outfits in southern
Africa.
    The plain fact
was that, whilst UK companies had profitable mining interests in
Marat, neither the Foreign Office nor the security services had any
interest in the former Belgian colony. Introduced to MI5 by an
informant by the name of De Souza, Makabate’s request to meet was
accepted purely out of politeness. No-one had any intention of
helping this posturing dictatorship, but Marat did have an unending
supply of Tanzanite.
    Maureen smiled
back, knowing that, as on all previous occasions, they would
actually do nothing at all, but would receive a hundred thousand
pounds simply because the Maratis thought that they were buying UK
Government approval. When, she wondered, would these tin pot
dictators learn that corrupt elected governments simply could not
buy Western approval for money? Until these uneducated yokels woke
up and smelled the coffee, there would always be underpaid civil
servants who would take their cash.
    Makabate
listened carefully as the instructions came across the ether from
Thames House.
    “ The code
words for the Chameleon are; Peter Wright
at the Foreign Office says hello.”
    ***
    With a few
more touches of his iPhone screen the diplomat called an answering
service in London, left a message and told the girl that he needed
a call back from Chameleon Enterprises by noon.

Chapter
2
    Fitness Forum,
Spitalfields, London, Monday 10a.m.
    Just a five
minute walk from Liverpool Street Station, in East London, lies
Spitalfield Market. It has been the site of a busy market since
1638, when King Charles gave a licence for flesh, fowl and roots to
be sold in what was then known as Spittle Fields. Three hundred and
seventy two years later, and now located within the historical
Horner Buildings, the area has become a paradise for shoppers who
can buy anything from cheap trinkets to valuable works of
art.
    The Chameleon
could see much of the street activity below, through the first
floor plate glass window in front of the treadmill. Despite the
extreme distance and high speed showing on the treadmill video
screen, the Chameleon was breathing easily, though coated in a
sheen of perspiration.
    Just as the
machine was slowing for a “warm down”, a vibration on the
Chameleon’s left arm signalled that a text message had been
received on the mobile phone hotline. Only very wealthy clients
ever dialled that number.
    After a brief
delay, the Chameleon wandered into the corridor and looked at the
message.
    “ Call JM from
St James’s Square,” the cryptic message read.
    An attractive
woman in her thirties came up the stairs, admired the Chameleon’s
washboard stomach and nodded an appreciative silent greeting, which
was returned.
    The Chameleon
showered, dressed and left the gym, passing through the crowds on
the street