* * *
‘Ah, I wonder if you can help me,’ Beesely said into his mobile. ‘I am trying to reach the director of fundraising for your charity. That’s your self? Good. I am an anonymous benefactor with ten million pounds about to wing its way to you by electronic transfer from my Swiss bank account … yes … you’re welcome.
‘Well, here’s the thing. My dear lady wife died from breast cancer ... thanks ... and she had this idea before she left us. I want you to organize something for me for tomorrow in central London. I shall release the funds today on an agreement between us. Fine, OK, this is what I would like you to organize for me...’
Beesely had given Otto a firm directive, one that involved large sums of money, and would stretch over many years. It had been codenamed ‘Operation Clean-up’ and was due to start soon.
He had made numerous phone calls to perplexed individuals; a few senior police officers he knew, a few retired SAS officers and some ‘unpleasant operators’ as he had described them to Otto. Beesely would be buying guns, illegal street guns.