taking the copy. 'We'll be in touch.
Good afternoon.'
Outside
as they went to their car, Andersen grunted, 'It might do that lot
some good, having a bomb under them.'
* * *
Bishop
Tory Thomlinson at least made the detectives feel welcome,
providing coffee and biscuits. Other than that he was less than
helpful.
'Detectives. I appreciate your concern. I really do. We have
the building fully insured, and there is security fencing all
around the site.'
'Nothing
like adequate security,' said Andersen. 'That fence couldn't even
keep a cat out. And I would double check your insurance to see if
you are covered if the gang decided to blow it up. I doubt if they
would shell out extortion money. It's actually still under the
terrorism heading. Just have a think about it. Perhaps consider
hiring a private security to do patrols at night. I'll see if I can
have a police patrol keeping an eye on the place, but we can't be
everywhere. This is only until we have apprehended the
gang.'
'I'll do
what I can,' said the bishop. 'But it also depends on what the rest
of the committee agree on. Leave it with me, I'll see what I can
do.'
'Thanks,' said Andersen.
The
Stargas Refinery was chalk and cheese to the mishmash management of
the new cathedral. Like the Cloud Tower, it had dedicated security,
and state of the art technology. They spent time with the security
manager, had a guided tour and went briefly over the internal and
external security procedures. Apart from being advised to be extra
vigilant, the detectives had nothing to recommend. By the time they
had finished and got back to police headquarters, it was time to
call it a day. Andersen had an extra patrol for the cathedral
approved and organised before he went home.
Chapter 22
It was a
ten bedroomed home in five acres of gardens and lawns. In an
Olympic size indoor swimming pool, eight men were playing a game of
their own invention, involving a basket ball and small netted goals
at either end. Trying to half drown each other was quite
acceptable. After an hour, they climbed out, got drinks from the
small bar in the corner, put some pleasant sounds on, broke out the
cigars and relaxed on the recliners. The games in the pool served
two purposes. Keeping fit and bonding. When it came to planning the
crime and risk taking, they all had an input. No idea or suggestion
was ever dismissed out of hand.
But
Steve Telford was generally accepted as the leader. At forty five,
he was the oldest, most experienced and with a degree in physics,
arguably the brightest. Not that the others were dumb. Between
them, the eight men held six university degrees and many other
skills to call on.
They
were on their biggest campaign. It was their first crime and it was
also to be their last. The rewards would be plenty for several
lifetimes and their legacy would be the perfect execution of a
brilliant crime. It would be one that would be the basis of many
books and would undoubtedly be high-jacked by Hollywood for a
blockbuster film.
Steve
Telford blew smoke rings and sipped a small brandy on the rocks.
'You know? It's the idea of messing with their heads that I enjoy
the most.'
Frank
Telford, Steve's younger brother by three years, had to agree.
'It's all going to plan so far. And as plans go, this one is
brilliant.'
Steve
said, 'Don't you jinx it. No chicken counting until we have the
money. We've always tried to take out the elements of luck, and be
totally in control of our own destinies. But there are always
things out of our control so we still have to be prepared and
flexible.'
Hank
Andrews was one of the youngsters in the team at twenty five. Steve
and Frank were his uncles. His forte was electronics. During
planning meetings, the others would often propose far out ideas and
then they would look to him to determine if it was physically
possible to do. He had written several technical books that had
achieved modest acclaim from his peers and could be found in most
technical training
Good afternoon.'
Outside
as they went to their car, Andersen grunted, 'It might do that lot
some good, having a bomb under them.'
* * *
Bishop
Tory Thomlinson at least made the detectives feel welcome,
providing coffee and biscuits. Other than that he was less than
helpful.
'Detectives. I appreciate your concern. I really do. We have
the building fully insured, and there is security fencing all
around the site.'
'Nothing
like adequate security,' said Andersen. 'That fence couldn't even
keep a cat out. And I would double check your insurance to see if
you are covered if the gang decided to blow it up. I doubt if they
would shell out extortion money. It's actually still under the
terrorism heading. Just have a think about it. Perhaps consider
hiring a private security to do patrols at night. I'll see if I can
have a police patrol keeping an eye on the place, but we can't be
everywhere. This is only until we have apprehended the
gang.'
'I'll do
what I can,' said the bishop. 'But it also depends on what the rest
of the committee agree on. Leave it with me, I'll see what I can
do.'
'Thanks,' said Andersen.
The
Stargas Refinery was chalk and cheese to the mishmash management of
the new cathedral. Like the Cloud Tower, it had dedicated security,
and state of the art technology. They spent time with the security
manager, had a guided tour and went briefly over the internal and
external security procedures. Apart from being advised to be extra
vigilant, the detectives had nothing to recommend. By the time they
had finished and got back to police headquarters, it was time to
call it a day. Andersen had an extra patrol for the cathedral
approved and organised before he went home.
Chapter 22
It was a
ten bedroomed home in five acres of gardens and lawns. In an
Olympic size indoor swimming pool, eight men were playing a game of
their own invention, involving a basket ball and small netted goals
at either end. Trying to half drown each other was quite
acceptable. After an hour, they climbed out, got drinks from the
small bar in the corner, put some pleasant sounds on, broke out the
cigars and relaxed on the recliners. The games in the pool served
two purposes. Keeping fit and bonding. When it came to planning the
crime and risk taking, they all had an input. No idea or suggestion
was ever dismissed out of hand.
But
Steve Telford was generally accepted as the leader. At forty five,
he was the oldest, most experienced and with a degree in physics,
arguably the brightest. Not that the others were dumb. Between
them, the eight men held six university degrees and many other
skills to call on.
They
were on their biggest campaign. It was their first crime and it was
also to be their last. The rewards would be plenty for several
lifetimes and their legacy would be the perfect execution of a
brilliant crime. It would be one that would be the basis of many
books and would undoubtedly be high-jacked by Hollywood for a
blockbuster film.
Steve
Telford blew smoke rings and sipped a small brandy on the rocks.
'You know? It's the idea of messing with their heads that I enjoy
the most.'
Frank
Telford, Steve's younger brother by three years, had to agree.
'It's all going to plan so far. And as plans go, this one is
brilliant.'
Steve
said, 'Don't you jinx it. No chicken counting until we have the
money. We've always tried to take out the elements of luck, and be
totally in control of our own destinies. But there are always
things out of our control so we still have to be prepared and
flexible.'
Hank
Andrews was one of the youngsters in the team at twenty five. Steve
and Frank were his uncles. His forte was electronics. During
planning meetings, the others would often propose far out ideas and
then they would look to him to determine if it was physically
possible to do. He had written several technical books that had
achieved modest acclaim from his peers and could be found in most
technical training
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