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Chapter 1

Tom Anderson was in Lyons, France, about to join a river cruise on the luxury boat, the Voyager. The cruise would be down the River Rhone to Avignon and back, calling at places of interest, with an extra day scheduled at Avignon.

But Tom was not on holiday – he was a policeman in plain clothes, undercover to track down profiteers and smugglers who might be using the Rhone riverboats to move their goods from source to market. Only seven days before, Tom had been called into his superior’s office to join the police group that linked with Customs & Excise to combat the illegal import of goods. Frank Thompson, an experienced colleague, led this group and, when all were seated, he introduced Tom to each person by title, but not by name. No-one was in uniform, but there was no doubting their seniority as they all specialised in identifying and dealing with those who made fortunes by trying to evade import duty on drugs, explosives, tobacco, etc. or flouted UK Border Controls by bringing in illegal immigrants. Tom looked round the table at this high-powered gathering and wondered why he was here, but years of experience with the top brass told him to keep quiet and just wait.

He did not have long to wait, as Frank liked to get on with things.

“OK,” Frank said, “let’s make a start. Item 1: Fake art imports. You may have read in the press about various scams where copies of well-known paintings have been sold as the real thing. Well, copies, fakes, have been turning up at art auctions in several parts of the UK – not great numbers, nothing spectacular, but we feel something is going on – something organised and building; a kind of testing the market before a final financial killing. We do not know how these fakes reach the UK and they would not be difficult to hide, but there is a possibility that the source is in Southern France and they move north via the River Rhone and hence to the UK. I have been looking at all the traffic going up and down the Rhone and the French Transport Police have also been involved in surveillance, but so far nothing suspicious.’’

Several people spoke together, all saying pretty much the same thing: scarce resources, stretched to breaking point, understaffed. Why worry about a few paintings? Definitely not a priority!! Cave emptor every time!!

Frank responded, “I hear what you say and your reaction is not unexpected, but perhaps you do not realise the sums of money involved – it could be millions for the right painting – and the public coffers would not see a penny of it. Do not underestimate these people. As I said, art is big, big business for the right canvas and that kind of money attracts some very nasty customers.”

“OK,” came the response, “the Treasury needs money, but so do we! Our budgets are already very tight. Is this really worth pursuing?”

Frank cut short the protests and continued, “For most of you this is information only; no action is required and absolutely no expenditure from your budgets.” He smiled as the attitude around the table changed.

“The last boat of the year leaves Lyons one week from today and I feel that if this is the smugglers’ route this will be their last chance until next year, so we need someone on that boat! The boat is called the Voyager and it will be carrying a choir that has been booked to give a performance in a church in Avignon. I understand rehearsals will be held on board and after the concert Voyager will return to Lyons and disembark. Singing in a choir on a holiday trip – ideal camouflage for smuggling, so we need eyes and ears on that boat.”

Frank turned to Tom. “And this is where you come in, Tom. I know you have never done anything like this before, but you are an experienced detective and you also have a fine bass voice, so you can join the choir and just keep your eyes and ears open wide! The captain and the conductor will be the only ones who will know your real identity, and we will keep in touch. All you have to do is to report to me daily.”

So that’s why I’m here! Tom’s thought processes were working fast. His first reaction was ‘sounds interesting’; then reality took charge and he thought, ‘Mm, I’m not sure I like this idea – a lone cop on a boat, undercover, looking for ruthless smugglers who will stop at nothing! Oh, come on! It’s a new challenge – of course I can do it!’

So Tom nodded at Frank and tried to look positive, as he knew he really had no choice. If Frank says Lyons, then that is exactly where you are going to go, no matter what you thought. After all, he did love France and he had been thinking about joining the local choir and it didn’t sound too hazardous; a bit of a holiday really, better than chasing villains in Hackney anyway, and the French Transport Police were there if there was any trouble.

He started to think about lavender fields, good wine, Roman aqueducts, the Papal Palace at Avignon, Cezanne and Van Gogh, warm sunshine...

“Tom, hello,” interrupted Frank. “Enough daydreams! Do not underestimate this challenge. If Voyager is part of a smugglers’ network, you will have to be very careful. This is not a holiday or a joyride.”

Tom gave a rueful smile and said, “Just wishful thinking! What will my cover be?”

“Well, you were a social worker before you joined the police, so you can step back a few years and become one again. Meet me this afternoon and we can thrash it out. Four o’clock OK?”

“Fine,” Tom replied, nodding to the others as he left the room, and Frank called the next item on the agenda.

Frank and Tom met at 4 pm as planned.

“OK,” said Frank, “here is your cover – you are a social worker in Hackney dealing mainly with teenagers, so you have links with the police and the courts. You know the main problems that social workers meet already, but swot up on a couple of schools and the staff there. Make sure you know the pastoral staff names and a few of the recent most difficult cases. Undercover work sounds glamorous, though actually it can be very boring; but it is important to get the details of your cover in your head so that your response to any situation is in keeping with your assumed identity. I’ll leave that to you, but you do need to spend time thinking about it. The fewer who know what is going on the better, as it is amazing how information like this travels. I have made an appointment for you in three days’ time with the undercover team and they will go through your story, so please be ready for that.

“Right now, I’ve called in a favour and asked the surveillance guys to run their eye over the Voyager passenger list. They have access to all passport information, police and court files, plus lists of bankrupts and pending litigation. They are very thorough and they can smell a fraud! No check on travel within national boundaries, of course, unless the police are involved, but all frontier crossings will be known.

“The surveillance team look for anything unusual – strange travel itineraries, outstanding debts, too much spare cash, travellers with a dodgy history – anything odd that suggests further investigation. Here is their list: they have highlighted nine passengers. I suggest we allocate the ones we choose to one dining table with you – this will give you opportunities to observe and get to know them.”

Tom, full of bravado, picked up the list and laughingly said, “Right, smugglers, abandon hope, we’re on your case”, and read out the first name to Frank. “Patricia Turner from Sydney, Australia; one daughter. She had travelled from Sydney to Istanbul, then Hungary and Germany. From Germany she had crossed into Switzerland twice in five days. No police record.”

“How long has she been in Europe?” Frank asked.

“Three months already,” was the reply.

“That’s a long time to be sightseeing,” Frank mused; “but it’s a long way from Australia and Aussies often come for about that length of time to make the trip worthwhile.”

”Yes or no?” Tom asked.

”I think yes,” Frank nodded his agreement.

“What about this one? In the last six months has travelled first class to Bahamas, Cannes and Paris. Name Suszanna Harper. Divorced about a year ago. No children. Ex-husband curator of an art gallery.”

”An art gallery, you say? Does it say which one?”

Tom shook his head.

“Google the British Museum staff site and see if his name is there.”

Tom searched the long list, but there was no Harper.

“I thought I knew the name,” Frank said. “Must have been someone else.”

“Of course, the lady may have reverted to her maiden name after the divorce.”

“Yes, possibly, but whatever, she has plenty of money and an art connection, so we may have our first clear suspect, so Suszanna must be at my table. Definitely in! Unusual name spelling!”

“I’m not so sure about the next one. I wonder why the surveillance team put him up?” Tom said.

“What have they said?” Frank asked.

“Well, nothing much,” Tom replied. “I’ll read it out: ‘Julian Prendergast flew back from Marseilles eight days before Voyager was due to leave. Unmarried. No criminal record’.”

“I can’t see anything suspicious there, but keep him as a reserve,” Frank suggested.

“Next, Sheila Warriner – works in St Petersburg.”

“Doing what?”

“No information on that. No, wait a minute, she’s a tax advisor in Russia!”

“Sounds odd! Worth keeping an eye on; put her in.”

Tom continued, “John Peters, musician and occasional volunteer at the Royal Academy in London, so knowledgeable about paintings.”

“Yes – in.”

Tom said, “Talk about a needle in a haystack! How can we possibly draw up a list of suspects from this?”

“We need to start somewhere,” retorted Frank. “How about this chap? A pilot, Mike Nicholls; so plenty of opportunity.”

“Talk about clutching at straws, but OK. How many is that?”

“Six, if you include Julian, ”Frank replied.

“Right, three more and myself will make a dinner table of ten,” Tom observed. “What about this research scientist who works in the Meteorological Office? Good cover, lots of travel.”

“Perhaps,” said Frank, “but not very likely. But if you feel his choice of holiday is odd, then have him on your dinner table.”

“Yes,” Tom replied, “put him in.”

Frank said, “This one looks interesting! A former art teacher with two works accepted by the Royal Academy for the Summer Exhibition. Sounds talented.”

“Probably short of money too,” Tom commented. “A possibility – in.”

The last person to be added to the dinner table was another musician, this time from Yorkshire. Irene Carter had wide musical experience in cathedrals and the administration of the Leeds Piano Festival. She was a more than competent pianist and she had been on singing cruises before. Surprisingly, she visited Switzerland very frequently.

“Well, that’s the nine for your table, Tom. Are you happy with that?”

“Well, I’ll do my best, but it all seems pretty random to me. How do I get to know the other 100 or so passengers?”

“I know it’s a long shot, but the surveillance team have an uncanny ability to pick the dodgy customers, so I’d go along with it. It may be a non-starter, but my gut tells me something is going on up and down that river. We need to know and, as this is the last trip of the season, this is our last chance.”

Frank stood up and shook Tom’s hand. “Work on your cover story and live it. Good luck and keep in touch, daily.”

Tom felt in a bit of a daze – it was only six days before he had to catch Eurostar to Lille, then the TGV to Lyons, so first things first: check passport, buy tickets, get some Euros and soak up his cover story.

Outstanding domestic chores taken care of, Tom turned his mind to his new role. Posing as a social worker would not be difficult, as he already had that experience, but he needed names and a knowledge of Hackney procedures. He also needed to develop a less authoritarian approach to people. This was more difficult, but he practised being more pleasant to shopkeepers, passing the time of day at the supermarket check-out and, instead of a curt nod to the paperboy, he gave him a cheery wave! Tom found he was quite enjoying it – but this was only for fun; reality would come soon enough.

A couple of days later, Tom met with Peter, a member of the undercover team.

“I understand you’re a first-timer at this,” Peter said, “so we will talk all around it. The first thing you have to realise is that living a lie is exhausting and because you go in a few days’ time you will not have the opportunity to grow accustomed to your new role. When you’re tired, it is easy to become nervy and jumpy and this leads to mistakes, so the key is to keep as much truth as possible in your cover so you don’t have to think about it.”

“I had been trying to imagine myself back as a social worker,” Tom said, “and it seemed pretty strange, but on my visits to the schools it was quite easy to pick up the jargon and procedures again.”

“That’s good; that will help you to remain relaxed, friendly and open. As time is so short and your role is only to observe and report back, I have decided that you should travel under your own name, date and place of birth as shown on your passport. I have made arrangements for your name to be added to Hackney’s Social Services employees’ list to cover any chance enquiries.”

“That’s reassuring,” Tom said.

“OK. Now for a few questions!”

Tom was quizzed on the schools he had visited. He had no problem with location, staff, numbers on roll, ethnic mix or procedures, but he stumbled on a query about the location of the interview room and the name of the head teacher.

“Surely,” Tom said, “I could cope with any question about that?”

“No, I’m afraid not. If these things come up in conversation, you can play it any way you want; you can hesitate, pretend to have to think about it or ignore the question, but the fact that you do not know will undermine your self-confidence. So you must go back and spend some more time in the schools and it would be a good idea to actually do some of the interviews with pupils. It would be time well spent.”

Tom thought and acknowledged the truth of it. It was just possible someone from Hackney could be involved in smuggling, so better safe than sorry. Secretly, he was relieved that so much care was being taken and he began to realise how serious this could be.

Tom had bought a ground-floor flat in East London when he had moved South to a new career. His roots were in Glasgow, though, and he had only made the change when his marriage broke up and he decided he must make a fresh start. He had enjoyed some aspects of social work, but the constant demands and the frequent disappointments on top of a failing marriage led him to look for a completely new life. So he had joined the Metropolitan Police and he felt that in the circumstances it had been a good decision.

Dogs were allowed in Tom’s flat and he had a rescue dog that had been found abandoned on a motorway. The dog was Labrador-size, disobedient, daft as a brush and inclined to slobber, but for Tom he was a very special dog, although impossible to train. Tom had called him Bruce after Robert, The Bruce, hopeful that one day his canine namesake might acquire some backbone, but alas the dog showed no fighting spirit, so Tom just enjoyed him as he was.

Tom’s flat was spacious with three bedrooms, and he rented one out to another Met officer. He too loved Bruce, so Tom was sure he would be dog-walker, groomer and feeder while he was away. Problem solved!

Tom woke early on travel day, walked the dog and checked his luggage, his passport, his ticket and money. Feeling not quite as confident as he would have liked, he said loudly to himself: ‘OK, this is it. I’m ready; here I come!’, and he closed the flat door behind him.

So that is why, one week later, Tom, a social worker, was in a crowd at Quai Claude Bernard in Lyons, looking out across the Rhone to the old silk-manufacturing district and up the hill to the cathedral, Notre Dame de Fourviere. He thought what an attractive city Lyons was: interesting history, excellent gastronomic reputation, and he hoped he could wangle a short stay on the way back!

Tom wondered why everyone was standing around and not boarding, but the riverside footpath was flooded and longer gangways were needed. These soon arrived and passengers embarked. There was a buzz of happy anticipation as the luggage was taken on board and passports were checked. Some of the passengers had been on singing cruises before and were greeting old friends, but for many this was a new experience. Tom looked round at his fellow passengers and was surprised at the diversity. No children, of course, but every other age above 30 seemed to be represented: some smart, some casual; there were the trendy ones and the more traditional, several of the mad professor type, at least one fashion plate and one or two world-weary-looking individuals. A motley crew, but all drawn together by a love of music and singing and the chance to enjoy some warm autumn sunshine and interesting scenery with like-minded company.

And, of course, a concert to be rehearsed for performance in Avignon.