Chapter One: Last Roundup Part One

As the hit-men closed in, Gavin Anderson’s pulse rate took an upwards surge. For the last time, he imagined, images of his wife and children splashed across his mind.

From behind his enforcers, the sinister figure of Julius Fyodor Austerberg emerged out from the shadows of the Mövenpick’s car park.

“Mister Anderson,” he griped, “I warned Mister Richmond, Mister Fraser and yourself not to interfere in my dealings. Yet here are the three of you, continuing to be caught in the act. You are not going to enjoy the oxygen of further publicity.”

Anderson exchanged spooked gawps with Richmond and Fraser.

Stepping nearer and peering at them, Austerberg lectured, “Smart operators would have quit the Romanov caper by now. You’ve left me with no choice but to eliminate you from future proceedings.” Turning to his henchmen, he snapped, “Viktor, Stanislav, you know what to do.”

Edging in, they aimed their shooters at the victims…

Chapter Two: The Stars Align

Gavin Anderson never had a positive word to say about I.T solution consultants, and even less about financiers. Habitually forecasting an astronomical return on investment over an incredibly short timescale, the former’s track record on delivering on promises remained woeful. Fairing no better, though the latter had no hesitation in bankrolling investments, the risk versus reward model always favoured the lender, their contracts forever ensuring capital return plus interest, way before his company made a penny on the deal.

As Oxalite global futures director at their Welwyn Garden City plant and company headquarters, it fell to Anderson to cobble together a requirements specification when one of the pharmaceutical’s business units needed I.T to mechanise a research programme, solve a production business driver, or manage the administration of the company’s huge international operation.

Based on worldwide market research, the board had decided to authorise Project Unicorn, a ‘hit to lead’ drug discovery scheme aimed at finding a cure for motor neurone disease, a life-threatening ailment affecting significant numbers of people. Often, drug discovery life cycles fell into the plus ten-years time frame, necessitating the use of powerful software applications to aid in the modelling, design, development and certification phases before the end product became licensed for production. Correspondingly, inward investment in tandem with company capital funding the venture could run into the hundreds of millions of pounds bracket.

Anderson had called in Brunswick Scorpio, Oxalite’s contracted I.T consultancy services supplier to discuss the I.T necessities for Project Unicorn, their account manager, Dave Sedgewick, agreeing to meet him at Welwyn Garden City.

“Damn it!” Anderson blurted, as Sedgewick entered his office.

“Something wrong, Mister Anderson?”

Issuing him a peeved visage, he bawled, “Why is it, even the most tried and trusted software applications have a habit of crashing, just when the user is at a critical point in the work?” His irritation increasing, he wailed, “Here, take a look at this.”

“What are you running?” Sedgewick enquired, as he joined Anderson behind his desk.

“MS Excel spreadsheet on Windows 8.1.”

“I’m no expert, but I’ll check what’s happening.”

Making a few keystrokes, Sedgewick pulled up the resource utilisation application on Anderson’s laptop. “Ahh, it appears you’re suffering from network contention. Excel is running fine. It’s your data server that is slow in responding to your calls to populate the spreadsheet, giving the impression the application is crashing. Could be you’ve just hit a client end user usage peak, and the server farm is maxed out.”

“But we invested in load balancing software some time ago.”

“True. However, since that investment Oxalite has added further users and applications to your network.”

“So, I suppose the solution to that is to beef up the server farm?”

“In principle, yes.”

“Huh, more expense.”

“Well, under the terms of your support agreement,” Sedgewick voiced, “we could examine the problem.”

“Never mind that,” he jabbered, waving the offer aside. “I want to talk to you about I.T provisioning for Project Unicorn. Take a gander at this.”

Thrusting a mission statement towards Sedgewick, he awaited a succinct response.

“Hhmmm, this is more complex than previous Oxalite requisites,” he assessed, after reading the summary page. “Might need some special configuring.”

“Quite.”

Thumbing through the paper in depth, Sedgewick tabled some qualifying questions. Satisfied the Brunswick Scorpio man had a solid grasp on the stipulation, Anderson then enquired as to the next stage.

“I’ll ask Colby Richmond to scrutinise the document,” Sedgewick declared. “He recently joined Brunswick Scorpio from IBM in the role of global sales director for industrial solutions. He has extensive background experience in enterprise resource planning applications including for pharmaceutical programmes. Project Unicorn fits neatly into his worldliness portfolio.”

“Did you say…” Taken aback at the name, he furrowed his brow. “…Colby Richmond?”

“Yes.”

“Huh.” Anderson’s mood lightened. “I used to have a junior school friend named Colby Richmond.” Rubbing his chin, he dwelt for a moment. “Do you know where he originates from?”

“Somewhere in Cheshire I believe.”

“Good god, I come from Cheshire. It couldn’t be the same person…could it?”

“If you think it would help progress the business, I could arrange for Mister Richmond to meet with you.”

“Mmmm, okay. No doubt we will have to get together at some stage in the enterprise, anyway, so let’s bring it forward.”

~ * ~

A week later, Richmond made the trip to Welwyn Garden City, Anderson taking the trouble to pick him up from the Oxalite reception.

Approaching the Brunswick Scorpio global sales director, he uttered, “Colby Richmond?”

“Yes.”

“Originally from Christleton?”

“Indeed.”

“Hot damn, it is you.”

“Yes, when Dave Sedgewick told me your name, I made the possible connection.”

Shaking hands and beaming at each other like long-lost brothers, neither could quite believe the stars had aligned in the heavens to bring them together.

“It must be forty-six years since I last saw you, Colby.”

“Indeed, at Christleton Junior School. Lot of water under the bridge since then.”

“For sure. Come on, let’s do some business and catch up on past times.”

Retiring to Anderson’s office, the Cheshire men discussed Project Unicorn followed by a protracted chinwag about their lives subsequent to Christleton Junior School.

“After we moved from Christleton to Neston,” Richmond informed, “eventually I took my GCE O and A-levels at Chester College, then studied computer science with business studies at the University of Surrey, whilst sponsored by Marconi Avionics. Post-graduation, I spent a further three years with Marconi before being headhunted by Dowty Defence and Air Systems. Then after five years, I left for mainstream I.T and industrial strength commercial software, first with the ACT Group, then IBM. Before I joined Brunswick Scorpio, my career moved into director level international sales and marketing management during my eighteen years with IBM.”

“Are you married?”

“Yes. I met my wife, Carolyn, whilst on business for Marconi in ‘the colonies’. We have two daughters, Amanda and Suzi. How about you, Gavin?”

“Oh, I went to King’s School Chester followed by the University of Edinburgh to major in chemical engineering with business management. After graduating, I joined petrochemicals giant, Scale UK. Twelve years later I moved to Oxalite as operations director before becoming global futures director. I met my wife, Francine, when I worked at Scale’s Nexus House on the Embankment. We have two children, Michelle and Wyatt.”

“Some degree of commonality and cross-over in our lives since university graduation.”

“Absolutely. And I’ve met others with a similar background to ours.”

“Country boys made good hey?”

“Cheshire country boys,” Anderson emphasised.

“Hah, in my teens and early twenties, I often referred to the county as ‘Royal’ Cheshire.”

“Yes, on the infrequent times I visit Chester and the Wirral, I always come away with a feeling of being immersed in the majestic and the imperial. Thankfully, it hasn’t changed much since we were junior schoolboys.” Tarrying, he appended, “Now that we’ve become reacquainted, Colby, we mustn’t let our friendship lapse again.”

“Definitely. By the way, where do you live?”

“Potters Bar, and you?”

“Hempstead in Kent.”

“We’ll have to get Roger Fraser in on the act. He’s another Royal Cheshire boy, hailing from Middlewich. He also lives in Kent at Hazelwood. Roger represents the acceptable face of financial services and is director of analysis and international trouble-shooter for The Firm, one of four investment houses used by Oxalite.”

“Oh yes, in my formative IBM years, we provided an ebusiness technology refresh for The Firm, an investment house steeped in mystery, and some say possible infamy.”

“So I have heard. Howbeit, no wholesale bank is squeaky clean. Intrigue and chicanery seem to go hand in glove with that industry. Aside from that, Francine and I have been to many socials held by The Firm at Roger’s invitation. You’d really like him.”

“Well, what do you suggest as a forum for a threesome?”

“Oh, some R n R at a top-rate West End restaurant.”

“How about the Belvedere in Holland Park?”

“Splendid nomination. I’ll make the booking.”

~ * ~

Completing the trio’s life C.V attainment over dinner at the Belvedere two weeks later, Richmond enquired of Fraser, “What’s your story to date, Roger?”

“Well, in summary, my family moved from Middlewich to Kent when I was very young. After Chelsfield Grammar I attended Kings College Cambridge, graduating with a degree in economics, then joined JP Morgan Chase as an analyst and achieved chartered financial analyst status, before moving on to Merrill Lynch, and finally The Firm. I met my wife, Charlotte, while at Cambridge. We have three children, Wendy, James and Heather.”

“Hah, another success chronicle.”

“Well, it’s not all been plain sailing,” Fraser assured. “There have been some domestic issues mainly caused by my predilection for rugby. I’m a member of the Kappa Corinthians Rugby Football Club based at Farnborough Kent and still play for the veterans.”

“Back in the day, I used to be an avid rugby and cricket player,” Richmond recalled. “But it lapsed soon after graduation due to work pressures at Marconi and domestic responsibilities.”

“I was never a great sportsman,” Anderson admitted. “Certainly I played rugby at King’s School, but I can’t claim any noteworthy exploits in the sporting arena. Though I still play tennis in the summer, outside of the work environment, I’m much more the observer of sports and cultural events. And I have a penchant for rock music, particularly the Rolling Stones, cultivated from a very early age.”

“I seem to remember you engaged me in rock music discussions at Christleton Junior School,” Richmond acknowledged. “The Rolling Stones became one of my favourite bands. Still are.”

“Huh, that’s another thing we have in common,” Fraser attributed. “The Rolling Stones have been high on my music agenda since I was on the rusks.”

“And here we are decades later,” Anderson reviewed, “involved in three of the biggest worldwide industries.”

“Quite,” Fraser accredited. “What would you say have been the most significant milestones in pharmacology?”

“Oh, that is best answered by referring to the rate of rise of discoveries, beginning with the smallpox vaccine by Edward Jenner in 1796. That really marked the advent of modern pharmacology. Surprisingly, though it had been known for over 300 years, nobody had adopted ether as an anaesthetic until Dr. Crawford Williamson Long in 1842. But arguably, the most momentous, cure-all, discovery was Alexander Fleming’s penicillin in 1928. Naturally, others have also made weighty contributions, such as Frederick Banting’s insulin in 1921, and Jonas Salk’s polio vaccination in 1953.

“Moving forward, the twenty-first century has seen the first complete sequences of individual human genomes encoded as DNA within the twenty-three chromosome pairs in cell nuclei by the Human Genome Project on 12th February 2001. This allowed a switch in drug development and research from traditional drug discovery by isolating molecules from plants or animals, or creating new molecules in the treatment of illness in humans, to pharmacogenomics. That is the study and knowledge of how genes respond to drugs. These advances are improving personalised medicine and allowing precision medicine.

“And all this transcendence in just over two centuries since Jenner’s breakthrough.”

“Impressive,” Richmond voiced. “Though you may think I’m astonished by the rate of computer advancement from Alan Turing’s Bombe at Bletchley Park in 1940 to the advent of practical quantum computing by IBM in the late 1990s, it’s really aerospace that astounds me from working at Marconi and Dowty. A timeslot of just sixty-six years saw the first powered flight by the Wright Brothers in 1903 to the Apollo 11 moon landing in 1969. To use an art simile, it’s as monumental as when nineteenth century romanticism gave way to twentieth century expressionism. In comparison to aerospace, road, rail, and sea travel has persisted relatively pre-historic.”

“What about banking, Roger?” Anderson fished.

“Ohh—” Chuckling and shaking his napper defensively, Fraser confessed, “Compared to your illustrious submissions, the world of finance cannot claim such groundbreaking epiphanies benefitting mankind.

“All I can point to is that without the institution of banking, first brought about in the fourth millennium BC, commerce could not have prospered bringing about man’s desire to conquer illnesses and fly to the moon. Without financial investment, very little or nothing can be achieved, because invention relies on the purchase of plant and materials for research, as per Gavin’s Project Unicorn.”

“Mmmm, quite right,” Anderson affirmed. “I suppose all this business; domestic and cultural commonality is down to the times we grew up in. We willingly joined the rat race, and its attendant mind games.”

“For sure,” Richmond upheld. “We climbed aboard the ambition carousel. But on reflection, like most people, whether they know it or not, what we were engaged in amounted to pleasing others. Our parents, our teachers, our church ministers, our employers, and our loved ones. We constantly seek their approval.”

“You mean, we’ve become approval junkies?”

“Indeed, I do. Makes us feel good when someone who we love or respect or both, pats us on the back. It’s like a drug. We must have it.”

“Categorically true.” Stopping, a vexed demeanour came over Anderson. “I don’t know if this is just rose-tinted thinking, but back then, I had a distinct feeling of unrestricted freedom of thought and expression. Whereas today, we seem to have to be careful about everything we say, just in case it offends the PC brigade.”

“Well, after the monochromatic haze of austerity following World War Two,” Fraser illuminated, “we were born into the colourful second English renaissance. A time for limitless horizons, exploration and excellence in the arts, the sciences, and societal improvements. Today, the sciences continue to amaze, but the new arts amount to minimalist charlatanism, and English society has become a cauldron for every damned Johnny foreigner under the sun to tell the English what we must think and say, and how we must behave.”

“Entirely right, Roger,” Richmond endorsed. “The old political maxim is, you run for government in poetry, but you govern in prose, meaning manifestos promise what the people want, but once elected, politicians kowtow to prevailing forces. Effectively, we’ve been in the reformation since that twat Blair came to power and started the destruction of England. Mind you, the writing has been on the wall from the late nineteen-seventies onwards, so-called progressive politics eating away at English culture and traditions with every in-coming administration.

“Without doubt, the drive for meritocracy and excellence in all spheres has been trumped by the advent of the globalist’s reformation, with its ever lowering of standards ideology producing worldwide banality via multiculturalism and pandering to the lowest common denominator.”

“Oh, for sure. An industry exemplifying that reformation is Hollywood,” Fraser forwarded. “Back in the day, the first gen movie moguls produced outstanding films. When they died, the bean counters took over the big five studios, and film excellence became degraded. Now the globalist conglomerates with liberal elitists at the helm own Hollywood, and film epics have been replaced with their socially engineered political dogma output designed to indoctrinate and enforce their repressive worldview.”

“Yes, you’re both correct,” Anderson backed. “Plus, our own institutions have been infiltrated by the invaders to gain power over the indigenous population. Long gone are the days when the English ruled England. Now we are dominated by interlopers imposing their agenda on us. Worse still—” He frowned. “It can be said, there are no great people anymore in all walks of life, just shades of mediocrity which filters downwards into the ranks. Those at the top of the pyramids have neither the gravitas nor the presence to impress and inspire.

“And depressingly, none of the main political parties are opposing this wholesale takeover of our country.” Faltering as if saddened by his own words, he then supplemented, “We all seek the clarity of permanence, but that sacred asset has been dissipated, even stamped on, by the new masters of the universe — the politically correct flock. I dread to think what our beloved England will look like to our children when they are our age.”

“A salutary picture, Gavin,” Fraser categorised. “And one that has plagued me for a long time.”

“It seems that the only time we can get away from the witchfinder general, virtue-signalling, lefties dominated society consuming us, is when we are holidaying abroad with our families.”

“Let’s not spoil the evening with our grievances against the nouveau status quo,” Richmond encouraged. “There’s a host of other topics we can consider, primarily what we have been doing since we left Royal Cheshire.”

“You’re right, Colby,” Anderson reinforced. “To hell with the PC zealots, death to the traitorous bastards.”

“Slow death,” Fraser interjected.

“Yes, slow and painful death.” Resting, he then said, “Speaking of fanatics, Roger—” He winced. “Have you come across one, Griffin Allard, on your travels within the investment banking sector?”

“Indeed, I have. Odious creature, a toady of the first order. ‘Didn’t you play the lead in your school’s production of A. A. Milne’s Toad of Toad Hall?’ I once asked him. He replied, ‘It was Wind in the Willows.’ ‘As Mister Toad, known as Toady?’ I countered. ‘Yes,’ he conceded…. case proven. What about him?”

“He’s with BNP Paribas, another investment house used by Oxalite.”

“Yes, often I have to go mono-e-mono with Allard. I take it you’ve been subject to his somewhat forthright modus operandi for positioning investment opportunities?”

“Hah, to say his rottweiler-like, bludgeoning technique becomes overwhelming is an understatement. The man comes onto me like a Panzer tank, firing from every angle. It’s not what he says, it’s how he says it, coupled with that masterful, no arguments please comportment. I’m not usually disconcerted in business, principally with service providers, but his bombast is so strong that I feel obliged to take his word as gospel.”

“Oh, I admit he is invariably right. It’s just as you’ve found, his attitude is vociferous.”

“Why is he a toady, Roger?” Richmond interjected.

“Ahh, that’s because as well as being pushy, he is an accomplished arse-licker, ingratiating himself with the upper echelons at BNP Paribas.”

“Hah.” Grinning, he prescribed, “All industries contain their fair share of rectal fanciers. My father calls them jackals, lackeys, and flunkies — most combing the ranks for patsies and dupes to compensate for their own shortcomings. This toady fellow may have a history of being right, but he may also still fit into this user pattern.”

“Unfortunately,” Anderson asserted, “we cannot pick and choose who we do business with. We have to accept there will be good ol’ boys, who know how to behave, and those falling beneath the passable level.”

“Changing the theme to something lighter,” Richmond commenced, “can I tell you a funny story?”

“Go on.”

“The Brunswick Scorpio London office in Cannon Street is next door to Marlowe and Associates, a firm of quantity surveyors who use the same drinking establishment as us. That is the Candlemaker in the basement of the Wallbrook Building. I’ve got to know their projects manager, Ted Ruggles. A very personable chap with a capacity for seeing the humorous side of life, he told me one of their staff, who lingered unnamed, had matured a difficulty raising a stalk. To alleviate the embarrassing encumbrance, he’d taken some anti-impotence pills, Viagra possibly, or coated his hampton in stallion cream.”

“Did it work?”

“Apparently, it worked too well. After achieving a massive erection, and doing the business with his girlfriend, his member still abided rock-hard. It just wouldn’t go down! Pushed for time, he got dressed, his stiffy poking out in his loose-fitting trousers, left his highly-satisfied sweetheart, and jumped onto a Piccadilly Line train at Hammersmith en route for Finsbury Park. Unbeknown to him, a woman saw his arousal, got off the train at Gloucester Road, called the police, and told them, there’s a pervert on the Piccadilly Line traveling east. The cops intercepted him at Covent Garden and escorted him to the local nick, still with a massive hard-on poking out his trousers. The desk-sergeant said to him, ‘It’s not funny you know.’ He retorted, ‘I know its bloody well not. I can’t get the damn thing to go down!’ Even worse, if he couldn’t cough up the bail money, the police will keep him in custody overnight, pending a magistrate’s appearance to answer charges of sexual harassment and lewd and lascivious behaviour. So, he calls Ted Ruggles to supply the wonga. Apparently, he still had the stiffy when he appeared before the magistrate and the woman complainant the next morning.”

“Good god, talk about the unexpected,” Anderson trumpeted. “He must have had a severe allergic reaction to whatever potion he took.”

“Quite. That’s what he claimed to the magistrate.”

“Was he sent down?” Fraser inquired.

“No, but he was fined, bound over, and instructed not to enter the public domain in an aroused state ever again.”

Tickled by the corollary, Anderson and Fraser burst into laughter.

“And there’s me thinking,” Fraser declared, between chortles, “things like that only happened in the investment banking sector.”

For the next few hours, the Cheshire boys tabled more life maturation stories. Anderson freely recalled many episodes from his private and professional palette effecting his thinking, and thereby his strategy to settling issues, whilst Richmond divulged his lack of self-belief to address academic studies demarcated appreciably with his workplace natural constituency. Completing the testimonies, Fraser owned-up that after some hesitation, he had embraced his trouble-shooter role at The Firm, and given the choice, he’d ditch his analyst duties in favour of fulltime troubleshooting.

Becoming evident to the three campaneros that they had both much in common and a shared outlook on life, the interconnections between them expanded exponentially. Though Anderson had acquired a raft of pals at Scale and Oxalite, none possessed the level of charisma and zest pouring out of Fraser and Richmond under playtime conditions. Notably, he also fielded an extra piquancy whilst in the company of his fellow Cheshire men, something never surfacing when he chatted to other friends. Almost as if they had been hatched from the same batch, he also detected that Fraser and Richmond were coming to the same conclusion.

Buoyed up by the assumption, towards the end of the dinner, Anderson proposed, “We really must have a longer get-together. In fact, we need to get totally away from the daily dose of PC indoctrination issued by our cursed oppressors and the fiendish traitors — at least for a while.”

“How do you mean?” Richmond canvassed.

“Well, in addition to inter-family shindigs, how about the three of us take a vacation abroad?”

“That would involve selling the idea to wives and getting extended pass-outs,” Fraser put forward.

“Undoubtedly,” Richmond bolstered. “But it shouldn’t deter us. What were you thinking of, Gavin, in particular?”

“How about a trip to Lausanne via Geneva-Cointrin Airport? During the days we can explore the city and sail on Lake Geneva, and at night take in the Casino Barriére at Montreux.”

“I take it you’ve got a sailing qualification?”

“I started out on Topper dinghies on Aldenham reservoir with the Aldenham Sailing Club. After attaining Royal Yachting Association levels one through five ratings, I then got my day skipper license after completing a course at the Royal Harwich Yacht Club. We’ve had a family usable, multi-masted schooner moored at Harwich for the past twenty years.”

“You’ve become a very proficient sailor then?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go as far as that, Colby, but I’ve clocked up over 2,500 hours on the North Sea and in the English Channel.”

“So,” Fraser began, “we’d use your sailing credentials to hire a craft at Lausanne?”

“Got it in one, Roger.” Dwelling, he then subjoined, “You two done any sailing?”

“Acting as a host to clients,” Fraser explained, “I did a couple of trips around the Solent when I was with Merrill Lynch on a dual-masted schooner. Got to take the wheel for a while and provided crewing services.”

“How about you, Colby?”

“Oohh, apart from rowing on the River Dee in my late teens, the extent of my water endeavours has been taking the overnight ferry from Harwich to the Hook of Holland, and Southampton to Guernsey.” Halting, he then certified, “I don’t mind sharing with you that I’ve never been able to kick my low threshold of boredom. I’ve had it since my schooldays. So, what Gavin is promoting floats my boat, if you’ll forgive the pun. Bring it on.”

“Right, I’ll make some enquiries regarding flights, accommodation, car and boat hire.”

“When shall we three meet again? In thunder, lightning, or in rain?” Fraser quizzed.

“I see you know your Shakespeare, Roger,” Richmond complimented. “When the hurly-burly’s done. When the battle’s lost and won.”

“You mean,” Anderson prompted, “when we have pass-outs from our trouble and strife’s?”

“Exactly,” Fraser confirmed.

“One rule of engagement I’d like to advocate,” Anderson vented. “No talking about wives, children, and unequivocally, business.”

“Positively,” Richmond buttressed with vim. “And no taking mobile phones or laptops with us.”

“Well, if we are going to make the most of this sojourn,” Fraser submitted, “domesticity and professional matters will also need to be parked on the back burner.”

“Hhmm, let’s just hope we can sell our vacation intent to our families,” Richmond caveated.

“No doubt it will take a lot in terms of monetary, presents, favours and promises compensation!” Anderson predicted.

Over the course of the succeeding few months, the Anderson, Richmond and Fraser households got to know one another — visits carried out to each other’s homes, collective trips made to see London shows, and in general, the families intertwining and generating cordial relationships. Ideal for the men to gently weave their vacation plan into proceedings without causing ripples.