Pascoe, who had been mentally preparing himself for exposure as a would-be criminal, whose excursion into crime had never got further than the planning stage, started quietly to chuckle to himself.
"There's not enough for any kind of split, Sam, let alone 50-50."
"I think you'd better start growing up Tom. The amount you intend to steal doesn't matter. It's still theft whatever the amount. If you're caught the sentence will be exactly the same."
"How much do you think we should go for then?"
"Why not enough to set us up for life, Tom. As far as I can see it'll only be a question of printing more che
ques."
"All right, how much do you suggest?"
"A million?" she watched his face for a reaction and saw his mouth fall open in shock." A million Tom. A million for you and a million for me."
The color drained from his face and it took several seconds to regain its normal color. His mouth opened as if to speak, but no sound came out. He coughed, clearing his throat and tried again.
"You're mad."
"On the contrary. We'd be mad not to. You can take care of all the designing and printing from what you've told me and I'll take care of the London office and the numbering system of the che
ques. I've got a feeling we'll make an excellent team."
Pascoe looked at her quizzically. She held his gaze as if daring him to pick holes in her reasoned argument. Pascoe just grinned.
"Sam, you've flipped your lovely lid. You're trying to talk me into a situation that's just too big for us to handle. It's too ambitious, too greedy, too bloody insane..." His grin grew wider," And it's just crazy enough to work! You've got yourself a deal Sam... One hell of a deal." He offered her his hand to clinch it.
"Don't be silly," she said," We don't need to shake hands
... I've a much better idea!" She reached behind her back and deftly unfastened her dress... with a couple of shrugs and a sexy, self-conscious wriggle just for his benefit, it slithered to the floor with a rustling sound.
For effect, she was wearing her "undressed to kill" look - matching bra, panties and suspenders, all in flame red silk. Knowing his eyes would be
riveted on her every move, she performed a slow, slinky strip-tease to rival anything in the clubs of Soho and led Pascoe to her bed.
Pascoe was woken by something tickling his nose and on opening his eyes, he found himself gazing into Sam's mischievous face. For a moment he didn't know where he was until he remembered the events of the previous evening. Now that he was awake, Sam tossed her head back, removing the offending hair from his face. Pascoe knew of worse ways to be awoken
...
"Morning Tom
..."
"Morning
..." She looked good in a black silk, kimono-styled dressing gown which fitted in all the right places. He reached out for her, but she pulled away.
"Time to get up lover. I’ve got a busy day," she said, leaving the bedroom. "It's 7.30
... Breakfast in ten.., you know where the bathroom is..."
He
laid on the bed for a few more minutes, reflecting on the previous night's antics, a self-satisfied smile on his face. Unlike most women he'd known, Sam looked as good in the morning as she had done the night before and benefited from the freshly scrubbed look. His ex-wife had looked like death every morning until she had spent at least half-an-hour in the bathroom, painting her face to the bland perfection of a model's looks. He remembered he'd never actually seen her completely naked in all their years of marriage... she'd always worn make-up... even in the bath and she'd always given a performance, even when no one was watching.
Reali
zing he was becoming maudlin he hunted for his clothes which had been scattered around the bedroom floor during Sam's energetic assault. He found them neatly folded and draped over the back of the bedside chair.
On his way to the bathroom the full effects of the night's activities made their presence felt. He had a deep, dull ache in the muscles at the back of his thighs that made him stumble and his legs felt as if they had run a marathon.
After the bathroom, he hobbled his way into the kitchen and joined Sam at the breakfast bar. She laughed at his appearance but was too much of a lady as to inquire into the reasons for it.
"You look
..."
"
Knackered is the word you're looking for," offered Pascoe.
"Yes, that describes it per
fectly. Am I really to blame?" she asked innocently.
"You'd better believe it!"
"Sorry," she chuckled," I do sympathize, but you look so funny."
He grimaced as he eased himself onto a stool, aware of the vicarious pleasure she derived from his discomfort. He studied her in turn, liking what he saw. She had transformed herself from the
Siren of the previous evening; her hair was still arranged in a chignon, but her make-up was subdued, with only the slightest hint of lipstick and mascara. She was dressed simply in skirt, blouse and jacket; the "plain-Jane" look completed by a pair of outsize spectacles hanging by a chain around her neck; a modern Miss Brodie and Pascoe could vouch for being very much in her prime!
"Are you
still serious about doing it?" she asked.
"I don't seem to have much choice," he replied.
"Well, if we're going to do it together, why don't you move in?" she suggested.
"Don't you think that's a little sudden?"
"And here was I thinking you'd got over your first night nerves. Anyway it's not for you to worry about. I'm the one making the offer."
"As long as you're sure."
"Good, that's settled then. I must go or I'll be late. See you this evening?"
"Sure."
"You'd better take a key," she added, separating one from her key ring and passing it to him.
"Thanks." He
realized that accepting it committed him in effect, to accepting her as a partner, but there were worse things that could have happened to him.
Gradually, in the months that followed, the respect between them grew and their relationship matured into a more caring and comfortable one. The underlying strength of their union, though, was always the shared excitement of the scheme to defraud the money men of their £2,000,000 and it was always the subject to which they returned.
While Sam carried on teaching, Pascoe rented small commercial premises on an industrial site in a nearby village, where the lease had been more than reasonable. He traded in his car for an old Ford Transit van, which would be more suitable for moving-in the necessary supplies and equipment.
By the summer they were both eager to start fitting out the premises, Pascoe using his experience from his studio days to build darkroom and studio, leaving Sam to do the decorating. It took them most of the holiday to complete and they were into the autumn term before they were ready to look for equipment.
The web-offset press which Pascoe had thought would be the most difficult thing to get hold of, turned out to be both the easiest and the cheapest. The works manager of a provincial newspaper, busy changing to the new computerized technology, was so grateful that the press was going to a good home, that he was reluctant to take anything for it, accepting Pascoe's token payment only as a contribution to the firm's 'Widows and Orphans' fund.
Last Minute preparation
When they completed the fitting-out phase in late September, they had an impromptu champagne celebration.
"Guess what, darling, we're ready to start," Pascoe said, opening the bottle.
"Well, I hope you have a little more finesse when you're printing," Sam replied, trying to catch the foaming liquid in her glass.
"To Easter. May we be rich and free to enjoy it!" Pascoe proposed.
At dinner that evening, they updated their timetable knowing there were only a few months in which to prepare everything.
"How far have you got with the numbering system?" asked Pascoe.
"We may have a slight problem there."
"Tell me about it."
"There are still one or two details I need to find out."
“Details?" Pascoe enquired, curious as to what snags Sam might have found.
"Working-
knowledge, really. I need to speak to someone who knows the practice rather than the theory."
"Do you have anyone in mind?"
"There's a guy over at the university, but I may have to do him a favor," said Sam.
"What sort of
favor?" He regretted the question the moment the words left his lips.
"Dinner.” Sam replied studying his face closely. “My god. I do believe you’re jealous. Are you jealous?”
"I'm sorry. Perhaps there's another way," Pascoe suggested, knowing it was exactly the wrong thing to say.
"Fine! Stop being so bloody possessive. If you had to get some woman to help you, and it involved taking her out to dinner, I suppose that would be all rig
ht. You're as much a chauvinist as all the others!"
"It's not the same and you know it." Pascoe argued.
"Of course it’s the same, but remember, I made my position clear at the outset. I told you I had an open mind and if you can't handle the thought of me being with someone else for an evening, we might as well call it a day, here and now." Pascoe detected a hard edge in her voice and knew instinctively that he was close to losing her. He'd been in similar situations before and knew he had to get back to calmer waters.
"I was out of line. Forget I said it." He
apologized, waiting an interminable amount of time before daring to continue. "Now, do you think you could handle the London office?" he added, changing the subject.
“I don't se
e why not. What will we need?" she replied, her voice softening slightly.
"Somewhere in the City, not on the ground floor and preferably near Threadneedle Street," he suggested.
"Near the Bank of England, I suppose?" she suggested, somewhat sarcastically but Pascoe either didn't realize it or else he ignored it.
"Where better? It needn't be large, but it should have an ante-room, a safe, telephone and possibly telex, as well as the usual furniture. We will need somewhere small, easy to decorate. Somewhere with an entrance common to several floors.
“For how long?"
"I expect the shortest lease we will be able to get will be three months, although a month will do for our purposes. Tell them it's for temporary use while we're having our main offices decorated."
"I think I can manage that," she said, "I take it we will want it from April?“
"Yes, from April 1st! It'll be good to start on All Fools Day
."
"What will you be doing in the meantime?"
"I shall start printing the stationery. It should be fairly straight-forward and it will give me time to get used to the equipment before I start on the cheques."
"Will there be much stationery?"
"All the paperwork, such as letterheads, business cards and the Purchaser's Agreement form. There's also a booklet which tells you what to do should you lose the cheques or have them stolen and finally, I want to print a circular to send to all the clearing banks, advising them of the launch of our cheques, informing them where to send the cheques for encashment," he explained.
"Won't we be sh
owing our hand by doing that?" she asked, looking puzzled.
"No. That's the beauty of it. The Bureau-de-Change have to sell the che
ques to somebody - usually the clearing banks, which forward them to its own travelers’ cheque division to be sorted and returned to the issuing companies. This is when they might become inquisitive, but if we have already informed them of the launch of our cheques and provided them with samples, it should forestall the problem. The circular will instruct them to clear the cheques as normal through the New York clearing bank. That way, we should be safe until the cheques reach the States, which is where the computer numbering system will come into play!"
"How?" s
he asked.
"I've listed the che
que numbering sequences from the leading suppliers. If we duplicate them on our own cheques, the computer system will accept them as real and pay the English clearing banks accordingly. Don't forget that the more confusion we cause, the better it'll be for us," he explained. "You see, the cheques are sorted initially by machine and the machine only reads the codes we give them. Once it's accepted those numbers and there is no reason why it shouldn't, the computers will make the appropriate debit from one account and the corresponding credit to the clearing bank in the U.K.!"
"
But our cheques won't be real." She insisted.
“I know that and you know that, but the machines are only interested in the numbers printed in magnetic ink. As far as the sorting machines are concerned, the che
ques could just as well be blank pieces of paper!" Slowly, the full import of what he'd been saying, sank in.
"You bastard, Tom. You conniving, scheming, underhand brilliant bastard. They won't even know they've been taken." She smiled at the thought.
"Not for some time if we're lucky. Even when they do find out, it'll take them years to unravel the mess, by which time we'll be far away."
"I'm sorry I blew my top earlier," she said, with a new-found admiration for him." It's flattering to know you were jealous even if I do hate it on principle. Mind you, there'd have been trouble if you hadn't been. Perhaps I can make it up to you
... "
Next morning, Pascoe drove to the workshop refreshed, excited at the prospect of beginning the real work. He started with the Purchaser's Agreement Form, using his own copy, kept from the time in the summer when he had bought some travelers' che
ques, as a prototype.
He sat at the retouching desk and fixed its work surface at a comfortable angle against the wall of the room before starting work. The illumination for the work came from a twin six foot fluorescent unit, fitted with daylight color-matching tubes which gave out 120 watts of cold evenly balanced, ‘north’ light, giving him a perfect view of the original document.
The form in front of him measured 21 x 12 centimeters and was set out with spaces; some to record the client's information and others for filling in the number and denomination of each traveler’s cheque. The forms were simple, un-numbered in themselves. Indeed, except for the selling agent's code number, which was the same on each form, there were no other numbers to be found on the form at all. Copying the form would present no real problems.
The form was in four parts, there being one copy each for the selling bank and the client and a further two copies for the agent. Each sheet was of a different color to make sorting easier and the top three sheets were printed on carbon-impregnated paper. The bottom copy for the purchaser, and was also printed on its reverse-side with the conditions of sale and contained instructions on what to do if the che
ques were lost, stolen or misplaced. Alongside these notes was another ruled box with spaces provided to write the cheque encashment details - amount, date, place and cheque number. In all it was a singularly nondescript document.
Pascoe used Times New Roman type and set it by hand. Apart from it being a long winded process, it was an easy job. His greatest difficulty lay in the setting of the ruled lines to form the boxes on the document. In order to print these, fine brass strips needed to be set into the bed of the type and while the horizontal lines were easily fashioned by placing the brass strips between the spacing furniture in the chase, the vertical ones had to be set in-register in a second chase, to be printed separately. It took him three days to finish setting the form before he was able to leave both sides of the document permanently 'locked-up' in their chases, ready for printing.
Preparatory to printing, he packed out the bed of the press with several thicknesses of newsprint to provide a receptive surface for the type. Next came the part of the job he detested most... inking the platen. The ink had to be squeegeed evenly onto the platen with a rubber roller, then left for an hour to 'set-off', before using. Invariably, he used to end up with more ink on himself than on the platen and it took weeks to remove the last traces of it from under his finger nails... no amount of scrubbing seeming to do the trick. While the ink was curing he set the register pins to help align the paper for printing and by the time that part of the setting-up was complete, the ink was touch-dry on the platen and ready to print. He inserted the type-filled chase in the press. It's weight belied it's size and so surprised him that he fumbled it, almost dropping it and undoing several hours work.
With the first sheet of paper held in place on the bed of the press, he positioned his head at the side of the machine and pulled the handle gently down, squinting sideways through the vertically narrowing gap between paper and type. It was important to make sure that the paper-positioning pins did not foul the type. If they did, it would mean spending more time replacing the letters deformed by the pins.
He repeated the process with another sheet of paper and gently closed the press until the whole of the surface of the type was in contact with it. Next, he slackened off the four platen pressure screws; then re-adjusted them until the pressure felt even over the whole platen surface.
With the pressure roughly set, he threw away the soiled sheet of paper and repeated the operation. His excitement grew as he made the first pull of the press. The twin rollers moved across the surface of the platen, picking up ink as they made the traverse and deposited it in an even coating over the face of the type. At almost the same instant the bed of the press rose to meet the type and made a clear impression of the text he had spent hours setting. There was a slight metallic ‘clunk’ as the inked rollers spun back to their resting position at the top of the press. The sheet of paper sprang clear from the sticky surface of the type. Apart from having put two letter g's in the word ‘agreement’, the print quality was fine, except that the contrast of the ink varied from one side to the other, but that was simply a question of adjusting the uneven pressure. After spending nearly an hour making fine adjustments to the
platen pressure, ink texture and the position of the text on the sheet, he achieved the quality he was searching for and started the first run. Two and a half arm-wrenching hours later, he had printed the one thousand two hundred copies that he needed; twenty-five per cent on straw-colored paper, twenty-five per cent on white and the remainder on pale blue. As each sheet came off the press he laid them overlapping on every available horizontal work surface. When he had finished one layer overall, he started the next, until he had finished. Apart from one copy which he took to show Sam, he left the rest to dry naturally. All in all, it was a satisfying day's work and he was halfway home before he realized that the time was already past 8.00 p.m. The day had flown by.
Later that week, after he had finished printing the Purchasers' Agreement Forms he turned his attention to the book of Refund Notes. He knew it would be one of the more difficult printing tasks because of its small size, measuring only 10 x 7 centimeters and consisting of several pages of close-set type. He cut out the foreign language section of the original and reduced his work by six pages. Even then it was still a nightmare. It took him a month in all to print it to his satisfaction. The collating of the booklet he left to Sam, so that she could still feel involved in the scheme of things.
He started the artwork for the actual cheques in mid-November and here his problems really began. The cheques he had studied each had background detail, consisting of the name of the issuing company repeated many times across the face of the cheques. Sometimes this lettering was distorted by size - sometimes by color. The background pattern had been printed in very pale ink, before the cheques themselves had been printed. When he had first thought about tackling the job, he had decided against attempting to match this background pattern, but now, spurred on by his success with the agreement forms, he felt inclined to try and gave himself three days to solve the problem.
The secret of the artwork for these processes was always to work on a large scale and then reduce the size photographically or mechanically. Originals of coins and banknotes all start oversize like this, and any minor mistakes made by the artist/designer disappear with a little retouching and the reduction in scale. For the background detail of the American Express che
ques, the company uses its name repeated many times in tiny letters across the face of its cheques. Citicorp also repeats its name but constantly varies the size of the background detail and he decided to do likewise.