Best Kept Secret

a gentleman.’
    The cabinet secretary smiled at the thought, but satisfied himself with, ‘And what does that mean?’
    ‘That the seller wishes to remain anonymous. It often turns out to be an aristocrat who doesn’t want to admit that he’s fallen on hard times and is having to part with one of
the family’s heirlooms.’
    ‘How much would you expect the piece to fetch?’
    ‘It’s difficult to estimate, because a Rodin of this importance hasn’t come on the market for several years. But I would be surprised if it went for less than a hundred
thousand pounds.’
    ‘Would a layman be able to tell the difference between this one,’ Sir Alan said, admiring the bronze in front of him, ‘and the one that’s coming up for sale at
Sotheby’s?’
    ‘There is no difference,’ said the director, ‘other than the cast number. Otherwise they are identical in every way.’
    The cabinet secretary circled
The Thinker
several more times before he tapped the massive mound the man was sitting on. He was now in no doubt where Martinez had secreted the eight
million pounds. He took a pace back and looked more closely at the bronze cast’s wooden base. ‘Would all nine casts have been fixed on the same kind of base?’
    ‘Not exactly the same, but similar, I suspect. Every gallery or collector will have their own opinion on how it should be displayed. We chose a simple oak base that we felt would be
harmonious with its surroundings.’
    ‘And how is the base attached to the statue?’
    ‘For a bronze of this size, there would usually be four small steel lips moulded on to the inside of the bottom of the statue. Each will have had a hole drilled in it, through which a bolt
and a bevelled rod can be lowered. Then all you have to do is drill four holes through the base, and attach it to the bottom of the statue with what are called butterfly screws. Any decent
carpenter could do the job.’
    ‘So if you wanted to remove the base, all you would have to do is unscrew the butterfly bolts and it would become detached from the statue?’
    ‘Yes, I suppose so,’ said Sir John. ‘But why would anyone want to do that?’
    ‘Why indeed,’ said the cabinet secretary, allowing himself the suggestion of a smile. He now knew not only where Martinez had hidden the money, but how he intended to smuggle it into
Britain. And, far more important, how he planned to be reunited with his £8 million in counterfeit five-pound notes without anyone becoming aware of what he was up to.
    ‘Clever man,’ he said as he gave the hollow bronze one final tap.
    ‘A genius,’ said the director.
    ‘Well, I wouldn’t go that far,’ said Sir Alan. But to be fair, they were talking about two different people.

41
    T HE DRIVER OF the white Bedford van drew up outside Green Park tube station on Piccadilly. He left his engine running and flashed his headlights
twice.
    Three men, who were never late, emerged from the underground carrying the tools of their trade and walked quickly to the back of the van, which they knew would be unlocked. Between them, they
placed a small brazier, a petrol can, a bag of tools, a ladder, a thick coil of rope and a box of Swan Vesta matches in the back before joining their commanding officer.
    If anyone had given them a second look, and no one did at six o’clock on a Sunday morning, they would have assumed that they were just tradesmen and, indeed, that is what they had been
before they joined the SAS. Corporal Crann had been a carpenter, Sergeant Roberts a foundry worker and Captain Hartley a structural engineer.
    ‘Good morning, gentlemen,’ Colonel Scott-Hopkins said as the three of them climbed into the van.
    ‘Good morning, colonel,’ they replied in unison as their commanding officer pushed the gear lever into first, and the Bedford van set out on the journey to Southampton.

    Sebastian had already been on deck for a couple of hours before the
Queen Mary
lowered its passenger ramp. He was among the first to disembark, and quickly made his way
across to the customs office. He presented the cargo manifest to a young officer, who inspected it briefly before giving Sebastian a closer look.
    ‘Please wait there,’ he said, and disappeared into a back office. A few moments later, an older man appeared, with three silver stripes on the cuffs of his uniform. He asked to see
Sebastian’s passport, and once he’d checked the photograph, he immediately signed the clearance order.
    ‘My