Page 110 of Traitors Gate

EXCLUSIVE: CROWN JEWELS STOLEN

FROM THE TOWER OF LONDON

A colour photograph of the 1937 Imperial State Crown dominated the front page. The editor switched his attention to the alternative headline:

NOTORIOUS CRIMINAL IN BOTCHED

ATTEMPT TO STEAL CROWN JEWELS

‘I still need a picture of the replica crown,’ hollered Dacre, ‘along with an up-to-date photograph of Faulkner.’

‘Not easy,’ suggested the deputy editor. ‘No one knows where the replica is, and Faulkner’s currently banged up in solitary.’

‘Don’t make excuses,’ said Dacre, pointing at his crime reporter, ‘and knock me up a thousand-word profile on Faulkner and why he should never have been let out of jail in the first place.’

‘And if the crown isn’t in the Tower and only Faulkner knows where it is?’ asked the chief crime correspondent.

‘A thousand words on the new Raffles. The Old Harrovian cavalier who’s run circles around Scotland Yard’s finest, making them look like the Keystone Cops. Either way, I’ve only got forty-five minutes before I decide which headline I’m running with. So make sure you have both articles ready for me to consider before we go to press.’

Everyone except the editor left the office and quickly returned to their desks. Some began hitting the phonelines while others tapped out opening paragraphs, aware they only had forty-one minutes left before the presses rolled.

• • •

Mr Thomas parked his car on a single-yellow line on Lower Thames Street only a hundred yards away from the Tower entrance. He walked quickly down the slope towards the West Gate where he could see a welcoming party waiting for him, as well as the Senior Yeoman holding a large bunch of keys. He didn’t look quite so welcoming. Was it just possible …?

Mr Thomas was asked to sign the visitors’ book before the Chief Yeoman picked up the phone and dialled the Jewel House. It was some time before the call was answered.

‘Mr Thomas has arrived, sir. Shall I escort him across to the Jewel House?’

The Governor stared at the empty display case that housed only a plush red velvet cushion. He accepted he could be the shortest serving Resident Governor in the Tower’s thousand-year history and would forever be remembered as the man who handed over the Crown Jewels to a criminal. He could hear Faulkner telling the jury, ‘He even accepted an invitation to join the Lord Chamberlain at his club, White’s, for lunch.’ When he’d warned his wife earlier that afternoon about his possible fate, she had reminded him that three former Governors had been beheaded.

‘That might be less painful,’ he’d responded.

‘Is there anything I can do to help?’ she asked.

‘Yes, while there is still an outside chance …’

• • •

‘Yes, please escort Mr Thomas to the Jewel House. I’ll be waiting for him.’

‘What about the gentlemen of the press?’

‘Yes, they can come as well. If I’m going to have my headchopped off—’ began the Governor as a message flashed up on his mobile.

Arrived outside East Gate. Have abandoned the outriders and heading towards the middle drawbridge on foot. Should be with you in less than a minute.

‘This, gentlemen,’ said the Yeoman, pausing for a moment, ‘is the Martin Tower, where the Crown Jewels were stored during the sixteenth century, but perhaps more interesting—’

‘I didn’t come here for a history lesson,’ said Thomas, not breaking his stride.

‘Once you’ve crossed the moat,’ responded the Governor, ‘you’ll find your contact waiting for you on the other side and …’

Ross ran across the middle drawbridge and, once he reached the other side, whispered loudly, ‘Where are you?’

‘Over here,’ said a voice he didn’t recognize. A figure stepped out of the shadows, grabbed the carrier bag and began running up the slope towards the Jewel House.

Ross would have chased after them if a smartly dressed man, whom he assumed had to be Thomas, hadn’t strode past him followed by a Yeoman, a photographer and someone Ross thought must be theDaily Mail’s royal correspondent. Ross slipped back into the shadows, a reluctant onlooker.