Roskov book 19, p.1
Roskov, Book 19, page 1
Ricky Roskov
Book 19
Copyright © Geoff Wolak
This book is a work of fiction, technically accurate in the detail of geographical locations, and the time period history. It is young adult romance, conspiracy and murder-mystery.
Britain’s phallic symbol
Sat eating at 6pm, in the café at the new offices, the news appeared on the wall-mounted TV, and the staff here were all soon wondering why London’s Big Ben clock tower seemed to have been playing “Happy Birthday” at 11.45am today.
A few Japanese tourists had been filming at the time, as well as a documentary film crew from BBC Northeast, and they caught the odd sound made.
The good news was that Big Ben was back to chiming out at the right hour, the police suggesting that it had been a student prank perhaps – a prank played inside one of Britain’s most guarded buildings.
But since the Home Secretary had a wife whose birthday it was today, fingers of blame were playfully being pointing his way by the media.
The news also showed concrete pillars now being removed from the collapsed Higgins building, and these pillars had been drilled and detonated, the drilling having been done at 60% down angle.
Experts now suggested that the thermite would have cut the steel at 60%, causing it to slide down and to snap the remaining concrete, to then issue a massive lateral force against the other concrete pillars – mystery solved.
Just that the Government were very annoyed at someone bringing down a tall tower in London, and the cost to the taxpayers. Thermite was now banned in the UK unless with Home Office approval, ten years in prison for anyone caught with it.
David Hutton turned up at 7pm, on his way home, and he sat with me for a cup of tea, his tie loosened. He began, ‘There’s a local nursing home that’s mostly posh people, and they want a partnership with us. They have a new building - with a mortgage, and they don’t want to sell – or go bust because of us.’
‘How many rooms?’
‘They have two floors on a building that is a kind of “Z” shape in nice gardens, forty rooms on the top floor, thirty on the ground floor. They said they’ll split the floors to be Phase Two and Three, Phase Two up top and with a coffee room and extras – just to please us.’
‘What … kind of partnership?’ I asked.
‘Forty percent to us, we buy in at a fair price, and we supply the food and drink, and it would be a Roskov-Hasselmere Home.’
‘Tell them yes, and to get a move on.’
His eyebrows shot up. ‘That was a quick decision…’
‘It was never my plan to destroy the competition, the good places, and this way we get extra capacity, and they’ll also split the phases and stimulate the Phase Two people. Where is it?’
‘South, not too far from the posh home, our GPs could visit it.’
‘Call the home now, then my newspaper and give them the detail; I want more homes like this to come forwards. We have the local warehouse, so … we can make some extra money.’
‘Hang on.’ He stepped away and made a call, then a second call. Back with me, he began, ‘My second call was Grove House Nursing Home, and I told them that Hasselmere would merge with us, and now they’re keen for their own deal.’
‘How big is Grove?’ I asked.
‘It’s the biggest in Leicester, and semi-posh, nice grounds. It has a hundred rooms. It’s north, rural, not far from Crockerton.’
My brow pleated. ‘Big place … on the left as your drive north?’
‘That’s it, can just see it through the trees. They want to build another wing as well.’
‘Make sure that they’ll split the phases and stimulate the residents.’
‘Many are starting to copy us, they fear not doing it.’
‘So strike a deal, a good price, food and drink from us as soon as the ink is dry. And the fact is … that there are hundreds of these homes dotted around the country, many in places where we’d not go, small towns.
‘We want super-sized places, but that means they get centred in big cities. Have Bill do some research, and see if there are similar-sized homes in Coventry, Derby and Nottingham.’
‘Bound to be a few of them.’
‘If you think a place is suited … buy into it, don’t wait for me, but don’t target the places housing poor people.’
‘They’re not worth targeting, they’re small and … generally pretty crap.’
I nodded at that. ‘Go buy some shares on behalf of the consortium, at your discretion. And tell the nursing homes that if they want wheelchairs or strollers or beds to speak to us first.’
He headed off home to his girlfriend, not a long drive; he was not a London commuter with a train and two buses to get home. Sat there, I could not imagine getting a train and a bus home, in the rain and the cold.
In the morning, my local newspaper was detailing the new nursing home deals, jobs secure in those homes, residents secure.
At the old offices, at 10am, David came and found me. ‘BUPA want a deal; they do nursing homes as well as hospitals and they want to expand their capacity as well. They mostly do posh and … very posh.’
‘How big a place would they build?’ I asked.
‘They have a BUPA home in Nottingham, capacity is just two hundred people, but they want to create a few large places. They admit to having had a sniff around our posh place, Ronnie Masters House.’
‘I would have thought that they could just build a big place without us…’
‘They could, but they quite cheekily suggested that we front most of the building costs and that we retain forty-nine shares, and we then supply furniture and beds and food.’
I frowned at him. ‘I’d be tempted to do it all myself!’
‘So what kind of a deal would we look at?
‘We’d do what they ask, but only if the land is large and that we have a Phase Zero and a Three-Phase next door, a cost saving. They can have a line of trees between buildings, and a second entrance, we’d go back to back.’
‘That would save us money,’ he agreed. ‘I’ll put that to them.’
He returned an hour later, after I had done the rounds and met the staff and asked questions – did they need anything? Richard’s software team was now much larger, and the Traffic Jam team was bigger, but Bill’s team was the largest, now twenty people.
‘BUPA suggested a building next to Ronnie Masters House, and there is land and we own it.’
‘We own it?’ I puzzled.
‘It came with the other land, and Bill said that you discussed maybe doing something later on.’
‘How big is it?’
‘It could hold a three-phase, normal size. And BUPA want a big building anyhow.’
‘And posh pensioners in Leicester that might use them?’ I posed.
‘Way more than we could house, by a factor of ten.’
‘Is there space for gardens?’
‘On one side they’d have the ponds, our ponds, small trees, and on the far side is farm land and trees, so it would be nice anyhow. Space around it for gardens, yes, and they’d have a roof garden and a conservatory up there.’
‘Sounds OK to me, make some plans, a fair deal for both sides, some figures worked out by Lucas, some responsibilities worked out.’
He told me, ‘They would find the residents, all BUPA medical people that have been paying in for years. Their staff are well trained and well paid, but our standard is close to theirs, and the nurses and doctors would be interchangeable, as well as specialists.’
‘Suggest to the architect that the building be on the far side of our land, furthest away, gardens laid out to the ponds between the buildings.’
He nodded.
Bill stepped in. ‘Had something from Wandsworth Council, and across the railway line from our new Battersea home is land up for grabs, a shit load.’
I began, ‘We need Battersea finished first, but if the land was suitable it could be a big Phase Zero or more Three-Phase homes, residents brought in from other boroughs maybe.’
‘The land is split into oblongs, and each one is listed at fifty million to developers, who could then raise tall towers -’
‘And spoil our view,’ David noted.
‘I never figured that we’d need a good view that way, or south, just to the river,’ I told him.
Bill added, ‘If we want the curved oblong -’
‘A curved fucking oblong?’ I queried.
‘It’s an oblong with an extra curved triangle part where the curving train track goes,’ Bill explained. ‘Bottom end would touch the main road, top end is the river. If we want it, and use it for nursing homes, it’s forty-five million to us.’
‘First, send a fax to Wandsworth Council and London Transport and the Prime Minister, asking if a walkway over the tracks is allowed and possible?’
‘Don’t see why not,’ Bill responded. ‘It won’t affect the trains.’
‘Find out, then we’ll have a look at it, because it saves us money on supplies and staff, so long as we have a good walkway and people don’t walk around to it or have to drive there.’
Half an hour later, the CEO of G4S called me.
I answered the call on my office landline. ‘How can I help?’
‘If you’re serious about supplying our planned new prisons then we’d be happy to accept your assistance, we’d be foolish not to.’
‘We can get you the furniture at a great price, specialist beds that don’t come apart or burn, as well as the food and drink of course. We can
‘Of course.’
‘Fact is, the more people we supply the better the price we get, the more buying power we have. So it helps our nursing homes as well.’
‘If we both offer a united front to the next Labour Government then we have a stronger bargaining position,’ he suggested.
‘We can beat them up some, yes. Can you expand your place to have a women’s section and a small mental health section?’
‘We did discuss it, and we have the land for it.’
‘To make money you need a super-sized place that handles both men and women - as well as crazy people, the more prisoners the better for saving money on supplies and staff.’
‘We’ll use your four phases, and we’ll make our soft section very soft, because I agree with you – that tough prisons don’t reform tough men.’
‘So make some plans and then talk to my people, and we can get you the furniture and paint when you’re ready,’ I offered.
‘There is another matter - I have my fingers in several pies, and my investors are interested in the land adjacent to Battersea, but Wandsworth Council want it for something other than posh apartments and … they mentioned your name.’
‘It’s not a great part of London, for posh apartments…’
‘There was a plan, for Battersea to become a posh apartment block with a shopping centre, posh apartments spreading out along the river. Those investors are in my circle of friends.’
An image of Higgins popped into my mind, and now I knew what he looked like. I kept my cool. ‘Wandsworth Council, they … offered us the land, or part of it, closest to the train tracks. I told them I was interested if we could build a walkway over the tracks.’
‘Lots of walkways over tracks,’ he noted. ‘No big deal, they should agree it.’
‘So what do your friends want of me?’ I pressed.
‘First, to confirm if you’re bidding for the land, then to suggest a partnership.’
‘A partnership … to do what?’
‘A few apartment blocks with a nice view of the river, behind them a posh Phase Zero – as you put it, then a posh Three-Phase behind it, a very large one.’
‘Is BUPA interested?’ I asked.
‘That was a very good guess. And yes they are, they’d want a block for themselves.’
‘If I front the money it would be all my show, so … what kind of a deal?’
‘You secure the land for nursing homes and cut through the red tape, it’s your land and we’re tenants maybe, and Wandsworth Council agrees the plan. We then save money on combined supplies and combined medical services.’
I told him, ‘That sounds reasonable, we just need to sell the idea to Wandsworth Council, who are a bit socialist.’
‘Which is why you can cut through the crap with them,’ he suggested. ‘You’re a Leicester boy.’
I smiled widely. ‘I take no offence at that.’
Call ended, I called the head of Wandsworth Council.
‘Roskov?’
‘Yes, and we’re interested in the land next to Battersea, but … I’m wary of what may be built next to it a few years down the road, and you’re there to make money not wait and hope for some social housing to be built. Apparently that land was slated for posh apartments?’
‘They wanted to build posh apartments in Battersea Power Station, and then along the waterfront.’
‘I’m building a nursing home in Leicester with BUPA, and they have a desire for some land in London. I’d be interested in all the land next to Battersea if I could service poor pensioners as well as richer pensioners, a mix.
‘That way I save money on services and supplies, and medical staff. But I’d want to make some money back from the land, a few apartments for rich pensioners with a nice river view.’
‘You’d use it all, for nursing homes?’
‘Most of it, yes, but I want BUPA in there, and the riverside used for posh apartments, but they’d all be pensioners probably. They’d not be sick yet, but they would need to be pensioners to qualify.’
‘I’ll discuss it with the council, and we are keen to get rid of the land soon, a mounting pressure.’
‘Thanks, let me know.’
‘We … do have complaints mounting, from small local nursing homes that figure they’ll go bust,’ he delicately broached.
‘I’d buy them, move the staff and residents, and sell the building. That’s what we’ve been doing here in Leicester.’
‘Then I can reassure a few of them, and we were aware that you did such a thing.’
‘I just bought stakes in two posh nursing homes here; I’m out to support them not destroy them.’ Call ended, I realised that I was being less than honest, but only in a small way. And for a good cause, my cause.
An hour later, I called back the CEO of G4S at his posh London offices.
‘Roskov?’
‘Yes. Listen, I heard a rumour that some rich chap called Higgins had been after Battersea, and is now after that land you mentioned.’
‘Trust me when I say that he has his hands full at the moment and his mind occupied in other areas.’
‘Is he mad at me?
‘He was interested in Battersea, yes, his consortium of investors, but the council there would have never allowed his shopping mall idea and even the Tory government were against it.
‘As for the second tranche of land he’s not interested, but might have been if he had gotten Battersea.’
‘Who is this guy?’ I asked.
‘Old money, chats to The Queen, heads a few foundations and charities, a senior freemason as well, all the right connections.’
‘Not someone I’d want a cold beer with whilst watching a soccer match on the TV.’
He laughed. ‘No, not your type. Even I find him tiresome; there’s only one opinion that matters … and that’s his.’
At 8pm the shiver went up my spine, then my phone trilled; number withheld. I pressed the button. ‘Roskov.’
The voice of a middle-aged man began, ‘Tomorrow at 7am your new wine bar in Essex will be raided, drugs found, links to you planted there. Good luck.’
The images had popped up.
‘Thanks Clive, hope your wife is feeling better soon.’
‘How … how the hell?’
‘Do you really think all those stories about me were made up? Bring your wife up to me, I’ll try and cure her.’
‘Cure … her?’
‘You have nothing to lose by trying, and by trusting in me a second time. Thanks for the tip-off, don’t forget to feed next door’s dog.’
I grabbed Pat and Dingle in a hurry, and as they stood with me in reception listening-in I called their boss, Biggs.
‘Roskov?’
‘Tomorrow morning at 7am the local Essex police will raid my wine bar there and plant drugs. You protect me, and this is an attack against me, so … can you get in there first?’
‘We can, and we will, hidden cameras.’
‘I’ll call my manager there and give the detail to Pat and Dingle. Give me ten minutes, assemble a team please.’
I cut the call, and called Lucas. ‘I need the name and phone number of the wine bar manager in Essex.’
‘I call you back.’
And he did, two minutes later, the detail written down. I handed the paper to Pat, who called Biggs with it, the address given. A team would be on its way soon, but they had until 7am, plenty of time.
Upstairs, I knocked on the doors of Bill and Ted, and in my room we made cups of tea as we discussed this turn of events.
‘The same people as the four officers sent here?’ Bill asked.
‘Bound to be, nudged by the London cabal,’ I responded.
‘They don’t give up,’ Ted noted. ‘But I always wonder how they benefit from this. If you are discredited the consortium carries on, even if you are in prison they carry on, they know what to build now and how to run it.’
‘A gang mentality,’ I suggested. ‘The main man is a child, a real child. Every time he sees me on the TV he gets red in the face with rage. I think he smashed the TV remote once or twice and that his wife now hides it.’
‘There’s no practical gain here for him,’ Bill sighed out.
