Free THE ORANGE MOON AFFAIR by AFN CLARKE

girls.
    We discussed the farm, the Hall, the local cricket team and all the other things that friends talk about over a quiet drink in a country pub in mid-summer. Finally, closing time came and we went our separate ways. Him to his plump, happy wife and children; me to a brooding mansion and uncertain future.

    To say that my call to the Fraud Squad was a non-event would be an understatement. At first, I thought that I was going to get somewhere, the officer who answered the call was very pleasant and put me through to someone he described as a 'very senior official' . I started at the beginning and explained my suspicions and fears and all the things that had happened. He was attentive and interested until he put me on hand while he consulted with another 'very senior official' . He was away for about ten minutes and when he returned I recognised the closed tone of officialdom. He told me as politely as he could, that there was not enough to go on and anyway, if the Government Department dealing with the loan didn't suspect any fraud, why should I bother myself about it. Knowing I was getting nowhere, I decided I wasn’t going to argue and hung up.
    Radley was behind this I was sure. But why was I being pushed out?
    Or was it that I really had nothing except a gut feeling? I laid out all the facts as I saw them and then put myself into the shoes of Radley and the Fraud Squad.
    My father had been kidnapped and killed in Northern Ireland.
    There was opposition in the Gunn Group to my appointment.
    There was no information regarding Rathborne Micro-Electronics.
    It was impossible to get hold of the Managing Director.
    And a high level Government official refused to discuss the loan.
    There was some funny stuff going on with the account and the missing seven gigabytes of data.
    Nobody wanted to talk about any of it at all.
    There was nothing substantial, but pieced together, the whole business looked very strange. The question that kept recurring in my mind, was why? Why the blocking?
    All the facts, as I knew them, kept pinging around in my brain and I kept coming up with the same conclusion. Rathborne Micro-Electronics hadsomething to do with my father's death. There was only one thing left to do. Visit the factory and find out for myself. Firstly, I figured I'd talk it over with Hamish McDougall and get his opinion, he should have returned from his trip by now and I could get Radley out of my hair at the same time.

    Adrian Skyped me before I had time to refocus my mind. By his expression, I realised that he knew where I had been and was obviously not too happy about it. I stopped him before he had the chance to open his mouth and told him that I knew what he was going to say, and to save it because I was going to Northern Ireland as soon as possible to sort this whole mess out once and for all. The argument was, therefore, stillborn, as he had no desire for a repeat of the last one. At least, now I knew that I had him where I wanted.
    Before he could reply I cut him off and called Simon the manager of the Gunn Group fleet at Norwich Airport.
    "Hi Simon, will you get the guys to prepare the Mustang for Monday next week, I'm flying back to Belfast."
    “No problem Boss.”
    I swivelled the chair so that I could see out over the undulating grounds of the Hall. Julie was not going to like it, nor was Mary. But that was something that they would just have to accept. Then I called Jennifer.
    "Can call you Hamish McDougall's office and see if he is available for dinner tomorrow night. I know he will be back by then, so don't let his secretary put you off."

SIX

    The taxi swung into park place , a small cul-de-sac off St James' Street, at the end of which was a Georgian building with a simple brass plaque beside the door on which was written Royal Overseas League. Hamish was outside talking to a statuesque woman wearing a chic black raincoat and wide brimmed black hat that partially hid her face, who stepped into a waiting taxi as