Gold by Darrell Delamaide Page A

pressure he had been under from the release sex had provided.
    Katy came back down the hall. She knew about Drew’s addiction to his morning coffee and always kept real coffee on hand to brew for him when he spent the night.
    “Coffee’s on,” Katy said. “It’s after nine,” she called back, on her way down the hall. Drew reached for the phone on the bedside table. It had been nearly midnight when he left work the night before.
    He dialed the office. “Ah, Drew, tried to call you a little while ago but got no answer,” Richard, his night editor, said.
    “I went out early for a run in the park,” Drew lied. He detested jogging, but his flat was near Hyde Park, so the excuse was plausible. “What’s up?”
    “The Old Lady called,” Richard said.
    Drew had been half expecting a call from the Bank of England, the Old Lady of Threadneedle Street. “Let me guess. They want me to drop around for a cup of tea.”
    “I don’t know what they’re serving, but they said it was urgent and they want you there at eleven. Charley himself wants to see you.”
    “Eleven it is. Call and confirm for me, will you?” Charley was Charles McQuade Guinness, deputy governor of the bank. Of course, they had to know where that news came from. Had they tumbled to MacLean’s scam?
    He turned around, and Katy put a mug of freshly brewed coffee in his hands.
    “Charley Guinness wants to see me,” he explained. The deputy governor was probably the most respected man in the City. Effectively the chief executive of the central bank, his role had grown in importance with a succession of weak political appointments to the governorship.
    Katy looked at him ambiguously. “You better run,” she said.
    Drew ignored her tease. “Yeah, I’d better,” he said. Cab to Knightsbridge and home, quick shower and shave, cab to the City. He would just make it.
    She was still undressed as he pulled on his topcoat. “Give me a call,” she said lightly.
    Drew kissed her quickly and was out the door. He felt better than he had in a week.
    ~
    Drew still felt good as he mounted the short staircase into the Bank of England’s reception hall.
    He hardly noticed the porters in their top hats and mauve tailcoats, although the historic costume had startled him on his first visit a decade ago. The Bank was a financial version of Buckingham Palace, complete with its own colorful guards.
    The Bank of England was in many ways the premier central bank in the world. London’s key role in international finance during capitalism’s golden age made England’s bank of issue the model for most other central banks. Although some dramatic banking failures had tarnished the Old Lady’s image in recent years, it still functioned as the moral backbone of the major central banks.
    Drew went to the desk and announced himself. It was just after eleven. He had put on his blue pinstripe for the Bank audience.
    A porter, more soberly dressed than those at the entry, led him through the hallway around the court and up what appeared to be the back stairs. They came to a reception area where another porter relieved him of his coat.
    No waiting, Drew marveled, as the oak door at the end of the reception area opened. If only it was this easy all the time! He thought of the accumulated hours he had spent waiting in antechambers like this one.
    Guinness himself came out to meet him. They knew each other from press briefings, and Drew had interviewed him once some time ago.
    “Good of you to come at such short notice,” Guinness said, guiding the journalist back to his office.
    Drew was surprised to see other people when he came into the room. He recognized Mark Halden immediately, although he had hardly expected to see him in this setting. Halden’s companion was even more remarkable. Drew could not remember ever having seen a woman inside the Bank of England, let alone one as beautiful as this tall brunette.
    “Hello, Drew,” Halden said, extending his hand. “Been a while