'Pops, you've had twenty years to think about this. If you'd found out at the time…'
'I'd have felt the same. I'd have forgiven her, like she forgave me once.'
'Jesus, this is confession time! When was that?'
'When we were engaged: I had a heavy thing for a while with someone else.'
'Someone she knew?'
'No.'
'And is she still around, this person?'
'Very much so, but keep it to yourself. It was Lou Bankier; we were at university at the same time. At the end of the day, I chucked her and went back to Myra; told her about it.' He chuckled. 'At the time I thought she took it very well. Eventually I found out why: she'd been doing the same with my best pal!'
He turned to face his daughter once again. 'Am I making sense?'
'Yes. I'm just astounded by it all.' She looked at him, her eyes big and earnest. 'Pops, you and Sarah: you've both got all this baggage. Couldn't you just put it down and get on with your life together?'
'Settle for what we've got, you mean? That's the decision we have to make.'
'It's not that difficult, is it? With trust and honesty on both sides, couldn't you give it a try?'
'If there were no other issues, we could.'
The big eyes narrowed. 'What sort of issues?'
'Female.'
'Oh, shit. Are you seeing someone else?'
'I wouldn't put it like that, certainly not in the sense you mean, but there's someone I like very much.'
'It's not Lou again, is it?'
'Wash your mouth out, girl!' he said, indignantly. 'She's married, and to my friend at that; I've got a scrap of personal morality left! Does the name Aileen de Marco mean anything to you?'
'Sure does. I should be shocked. Why am I not?'
'Because she's a very compelling and charismatic woman.'
'That's certainly how she comes across on television,' Alex conceded. She picked up her wine-glass from the floor. 'Bloody hell. Pops. What are you going to do?'
'What I always do… until Sarah comes home, at least. Get my head down and lose myself in my job. God knows, right now it needs my full attention.'
Twenty-one
'Can I ask you something, Neil?' said Bandit Mackenzie.
'You already did.'
'Eh?'
'You asked if you could ask me something. That, of itself, constitutes a question. The answer is "yes". However, there is no guarantee that you will get a reply.'
'I'll take my chances. Do you always look this knackered in the morning?'
McIlhenney grunted. 'It shows, does it? My wife's pregnant; it's like sleeping with a chorus line.'
'Ah, I know that one. Commiserations, pal. How long does she have to go?'
'Quite some time yet; about four months.' He was glad that Mackenzie had bought the lie. The dream had recurred the night before, even more vividly: it was not something he wanted to be drawn into discussing. For all Lou's reassurance, he had found it profoundly disturbing.
Their conversation was interrupted as the door of the conference room swung open, and Amanda Dennis entered, followed by Bob Skinner, Willie Haggerty and Sean Green. She was carrying a bulky folder, which she laid on the table.
'Good morning, gentlemen,' said the DCC. 'Let's get this going.' McIlhenney looked at him and moaned inwardly: he was sharp-eyed and focused, as if jet-lag did not exist for him. Suddenly the day promised to be very busy. 'Amanda.'
She nodded and opened the folder, then took four brown foolscap envelopes from it and handed one to each of the police officers. 'Inside these,' she began, 'you will find photographs of our four targets and intelligence notes on each.' She took a photo from her folder and held it up. 'Naim Latifi.' It showed a clear colour image of a swarthy, moustached man, with a thick mop of grey-flecked hair.
She laid it down and selected a second shot. 'Fadil Ramadani.' The photograph was less sharp than the first, as if it had been taken from a greater distance and enlarged, but the sharp, foxy features and V-shaped hairline were recognisable.
She held up a third. 'Samir Bajram.' The subject looked younger than the other two, and bigger, more muscular. His head was shaved and he wore a gold ring in his ear, with a crescent hanging from it. He was smiling at the camera.
'The other two are surveillance shots,' Skinner observed. 'How was this one obtained?'
Dennis looked at him. 'It was taken by a member of the German security service who infiltrated the gang as part of an operation against organised car theft. A few days later, he was compromised; his body was dumped on the steps of the police headquarters building in Tirana, with some important parts missing.' She held up the last photograph. 'Amet Ramadani, brother of Fadil.' The features were identical, although the younger Ramadani had more hair and appeared to be bigger. Again, the shot had been posed. 'This was taken by the same unfortunate officer, at the same time as the other.'
She gathered the images together and replaced them in her folder. 'These are not nice people,' she said. 'They're typical of a hard core that exists in modern Albania, which the police and the military cannot control because they simply do not have the firepower.' She looked at McIlhenney and Mackenzie. 'Do you know much about Albania?'
'I'd an uncle who went on a package holiday there about fifteen years ago,' Bandit replied. He grinned. 'He was a bit tight: it was the cheapest deal he could find. He told me that when he was there, they had a bit of student unrest; nothing major, just disobedience. The army rounded them up and strung up the three ringleaders from lampposts. They weren't bothered about the tourists seeing it, either.'
Dennis nodded. 'That was fairly routine behaviour for the regime at that time. And the fact is that although the system may have changed the people haven't. I know about that incident you describe: it's in the files on Naim and Fadil. Although they were all masked, as was usual, it was said that Latifi was the officer in charge of the detail that executed those young people and Ramadani was one of his men.'
She took a document from her folder. 'This is a run-down on Albania. You'll find it in your envelope. To summarise it, the place has a pretty tragic history. It was ruled by the Turks for four hundred years, until it finally won independence in 1912. For about half of the time since, it lived under xenophobic Communist rule. Since that collapsed around twelve years ago, it's been trying to introduce multiparty democracy, but it's been a struggle. The early governments were corrupt, and allowed the gangsters to take effective control; that still exists, although there are signs of progress… it is said.' She raised a disbelieving eyebrow.
'The country's infrastructure is appalling. Paradoxically, it has decent mineral resources, and yet it's the poorest nation in Europe. It can't produce enough energy to sustain itself, there's one telephone to fifty people, and there's less than three and a half thousand miles of proper road in the entire place. The population is predominantly Muslim, but there is little sign of fundamentalism. As always, the gangsters' true religion is money. The black part of the Albanian economy is far and away the strongest. Another paradox is that proportionately there are more Mercedes owners there than anywhere else in the world; they're stolen in Germany by Albanian gangs and sold in Durres. That's why the unlucky German came to be where he was. They will traffic in anything: arms, cigarettes, general contraband, people, you name it. But, as always, drugs top the list. It's an active shipment point for Golden Triangle heroin, hashish and cannabis coming into Europe through the Balkan route. Some South American cocaine also makes landfall there.'
She continued, 'However, it is more than a staging post. It grows its own opium and cannabis, and in recent years ethnic Albanian narcotics organisations have expanded rapidly in mainland Europe. My gut feeling is that our four subjects have come to Scotland to extend that growth.'
'What about the arms-dealer in Rotterdam?'
'Oh, they may have used some of the proceeds of their robberies to buy modern weapons, but these people are criminals, not terrorists. We're guard
ing the airports as a precaution, that's all. I think they're here to move drugs. That was my bet when we sent Sean and Mr Bell in to flush them out'
'Then why aren't you talking to the Scottish Drug Enforcement Agency?' asked Mackenzie.
'Because I was ordered not to: too many people would know and the operation would become too obvious. My director general sent me here to brief Mr Skinner and seek his co-operation; they've had dealings in the past.'
What she stopped short of saying was that he had had active involvement with MI5 in the past and continued to be consulted by them. 'Kind of him,' he growled. 'I'll co-operate on one condition, that when the situation is resolved, if this is a drugs operation, the DG explains to the commander of the SDEA why he cut him out.'
'He anticipated that, and he promises to do so.'
'Fine. Now tell us about these four guys.'
'I will. As the assistant DG said yesterday, they are at the heart of much of the criminality in Albania. They are not overlords, but they are powerful and feared, strong men among other strong men. As I indicated earlier, Latifi and the older Ramadani brother were officers in the army under the old regime. When it collapsed, they kept much of their unit together and went into business. Samir Bajram and Amet Ramadani weren't soldiers… they were too young when the Communists fell… but they were brought in as added muscle and to strengthen the family influence. They're all closely related: all four of them had the same grandfather, Shaban Latifi, who was the second most feared man in the country in his time, after the dictator Enver Hoxha himself.'
'Is it possible that these guys are just on the run from Albania?' asked McIlhenney. 'Maybe there's been some gang warfare and they're the losers.'
Amanda Dennis shook her head. 'Naim Latifi is not a loser. My information is that if there had been a gang war it's more likely that the other side would be dead or on the run than that he would. But there have been no such indications. The Latifi family operations are continuing unfettered in the boss's absence; there are other cousins.'
'Do we know if they're travelling under assumed names?'
'They didn't as far as Rotterdam, but they may have false papers now; in fact, I'd guess that they do. They hadn't changed their appearance when the trucker dropped them off, but they've had time to do it since. The Dutchman said that Samir had grown some hair, so don't go looking for a skinhead.'
'Do we have a description of the fifth man, the guy who met them when the trucker dropped them off?'
'Not much; he was the same height and stocky build as Naim, but that was all the driver told us. He couldn't get close enough. He said that when he stopped, he opened the back of the truck. Naim got out of the cab and went across the car park towards the man with the Transit. They hugged like long-lost friends, then Naim waved to the others and they joined him. The trucker said that he got out of there as fast as he could. He was afraid that they might not want any witnesses.'
'Why would he think that?' Skinner asked. 'Did he know something about them that put him in danger? Did they say anything in front of him?'
Dennis frowned. 'They spoke in Albanian among themselves in the little time he was with them. When they spoke to him it was in English… good English, incidentally. We certainly know that Naim is fluent. However, as we told you, the driver has a Kosovar Albanian girlfriend, so he understands a few words. When they spoke among themselves, the name "Petrit" was used quite a lot; it's a common Albanian male forename. Apart from that, the one word he overheard that struck him as odd, was "Saviour". He said that Naim used it several times to the others, with emphasis.'
'Saviour,' McIlhenney repeated. 'What the hell can that mean?'
'Maybe they've converted,' said Mackenzie, cheerfully. 'Maybe they've come over to start a Christian mission. God knows, we could use it here.'
'If they have, it's a front,' Dennis replied, tersely. 'Don't take the communion wafer or you could be high for a week.'
'I don't suggest that you begin your search with the churches,' Skinner grunted.
'How about the Salvation Army hostel, sir?' asked Mackenzie. 'Could they have meant that?'
'Don't be bloody silly, man. There is only one thing these people will do, and that is to disappear into the local ethnic community. Agreed, Amanda?'
'Absolutely, and that is another reason why we should have been allowed to involve you from the start, and why we need you now. You have established links with that community. We don't: we only spy on them from time to time.'
'If I was an illegal Albanian immigrant,' Haggerty interposed, 'I'd go to Glasgow, not Edinburgh: there's more of them there, so it would be easier to hide.'
'Granted. But these people wanted to come here,' Dennis countered. 'The Dutch driver made several calls in Glasgow during the day. He could have dropped them off there, but he didn't, because they asked specifically to be brought to Edinburgh.'
'That's next to bugger all to go on,' said Skinner, 'but at least it's a start.' He turned to the ACC. 'Willie, we have established relationships with the ethnic communities, and we also work closely with voluntary organisations. I think we should put them to use. Without compromising the secrecy of this investigation, let's see if we can try to establish where Latifi and his friends are most likely to be hiding.'
'We'll try,' said Haggerty. 'Not all the Kosovar refugees went home after 1999; that'll be a good place to start.'
'Yes, but gently. We want to find them, not just to move them on.' He paused. 'There's one other thing: the fifth man, the guy who met them. I know we've got little to go on, but let's start by guessing that he's the "Petrit" the Dutchman heard them speak about. Let's see if we can find anyone of that name in this area.'
He turned to the two chief inspectors. 'Neil, Bandit, I don't discount Amanda's original hypothesis, that these are highly illegal people and that their visit here may well be drug-related. So keep an eye on the clubs, and be sensitive to any signs of new players on the scene.'
'Personnel?' asked McIlhenney.
'What do you need? We don't want to start speculation that something might be up.'
'I'd like to bring Mavis in on it,' said Mackenzie. 'She's already speculating why we had to spring Sean and Jingle Bell.'
'You trust her to maintain secrecy?'
'Absolutely.'
'Then brief her. Anyone else?'
'Alice Cowan?' McIlhenney murmured.
Skinner nodded. 'I thought you'd ask for her. Sure, you can have her; she's proved herself in Special Branch by now. Will that be enough?'
'On top of our normal operations,' Mackenzie replied, 'it will.'
'What about Sean?' asked Dennis. 'He's available to you.'
'We can't put him into another club,' Skinner told her. 'He's already been there, and very visibly too. I think it's best if he's at Willie's disposal for now.' He looked at Green. 'Are you okay with that?'
'Fine by me, sir.'
'Good.' The DCC stood up, picking up his envelope from the desk. 'Go on then, plunge into the haystack and find these five bent needles.'
He left the conference room and walked along the corridor, back to his office. Once inside he switched on the red 'busy' light outside the door, retrieved a number from his palm top and dialled it, using his secure phone.
'Hello, Bob,' said a familiar voice. 'And what fooking crisis has fallen on your old grey head this time?'
'Less of the old, you cheeky little bastard,' Skinner grunted. 'And what makes you think there's a crisis? Can't I call an old mate for a chat?'
'You've never called me just for a chat in your fooking life, so what's up?
Major Adam Arrow held a senior and sensitive post within the Ministry of Defence, in its great grey headquarters in the heart of Whitehall. The two men had been in some dangerous situations together; indeed, they had survived one of them by the skin of their teeth. The little soldier maintained an amiable front, but behind it he was disciplined, resourceful, reliable and absolutely deadly.
'Maybe nothing
,' the DCC told him. 'I've had a visit from the spooks, that's all. They want me to run an op for them.'
'Five?'
Yes. Amanda Dennis and one of her boys, overseen by a guy named Rudolph Sewell. I've never met him before.'
'I'm not surprised: until recently he's been in the background… even by their standards… but he's highly rated and his star is on the rise. He's the next DG, or so they say.'
'Who says?'
'The creatures who prowl the murky corridors in which I walk, mate. You could join us, you know.'
The remark took Skinner by surprise. 'What do you mean?' he asked, warily.
'I mean what I said. You're rated down here, Bob. You've worked with Five, and have a reputation there; the DG would have you in his team in a minute, and pretty near the top too. I wouldn't be surprised if he created another assistant post for you, at the same level as Sewell, or maybe even above him.'
'He's never said anything to me about it.'
'That's not the way it works. You have to make the right noises.'
'What? Put in a job application, you mean?'
'No. Just pick up the phone and tell him you'd like to step into the darkness.'
Skinner drew a deep breath. 'But I wouldn't, Adam. My life's dark enough as it is. Right now, I'd welcome a little more light'
'Winter blues.' Arrow chuckled. 'Anyhow, what can I do for you?'
'Right now? Nothing. Just tell me what you know about Albanians.'
There was a pause, as the soldier considered the question. 'Very little,' he answered, eventually, 'beyond the stereotype: they're virtually lawless, clannish, very big on blood feuds and into illegality in a big way. Why? Are you thinking about employing one?'
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