Chasing Aquila

by James Hume

  Eddie grimaced. ‘Mmm. I’m not sure that applies here. She’s Special Branch. They’re a cut above ordinary coppers. I think they deal with big issues like national security. She must have come into this from another angle, Sammy. Remember, she produced this photo from somewhere else, and said he targeted Thomson. It can’t be for drugs. That’s a local issue. He must have targeted Thomson for another reason. She told Bruce he wanted information. We just don’t know what information.’

  ‘So, why did she take the drugs, then?’

  ‘Well, as Bruce says, we don’t actually know she took the drugs. But, if she did, she’s got to dispose of them at some stage. As you say, they’re not illegal, so they can’t be used as evidence of a crime. If you think about it, Thomson must have bought these drugs. So, they’re his property. They’ll go back to his next of kin. But that only deals with his stash. It doesn’t get us in with the supplier. And it doesn’t get us the bloody business, which is what we really want. How do we get that?’

  Sam nodded. ‘Yeah, you’re right.’ Made sense, he thought. It could take them weeks or months to chase through Thomson’s connections, and it still wouldn’t get them the business. ‘So, what do you think, Eddie? Any ideas?’

  They both sat in silence for a few minutes. Then Eddie said, ‘You know, if Thomson sold these drugs in Glasgow, other lads must sell them in other cities. Why don’t we contact Fergus in Edinburgh and see if he can find the lad over there? We could then make him an offer he can’t refuse, and we could piggyback on Fergus, or maybe even find out how to source the drugs ourselves. Does that make sense?’

  Sam smiled. ‘Good thinking, Eddie. It does make sense.’

  ‘Okay, Sam. Let me think it through, and we’ll talk to Fergus tomorrow.’

  ‘Great. Let’s do it.’

  The phone rang. Sam picked up the receiver. ‘Hello?’

  ‘It’s me, Sam.’ It was Jack Bruce. He silently mouthed over to Eddie

  ‘Where the hell did you get to?’

  ‘Yeah, sorry. But I’ve got big problems.’

  ‘We’ve all got big problems. What makes yours so special?’

  ‘I’m suspended, pending dismissal.’

  ‘Shit. For what?’

  ‘I don’t know. They won’t say until they complete an investigation.’

  ‘I thought you had a senior-level cover?’

  ‘Yeah, I thought so too. But he won’t take my calls. They’ve hung me out to dry, Sam. It’s something to do with that interfering bitch, but I don’t know what yet.’

  ‘So, you’re now off the job?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Sorry to hear that. Can I just check something?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘What did the medics say about Wilson?’

  ‘They agreed a fall was a possibility.’

  ‘Good. Well, sorry to hear your news. Call me as soon as you know something.’

  ‘Will do. Thanks, Sam. Will you let Dan and Kenny know?’

  ‘Yeah, I’ll tell them. Bye.’ He hung up, and outlined the conversation to Eddie.

  Eddie nodded. ‘Shit, that’s us stuffed too, eh?’

  ‘Yeah, the bitch.’

  ***

  For the rest of the evening, Sam could think of nothing else. Even though he’d earlier talked about getting rid of Bruce, the fact it had now happened upset him. They’d had Bruce on the payroll for eight years now, and Dan got angry when he heard. ‘How the hell could that happen? Bloody careless bastard. Who’s this bitch anyway? Do we know her?’

  ‘No, dad. She’s Special Branch.’

  ‘Shit. How could Bruce upset them? Christ, he was hard work at times, but worth having on board. Now, we’ll have to start again from scratch. We don’t have anybody else at that level local to us. Okay, at our meeting on Monday, let’s raise this as a priority. Let’s see what options we have for a replacement.’

  Sam went home and got more and more angry about Bruce. Once the kids went to bed, he poured himself a large whisky. By bedtime, he’d worked himself into a fury. The bitch. What right did she have to interfere in his business? She wouldn’t get away with it. He’d teach her a lesson. He pulled the card from his pocket. Bitch. He put on his coat and hat, and went out to the phone box at the end of the block. He asked the operator for the number and got straight through.

  ‘Two-five-six-seven?’

  ‘Watch your back, you interfering bitch.’ He hung up. That was just the start. She’d pay big style for meddling in his business. Bitch.

  Chapter 8. Astrid

  Porritt met with his personal assistant, Sophie Silverman, at four o’clock every day. They’d started when she joined him at Admiralty Intelligence in ‘38, continued at Bletchley Park and then at Special Branch, and now here in Nuremberg, it was their last week together.

  He’d hoped to persuade her to stay for another six months, but realised, when he found her at her desk in tears one morning two weeks ago, she’d never agree.

  She had glanced through some photographs taken by the US Army as it liberated the concentration camps at Belsen and Auschwitz, part of an evidence pack for the Trial. One showed a female prisoner in her distinctive striped clothing, too weak to stand, almost skeletal, lying on the ground at the fence, with one arm raised to grip the fence higher up and lift her head off the ground, yet smiling, with her eyes wide and shining with hope.

  Sophie couldn’t speak through her tears, and held the picture up. Even he found it gut wrenching. That one photo told the whole story of the horror emerging from these camps.

  He sat down opposite her. ‘I’m going to miss you.’

  She smiled. ‘Thank you, sir. But Cassie will look after you. She’s very good.’

  He nodded. Cassie would be good, but she wasn’t a Sophie. She couldn’t articulate people’s strengths and weaknesses in the same way. ‘Okay, so you fly back Thursday?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Sorry, but I’ve found it more difficult here than I thought.’

  He knew she had Jewish links on her husband’s side, and they must play a part. ‘So, what have we got for the last three days?’

  ‘Just to make sure everything’s in order, sir. Tie up some loose ends. Gisela came to me today with a girl who, I think, could be your transport supremo.’

  ‘Really? Tell me about her.’

  Sophie checked her notes. ‘She’s Astrid Rhys, a Dutch national. Twenty-five. Married. Previous occupation, an events manager with Philips at Eindhoven. Has a fantastic reference from them. Speaks fluent Dutch, English, French and German. She thought she might pick up work as a translator, but I think, with her background, she could do the transport role.’

  ‘What’s she doing over here?’

  ‘Her husband’s the pool correspondent for a bunch of Dutch newspapers. He’s over here for at least three months. They married in the summer, and came over here early to have a delayed honeymoon. She just wants something to occupy her while he’s at work.’

  ‘Bloody hell. Sounds good. Can we meet her?’

  ‘Yes, sir. I thought you and Colonel Baker might want to, so I’ve asked her to hang on for a bit. She’s with Gisela.’

  ‘Right,’ He stood up. ‘Let’s see if Jed’s free.’

  Next door, Jed crouched over paperwork. ‘Sure. This can wait. Let’s go.’

  They introduced themselves. Astrid had long dark hair, and wore a black top and skirt. Porritt thought she looked rather plain, but with a steely confidence in her eyes. He asked her if she would consider a different, but a more urgent requirement than translation.

  She nodded. ‘Yes, of course.’

  They all walked back to the main conference room above the front courtyard, and Porritt explained the problem. ‘We have about fifty cars that arrive at the same time, morning and evening, to set down and pick up staff. And they all want to do it at the main door below us. So, the whole place just gets gridlocked. Everyone gets frustrated. We need someone to sort this out, and wondered whether you’d like to do th
is?’

  The girl went closer to the window and looked down. ‘If you had to divide the cars into groups, how many groups would you have?’

  Porritt hesitated. ‘Well, the logical groups would be the countries. So, there would be four; US, Britain, France and Russia, plus the local traffic, German. Five in all.’

  ‘Uh-huh. There’s a large Mercedes at the main door. Could you ask the driver to park it end on to us, facing the road, so we can get an idea of how much space we have?’

  ‘Sure.’ Gisela went to the phone and called someone. In a few moments the driver emerged and moved the car as requested.

  Astrid looked from side to side along the courtyard. ‘There’s plenty of room for five lanes of cars plus walkways, if they’re oriented end on. That would ease the congestion by a factor of five. If you wanted to ease it further you’d need to schedule the cars into the lanes.’

  This girl was really bright, thought Porritt. ‘How would we do that?’

  ‘Well, you’d need to hold the cars somewhere, and then signal them into the lane when there’s a space. You’d have no delays then.’

  ‘I like it,’ Porritt said, and nodded to Baker.

  ‘The space across the road. What’s that used for?’ Astrid asked.

  Gisela said, ‘It was originally part of our complex here, but they demolished it about eight years ago. They planned to build a military barracks, but it never happened.’

  ‘So, could we use it as a staging post, then?’

  ‘Yeah, no reason why not.’

  ‘We could then have someone over there and signal to them when a space came free.’

  ‘How? By waving a flag or something?’ asked Porritt.

  Baker stepped forward. ‘I think we could find a couple of Army HT sets – radio handsets – to make it a lot easier.’

  ‘Sounds good,’ said Porritt. ‘How about in the evening, when everyone wants to leave? What do we do then?’

  Astrid thought for a moment. ‘They select a one-minute slot. Their car would be there at that time. If they’re not, the car’s moved out and they have to organise another slot.’

  Porritt laughed. ‘Do you think our self-important lawyers would go for that?’ he asked Baker. ‘They’d want the car held till they’re ready. Then it’s back to chaos again.’

  Astrid turned to him. ‘Are all the drivers local?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah.’

  ‘Then that’s how to solve it. The drivers must obey the rules or they get fired. So, they’ll obey the rules and move at the end of their one-minute slot. The lawyers will learn they have to be there at their chosen slot time, or they’ll have to wait. What do you think they’ll do?’

  Porritt snorted. ‘You’re right. They’ll be there.’ No wonder she had a fantastic reference from Philips. ‘Well, as far as I’m concerned, the job’s yours. What do you think, Jed?’

  He nodded. ‘Yeah, I agree.’

  ‘Good.’ Porritt turned to Astrid. ‘Our colleagues from France and Russia still have to endorse the decision, but we’ll sort it out tomorrow. We’d also use you during the day as a translator. We’re always short of resource there.’

  ‘Oh, that would be good.’

  He went on, ‘So, if we agree to pay you the same rate as one of our translators or one of Gisela’s managers, whichever’s the greater? How does that sound?’

  Her face lit up. ‘That’s great. Thank you so much.’ She shook hands with everyone. She held Porritt’s gaze for a couple of seconds too long as she shook his hand. Maybe she wasn’t as plain as he’d first thought.

  The girls got ready to leave. ‘Gisela, could you hang back for a moment, please?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  Sophie said, ‘I’ll see Astrid out.’ The two of them turned towards the door. Then Astrid stopped and turned back to Porritt.

  ‘Just a thought about your comment earlier, sir, that everyone wants dropped or picked up from the main door. Could you put up sheltered walkways from the lanes to the door? It might take the edge off any complaints people have to walk a bit further.’

  Porritt turned to Baker. ‘Sounds reasonable.’

  Baker nodded. ‘Okay. Tell you what. Can you come back tomorrow morning?’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  ‘Then ask for Bob Gonzales. He’s my Head of Engineering. Tell him what you want and how you want it laid out, and he’ll organise it for you. Okay?’

  She smiled again. ‘Thank you, sir.’ She and Sophie left the room.

  The three of them stood at the window. Porritt said, ‘Quite a girl, eh? She should be on your team, Gisela, but we’ll pick up the tab for her. Okay?’

  ‘Thank you, sir, because I don’t have a budget for her.’

  ‘No problem. We’ll sort that out.’

  They watched as Astrid emerged from the building and crossed the courtyard towards the exit, her raincoat shimmering and rippling in the floodlights.

  ‘Wonder where she got that?’ Gisela murmured.

  Porritt glanced at her. ‘Got what?’

  ‘Her Kleppermantel.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  ‘Her grey raincoat. Klepper stopped making these in ’37 or ’38 and went over to military clothing. But that looks new. I’m amazed. Wonder where she got it?’

  Porritt turned and smiled at the others. ‘Well, you can ask her tomorrow.’ He rubbed his hands. ‘Another job well done, folks. Let’s get back to work.’

  Chapter 9. Bill

  Sandra loved London. The buildings, the traffic, the shops, the people, the Underground, all just seemed to buzz with quality and excitement. As she crossed Trafalgar Square into Whitehall, on a bright Monday morning, dressed in her new smart dark-blue coat and hat, she felt the city had its sparkle back. At the Home Office, just at the Cenotaph, with its bed of poppy wreaths, she took a deep breath, entered the building and asked for Bill Franklin.

  A few minutes later, he came bounding down the stairs, tall, athletic, jacket flying open, and with a big welcoming smile. ‘Sandra?’

  She smiled back. ‘Bill, nice to meet you.’ They shook hands.

  ‘Come on, let’s go up to the office.’

  As they walked, they chatted about her journey, her hotel, and her views on London. In his office they sat side by side at the conference table.

  ‘Do I detect a Scottish accent?’ she asked.

  He laughed. ‘Yeah, everyone says when I speak to a Scot, my accent changes.’

  ‘How long have you lived here?’

  ‘Oh, came as a boy, nine years old. Brought up in Blantyre. Do you know it?’

  She nodded.

  ‘My father had joined the Army at the start of the First World War. Turned out to be a natural soldier. Shot up the ranks. Took a commission, and finished up a Lieutenant. He came back at the end of the war a different man, and saw Blantyre through different eyes. Within a week, we had moved lock, stock and barrel to Chislehurst, and he’s never looked back.’

  She thought they must be about the same age. ‘What about you?’

  ‘Oh, much less dramatic. Graduated in Classics from Cambridge. Joined the diplomatic corps, but hated pandering to the foibles of foreign despots, so transferred over to the investigations side. Did some interesting projects in Hong Kong and Istanbul, but it wasn’t a job for a married man. The war loomed, travel was dodgy, so I moved to investigations in the Home Office, and got the Deputy Head job a few years ago. I’ve worked with Special Branch, mainly with Malcolm Craig in London, and met Commander Porritt a few times. I just met Dave Burnett for the first time last week. What about you?’

  ‘Huh. Even less dramatic. Educated at the Girls’ High in Glasgow, and joined the police as soon as I could. It’s the only job I ever wanted. And I’ve done okay. Moved up the ranks. Took over Special Branch for the West of Scotland in June this year. And here I am.’

  He laughed. ‘And here we are. Got a bit of a job to do, eh? Did Dave tell you what the HS said to us after the meeting?’

/>   ‘About closing this drug network down?’

  ‘Yeah. That was unusual. He seemed very bitter. I did some probing, and found his cousin died on a rail track a few weeks ago, drug related. It might be personal, but he wants it finished. So, where do we start? Dave said you have some inside information.’

  ‘I do. I’ve got a lot of info, and some ideas on how we could kill it that might give us a starting point.’

  ‘Great. Tell me about them.’

  She told him about her findings in Thomson’s flat, and showed him copies of the coded pages and the documents. ‘It seems to me, if the HS wants this drug operation ended, we have to take the head off to kill the brain, and take the legs off to kill the delivery network.’

  He pursed his lips and nodded. ‘Okay. So, how do we do it?’

  ‘Let’s look at them separately. For the legs, we have this Andrew Lyall in Hampstead, and a whole bunch of unknown people in the major cities. Now I think we could take them all out with the same approach we used to kill Aquila a few years ago. Let me tell you about it.’

  She told him how Porritt had hunted down the Aquila organisation. ‘Dave Burnett, Malcolm Craig, and I were all involved in it, and we could do the same again.

  ‘However, when we nailed the Aquila legs back then, we acted under the Treachery Act, 1940. But now, the possession and distribution of these methamphetamine pills is not illegal. So, for us to act, we need emergency legislation to change that.’

  ‘Right. I’ll check with the legal eagles. But, let’s proceed, assuming we will have a legal basis, and see where it takes us, huh?’

  ‘Okay, I agree. We’ll work with Dave and Malcolm to kill the UK operations. That’s our strategy there. It’s the other side, the brain side, we’ve got to figure out what to do. And we have to start in Amsterdam. We’ve got this Michael running Central Distribution. He must be closer to the brain. So, who do we know over there?’

  He splayed his hands. ‘Sorry. I don’t know anyone, but if you give me time I can probably find someone.’

  ‘Mmm.’ She thought for a moment. ‘I think Malcolm had Dutch help on a drug bust a while ago. Let’s find out.’ She picked up the phone and asked for the number.