Nine Lives (Sam Archer 1)

by Tom Barber

  *

  ‘Excuse me for asking Director, but how familiar are you with the current associations between drugs and terrorism?’

  Crawford spoke to Cobb’s back as he stood across the room, making them both a cup of coffee from his machine by the far wall. Cobb turned.

  ‘How do you take it?’

  ‘Black, no sugar. Thank you.’

  Cobb finished making the two drinks then turned and passed one to the DEA agent, who nodded in appreciation. Cobb took his fourth cup of the day and sat back behind his desk. He knew all about the links between the two trades, but he decided to keep his cards close to his chest.

  He wanted to test Crawford out.

  ‘To be honest, not very,’ he lied, answering the man’s original question. ‘Here in the UK the two are mostly exclusive. Neither gets to a very high level without being stopped; we’re an island after all. It’s hard to smuggle drugs through our borders and it’s even harder to plan a terrorist conspiracy without us knowing about it.’

  He paused.

  Well, almost, he thought, silently cursing at Simmons’ carelessness.

  Crawford nodded, taking a sip from his coffee.

  ‘Allow me to explain. In the last few years, my agency’s most recent intelligence reports have shown that over sixty per cent of modern terrorist organisations are in some way involved with drug-trafficking or narcotics. The United States has deduced that there are forty-three recognised foreign terrorist organisations in the world, FTOs, as we call them. Of the forty-three FTO groups, we know for sure that at least nineteen of them are heavily involved with the major drug cartels.’

  Cobb sipped his drink, nodding. Crawford continued.

  ‘Since 9/11, military organisations all over the world have stepped up their game in regards to the war on terrorism, as I’m sure you know. The police and the military soon realised that if you remove the terrorists’ funding, you severely impact their ability to attack. Staggering amounts of terrorist money have been seized since, in many repeated and successful attempts to cripple the financial coffers of these FTOs. As a consequence, those groups who were affected suddenly found themselves broke. If they still wanted to pursue their ideology, they needed to find a new way to fund it and re-establish a constant cash supply.’

  He paused, drinking his coffee.

  ‘And for most of them, the answer lay with drugs.’

  Cobb stayed silent.

  ‘The two businesses go hand in hand,’ Crawford continued. ‘They’re both built on government opposition, intimidation, the latest technology and obscene levels of violence. You remember the Madrid terror attacks a few years ago?’

  Cobb nodded. He’d been at MI5 when the disaster had happened in 2004. A series of co-ordinated bombings had struck the Spanish city’s subway system, killing a hundred and ninety-one people.

  ‘Well that operation was almost totally funded by the sale of narcotics. One of the first to do so. Other FTOs saw how successful those attacks were and decided to jump on the bandwagon.’

  Crawford paused again, looking at the coffee cup in his hand.

  ‘As more and more of these groups have realised the potential profits that are out there, there’s been an unpleasant consequence. The two criminal businesses have started to merge. Hybrid organisations are now emerging; one side drug cartel, the other side terrorism.'

  Cobb nodded. ‘Like the Taliban.’

  ‘Exactly. When the two were more mutually exclusive, the DEA mostly kept to itself as we focused on the cartels. But after it became clear that these unions were starting to be forged, we began working much more closely with both our own agencies and others around the world. And it’s been a great success so far. In the six years from 2005 to 2011, the DEA, in co-operation with other government teams around the world, has seized over seventeen billion dollars in drug money.’

  He paused, letting that last sentence hang in the air.

  ‘So, slowly but surely we’re winning the war,’ he said, draining the last of his coffee.

  There was a pause.

  ‘Well I’m very pleased to hear that,’ Cobb said. ‘But forgive me for asking, but I’m not quite seeing how this ties into my Unit, Agent Crawford.’

  The American halted for a moment, fixing Cobb with a steady stare. Cobb realised that he’d been weighing him up too, from the moment he entered the room.

  ‘Can I rest assured that what I am about to tell you stays here?’ Crawford asked quietly.

  Cobb nodded. ‘Of course.’

  ‘The reason I was in Paris was an operation. A six man detail, including myself. Our target is the head of one of the most powerful drug cartels in the Middle East, a man known as Henry. I arrived at De Gaulle from Riyadh last night with three of my men. We got an advance tip off that there was going to be some kind of deal taking place outside the city later on this evening and I’m happy to say we’ve hit the jackpot.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘The boss is going to be there himself. I can’t emphasise to you enough how rare that is. He’s the head of his own cartel. Men as powerful as he is don’t just turn up at trades and business deals. They let the people under them handle it.’

  Cobb nodded, thinking.

  ‘OK. But I’m still failing to see how his relates to my team?’

  Crawford looked at him for a moment.

  ‘Because Dominick Farha is Henry’s nephew.’