Shroud of Concealment (Jake Dillon Adventure Thriller Series)

by Andrew Towning

  Hart looked directly at the spook whilst he was talking. “I was going to call the police myself first thing in the morning to report it.”

  “So it has all been a mistake, then?”

  “I feel such an utter fool for not calling you immediately myself and explaining that it was a false alarm.”

  “If I may say, sir, I suggest that you ensure your housekeeper is made completely familiar with your alarm system. Perhaps then this costly mistake won’t happen again.”

  “Of course, officer. Point taken. I will of course phone the Chief Constable and explain that this was all a silly mistake. I will also send a donation to the police fund, as a way of making amends for wasting your time.”

  “That’s very generous, Mr. Hart. But you really don’t have to go to all that trouble.” The detective looked embarrassed.

  “It’s no trouble. The Chief Constable and I have known each other for many years and I will make sure he hears about the exemplary way that you and your men have handled this matter. Goodnight, officer.”

  Hart closed the door before either the detective or the spook could say another word. Outside the police cars disappeared along with the ambulance and the armed response unit, and minutes later the scene reverted back to one of quiet and calm. Apart from the security service surveillance team in the van parked in the road opposite – they remained.

  Dillon felt pleased. He had achieved what he had set out to do. He had got into Hart’s house completely unobserved and under the noses of those who did not want him anywhere near the property. He had also made the local force fully aware that there was a security service operation on their patch. This would raise a few eyebrows in certain high ranking quarters. The two men shook hands and went back upstairs to the living room.

  “I hope I don’t have to do that again in a hurry. Playing out a situation without a script or any idea where it’s going is dangerous,” Hart complained.

  “I know. But you did it well, Charlie. You see, it had to be that way and it was all based on one thing that is certain. The police hate being pushed around by the security service. Luckily, it worked on all counts and I could now use a stiff drink.”

  Whilst Hart poured the drinks, he said, “Now that you’re in, how do you propose to get out?”

  “Oh, you don’t have to worry about that, Charlie. It’s already taken care of. I’m surprised you even asked.”

  Dillon gazed out towards the harbour.

  Hart smiled weakly. “Perhaps I just wanted your reassurance.”

  Dillon took his drink and when he was seated opposite Hart, he raised his glass and toasted, “Here’s to Rosie Poulter.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  “How long have you known?” asked Hart.

  “Since earlier this afternoon.”

  “How did you find out?”

  “I followed you on a couple of occasions, observed you watching her from the window seat of that café opposite, and was intrigued – especially when you went through exactly the same motions on both occasions. From that moment on, I’ve tried to guess what the connection was. But I must admit, Charlie, one thing that never crossed my mind was that Rosie Poulter was your half sister.”

  He studied Hart’s reaction for a moment, before continuing.

  “Talking to her was something I hadn’t contemplated initially, but my curiosity got the better of me. I wanted to know what it was that connected and drew you to her.”

  “I drove down from London early this morning with every intention of seeing her. But it was her daughter who opened the front door of that old rundown building they live in, just as I was about to ring Rosie’s doorbell. She was as wary as hell at first, but eventually believed that I wasn’t some pervert trying to pick her up with a weird angle on chat up lines. I didn’t spend much time with her, but she was a really nice girl. That’s when I found out, Charlie. I must say that even now I’m still confused and even more intrigued about why you go over there.”

  Dillon lifted his glass to drink.

  Hart said, “You’re the only other person on earth who knows about Rosie Poulter. I found out that she was my only other living blood relative, apart from my son that is, when I first returned to England. Did you know that she is an obsessive and has spent virtually all of her adult life trying to find out about her past? But that is by the by. She is not what she seems, you know? I discovered shortly after meeting her that she is nothing more than a drug-taking sponger who turns tricks with strangers in cars to generate cash to buy her next hit.”

  He paused, “I feel very sorry for her daughter, having a mother like that. But I’ll give Rosie credit, though. She’s somehow managed to keep that part of her sordid life a deeply hidden secret from Sarah. She is not aware that her mother is a common street whore. And do you know what the sad fact is, Jake? I made the mistake of believing her sob story and tried to help her financially. I must admit that for me it was nothing short of a vain attempt to get her off the street. I threatened to tell Sarah, you know? Who, I might add, I to this day have never been allowed to meet. That was a very low period in my life and shortly after, she broke off all contact with me.”

  “I only go over there now to make sure she’s okay and to remind myself of what my mother used to look like. Rosie has an uncanny likeness to her, but every time I go, I’m racked with a mixture of guilt, sadness and torment. Sorry, I’m straying away from the point. I’m still not sure how she found me even to this day, but she did. And although sceptical, I had my people check out her story. Needless to say I was extremely pleased when they told me that she appeared, on paper anyway, to be genuine. So I decided to meet her, find out for myself what my half sister was like and to get to know her. From that point on my life became a living nightmare for about a year and a half. At first I just assumed that she wanted to get to know her only living relative. But it soon became apparent that she only wanted whatever she could get from me, and that was large sums of money. I purchased that building she now lives in, just so she would always have a roof over her head and an income from the other tenants. The problem is, Jake, some people, and Rosie is one of them, simply don’t want to be helped.”

  “Like you say, Charlie, it’s sad.”

  “Sad. Yes, I suppose you’re right. It is sad, but at the same time it’s strange as well. Because after we’d met a few times, I became conscious of the fact that something was not quite right with her. I’ve always prided myself on being able to sum people up quickly. But she was good – kept the façade going right up to the point when I confronted her with my suspicions.”

  “Suspicions?”

  “Tommy Trevelyan, Jake.”

  “Trevelyan? What’s he got to do with Rosie Poulter?”

  “He’s got everything to do with her and the reason why I’m still involved with that East-end lout. When I came to England I was all fired up and ravenous for success. Sure, I was already fairly wealthy, but greed does some very strange things to men. So I put myself about, heard a few rumours and then found out who was looking for big construction project investors in the city. That’s how I met Trevelyan.”

  “I knew from the minute I set eyes on him that he was a villain of the worst kind, but he was also very persuasive and talked soundly about the projects he was personally involved with. He never made promises he couldn’t keep, and always paid top dollar for investment money. I could never have made so much money in such a short space of time if I’d just been wheeling and dealing as was the norm for me. Anyway, on completion of the first project he transferred over ten million pounds into one of my South American bank accounts, which I was obviously elated about, especially as my investment was no more than a million.”

  He continued, “Of course, I’m not naive and kept my association with Trevelyan very quiet. I was fully aware that he was sucking me deeper into hi
s hideous world with every project. I allowed that to happen simply because I’m not afraid of men like him and would have no hesitation in sorting him out – permanently. I was about to do that when two things happened. Trevelyan invited me to join his secret society that called itself The Hell Fire Club. He calls it his inner circle of trust. On the second Wednesday of each month we luncheon together and discuss topics of interest to us all. But as you’ve no doubt discovered, I’m not really a club sort of man, Jake. I like my own company too much. This is when I met Julian Latimer and Paul Hammer. Paul and I hit it off immediately, but Latimer was a very strange man in more ways than one. But that is of no interest now that he’s dead. Believe it or not, Trevelyan is on occasions a clear-thinking drug baron, who immediately focussed on how useful we all might be to him with our contacts. Hammer with his vast hotel chain, and my network of import and export companies all over the world. Jake, I’m not trying to justify anything here, or even trying to fudge the issues at hand. But both Paul and I were not aware of the terrorist funding element of Trevelyan’s enterprise. He was exceptionally clever in hiding that from us.”

  “Did he recruit you all in this way?”

  “Oh yes. I later discovered that from my dear friend Gideon Lihiri. He was also invited to join the club, by the way. He politely declined, but he did know that Trevelyan had chosen both myself and Hammer very carefully. He had been particular about certain elements of our social standing and wealth, as I say, for both of our international networks. But not so with Latimer. He’d known Trevelyan for many years and there was much vagueness surrounding their relationship. I for one always suspected them of being lovers, a thought that gives me the creeps and not for obvious reasons. No, I have no issues with that. It’s merely the thought of Trevelyan. Disgusting little man.”

  “So, tell me about Rosie knowing Trevelyan. What’s all that about?”

  “It’s a long time ago, Jake. I’ll give you the potted history, if you don’t mind?” Dillon nodded.

  “She was down on her luck and looking for work, had lost her hotel job and went to work in one of Trevelyan’s clubs in Brighton. She didn’t know that he was a villain then, someone who has a huge network of runners, petty crooks, pushers and pimps. That’s how she got hooked on heroin, which led to her turning tricks to fund the habit. But she managed to cut herself loose and fled to Bournemouth. Not forgetting, of course, that she was struggling to bring up Sarah on her own. In between staying off the streets and keeping herself clean from the drugs, she did a bloody good job of it as well. And you’re right, she is a nice girl.”

  He continued, “I’ll not bore you with the details, but when Rosie found me she didn’t immediately tell me about that side of her past. However, I was unknowingly about to lead her right back to Trevelyan and the life that she had escaped from. The man is paranoid about security. He has his men keep tabs on whoever Hammer or I meet, talk to in the street, or even who we go out to dinner with. That’s how he discovered the link between Rosie and me. After that it didn’t take him long to put two and two together, and then he found out where Rosie was living and was very specific about one thing: That if I should ever decide not to support his efforts with the drug distribution racket, he’d make sure that something fatal happened to both of them. Like I said, I’ve been living a nightmare ever since she came into my life and that’s one of the reasons. As family I cannot and will not let anything happen to either of them. So I simply bide my time with Trevelyan and wait for the right opportunity to arise. And it will.”

  “So what is the motivator for Trevelyan to be involved with terrorist organisations, Charlie?”

  “It’s simple, really. But first you have to keep in mind that this is a man who thinks in a very simplistic way. And I’m not making fun of him either. The fundamental problem for the likes of Trevelyan is that the West is trying to destroy Afghanistan’s opium growing capability, together with most of the Golden Triangle, which in turn will affect Trevelyan’s income potential.”

  “But there’s more to this than just that. For Trevelyan this all stems back to the bad old days of the Northern Ireland conflict and the IRA. He worked alongside them, and some say that they even set him up in the UK as a fund raiser for them. That was some time ago, but just because you can’t see the IRA today, doesn’t mean they do not exist. Many of the hardliners who couldn’t accept the new ways are now working with the likes of Al Qaeda, or other similar groups, in their training camps. They train the young and the impressionable in the art of street combat, how to make bombs that can be used in cars, trains and anywhere else that will cause maximum damage and carnage. Then there’s evasion or how to fight those highly-trained military that are sent to kill them. It’s such a frightfully dreadful business. So many people killed or maimed, and at the end of the day, for what?”

  “Freedom, Charlie. The right to live peacefully. That’s what.”

  Hart suddenly finished his drink and went to pour himself another. He took a bottle of Sapphire Blue Gin and the tonic water and refilled Dillon’s glass. When he was re-seated he stared out of the window wall, at the view of the harbour, for a few moments before continuing.

  “When I came to England it was with the sole intention of making a fresh start. To get away from the dirt and grime of Delhi. But I’ve always been involved in the drug scene. It’s how I made so much money at such a young age. The problem is that there’s no way back from it except for six feet down and only then after some physical inconvenience.”

  Hart raised an eyebrow at his own macabre joke. He got up again, clearly restless. He walked over to the glass panel and sliding it back he brought the sounds and the salt air into his living room. He returned to his chair, looked over at Dillon as if seeing him for the first time, then picked up the thread.

  “From those early days and most certainly now, I carry as much information about the Golden Triangle drug cartels, contacts, networks in India and Pakistan, as any man. It’s always been a favourable bargaining tool to me and has certainly kept me out of jail on a number of occasions.

  Dillon looked surprised. “Do you think that Trevelyan intends to have you killed?”

  “It would solve his problem, wouldn’t it? I can blow the lid off his entire organisation and every racket that he’s involved with. He would be livid if he knew that we were meeting like this. But I daresay the security service would be equally as pissed off if they found out. You see, Jake, your story could be so easily brushed under the carpet. You could never prove any of it. I can. It suits me not to. To do so would be to chance having Rosie, Sarah and Daniel killed, all for the sake of confirming it all to be true.”

  “What about the drugs?”

  “If there are any, the police will hang onto them as part of their case against Trevelyan. I made the arrangements to have everything shipped over to France and from there all over Europe. By now they will have been split up into a thousand separate consignments. I’ve been very fortunate to have been one step ahead of you. Which I thought was rather clever of me. All thanks to our late departed Hell Fire brother, Julian Latimer, who also played his part in making sure of that. He had a very useful contact inside MI5 who fed him any information regarding your movements or conversations with anyone inside the security service. The idea of using random properties and caretakers across the south of England to act as drug distribution centres, was all mine. All of the local distribution was taken care of by Trevelyan’s string of nightclubs and bars as well as Paul Hammer’s hotel chain.”

  Dillon said, “They tried to take the drugs I lifted from the house in Lyme Regis, which I’ve been assured will end up in the hands of the drug squad.” Dillon watched Hart’s reaction before asking. “Which department is it you work for, Charlie?”

  “Department?” Hart paused, staring at Dillon, waiting for anything further forthcoming.

  When none came, he said, “How
clever of you, Jake. No particular department, as a matter of fact. Sometimes MI5 and at other times MI6. They both call me from time to time. It’s usually for information, and you know what it’s like. As I said, the knowledge I carry around in my head is invaluable. I simply trade off with them. I must say that it’s a good arrangement at the end of the day. And they protect me from all sorts of unwelcome attention.”

  “How long?”

  “From the moment I arrived in the UK, Jake. They pulled me in the moment Daniel and I stepped off the Cathay Pacific flight from Hong Kong. Daniel was whisked off to a five-star hotel in the city and I was put in a nine-by-twelve room with no windows at Heathrow Airport.”

  “That’s why the surveillance on this place. It’s not to watch you; it’s to watch out for you. They can’t afford anything to happen to you, because you’re too bloody valuable to them.” Dillon suddenly laughed. “And I thought it was you trying to top me, you sod.”

  Hart grinned widely for the first time. “I’ll admit they were some pretty harsh warnings, but once I’d had you checked out as one of the okay sorts, you were never in any real danger, as you should have learnt from your trip to Delhi. It was Trevelyan who did all of the killing, Trevelyan who panicked, Trevelyan who got rid of people who were seldom a real danger to him. And it was Trevelyan who made all of the dangerous attacks on you personally. I tried my best to stop him, but you see, he saw that as his part of the business and you as part of the machine trying to stop him going about his illegal business.”

  “The surveillance team and most likely Trevelyan’s men will still be out there, you know?” as if Hart needed reminding.

  “I know. They will be on high alert after that little stunt you pulled earlier. I’ve never met Sarah. Was she shocked when you told her that I lived so close?”