by Tim Ellis
‘No. And I don’t know which organ either. What I do know is that they’re not fucking getting it whoever they are.’
‘I’m a bit confused,’ Jerry said. ‘You mean they’re taking people’s organs illegally?’
‘What are you confused about? There are people out there – usually the rich – willing to turn a blind eye to the law and pay any amount of money to stay alive, or have a better quality of life. And there are other people – the middle men – who are happy to get the rich what they want for the right amount of money. This is a market-driven business. It’s not personal. I don’t know who’s running the show here, but they obviously spotted a gap in the market and set up the cosmetic surgery clinic as a front for the trafficking of human organs.’
‘How much are these organs worth exactly?’
‘A kidney is worth £100,000, and a heart £1,000,000.’
The two boys whistled.
‘A heart!’ Joe said. ‘How can you live if someone takes your heart?’
‘I see what you mean,’ Jerry said. ‘A human life isn’t worth very much at those prices.’
‘Supply and demand,’ Bronwyn said. ‘Now, how are we going to get out of here?’
‘I don’t think we are,’ Shakin’ said. ‘I have a feeling that this is the end of the line. For one, we’ve seen too much.’
‘What do you mean?’ Bronwyn said.
Jerry told her about the maggot-infested woman’s body in the room along the corridor.
‘That doesn’t make sense. And she’d been raped and tortured?’
‘Yes.’
‘Not operated on?’
‘No.’
‘Why would they leave a dead body in a room in the cellar for somebody to find?’
‘I don’t know, but . . .’
They heard noises then – talking, footsteps, the jangling of keys.
‘What do you think they’re going to do to us?’ Joe said.
Nobody said anything.
***
Ibrahim Drago qualified as a doctor in 1990, but when Serbian paramilitaries murdered and raped his wife and seven year-old daughter in 1997, he decided that he wanted to kill people instead of saving them. He joined the Kosovo Liberation Army, had a knack for leadership and soon rose to the rank of Commander during the Kosovo War. Between February 1998 and June 1999 he killed two hundred and seventy-three people, and the Serbian forces put a price on his head of twenty million dinar. After the war he began smuggling the organs of kidnapped Serbs from Kosovo to Albania, but it was small change – the Albanians didn’t have the money to pay the going rate for the organs.
He then worked at the Medicinski Clinic in Pristina illegally removing and transplanting organs. The money was good, but the authorities gradually caught wind of what they were doing. He knew he could do better and he didn’t want to work for anyone else.
It took him a year, but he eventually found an English doctor who was willing to act as a front man for the Beautiful You Cosmetic Surgery Clinic – Doctor Mark Thompson – whose cocaine and other strange addictions were dragging him by the nose into the sewers.
Ibrahim offered him a lifeline – a way of feeding his addictions. He didn’t even have to operate if he didn’t want to. Ibrahim would supply all the surgeons. All that was required of Thompson was his name, his face and his bedside manner.
‘And will we carry out cosmetic surgery?’
‘Of course. That will be our legitimate business.’
‘But we’ll also be harvesting and transplanting illegal organs?’
‘We have to make enough money to keep you in cocaine.’
Thompson half-laughed. ‘I don’t have to remove or transplant any organs myself?’
‘No. I have people who don’t rely on a regular supply of white powder stuffed up their noses for that. We will be running a multi-million pound business in the shadows of a cosmetic surgery clinic. We need the best surgeons for that. You will be the face of the Beautiful You Cosmetic Surgery Clinic, but my hand will be working your arms, legs and mouth. Do you understand?’
‘Yes.’
‘Good. Do as you’re told. Do your job properly, and you can have as much cocaine as you like. And, of course, the women – I know how much you like the women.’
Mark licked his lips. ‘Yes.’
Ibrahim liked to kill people, but each death was in revenge for the rape and murder of his beautiful wife and daughter – there was no depravity behind his actions. Mark Thompson, on the other hand, killed women for the sheer pleasure of it. Armed with a nose-full of cocaine he would rape, torture and eventually beat a woman to death. Ibrahim had met people like him before during the war – they were sick individuals. But he was philosophical about it though. He was testament to the fact that motives for murder were many and varied. One man’s harapash was another man’s ox penis as his father used to say while slapping his wife’s behind in the little village of Dakovica in Kosovo.
Earlier, he’d been told by Amiri Berisha – who used to be one of his KLA soldiers, but now acted as one of his very well-paid security consultants – that he’d discovered strangers in the cellar of the clinic. That wouldn’t have been so bad had it not been for the dead woman. The presence of a two-day old dead woman meant that he couldn’t just let these strangers walk away. He hadn’t seen the dead woman, but Amiri had described what she looked like. He’d seen many corpses in his lifetime, some a lot worse than what Mark Thompson had done to this woman. It wasn’t the first time the English doctor had taken a liking to one of the patients, even though Ibrahim had explained to him that the patients were off-limits.
He’d told Amiri to bring Thompson up to the top floor of the clinic that had been converted into a penthouse suite for Ibrahim.
‘This is the second time, Mark,’ he had said.
Thompson shuffled his feet and hung his head. ‘I’m sorry, Mr Drago. It was just . . .’ His voice tailed off.
‘. . . . That you couldn’t control yourself?’
‘I did try, but . . .’
‘You’re weak. How would it be if we stopped the cocaine to help you with that control?’
His eyes opened wide. ‘No, please don’t do that, Mr Drago. I promise . . .’
‘You promised the last time it happened, but here we are.’
‘I’ll never do it again.’
‘You think you’re indispensable, but you’re not. If you can’t follow a few simple rules, I’ll have to find someone who can.’
‘I won’t fuck up again, Mr Drago.’
‘You know what to expect if you do. I’ve put too much time, effort and money into this clinic to see it jeopardised by a pathetic parasite like you. Now, Amiri and I are having to clean up your mess, and I’ll be taking the cost associated with that clean-up out of your monthly cocaine allocation . . .’
‘But . . .’
‘It’ll help you to remember who keeps you alive.’
‘Yes, Mr Drago.’
‘Get out.’
Once Mark Thompson had left Amiri said, ‘Do you want me to kill the strangers?’
‘No, they’ll be worth money, especially the AB negative woman, but we can’t keep them here . . .’
‘Not when that woman’s husband is a copper.’
‘Exactly. Call Shote Vokshi and tell him we’re sending him four packages – a gesture of goodwill, no payment necessary.’
‘He’ll think it’s his birthday.’
‘There’s a ship leaving from Tilbury Docks to the Albanian port of Durrës at four-thirty this afternoon. Pack the goods and ship them out. Send two men in a vehicle with them.’
‘What about the dead woman?’
‘We don’t want it tracing back to us. They should take the corpse with them and drop it overboard in the Tyrrhenian Sea. And double check yourself that no trace is left in the cellar for anyone to find.’
Amiri nodded. ‘It is done, Ibrahim.’
He watched Amiri leave. The one person he knew he coul
d trust with his life was Amiri.
***
The door opened, and the light from the corridor made them squint.
Two men entered dressed in white coats and brandishing syringes with enormously long needles attached.
‘Whoa!’ Joe said, trying to push himself into the wall. ‘What the fuck’s going on?’
The man with the crew cut and the Uzi sub-machine stepped between the two men. ‘Here’s what’s going to happen. These men will inject you in the neck with a strong sedative, or I knock you unconscious with the butt of my gun and then they inject you. What will it be? It is your choice.’
‘Bastards,’ Bronwyn said. ‘What are you going to do to us when we’re unconscious?’
‘Does it matter?’
‘No, I suppose not.’
Shakin’ stepped forward. ‘I’m not going quietly.’
Jerry grabbed his arm. ‘Don’t be stupid, Shakin’. You don’t want to wake up with a fractured skull and no teeth, do you?’
‘You think we’re going to wake up?’
One of the white-coated men stepped forward and injected Jerry in the neck. As she crumpled to the floor and darkness enveloped her, she wondered where Ray was.
***
‘Why doesn’t the Chief just come in?’ Stick said, sitting with his back against the stacks of cocaine.
‘He’ll be waiting for CO19 to arrive by chopper.’
‘Yeah. I suppose you’re right.’
Xena snorted like a pig in search of truffles. ‘Of course I’m right. I’m always right. And something else I’m right about as well is that these people don’t want two police officers with weapons in here behind them.’
‘Seems logical.’
‘I say that because there’s two men trying to get behind us and flush us out from the left, and two from the right.’
‘I’ll take the left, shall I?’
‘Good idea. And remember, make sure you have a target before you fire.’
‘Will do.’
Stick fired. ‘I got one of them.’
‘You have to get two for a cuddly teddy bear.’
They heard the unmistakable sound of rotor blades.
‘The chopper’s here,’ Stick said.
‘Do you think I’m deaf?’
‘Probably not.’
Xena fired two shots.
‘Did you kill both of yours?’
‘Shut up, numpty.’
‘You didn’t get either of them, did you?’
A hail of gunfire came through the vehicle door.
‘Uh oh!’ Stick said.
‘What?’
‘Tear gas and stun . . .’
Their eyes began to sting and the lachrymal glands spewed out tears. A blinding flash of light temporarily burnt their retinas, and an intensely loud bang gave them short-term deafness.
Everything went black and silent . . .
Xena slowly opened her eyes, began rubbing them and shook her head to get rid of the ringing, but it didn’t work. ‘Oh God! I think I died and went to Hell.’
The Chief stood over them dressed like a stormtrooper. ‘That’s probably a good place for you, Blake. I thought I told you both to stay in the room.’
Stick tried to smile, but it was more of a grimace than anything resembling a smile. ‘They were going to kill . . .’
‘I’m addressing the organ grinder not the monkey, Gilbert.’
‘Sorry, Sir.’
‘What Gilbert said, Chief,’ Xena said, trying to stand on unsteady legs. ‘They were going to kill us. We had to get out of that room, so that we had a chance to defend ourselves. We were sitting ducks where we were.’
‘I suppose I’ll have to believe you, but don’t think I’m going to forget that you disobeyed orders again, Blake. This is just another infraction in a long list of infractions. Sooner, rather than later, I’m going to reach the end of the page and then . . .’
‘You’ll turn the page over?’ Stick suggested.
‘Yes, Gilbert. But when I do turn that page over you’ll have a new partner and there’ll be a new Detective Inspector at Hoddesdon – someone who can follow orders . . .’
Xena aimed her Glock 17 at the Chief’s head and fired.
The Chief put his left hand up to his bleeding ear. ‘Are you fucking crazy, Blake?’
Stick stared at her with fisheyes and a gaping mouth.
‘Probably, Sir. Especially seeing as you’ve been threatening to get rid of me, but I thought I’d be safer with the devil I know rather than your replacement.’
‘What do you . . . ?’ He turned round and saw the drug smuggler she’d shot. ‘I suppose you want me to say thank you, Blake?’
Stick cleared his throat. ‘You could rub out all those infractions you’ve written down and start again on a clean page, Chief?’
The Chief turned back and stared at her. ‘You don’t deserve Gilbert.’
‘I know, Sir. But somebody has to stop him from tripping over his own feet.’
‘Haven’t you got a serial killer to find?’
‘I was just thinking the same thing. Do you want to see the dead bodies, Sir?’
‘I don’t think so. I’ve seen enough dead bodies to last me a lifetime.’ He ambled off to organise the removal of the drugs, supervise the clean-up, get some medical treatment for his bleeding ear and talk to the press who had arrived outside in droves.
‘Phone Doc Paine,’ she said to Stick. ‘Tell her to stop dozing on a freezer shelf and get her arse over here.’
‘You were lucky.’
She blew a raspberry. ‘Luck had nothing to do with it.’
‘I’ll phone Di Heffernan . . .’
‘No you won’t. I’ll phone that bitch, you call Doc Paine like I’ve asked you to.’
‘Don’t you think . . . ?’
‘What I think is that you think I should be grateful to you for being my partner, that you’re somehow going to advise me on what I should and shouldn’t do all the time, that I’m going to change my ways because . . .’
‘. . . I’ll phone Doc Paine, shall I?’
‘Good idea, Stickymouth.’ She called Di Hefferbitch.
‘I thought they’d demoted you to cannabis sniffer?’ Di said.
‘Do you think I’d let them do that when your life is nowhere near as miserable as I plan to make it?’
‘There’s nothing you could do that could make my life any worse than it already is . . .’ Di began crying.
‘What the fuck . . . ? I thought you were a worthy adversary, not some dribble-mouthed wimp who . . .’
‘What do you want?’
‘I’ve got four dead bodies and a dumping site here. I need you to shuffle your fat arse over here and start getting your hands dirty.’ She told Di where they were.
‘Okay.’
‘What’s going on? I usually like to kick people when they’re lying on the floor bleeding, but it sounds as though it wouldn’t make much difference to you.’
‘No.’
‘Come on – out with it. I don’t want to fight you if you’re not one hundred percent.’
Di started crying again . . .
Xena waited. She nearly liked Di Heffernan. The bitch always gave as good as she got.
‘My mother died six weeks ago . . .’
‘Is that all . . . ?’
‘. . . And I had a miscarriage last week.’
‘A miscarriage. Jesus! How come someone as fat and ugly as you is even in a relationship?’
Xena heard a strangled laugh from the other end. ‘I’m not anymore. It was my second miscarriage and he left me for someone who can give him babies.’
‘Bastard. I can relate to that. What the fuck are you doing in work? You should be taking some time off to . . .’
‘I’ll be there in about an hour.’
The call disconnected.
‘What did you do?’ Stick said.
‘I didn’t do anything if you must know . . . Well, not much anyway. She’
s had some bereavements in the family.’
‘So you started picking on her?’
‘I didn’t know, did I?’
‘If you were nicer to people . . .’
‘Not that rubber ball again? I’m nice to the people who matter. I’m nice to you, aren’t I?’
‘Well . . .’
‘See! Right, let’s do some proper work.’
‘We’d better give the Chief his guns back.’
They found the Chief and handed the weapons to him.
She saw the dressing a first-aid do-gooder had wrapped around his ear. ‘You didn’t bleed to death then, Sir?’
The Chief’s eyes narrowed to slits. ‘No thanks to you, Blake.’
‘Well, we’d love to stand here discussing the joys of Spring with you, but DS Gilbert and I have work to do.’
‘Do you think the Chief still wants you?’ Stick said as they walked over to the murder room.
‘Didn’t you see him drooling when he was talking to me?’
‘No, I must have missed that.’
‘Oh, he wants me all right. That’s why he agreed to wipe the slate clean. He needs to keep me around until he has the time to get rid of his sour-faced wife. Once he’s free and clear, he’ll make his true feelings known, whisk me off to a sun-drenched island in the Indian Ocean and we’ll live happily ever-native.’
‘I could be wrong, but I got the impression that he doesn’t like you very much.’
‘Which is exactly his plan. He’s not stupid like you, numpty. He knows exactly what he’s doing. Soon, his wife will mysteriously disappear, he’ll mourn for an appropriate amount of time and then . . .’
‘. . . The sun-drenched island in the Indian Ocean?’
‘The very same – watch this space. Are you ready?’
‘Ready.’
Chapter Thirteen
‘Here, listen to this one:
Hello Mary,
My name is Flynn. I’m an archaeologist and I travel the world in search of lost civilisations and relics. Maybe you’re thinking that I sound a bit like Indiana Jones? Well, I’m certainly better looking, but I don’t wear a fedora or carry a whip, and I’m not scared of snakes. I’m rarely in Britain, but I’m sure I could find time to dig for your buried treasure. You’ll be doing yourself a favour if you message me.