“I don’t need your bloody help!” he snarled at the two people sitting across from him.
Paul calmly returned the young man’s angry glare.
Until then, Ahmed Mousavi had maintained stoic silence for almost ten minutes, ignoring questions from both Paul and Joan Hamilton.
Paul nodded toward the handcuffs.
“Yeah, I can see you’re in control,” he said. “Right now, you’re facing five to seven years for attempted murder and for assaulting me with a deadly weapon.”
“Why don’t you just bugger off and leave me alone?” Mousavi snapped back, turning his head away.
“Listen here, Mr. Mousavi,” Joan said. “As your legal counsel, I strongly advise you to listen to this gentleman. He can help you. Do you really want to spend the next five or more years in jail?”
“You’re not my friggin’ lawyer!” Ahmed shot back at her. “I didn’t ask for you. You can bugger off too!”
“Well, you miserable little ingrate, you’re stuck with me!” Joan snapped, glaring at Ahmed. Her normally gentle eyes filled with annoyance. “The court ordered me to represent you. This is my second and final attempt to talk some sense into you. Quite frankly, shit head, I’ve better things to do than waste my valuable time on a useless little prick like you! Go screw yourself!”
Joan stood, straightening the skirt of her dark blue custom tailored suit, adding, “And you can forget about me trying to get bail for you. I had arranged for someone to post so you could get your miserable hide out of here! Now you can shove that up your ass, along with the big dicks your prison lovers are going to be sticking in there real soon! Good luck with that!”
Paul noticed Ahmed was as startled as he by Joan’s profane outburst.
“Mrs. Hamilton,” Paul said calmly to the angry middle-aged woman. “Would you excuse us for a few minutes, please?”
“With pleasure!” Joan replied. She stomped out, exchanging knowing glances with him.
Joan had barely left the room when Ahmed blurted out, “What the hell did that old bitch mean about ‘prison lovers’?”
Paul looked hard into Ahmed’s angry brown eyes.
“Right now you’re being kept in a youth holding cell,” he replied. “Ms. Hamilton was referring to what you can expect in prison. Did she not mention that earlier?”
“Mention what?” Ahmed said. He looked down at his hands. His long black hair tumbled over his lowered face.
“What the hell is she talkin’ about?” he mumbled from behind the thick screen of unkept hair.
“Prisons are full of bullies,” Paul said. “They use new young prisoners to relieve their sexual urges. To be blunt, they rape young guys like you. They force new prisoners to become their whores.”
“Jeez!” Ahmed said flipping his hair back from his face with a shake of his head. “Jeez Christ!” He instinctively tried to stand. The shackles on his wrists stopped him abruptly, forcing him to sit down hard. “You’re shittin’ me man, right? They wouldn’t try pulling that on me. Would they?”
“Of course they will, Ahmed,” Paul replied. “You’re young and you’re new... and that makes you a prime target... a pretty juicy one I’d say.”
“No! Jeez, man! I want protection!” Ahmed said. Paul could see he was visibly frightened. “I have a right to be protected... don’t I?”
“Good luck with that,” Paul said. “Guards have no sympathy for arrogant youngsters like you. Fact is seasoned prisoners buy off guards. Some get paid to steer new guys like you to them. They look the other way when the prisoners rape you. You’ll get used to it... after a while.”
“I gotta get the hell outta here! Right now!” Ahmed said, almost shouting. He instinctively tried to stand again, yanking his handcuffs against the heavy eyebolt securing them to the steel table, forcing him to sit back down heavily once more.
“Can you help me? Please?”
“Ms. Hamilton might be able to get you released on bail,” Paul replied. “You’ll have to ask her. But frankly, I’m not so sure she’ll want anything to do with you now, after the way you cursed her.”
“Get her in here!” Ahmed said. He hesitated before mumbling, “Please, sir.”
Paul looked hard at Ahmed. He stood, walked to the door and knocked, nodding at the guard.
When Joan returned, her slender face had an annoyed look.
Ahmed’s tone was conciliatory, “How do I get out of this shithole?”
“Oh, we’ve had a change of heart, have we now?” she said.
Joan’s stern expression contradicted the kindly look in her eyes. “Not such a big shot, all of a sudden? What happened?”
Ahmed looked down at his cuffed wrists. He said nothing.
“A dose of reality,” Paul said.
“Well, tough guy,” Joan said. “You need bail and you’ll need a responsible person to vouch for you, to provide surety. You’ll also need somewhere to stay. With your mom deceased and your dad in jail, do you have a place to live?”
“No,” Ahmed replied quietly, shaking his still lowered head. He looked up defiantly. “And I’m not going back with those dickheads in that bloody gang, no matter what! No way! They got me into this mess. What do I have to do?”
“Paul?” Joan said.
“If Mrs. Hamilton is willing to arrange bail, I know someone who has a flat with a spare room,” Paul said. “That will take care of a place to stay. As for someone to vouch for you, well, that’s up to you.”
“Shit, I don’t know anybody like that,” Ahmed said. “Those pricks in the gang promised to help if any of us got arrested. They’ve done nothing... bugger all... so screw ‘em. I don’t want their help anyway... and I don’t want them coming anywhere near me, ever! They’re bad news.
“How about you?” Ahmed said, looking at Paul. “What are you doing here, anyway?”
“I’m not sure,” Paul said evasively. “And I’m not sure about providing surety for you. I’ll have to think about it. If I did that for you, it would come with conditions.”
He watched the expression on Ahmed’s youthful face fall and fear return to his eyes.
“What conditions?” Ahmed said.
“School,” Paul replied. “I may be willing to vouch for you but only if you agree to return to school and stay in school.”
“Aw shit!” Ahmed said. He was visibly disappointed by the condition. “I hated school! It’s just too boring, man! Can’t I do something else?”
“No!” Paul said. “It’s school or jail.”
The fear in Ahmed’s eyes intensified. Paul was confident the defiant young man was coming around.
“Tell you what,” he continued. “You agree to an alternative school I’ve heard about and I’ll consider surety. The school accepts people in trouble with the law. Students can choose what they want to study. A few are groomed for higher education. If you get in, they’ll work your ass off with schoolwork and with physical activities. One slip up and you’re back in here... got it?”
“Is there another condition?” Ahmed asked, nodding. “Uh, sir?”
“Yes,” Paul said. “You must agree to a curfew when not in school. Do you read me?”
“Yes sir,” Ahmed said, in his first real display of genuine humility. “If you will do this for me, sir, I agree to your conditions and I promise to work hard. I really mean it, sir! I don’t like my life very much right now.”
Paul felt reassured watching Ahmed plead his case.
“Are you sure about this, Paul?” Joan asked. “Frankly, I think he’s just shitting you. He’s nothing but a no-account punk. Why bother?”
“If he screws up,” Paul said, shifting his gaze directly into Ahmed’s eyes. “If you screw up, you’ll go right back to jail and become a whore for a bunch of sex-crazed prisoners. Do you hear me?”
“Yes sir!” Ahmed said looking down, unable to stifle a shudder. “Sir, can I ask you a question?”
“I guess so,” Paul said. “What is it?”
“Why would
you do this for me?” Ahmed said. “All you know about me is that I tried to rob you, and I might even have shot or stabbed you. For what it’s worth now, sir, I wish I hadn’t done that. I... I apologize, sir. I mean it! I didn’t mean to attack you... I thought you were going to attack me with that stone axe.”
“I appreciate your apology,” Paul replied, reassured by the earnest look in Ahmed’s eyes. “To be quite frank, people will think I’m crazy to help you out.”
“You got that right!” Joan interjected.
“I have one more condition,” Paul said.
“Yes sir?” Ahmed replied.
“This may be your chance,” Paul said. “Your one chance to become the kind of person your mother wanted you to be. So my other condition is you behave in a manner that would have made your mother proud of you. Do you understand?”
Ahmed nodded, looking down.
Paul noticed the reference to his mother had deeply affected Ahmed. Moisture had appeared in the young man’s eyes.
“Yes sir,” Ahmed replied, staring at his hands, his long hair falling back down, shielding his flushed face.
Ahmed was silent for a moment. Then the young man looked up. He shook his hair aside, met Paul’s eyes and cleared his throat:
“Look sir. Since you’re willing to help me it’s only fair to warn you about something before you do anything.”
“Warn me about what?” Paul said.
“The Peckham Boys and the syndicate will be outraged when they find out that you helped me get away... and they will find out.”
“I expect so,” Paul said. “We’ll deal with that, as necessary.”
“I’m serious, sir!” Ahmed said. “You need to hear me out! This will be a huge insult to them… they will be humiliated; they’ll be looking for revenge. They will track you down, track both of us down, and try to kill us, and your family. I mean it! Those bastards have long tentacles… they have people everywhere. They never give up. They’re worse than the Russian Mafia.
“Are you sure that you want to do this for me?” he added. “You’ll be putting yourself and your family in a lot of danger. I’m serious.”
Fear returned to Ahmed’s eyes.
“So am I, Ahmed,” Paul said firmly. “So am I.”
***
Next Morning
The Law Offices of
Malcolm Witherspoon
“Thank you Joan for setting things up so well for me yesterday,” Paul said.
“You’re welcome, Milord,” she replied.
“Our ‘good cop, bad cop’ routine worked well,” he said. “There’s a good chance we may bring him around.”
“I wish I shared your confidence,” she replied. “Do you mind me asking, what did you say to Mr. Mousavi while I was out? When I came back his attitude had swung 180 degrees.”
“We had a frank conversation,” Paul said. “Guy talk.”
Paul and Joan were meeting with Malcolm Witherspoon, Paul’s personal and business solicitor.
“Are you absolutely certain you wish to proceed with this, Milord?” Malcolm asked. “I needn’t remind you that sponsoring Mr. Mousavi is a big responsibility, and could be a risky one. Organized crime doesn’t take kindly to losing recruits. That Peckham Boys gang is ruthless!”
Malcolm’s back was to an impressive expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows on the twenty-sixth floor of a high-rise overlooking downtown London. A third of the glass expanse formed part of his large private office.
The architecturally designed suite housing his prominent law firm was halfway up an office building Paul had inherited four years earlier from his uncle, along with other real estate, a massive fortune, and the title, Earl of Prescott. Malcolm had been his late Uncle Percy’s solicitor, and now was his and Anne’s.
“I have a good feeling about this young man.” Paul replied. “It’ll be an interesting venture... to vouch for someone, maybe even mentor him.”
“With respect, My Lord,” Joan said. “I was willing to play along with you at The Old Bailey yesterday but to be honest I don’t share your optimism. Are you quite certain you want to take this hoodlum under your wing, risks and all?”
Malcolm’s law firm didn’t handle criminal cases. He’d asked Joan Hamilton, a former protégé and a barrister now with her own firm, to take the case. Paul was paying her fees secretly through Malcolm’s firm.
“Listen you two,” Paul replied firmly. He made certain Malcolm and Joan could read the determination in his eyes, and the touch of annoyance he was feeling. “I need both of you to support me on this. Look, I’ve been sitting around on my butt like a spoiled rich kid for too damned long. It’s high time for me to give something back to society.”
“But, Milord,” Malcolm interrupted. “There are much better ways to help others, if that’s what you wish to do. I would be deeply honored to assist you. Sticking your neck out for some no-account kid with a chip on his shoulder, much less risking the wrath of criminals... is that a good idea, sir?”
“Maybe we can turn this kid around,” Paul insisted. “I’m convinced he’s very bright... maybe all he needs is a break. I intend to ‘give this a go’, as my fine English friends would say!”
Malcolm and Joan smiled indulgently, while exchanging worried glances.
Chapter Three
New Scotland Yard
Paul was deep in thought as he arrived at New Scotland Yard, downtown headquarters of the Metropolitan Police Service. He was perplexed over his mother-in-law’s apparent liaison with a drug gang, as well as his unsatisfactory meetings with Malcolm and Joan about Ahmed.
“Why the mystery?” Paul asked his father-in-law, Richard, when they met on the front steps. “Does any of this involve Ahmed Mousavi?”
“Ken Hagerman and I will fill you in together,” Richard said stone faced, leading the way into the building.
“You know Chief Superintendent Hagerman?” Paul asked.
“Yes,” his distinguished father-in-law replied. “We’ve done some work together. We’ll explain momentarily.”
“Oh,” Paul said, surprised. He remembered Hagerman referring to Richard earlier in a more impersonal manner.
Paul was unable to determine from Richard’s stern expression whether Agnes would be on the agenda.
Moments later they were in the tidy office of Chief Superintendent Hagerman, head of counterterrorism for The Met.
Ken looked Paul in the eye, “We suspect there’s more going on with your intruder incident than a failed robbery.”
“How so?” Paul replied, thinking: Here it comes about Agnes’s indiscretions.
“We have reason to believe Mousavi’s gang, The Peckham Boys, may be linked to a mole in the House of Lords, and probably even more,” Ken replied.
“A mole?” Paul asked. “Ahmed’s former gang?”
“Yes,” Ken replied. “We’re certain it’s linked to that crime syndicate. They may be trying to access intelligence to expand their human and drug smuggling operations.”
“Are you telling me Ahmed might be a spy or a human trafficker or drug smuggler?”
“We doubt he’s been involved directly in anything just yet,” Ken replied. “He’s too new. Maybe they were testing him when he was sent to your office. Our CI did pick up something else that worries us, and you need to know,” he added.
“What’s that?” Paul asked. Okay, now comes Agnes, he thought, casting a surreptitious glance out of the corner of his eye at Richard.
“Evidently the leaders of the Peckham Boys gang and the Turkish syndicate they work for were furious with you for plucking Mousavi away from them,” Ken said.
“Their tough luck,” Paul replied. “He doesn’t belong with some drug peddling bunch of hoodlums. He’s doing extremely well already with that tutor we arranged for him.”
“There’s more to it than one kid,” Ken said. “As you know, we have CCTV surveillance of him with the Peckham Boys, and we arrested a bunch of them. That put a kibosh on their drug distributi
on business they had going for the Turkish syndicate. The net result is you’ve managed to piss off the leadership of both.”
“Like I said,” Paul replied. “Tough luck.”
“You might feel otherwise when I tell you this,” Ken replied. “They’ve posted bounties of $50,000 US on you, Lady Anne, and your son.”
“What the hell?” Paul said, suddenly on alert. “Why include Anne and Doug? I’m the only one they should be after, not them. Neither of them had anything to do with me helping Ahmed.”
“We expect they want to make an example of you, and failing that, to at least hurt you,” Ken said. “Interpol tells us the leaders of that Turkish syndicate are unforgiving and unrelenting. We’ll do the best we can for you but you’d be well advised to keep a sharp eye out until we can put all of them behind bars.”
“To hell with them!” Paul said. “And you can bet Anne feels the same way. Are you arranging tighter security for her and Doug? Anne’s not going to like putting up with more security, but please leave telling her about that to me, okay?”
“Done, and okay,” Ken replied.
“There’s one other reason for us meeting,” Richard interjected. “As you know, I was a partner in an export-import business for more than thirty years. I travelled all over the world before retiring.”
“Yes,” Paul said, curious.
“I was often in locations around the world where I could gather information on potential threats to the United Kingdom. What you don’t know is that I was also a covert operative for MI6, this country’s overseas intelligence service. After I retired, MI5 asked me to bring my experience to their counterterrorism work at home. I’m doing that.”
Good grief, Paul thought. Are you and Agnes sitting on opposite sides of the law?
Paul wasn’t surprised that Richard was working for MI5. He’d developed a high regard for him.
“Why are you telling me this?” he asked. “Does this have anything to do with Ahmed’s gang and the syndicate?”
“In a way,” Richard said. “Scotland Yard and MI5 would like your assistance with this case, and your help to determine whether Mousavi’s former gang is involved with some of the security breaches we’ve found in the House of Lords.”
Secret Shepherd Page 2