Blood of His Fathers (Sinners and Saints)

by Michelle Chambers

  “It was complicated, Drew.”

  Drew pushed his fingers through his hair. “You’re telling me. Too many coincidences that just didn’t add up. Anyway, John Thomas told me it was his half sister, Carolyn Roberts, who betrayed the family. Back in nineteen ninety she sold the deed and Thomas indenture to Alexander McCormack, although the irony of the situation is that the estate has always been in McCormack hands.”

  Jess puckered her brow. “What do you mean? The Thomas property had been bequeathed to a slave named Ben Thomas. My family,” she elaborated. “How can it have remained in McCormack hands if the name Thomas was on the deed? The fact I’m a direct descendant makes me owner. Why else would Alexander McCormack keep my inheritance secret, if not for that very reason?”

  “Ben was a slave because his mother was a slave, Jess,” Drew returned slowly. “But his father was a white man. As a slave, Ben wouldn’t have been allowed to bear his father’s last name, only his mother’s. The name on the deed said Thomas, although it could’ve just as well read McCormack.”

  Jess stared wide-eyed at Drew, his meaning slamming in her brain. “Ben’s father…my great-great-great grandfather was…a McCormack?” she breathed.

  “George McCormack was a plantation owner. He committed the ultimate sin back in those days of falling in love with his slave, Harriet Thomas. George McCormack is Jason’s family and yours.”

  “Jason’s family?” she whispered.

  She clasped her hands firmly together in an attempt to stop her body from trembling and hung her head to hide her tears. She would laugh if it didn’t feel like her heart was being ripped from her chest.

  “Jess. Come on. Sit down,” Drew said, leading her gently back to the sofa.

  “I must have done something terrible in a past life to deserve this.”

  “I don’t believe in biblical retribution, Jess. Somewhere three hundred years ago your ancestry crossed. So what? I bet the same can be said of most couples out there. The only difference is they don’t know. Besides, three hundred years is a long time. The Thomas-McCormack genealogy would’ve long been diluted to the extent that, unless anyone knew a definite family connection, it could never be established by blood, DNA or any other type of test.”

  She lifted her head and smiled faintly at him. “It doesn’t matter anyway. I’m divorcing Jason.”

  “Divorce?”

  I’ve been thinking of nothing else since I got back to England.”

  “Jason is not his father’s son, Jess,” he said. “You know he would’ve willingly taken that bullet for you, so don’t judge him unfairly.”

  She pulled her hands free of his. “I thought you hated him?”

  “Let’s say, I distrusted his motives.”

  “And now?”

  “I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt and I’m not even in love with him.”

  His boyish flippancy brought a strained smile to her lips. “Why? What changed?”

  “I got to know him,” Drew stated simply.

  “I was stupid to think—” She gazed at the bare finger where her wedding ring had once been. It was gone, what clearer sign could there be?

  “Our marriage was merely a ploy which failed. I know that now and I’ve accepted it.”

  * * * *

  Drew left the flat and pulled up the collar of his parka against the cold. He’d wanted to tell Jess about Jason’s impending assignment, yet he found himself more determined than ever to prevent Jason from making the biggest mistake of his life. His concern wasn’t for Adnan Oric’s life as it technically should be, but for Jess.

  He reached his car and called Colin on his cell phone. It wasn’t fair dragging his Detective Sergeant from his bed at this hour to do research, but he needed to know all he could about Adnan Oric. And if anyone could brief him on the Balkan war, it would be Colin too.

  After agreeing to meet Colin at his office at eight o’clock Drew turned off his cell phone and thought about heading home for a shower and shave. He caught the flash of a dark metallic blue Lexus in his rear view mirror, and frowned as he glimpsed two obscure silhouettes behind the tinted windows. Was he being followed? Before his brain could answer that, the car pulled away from the curb and drove sped off. It neared the end of the street, but not before Drew noted the number plate. The presence of the dark blue Lexus outside Jess’ house bothered him. He punched Colin’s number again. He wanted two undercover agents guarding Jess at all times.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Talk,” Drew said, bursting into his office and closing the door.

  Colin reached for his notes.

  “Adnan Oric. Married, father of two. Born June five, nineteen fifty-five in Cazin. General High School completed in Sarajevo, Faculty of Metallurgy in Zenica. Completed Postgraduate studies in nineteen eighty-four and received a Doctor’s degree from University of Sarajevo. He worked for several companies in Zenica—longest at Metalno where he was Director.

  “From nineteen ninety-two to nineteen ninety-five, Yugoslavia underwent a bloody inter-ethnic war between Bosnian Muslims, Croats and Serbs, but it was a civil war on many fronts. A civil war precipitated by the collapse of Communism, you might say.

  “In nineteen ninety-one nationalists won the first multi-party elections and formed a coalition government, but they all had conflicting goals. The Muslim nationalists wanted a centralized independent Bosnia, Serb nationalists wanted to remain in Belgrade, which had been a republic of the old Yugoslav federation, and the Croats wanted to join an independent Croat state.

  “In nineteen ninety-two, however, the Croat and Muslim nationalists formed a tactical alliance and outvoted the Serb nationalists at an Independence Referendum. That incensed the Serbs as their constitution stipulated that all major decisions must be reached through consensus. Thus in nineteen ninety-two civil war broke out with the Serbs assuming control of over half the Republic. Ethnic cleansing, and so on—”

  “Go on,” Drew urged, folding his arms and moving toward the window. It was an early start, but they had a lot to do.

  “The Dayton peace accord signed in Paris in December nineteen ninety-five ended the war in Bosnia, creating two areas of roughly equal size, one for Bosnian Muslims and Croats, the other for Serbs, yet both under a central Bosnian government and rotating presidency. That’s a President to serve as Head of State, but it’s a joint function served alternately by an elected Bosnian Muslim, Croat and Serb during a four-year period. Adnan Oric is a Bosnian Muslim tipped to serve as the next Head of Government—”

  “And what if he should die?” Drew interjected.

  “Well—the Deputy Prime Minister would serve as Prime Minister until a nominee is approved by the Bosnian Government.”

  “The Deputy Prime Minister can’t assume power then?”

  “No. The Deputy Prime Minister would nominate the new Prime Minister, but it’s the House of Representatives who vote to approve the choice. And it has to be a majority approval.”

  There was a moment’s silence before Drew spoke again.

  “What are the implications in a country like Bosnia if Oric is assassinated?” he asked quietly.

  “Assassinated?” Colin queried. “The country’s still pretty much politically unstable with ethnic tension adding to the increase in crime and corruption. Oric has always stated fighting organized crime and corruption as his Government’s priority. There could be all manner of political connotations associated with his assassination that could make an already tense situation even more so. Why do you ask? Why this sudden interest in the Balkans, Drew?”

  “Because I know there’s going to an assassination attempt on Adnan Oric’s life,” Drew answered steadily.

  “You know what! How do you know?”

  Drew looked long and hard at Colin—his friend, his colleague, a man he would trust with his life—and chose not to confide in him. To prevent Jason from doing what he needed to do, to save Adnan Oric’s life, he had to tie up his investigation and get it r
ight.

  “I just know,” he said.

  “Are you going to tell Marsters? If Oric’s life is in danger and it’s somehow connected to the case we’re working on we have to. And we have to forewarn Oric, too.”

  Drew shook his head. “I’ll not let it get that far.”

  “You won’t let it get that far?” Colin practically shouted. “Do you really want that responsibility, Drew?” he demanded. “What if you can’t prevent Oric from being assassinated? What if you’re too late?”

  Drew thought about Jason, about what he was prepared to do to protect the woman he loved. “I won’t be.”

  “Well, I don’t want this responsibility, Drew. I don’t even want to imagine the consequences if you fail.”

  “I know, Col. But give me three days before you go to Marsters. We’ve known each other a long time, Col,” Drew urged. “I’m asking you out of respect for our friendship, to give me three days.”

  Colin cocked his head to one side and narrowed his eyes. “Who are you protecting, Drew?”

  “I can’t tell you, Col. I really can’t.”

  “Well, that’s just great, Drew! I’m your partner. I deserve better than this,” Colin said, storming out the door.

  Drew released a deep breath and sat down heavily in the chair behind his desk. “Shit!”

  He leaned his head back against the headrest and closed his eyes. And then abruptly straightened as his office door forcefully opened again.

  “Look, Drew, about what I said—”

  “It’s all right, Col, you were right. I can’t let it get that far. But a lot depends on this remaining between us. Just for three days.”

  Colin nodded his understanding. Drew rose to his feet and looked at the whiteboard on which he’d drawn, stuck and sprawled notes, comments and scenarios.

  “We’re missing something, Col,” he murmured.

  “How long have we got?”

  “Oric is due to be assassinated at the end of the month during his national broadcast.”

  Colin pulled a hand pensively across his face and then looked at his watch. “That gives us a whole week.”

  “I know, but I’d rather a few days in hand, just in case,” Drew grinned.

  “Okay,” Colin sighed. He flicked his gaze to the whiteboard. “Who would benefit from Oric’s death? I’m assuming the threat to his life does have something to do with this case.”

  Drew nodded. “I can’t tell you any more than that, just yet,” he said. “I’m sorry.”

  “Good,” Colin replied. “I guess, I’ll just have to go with your instincts on this one. Then, who would benefit?” he repeated. “Not just from Oric’ death, but from the ensuing distrust and instability that’s bound to arise.”

  “Who would benefit—?”

  Drew’s voice trailed off. His eyes scanned the jumble of information. All separate, yet somehow intricately connected. He studied the map of the Balkan Peninsula.

  “The Serbs?” Colin proffered. “I’ve been doing some extra reading and every fact tends to point to their starting the war, to their commitment to a Yugoslavian Federation. It’s no secret the Serbs resented the fact Bosnia and Herzegovina applied to the European Commission for recognition as an Independent state—I mean the referendum that’d been held, although approved by ninety-nine percent of the voters, had been boycotted by Bosnian Serbs who make up about thirty percent of the population.”

  “Thus civil war,” Drew reiterated.

  “A Serb invasion,” Colin elaborated. “Two days before The European Commission had decided to recognize the Republic.”

  Drew traced a line to Alexander’s name written on the board. “Could this, too, in someway come back to him?” he asked. “We have a money trail to Romania—”

  “To one Nicador Codreanu,” Colin said. “A member of the National Union for Christian Revival who recently advocated the revival of the Iron Guard. He received large amounts of cash between January nineteen ninety and November ninety-two from Eva Ricci’s offshore account in the Bahamas. Proof of Alexander McCormack’s link to Romania—to Nicolae Nastase.”

  “And Bosnia,” Drew added pensively. “Six months before the war started we now know Eva Ricci was sending aid into Serbia. To Uzice, a town in the Danaric Alps suspiciously close to the Bosnia-Herzegovina border.”

  “But Ricci was an arms dealer. Why would she send aid?” Colin murmured.

  “My thoughts exactly,” Drew said. “Which brings us back to our question. Who would benefit? There’s more to know, Col. Why else would Wesson warn us off Nastase? McCormack is the pawn, the face we can see. We need to find the faces we can’t see, Col. We need to go back to the beginning. We need to go back to Finsbury Town football club, the very reason Alexander McCormack came to our attention in the first place.”

  “The hooliganism at his club?” Colin verified.

  “Right,” Drew concurred. “Why the sudden increase of BNP members in Sean’s organization? Why the increase in racial attacks in and around the Hackney and Haringey areas? It’s too coincidental and too organized, Col.”

  “Don’t forget the number of BNP candidates standing for election, this year. It’s unprecedented.”

  Drew wrote “BNP candidates” on the whiteboard. “There’s a bigger picture here. Somewhere. There must be. We just can’t see it. What would tempt a man like Nicolae Nastase to go to great lengths to change his appearance, and then buy a less than well-known third division English Football club? Too many questions, Col. We’re missing something here.”

  Drew turned to his Detective Sergeant. “We need a list of all the BNP electoral candidates in London.”

  “Way ahead of you, Drew,” Colin said, heading for the door. He stopped. “What about Wesson? Didn’t he warn you off the case?”

  “As long as we’re not seen to be investigating Nicolae Nastase, he can do nothing. And by the time he suspects it, he’ll be too late.”

  * * * *

  That night they drove through the cold, deserted streets of Islington on a wing, a prayer and a hunch. Colin turned the car down yet another sleeping street in the vicinity of Finsbury Town football club.

  “What are we looking for?”

  “I don’t know,” Drew said. His eyes continued to scan. “But when I see it I hope I’ll know it.”

  There was an increased number of reported racial violence and attacks in and about the London area in boroughs where the BNP had electoral candidates. But that hardly came as a surprise to Drew. It was the fact the nine boroughs—Hackney, Tower Hamlets,

  Westminster, Islington, Lambeth, Southwark, Camden, Wandsworth, and Kensington and Chelsea—formed an almost perfect circle around the City of London that pricked his instincts.

  Colin stifled a yawn. “Anything?” he asked.

  Drew looked pensive. “I’m not sure,” he said. “Look at those cars.”

  “They look new, expensive,” Colin concurred.

  He slowed down and took a closer look at the luxury cars parked on the street. And out of place in this area of impassive, gray, high rises and equally high unemployment. It was an area ripe for the BNP’s political dogma.

  “Look at the number of BNP posters in the house windows.”

  “Look at the number plates on the cars,” Drew countered.

  “That’s odd. They all seem to be from the same registration year.”

  “Which means they were all bought in the same year. Unless there was a discount, this is really strange.”

  “Maybe they all took part in the lottery and won. And bought cars,” Colin replied wryly.

  There was a lot of money shared between a lot of people, but not necessarily from the lottery. It was too much of a coincidence.

  “Viktor Marinescu bought Finsbury Town Football Club and High Wycombe, right? What would be the odds you think that somewhere in High Wycombe a lot of people have won that same lottery?” Drew suggested.

  Colin glanced at Drew. “I’ll check it out first thing in th
e morning.”

  * * * *

  Drew’s telephone rang early. He snatched it to his ear, hoping it was Colin with good news. He was already late for his meeting with Marsters. He needed something more than supposition to take to his DCS.

  “Detective Inspector Mahon.”

  “Detective Inspector?” The voice on the other end pitched higher with surprise.

  Nick? Shit.

  Drew grimaced and squeezed his eyes shut. He’d forgotten about Nick. He took a breath.

  “Hi, Nick,” he said.

  Nick repeated his surprise. “Detective Inspector?”

  “Yes. That’s right. What can I do for you, Nick?”

  There was a slight pause on the other end of the line.

  “Nick?”

  “Jason said I could contact you in an emergency.”

  “Sure. What’s wrong?” Drew was immediately alert.

  “I’m trying to find Jason. Do you know where he is?”

  “In Europe some where,” Drew answered. “On business.” The last thing he needed was Nick becoming involved in this mess.

  “Jess told me he was up at Tomintoul. I knew that couldn’t be right.”

  “You spoke to Jess? When?”

  “I called her apartment yesterday morning. She was about to leave for Tomintoul, but that’s the funny part. She said Jason would be there. Jason hasn’t set foot in his father’s house for years. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “What?” Drew stiffened, feeling his gut tighten.

  “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “No.” Drew wanted to hang up.

  Keep calm.

  “He was right about that ship. It was the Lady Helen. Divers found the anchor with her name still legibly inscribed on the side. The only strange thing is there’s no cargo. She should’ve been carrying Spanish gold. Someone definitely got there before us, but I can’t find proof of registration anywhere. Strange.”

  “Thanks, Nick. You’ve been a great help. I’ll look into it.”