Dealer (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 3)

by Nicholas E Watkins

  “We need to hand it to MI6 or the Foreign Office so they can give it to the Yanks.”

  “That would condemn Tim’s wife to death,” she said.

  “What choice is there? He is my friend but we are talking about the security of this Country.”

  Elaine was silent and looked down at her latest pair of badly fitting, but beautifully designed shoes. “You and I know nothing will really be done with this file. It wouldn’t be made public, it would be used around the negotiating table to put pressure on the Russians to, for example, cut back on bombing the anti-Assad forces in Syria, or negotiate a few concessions in the Ukraine. Ultimately it would do very little in the whole scheme of things.”

  Stiles was silent. It was a very big call. Save his friend and his wife or score a few points off the Kremlin. “What file, I never saw it.”

  “Neither did I” said Elaine.

  “How do we proceed?”

  “In for a penny, in for a pound as they say, we give it the works. First get onto the Home office and get Diplomatic passports for Tim and Jackie, not in their own names.”

  Stiles interrupted, “I shall go with him as back up.”

  There was a pause as she considered it. “Ok, get three CD passports, get guns, flak jackets, money and whatever else you think you will need. Stick the lot in the diplomatic pouch, which will be the size of a trunk, so you avoid customs and security inspections and book flights and accommodation.”

  “We will need help. Yerik will not just let us walk away. We could still give testimony first hand linking them to the file, even if we only have a copy and not the original. A copy of the file with Tim’s and my sworn deposition saying that we passed it to him, would still put the Russians in a tight spot. Killing the three of us would be his best strategy once he has the original in his hands.”

  “Leave that to me. You will have more back up than you could hope for and with a bit of luck we will retain the files and be heroes with the CIA and MI6.”

  Stiles left and Elaine pulled strings. By the time Tim and Stiles were on their way to Crete. There was a Destroyer diverted from it’s role off the coast of Libya, where it had been stationed to interrupt the activities of the immigrant smugglers from Africa to Europe and a squad of Special Forces, ready to be deployed at the rendezvous point where Jackie and the files were to be traded.

  Chapter 26

  Jackie was brought up on deck. The whirling of the helicopter blades added to the chill of the night air as she was herded across the helipad. The moon was a bright ball in sky, whose reflected light lit up the water and cliffs surrounding Souda Bay on the island of Crete. Yerik was sat in the front alongside the pilot and she in the back with the powerfully built henchman that shadowed Yerik’s every footstep.

  The pilot flew directly upwards before tilting the helicopter nose down at full speed, heading directly north towards the hills behind the bay. It was the first time that Jackie had been in a helicopter, but this was no joy ride and enjoyment was certainly not part of the experience. All she wanted was to be back at home seeing her son Daniel and her Parents. She was feeling hope that the ordeal would soon be over and dread that this could end tragically and she would never see her family again.

  The helicopter approached the rendezvous point. She could make out the two cars below with their headlights on. The four figures, two stood by each vehicle were, at first, mere silhouettes in the moonlight, but as the aircraft descended, the individuals became identifiable. There were Yerik’s two goons, randyjim6552 and tomcock85 whom she knew from the yacht and then her heart lifted as she recognised Stiles and her husband waiting below.

  The helicopter did not immediately descend, but switched on a powerful searchlight and hovered above the ground. It flew above the meeting point, searching for any concealed individuals who may have been posted to intercept them. Yerik, the pilot and his guard were all staring intently at the barren plateau, looking for signs of life. All Jackie could see was the odd bit of scrub, boulders and limestone screed. It all appeared clear and deserted. That was not so. Had the craft been equipped with a heat seeking camera, the squad of Special Services personnel would have shown up a bright red on the screen. As it was, they remained totally concealed from the observers, metres from where the helicopter landed, almost within touching distance of the protagonists on the plateau.

  The next few moments were all a blur. The sequence of events, that ensued were too rapid for her brain to process. She was forced, to step from the helicopter. There was an exchange of words between her husband and Yerik. Stiles stepped forward with the file she had been sent by her friend and Finance Director of the Baltic Bank. A file that she had never seen or knew existed, the file that had caused the shooting of her Parents, the attempted abduction of her son and her own abduction and imprisonment.

  The trade was made and she was with her husband when the shooting began. She saw Stiles, hit by a bullet, fall. Then the whole area was suddenly filled with men that seemed to appear from the ground, as the Special Boat Service joined the fray. Yerik and his goons surrendered immediately to the overwhelming fire power. A Navel helicopter, attached to the Destroyer anchored in the bay, had appeared overhead, Yerik, his goons, vehicle and helicopter were all sent packing.

  She was surprised to see Stiles miraculously recover, before she realised he had been wearing a bullet proof vest. She kissed and held Tim as they drove off from the plateau with the file still in their possession. The nightmare was over and she was relieved when they arrived back at the Golf resort Hotel where Tim and Stiles had booked in. The relief and happiness was further enhanced when she had spoken to her son and Mother on the phone.

  Reunited with her husband, the lovemaking had been intense and passionate for the newlyweds. They fell into a content and relaxed sleep.

  The next morning they had awoken too late to have breakfast and Tim had gone off to buy provisions when Stiles knocked on the door.

  “Come in” she said. “I am making coffee. They provide a filter machine, coffee and long life milk. Not great but it will have to do.”

  He entered the apartment and noticed that the file containing the proof of the Oligarch’s involvement in the banking scams was lying on the dining table. Yerik was miles out at sea being watched by the Navy. He no longer posed a threat.

  Stiles noticed that the apartment was identical to his. You entered, the dining table was to your right, the kitchen, effectively in the corridor, to your left, leading to the bathroom and bedroom and directly ahead, a seating area with a French window to the ground level terrace.

  “Go out to the terrace, I’ll bring the coffee out,” she said, as he passed her in the kitchen area.

  The terrace had a table and four chairs and several cats waiting to see if any food would appear. A low metal fence separated the paved terrace from the landscaped gardens beyond. Stiles noted that stepping over the fence and crossing the garden would be a quicker route to the car park than leaving via the door and walking around the Complex and following the paths.

  He sat down in one of the chairs and looked out across to the distant hills. The Golf Resort Hotel complex was built atop a hill itself and afforded beautiful views over the rugged Cretan countryside. The distant hills were covered in a mist and some, he could see were snow capped. Where they were located, the weather was warm and mild with the sun nearly overhead, while in contrast the tips of the mountains were close to freezing.

  “Here’s the coffee, if you can call it that,” said Jackie as she came through the French doors and sat down beside him. He picked up his cup and took a sip and grimaced.

  “Perfect, thank you,” he lied.

  “I feel like we are on holiday,” she took a sip of her coffee.

  “Well it is all over now, you can relax. How do you feel?”

  She paused as she tried to clarify her thoughts.” Mostly confused, none of it really makes sense. I was on honeymoon having the time of my life. Then I learn my Parents have been sho
t and before I can come to terms with that, I am abducted. Then I learn that one of my oldest friends, Maurice, who I qualified with and who helped my career by getting me the audit of the Baltic Bank he worked at, is dead, murdered for sending me some papers exposing my new audit as a scam front for Russian organised crime..”

  “Those papers establish ownership of billions of dollars squirreled by the crooked elite in Russia. Just the sort of dodgy money the Americans want to seize to put pressure on the Kremlin. You’re safe and the evidence is on the dining table. The bastards who orchestrated this assault on you and your family will get what’s coming to them when we hand the file to the Yanks,” said Stiles.

  They sat back and waited for Tim to come back with their brunch. Jackie closed her eyes and let the sun warm her face. She could hear the sound of crickets chirping and the rustle of foliage as the numerous stray cats stalked their way through the undergrowth and shrub surrounding the terrace, looking for a meal. Most of the cats had wondered off, realising that there was no food to be had on the terrace.

  The horror of the last few days faded into the background as she soaked up the late season sun in the tranquil surroundings. She started when Stiles’ voice interrupted her daydreaming.

  “You,” was the only word he uttered before the bullet fired from the silenced gun entered his brain.

  She did not have time to open her eyes, before she too died with a shot to her head.

  The Driver stepped over the low metal fence and walked past the two dead bodies and began to search. Within a minute, he saw the file just sitting in the middle of the dining table. Hardly believing the ease in which he had located his prize, he walked back out of the French windows to the car park.

  Tim would return and find their bodies surrounded by the stray cats lapping up the blood that had pooled on the terrace.

  Chapter 27

  Elaine looked down at her shoes. They suddenly seemed less important than they were a few weeks earlier. The funerals of Jackie and Stiles had left her no longer the confident strong person she had felt herself to be. An attack on MI5 had taken place and while everyone knew that the Russians were behind it, nothing was to be done. In the good old days of the cold war, MI6 would have sent a man with a gun to seek revenge and let it be known that the UK and the US stood firm against the Soviet Union. Now the US was more or less moribund in their relations with the Russians. Despite a lot of table banging, Putin had continued the bombing campaign in Syria, supporting Assad and NATO and the Americans had done nothing.

  The Russians were emboldened, following the invasion of the Crimea, with no response from the West. The former Soviet states were now firmly in the Russians sights, with demands already being made for NATO troops to be withdrawn from the area. The death of an MI5 operative did not weigh heavily in the scheme of things.

  They had recruited Tim to fill Stiles’ role as deputy head. She knew it was not an ideal choice, but the options had been limited. He was embittered by the murder of his wife and she knew that, as such, his judgement would be clouded. On the other hand, he was battle blooded, intensely focussed and obsessed with the Isis and Russian threat to the UK. It was a case of mend and make do and it might all work out for the best.

  Time knocked and entered the office. She saw the dark circles under his eyes, through lack of sleep. He was following every line of inquiry personally in the hope of finding his wife’s killer.

  “How are you finding it?”

  “Hard going, I am about two thirds of the way through Stiles’ case files. I popped in to see if you could add any background to some stuff he was working on?”

  “Fire away,” she immediately regretted her choice of words.

  “Well, one thing caught my attention. He was tracking some arms deal with Isis, headed for Syria. Looking at some dealer, Hambros Benedict, and there seemed a link to the Baltic Bank and the Russians, any thoughts?”

  Elaine let out a sigh.” I told him to leave it alone umpteen times. It has nothing to do with us. I told him to pass it to MI6 or the Yanks. We have enough to do here without worrying about Syria.”

  “But,” he began to speak.

  “But, you want to follow it up because it has that Bank and those Russian scumbags involved. I say to you that it still has nothing to do with what we are supposed to be doing at MI5. I say the same to you as I said to Stiles, drop it.”

  He looked crestfallen and she understood his need to feel he was doing all he could to track down his wife’s killer. She spoke in a more conciliatory fashion. “Look, I do understand how you feel. I feel the same way, but we have to concentrate on our counter espionage roll. Diverting resources to a personal vendetta does not serve this Country well. You have to understand that?”

  He nodded his understanding and made his way back to his desk. He may have understood, but he had no intention of doing anything other than tracking down his wife’s murderer. He took the job for one reason alone, to use the resources available to MI5 to get the bastard.

  He ran through mentally what he knew and what he could surmise. On his desk he had the report of the Greek police investigation. He read through it. The autopsy report showing that Stiles and his wife had received one shot to the head each. Two nine millimetre bullets were recovered from them. The two bullets were matched to each other, so there had been one gun and, presumably, one shooter.

  There had been no witnesses. The guests staying at the hotel complex had been checked out and none had raised suspicion or had any links to organised crime. They were holidaying couples, groups of golfers, not assassins. The Greek police had checked plane manifests and nothing unusual was noted. In short, they had generated no leads.

  Tim knew the motive. The files with Yerik’s, Nikhil’s and Lesta’s signatures plastered all over them, implicating them in a massive money laundering and assets concealment scheme for themselves and their fellow Russian mafia mates.

  The opportunity, however, was proving far more problematic as none of the three were near the scene of the murder. Yerik was on the Lady Heloise, being shadowed by the Royal Navy and had clearly sailed straight back to Monaco, where the Yacht had berthed. Nikhil and Lesta, Tim knew had not been hands on in the affair and were, in any event, at a meeting in St Petersburg with half a dozen witnesses to the fact.

  Some third party, logically, had to have committed the murder as the prime suspects and their thug entourage were accounted for. He speculated that they had hired a hit man, but again he come to the conclusion that it defied logic to arrange a killing of someone you could already have killed yourself. It was evident that Yerik had no intention of letting Jackie, Stiles or him live after the file had been handed over. Had the SBS not intervened, the three of them would have been killed in the hills overlooking Souda Bay.

  He had to rule out a professional hit man employed by the oligarchs, as in their plan there would be no one to kill apart from three already deceased targets. That left the harder prospect to investigate, that some one independent had killed them and taken the file. Tim considered that it must be the only explanation, but the motive now became muddied. The file was the object of the murder, but it only had value to the three Russians. What would a third party need it for? There were two possibilities, the file indicated another person, or that person wanted the file to ingratiate himself with the Russians, or perhaps apply leverage to them.

  Tim pulled up a copy of the source of all the deaths, the paper work for the Baltic Bank. The file had been scanned into the system prior to Stiles and his departure for Crete. The copy was of no value, but it did act as a valuable record of the actions of the three. He read and re-read every detail, but there was no indication of any other person involved. The conclusion was clear. A third party had taken the file and killed them for the purpose of blackmailing the Russians. Tim however, realised he was no closer to identifying the killer, but at least he had the motive.

  One big question jumped out and smacked Tim in the face.

  “How
the fuck did the killer know who they were and how did he know where to find us?” he said to himself. They had travelled under fake diplomatic passports. The hotel was booked at the last minute in fake names. They had booked and flown within hours. It was impossible, given the time span for anyone to locate them or to have followed them.

  The more he thought about it, the more impossible it seemed to accomplish. “How do you get a gun through airport security?” he said aloud. Stiles and he had used the entire diplomatic immunity protocols to get their weapons to Crete. How had one man managed to do it unaided?

  Tim only had one lead and that was what every crime investigation started with, “Follow the money”. He would start with the Baltic Bank and work outwards.

  Chapter 28

  The bar was packed, despite the snow and the bitter cold, the punters were in tonight watching the girls dancing naked on the podium. The cliental was mostly local Muscovites. The tourists and foreign businessmen preferred not to travel to the city when winter starts. Lesta and Yerik stood at the bar off to left of the podium and drank vodka, served by a young topless bartender. Despite the sight of all the naked young female flesh on display, they were less than happy.

  “I am too old for all this shit. The fucking music is giving me a headache,” shouted Lesta, trying to make himself heard over the hubbub.

  Yerik smiled and nodded. It was clear he was unable to make out what had been said to him, so he chose just to pretend he had. The bar was one of many that Nikhil had invested in. He owned bars and clubs from Moscow to Paris and London to New York. He had been successful and in places like London, Russian mafia money controlled virtually all the night scene in the city.

  “Why, the fuck, are we here,” continued a less than happy Lesta. To which Yerik nodded and smiled politely in response. “Oh for fucks sake, why don’t you get a fucking hearing aid?”