She spoke. “DCI Roberts has outlined the core aspects of the operation – one which you refer to as Op Niko. You may be asking why the government is interested in a criminal syndicate. Well, the truth is I am interested in all crime that impacts upon the UK – but I don’t expect you to buy that as a reason for deploying resources.” She looked around the room, engaging with everyone in there including her protection officer who had taken a place at the back of the room.
“Here’s the deal. Alex Stefanescu and his band of merry men took something that did not belong to them. Something very valuable, and we managed to get a copy back. We believe he has another and…” She paused and looked at the ceiling before forming her words carefully. “And there is another copy somewhere in existence. We feel it is due to surface any day now.”
“Minister with respect.” It was Fisher again.
“Do go on. And please don’t use that term, we all know what it really means.”
“No, but I really do respect you. However, you have told us something and nothing.” He could feel the team’s combined eyes boring into him and a few even gasped.
“Look, come on you lot, let’s cut to the proverbial here. The door is locked and we are knee deep in this. We’ve historically lost team members to this shower of…shit. And now we’ve got another one missing. Personally I see that as more important than any document.”
He knew he’d overstepped the mark.
“DS Fisher I admire your courage but let me make it quite clear, if I get the documents back then I’ll be happy. If I have to expose people to managed risk I will. DCI Roberts when were you going to tell us about your missing team member?”
“In my office in ten, ma’am?”
She smiled. “There appears to be little point. Let’s talk about it now.”
Roberts outlined his concerns about Bell – bringing her absence to the attention of his whole team, some of whom had not been party to her disappearance.
“OK, what can we do to help?” Lane was genuinely concerned.
“Resources ma’am. Frankly, she could be anywhere.”
“Then you will have your resources. Dear God if the woman who controls the UK Police can’t get you resources then who can? I could draft the entire Suffolk force in if I chose to.” She laughed, but it was uncomfortable given her audience.
“Minister?” It was McGee this time. “Forgive me Ma’am but you said documents – plural?”
“Well spotted. You are indeed eagle-eared. Is that right? Anyway, yes I did.”
The team were discovering the frustrations of dealing with members of parliament who were the true veterans of avoiding the question.
“And?” McGee wasn’t in the mood to give in with an audience that may never happen again.
Lane sighed. Spoke quickly, indicating a slight frustration.
“And eleven years ago, I thought this had been put to bed once and for all. Thought it would die a death. Do you want to hear the whole thing from the start?” She looked at her beloved Raymond Weil wristwatch and then at her Personal Protection Officer, Dan Bradley, who nodded and held up his hands to show ten minutes.
“My PPO says it’s OK, so I’ll crack on! The team we are all hunting came into possession of documents that were stolen in a raid on a Hatton Garden diamond brokers. You may recall the job. We thought they were conventional thieves, they certainly took some of the jewels, but what they left behind was worth a fortune and you and your regional police colleagues recovered a lot more.” She sipped some water from a nearby glass.
“It made no sense. Members of your squad, including Mr Roberts and Mr Cade were already investigating the team – the raid just happened to occur at the same time. Your team caught up with the group as they fractured and headed to British ports to head back to Europe and Romania.”
Even though most knew the story every member of the Niko squad was looking at her, intent on hearing the whole thing.
“We were on the back foot from the get go. It was only when one of my team divulged that the cases that were missing contained a set of documents that were so damaging to the government and the British monarchy that we knew…” She stopped and looked at Nick Fisher.
“To use your vernacular…we knew we were knee deep in shit.”
“And the other document boss?” Fisher held her gaze.
“Ah that little…diamond…was the one that related to Britain, or rather the United Kingdom leaving the European Union. The ‘people’ wanted a referendum, they had done for years. But we knew it would be a potential disaster. What with leaving the Union and destabilising the bloody monarchy too it could have spelled disaster for us on so many fronts. Financially it could have put us on a level with Greece. The Commonwealth is still a big thing and we could have seen it dissolve at a time when some of its members were looking towards independence. The pink parts on the map were diminishing...”
“But I don’t get it ma’am.” Roberts was now in the chair. “Surely we would just deny all knowledge, say that the documents were false and hope it washed away downstream?”
“Ideal worlds are just that, Jason. In this day and age when the media are so bloody ruthless, the left wing news media would have slaughtered us if they had so much as got a sniff of this. They would have served official information requests on us and demanded we had the documents examined independently.”
“And the right?”
“And the right, particularly the far right would have leapt on it like a dog to a bloody bone. That is why we paid him to keep quiet.”
A pin would have been deafening.
Chapter Fourteen
“You paid him?”
“Yes. We paid him. It was a calculated decision following a higher level meeting with your bosses and mine. Look for Christ’s sake, none of this must leave this room. Do I make myself clear? You are the team appointed to sweep up the dog mess from the parliamentary garden.” She rubbed her hands over her eyes and looked at the wall clock. Was it only that time?
“You’ve got four minutes left. Then I have to go. But I will be back. Any questions?”
There were far too many to complete in the time allotted. Roberts pursued the only angle he thought viable in the time.
“OK ma’am, so what we are saying is that he’s back on the scene because he has escaped from prison – or was conveniently released, and is now blackmailing an entire country?” The last few words failed to hide the enormity of the situation.
“Look, I know this bastard, and he’s too quiet for my liking.”
“We’ve got GCHQ listening, we’ve got field sources gathering intel. Interpol, Europol, the whole nine yards. We are onto this DCI Roberts.”
“Well, with respect Home Secretary you did not answer my question. And I for one am sick of being lied to.” He knew it could be a career-altering statement, at worst, career-ending.
“Yes, Jason. He is too quiet. Paying ten million to a man who cannot spend it was deemed to be good value compared to the billions we would lose if this got out.”
“Ten?”
She nodded.
“Million?”
Again.
“Surely we have ways of tracking this money?”
She shook her head, probably involuntarily. “No. Not yet. It was all based on cryptocurrencies and the dark net – all too much even for my understanding. You will need to find someone to act as an advisor on that. Pick a young person. Understand one thing. This bastard that calls himself Jackdaw may be an evil and at times savage thug but he’s no fool. Pay the man and let him live a life of forever looking over his shoulder I say. He’s got enemies from and of the state now. And when we have finished our campaign, he’ll feel he’s got enemies within too.”
“OK, so we pay him and he doesn’t go away. Can’t you see he is playing with you? What is he after now? This is not about money.”
“More. They always want more. If he gets the whole set of documents, he has the Royal Flush so to speak. And…”
A feather colliding with the floor would have been cacophonous.
“There’s an ‘and’? After all that ma’am? There’s actually an ‘and’?”
She stood, causing the whole team to follow suit. She shepherded them back down into their seats.
“The psych teams are doing their thing. They feel they are getting to know him. How he thinks. How his team think. How they work and what motivates them. Each component of the team is being drawn up at the headquarters of our new group that has been set up to hunt him down. The team is called Orion, I’m sure I don’t need to tell you that it is named after the Greek legend, although most of the team that has been established so far refer to it colloquially as Hunter. And you will be their bow. Start gathering your team together. We expect some form of coordinated and targeted attack upon us soon. The two targets being the original documents and…” She couldn’t bring herself to say it.
Roberts slammed his hand down onto the desk causing papers to rise and a cup of cold coffee to spill, which in turn caused the protection officer to place a discreet hand inside his jacket.
“You have not answered my bloody question Minister!”
Bradley stepped forward. “Sir – please.”
Lane ushered him away. “It’s OK, Dan. Mr Roberts has a valid point and if I can’t trust him we are pretty buggered. Besides you could always shoot him.”
He noted the thinly veiled threat and the use of Mr rather than his rank, perhaps it was a subtle and timely warning.
“They are hunting you, Jason.” She let the words hang in the cool office air. “You, everyone connected to you and everyone in this room.”
“Then they are very brave ma’am.”
“No Jason, they are imbalanced, irrational, greedy and dangerous. I recommend you get your houses in order, surround yourselves by people you trust and get some of the old members of your team back here – and soon. Remember, this is bigger than Ben-Hur. Much bigger.”
“When were you going to tell us this?”
“When the time was right.”
Roberts escorted Lane to the lift, thanked her for her time, promised her his total support then shook her hand and nodded to Bradley. “Look after her.”
He walked back to his office, calling to McGee and Fisher as he walked past the briefing room. “My office and now, please.”
He sat on the edge of the desk and was joined by his two DSs.
“Well?”
“Boss this is not what I expected when I was running alongside the Thames this morning.”
“No, me neither and I drove.”
“So we are the arrowhead then?”
“Nice. Seems that way, Bridie. No disrespect but I need Cade and Daniel back here. I’ll sort that out. And we need to recruit a few more too. Find a crypto-whatever she bloody called it specialist will you? And order some tea and coffee in, and Bridie...”
“Boss?”
“Biscuits. I need some of those nice ones with the chocolate on, no sprinkles, they stick in my teeth. No figs either, can’t stand the seeds. And no…”
“Ginger nuts, boss?”
“You’ve got it. OK, you two have got enough to be going on with, I’ve got to make some calls. Seems money is no object, so let’s do what she said, surround yourselves in kit and people you trust. And decent motors. And biscuits.”
“She didn’t mention kit, boss?” Fisher was already working out what to buy.
“Didn’t she, Nick? Oh well, must be my hearing. We’ll deal with that when the overweight opera singer has stopped her wailing.”
“Very PC, guv. Are we considering safe houses?” McGee was experienced and capable, nevertheless the briefing had given her plenty to think about.
“Fair point. But do we really feel threatened yet?”
The three sat there pondering the situation when Fisher leant forward and looked at Roberts’ desk. He was transfixed by the candle. The flame had changed and there was a hint of burning in the room,
He looked again then stood and bent over it. Roberts moved away as the smell was worsening.
“Nick?” Roberts felt he was talking to a wall.
Fisher looked again. “What the hell is in that bloody thing?”
McGee was starting to retch.
“Jesus Christ boss look.”
“Put it out, put it out, Nick.”
Fisher rubbed his fingers in the wick and found them pressing up against two more and a thumb. The wax had melted quicker than anticipated. Constantin had envisaged a slow reveal.
The detached limbs were clinging to a piece of paper.
“Get SOCO in here now. Can you read it?” Roberts was visibly distressed, angry and already forming an opinion about the note – that it might be a threat. He had no idea where the candle had come from but his inbuilt fear told him he knew who the hand belonged to.
“Boss, we won’t get prints off it. We need to find the packaging.”
“No, Nick, we need to find the bloody owner of that…” He pointed to the hand, feeling more nauseous by the second. “What is wrong with these people?”
The team elevated the need for forensic support – and ensured that the new information was passed to Lane. She asked to be kept in touch, now was a chance to test her. She responded within twenty minutes with a simple phone call.
The on-call SOCO was in Roberts’ office within half an hour.
“Well?”
“Give me chance boss. I need to get a lift off the note, it’s one hell of a long shot. Seriously, this is all but impossible. This could be career-defining.”
“This could be life-ending if you don’t get your finger out.”
“No pun intended, boss?”
“None, Peter, none whatsoever.”
“Can you give me a clue as to who I am looking for? Might just narrow down the search if we can nominate a few people?”
Roberts grimaced as he spoke. “One is an Eastern European offender called Constantin Nicolescu.”
“Will we have his prints on file boss?”
“One hundred percent.”
“And the other?”
“Closer to home. As in those prints right there, embedded in that bloody candle. I think they belong to one of my team.”
“Nasty. OK, but I still need to find the prints.”
“Forgive me Pete but aren’t they on the end of those bloody fingers?”
“Roger that, boss. Crossed wires. No more daft questions, no more puns.”
The SOCO knew that the chance of gaining any forensic value from the note was beyond limited. Normal paper, yes, he could use a number of methods to extract the magical points of value. He needed ten at least, any less would render his evidence to be ‘questionable’. The more, in this case, despite the subject matter, the merrier.
It all stemmed back to the late eighteen hundreds. A time when Sir Francis Galton had first discussed loops, whorls and arches and how they were found to be unique, like the markings on a zebra’s backside. He wrote a book about fingerprints and came up against great resistance, however, the forensic seed had been sown.
It wasn’t until the next century that the first successful conviction was allowed using the fingerprints of one Harry Jackson.
Jackson had stolen a billiard ball in a burglary in Denmark Hill, London. It was June 27th 1902 to be precise and only fifteen minutes away from where Roberts now stood in his office. A detective sergeant called Charles Collins had observed a perfect thumb print on a ball, its surface ideal material for fingerprint analysis. He took a photograph of it and later compared it to Jackson’s prints. He was convicted and served seven years. It was a triumph of modern policing and led the way to many developments in a system that went on to safely convict thousands.
If only this case were so easy.
“Boss I need to photograph the candle. Then remove the hand, clean it up, preserve it, print it. This is a first for me. I may talk to the path’ people, they could have more experience with this
type of crime scene than me – but I doubt it.”
“You thinking of this as a murder enquiry Pete?”
“Aren’t you?”
“I wasn’t.” he dropped his head back and stared at the ceiling.
If Constantin Nicolescu was paranoid, then his leader was the opposite. He hadn’t felt as free in years. He had money; he had girls; he had friends, old and new. He had cars that he couldn’t drive but he had a home he could hide away in, in his beloved Craiova, the city in Romania that he called home and one which hid him with a passion that went far deeper than loyalty.
Alex Stefanescu was their criminal success story, and he was still feared. But they didn’t hunt him anymore. The authorities of many countries, including his own. They knew better.
A year perhaps. That is all he felt he needed to stay off the radar. The British had actually paid him a fortune to stay quiet. But they failed to see it was not about the money. He had money already. He had assets that even the most powerful courts in Europe had failed to seize. That would teach them for tying him to that vile bed with chords so tight that his wrists bled.
He sipped on his favourite drink and admired the festival of flesh paraded before him. Dutch, Swedish, Moroccan and an Australian. The latter disinterested him. The last one he had from the southern hemisphere was good. But she had let him down badly, so he killed her and her lover in a rage that even awakened his own already low standards of depravity. He’d never had a Moroccan before although he had often wondered why some of the most beautiful women in the world chose to cover themselves up.
He could make this one do that, perhaps? Have her in her national dress? It added something. He wasn’t sure what. But he was able to relax, finally, and she would help.
The local authorities were content to leave him alone and so he could live a life, of sorts, until one day with his ill-gotten gains he could buy the island or even a nation that occupied his mind all those years ago. He had dreamed of the day, night after sordid night in Pazardzhik.
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 15