“Alex, we have been through this so many times. It is becoming boring. Can we please move on and finish this thing that we started? The thing that you obsess over? Remember, I am as guilty of trying to kill people to achieve our aim as you – you just get to gain so much more than any of us in the group.”
His brother threw a glass at the wall, sending fragments ricocheting across the room.
“I am the group. Alex, the Jackdaw, is the group. I am everything. I am the Lord of all I surveill.”
For the first time since childhood, Stefan saw something in his brother that concerned him. Frightened him. He knew of all the harm he had caused before, how he had brutally harmed people, some for no obvious reason – for practice. For fun. And now he was closing avenues quickly, destroying evidence in his mind, shredding, shredding, shredding.
If his brother ever discovered just how disloyal he had been his retribution would be vicious and sustained. Unless Stefan struck first.
Alex walked across the room, stepping over the glass fragments – someone else could pick that up – then pushed his way past his brother.
“Move!”
“Or what?”
Things were escalating.
“You will keep for another time, baby brother. You can leave whenever you like. I need to shower. One of us stinks.”
He hated him. Hated his older brother. Hated what he stood for, but despised himself even more for being associated with him.
“OK. I will move. Just calm down. Let us drink and talk through what is troubling you brother.”
Alex appeared to calm – on queue. “True, my little baby brother. We should be working together, not against each other. We have enough enemies, what with our rivals in this country and across Europe and in London, the Russians and Albanians.
He looked sleepy.
“Another drink to our mother country. And our dear parents. May they always rest in peace!”
He poured two more drinks. It was not the time. Yet.
The drinks remained untouched. Alex slept on the sofa, leaving his younger brother to pace for a while, until he too decided to get some much needed sleep. When the time came, he needed to be alert. He just hoped he’d be alert enough to recognise that the time was now.
McCall walked the half mile route from his car to the club. He took a zig-zag approach, using all of his field craft, shielding himself from surveillance, hugging building lines, pacing vehicles and blending with people until he got so close he could smell the aftershave. It was even cheaper in the flesh. He smiled.
Waiting for five minutes allowed him to listen, observe and absorb. Bird song, traffic, cycles, footfall. Five minutes invested now was time well spent, an investment in the future – if indeed he had one. All successful surveillance operations did this. Becoming one with the grounds was a must, and McCall was an expert.
Training had taught him so much about how to blend into the theatre of operations. Familiarity had given him the edge. Now it was just a numbers game, but mornings, from his experience, were the best time to hit somewhere like this. All recent military battles had been fought at night. It made sense. But these people were not soldiers and therefore did not play by the rules.
For now, he too had to wait for the right moment.
The eleventh floor briefing room at Scotland Room was standing room only. People who thought they had a need to know, didn’t. A few that did had nowhere to sit. There hadn’t been a crowd of this size since the Commissioner had bought in his wife’s carrot cake.
Mike Collins – the new assistant commissioner operations waited a second for the room to settle then spoke. Crisply ironed white shirt, black tie, name badge. Black hair, greying at the temples, trendy Boss Orange glasses and as goal driven as they came. He had a three-year plan to be the next Commissioner and didn’t hide the fact.
“All here? Door closed, please. Anyone without the right clearance needs to leave now. The following people can stay. John Cade, John Daniel and Elena Petrova.”
Roberts was stood, due to the level of brass in the room and spoke first.
“Sir. Two of my team, DSs McGee and Fisher, are not cleared to this level – but I need them to be here. They are my eyes on the ground.”
The two assistant commissioners looked at their boss, who nodded.
“Granted. Let’s move on. Prime Minister, Home Secretary, Police Minister Halford and our friends from Defence, welcome and thank you for finding the time to attend. It is my intention to keep this briefing true to its nature – brief. However, we cannot overlook the importance of this. I will assume you are all, at the very least, familiar with the history of this operation?”
He looked around the room. No one was prepared to admit a lack of preparation – not in this audience.
“Good. You all have the operational order in front of you. Note the classification, leave them in this room at the end of the briefing please. OK. The primary purpose of this operation is to prevent harm to the reputation of this country. By that I mean financially, its reputation in Europe and on the world stage.” He paused, not for effect, but to simply let the facts of the matter sink in.
“The people in the photographs in front of you are members of the criminal syndicate that call themselves the Seventh Wave. Their leader Alex Stefanescu is well known throughout Europe as a…” He stopped himself. “As a member of the Romany community made good. A common thief who garnered a huge following in prison and within his own country. He dabbled in mid-level organised crime, then, his luck turned.”
The people in the room read the next two paragraphs which outlined the series of events that had embroiled the Metropolitan Police – and other law enforcement agencies – and had seen the loss of two of Roberts’ team and one notable other that they had once been charged with protecting.
“This has taken us by surprise in one respect, yet in another we have known this was a storm brewing out at sea. But we all know that we have had other priorities over the last few years; knife crime, burglaries and latterly, direct threats upon our city – our country by terrorists.” Collins was trying to avoid a theatrical performance.
“Questions?”
A few came, mainly operational questions from the mid ranks. Collins answered them all skilfully.
The Prime Minister had listened and now spoke. He was a natural and warm orator, liked by most people he met.
“Thanks, Mike. Two things we need to keep at the forefront of our minds. The first is simple. If this goes wrong, everyone in Britain and that means everyone that has families in this room will suffer in some way. Therefore, I want us all to own this. This is about teamwork, not elitist behaviour. Need to know can take a back seat to need to share. The first prima donna I hear of is gone, no appeals. Do I make myself clear?”
“Crystal sir.” Collins was still chairing and knew when he was outranked.
“Second point. Now this is important. As important as the first point, actually. In a world in which a reputation can be undone in a single tweet, or post or whatever the other one is, we must, I repeat must be aware of what we say and equally, don’t say. I do not want people filling in the gaps. If we have gaps, they stay as such. We do not speculate. And that means all of us. If the media ask a question, we don’t know the answer to, we say so and we tell them we will get back to them. Making it up to look good is not an option.”
A look at the leaders in the room cleared up any ambiguities.
“Lastly, in the current climate, I do not want this group to be associated with Roma.”
There were puzzled looks. Had the briefing not started with a hint to this people group being connected?
James Cole had a personal issue with people groups. He couldn’t afford any more mass migration into his country – but equally he knew he could not be part of a xenophobic backlash. The streets of Britain were changing rapidly and Cole wanted to lead the party that settled nerves, not inflamed them. Besides, it would finish his otherwise unblemished career
and in the world of modern politics that was a reputation worth cherishing.
“Assistant Commissioner Collins referred to the connection between the Seventh Wave syndicate and the Romany community. Careful. If we cast a veil across the entire community, we can set back relations seventy years – longer. The Roma community lost countless people during the Second World War, some would argue more than the entire Jewish population. Let that sink in for a moment.”
A few people were uncomfortable with this.
“Roma families had been responsible for a significant rise in street crime too,” said a grey suited man in his forties.
Finding a balance was going to be difficult.
“All I ask is that you work with us to get on top of this quickly – and quietly. Any questions?”
Petrova stood, then leant forward, palms on the table.
“Hello, Prime Minister. Nice to meet you. I know these people better than any of you. I can add so much. Your report said Alex escaped from prison. This is not true. The authorities released him. Why? Because he was causing chaos among the prison and staff populations. He has a…what is the word, Jack?”
“Charisma?”
“Yes, charisma. He has a way with people that makes them want to work with him – and he manipulates people who don’t. Please be careful.”
“And what makes you think you know him better than our intelligence people, Miss Petrova?” asked an anonymous forty-something with ginger hair, a slim-fitting suit, pointed chin and officious eyes. He was revolving an expensive pen between his fingers, smiling confidently and working the room.
“I don’t know who you are, but I guess someone likes you enough to allow you into the room. I also guess that you are an intelligence officer. I am one too, trained by my government to be the best in the world. How do I know? That is easy. I come from the same region as him, I know how he operates, I talk his language and I have an agenda.”
“Oh, I can’t wait to hear,” said the male redhead to his far more attractive female equivalent.
“Oh, I’m so glad.” Cade smothered a smile – she was on a roll, God help you ginger.
“I know because Alex Stefanescu ordered my mother’s death.” Her voice was raised now, but measured. “And this happened, eleven years ago, in your fucking city. So read your briefing notes, don’t sit there with your false hair colour and pull that face at me or I will take your cheap pen and...”
“Thank you, Miss Petrova.” Collins, ever the professional MC stepped in, avoiding a he-said, she-said argument and from the quick scan of her bio, potential damage to his manhood and feelings.
“But I haven’t finished.”
It was Sassy Lane that chose to speak. “So I see. Do go on Miss Petrova.”
“Call me Elena.” Quieter now. “You see, Alex is a sociopath – loves little puppies, but happily slits the throat of an enemy, or drags a girl to a frozen lake and pushes her under – then bets on how long she will keep breathing. I wasn’t there, but believe it to be true. Alex is also very clever, and he knows he has you by the balls, lady. He has what you want, and you want, what he has. I cannot say it any simpler than that, even for our orange-haired friend here.”
“I understand. And for the record, whilst it happened a long time ago, I am truly sorry about your mother. But we have laboured the point about Stefanescu and his mental state, his ability to manipulate etcetera. What I need to know is what is he going to do in order to convince us to hand over the sort of obscene amount of money he thinks the documents are worth?”
“Please know, with Alex, it is not always about the money.” She had spoken her last for today.
Cade looked at Petrova, visually asking her for permission to speak. She smiled and nodded.
“Jack Cade. Former inspector and now tac advisor to DCI Roberts and Assistant Commissioner Collins. I am also the Operation Orion Liaison Officer between police and the government from today. Now, the man who calls himself the Jackdaw – for the record, he gets the name due to his distinctive laughter which cackles like his namesake – I know because I have heard it.” He looked around the room, memorising new faces and acknowledging those from the past.
“My gut feeling is that he will look to hold the government to ransom. He will use the British media to great effect, if you give him chance. You need to get to them first, get them on side, offer the story before it goes global. You need to shore up your borders, not easy, but you need a blanket border alert on all Romanian nationals. The good ones, and trust me on this, there are millions of them, will understand. To a point they are used to it.”
He remembered how far they had come as a team from the very first attack through to the more audacious gas attacks on the bank machines that invariably caused more damage to the buildings than the cash that the teams got away with.
“ATM bank attacks around the world carried out by a small percentage of their own people have seen an upturn in border agency operations targeting the nation. Unfair perhaps, but that’s the harsh reality. I suggest what he will look to do is use new teams, bringing them into the country as individuals and then regrouping with already-domiciled individuals, like iron filings to a magnet. Then he will start a series of distractions, a few subtle messages, building in confidence until he hits us with a grander plan – the ultimate extortion attempt.”
“And that will be what, Mr Cade?” It was the secretive redhead once more.
“Sorry, I didn’t catch your name, sir?”
“I didn’t give it. And you don’t need to know.”
John Daniel had heard enough. “May I refer you to the Prime Minister’s heartfelt introduction during which he discussed prima Donnas?” The ball hit the back of the proverbial net.
Slim-fit, pointy chin knew he was beaten. “Donald Donaldson.”
“Nice. Such inventive parents. So I assume you work on the other side of the bridge with a load of other insipidly named staff? To answer your question Don, I doubt Jack knows. I’m guessing he’s relying on you and yours to help us. But from my experience, once the Jackdaw gets his feathers ruffled, he doesn’t stop. Expect something spectacular. And expect it any day now.”
“Terrorism?” Mike Collins beat the Home Secretary to the question.
Cade answered quickly. “No. He once told me he despised terrorists.”
Donaldson was leaning back in his chair, fingers steepled, laughing. “And you believed him?”
“Yes, I did.”
“And what qualifications do you have to lead you to this summation ex-Inspector Cade?”
“There is no such rank, Donald. But for the record, three tablespoons of policing, mixed with a pound of common sense and placed in the oven on gas mark seven. It’s called a common sense cake. I’ll save you a slice. Unless you are intolerant?”
“Time gentlemen, please.” James Cole stood, causing everyone else to follow suit. “Can we get this written up please Mike? Copy to me by this afternoon? Thank you all. Jack, John, Jason, I’d like you to stay behind with Mike, Sassy and Harry. A few things to iron out. Thank you for hosting. Do not be strangers, between now and whenever, this is our priority.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
The majority of the attendees had left via the lifts and staircases that were the arteries of Scotland Yard. Experienced cops knew it paid to leave quickly, better that than end up with a job you didn’t want or one you pretended you did.
Cade hadn’t finished with Donaldson, however.
“Donald, to answer your earlier question, which I feel warrants a response. I have spoken to this man on a number of occasions. I know when I can trust someone and alternatively when face to face would happily kill them. I can assure you that in Mr Stefanescu’s case the latter would be an honour. It’s a long story, but his actions led to one of Jason’s best staff taking his own life.” He deliberately allowed that to drift around the room like an unpleasant smell.
“A member of Stefanescu’s unit, I call them a unit because they are well tr
ained, poisoned our best criminal analyst and she happens to be a good friend. Poisoned her in her own home. His name is Constantin Nicolescu. Close your eyes and think of what a disturbed and certifiable man might look like and you will have him perfectly painted in your mind’s eye.”
He had Donaldson’s attention completely.
“Prior to that, to make a point, he ordered the death of my covert intelligence source.” That piece of information would have been sufficient, but Cade knew he had to drill home. “He drowned her in the Thames, roped to a wooden frame, crucified at high tide opposite Battersea Power Station. And do you know who she was?”
He shook his head, feeling that a conversation wasn’t required.
“It was his wife. He drowned the woman he was betrothed to – married as far as he was concerned. Not that she had any choice in the matter. And, importantly, the woman in question, Nikolina Petrov, was Elena’s mother. The one she mentioned earlier. So please do not challenge any of my team on this again.”
“All points noted, I’m sure.” It was laced with sarcasm.
“Listen, mate. I am tired, but I make no excuses for this. Either get on board with this or fuck off. I have flown halfway around the world to learn that people I hold dear to my professional heart are either dead or missing, presumed dead.” He counted his friends – it was an old method of forcing you to take a moment, to breathe, before you said something that would hang you out to dry.
“So you want to go toe to toe with someone and be a smart arse, then let’s just crack on.” He was visibly shaking, adrenaline hijacking his veins and causing him to shudder, but he was more than ready for a fight.
“Well? No, I thought not. All talk and no balls.”
“Jack.” It was Daniel.
“No, John. I’m not rolling over. The government knows what is happening here and from my angle, is doing sweet…”
“Mr Cade.” James Cole brought the argument to an abrupt halt. Cade was no longer a police officer, but he recognised authority when it stood up and took control of a meeting.
Seven of Swords (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 3) Page 25