by Karl Holton
“Monsieur, thank you … it’s been a pleasure,” he said, bowing and offering his hand to shake.
Celso stood and took his hand. “Please tell the chef … he’s a genius. The roast partridge was fantastic.”
The man kept his head low. “I will, sir, merci.”
Celso smiled. “But next time I’ll make sure I come when you have the white truffles from Italy. These are better than your French black ones.”
“Yes, of course … ‘trifola d'Alba Madonna’, sir,” he said. “We shall have some ready for you in October; fresh at the beginning of the season.”
The prostitute stood up and the maître d' grabbed the chair for her and pushed it under the table. “And for you, Madame, of course.”
They all smiled at each other. Celso could see he knew what she was but was maintaining the necessary niceties.
The maître d' guided them to the front door and each member of staff thanked them on the way. He pulled open the door and she walked out first with Celso giving him a final handshake and smile before stepping onto the pavement.
The unknown woman that walked into him was briefly a shock until he felt her breasts hit him squarely in the chest. The impact took his attention, making him focus his eyes down towards her cleavage.
She’d grabbed his wrist to stop herself falling and looked at him smiling. “I am sorry, Monsieur.”
That’s a tight grip, Celso thought. “My fault, Madame … forgive me.”
The prostitute grabbed his arm and pulled on him. She noticed his eyes failing to leave the woman’s breasts so she reached up to his face and turned his gaze towards her.
The woman let go of his wrist. “Enjoy your evening, Monsieur.” She turned and carried on walking away into the Paris evening.
The prostitute kept her gaze on him. “If you enjoyed that food, wait till I give you dessert.”
Celso laughed loudly, letting his success surge through him. But the tetrodotoxin that had just been injected into his wrist was already starting to work its way through his system. The amount injected by the ring the unknown woman had been wearing was far greater than needed to kill him. He would be dead in fifteen minutes in the back of the car arranged by the concierge at the hotel.
He would never learn that all three paintings he‘d stolen had been fakes arranged by Hanson.
Chapter 65
Day 12
Narrow Street, Limehouse, London
9.31 p.m.
Benedict sipped on the Panamanian coffee that he’d made and put down the cup. He was looking at the screen on his phone and reading the art theft details, specifically the size of the Renoir and Sisley. He glanced over at the two packages sitting against the wall.
The room was dark; very dark. Lights from outside along the river lit up the outside space.
Wallace made a noise. She was lying asleep on the large sofa. Paddy had placed a blanket over her earlier and disappeared upstairs. She shifted in the dark but remained unconscious.
“Do you think she’ll stay with us?” Hanson asked.
Benedict turned in surprise, raising his fists. He hadn’t heard him coming.
Hanson smiled and held up his palms. “Sorry.”
He looked back at her and thought about how the death of her husband must have hit her. “We could certainly use her skills … she’s —”
Hanson touched his arm.
Benedict took out another cup and poured Hanson some coffee, which he picked up and sipped. The two men smiled. Neither had heard Pip, who was standing in the stairwell listening. Paddy was up in the office speaking to the security teams.
Hanson held the cup close to his nose sucking in the aroma. “I see you’ve noticed the paintings. Why don’t you ask me all the questions you want to ask me?”
Benedict laughed and shook his head. “I take it that those are the real ones?” He pinched his nose. “Which means that the thief stole fakes … which you must have arranged to be made and sent here; correct so far?”
Hanson put the cup down. “Yes … so far.”
Benedict stared at him, making sure Hanson sensed that he was assessing his micro-expressions. “I believe what you told us before about this is true … from your perspective. So you didn’t arrange the theft, but you maybe had an idea that it might happen. You may have tipped the probability towards it happening by having three paintings and ensuring it was obviously art coming to this house.” Benedict’s glare became somehow deeper. “This means you wanted it to happen for some reason.”
Hanson entwined his fingers. “Still correct.”
Benedict unconsciously placed his right hand over his heart. “There’s no way you would have done this to catch a thief alone. There must have been a bigger reason. Something more important,” he said, his eyes sharpening on Hanson. “The most important thing right now is Jasper … you did this to try and get him out in the open.” Benedict looked over at the paintings. “One of them is missing … the most valuable one; you’re using it to get to Jasper.”
Hanson closed his eyes. He imagined for a second having Benedict as the son he never had; then the brief but joyful memories of his two daughters jumped into his mind. He knew he didn’t have long to tell the team the truth about him. He deserves some truths now, he thought. “I’ve worked for the CIA and NSA for twenty years … I still work for them. We became aware that Jasper was very likely going to try and launder the rest of the money from the Moldovan bank robbery. The guy who did this is going to get caught and the Americans didn’t want Jasper being left with that money. They would prefer it if they had that money and decided what to do with it.”
Benedict’s lips moved up on one side. “So they asked you to convince this bank robber to give the money to you rather than Jasper. You knew something about this guy … maybe you knew he wanted a piece of art. That’s something you could use to coax him out?”
Hanson’s smile became a grin. “Still correct.”
Benedict isolated a hair in his beard and pulled it. “So if you had the original and Jasper ended up with the fake you could ensure this guy doesn’t trust Jasper.” He glanced at them again. “We know the fake art went to the continent and the original isn’t here; this means Jasper has given this guy the fake and you’re going to give him the real thing.”
Hanson winked and picked up his coffee cup. “Close enough.”
Benedict sighed. “There’s one thing I don’t get … how could you be sure that they would buy it and wouldn’t spot the fake straight away? I mean, they must have had the painting checked by someone.”
Hanson giggled but it induced a pain in his back. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been selling art in Europe? I knew the most likely ‘fence’ they would bring it to in Paris and I know the old man he goes to for verification of this type of art. Sadly for this ‘fence’, I know this old man a lot better than he does.”
Benedict shook his head. “And don’t tell me, I suppose you might have told Moraru that if he was given a painting, he should go straight to the art institute with it.”
“I might have suggested that it would be wise,” he said, circulating his fingertip around the rim of his cup. “I think I told him that I would help arrange it for the piece I would give him … to show he could trust me.”
Benedict sipped his drink allowing it to sit in his mouth for a moment first. His face saddened as his thoughts wandered across what had happened.
Hanson noticed. “I had no way of knowing the thief would do what he did … that he would be so violent.”
He nodded. “I take it Tommy is that important? Tell me that all of this has happened for a good reason.”
“One of Jasper’s most significant business sectors is drugs. It always has been. He’s particularly involved in cocaine, so when someone brings a huge shipment somewhere he’ll almost certainly discover it. These are moments he’ll use to his benefit. He’ll also know what the police know because he’s always got informants. There has never been anyone on the
inside who positively confirms that he was even working with Jasper, never mind identify him. If Tommy does … he’ll be the first.”
“You think that’s why he wants Tommy dead so badly?”
“Yes … but there’s more to this, Benedict. Both Paddy and Pip are convinced that the sniper —”
“Is Raske; yes, I’ve suspected exactly the same,” Benedict said, “I think we can assume Jasper brought him here to help secure the drugs and then kill you … but Raske is here in the UK to get revenge for Richter. The only odd thing about it is —”
Hanson nodded. “Why hasn’t he killed you already?”
They both grinned at the idea that they were equally the sniper’s targets.
“I think the risks that Raske is taking seem somehow out of character. He just wouldn’t spree kill like this unless he was somehow being blackmailed to do it.” Benedict sipped his drink, letting the inspiration brew into words. The men nodded towards each other. “Jasper hasn’t told him that it was me that killed Richter yet.”
Chapter 66
Day 12
Seacon Tower, Hutching’s Street, London
10.33 p.m.
All the lights were off. Inside the flat was a silent blackness. The windows out onto the river were all open so he could feel the strength and direction of the breeze. In the distance a boat horn blasted which seemed to set off the infrequent cawing of the sleeping gulls sitting on the roof above.
The large dining table made a perfect place for the TAC-50 rifle that was pointing directly at the back of the Narrow Street house. He had the night scope attached, which gave him a heat-based view.
Raske had watched the helicopters flying overhead confirming he’d made the right decision. They were searching Rotherhithe across the river but were scanning the whole area. If he’d been on the roof he would have been spotted.
He looked down the scope. None of the people in the house had come outside.
His mobile rang and he pressed the answer button. “So tell me.”
“Patience,” Lomax said. “Kill Tommy, then kill Hanson. I’ll tell you everything once this is done … I’m not leaving the phone.”
Richter settled his eye against the scope and felt his breathing calm. “It had to be a police officer who killed Richter. Who else would he have let into the house?” His thumb touched the safety lever, ensuring it was pulled back. “She’s the only police officer in that house.”
Chapter 67
Day 12
Narrow Street, Limehouse, London
10.34 p.m.
Upstairs Oxley had joined Paddy in Hanson’s office, which was pitch-black with the windows wide open onto the small balcony. Paddy was trying to spot Raske with large night-vision binoculars. Oxley was using the night scope on his rifle. They’d checked the panorama of Rotherhithe and found nothing.
Paddy had insisted they stay inside. Pip, Benedict and Wallace all had earpieces so he could talk to them if necessary.
Downstairs Tommy had joined the rest of the team and Benedict had explained what they knew about his involvement with the murders of the Horne gang and the drugs.
Tommy’s agitated state was growing as Benedict revealed more details. He looked at Benedict. “So, you worked out my alibi at the hotel was fake?”
Benedict nodded. “And we found the shotgun in your house.”
Tommy stood against the wall. “Billy Horne deserved it … and much worse.”
“Tommy, you need to sit and calm down,” Wallace said. “You just need to tell us what you know.”
He shook his head as he started pacing around the room, changing direction regularly. “What I do know is that these fucking people want me dead.”
Wallace got up from her seat. “Tommy, you just need to tell us exactly what you know and then we can arrange for you to be placed in witness protection.”
“Fuck that,” Tommy snapped. “I don’t want anything to do with the police. These guys are all over them. They’ve got informants everywhere,” he said, touching his shaved head and scratching it. “Why did I do this? Why?”
Wallace began trying to match his walking patterns and failing; she grabbed his arm. “Tommy stop; you just need to tell us. Who was it?” Her voice was stern.
Tommy halted and stared at her. “Do you think you’re gonna protect me?” He turned and walked up to the glass door and tried to pull it open.
Pip was sitting on the sofa and sniggered at his attempts to open the sliding door.
Benedict grabbed Tommy’s hand. “That’s not a good idea … stay inside here and just sit down. Try and relax.”
Tommy pushed his hand away. “Relax? Are you taking the piss?”
Benedict pointed at the helicopters flying around across the river. “Look outside, Tommy. There’s no way he can get to you here; there’s too many police.”
They all heard the glass door lock click and Tommy slid it open. “I need some air … I’ve been inside all day.”
Wallace jumped towards him and gripped his arm. “No way, you’re staying inside.”
Tommy pushed her away and walked outside. Benedict stood in the way and gestured to everyone else to stay inside as he followed Tommy. Wallace followed him. Tommy walked all the way out to the balustrade and looked across the river.
Benedict walked up behind him. “Tommy, come on; let’s go back inside.”
Tommy looked at Benedict. “Talk to me, Benedict. Come on, let’s talk. How did you get my clue to the meeting place so quickly?”
Benedict had seen the need for criminals to talk many times before. “I know London well. I’ve seen the good and bad in every corner. I try to remember the good, so places stick in my mind.”
Wallace moved beside him. “We shouldn’t do this out here, let’s go back inside?”
Hanson stood at the entrance near the sliding doors. He looked over at Pip who was still seated on the sofa. She shook her head. He turned back to the scene and took a step outside.
Paddy started to hear them leave the building as he kept looking through the binoculars and touched his earpiece, barking at all of them. “Get inside … right now!”
Wallace touched Tommy’s arm. “Come on, we must go inside.”
Paddy felt Oxley touch his leg. He looked down into the darkness and heard Oxley click the safety button off on the rifle.
Chapter 68
Day 12
Seacon Tower, Hutching’s Street, London
10.35 p.m.
Raske watched the heat based figures coming out on the decked area at the back of the house. One was facing towards him and he could see another one behind. It dawned on him that it was difficult to tell which person was which at this distance. “Do you have eyes on the house, Lomax?”
Lomax was standing on the other side of the river with a long lens camera, looking like a tourist. “Yes.”
“Who is the figure facing the river?”
Lomax tutted. “That’s Tommy, shoot him … now.”
Raske sucked in another breath and held it. He sensed his heartbeat dropping. “Not until you tell me.”
“Do you have sight of Hanson? He’s standing at the back beside the glass doors.”
Raske checked. “I can only see a shoulder. The wall is in the way.” There was movement; a third figure came into view. He saw breasts in the heated view. “That’s the policewoman isn’t it?”
Lomax sensed the sniper’s strife. “Yes.”
“Was it her?” he asked.
“Shoot Tommy and Hanson … do it. If you cannot see Hanson move … you need to do it.”
Raske let his focus move between each glowing figure. He hadn’t been thinking about his heart rate, which he realised was starting to race. I won’t get a head shot from this distance. At over eleven hundred metres he had to aim at the body, but if the bullet hit he knew a kill was likely. He thought back to the wild Iceland tundra where he would watch the reindeer and the thrill he had when targeting the does in the herd.
The im
age of Richter walking up to him, saying ‘thank you’ for keeping him safe in Afghanistan leaped to mind.
He let the cross hairs move to the left towards the female.
“Shoot Tommy and I’ll tell you … Richter’s murderer is standing there,” Lomax said.
Chapter 69
Day 12
Narrow Street, Limehouse, London
10.36 p.m.
Oxley’s hand went back to the rifle. “I just saw a flash of light. A reflection from the top of a building; I can’t be sure … it’s dark.”
Paddy closed his eyes briefly to try and correct his sight then stared through the binoculars. “Which one?”
“I saw something in the block on the left of the river; top flat. It looks like a diving board. The roof is sticking out,” Oxley whispered. “I make it just over one thousand metres.”
Paddy adjusted with the information. “I can’t make any detail out with these binoculars … but it’s further than that. It’s more like eleven hundred metres.”
“I’ll never hit him with this rifle at that distance,” Oxley stated, angry that he didn’t have the necessary tools.
Paddy stepped closer to the small balcony, which enabled him to hear the conversation below. “If it starts, think suppressive fire,” he said to Oxley. He looked down and his eyes seemed to gravitate towards Wallace. She even looks good from this angle.
“Tommy, come on let’s go back inside,” Benedict said. “You need to tell us what you know.”
Tommy imagined Johnnie’s laugh at one of his jokes. He smiled. “This is a nice house, Ray.”
Hanson took a step forward onto the decking. “Thanks Tommy.”
Tommy looked at Benedict. “It felt good blowing Rich Horne’s head off, watching Billy have the same feeling as me. For a moment he knew who killed his brother and couldn’t do a thing about it. That’s what I felt for fifteen years.”