by Conrad Jones
Guarding a briefcase in Liverpool was far less dangerous than transporting a high level politician through the extremist filled streets of Baghdad, plus the climate was less severe. Sweating buckets inside combats and body armour with sand in every crevice of his body was no fun. It didn’t take long for Ivor to offer him some highly paid work and once Gary realised that in comparison to working in the Near East, it was easy money, he was keen to take more. Now he was standing in his kitchen staring at a shipment of drugs waiting for a Latvian drug lord to call to arrange to pick up his merchandise. Things had become a little surreal. Part of him felt that he had slipped from hero to zero, crossed the line from light to dark. It was easy money but he felt both guilty and vulnerable nonetheless. He put it down to a fear of the unknown. This was unfamiliar territory. His mobile rang and he checked the screen. Unknown caller.
“Hello,” he answered abruptly.
“Is my merchandise safe?” Ivor asked forgoing any greeting.
“Yes. I’m looking at it.”
“What happened at the garage?”
“Nothing much,” Gary felt his skin tingle. There was an edge to Ivor’s voice. “We took the drugs, left everyone alive, just like you asked.”
“You haven’t listened to the news today?”
“No, I’ve been busy working for you,” Gary sighed. Ivor had a knack of beating around the bush. He tried to draw information from people by asking vague questions or telling half truths. “What’s the problem?”
“Two of my men are dead, the other is critical in hospital. That is the problem. You fucked this up.”
“What?” Gary asked incredulously. “We didn’t kill them!”
“You freed the mules. They killed them.”
“Shit,” Gary sighed. He ran his hand through his hair nervously. “I thought that they would break out and run for it to be honest. I didn’t see that coming.”
“No, you didn’t, did you?”
“I followed your instructions to the letter,” Gary countered. “Which means neither of us is psychic.” The line remained silent for a few seconds.
“Hmm, in hindsight I don’t suppose that you can be blamed for that,” Ivor said calmly. Internally, he was fuming but he needed all his assets onside. “As long as my shipment is safe, we can overlook any mistakes for now. I will be landing in the UK tomorrow morning.”
“Where are you flying to?”
“It is better for me that no one knows that,” Ivor chuckled. It would only take one phone call from a disgruntled rival or employee to INTERPOL and they would cover every flight into every UK airport. “No offence.”
“None taken.”
“Good,” Ivor agreed. “I will call and arrange the time for the pickup. Where is my merchandise?”
“It is better for me that no one knows that,” Gary said with a hint of sarcasm. “No offence.”
Ivor paused. The silence was brooding. “None taken. I’ll call you tomorrow when I’ve landed.”
“You do that,” Gary said hanging up. He tipped up the Stella and emptied the tin in two gulps. It would take several more of them to calm him enough that he could sleep.
Ivor put the phone down and looked out of the hotel window at the Albert Docks; the River Mersey looked like inky black silk and the streetlights reflected on it were bright yellow gems, twinkling at him from the darkness. The huge Liverpool Eye turned majestically, illuminated against the night sky. The bars and restaurants below them were buzzing. He caught a glimpse of Marika’s naked body in the mirror. She was as beautiful now as the day he had first seen her gyrating around a pole in Prague. Once she was ready, they would go and eat something. Liverpool was a lively city and they could do as they pleased. Life was good apart from the mess that his people had made. The UK was too small and too civilised to attract attention to his illegal activities. His brother and his associates had acted irresponsibly and completely against his wishes. They thought that he was still in Prague and that was his intention. Things had become complicated. There were too many loose ends that needed to be dealt with. He checked the GPS on his laptop and the satellite image zoomed down to map distance above the city. An arrow flashed red near the city centre. Ivor zoomed in closer. The briefcase full of zombie was located on a new housing estate less than five miles away.
CHAPTER 33
“It scares the crap out of me that three kilos of zombie are out there somewhere,” Miranda Snow said shaking her head. Her eyes were bloodshot from tiredness and tears, although they had been stemmed for now. A public display of grief would not be appreciated by anyone. There would be a time and a place for that. She kept her voice down as the tables around them were full of late night drinkers, albeit most of them were on the force. The Navigation was the nearest pub to Canning Place and if an investigation dragged on, it was frequented by police officers of all ranks and departments that called in to unwind on their way home. It was one of the few pubs in the city where the shoplifters didn’t go to show their wares. “We don’t know if the outfit that lifted it know what it is that they’ve stolen. What if they think it is coke? Can you imagine what would happen if it fell into the wrong hands?”
“It doesn’t bear thinking about,” Annie said finishing her red wine. “Here he is,” she said as she spotted Stirling walking through the door. She waved her empty glass and pointed to Miranda. Stirling rolled his eyes to the ceiling and headed for the bar. They had all worked over eighteen hours but sleep wouldn’t come easily. Despite arranging to be in early the next day, they all needed a drink. “I’m hoping that he’s got some good news.”
“We’re due some,” Miranda emptied her glass. She looked agitated and disinterested. Her eyes kept darting around the bar. Stirling arrived at the table and delivered another round; two large glasses of Merlot and a pint of cider. He put them down on the table and sat opposite Annie and next to Miranda.
“Thanks, Jim. What’s the latest?”
“Andris Markevica killed Dalton Sykes,” he said turning to Miranda. Her attention was brought back to the table. She sat bolt upright in her chair. “From the cameras on the bus, we got three clear images of him driving the Range Rover.”
“Have we found the vehicle?”
“Yes,” he nodded and slurped his cider. “Burnt out a few miles away from the scene. CSI are there now but don’t hold your breath, it is toast.”
“What about Jason Greene?” Annie asked.
“No sign of him at home and no sign of him in the vehicle.” Stirling waved at a colleague across the bar. “Interpol sent over a file on Andris Markevica and his associates. I’ve sent it onto your email addresses and shared it with the team.”
“Come on,” Annie prompted him. “Don’t drag it out.”
“Andris Markevica is a psycho. He’s linked to dozens of gangland murders in and around Riga. The thing is that the Latvian police are prone to lose evidence and witnesses seldom reach the courthouse. After years of watching him walk away from charges, they encouraged him to leave the country for a few years.”
“Encouraged him?” Annie frowned.
“He was an embarrassment to the system.”
“You had better leave Riga or...”
“If you read between the lines, it makes sense.”
“Sounds like we got the short straw,” Annie said. “It sounds like he thinks that he’s untouchable, which goes some of the way to explain how anyone would have the balls to break into Toni’s house and terrify her while we had officers outside. That still hasn’t sunk in. We have stumbled across a snake pit.” Annie rubbed her eyes with the back of her hands. The prosthetic was beginning to ache. “Of all the places he could have chosen to go, why pick here?”
“I don’t think he made any decisions himself, Guv. He’s told what to do by his brother,” Stirling said. He leaned closer and looked around the nearby tables. Everyone was wrapped up in their own conversations. “According to the Interpol report ‘Ivor’ is in charge and he calls the shots.”
“The Barrat woman said that she overheard that name being mentioned didn’t she?” Miranda said distractedly. She was going through the motions. Her mind was fixated on the loss of her colleague.
“Yes. I think Ivor told Andris where he would be going to work.” He stopped to read the information from the screen on his phone. “He is Ivor Markevica, older brother to Andris. His civilian files have been lost or removed. All that remains is a birth certificate. In effect, he doesn’t exist.” Stirling held up a finger and took a sip of his drink. “However, he does have what’s left of a military record. He joined the military from leaving school.” Stirling opened another email on his phone and read from it. “Most of his file has been redacted but we know he was Specialo Uzdevumu Vieniba,” he tried his best with the pronunciation, “Latvian Special Forces basically. He was reported as missing in action twenty years ago.” Miranda and Annie exchanged glances. Their dangerous suspects had just become considerably more dangerous. They were both well practised killers, one highly trained and the other born to it. “It gets worse,” Stirling grinned sourly. He’d read their concerns from their expressions. “Ivor Markevica is reportedly the head of an organised crime family known as, Tris. Apparently, Tris is Latvian for three. They sprung up during the soviet occupation following the war. Originally started by three brothers, they were rebels who ran contraband, drugs, alcohol you name it until the soviets left in ninety-one. Some of them wear tattoos; three skulls on a playing card or a 3 on a spade. Permission to wear the tattoo is not given lightly. It has to be earned.”
“Let me guess,” Miranda said, “they have to kill three people?”
“Minimum of three,” Stirling shrugged. “From the Interpol report, they say that ‘Three’ was also the name for the punishment for any soviet in occupation that killed a Latvian.”
“I don’t follow,” Miranda said.
“If the occupiers killed a Latvian or were responsible for their death indirectly, then they were kidnapped and made to watch two members of their family die before being killed themselves. It was a way of discouraging the occupying soldiers and policemen from being cruel.”
“I can see how that would work,” Annie grimaced.
“It did. Initially they treated the Latvians like animals; thousands were murdered every year but as word of Three spread and pictures of slaughtered policemen and their families were printed in the underground press, things improved dramatically. Three became notorious. According to Interpol, Ivor Markevica is the latest in a long line of leaders of Three.”
“I would imagine it’s a position that few retire from,” Annie sighed. “No pension scheme in a job like that one.” She sat back and sipped her wine. “So they have been established for decades. Brilliant.” Annie said sarcastically. She looked at their expressions. They showed the same level of concern that she felt. “They will have networks and contacts so far and wide across Europe that we couldn’t stop them if we had an army of detectives,” Annie said morosely.
“Some crime families are simply too deeply entrenched abroad for us to make more than a dent in their operations.” Miranda turned her glass in her hand. “We’re wasting our time thinking otherwise. What goes on here is the tip of the iceberg,” she added. “Do you know how many foreign crime families we have established in the UK now?”
“Lots,” Stirling grunted sarcastically. He had stopped counting years before.
“More than lots,” Miranda said with a sarcastic smile. “We’re fighting a losing battle.”
“We obviously can’t shut them down but we can bang up Andris if he is stupid enough to hang around. My worry is that we’re standing on the sidelines watching a gang war unfold. If Three are responsible for bringing in the zombie and the mules, then they’re going to be pretty pissed off that someone took it from them and that their men are dead, or as good as.”
“You’re right,” Miranda agreed. “I think that they’re trying to clean up their mess, find out who their leak is and find out who stole their drugs. We’re witnessing the fallout, picking up bodies and chasing shadows.”
“I agree but there’s another problem too. Where does the Karpov family come into this?” Annie raised her glass. “We watched one of their men being brought out of the Latvian’s property. They left him near the door so that he would be found and yet, we haven’t stumbled across an obvious connection between the Karpovs and what’s going on. The Russians are not going to let that go unpunished.”
“Are they involved in this though?” Miranda shrugged. “That could be something unrelated. The Karpovs aren’t short of enemies.”
“I hope you’re right,” Annie said. “This could get considerably worse very quickly if they step in.”
“Let’s hope not,” Miranda chipped in.
“If you ask me, they’re biding their time,” Stirling said. He emptied his glass and stood up. “It’s just a matter of time.”
“Wait a minute.” Annie opened her bag and searched for her purse. She handed him a twenty-pound note. “My round. Same again?” Miranda nodded and Stirling went to the bar. A sea of people parted as he lumbered through. He stopped to exchange the latest findings with several groups of detectives and uniformed officers alike. “Today has taken a toll on him,” Annie said quietly.
“It will take a toll on everyone, whether they knew him or not.” Miranda said bitterly. Annie could see her face darken with anger.
“Are you okay?”
“I don’t want to talk about it right now,” Miranda filled up. Her eyes glazed. The muscles in her jaw twitched. She changed the subject quickly. “I heard that Barrat gave up some photographs.”
“Yes, eventually.”
“Were they of any real use?”
“They are well connected. We ran them through facial recognition, turns out the rib pilot was an ex-sergeant in the river force.”
“Bloody hell,” Miranda was shocked but not surprised. She sipped her wine from an oversized glass. “No wonder they know the old canal systems so well.”
“They seem to have all the bases covered.”
“They do,” Miranda nodded. She looked uncomfortable; her eyes darted everywhere as if she wanted to be somewhere else. “We’ve got plenty to work on in the morning. Is that everything that you wanted to tell me?”
“It was not really anything that couldn’t have waited,” Annie shrugged. Her colleague looked thinner than usual. Her face had lost its colour and she looked gaunt. “I was gagging for a drink and thought you could probably use one too. I just thought that you might want some company.”
“That’s thoughtful of you,” Miranda smiled thinly. Annie sensed a patronising tone.
“Did you speak to Dalton’s family?”
“Yes.”
“How did it go? Or is that a stupid question?”
“Yes, it is a stupid question.” Miranda shook her head and looked around. She could feel her stomach tightening. Dalton Sykes had been her best detective for years. Beneath his frightening exterior beat a heart of gold; at least it had. They had become close friends with a deep mutual respect. There was a black hole in her world that was set to grow bigger as the realisation of his loss hit home. She spotted a group of her detectives at the end of the bar. They were raising shot glasses and toasting their fallen colleague. It was the third round that she had seen downed, not that she was counting. They were entitled to grieve. She wanted to grieve with them. She felt like standing with them and drinking shots until she was absolutely shitfaced. A glass of Merlot and a chat with Annie and Stirling just wasn’t cutting it. In fact, it was becoming irritating. She appreciated their concern but she needed to be with her team. “Listen,” she stood up and made her best effort to smile. “Thanks for the chat but I’m going to buy my team a few rounds. You understand don’t you?”
“Err...” Miranda was gone before Annie could answer her. “No problem,” Annie mumbled to no one. She waved goodbye meekly and felt both hurt and incredibly clumsy. She had invi
ted Miranda for two good reasons. The first was to catch up with Stirling’s news and the second was to offer a consoling shoulder to lean on. She wasn’t surprised that she had declined the latter. They were hardly best friends but she thought that they had a bond. Maybe she had assumed that they had a bond because they were successful females in a predominantly male profession. In reality the only thing that they had in common was the job and they didn’t agree on that very often. She watched Stirling chatting to a group of men at the bar. He towered over most of them. The conversation looked serious; their faces were stern but full of respect for the big sergeant. She wondered as the members of the shift drifted into groups. They mostly split into groups of the people that they worked with daily. Traffic cops stood with other traffic cops. Uniformed officers stood with other uniformed officers, detectives with detectives. Birds of a feather, she thought. Some of the groups were all male, some mixed. There were no groups entirely made up of females. She couldn’t decide if that was odd or not. Miranda had joined some of her team. Part of the group were leaving, making their excuses and saying their goodbyes. Throwing shots down one after another wasn’t everyone’s bag. The wise ones knew when to call it a day and leave. She watched Miranda lift and swallow, two shots in quick succession. There would be a painful price to pay in the morning.
Annie looked at her empty glass and decided that she needed to be away from these people. As much as she loved some of them and respected most of them, she had a sudden urge for her own company. Stirling was still engrossed at the bar as she slipped her bag over her shoulder and headed for the side entrance. The drinks were flowing and the volume was rising. Conversations were becoming more animated and more intense. Annie was almost invisible as she opened the side door and stepped out into the rain. Almost.