by Robert White
I leaned between the front seats and spoke into Tanya’s right ear. “Take the next slip road off and let’s see what they got.”
Tanya punched the pedal and the BMW did as it was told. She glided past two vehicles and the car hit two hundred kph before I blinked. We were the outside lane and a big Alfa saloon was blocking us. Tanya dropped the Beamer down to fourth, and undertook it. She was red-lining the rev-counter. I looked back and the big Audi was still in sight. He was a tail, no doubt.
“He’s still there, babes.”
The BMW was screaming. The slip road was coming up. One hundred metres and we were still in the outside lane of a five-lane highway. Tanya threw the car right and chopped anything in her path. I heard a horn blare and then saw a puff of tyre smoke. She almost made it, but clipped a small red saloon in the nearside lane with the boot of our car.
The BMW wiggled slightly but the German engineering had it right and the car straightened under Tanya’s deft touch. We were on the slip road okay but travelling much too fast. I saw stationary traffic looming. Tanya stood on the brake. The ABS automatically kicked in. It sounded like automatic gunfire. The whole car was shaking and I was flung forward against the seats. We were not going to stop in time, and I didn’t fancy a trip through the windscreen or bouncing around inside a rolling car with two loaded sub machineguns. I saw a gap.
“Go left, left, left!” I screamed and pointed. “There, now!”
The manoeuvre was tricky and we hit a kerb hard. The car lurched upward and the engine howled as we left the road completely, the rear wheels spinning free. As the wheels touched down and traction returned, Tanya fought for control. The car snaked wildly left and right, but she straightened in time. We now had to negotiate two fuck-off concrete supports. I decided the car would fit. Tanya’s rabbit’s foot was working overtime and some.
“Go between!” I shouted.
A split second later, courtesy of Tanya’s bottle and talent, we emerged into sedate traffic minus both wing mirrors and a section of rear end trim, not bad considering.
The Audi was gone, we were in the clear.
I rang Des’s mobile. He answered immediately. He and Susan had arrived at the hotel without drama. I warned him about the Audi and described the goons as best I could. Tanya parked the BMW. I took an incendiary canister from our case of goodies and slipped it under the front seat. Before it went off, we were in a taxi.
So, the Dutch boys knew we were in Holland. If that was as a result of their good intelligence, we had a leak. No one knew our travel arrangements other than the team. Or had they just been waiting and watching for us? Had we been sloppy at the airport? Obviously all roads eventually led to a security leak and Susan Davies. How she’d done it, with Des watching her like a hawk, was another matter.
Still, the first little problem had been overcome and I should have been in a good mood. Why was I not? Well, I left my new aftershaves in the fucking car, didn’t I?
Our adjoining suites at The Hotel Koch were comfortable and quite large by Dutch standards. I was not impressed with the décor, though. I think Joel Davies had a hand in the interior design.
Whoever had the idea to put two types of wallpaper, separated by a flowery border, on a solitary wall? Looking at it gave me a headache. Add to that, terrible furniture that was obviously designed by Sven Goran-Erikson and you get the picture.
We all sat together with a room service tray of tea and average sandwiches. After a shower and a change of clothes I felt a little better about my recent loss of duty-free goods. I was wearing a lightweight French Connection suit with an open neck cotton shirt and very comfortable new loafers by D&G.
Tanya was near naked; she had discovered a gym in the hotel and had been working out. I admired her new SPX trainers and the cut of her triceps.
Susan was singularly petulant and, according to Des, hadn’t spoken a word since leaving my flat. More importantly she hadn’t been out of his sight until they were in the hotel. Des was adamant she couldn’t have been in touch with the Dutch. So she had to have tipped the wink before we left.
She too had changed and now sported a pair of khakis by Donna Karen. Her still unfettered breasts were covered by a tailored shirt by Abercrombie and Fitch.
Des looked like an advert for the Grattan catalogue.
I’d called a briefing.
“Okay, we haven’t much time. Somehow the Dutch already know we are here and it won’t take long for them to find us again. This is a small city. Des has done a quick assessment of the target premises and the Dutch team haven’t moved the Landmark. It’s still in the same position we expected it to be. We must assume that the product has been removed from the vessel. In all probability it was never loaded or already sold. All we can do is keep observations on the target premises and hope one of our players turn up. Let’s concentrate on recovering the boat and/or one of the players. As soon as we know more, I’ll make a decision about the timing of our entry to the premises. If they decide to move the Landmark before we are ready, we’ll follow and do a hard stop.”
A hard stop was the last thing you would wish for. It was a method of containing a moving vehicle and neutralising the occupants. A specialist team from the Regiment would plan and train for a hard stop for several days prior to executing it as it was such a difficult and dangerous task to complete. Normally three cars with four team members in each would practice stopping the target vehicle over and over, normally on the runway at Hereford. Every possible scenario would be tested. The timing, the place and the occupants would all be known in advance. If the Landmark was moved before we were ready, we were in the shit. We were only four, and had no way of training for, or planning the stop, and no intelligence as to how many faces would be inside the vehicle towing the boat.
Susan looked up, her hair back to a lovely auburn, minus the gel. “What do you want me to do?” she asked.
Des was in first, his voice sharp and to the point. “You, my lovely, don’t need to do a fuckin’ thing for now. The sole reason you’re here is to ID the boss man, what’s his name? Stern? Consequently you are a necessity, sweetie.”
I could see Des really didn’t care for Susan. He was a good Catholic boy and hated women who slept around, especially for wealth.
She leaned back in her chair and covered her face with her hands and exhaled. She seemed deep in thought for a moment and then straightened her pose, palms showing.
“Look, I can’t do this. I’m not going to do this! I told Joel before he dreamed up this pathetic trip, I couldn’t identify David Stern. You have no idea how powerful this guy is. I would never be safe again even if he thought I’d considered betraying him. Just by being here with you probably means I’m already dead. I’m an administrator, a pen pusher, you know? I help to grease the wheels on the machine. I’m not a killer or a gangster. I can’t fire a gun or use a knife and I don’t fucking want to.”
This was Susan number three we were seeing. This was the vulnerable female. The innocent girl caught up in a situation that was out of control.
The cracks were barely visible. She was good, I’d give her that, but I was unimpressed and I felt the need to point out some facts.
“Aren’t you the wife of Joel Davies? The most notorious cocaine baron outside London, a man who has risen from nowhere to become one of the most feared mobsters in Europe? Just three months after you split with your anonymous Dutch dope grower, you marry Joel in England and, as we all know, two years down the line, you now broker multi-million pound cocaine deals. Not only that, but you single-handedly put him together with public enemy number one, the most infamous and evil gangster outside Russia, David Edgar Stern. The last two deals must have increased the nose candy levels of Manchester threefold. I’d say you’re some piece of work, love, so don’t play the innocent eh?”
She almost spat at me, “I set up the deals for Joel because he asked me to, because I love him. He knew about me and where I came from. He didn’t give a shit about my past, w
ho I knew or whatever. It was business, just business. He asked me to do it, so I did, simple.”
Des poked in.
“Funny you just happened to attract two cocaine dealers eh? Still I suppose it’s like birds who serial shag footballers.”
She shot Des a glance but ignored the comment.
“As soon as Joel found out I’d met David Stern, he wanted me to arrange a meeting with him. Stern never meets face to face with his buyers. At first Joel took his refusal to meet as an insult, a lack of respect. But money talks with Joel and once I brokered the first deal, he forgot all about any petty one-upmanship. He just counted the cash.”
Tanya stretched her hamstrings and joined the fray.
“When did you last see this Stern guy, then?”
Susan shook her head. “Months, not since before the last deal was done. I was flown to Columbia. He was there for a few hours. He’s harder to find than Osama Bin Laden. This latest deal has been done without any involvement from David. All negotiations have been done through the couriers. I’ve spoken to him by phone once more this year, that’s it.”
Susan looked genuinely uncomfortable.
“I’ll tell you, as soon as I heard the news that the Landmark had been stolen, my blood ran cold. I was really scared, and so should you be. If you think I am going to identify Stern, point the finger, you and my husband have made a big mistake.”
She picked up her bag, rooted nervously for cigarettes, and continued. I couldn’t be sure if the nerves were real but the information was interesting.
“Compared to David Stern, Joel is small time. He could buy and sell him twenty times over. Joel has no idea what he’s messing with. Stern probably just got tired of Joel’s constant bartering and decided to teach him a lesson. He does it with everyone once in a while. Joel should just accept it. I tried to tell him but…”
Tanya stood upright. “I think this Stern guy decided he wanted you to help him fleece your new hubby and you were only too pleased to help. How much was your cut, sweetie? Come on, less of this fuckery, you are in this man Stern’s pocket.”
Tanya looked at me, her Jamaican accent cutting through. “You crazy to trust this one Stephen she’s a bladclat.”
Susan went to light up. She shrugged her shoulders and I caught a glimpse of the real woman, cold, hard, eyes like glass. He lips grew thin and the edge returned to her voice.
“I don’t care what you think, any of you. I know I want to stay alive though. And there’s no way I’m going to identify David Stern, so why don’t you go sightseeing or something, see Amsterdam before you die.”
I walked over and snatched the cigarettes from her hand. She had just quit.
“This is a no smoking room, and you will do as I fucking tell you. We are here to do a job, earn our cash, and go home in one piece. To me, Stern is just another contract.”
She was about to speak but I pressed my index finger lightly onto that gorgeous mouth. I felt her lips turn upward in a smile and then fall as she saw my expression of loathing. The mere touch of her mouth against my finger made my stomach tighten. I removed it a little too quickly.
“Now, tell me this, how did Stern know we were in Amsterdam?”
She displayed flat calm and shrugged again. “It wouldn’t surprise me if Joel’s house is bugged. David is a very careful individual. Like I said, I think you should take in the sights and then run as far away from this as you can.”
I recovered my composure and my personal space. I felt anger rise in my throat. My words fell from my mouth in measured but furious tones.
“I’ll tell you this. Stern made a mistake when he upset Joel Davies. It could well be his last. Not because of Joel, but because of me. Just ensure you don’t make the same one or you’ll join him on a slab.”
She looked at the floor to hide a smirk, and then addressed the whole room. Her tone was so sarcastic I was ready to physically restrain Tanya.
“I’ll tell you this, ladies and gentleman. Your chances of ever finding Stern are zero. Getting close enough to kill him will be impossible. He has property and people all over the world. Joel’s little show of force will be a minor annoyance to him, and you,” she pointed a long finger inches from my nose, “he would eat you for breakfast.”
I was never one for unnecessary violence, but I could feel the time fast approaching.
“What you know, or think you know, isn’t important. You set up this crooked transaction. You were the one who smoothed the waters. It was you who took the money to Stern’s goons on every deal. How did you contact him? How did you persuade him to deal with a psycho like Joel in the first place? I just wonder which fucking drama school you went to.”
Susan sat in petulant silence. The two-faced bitch had a point, even if it wasn’t put in a way that would endear her to the group. David Edgar Stern was a serious player in a serious game. I had only ever heard his name mentioned in the highest circles of criminality. Other than Susan Davies, I had never actually met anyone who had seen him. Even the Dutch police were without a photograph. He was a legend without a face.
Our task was to persuade Stern to show himself, draw him out into the open, and the only way to do that was to embarrass the man, steal what he considered to be his. I also had a feeling, that while we had Susan Davies, we had David Edgar Stern’s full attention. She was my bait. I felt sure that no matter what happened he would seek her out. When he did, we would find him. Then we would kill him.
Des was busy planning the next stage of the operation and I spent a long time on my mobile phone to some old contacts.
Tanya took Susan off to find us transport and some less conspicuous lodgings. The hotel was fine for the night, but too many people see you in a hotel. They were going off to the south side of the city posing as two gay women in search of a quiet rented house.
Tanya had no problem with her role. The dusky maiden had a wicked look in her eye as she took Susan by the hand and led her to a taxi. I had the feeling she would give our guest a hard time for an hour or two.
Susan looked slightly pale and drawn and hadn’t changed since the afternoon. The realisation of her situation appeared to weigh heavy. For the first time she’d seemed defeated. Whether the emotion was real or faked, I honestly had no way of knowing.
The girls gone, Des set about preparing his kit for his observations. We had the exact location of the Landmark on two hand-held GPS units. Des had already been out, surveyed the location displayed on the tracking system, and as expected the big boat was exactly where it was supposed to be.
Believe it or not the fact that the boat was there concerned me, I wasn’t quite sure why.
Des had chosen his spot for the main observation and had taken a few quick photographs. I’d downloaded them and was studying the screen on my laptop. The digital pictures were excellent.
Des pulled on his kit.
“I’m off then,” he said.
I nodded. “Keep your head down, mate.”
Des hesitated. It was something I’d never seen him do. It sent a signal to my brain that I didn’t like. First I’d had Tanya and her mojo working at the airport. Now I had Des, pussyfooting about on my carpet.
“What is it, Des?”
He shook his head and his accent took me back to our first meeting.
Before we had both married our women. Before we had both killed a man.
His words stuck in his throat so much that he spat them machine-gun fast.
“Susan Davies is all wrong, Rick. You know it and I know it.”
“I know that, Des.”
He still shuffled.
“Yeah, but I’ve seen that look on your face. Why has this job got so much importance to you, Rick? This is a big fucking risk man. You know I’m with you all the way, but fuck, this one is, is… ”
He trailed off. I stood and faced him.
“Never mind about Susan, she’s nothing I can’t handle. Get me the pictures I need, pal. Let’s make some money.”
De
s nodded and left without another word. That was Des’s way of telling me we were in the shit. It wasn’t the first time, and he was usually right.
Des Cogan's Story:
The Amsterdam night had turned bitterly cold. I turned my collar against it and strode on. I walked via typical Amsterdam bridges. Their wrought iron rails silhouetted by the moon, cast dark shadows on the murky water. I evaded tall brusque cyclists hurrying home for their evening meals. Well-heeled men in long overcoats and women, power dressed, pedalling rather than driving home. Clumps of tourists blocked my path as they studied maps or gawked at the architecture. It was going to be a long night.
I put all worries about Rick and Susan to the back of my mind and, as ever, got on with it.
I gained access to the thirteen-storey block of flats overlooking the scene by simply pressing all the intercom buttons until a lazy resident let me in. Then I climbed the fire escape to the roof. I was carrying a fair amount of gear, and by the time I reached my spot I was breathing hard. I made a mental note to get some more exercise when this job was over.
I set up my kit. A digital camera with a night-vision telescopic lens gave me a perfect view. I could see the Landmark was on a trailer, inside a large container storage depot. There was a great deal of activity. Heavy vehicles were delivering and collecting their loads in a constant stream. Cranes and heavy lifting gear moved containers from one part of the yard to another. There were dozens of employees. If this was one of Stern’s legitimate businesses, it was an ideal cover, hard to identify anyone and loads of space to hide. It would be ideal for any smuggling operation. It was situated some fifteen kilometres out of the city and was surrounded by a twelve-foot wall, a fortress in its own right. There was a security office on the gate, and one small Portakabin structure was visible from my position. Inside the yard, just nestling next to that very cabin, was the Landmark. I had the whole spot covered. I started snapping away.
My home, come rain or shine, was that roof. I was in permanent contact with Rick at the hotel and continually took digital pictures of all the staff entering or leaving via the gatehouse. Anyone showing an interest in the boat would get special attention. I could instantly download the shots onto a palm-size PC and send them directly to Rick by mobile phone. The chance of any of Stern’s crew monitoring these cyber transactions was unlikely. All Rick had to do was sit in the warm and compare my shots to the pictures Joel gave him of the Dutch players. If we could get a match, Bob would be your father’s brother. Well, that was the theory. It was a place to start. To be fair, I kind of preferred being on the roof, rather than in the hotel.