Jaws of the Tiger

by Andre Baby

  “His body?”

  “He was badly beaten up, almost unrecognizable. They fractured his skull. The police officers found a business card in his coat pocket. I’m having the coroner confirm his identity.”

  “Jesus! Binagro, Bolding, Messier, now Mills. They’re falling like flies. Any witnesses?”

  “According to the officers who checked in the vicinity of the crime scene, Mills was last seen leaving Hingham’s Pub at around 12.15 last night. The bartender said Mills was pretty drunk.”

  “An easy mark. That’s all we need. With Mills dead, Singh is our only suspect.”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve doubled the guard on him 24/7.”

  “See you at the morgue.”

  * * *

  Twenty minutes later, Dulac stared down the remains of Allister Mills, his face disfigured by a bloodied, broken nose and swollen eyelids.

  “His skull was fractured in three places,” said Wade. “The coroner said the imprint on the nose and skull matches a flat object, possibly a cricket bat. He said he’ll know more when the skin is checked for traces of the murder weapon.”

  “Any signs of a struggle?” said Dulac.

  “None. He was probably hit from behind first, then they bashed his face in for good measure. They also stole the money from Mills’s wallet and left the wallet and credit cards next to the body.”

  “An obvious ploy.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “Our key suspect gets himself murdered just before he’s about to go to trial. You call that a coincidence?”

  “I suppose not.” Wade sighed. “So I’m back to square one.”

  “You’re back to square one? You mean we—”

  Wade looked embarrassed. “Dulac, I don’t know quite how to put this, and believe me I had nothing to do with it, but I... I have strict instructions to escort you personally to the five pm. Lufthansa plane to Lyon.”

  “Really? Who made the reservation?”

  “We did. I had no choice. You’re officially persona non grata.”

  “Let me guess. Hays.”

  “Is it relevant?”

  “It is to me.”

  Wade’s expression hardened. “Sorry. My hands are tied.”

  “So that’s it?”

  Wade nodded.

  Dulac’s frustration fought with relief. This was the end of the road. There was nothing more he could do. He’d run out of options. He was out. He breathed a sigh of disappointment.“Well inspector, I can’t say it was pleasure. Anyways, good luck.”

  Dulac didn’t bother shaking Wade’s proffered hand. He turned and walked out.

  * * *

  During his cab ride back to the hotel, hundreds of questions rushed to the fore of his brain. Who had ordered his departure? Wade on Hay’s orders? Had Wade collapsed under pressure to save his own neck? He probably didn’t have enough to go on to investigate Hays. Was Arlberg folding under political pressure? She’d given him twenty-four hours. Had she decided to shorten his stay and called Wade’s boss?

  So many loose ends, and Wade isn’t going to tie them up all by himself. But I can’t do anything about it.

  Dulac exited the cab, went to the front desk and checked with the clerk. “Any messages for room 367?”

  “No, sir. No messages.”

  He looked at his watch. 12.10 pm. He hadn’t eaten yet. A good meal might help digest all of this and ease his brutal, precipitous removal from the case. Dulac started walking towards the dining room. Suddenly he became aware of someone following slightly behind him. Dulac half- turned and saw a short man in the process of donning a tweed sports jacket. The man was matching his pace.

  “Don’t turn around. Just keep walking.” The voice was firm, but not threatening.

  “You’re being followed by two men in the lobby.”

  “Who the hell are you?” said Dulac.

  “The Director sends her regards. Meet me in the men’s room in 15 minutes.”

  The man walked away, leaving Dulac perplexed, curious and cautious as he made his way towards the entrance of the dining room.

  “For one, sir?” The maître d’ cocked his head obsequiously to one side.

  “Yes.” Dulac followed him to a table at the far end of the dining room.

  “Your waiter will be with you shortly.”

  Dulac nodded. Moments later, the waiter handed Dulac a menu, from which he ordered a steak, medium rare, and a glass of house red. While he waited, Dulac scrutinized the patrons of the dining room. Apart from two Chinese men in black business suits, the others were dressed casually, probably tourists. The man who had approached him was nowhere in sight. Dulac leaned nonchalantly towards the table. With his right hand, he reached down, under the tablecloth, raised his right pant leg slightly and unstrapped the holster of his Benelli .38 Parabellum. He stood and walked across the room to the maître d’.

  “Where is the men’s room?”

  “To the right of the elevators.” The maître d’ pointed towards the lobby.

  Dulac walked past the elevators to the men’s room and stopped. He looked around, assuring himself he was alone. He reached down, took the Benelli from its holster, removed the safety catch and put the snub-nosed pistol in his jacket pocket. With his other hand, Dulac opened the men’s room door. The place was empty, except for the man with the tweed sports jacket standing at one of the urinals. He looked at Dulac and nodded. Throwing a quick glance at the bottoms of the toilet stalls, Dulac walked over to the adjacent urinal.

  “Already checked. There’s no one.” The man reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small, square envelope. “Sam Nunn. NSA.” He handed Dulac a transparent plastic envelope containing a USB flash drive. “With Director Lombardi’s compliments.”

  “Thanks. Who are the guys following me?”

  “No idea.”

  “Are you sure they didn’t see you approach me in the lobby?”

  “Pretty sure but watch your ass.” The man turned, walked briskly towards the door and out of the men’s room.

  Dulac put the envelope inside his jacket pocket and returned to his table. His steak was on the plate, getting cold. He ate quickly, gulped down his wine and gestured to the waiter for the bill.

  Back at his hotel room, Dulac took the envelope from his pocket, removed the USB flash drive and put it on the small desk beside his bed. He took off his jacket, sat down and opened his laptop.

  Dulac froze.

  The blue backdrop was adorned with the picture of a white skull. Underneath, an inscription read YOU’RE NEXT.

  Dulac took the Benelli from his pocket. He stood, gun held at the ready, and walked carefully to the bedroom. Clear. He opened the bathroom door. No one. He walked over to the front door, turned the lock, flipped the safety catch into place. Feeling perspiration form on his forehead and upper lip, he walked back to the window and peered carefully outside onto the street. Below, a few pedestrians were hurrying to get out of the downpour.

  He went back to his desk and deposited the Benelli next to the computer. He inserted the USB stick into his computer and started reading: The text transcripts of various telephone conversations had been sorted out by date.

  1-Date———. Encrypted Unregistered Phone serial no.—— (EUP) and phone——, owner Sarah Bowen, call girl working out of El Paso Bar.

  Male voice (MV): Hello sweets. Are you free this afternoon?

  Female voice (FV): Hello Terry Darling .I’ve got a busy schedule this afternoon. Can you make it tonight?

  MV: Impossible. Pamela is giving some stupid dinner party for the head of the local Children’s Aid society. Got to attend.

  FV: Let’s see. I guess I could squeeze you in between 3 and 4 this afternoon. (Giggling sound)

  MV: I’d love that. See you then sweets.

  End of call.

  Dulac read through the next four pages. Hays’s dalliances with Bowen were getting more explicit, kinkier. He scanned through the pages quickly.

  9- Date—-. Tran
script of call between encrypted unregistered phone ( EUP) and no.——- phone belonging to P& W lines, Southampton.

  MV one: Hello Gillian, can you pass me Sir Adrian?

  FV: Yes, Sir Terence. Just a moment.

  Pause.

  MV two: Hello Terry.

  MV one: Adrian I’m calling you about Mirolet. Since you weren’t at the board meeting last night, I’m letting you know we decided to short P& W’s shares.

  MV two:Really?

  MV one: We see no upside; only downside for the moment at least. We can make a killing if they seize your ships and…

  MV two: I know it looks bad, but I have a plan. I saw Toombs yesterday and he thinks we can sue the hell out of the Americans. They’ve destroyed P & W with their damn Bezorban. In the meantime I’ve secured a bridge loan and—

  MV one: Adrian, I wouldn’t do that if I were you.

  MV two: Oh, and why not?

  MV one: Adrian, the decision was unanimous. The only way to make money is to cover the short. You have no guarantee that you won’t go under before the Americans come to the table. Time is on their side. They’ll string you along until you cave in. Trust me Adrian. Forget the lawsuit.

  MV two: Like hell I will. I’ll do everything I can to save my company. I have 2000 employees and their families who depend on the survival of P & W. They’ve supported me all these years and if I have to go down—

  MV two: Adrian, don’t do it.

  Call interrupted and ended.

  Dulac kept reading, scanning through reams of conversations between various members of cabinet, the Prime Minister and Hays. It was bewildering. The NSA was eavesdropping on all of the British Ministers’ conversations with total impunity. Suddenly, a paragraph caught his attention. It had been highlighted and underlined.

  34 ) Date—— call between EUP and Tariq Assirgan, Nepiltan, Pakistan

  MV One: Salaam Aleikum. All is Ok. They have agreed to form Mirolet. It will be a subsidiary of Miramar. With what I know about Miramar and the moneys transferred to it by the ministers, there is no risk. The Government will pay us when we hijack the ship.”

  MV two: Good. That is very good. Aleikum Salaam, Zabin.”

  Call ended

  37 ) Date— , call between EUP and Tariq Assirgan, Turbat, Pakistan.

  MV one: Salaam aleikum Tariq. “

  MV two: Aleikum Salaam.

  MV two:Singh has hired the last of the security officers.”

  MVone: Any problems ?

  MV two: None. Mills is in. For his share in Mirolet, Mills agrees to turn a blind eye.

  MV one: What about the equipment?

  MVtwo: Saquil says it’s on board.

  MVone: Good. We must move fast. Mills says the company is in trouble. If it goes under, they’ll seize the ships.”

  MV two: I’ll contact the others.

  Call ended

  38 ) Date ——-, Call between EUP and ———- Tariq Assirgan Nepiltan, Pakistan

  MV one: Salaam Aleikum. What’s happening?

  MV 2: Aleikum salaam, Tariq. All the Mirolet shares have been issued, including yours and Sing’s. The packages are being sent today.”

  MV one: Good.

  Call ended

  Dulac perused the remaining transcripts. The last one caught his attention. It was dated 3 days ago.

  56 ) Date——-, call between EUP and another UP.

  MV 1: The problem is getting worse. He’s onto Mirolet and he’s trying to go upstream. If he finds out about Miramar—

  MV2: He won’t get far. The Swiss will block any attempt to—

  MV1: You’re not listening. With Singh’s confession and now Mills, he—

  MV2: If you hadn’t botched the job in Lyon, there wouldn’t be a problem, would there?

  MV1: He got lucky. This time, we won’t miss.

  Call ended.

  Jesus. They’re playing for keeps. Just as I thought, someone else must be using Hays’s phone. Are they in this together? I’ve got to call Gina. He picked up the phone and punched in her encrypted number.

  “Gina Marino.”

  “It’s me.”

  “Yes Mr. Dulac.”

  “Are you sure that unregistered phone belongs to Sir Terence Hays?”

  “Absolutely. We checked with the French Sûreté. They confirmed it. Why do you ask?”

  “Apart from Hays, someone else has been using that phone. Someone named Zabin. He’s involved in the hijacking.”

  “We can’t trace that without the original recording,” said Gina.

  “I have a strong inkling that same person hacked into my computer. He may have had access to data. That person wants me dead. Can you track this hacker?”

  “We can try. In the meantime, don’t use your computer until we’ve scrubbed it clean from here. I’ll phone you when it’s safe.”

  “Great. I’m—”

  Dulac heard the distinctive ping of another call coming in. He looked at the number. Arlberg. Not now. “Gotta go, Gina.”

  Dulac had just clicked his cell phone shut when the hotel room telephone rang. Surely it was Arlberg again. He let it ring until it stopped. She probably had gotten wind of his request for transcripts. He remembered what she’d said. “This is bigger than both of us.” What did she mean? What was she not telling him? His doubts about her willingness to pursue the investigation were becoming more concrete by the moment. For the second time in less than a day, he thought the unthinkable. Is she in on it?

  He picked up the hotel phone and listened to Arlberg’s message “Arlberg. Call me back.”

  He went to the minibar, grabbed a Perrier, then returned to the desk and sat down.

  Dulac thought hard. There was only one person he could talk to about the transcripts and the use of Hay’s encrypted phone. One person who was on the outside looking in. One person who could follow up after Dulac left England. He dialed Wade’s number.

  “Wade.”

  “Dulac. Can we meet at the bar of the hotel, say in half an hour?”

  “Aren’t you on your way to the airport?”

  “Christ. It’s only 1.30. Are you in that much of a hurry to get rid of me?”

  “Well, no, but—”

  “It’s in your best interest, Wade.”

  “What about?”

  “As you told me recently, I guarantee it’ll be worth your while.”

  Chapter 68

  Dulac took the Benelli from the desk and slid it back into his leg holster. He walked to the window and peered outside. The rain had stopped. He took out the USB stick from his computer, slipped it back into the envelope and tucked it into the breast pocket of his jacket. Grabbing his passkey, he exited the room, walked down the corridor and turned right towards the elevators.

  * * *

  Dulac saw the man’s swinging arm and cricket bat just before it connected with his head. For a millisecond, the lights on the wall danced crazily as he felt his knees buckle. Then everything went black.

  * * *

  The jolt of something hard against his left shoulder made him come to. He didn’t know how long he’d been out. His head was throbbing and it was dark. His knees were tucked up against his chest and the air was stale. He heard the rumble of a motor. Another jolt and he hit the side of his head. The pain seared through his skull, and he felt his body being tossed from side to side. I’m in the trunk of a car.

  Dulac reached over to his left leg. The holster was empty. He braced himself with his arms so as to avoid hitting his head against the lid of the trunk. He needed air. He felt for the safety latch, and felt a wire attached to it. He pulled the wire and nothing happened. The car swung to the left and he was compressed onto the right side of the trunk. Think, Dulac! They must want me alive, or they’d have killed me already. He tried to concentrate on breathing as little as possible, taking short breaths.

  After what felt like an eternity, the car slowed and came to a stop. Dulac heard doors open and two men’s voices. The trunk opened. A man wearing a kha
ki vest pointed a pistol at Dulac’s face.

  “Get out.” The man motioned with his pistol.

  Squinting in the sunlight, Dulac pulled himself over the lid of the trunk and swung his numb legs onto the ground. Another man, tall and wiry, a scraggly beard adorning his gaunt face, grabbed Dulac’s left arm and the three of them started towards what looked like a large hangar. To the left, Dulac could see containers, stacked in high rows.

  We’re at the London docks. As they approached the hangar, the bearded man let go of Dulac’s arm, opened the metal door and the three of them entered.

  Rays of sunlight were streaking in from windows high up near the roof and lighting the inside of the hangar, half-full of crated cardboard boxes of varying sizes, stacked in sections. The gunman pointed his pistol to an area at the far end of the hangar. “Over there.” He closed the door behind him.

  The bearded man grabbed Dulac’s arm again and the threesome walked over to the far side of the hangar, where pieces of wood, coils of metal strapping and flattened cardboard boxes lay haphazardly about. To the right, next to a workbench was a wooden chair.

  The gunman shoved Dulac down onto the chair, while the bearded man picked up a roll of grey duct tape from the workbench. He taped Dulac’s wrists to the back of the chair.

  “Couldn’t keep your nose out of our business, could you?” The gunman stood over Dulac and waved his pistol.

  “What business would that be? Hijacking, extortion and murder?”

  The gunman drew his arm back and swung at Dulac’s face. The blow sent Dulac reeling, the chair almost tipping over backwards.

  “Can’t say we didn’t warn you.”

  “Just like you warned Bolding, Messier and Mills, I guess.”

  The man pistol-whipped Dulac across the face again. “A bit of respect, Inspector Dulac. You’ve been nothing but a source of grief from day one of this operation. You’ve gotten the wrong people really pissed off. Especially when you went digging into Mirolet, and now Miramar.”