by J. A. Gill
'You know what, Monica? I said brightly. 'This calls for a celebration. You're getting a divorce, a year from now you won't care about what the bloody grounds for it were.' I got to my feet and began to sing and did one of my crazy Irish jigs on the spot. Alice and Faith hearing the singing came running into the room and when they saw me dancing they grabbed hold of me and I danced them round the kitchen. I grabbed Monica and Mum by the hand and pulled them up onto their feet and we went a bit crazy for a while with dancing and laughing and singing round the kitchen. Alice and Faith squealed with delight and the whole atmosphere quickly turned into a celebration. Dad appeared from wherever he'd been hiding and watched on in amusement.
'Whose hungry?' I said. 'Time for a celebratory meal. Who wants to eat out?'
'Me, me, me!' Alice and Faith ran to the front door to put on their shoes and Mum went to help them.
I took Monica to one side and hugged her and kissed her on the forehead. 'Thank you, James' she said softly. 'You don't deserve this. The last thing you need is me adding my problems to your life. If I had known...'
'Together, we'll get past this. We've been through worse over the last couple of years. You and I make a good team. Let's just take each day as it comes. Together we'll get our lives back on track. All that happened today was we got knocked sideways, so we work to get back on track and one way to do that is with pepperoni pizza and a good bottle of red wine.'
Fifty-Seven
Orel sat on his bed reading. Beside him sat the case. He glanced at it from time to time. It had been several years since he'd been asked to open it. It called to him occasionally but he'd ignored it. He'd hoped those days were behind. Perhaps after his next job he could retire for good. Orel poured another single malt, sipped it and continued to read for a while. The Old Man And The Sea, his favourite Hemmingway. After a time, he put down the book and carried the case to a small white coffee table where he sat for a moment and stared at the case. Finally, he opened the case.
Seeing the gun in its foam surround he first felt a flicker of excitement and then sadness and finally grief. He knew he would do what needed to be done and he would do it with ease. Without a second thought. That was what filled him with sadness. Then when he saw what he had done, again, he would be filled with grief. Not grief for the dead but grief that he become again the man he thought he'd left behind. The man who could so easily take a life. Orel closed the case. He sat on the bed again and drank the whisky remains in his glass. He looked at his books on the shelf beside the window. He knew he could have been a better man. The older he got the more he resented his life and the choices he'd made. No matter how hard he tried he somehow seemed unable to shake off who he had become and escape his past.
Reluctantly, Orel returned to the chair and opened the case once more. This time he took the gun out and began cleaning it and checking it. He couldn't bring himself to look at his books as he cleaned the gun. Dickens, Steinbeck, Hemmingway, Twain, Faulkner, Fitzgerald and Shakespeare all stared down at him. This would be the last time, he would make sure of it. He loved Papa and so he had to leave. To find peace he would need to disappear. It would be easy to suggest to Papa it was a good idea to leave after this and to lay low somewhere for a while. He knew how to, he'd done it before. It would then just be a case of not returning. He hoped in time Papa would understand.
Fifty-Eight
The helicopter touched down at Bournemouth airport. The Flying Squad had received a tip that a man by the name of Shaun Foster had arrived in the UK and they really wanted to grab this man while he was here.
I was met at the airport by Flying Squad officer Matt Osborne. Osborne looked more like the walking embodiment of a surf dude than a Scotland Yard Flying Squad detective. Tanned skin, shoulder length sun bleached hair, piercing blue eyes, loud open neck short sleeve shirt, cargo shorts and flip flops. Osborne was excited and chatty as we raced from the airport to the reconnaissance location. He thrust a file in my hand. 'I've been tracking Foster for nine years on and off.'
I began reading the file as Osborne gave me a potted history. 'Shaun Peter Foster is wanted in at least five countries for offences ranging from tax evasion to murder. Foster is a man for hire and though he dabbles in arms dealing and contract killing his true expertise is the movement of goods. He has a reputation for being able to move anything; if it's illegal to move it and you have the money he'll make it happen.'
'How do you know this is your man? It says here he uses disguises and false identities.'
Osborne stared at me like I was the worst kind of idiot. 'Intelligence,' spat Osborne. Osborne was on edge and under pressure. My guess was he'd been undercover a long time and was finally hoping for some pay off. Under normal circumstances he was probably a pretty decent man but today he was like a pressure cooker. 'In your arena you're some sort of success, I get that, I respect that. Right now, you're in my back garden. I don't want you here but I was over-ruled which is fine, it happens. You obviously have friends up top and your own agenda. Just don't get in my way and don't screw this up for me or my team, if you understand that we'll be firm friends. Right now, we have zero time before Foster vanishes again I don't want to be baby sitting some paint by numbers homicide detective but we're going to make the best of it. Keep your mouth shut, your eyes open and don't get yourself killed - I hate the paperwork.'
'I won't get in your way. I'm here only because Foster is meeting Vlad Kastrati.' I said.
'Right,' said Osborne. 'I read your case reports, as I like to know who I'm working with. I'm sorry about your murdered friend. And your girlfriend - she okay?'
'She's good, thanks. Still shaken but getting better.'
After thirty minutes or so we pulled up outside a small bungalow in a quiet suburb. Inside was hot, stuffy and a hive of activity. Tables had been pulled together and maps and paperwork and photos were laid out. A female officer was sat in the hallway talking on her phone, she looked up momentarily, nodded, and carried on talking. Two men were preparing to leave and were putting on Kevlar vests and checking weapons. I automatically placed a hand on my own brand new Glock.
'Listen up,' said Osborne to the room. 'This is DCI James Hardy, some of you may know him, most of you will have heard about him or read about him. If you don't know him, then all you need to know is, he's one our very own Scotland Yard homicide detectives. Extend to him our kind of professional courtesy.'
A joker in the hallway called out: 'I hear you're tight with the Albanians. Any chance of a loan? I'm a bit short this month.'
Everyone laughed and the joker and another officer high fived. Osborne patted me on the back. 'I guess news travels fast, and bad news fastest of all.' He walked over to a table full of print outs where four men stood. 'How are we doing?' asked Osborne.
'We're ready to go,' said one of the men who was chewing gum at hundred miles an hour. 'We've got two boats, another on standby. Coastguard's ready. Plus a helicopter if we want it. Local police are briefed as much as they can be. They seem switched on and pumped up ready for action if they're needed. We're about ready to head out and get this done.'
'Well done guys. Don't forget. Foster is international, so if we screw this up we not only look like dicks back at the Yard but also in France, Germany, Russia, China and Stateside - you get my meaning?'
'We've got this, Foster's not going anywhere.'
'Stay safe,' said Osborne.
Two men grabbed bags and headed out the door. The woman from the hallway got up and left with them. Osborne blew her a kiss and winked. She mouthed back an expletive and gave him the finger.
'So what have we heard from our contact?' asked a short stocky man.
I looked at the photos on the desk. Aerial photos of the house and gardens. Roads in and out. The stretch of beach behind the house. There were faces. I recognised Foster from the file. Vlad was there. Mr Bad Teeth was there and a couple of his friends. A few faces I didn't recognise. Then I saw Anya's face, she looked different but it was definitel
y her. I picked up the photo. Osborne looked at me then looked at the men around the table. 'Hardy, let's talk,' said Osborne.
We headed through to a kitchen area and shut the door. Osborne opened the fridge and pulled out two cold cans of Coke. He handed me one and paused before filling me in on a little extra operational detail.
Fifty-Nine
Osborne sipped his Coke while he considered how much to tell me and where to start. I decided to help him out. 'How long have you known? I assumed she was dead.' I was angry and I was loud and didn't care who knew it.
'Listen, it's complicated. Anya has been helping the Drug Squad. They've been trying to get evidence on Vlad. She agreed to assist. We heard about a possible Foster and Vlad meeting through them. Flying Squad got involved. I flew in from Miami. Anya passed along some ideas on times and dates and today we are going to nail Foster and your man Vlad.'
'And that sounds okay with you?' I said.
'It's not ideal, but yeah. It works for me.'
'Anya should be in protective custody. She's not trained for any of this; she should be receiving counselling; she's a victim; she's vulnerable; she's a possible witness to murder. You have deliberately put her in harms way. Vlad is an animal, he will not think twice about killing her.'
'She's not a child,' said Osborne. He sipped his Coke and watched me.
'What?'
'She volunteered. Seriously man, she volunteered. Remember the woman detective in the hallway? The one we nearly tripped over when we arrived? The sexy one who gave me the finger as she left? Well she's Drug Squad. Her name is Kerry Barnes and she tried to pull Anya out and your Anya wouldn't hear of it. I think Anya's exact words were: I am staying. I am close to Vlad. I'm going to cut his balls off and shove them down his throat while he sleeps. I'll do it for Aleksandra and the other girls.'
I was angry and confused.
'Yeah. Your little princess Anya is one tough cookie. I guess in the end Drug Squad and Anya came up with a better plan than simply cutting off his balls. Though that would have worked for the Drug Squad I am sure. For them that would still be a result, but laws being the way they are these days...' Osborne laughed at his own joke.
'That's unacceptable. You've put an innocent woman in harm's way. If anything happens to her it's on your head and I will make sure you answer for it.'
'Perhaps, in your world everything is neat and tidy. You simply follow the breadcrumbs left by some psycho. Out here things are dirty, neat and tidy doesn't exist. Every choice is a bad choice. But we are still expected to get results. If you really can't stomach that then catch a train back to London. Sounds to me like your girl Anya has more balls than you.'
A knock at the door prevented any further discussion. A head peered round the door. 'It's time. We're ready to go. It's now or never.'
Osborne looked at me, almost sympathetically. 'Hardy, this is bad business all round. Put on a vest, check your weapon and let's get this done.'
We drove the mile or so to Vlad's beach front house. My primary goal now was to ensure Anya was kept out of harm's way. And if Vlad gets taken down in the process that would be a bonus.
Sixty
There was a moment of calm as we waited for word. Everyone was in position outside Vlad's beach front house. 'Remember, quickly and quietly. We want surprise and zero casualties,' said Osborne. He looked at me and continued. 'All units, quickly and quietly. Go, go, go.' A team of two moved in and worked on opening the huge ornate gates. Everyone moved quickly once the gates were open. Suddenly it felt like there was movement everywhere. At the same time as we approached from the driveway a boat landed on the beach to the rear of the house. Halfway up the long driveway we split into three groups. One team continued straight on. One team split off and went right. I was part of a team that went left. We met little resistance. It seemed none of Vlad's men fancied their chances against such a show of force. Weapon drawn, I ascended a staircase on the outside of the building. It led up to a decked area at the rear of the building. As I got higher I saw Foster and Anya. They were at a table talking. At first, they were oblivious to our presence. I saw no sign of Vlad. From inside the house and to my right Osborne and two officers approached through open patio doors. As they moved onto the decked area I completed the stairs and moved onto the decked patio to join Osborne. Foster had no way out.
Seeing us, Foster jumped to his feet and in one fluid movement was behind Anya. Smashing the stem of a glass he held it to her throat. I looked into Anya's wide eyes and tried to reassure her through my own. Foster knew he had nowhere to go and was buying time to think. He dragged Anya to her feet and together they moved to the edge of balcony. Foster looked over the side and down to the garden and beach below. Moored below was Vlad's boat, 'Wave Goodbye'. I followed his line of sight and could see what Foster was thinking, I also realised if he got to that boat with Anya she was dead for sure.
'You're a smart man, Foster,' I said. 'You can see there is no way out on this occasion. The house is surrounded. There are men on the boat down there.' I nodded towards 'Wave Goodbye'. Foster looked back down at the boat. 'Plus, the Coastguard are waiting further out to sea.'
Despite his hopeless situation, Foster remained calm. It was as if he believed he was in control.
My weapon raised I took several steps closer. 'Where's Vlad?' I asked. 'Where is he now?' Whatever went through Foster's mind at that moment I'll never know. Maybe he thought Vlad had set him up. Maybe he thought Vlad was an undercover informant. Maybe he just thought Vlad had saved his own skin. Whatever it was it ended the stand-off. From behind her, Foster whispered into Anya's ear. Her wide eyes looked left towards Foster as he spoke to her. Then Foster turned Anya to face him. I stepped forward and raised my weapon. 'Let her go, now!' I shouted. But Foster ignored me, instead he raised the hand holding the broken glass above his head and with his other hand he pulled Anya close and then to everyone's surprise he kissed her.
'Thank you, I've wanted to do that all day' he said to Anya. 'I now have something to cherish during the long years ahead.' Using her as a shield, Foster calmly got down on the floor behind her, first to his knees and then to his stomach; arms and legs spread on the hot wooden decking he smiled and watched Anya as officers ran over and cuffed him. Osborne had his man, I on the other hand did not, Vlad was gone. At that moment though my only care was that Anya was safe. I holstered my weapon, ran to her then walked her to safety.
Sixty-One
There had been no sightings of Vlad since just before we entered the house. Foster wasn't talking. Anya told us Vlad had received a call and excused himself sometime before we arrived. Osborne assumed Vlad had been tipped off. Osborne's priority had always been to get Foster so he was happy with the result, in fact he was almost giddy. He was shaking hands with everyone and patting them on the back. Great job and job well done he kept saying.
I on the other hand wondered what had gone wrong. This wasn't how I had expected the day to go. It was a good day in the sense that Anya was safe. She was now under the protection of the Drug Squad, I talked to her briefly before she left and I introduced myself and reassured her Monica was fine. I assured her Monica and I would check in on her in a few days, once I was back in London.
By late evening I was alone except for a couple of local police officers posted out front to keep the house secure. For some reason, I couldn't bring myself to leave. I had come here to face Vlad, to stop him and to bring him in for what he'd done. Where along the way did everything get so mixed up?
I walked through the house and as I passed them I picked up a packet of cigarettes from the kitchen worktop. I hadn't smoked in almost ten years and I knew I'd regret the decision tomorrow but right now I didn't care.
I walked down to the beach and as I walked I smoked. It was getting late and the sun had pretty much gone down. It had been a hot day and though it was a clear evening there was a chill in the air, so I buttoned up my jacket and lifted my collar. I could hear birds along the shoreline arguing
and preparing to roost, the tweeting, piping and cawing was an easy distraction. I tried to block out the noise so I could think but my mind was refusing to focus. I considered phoning Alice and Faith and Monica but decided to do it later. I was missing them but I knew I was feeling low and didn't want to pass on that vibe.
I needed time to clear my head and put together a strategy for what to do next. There was so much going on. The day shouldn't have ended this way, Vlad should be in custody. Was he tipped off or did he really just get lucky? Who would have tipped him off, was it one of our own? Was he gone for good or would he come for Anya? If it was one of our own, what did he know of Anya's involvement?
I ground out the cigarette and lit another. I stood staring at Vlad's boat. I looked back at the house. So much money, I thought. It always seemed to me the wealth these people accumulate must be directly proportional to the misery they cause others. It was getting dark and I was getting cold. I realised I was hungry and remembered I hadn't yet made arrangements for sleeping, I'd need to find a hotel. I turned and began the walk back up the narrow path to the house.
Part way along the path I stopped and took out my phone to send Mum and Monica a text message to let them know I was safe and I'd see them tomorrow. I asked that they let Alice and Faith know I loved them and missed them. I finished my message and pressed send, as I looked up seemingly out of nowhere I felt the full force of a fist in my face. I went down hard. Blood poured from my broken nose and my eyes filled with tears. A kick to the stomach and stamp to the ribs quickly followed. Through the low light and tears I recognised the figure of Vlad - the Wolf had left his den and was on the hunt.