Cade was shocked to hear such a confession but needed corroboration.
“I…don’t believe you. Anyone could have seen that scar the following day.”
“Yes, Jack of course. You are right. But I am not anyone. And not everyone would have known about the piece of hair, would they?”
Cade paused, long enough to allow his new and unforeseen ally to breathe.
“OK, I choose to believe you.”
“Jack, you choose what you like. But we need to trust each other. I will ring you every other day. Every day if I need to.”
“Trust? OK, this is your chance. Why do they call you Copil?”
“Very good Jack. Really, you should have worked with me back in the SRI. It is pronounced Copil de umbra.” He emphasised the latter part, his mother tongue very evident.
“It means Child of the shadows, and it is where you will find me, if you care to look. Oh, and Mr Cade…”
“Go ahead.”
“I have been…furnishing…the man they call the Jackdaw with information, for money. Yes, for money, I have no pension plan. Everyone has a price Jack, even you.”
Cade missed a beat before asking the next question.
“What information?”
“They know where you have been sleeping these last few weeks.”
Cade switched the hands free off and picked up the phone.
“Go on.”
“They know where your girlfriend lives my friend. I am sorry. She is safe from me, but them, I don’t know? Jackdaw has sent a message out to his teams.”
“Saying?”
“Saying that he wants them to increase their attacks on the bank machines, to cause fear among the financial community and to cause you fear Jack, for forcing him to kill his girlfriend.”
“There is a price on her head?”
“No! Not at all. That isn’t how the Jackdaw works. He just wants her to suffer. There is a price on yours.”
“How much?”
“One Euro.”
Cade almost felt insulted.
“One bloody Euro?”
Valentin Niculcea, former Soviet espionage hero and one of the most experienced intelligence officers in Eastern Europe laughed, out loud.
“I like you Inspector Cade, I really do. You clearly think you are worth more. Jackdaw wants his men to harm and kill to show their loyalty. He has been betrayed so many times that he puts no price on loyalty. Watch over your girl my friend and I will watch over both of you. And Jack?”
“Yes.”
“The bank operation is a cover. They have somebody close to the government. Money talks, in any of our languages. They plan to make a statement, or rather Jackdaw wishes to leave his mark, to pay back those that harmed him.”
“But the British have never harmed him. Have they?”
“Quite right, but why target your own country when it has little to offer. Go for the jugular Jack, hit the rich nations first. Britain first, then Germany, France, Switzerland, he could even switch his teams to America – the Land of the Free!”
“So, who do they have on the inside and what for?”
“Good question my friend. The problem is, I have no idea yet. But I will. One day.”
“OK. Stay in touch. You know where to find me, that is very clear.”
“Why of course. I can trace you twenty-four seven as you say in your country. But as for me, until I am ready to be found please don’t look for me. Do this and I will reward you with my services.”
“How much do you charge?”
He laughed again.
“How does one Euro sound?”
The line cleared. Cade placed the phone back it its cradle.
“Anything?”
“Long gone guv, if he was ever there?”
“Well?” It was Daniel.
Cade blew air across his lips making them tremble. “Well, indeed. Not a bloody clue John. I seem to be getting half of bloody Eastern Europe either wanting to kiss me or kill me, this one wanted to help, some conversation about responsibility, about morals. Christ, I’m confused.”
He explained the extent of the call.
“So what next?”
“He said he would contact me. I suspect from listening to him and from what Cynthia dragged out of the Interpol guys that we are best to leave him to run his side of the house. I certainly need an ally in the camp and he may be it. The last thing I should do now is hunt him down.”
“Do you trust him?”
“Yes. But then no, of course not, but what other avenue do I have? Seriously, things are starting to heat up and we need all the help we can get. If it means I have to turn the other cheek with Mr whatever-his-bloody-name is I will.”
“Just be careful Jack, he could be playing you.”
“He could John. There is something about him though, the way he works, it tells me he’s onside. If I’m wrong, then what is left of my tattered reputation can drift downstream to the land of the beheaded tall poppy. Right now we’ve got a group of God knows how many starting to impact on the financial quarter of one of the world’s most influential cities and we know Jack Shit about them. Other than you and this fine body of people I need someone who knows what is going on. Not just someone who thinks they need to know.”
“Well, I need you to know about some interesting developments in Kent if you are interested. House explosion down there yesterday, you might have seen it on the news?”
“The news? What’s that boss? I haven’t watched the news for a month. I haven’t slept in longer. But do tell, explain why should I be interested?”
“Get Roberts, get a car and head down there.”
“Is that an order?”
He smiled. “One hundred percent.”
“OK, you are the boss, but you still haven’t explained why.”
“A silver Peugeot, containing two gas cylinders was found across the street. The car was almost destroyed along with the house opposite. The street looks like a war zone. Couple of young kiddies were hurt walking home from school.”
Daniel knew, in fact he could see that Cade still wasn’t engaged, but as he picked up the car keys and was joined by Roberts, Daniel delivered the game changer.
“Oh and Jack, the two men seen running away were described by a witness as being ‘swarthy, one young, one slightly older, dark-haired. The older one had a pock-marked face and hardly any teeth.’ The witness knows this because the older male smiled at her as he ran down the street, trying to stay on his feet as the blast wave sent everyone else onto their arses. Just thought you might be interested.”
“Touché boss. On the way.”
“Good, bugger off and get some fresh air and let Jason drive, you need some kip. The Kent ARV team are meeting up at Rochester to execute a warrant at the target address where they think the Peugeot was linked to. I’d get a move on.”
He looked down at his notepad. “The officer in charge is one Sergeant Woods, call him up on their channel when you get nearer and bring me back a present.”
Daniel walked purposefully through the corridor to brief a few of his senior colleagues.
Roberts made good time on the M2 motorway – the main traffic was heading north into London. At a steady one hundred miles an hour he was soon entering the town famous for Charles Dickens and his period works, many of which recounted the cruel and often hard times of Victorian life in the area.
Roberts was busy providing Cade with a running commentary of the region as he changed down to third to overtake a stream of vehicles, his discreet blue lights flickering in the grill of the Vauxhall Vectra SRI.
“My most favourite piece of useless trivia about the area is about James Bond. Did you know he drove along these very roads in Goldfinger, brilliant, eh?”
Roberts made a noise that he thought somehow sounded like a laser beam cutting through flesh… “No Mr Bond, I expect you to die!”
“I expect you to shut up Jason!” drooled a sleepy Cade, his head lolling back and forth on t
he headrest.
“Did you also know that Rochester has the biggest second-hand bookshop in Britain?”
“No. I did not.”
“Or that in the early twelve hundreds it was…”
“Jason. Seriously, I will kill you, cut up your body and feed it to the pigs at the nearby prison farm.”
“How do you know about them?”
“I just do!”
“Fair enough. Anyway, we are here now. Did you know that this station once…”
Roberts leapt out of the Vectra before Cade had the chance to throw something heavy at him. They were met by a uniformed officer who was in his early forties, greying at the temples, with shimmering blue eyes and an intriguing Robert De Niroesque arch to his left eyebrow.
The officer, a sergeant, was wearing the trademark black overalls of the Armed Response Unit and had a Glock pistol strapped to his right leg. He was diligently rolling a cigarette as his team busied themselves with equipment checks.
He walked over to the pair and put out his hand.
“Morning, Mac Woods, nice to meet you both. Time for a brew? Kettle’s on.”
The necessary introductions were made as Woods stowed the cigarette behind his left ear.
“Actually Mac that would be just superb,” said an exhausted Cade.
“Oy Sharkey, get the kettle on you raving homosexual, can’t you see we’ve got distinguished guests here from The Yard.”
“Yes skipper, onto it now,” replied a good-looking, thirty-something with a spring in his step.
“So, gents, what do you know?”
“Apart from the fact that James Bond drove through here one Thursday afternoon en route to a quite enormous book shop, not much Mac. We’ve been hit with a wave of criminals targeting our ATMs. It started at a lower level, then worsened, they are now using a mixture of gases to blow the machines to bits and steal the cash.”
Woods was immediately interested and leaned against his Volvo T5, waiting to hear the rest of the story.
“Oh, nice. We’ve had a few of our travelling friend’s rip the ATMs out of the wall with a digger and a long chain, all seems a bit much for a twenty-pound note which is what the last team succeeded in gaining, but so far, touch wood, no explosives. That sort of m.o. is a bit beyond them thankfully. That said, someone kindly blew some poor old geezer’s house to bits yesterday of course.”
“Any news on that Mac? Terrible job, poor old bugger.”
“Indeed, it was Jason. At first the local Trumpton turned up with the entire entourage from Rochester Police Station. They soon realised there was no fire to put out, but they had to shore up what was left of the building, that’s when they found dear old Mr Francis, lying in what was originally his kitchen.”
Cade smiled at Woods’ use of the generic term Trumpton, from the age-old British children’s television series of the same name. Colloquially used by police across Britain to describe their fire brigade colleagues, it had remained in the vocabulary of generations of police officers.
“So why did your team become involved Mac? Seems as routine as a fatal house explosion can be? Or have I missed something?”
“Allow me to complete the picture, Inspector,” said Woods as he lovingly crafted another cigarette between his fingers before running the tip of his tongue along the paper.
“A few months ago we had some uncorroborated intel about a group of Eastern European criminals operating on our patch. Source information indicated they were travelling across Europe to the ferry ports and using north Kent as a springboard to your patch.”
Cade nodded encouragingly.
“The county has changed a lot over the last few years, people are really aware of Eastern Europeans now. It’s a shame as there are some bloody good people among them, hard-working, trying to make a difference, etcetera, etcetera, but as with all walks of life, we only see the bad ones.”
The tea arrived. All took a cup, and the conversation continued.
“So cultivating intelligence sources isn’t difficult then Mac?”
“Far from it Jack, more a case of sorting the wheat from the chaff. But our latest stuff, well in my humble opinion, it’s A1. We had an intelligence noting come through the system from Crimestoppers saying that two men were holed up in the very street in which Francis’ house exploded. The source stated that the two men were not local and were up to no good. Most likely burglars.”
“And?”
“And it went onto the pile with a lot of others. We are short of staff too Jack and we have to prioritise.”
The two Metropolitan officers nodded sympathetically. The Crimestoppers charity phone line had seen some incredible successes, but like everything it needed resourcing.
“So why the change, why your team, why armed response?”
“Well, funny you should ask those three questions. The last piece of intel we received was so obviously from Mr Francis that we had to lock it down. It stated that he had seen two men carrying a lot of bags, and he swore he saw them handling large sums of cash, and the older male, who he described, was seen carrying a firearm. Given the explosion followed within a day of us receiving the info it seems apparent to me that they had somehow found out – either that or they had put two and two together and like Gary here had come up with eight. Clearly it was the beginning of the end for dear old Ted.”
He looked straight at Cade. “We should have gone in yesterday.”
Woods shook his head as he took a long swig of his tea and began to arch his eyebrow.
“Sharkey! Good job you can bloody shoot, this tea tastes like yak’s piss! And I’ve drank yak’s piss!”
“So do you expect to find the men in the flat?” asked Cade who was equally visibly critical about the beverage he had been served.
“Gents, I have no idea, but it would be nice to drill a round through the bastard. I used to foot patrol that street when I first joined and I can remember Ted Francis as a proud and lovely man. I often dropped in for a cup of tea.” He yelled at his constable again, “Better than this insipid brown urine!”
Woods threw the remaining third of his tea to one side and theatrically licked his lips before continuing.
“He gave me no end of intelligence on local thieves. He had a nephew in the army as I recall, never stopped talking about him. He ended up heading to Northern Ireland and got involved in some covert shit. Moved up north last I heard. God help those two if he gets hold of them.”
Cade shook his head. He had countless thoughts racing around it. Something that Woods had said struck a chord but he couldn’t place why. Tiredness did that to a normally lucid mind.
The team were ready to go. Cade and Roberts offered to transport Woods in their car, he accepted, it was a good chance to complete the briefing and get to know him. He went to place the newly created cigarette behind his ear only to locate the one he had lodged there earlier. He stared at it for a while, shoved it into his overall pocket and muttered about needing to give it up.
With the briefing over and no further questions, the Kent Armed Response Unit pulled out of Rochester Police Station on Cazeneuve Street and headed towards their target.
Chapter Twelve
As they pulled out of the rear yard Cade could hear Roberts whistling The Weather Girls’ song Raining Men.
“Mac, you’ll have to forgive my colleague’s taste in music, either that or he has become bi-curious since a recent and somewhat frantic wrestling match with a transvestite informant of his.”
“Each unto his own gentlemen, I’m more of a Showaddywaddy man myself.”
“Sho?”
“Waddywaddy.”
“Indeed. So tell me more about this warrant. What are the team hoping to find Mac?”
“Honestly? Two swarthy blokes, one who needs an urgent oral makeover and the other hot-footing it away from the locale with a rather large bag of readies. That and a pistol – and possibly some bomb-making kit.”
“Explosives?”
“You neve
r know boss, we have to plan for all such occasions. We’ve got EOD meeting us there too in case the place appears to be rigged up.”
“Worst case?” asked a curious Cade.
“Worst case they have barricaded themselves in, then we’ll have to produce Constable ‘Sharkey’ Green. He can send in a few cups of his noxious brew and hopefully flush them out. Either that or your colleague here can bore them to death with his local Kent-based trivia.”
They all laughed, including Roberts who was fast becoming the self-effacing member of the team.
He asked another question as the laughter subsided.
“Mac, what if they have gone?”
“Fair point guv, it happens. Then it will be a good training run for the boys – we achieve on average nine out of ten failures. We pride ourselves on them. My commander reckons we are the worst-performing squad in the region!”
Six minutes later the team pulled up alongside each other in a side street. Woods directed the team forward, got out of Roberts’ car and walked towards a white Leyland van which contained the regional Explosive Ordnance team.
“Alright Geoff, how’s tricks?” Woods was vigorously shaking hands with and was obviously on first-name terms with the Chief Petty Officer.
“Bostin mate!” replied an ebullient Geoff Galvin, his broad West Midlands accent ringing out a phrase which meant he was feeling great.
“Good man, this is Inspector Jack Cade and his colleague Detective Sergeant Jason Roberts from Scotland Yard. They are investigating a series of bank machine explosions in the city and have an interest in the explosion that occurred yesterday. They will help search the target address once we have secured it. Any issues with that?”
“None at all. Just make sure no one breaks the rules, eh, Mac? You know the score, the second your boys reckon there’s something afoot, they withdraw.”
Woods nodded. There was no margin for error. None at all.
Galvin continued, “Tell me, Inspector. These the attacks, are they the same ones that John Ballard and I have been talking about lately? He’s an inspector from your CAD room, gave me the heads up on this group a while ago. You really think they are trouble?”
Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2) Page 17