“And it’s still happening now. Diamonds. And this next slide shows you how.”
The briefing slide appeared on the screen, graphically showing the deceased African girl, her stomach slit open, her upper body lined with the cultural scars of her people.
“Not nice, eh? This young girl turned up in Westminster. On our doorstep. Someone is taking the piss. What we read yesterday adds some valuable intelligence. As I say this makes complex look simple.”
“But that is what we do best.” Daniel spoke for the first time. “In fact, no one does it better in my opinion and that folks is why I am back. To support you and add some first-hand experience.”
Roberts looked at Daniel – or JD to his friends – he hadn’t expected him to be quite so candid, quite so quickly. He outlined the meeting with Denby, watched as the team raised more than one eyebrow as he explained what he had seen in the bundle of papers that the old man had hidden away.
“Twelve people. That’s all we believe to be left of this once original mighty network. This is corroborated by a close intelligence source who was one of the group. Jack and Carrie met with her yesterday. We are just waiting for Kent Police to get back to us with a few more local enquiries and then she will come into our protective custody. For now, it’s as if the two primary groups are co-existing in relative harmony. The old-school military officers who are as dishonest as a school kid’s summer holiday is long and the group that are here in London and apparently wanting to tie up a few loose ends.”
He carried on. “We know there is a small group of what I shall call victims left now. Most have either ended up mysteriously dead, or have fled back across the border, ironically heading the opposite way to our normal flood of migrants.”
“So, who’s in charge of this syndicate, guv?”
“Fair question, Chris. It’s now run by a group that we know bugger all about except for one possible name, a person known as the Black Mamba.”
“Like the snake, boss?”
“Seems logical to me. That will be your job to find out. West Africans, almost certainly, but here’s the tricky bit, and hold onto your bacon sandwiches. There’s a British government connection. Specifically, a military link. A team of old boys, who got involved when they were in their prime, when yes they should have known better. And the ones that are left are starting to run scared. Because the Africans are in town and looking for them. They want to start a new business of people smuggling, a bit of revenge, and they’d like their diamonds and cash back.”
“Surely if the military are involved, they can just close ranks? Or fire back?” White asked.
“Surely. It’s a great word, Chris. But from what I’ve been told, this lot are less scared of going to prison than they are of being hunted by tribesmen from Guinea. And remember this is not some covert operation, it is deniable full stop. It never happened. No records. Anywhere.” McGee let it hang in the air like a poorly timed fart in a lift.
“Prison? There’s clearly something we don’t know, skipper?” White was pushing the DS now, skipper being the colloquial term of endearment for a sergeant.
She looked at Roberts and Cade in turn. Seeking approval. They nodded.
“Right, I didn’t expect to deliver the golden goose aspect of this tale. What the old man who is currently enjoying five-star luxury at a riverside hotel had forgotten was just how damning his evidence was. His mind is not quite what it was. But something tripped his memory a few days ago. He is dying, and this recollection can happen – our minds go one way or the other. Call it getting his house in order before his time is up.”
She nodded to O’Shea who leant across and pressed the mouse, advancing the slides.
“Exhibit BM1 with label attached and signed by yours truly. What you see here is a list of names. Starting at the bottom with a couple of non-commissioned ranks, a few lieutenants, one captain and then a major or two. These are the foot soldiers. Our source says they signed up for this, knowing they would all make enough money to guarantee them a very comfortable retirement. And for a while they did. A lot of money, in any currency and at any time. Next slide.”
The new slide appeared, and everyone stopped. And looked.
“No way, skipper. No bloody way!”
The three names at the top of the list were familiar, as familiar as cups of tea and Marmite on toast. You could have heard a pin drop in the next county.
“Let me get this right. You are telling us that those soldiers knew about this, or that they were ordered to be involved by the ones at the top of the list?”
“That I can’t tell you Del, because according to a quick check, most of the lower ranks are dead. Our work so far indicates that a few died of natural causes, probably a good thing, but many died of suicide or what was best described by coroners around the country as misadventure.”
“But why top themselves when they knew the money was going to come to them?”
“Another good question. It seems that somewhere along the line they swore an oath. They were soldiers, remember. They were loyal. Their suicide appears to be the only honourable thing they have done. But there is one final piece in the jigsaw…”
The team waited on McGee’s next words.
“The money and the lion’s share of the diamonds were stolen, hidden away, for safekeeping until the innocent members of this group could clear their names and the victims given a new life.”
“But not so loyal that the descendants of this military group have given up hope of finding the treasure!” asked White with a broad smile.
“Indeed, Chris. Call it a legacy that can never be cashed in. But we may have a lead on that. Call it a treasure map.”
“And the three names at the top?” asked Dave Williams.
“As you know, Dave, two are very much alive. But the former Prime Minister is of course long gone.”
“Are we really to believe that the PM was involved in this? And those other two?”
“Our source was there, stood behind them when they signed up for this. He told us he will remember that day for the rest of his life.” Cade knew what was coming next.
“So now what?”
“Now you each take a name and go and find out what they are doing these days. Get them under surveillance, their families too. If our source is to be believed this is a legacy passed from father to son and daughter, and it won’t end until they have removed all of the evidence.”
“And the credible evidence, as we know it potentially relates to ten people. Ten victims, either second or third generation, who thought they were coming to England for a better life and have been looking over their shoulders ever since.” Roberts was almost finished. His briefing delivered in thirty minutes. It left him time to have a quick catch up with John Daniel and get to Downing Street with Cade and catch up with him en route.
O’Shea’s phone vibrated. She discreetly slid it under the table and read the contents.
“Boss, I’m sorry to tell you that figure may well have dropped to nine. I’ve got a message from Dexter Hodgkinson. A colleague of his rang him to ask if he had any knowledge of, or interest in scarified African nationals. The man in question is lying in the Greenwich Public Mortuary. Dexter has sent his right-hand woman over to take a look.”
DC Andy West cleared his throat.
“Yep,” Andy agreed. “Exactly what I was thinking, now that you are our subject matter expert on dead Africans. Go with Bridie and gather as much as you can. Any similarities I want to know. Day or night.”
Daniel stood. “Team, perhaps a timely intervention. What we are dealing with is higher-end stuff. The sort of stuff you lot crave. Two groups for us to concentrate on in my humble opinion. One, West Africans. On the hunt for the…nine remaining victims and are likely to deal with anyone that gets in their way. Two, a group of old soldiers who are on the hunt for anyone that has enough knowledge to send them to prison, or ideally a lead on where the loot is stashed.”
“You sure it wasn’t in the wall with the other p
apers, guv?” asked Murphy, quietly hopeful.
“Team, we will split into four. Team One start scanning all mortuary admissions throughout Greater London.”
“Boss, that’s an enormous task.”
“No, it isn’t. Use your heads, filter down, but just get on with it. Team Two, do what you can to dig into the Ministry of Defence, go and liaise with our Military Police cousins, see what they will and won’t give up, and whatever you do don’t play our ace hand just yet. Team Three start thinking like a victim, where would you go and why?”
“Assuming they even know they are being hunted – and why?”
“I’ll bet my pension that this lot knows Chris. OK? Just call it experience.”
“I suspect he’s right team,” said Cade. “Big country, small community, money talks.”
Roberts finished off as he headed for the door. “And Team Four, link up with a marine unit and get down the river, be on the lookout for any old ships, doesn’t matter whether they’ve got sails or a bloody motor, find it, board it and search it.”
“You really think the old guy is right, boss? What if this is all the ramblings of a dear old man who has simply forgotten what is true and what isn’t?”
“Yes, agreed. However, have you forgotten the slides you saw five minutes ago? As Mr. Cade says, money talks. Right now Foxtrot Oscar and don’t come back until you’ve got some good news. And yes, there is a healthy overtime budget. And all of you, please look after each other. I cannot afford any more funerals or worse still a pile of report writing.”
He turned to Cade and Daniel. “We need to talk.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
They closed the door to Roberts’ office – the one that used to belong to John Daniel when he was the commander.
“Jack, JD. I’ve pushed this uphill as far as I can. You know if the PM says no, we are done?”
“Fair enough Jason, I get it, but I’ll stay in town a bit longer until I can take this no further.”
“Well, let’s face it Jack, you’ve got bugger all else to do with your time!”
“I do so detest envy Jason.”
“I’m sure. For now, I’ll provide you with a staff member to watch over Denby all the while you are away.”
“They’ll need to know how to change his bag.”
“Are you serious? What has the modern police force become? Doctors, nurses, social workers? Can you imagine if we were actually able to police? What with all the cutbacks it’s a wonder we catch anybody these days.”
“I hear you, Jason. But with this we have a chance.”
“Jack, he’s God knows how old, suffering from dementia and might sail for Davy Jones’ Locker any day now.”
“He might. But wouldn’t it be great to send him out in style?” Daniel looked at the younger DCI.
“Well, that depends on what you have to tell us, because so far I’ve heard nothing JD.” Roberts was tired and it showed.
“Jason, I flew all the way here based on the name Thomas Denby. You get the approval to fund this at your coffee morning with the PM and leave the darker arts to me.”
“You have a deal, but I need to know what you know.”
“I know that what you’ve been told so far is ninety percent accurate. What I don’t know is why certain factions are trying to shut him down.”
“But you know more than we do about the people that are left – the remains of the project?”
“This was no project, Jason. Purely and simply this was about a trade war that made a lot of people very wealthy. Money flowed both ways and for decades. It still does. The French are in collusion with the local African businessmen, and they in turn with us. There is so much oil down there we can’t afford not to be involved.”
“And in turn we provide security, expertise and weapons?” Cade asked.
“Spot on.”
“Then what are we all doing sat in my office pontificating about an old sailor and his day dreams?” Roberts was still far from convinced. “This is out of our jurisdiction. I don’t get it.”
“It’s fraud, Jason, at the highest possible level. And that old man knows the answer, because many years ago he created a code that would one day enable him to find the evidence to convict those that he considered guilty. You forget when I was a very young copper I had the honour of working with some of these people. It was an operation that really couldn’t get any more secure. Everyone was suspicious of everyone else. But there were a few people I trusted. Denby was one. He was an absolutely outstanding officer back then, but he knew he would end up with dementia – and in a real-world version of Hansel and Gretel he laid a trail of breadcrumbs for the future.”
“That’s good. Now, what happened to the breadcrumbs?”
“A little bird called dementia ate them.”
“An albatross more like,” offered Cade, more in passing.
“Hang on. He told you about the Albatross?”
“He did. But all we know is that it is or was a ship.”
“Most certainly is or was. The old girl was the nerve centre of the operation after the Stanafjord was scrapped, she ran weapons down to Guinea and people and supplies back. When things turned sour and the rats started jumping ship, they filled her with every conceivable item of value they could, including people for one last run home and then when Denby was able to, he gave the order to scuttle her somewhere in the channel.”
“Why?”
“Because he knew there would be a welcoming committee. Friends close, enemies closer still and all that. Those in positions of power knew that sooner or later they’d be discovered, so this last run was meant to get the ship back in one piece, offload the goods and then bit by bit dismantle the operation and bury it at sea along with any witnesses.”
“You make it sound like he had more enemies here in England than he did in Africa, JD.”
“Probably correct, Jack. Don’t get me wrong, if you ask him on a good day and he can remember, there were some hairy stories over there too. There was one occasion he was threatened by a local warlord; basically told him that if he ever saw him in the port of Kamsar again, he would personally cut his throat. It was all to do with words and debts of honour – in a nutshell, Tom was dropped in it by a man called Reddington, one of his team. Tom despised him”
“Clearly he didn’t have his throat cut by this warlord?”
“Clearly. But his men did get hold of one of Denby’s engineers. They dragged him around the town on the end of a chain attached to an old truck. As Denby prepared the ship to sail they came back through the town towards the dock, swerving left and right so the poor bastard suffered to the end. The crowd were still screaming for blood. The warlord had told them so many lies about the bearded white man coming to take their children away.”
“But technically he was…”
“You could argue that, but the people that put their children on that ship the night before did it willingly – risked their own lives. They knew that they would possibly have a better life and that the man they called the Angel would do all he could to save them.”
“What happened to the engineer?”
“The mob disconnected him from the vehicle, dragged him by his hair, then lowered him into a pile of old tyres, filled them with petrol and set light to it.”
“Gruesome bastards.” Roberts looked visibly sickened by the thought.
“Tom told tales of how he covered one little girl’s ears so she couldn’t hear the terrible screaming. She looked up at him and pleaded for him to do something as the ship moved off the quayside.”
“What happened?”
“Tom took a rifle and with the only round left…”
“Good man, he shot the warlord?”
“No, he shot his crewmate.”
“Jesus, what a mess.”
“Now perhaps you’ll understand why he is like he is?”
“To a point JD. But I still don’t understand why he didn’t just walk when he could, or resign or run away,
I don’t know, something rather than nothing. A man of his skills…”
“Simple. He’s a man of honour. He’d served Her Majesty through the most violent of conflicts, risked his life many times. He swore to the parents of those kids that he would get them to safety. Never thought he’d survive to have his own, so considered each one to be his responsibility. When they got near to the British mainland, the Albatross took a radio message saying they were to land at Southampton and discharge their cargo, then dispose of the rest.”
“The kids?” Roberts had heard enough.
“Yes, and the adults too. All of them over the side in the English Channel.”
“What happened?”
“He came alongside in Southampton, the cranes unloaded the minerals and other cargo at night, then he sailed. The wharf workers didn’t know what else he carried, probably didn’t care. He knew he’d given himself a few hours to get away. They steamed east as fast as they could, then he turned into the Medway, thinking it was the Thames, so rather than risk capture in the open sea he ran them aground.”
“Was there a starting point for the searchers?”
“There was, but by the time day broke, the group were meant to be miles away in the lifeboats. He’d planned it all, right down to the last detail – the problem was he was captured whilst trying to get back to the MOD building and put into an unofficial military prison. And he stayed there until they could break him no more. Then one day, he just walked out. He’d disguised himself as one of the guards; spent months observing him, everything, his hair, his walk, his voice, then when the chance came, he struck. He was a very well-trained man.”
“He sounds it.”
“By the time they realised he was gone it was too late – and he’s remained at large ever since, but they’ve been looking for him, and recently, by pure chance when a former sailor with a few debts ended up in the same hospice they struck lucky. Or at least they did until a certain person kidnapped him in broad daylight.”
“Guilty as charged,” replied Cade with a shrug of the shoulders.
“But when he came to remembering the past, he couldn’t. Everything that was important was gone. He’d erased it from his mind. He could remember the wartime convoys, his mother’s name, her favourite flower, how his father taught him to dovetail two pieces of wood, but anything more recent had slipped into a vacuum. And that is why he did what he did to those kids.”
The Angel of Whitehall Page 19