Constantine Legacy (Jake Dillon Adventure Series) (16 page)

“Boy, you’re really skipping the easy ones,” he
said. “Robert Flackyard; people think a lot of him
hereabouts. The image he promotes is that of a legitimate
businessman and benefactor to many local charities. He
says that a man in such a privileged position of power
and wealth, as he is, should put back into the community
some of what he has taken out.”
“But you don’t believe him?”
“The guy’s a phoney, he’s nothing more than a
Cossack and a crook. His kind are all the same.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, that I’ve paid him a sum of ten thousand
pounds a month via an offshore account for protection
and an assurance that the local cops don’t come a calling.”
“Protection?”
“Yes, that’s it. I could afford to throw him a load
of dough each month, in return for a hassle free existence
and because he is a major client of my little venture down
here in Dorset. Unfortunately for me, it all backfired
when you turned up and swiped my opium from the Gin
Fizz. Flackyard tried to persuade you to give it back, but
man are you a tough nut to crack, eh?”
“Don’t be bitter, Harry,” I said. He kneaded his
soft brown face again with his huge hairy hands, and as
his eyes and nose emerged from the open fingers he smiled
a humourless smile.
“And Ferdinand,” I said, “how did he get along
with Flackyard?”
“OK. Flackyard is indifferent, as he tends to be
around all people. George is just a little too creepy around
him for my liking.”
“Have you ever gone into a room and heard any
conversations between them that perhaps you weren’t
supposed to hear? Any talk of hardware, for instance?”
“Well, thinking back, there were a few times when
the talk just stopped when I walked in on them, but I’ve
never overheard them actually talking.”
“Never, and that’s all?” I said. “Listen, Harry, we’ll
play it your way, if you like.”
“But let me remind you that we’re in a sound
proofed room in the middle of the night with only the
sea to keep us company. I’d like to think that we could
continue our conversation in a gentlemanly manner. Or
perhaps you’d prefer that I work you over a little and
then string you up on that hook over there and pump
your veins full of that shit you’ve been producing, let’s
say one hundred percent pure. That should send you on
your way to Mars. The choice is yours Harry, you can
walk out of here free, or I’ll give you to the local police,
and they can carry you out in a black body bag.”
“Just try,” Harry said.
“You’ve got me mixed up with all those nice guys,
Harry. I will try.” I said.
There was a short, sharp silence.
“Hey, Ace, I’m no smack head,” said Harry. His
tan had disappeared now.
“A hundred per cent pure won’t just send me to
Mars, it’ll send me to the undertakers.” He folded his
arms tightly.
“Harry, you can be sure I won’t kill you. Not with
the first needle anyway.”
“You will survive for the second dose and the
others until I decide to hand you over to the authorities.
By then you will be so dependent on the stuff, you will
beg me to let you have a hit. You’ll talk, Harry, believe
me. Look upon it as sales research – hell, it’s probably
tax-deductible.”
Harry’s head sank forward and he rocked gently
in his seat as he tried to wake out of the nightmare in
which I existed. When he continued to speak it was in an
impersonal monotone. “George Ferdinand used to work
for Flackyard. George had a great respect for him. Even
after we had enough money not to worry, George would
continue to say ‘sir’ to him. George had contacts all over
Europe, and they all liked him. Maybe you find that hard
to believe, but it’s true. George had only to whisper about
something he wanted done and bingo, it was done. He
has always arranged the supplies of the opium, while my
end of the business was to process and sell.”
“How did the opium usually arrive?” I asked.
“Always by ship, once a month. The cross channel
ferry from Cherbourg to Poole has been our regular mule,
if you like, for well over a year. There is a French side to
this operation. They would send a diver down at night,
while the ferry was in dock, and he’d secure the opium
in a specially designed watertight metal case to the hull
using magnetic clamps.
“As the port authorities never check the outside of
the hull below the water line this has been an extremely
safe and effective way of transporting our supplies to
the UK. All we had to do was listen on a short wave
radio to the shipping talk and when the ferry started her
approach into Poole Harbour we would dive from inside
the boathouse using a powered underwater sled to get
out to the ship quickly. As you are aware, only an expert
diver would be able to get under the hull of a moving
vessel and remove the metal case that was held on the
bilge keel by the magnetic clamps.”
“Who dived at this end, Harry?” I asked quietly.
“Well, at first George did, until that is recently…”
He let the words hang in mid air and then went on smugly.
“That is until he met up with his old chum Rumple. What
a piece of luck, and how easy to get him on board. In fact
it was as easy as taking candy from a kid.”
“How many times did Rumple dive for you?” I
asked.
“Three times,” Harry said, holding up three fingers.
“Go on.”
“As you can now see, this house has played a vital
part in what we did.”
“Once the opium was back here, we would process
and distribute it, all from this house. George had contacts
with haulage companies all over the place.”
“The drivers would be paid well for carrying in
their cab a briefcase. This was full of smack on the way to
the cartels up and down the country. It’s as easy as that,
Ace. How am I doing?”
“You’re doing OK,” I said. “Your boat; did George
ever use that?”
“Sure, he’s a far better sailor than I’ll ever be,
he borrowed it whenever he wanted. It was Flackyard
borrowing it whenever it suited him that made me sore.
I’d never trust the guy alone, I don’t care if he is the local
Mr Big, there’s something not right about the guy.”
“Tell me more about Robert Flackyard,” I said.
“Flackyard drives around town in his flash
chauffeur driven cars like he was a king. Thinks he owns
the place. He has sent George along at night to borrow
the boat like he’s doing me a favour. Flackyard the wise
guy. One day I get back here; he’s down in the cellar,
helping himself to the goodies.”
“‘I’ve gotcha red-handed,’ I say, smiling like I’m
joking. ‘My dear Mr Caplin, I’ve never been caught red
handed, in my entire Life.’ He says – nonchalant as you
like. ‘So who cares?’ I say. ‘I do,’ he says, ‘and I’m the
only one,’ and off he drives with my smack in his pocket.”
“He’s in up to his neck with a few politicians both
locally and in London.”
“Only last week, there was a group of Japanese
business tycoons over. The official reason for their visit
was to strengthen trading relations. Hell, they were here
to negotiate a narcotics deal with Flackyard, and to
sample some of ours,” Harry raised his head and said,
“you’re not kidding me about letting me fade away, are
you? Because if I’m shooting my mouth off for nothing…”
“No,” I said, “you can talk your way out as far as
I’m concerned.”
“Boat and all?” asked Harry.
“Boat and all, just keep talking, Harry,” I said. I
decided to try a bluff, to keep the momentum going. “The
visitor from London,” I coaxed gently, “don’t forget the
visitor from London, Harry.”
“Oh him, pal of George’s,” Harry said. “Smooth
talking guy, great sense of fun.”
“What’s his name?”
“Jasper Lockhart,” said Harry, “great sense of
fun.”
“Great sense of fun,” I said. Now it was all
falling in place. Jasper Lockhart knew George. A
messenger, perhaps, or more than likely a courier? It
certainly accounted for the new Jaguar convertible. Did
Hawkworth tell George what to do or was it the other
way round? In either case, why?
I looked around at the brightly-lit cellar: the
equipment and the pile of aluminium briefcases stacked
against the wall.
“Harry,” I said, “I want George Ferdinand here;
get him here now and you can go.”
Harry sucked his cheeks in and snorted a laugh
down his nose. “Hell Ace, you can get him down here
as easily as I can,” he said. “You don’t have to kick dirt
in my face.” He got up slowly and walked across to the
large white sink, washed his hands with soap, dried them,
put on his Rolex watch and turned to face us. “You did
the hero bit already. Now if you don’t mind I’m out of
here, gun or no gun.”
“You think so,” I said, but I did nothing as he
walked across to the chair and picked up his jacket, and
nothing as he walked down between the benches towards
the door. He looked back to see what my reaction was.
I put the gun back in the holster under my arm and he
looked reassured.
It was then that a flash roared across the tension
and echoed around the room like a frenzied shark in a
pond full of goldfish. Fiona had fired her un-silenced
pistol at Harry. I saw him spin around and fall forward
against a large crate on the floor. I reached out to take
the gun away from her. The hairs on the back of my hand
parted as it went off again. The bullet thudded deep into
the plaster of the wall somewhere over Harry’s head.
My hand closed over the smoking barrel to drag it
away from her; there was enough heat for me to instantly
drop the weapon onto the floor with a crash.
I grabbed Fiona around the neck and twisted one
of her arms up behind her, so that with her back to me I
was able to prevent her from doing any more harm.
From behind the crate Harry’s voice asked, “Has
that crazy dame still got a gun, or can I come out without
getting my head blown off?”
“It’s OK Harry, you can come out, it’s safe. Now
go quickly, before I change my mind and let the lady here
finish the job.”
I released my grip on Fiona, who turned around
quickly, beating me on the chest with clenched fists and
screaming in between sobs, the tears rolling down her
cheeks, “Don’t let him go – he killed your friend,” over
and over again. She stopped to draw breath, “You just
aren’t human,” she gulped. I held her tightly while Harry
made his exit, with a big red hand clamped over the top
of his arm.
Fiona sat down; finally she looked up at me. And
told me that she was an undercover narcotics officer
working in conjunction with other Government agencies
including the serious crime squad. How I’d just about
messed everything up, but it was her damaged esprit de
corps she was really crying about as she sat in Harry
Caplin’s dream house.
“Then you knew that the smell of vinegar was
acetic acid and would be coming from the processing of
morphine. Why didn’t you let me in on the real reason
you were here?”
She blew her nose. “Because a good operator
lets the professional law-enforcers spearhead his or her
actions,” she quoted verbatim.
At that precise moment we heard the powerful twin
diesels of Harry’s boat the Star Dust start up. Moving
outside, we watched as the elegant cruiser moved away
from the jetty, Harry at the uppermost helm. He looked
behind once, pushed the throttle levers hard forward,
lifted a hand and waved. Five minutes later Harry Caplin
had faded out of sight. Fiona looked up at me and smiled
wanly.

It took only a few minutes to get back to our
boathouse in the dinghy. But, all the way Fiona kept
saying, “You’ve let him get away. I must call my boss.”

As we were stowing the dinghy away I finally said,
“Look – I don’t know what they teach you in the police
force, but if you think your prestige there depends on
putting the handcuffs on Harry, you are quite wrong. Let
him go and spread the good news among his friends. If
he goes back to the States, you can be there in a matter of
hours. Or you can phone your colleagues in narcotics over
there and have them hold him. This is simply like a game
of chess; the idea is to out manoeuvre your opponent.
Not try and kill him.”

This last remark hit the spot; Fiona’s face flushed
and she told me that I was no better than Harry Caplin
was. As for hurting Harry, if it hadn’t been for me getting
in the way she would have killed him without any
hesitation. As for my conduct, it would remain to be seen
as to whether I was simply dismissed or charged with
obstructing a police officer in the line of her duty.

I couldn’t have Fiona contacting the authorities
and attracting attention to what was going on, not just at
the moment. At least not before I’d contacted LJ, cleared
out the rented house and faded away myself. I began to
be aware of a silence and realised that Fiona had said
something. “What was that? Sorry, I was a million miles
away.”

“Oh, all I was saying was, that it’s all so dammed
confusing. I’m used to taking the job so far and then
handing it over to more experienced officers to finish off.
I really am in way over my head, Jake. What am I going
to do?”

“Confusing,” I repeated, “of course it’s confusing.
When you’re involved like you are, undercover, rubbing
shoulders with drug pushers and serious criminals, it’s
bound to get confusing. Look, Fiona, we really are on
the same side here, the only difference is that I work for
Ferran & Cardini and you work for the Government.
The end result has to be the same.”

“Shit, if it ever gets out that I let a key player in
a major drugs ring casually walk out of his processing
plant, get in his million pound powerboat and sail away
into the night, I’ll not only be kicked out of the force,
but would almost certainly never get another job in law
enforcement as long as I live. This has to end right here,
Jake, make no mistake about that.”

“Players like Harry Caplin, Fiona, have the type of
lawyers that walk into a police station and five minutes
later walk out with their client alongside them.”

“What’s that supposed to mean, that this case
won’t stand up?” said Fiona.
“It means that people as well connected as Harry
and his friends would be back out on the street on bail
within hours of their arrest. They have no hesitation in
bribing officials or even by bringing to bear the sort of
pressures that are so powerful that the law can be changed
to suit the lawbreaker. But the most effective thing of all is
good old-fashioned lying by old liars like Harry Caplin.”
“Why, was a lot of what he said untrue?” She sat
down on the deck of the Phantom.
“Definitely,” I said, “but like all first-class lies it
had a firm foundation of truth.”
“So, what was true, then?” asked Fiona.
“Well, I’ll just say this, he didn’t leave me in
any doubt about the way that this investigation should
continue. Providing that it is tailored one hundred per
cent to the convenience of Harry Caplin. Who I now
believe to be one of the most manipulative individuals
that I’ve had the misfortune to ever meet.”
“I’m still no wiser, but I suppose you’ll enlighten
me at the appropriate time” said Fiona, jumping off the
deck of the boat. “I’m going to shower and then sleep in
that order,” she added over her shoulder as she walked
back up to the house.