The Last Big Job (31 page)

‘
Sorry to push this through so fast,’ Henry said
apologetically, ‘but I’ve got to get on to another appointment,
after which,’ he added as a sweetener, ‘I’ll probably be able to
offer you some very cheap ciggies. I have a contact in Kent who
deals in duty frees. Excellent prices, amazing mark-ups ... so I
need to get going. Sorry, because it’s a good party.’

‘
OK, what’re you saying?’ Gary asked.

‘
I’d like that down payment we agreed on - and tomorrow I’ll
arrange delivery wherever and whenever you like.’

‘
How
do I know you won’t fuck off
with the money?’

Henry laid the letter-opener down, a very pained expression on
his face. ‘I thought we’d been through all this. My word is my
bond. I’ve got a good history as you know. I never once let Jacky
Lee down and I won’t let you down.’ He was holding his arms wide in
an ‘Honest John’ gesture. Then he decided to throw in a bit of a
wobbler like Frank Jagger would have done. ‘And anyway, what is all
this shit? I’m here, aren’t I? You’ve beaten the crap out of me,
put me through the ringer ‘cos you thought I might be a cop, and
I’m still here, putting business your way. If I had been a cop, I
would’ve dropped this job pretty damn quick, and if I hadn’t wanted
to do a deal with you, I wouldn’t be here. So what do you want?
More blood? I need the down payment to get this deal up and
running. If you don’t want to give it, I’ll fuck off.’

Gary snorted.
‘
You
don’t half get on your high
horse, don’t you, Frank? You’re hyper, man. Touchy, touchy, touchy.
Cool down, chill out. I asked a valid question, that’s
all.’

Henry took a deep breath. ‘Right - you’re right, Gary.
Sorry.’

‘
However, there is a slight change in the down-payment
details. It’s ten per
cent, not the
fifteen per cent we agreed. That’s three and a half now, the rest
the day after delivery.’

Henry bridled again. ‘A deal should be a deal.’ His voice was
stone.

‘
It will be,’ Gary said reassuringly.

Henry made a show of considering it. ‘OK, to show I trust you,
I’ll take it - but don’t mess me around on delivery. That’s when I
want the full balance.’

Gary allowed himself a small smile. His eyes flickered across
to Drozdov, who shifted, leaned forwards and took a brown package
from his jacket. He gave it to Henry who opened it and peered
inside at the contents.

‘
I know it’s a corny line - but do I need to count
it?’

‘
It’s all there, Frank, three and a half thou.’

Henry slid it into a pocket.

There was a knock on the office door. The four men turned to
look.

‘
Yep,’ Gary shouted.

The door opened a few inches. A guy Henry recognised as
having been one of
Jacky Lee’s gofers -
now having changed allegiance and employed in the same capacity for
Thompson - poked his head in. ‘Sorry to bother you, boss, but the
guy you were expecting is here.’

He opened the door.

Behind him stood Billy Crane.

Chapter Thirteen

It had been a summer of rain in Britain. Records had been
broken, many towns and villages devastated by flooding. Days of
sunshine had been few and far between and no water authority had
dared mention the dreaded hose-pipe ban. Most non-rainy days were
overcast, dull and cold. The majority of people in Britain - and
Danny Furness was no exception - were desperate to get some
sunshine on their bodies to warm their creaking bones.

With the way things had gone for her over the last few months,
particularly in terms of Jack Sands’s suicide and its aftermath,
she had not been able to escape to sunnier climes. A long Caribbean
holiday was planned for the New Year with a girlfriend. So,
although the Tenerife trip was primarily work-related and short,
she intended to take full advantage of it.

The morning after her arrival, Danny was up at eight and in
the hotel dining room for the buffet breakfast shortly after. She
sat contentedly alone at a table with a view across the pool and
beyond that to the sea-front promenade which led to the centre and
harbour of Los Cristianos.

Whilst eating she worked out her timetable for the
day.

First thing was a pleasant stroll down to the resort centre,
grabbing a coffee at one of the cafes to watch life meander by for
a while. Then she was going to make her way on foot to Playa de Las
Americas where Gillrow lived in his apartment. Danny aimed to be
knocking on his door at ten o’clock. The interview would take as
long as it took. After that she would return to the hotel, ease
herself into her swimming costume, trying not to be too concerned
by the bulges - and spend the rest of the day by the pool, with
several long cool drinks to hand, chain smoking and reading a
paperback.

She folded the last bite of the warm roll into her mouth,
washing it down with black coffee, wiping her lips with a napkin.
Then she stood up and walked out of the hotel on to the sun terrace
surrounding the large free-form pool.

She almost collapsed with bliss from the heat of the sun, even
at that time of day. She slipped her sunglasses on and breathed in
the warm air deeply.

She felt better already.

Henry Christie and Terry Briggs were at the ‘unit’, the
Undercover Operations Headquarters on a Blackburn industrial
estate. They were planning the delivery of the whisky whilst
waiting for a phone call from Thompson to tell them where and
when.

Henry’s mobile rang. It was his own phone and he answered it
using his own name. Karl Donaldson’s voice came clearly down the
satellite link, speaking from his office in the FBI section of the
American Embassy in London.

‘
Gimme a fax number if you can,’ he instructed Henry. ‘Read
what I send, then call me back on a landline, not a mobile. You
never know who might be listening.’

Henry gave him the secure fax line number of the
unit.

A few minutes later the machine fired up and Donaldson’s fax
spewed forth.

Henry settled down to read it, Terry peering over his
shoulder.

‘
Henry,’ he read, ‘I have been following up the details you
gave me since we spoke the other day and have come up with a few
interesting and disturbing facts.

‘
Firstly, Nikolai Drozdov. As we’ve already discussed, and you
know, the Russian Mafia are very powerful, but as in the Cosa
Nostra, they are very divided, fractious and families are often at
war with each other. Some families are more powerful than others
and one of the top five are the Drozdovs, headed by an
old-fashioned patriarch called Alexandr. Their power base is
Moscow. They are one of the richest and most pro active of the
families, very strategically-minded with long term goals. They are
also one of the most extreme in terms of violence - if measured by
the number of people they are alleged to have murdered. They
specialise in drugs, prostitution and extortion rackets - extorting
mainly from multi-national companies, not corner shops,
incidentally. Nikolai Drozdov is Alexandr’s grandson. Nikolai’s
father was killed in a gang shoot-out four years ago. Nikolai is
being groomed to take over the number one spot when the old man
(he’s about 90!) either dies or abdicates.

‘
You may (or may not) recall an article in the
Sunday Times
recently
about “crime kings” gathering in Europe to divide up the continent
between themselves. One name not mentioned in the article is
Drozdov, but they were the main players behind that meeting.
Intelligence from French sources filtered through to the FBI about
that meeting indicates that the Russians are very interested in
wrestling the UK heroin trade from the Turkish gangsters who now
control it. There was a lot of friction between the two parties and
subsequently a lot of dead bodies have turned up across Europe this
year. However, the position is still unclear as to whether the
Turks have kept control or whether the Russkies have taken over.
Time will tell, no doubt.

‘
The other interesting snippet of intel states that the
Russians intend to form a bridgehead into Britain for all types of
criminal activity. I think it stands to reason they might choose a
city like Manchester and an area like the North-West as starting
points for their invasion. Nikolai will be eager to earn his spurs
by setting up structures and networks within the already-existing
infrastructure to achieve this. Britain is a biggie and carries a
lot of kudos for Nikolai if he can achieve this.

‘
Some facts and figures for you to chew on: there are eight
thousand organised crime groups in Russia. Two-thirds of the
country is controlled by them. Two hundred of these groups have
constructive contacts in fifty other countries. They are spreading
faster than AIDS ever did - and they are more lethal.

‘
The appearance of Drozdov in the UK tells me this is the
British foothold and once they’re in, they are here to stay. Very
worrying, H.’

Henry glanced up at Terry. ‘Hm,’ he breathed
thoughtfully.

He continued to read the fax. ‘The FBI are investigating a
series of killings believed to have been committed by one man
across Europe. He is called Yuri Ivankov (no photo, all
descriptions poor). Ex-KGB Colonel and hit man, now in private
practice, freelancing exclusively for the Drozdovs. Late forties -
that’s all I have. Working on a photo and desc as we speak. He has
murdered several Turks and some Euro-based American mobsters,
operating on the continent, hence our interest, and also the CIA,
I’m told, but cannot confirm this.

‘
From what you’ve told me, putting 2 and 2 together, I would
say he is Jacky Lee’s killer. Jacky was a barrier to the Russians,
and they wanted his business. Thompson and Elphick are ambitious
etc, etc... I’m sure you’ve already worked this out. What it means
is that you’ve got real trouble up there and I think you need to
get a big operation underway to disrupt them - NOW!

‘
Will be pleased to assist - in a consultancy capacity, of
course.

‘
Best wishes, Karl D.

‘
PS - there was a killing in Paris just over a week ago. We
think it could be the work of Ivankov.’

For the first time that year Danny was able to wear a loose
T-shirt and cut-off jeans in the open air. With open-toed sandals,
a clipboard and a shoulder bag, she set off to find Barney Gillrow.
Whilst strolling along she noticed that couples tended to give her
a wide berth; she wondered about this for a while until she
realised she was in the uniform of a timeshare tout, many of whom
were out prowling for their commission along the
beach-front.

Twenty minutes of slow walking brought her into Playa de Las
Americas, a large, bustling, purpose-built resort with three
manmade beaches and three natural ones - dark, volcanic, typical of
the Canaries.

She found Gillrow’s apartment block sooner and more easily
than expected. It was set back about 800 metres from the Playa del
Bobo beach, and was low rise in comparison to the surrounding
blocks and hotels.

Danny wandered in through the reception area unchallenged and
to one of the four lifts, taking it up to the third floor, stepping
out on to a walkway running along the rear of the apartment block,
overlooking a narrow side road. She found Gillrow’s apartment and
rang the bell. Whilst waiting she rooted in her bag and found her
warrant card.

Gillrow answered the door, dressed in a light short-sleeved
shirt and slacks, nothing on his feet. He looked very tanned and
healthy. Danny gave him her best smile and held up her
badge.

It was with a great deal of reluctance that he invited Danny
into the apartment, muttering, ‘I told you all I know over the
phone. Wasted journey, this. Wasted.’

‘
Well, you never know,’ she said positively.

He gave her a withering look.

The inside of the flat was airy and bright, with patio doors
opening out on to a wide balcony overlooking the pool. It was
nicely furnished, with broad comfortable sofas and easy chairs. A
huge TV squatted in one corner; Danny assumed it was able to
receive satellite channels the world over.

Stairs led up to an interior landing off which were several
doors - bedrooms and bathrooms, no doubt.

Ceiling fans rotated silently but effectively.

‘
This is very nice,’ Danny acknowledged. ‘Where’s Mrs
Gillrow?’

‘
Down at the health club.’

‘
In that case we can have a nice chat, can’t we?’

Barney sniffed doubtfully and gestured for her to sit down at
the table out on the balcony.

‘
Lovely view,’ she commented, once seated.

‘
Mmm. Can I offer you a drink? You’ve come a long way for
nothing, so it’s the least I can do.’

‘
Thanks. Anything soft will be fine.’

Danny watched him go back in through the patio doors to the
spacious kitchen beyond the sitting area.

He looked very well. Life out here in the sun obviously agreed
with him. His hair was still dark with the odd streak of grey,
swept back from his face, and he had a nicely trimmed moustache.
Danny thought he was good-looking and could easily imagine him as a
smooth-talking detective of the type to whom she had so often been
attracted in her earlier days when she was younger and easily led.
She had been very promiscuous way back then and, whilst not proud
of it, she wasn’t raked by guilt either. A little regret, maybe,
because she had a reputation which often preceded her and the
‘decent’ guys - as opposed to the ones after a bed for the night -
avoided her like she had the clap, which she had once
had.