THE LONDON DRUG WARS (17 page)

“
When one
faces a coup d’état, the first priority is to chop off the hand that holds the
weapon. The head comes later.
”

–
William
Breton

DAC Groves chaired the briefing. The
Commissioner, John Weaver, attended as well as the heads of the Fraud and Drug
squads, Special Branch, Press Bureau and a representative from the Crown
Prosecution Service. The Commissioner listened carefully as Brookes detailed
the events of the previous night, asking just a few questions for
clarification.

When Brookes had finished, Weaver
thanked him and DCI Bolton, commending them and their teams for their alertness
and response. He then addressed the whole group. “You are all aware of the
Prime Minister’s concern about the drug dealers. The events of the last few
nights reveal how arrogant the gangs have become. Neither the Prime Minister
nor I will tolerate bombers operating in our city. I want the person who
ordered this attack brought to justice with despatch. All the forces’ resources
are at your disposal; just tell me what you need.”

Groves responded, “I think we have
access to all the police resources we need sir, but we could use some help from
other agencies. I asked Mr. Gilchrist from CPS to join us this morning sir, as
we are going to need their help in drawing up arrest and search warrants. I
think we should also meet with London’s Chief Magistrate to acquaint him with
the scale of the enquiry. And of course the media; we must control what is
released to them.”

“Good; I agree. I’ll see the Chief
Magistrate with you. I also think you should bring in Neil Mackenzie of SO 19.”
He referred to the Met’s elite firearms branch. “If this thing continues to
escalate, you may well need armed backup in your operations. How do you intend
to approach the problem of the Russians?”

Groves said, “Superintendent Brookes
has that in hand, perhaps I can let him answer.”

At a nod from Weaver, Brookes took
the floor. ‘I’ve given this a great deal of thought, sir. It’s already clear
that we are unlikely to catch him by our normal methods.” He smiled. “Most of
the time we follow the clues in order to discover the culprit. Here we know who
the culprit is but are starved of hard evidence against him. He’s too powerful.
No-one will come forward to give evidence against him. His power base is fear
and money.”

He continued, “I think we should
attack that power base. Starve him of his income, take out those who are loyal
to him and he will lose his power. Without that, people will no longer be frightened
of him. I think we should hit him in the pocket and keep hitting him until he
bleeds. I’ve already started, as you know, by closing his string of brothels. I
have other ideas that are being looked at now. At the same time we should look
into his past; find out everything about him.”

Weaver nodded as he considered the
proposal. “That makes sense; tell me more.”

”We need to hack into his
communications. I know that’s a delicate issue but he can’t do anything on his
own; he must pass his orders down the chain. Under the current climate
Magistrates are loathe to issue search and arrest warrants, they suggest we are
on fishing expeditions. A change of attitude there would help. The media are
another problem; if they broadcast our every move he will be prepared for it.”

Weaver smiled. “You sound like a
hitman Superintendent; perhaps it’s as well you are on our side.”

There were a few titters around the
room but no-one spoke.

The Commissioner continued, “As a
strategy, I think it’s a good one. I think we may have a few problems with
telephone hacking and we tread on dangerous ground if we try to influence the
courts. But a word in the ear of the Chief Magistrate will do no harm; leave
that to me.”

He paused, then continued, “As for
the media, I can see they are not among your favourite people. But I can’t see
me asking the Home Secretary to issue a D notice. We must try to string them
along; sometimes the carrot is more effective than the stick. What do you think
Superintendent?”

Brookes smiled grimly. “I’ll leave
the politics to you, sir.”

Weaver shook his head. “Sadly that
won’t be enough. You are our knight in shining armour at the moment. Your
success in capturing the bombers and the brothel keepers means I must put you
on display. There is a press conference at five; I want you to attend that with
me.” He paused and looked round the room. Brookes could find no suitable answer
so kept his mouth shut.

“Good; that’s settled then. We will
proceed on that tack, with the wind behind us.”

Just as long as it doesn’t blow us
onto a rocky shore
, was the thought that went through Brookes’ mind, but he
kept it to himself. He suddenly felt exposed; he’d lost his anonymity. It
seemed now that the ball was very much in his court. His next thought was that
he was using far too many metaphors; clearly it was catching.

*

Brookes felt uncomfortable. To his
immediate right sat Adam Sinclair, the Prime Minister. One seat further along
sat John Weaver, the Commissioner. In front of them was a room full of
reporters. TV cameras and spotlights were all pointed at the three men. There
was a hum of conversation in the room until the PM raised a hand.

The room fell silent.

“In the early hours of this morning
in South London, a bomb exploded, killing four people and injuring many others.
The bomb targeted a gang of drug dealers and was probably placed there by a
rival gang; we have open warfare on our streets. Sadly four people died in the
explosion. I will not tolerate this. I have put all of our resources at the
disposal of the Commissioner of the Metropolitan Police, John Weaver, to bring
all of those responsible to justice.

“Fortunately, thanks to the diligence
of the police, the two men who planted the bomb were apprehended within half an
hour of the explosion. One chose to resist by firing a gun at the officers
trying to arrest him. He was shot and killed. I am pleased to report that none
of the officers were injured. The other bomber was arrested and is currently
helping police with their enquiries.

“Be assured that I will leave no stone
unturned until the person who ordered this atrocity is also brought to justice.
This is not about one isolated incident, there have been other deaths in the
recent past. This is about greed; the greed of evil people making vast sums of
money peddling dangerous drugs to our children. These people will go to any
length to achieve their aims. Well I have news for them:
So will I
to
achieve mine.”

He paused for effect then continued,
“With me today are the Commissioner and the man he has chosen to lead the
investigation. It was two of his officers who were instrumental in catching the
bombers.” He turned to
Weaver
, who spoke for just a
few minutes, reinforcing Cairn’s message. He ended by saying, “I will hand you
over to Detective Superintendent Brookes; the officer responsible for the
capture of the bombers and now leading the ongoing investigation.”

All eyes turned to Brookes.

His mind was in a whirl. Fortunately
he’d written down what he needed to say. After a nervous start, his voice grew
in confidence as he spoke. “At 4am this morning two of my officers witnessed
the placing of a package outside the Bridge Tavern in Brixton. The man then got
into a van that immediately accelerated away from the scene. Thirty seconds
later there was an explosion. Fortunately my officers were far enough away not
to have been injured.

As soon as they had recovered from
the blast, one radioed a description of the van to Scotland Yard. Police
patrols began a pursuit of the van across London. Attempts to stop the van drew
gunfire from the passenger. A road block was eventually set up in the van’s
path. The van pulled to a halt fifty yards short of the road block. The
passenger got out and began firing at police as he attempted to escape. Police
marksmen fired two shots and the bomber was killed instantly. The van driver
gave himself up and is in our custody. No police officers were injured in
either incident. Details of the people killed and injured by the blast have
already been released; fortunately, all the injured are expected to live,
though two are seriously ill.”

There was a moment’s pause after he
finished speaking, then uproar.

The PM called for quiet and invited a
woman in the front row to speak. She stood up, “Sarah Collins, BBC. Can you
tell me Superintendent, what were your officers doing there?”

Brookes nodded. “They were keeping
observation on the Bridge Tavern as it was known to be used by drug dealers.”

“If this was known to you why had the
place not been raided?”

“It had, several times, but no drugs
had been found.”

“What about after the blast; were any
drugs found then?”

“Yes, a large quantity. We are
awaiting the results of analysis but believe them to be heroin, cocaine and
crack.”

Another reported rose to his feet.
“Peter Stark, Daily Mail. Doesn’t that suggest the officers conducting the
previous searches didn’t do them properly?”

“No it doesn’t. The drugs were found
in an adjoining building. They were only found as a result of the bomb damage.”

“Who do you think is responsible for
this bombing, Mr. Brookes?”

“That, I am not prepared to speculate
on.”

“Don’t you think the public have a
right to know who is planting bombs in the capital?”

“Yes, and when a court decides
someone is guilty of the offence I’m sure they will be informed. In the
meantime I have an investigation to conduct and speculating about who is
responsible is not helpful in my business.”

Another reporter asked, “Do you have
the identities of the two bombers, Superintendent?”

Brookes looked sideways for a
response from Weaver but the Commissioner kept his eyes to the front. “I am not
prepared to disclose details of the investigation at this stage.”

“When might you be able to disclose
that information?”

“That’s a rather stupid question.
Obviously when it’s safe to do so without that interfering with my enquiry.”

There were a number of shouts from
the audience. Weaver held his hand up for quiet.

When he had it he said, “That is all
ladies and gentlemen; we will release further information when we can. Be
assured that the police are doing everything in their power to bring the
culprit to justice. Thank you for your attention.”

Sinclair led the way out of the
briefing room followed by Weaver and Brookes. Brookes felt as if he’d been
pulled through a ringer. The PM shook their hands and left. Weaver took Brookes
to his office and offered coffee which was gratefully accepted. But lack of
sleep was beginning to have its effect on Brookes and, as soon as politeness
allowed, he excused himself.

As soon as he was outside he phoned
Liza. She answered immediately. “How are you John? You must be exhausted.”

“You could say that love, I’m just
about ready to drop.”

“Well why don’t you come and drop
here. I’ve a nice stew that just needs warming then you can flop out in my bed.
I won’t even make any demands on your body; well, not until you’ve had some
sleep.”

“I’m tempted Liza but I should go
home anyway and change my clothes, these ones smell of dust and rubble.”

“OK, if you insist. But you are not
on your own anymore you know, and you’d better get used to that.”

Brookes
made his way to his flat kicking himself. Liza was right, he was no longer a
lone wolf. Someone now cared about him. He vowed next time to accept such
invitations.

Brookes woke the next morning feeling
refreshed. After a shower and a shave he dressed and made a pot of coffee. As
he sat drinking it his thoughts were on the day ahead. So far he’d gone
strictly by the book. But it hadn’t brought him any closer to bringing Bronchi
down. Now he must become a little devious. But he had to tread very carefully.
What he had in mind could easily go wrong and, whilst he was happy to take
chances himself, he had to consider the careers of his officers. So, for once,
he would not share his plans with all of the team.

Brigid picked him up sharp at 7.30.
She was in a vibrant mood, still excited from the events of the previous day.
She said cheerfully, “Surely we can tie Bronchi to the bombing, can’t we sir?”

Brookes shook his head. “Sadly, no. I
don’t think we can. The only witness is the van driver and he’s too scared to
say anything even though it means a life sentence for him. Knowing Bronchi is
responsible is one thing, proving it is another.”

“How will we bring him down then?”

He glanced sideways at her. “I have
something in mind. But I can’t share it with you at the moment.”

“Why not, sir? It’s not like you to
keep secrets.”

This time he gave her a hard look.
“You’ll just have to trust me on this, Brigid. Now, enough said.”

They made the rest of the journey in
silence.

Arriving at Cundell House, Brookes
went straight into a huddle with DS Moore. He told Brigid to look after Moore’s
desk and told her they were not to be disturbed. She rolled her eyes at him but
did as she was told.

Once the two old detectives were
comfortably seated in the armchairs in Brookes’ office, each with a black
coffee in front of them, Brookes began, “What have you got for me Bill?”

“First the routine stuff, boss. DCI
Hunter’s been on the blower. Hohner’s solicitor has been on to him saying the
wife wants her husband’s personal effects back. Apparently Hunter told him the
mobile phone was damaged but the solicitor said it had sentimental value to the
wife. Hunter’s given the solicitor everything else but he needs the phone from
you as he can’t find a genuine reason why she shouldn’t have it, even though
the sentimental part is obviously bullshit.”

Brookes cursed. “OK leave that to me,
Bill. Now what about the other matter?”

“Well boss, I told you about the old
burglar who’s a sort of poacher turned gamekeeper. Well, he’s willing to help,
he owes me a favour or two.” Moore smiled. “In fact he’s tickled pink; the
thought of breaking into somewhere
with
the old Bill made his day. You
know he has his own locksmith shop now. He runs with his son; all very legit.”

“And are you sure we can trust him?”

“Well, he’s been going straight now
for about ten years and the business is good. He’s got almost as much to lose
as we have, boss.”

“A sobering thought, Bill. Are you
sure you’re OK with this?”

“Certain, boss. The chance to bring
down this bastard is too good to lose. I’m with you all the way.”

“And does
he
know the risks.”

“Yes he does, I made that clear. He’s
knows this is not strictly kosher. But he’s happy to help.”

“OK what about your other friend?”

“OK. Fred Plumlee, my old partner.
Retired four years ago and started a detective agency. Doing very well indeed.
He’s got into the technical part of the game and has all sorts of surveillance
gadgets. He’s shown me some of the stuff he uses. The covert mi
kes
are so small it’s hard to believe
they work, but he gave me a demonstration and they do. The only problem is the
batteries they need. To keep them small enough to hide, they only last three
days max. And the signals they send have a range of less than 100 metres. But while
they last they will pick up normal conversations within five metres of where
they’re set.

“The receiver is less of a problem
than you’d think. You can attach them to a voice sensitive tape recorder so it
only records when there’s some action. That’s no problem to conceal; a parked
car will do fine as long as it isn’t too far from the mike.”

“Good. Now, where will we need to put
them?”

“Well, I’ve had Stumpy Gerrard doing
the obo on Bronchi. He reckons that the Russian does his business in two
places. First, his flat; he never leaves there before midday and gets lots of
visitors in the mornings. Most of them are known to us as members of his gang.
Then there’s the Blue Orchid. When he’s not off gallivanting somewhere he’s got
an office there above the club. I reckon if we put mikes in both places we’ve a
damned good chance of picking up what we need. But you said most of his
conversations with gang members are in Russian, how do we get round that,
boss?”

“OK let’s deal with that when the
time comes; I’ve an idea that should work.” But he paused for a moment whilst
his brain filed away the info Moore had given him. Then he moved on. “OK now
the locations, how will we get the mikes set up?”

“
Yeah,
that’s the tricky bit boss. But I think there’s a way. First, Bronchi’s flat.
It’s on the top floor of a four-storey building. It’s a penthouse and he’s got
the whole floor. The problem is that there’s a security guard in the lobby
twenty-four hours a day. He vets everyone in and out. But there is a way round
him. There’s a back entrance, so we can get into the building. The difficult
bit is that the staircase and the lift are both in the lobby. What we’ll need
to do is think up some distraction at the front whilst we get in and out. Don’t
worry, I’ll come up with something. Anyway, once were past him it’s a piece of
piss. My locksmith reckons he can get us into the flat in two minutes and
anyway there won’t be any traffic on that floor.”

Brookes smiled. “This sounds like a
film I saw, only it was a bank they were trying to get into. OK, we’ll cross
that hurdle when we get to it. Who else lives in the flat?”

“Just Bronchi and his bodyguard who
goes everywhere with him. His girlfriend lives in Pimlico and he only visits
her when he needs nookey so she won’t be a problem. Stumpy says there’s a
cleaning lady who arrives about one in the afternoon, picks up the flat keys
from the guard in the lobby and returns them at about four when she leaves. So
the flat is empty from then until Bronchi gets home, which is usually after
midnight.”

“What about other residents in the
building?”

“As far as we know none have any
connection to Bronchi. They’re all just regular citizens.”

Brookes nodded thoughtfully then
said, “OK. And the Blue Orchid?”

“Well the problem there is the
manager Berkov lives in the flat above the place. That means we’ll have to be
bloody quiet. The club usually closes around 2am. If we hit it at about four,
Berkov should be sound asleep.”

“What about alarms? Are either of the
places alarmed?”

“No, not the flat. With a guard on
duty all the time Bronchi obviously thinks there’s no need for one. But the
club of course is alarmed.” Moore paused and smiled. “This is where my
ex-burglar friend comes into his own. To use his words, he ‘cased the joint’,
acting as a punter in the club. By the way you’ll find his expenses claim in
your tray; I think he put the boat out a bit as he knew it was on us.”

Brookes smiled too and shook his
head. “Don’t worry, if he gets us in it’ll be worth it.”

“He say he can disarm the alarm whilst
we’re there and reset it after we leave; something about using a bypass. A bit
too technical for me but I trust him, boss.”

Brookes sat for a while going over
the plan in his mind. “OK. So, once we make our move, we’ll have a maximum of
three days to get the info we need to catch him.”

“Yes, or go in again with fresh
batteries.”

Brookes shook his head. “Let’s not
push our luck Bill. No, we do this once and once only. But we choose our time.
Now we’ve started, we keep chipping away at the Russian’s empire until we get
under his skin. Then he might do something desperate. Until then we keep our
plans to ourselves. Well done Bill.”

As soon as Moore had left Brookes’
office Brigid poked her head around the door. “DCI Bolton’s here to see you,
sir.”

“Thanks Brigid, bring him in and you
can stay with us. Get him a coffee if he wants one; I’m OK.”

“Do you want me to sweep the place
for bugs sir; with all this secret squirrel stuff you have to be careful don’t
you?”

He gave her a withering look. “Just
do as I ask you for once Brigid.”

She gave him the eye roll treatment
again but said no more.

*

When she and Bolton were comfortably
seated in Brookes’ office Brookes said, “OK what have you got for me Arthur?”

“We’re ready to move on the Anderson
brothers’ flat, boss.”

“Great, what have you learned?”

“Well, we’ve had mixed fortunes on
it. The council were decorating a flat on the top floor in the block opposite,
we were able to get one of our guys in there and set up an observation. He was
there for two days and nights and found out quite a lot about their operation.
First the punters. During the day there’s just the odd customer but from about
six in the evening there’s a steady stream that doesn’t slacken off till about
one in the morning. As we discussed we didn’t stop anyone within half a mile of
the estate and we didn’t show any patterns in the one’s we did stop. These
Anderson guys are selling everything from cannabis, through cocaine and crack
to heroin. They must be making a fortune for themselves and Bronchi.”

Brookes nodded. “What about
security?”

It was Bolton’s turn to nod. “Yes,
plenty. From about ten in the morning there’s at least one skinhead standing by
the entrance to the yard between Browning House and the one facing it,
Llewellyn. He’s on the ball. He watches the traffic; at the first sign of a
police vehicle he signals two guys sitting in a parked car in the yard. This
car then pulls forward and blocks the entrance. Then there’s a small crowd of
yobs at the bottom of the stairs to Browning House. If we did a raid, it would
take us ten minutes to get to the front door. Then we’d have to get through the
damned gate and the door. That would give them more than enough time to dispose
of whatever they had.”

“So how do we get round that?”

“We hit them after everything closes
down. By two in the morning even the lookouts have gone to their beds.”

Brookes frowned. “That seems a bit
strange to me. I wonder if they have something up their sleeve. How long do you
think it will take you to get through the gate and the front door?”

“Sixty-five seconds – no kidding. We
consulted a firm who are into hydraulics. They did a mock-up of the flat’s
doorway and the iron gate set into the frame in front of it. They have a jack
that forces the lock on the gate and a sprung punch that makes the door itself
a piece of cake to get through.”

Brookes nodded thoughtfully. “Is
there any indication that they move their stock of drugs out of the flat
overnight?”

“No, none at all. I think what’s
stopped us before is that we’ve always raided it when it’s been busy. And we
haven’t been equipped to get through the defences. Now we have the intelligence
and the right equipment we can swing it.”

“Sounds good to me Arthur but for one
thing. How do they get their supplies from Bronchi?”

“To be frank we haven’t got a clue.
We follow the brothers everywhere. The furthest either had gone has been the
nearest pub.”

Brookes sat thinking with a frown on
his face. After a long moment he said, “Let’s not lose sight of our objective,
Arthur. My interest in them is only so that we can get something on the
Russian. Is there any way you can find another place to continue the
observation?”

“Not on the estate. We might find
somewhere outside where we can watch who comes and goes to the block. And hold
off on the raid until we find the link with the suppliers.”

It was Bolton’s turn to pull a face.
“OK, if you say so, sir.”

*

That evening Brookes took Liza out to
dinner. He chose a French bistro style restaurant whose owner, Eric, he knew.
When they arrived the Frenchman greeted Brookes warmly then turned to Liza.
Taking her hand he raised it to his lips and kissed it. Looking into her eyes
he said, “My dear, you are beautiful. But what are you doing with this creature
when there are so many charming men about?”

Liza smiled. “Thank you kind sir.
He’s my bit of rough you know, I like to do my bit for charity now and then.”

Eric laughed, turned and showed them
to a table.

The evening was another success. By
now the two had got to know each other well and they chatted as if they’d been
together for years. But the way they looked at each other made it clear to all
those interested enough to notice that they were both in the process of falling
in love. Eric served them course after course and knew enough about people not to
hover too long at their table. The couple’s lovemaking that night was exquisite
as by now they had got to know each physically as well as mentally.