THE LONDON DRUG WARS (18 page)

Brookes set his phone alarm to wake
him in time for him to get home and change before Brigid arrived to pick him up
for work the next morning. He said nothing to her about his blossoming
relationship with Liza and she and her colleagues had sense enough not to raise
the subject, although the smile on his face when in repose told a story. But
they talked about it behind his back. All were secretly pleased; not just for
him but also because he was far less grumpy than normal and less inclined to
bite their heads off when they made a mistake.

There were several messages on
Brookes’ desk when he arrived at Cundell House. He went through them first to
find the urgent ones. He stopped when he saw one from the police laboratory. He
recognised the name of the sender as being the force’s expert on electronics
and communications. Picking up the phone he dialled the number shown on the
message and was rewarded with an immediate answer. He said, “Charlie? John
Brookes here, I got your message, what have you got for me?”

“Hello sir. The throwaway mobile
phone number we couldn’t trace on Hohner’s phone;
it is
French. We
traced the sale to a shop in a small town north of Marseille called
Septèmes-les-Vallons. I’ve checked on Wikipedia; there’s only about twenty
thousand inhabitants in the place so with the Russian forename you’ve got it
shouldn’t be too difficult to find who it is; I mean, Leonid has got to be a
Russian name. And how many Russians will be living in a place like that?”

Brookes laughed into the phone.
“Brilliant Charlie. Tell me how you spell the name of the town and I’ll get
some enquiries going. Oh, there is something else. Apparently the dead guy,
Hohner, his wife wants the phone back even though she‘s been told it’s damaged.
She says it has sentimental value to her. Of course that’s a load of rubbish,
I’ve no doubt it’s the Russian gang boss who wants to know whether we got any
phone numbers from it. But we don’t have a choice, legally we have to give it
back to her. The problem is that I don’t want him to know what we know if you
follow me. Can you help me here?”

There was a silence on the other end
of the phone then the sound of a crash. Then a distant voice saying, “Damn,
I’ve dropped it. Good job we’ve already examined it as that will have buggered
the memory.”

Brookes’ next call was to Jeremy
Hornby. But not everyone was an early riser and Brookes was told that his
friend would not be in until nine. Brookes asked that Hornsby be asked to phone
him as soon as he arrived. Putting the phone down, he left his office and went
to the incident room. He poured himself a coffee from the machine and he took a
seat at DS Moore’s desk. The old DS was on the phone. Finishing the call, he
put down the receiver and said, “Morning boss, everything OK?”

“Everything is
dandy thanks Bill. What’s happening here?”

“Some good news
about the Jamaicans.” He handed Brookes a report. The evidence against Byron
Smith and his gang had been submitted in a docket to the Crown Prosecutors. The
evidence gathered from the bombsite and gang members showed that there was
clearly a case for Smith to answer. An arrest warrant was obtained and an
extradition request sent to the Attorney General in Jamaica.

It arrived at an opportune time. The
winds of change in the corridors of power had brought a new prime minister to
office on the Caribbean island. As is the case in many lesser developed
nations, Jamaica had a serious corruption problem that allowed criminals a more
or less free reign. The new PM had been elected on a law and order ticket. He
set out to get rid of corrupt officials and prosecute known criminals.

His first action was to sack several
high ranking civil servants and officials, against whom accusations had been
made and where there was evidence to support the allegations. His next action
was to look at the list of criminals and start hunting them down. To assist
him, the PM had appointed a new police commissioner, a retired army general.
With the extradition request from the UK he made Smith his first target; he saw
no problem in exporting one of the worst criminals on the island to be
incarcerated elsewhere.

A heavily armed squad of officers was
sent to carry out the arrest at Smith’s fortress-like home on the slopes of
Blue Mountain. But he did not come quietly. A pitched battle ensued during
which two police officers were shot and injured. The police had the place
surrounded but could not gain entry with conventional police weapons. The
Commissioner, fresh from the army, called an old colleague and an armoured
vehicle was brought to the scene. Even then Smith would not surrender. So two
rockets were fired into the building.

When the smoke cleared there wasn’t
much left of the residence. In the rubble the bodies of Smith and six of his
bodyguards were found.

Brookes smiled as he read the report.
Whilst he was not exactly bloodthirsty, he felt there was a certain poetic
justice in the way events had turned out. Now the two heads were truly removed
from the Jamaican serpent and the tail would soon wither and die. He said,
“Have the team been given the news Bill?”

“No boss, I thought you’d want to do
that.”

Brookes called his team together to
give them the news; it was greeted with a cheer. When the noise had died down,
he continued, “Think what we could do with a squadron of tanks. Instead of
pussy-footing around these criminals, we could take them all out.”

Fred Middlemiss said, “I can just see
you as a tank commander boss, goggles, leather ‘helmet an’ all, pumping shells
into the Russians’ nightclub.”

Brookes waited for the laughter to
die down. Then he said, “We can dream Fred but sadly we must be a bit more
conventional. OK, let’s get back to work and bring down the Russian gang.”

As the team dispersed to their
various duties Brookes returned to his seat beside Moore’s desk. Once seated he
said, “What else do we have Bill?”

“Well, since we’ve closed down Bronchi’s
brothels and one of his nightclubs we’ve been able to tighten the surveillance
on him and his gang. As you ordered boss, we’re paying some attention to the
silver Merc they used for distributing the drugs. Oh, and Dick Mann is working
with the VAT mob. He’s looking to see if Bronchi is laundering any drug money
through his legitimate companies and also looking at the two whose phone
numbers Hohner had.”

“Good. Knowing what we now know about
the man, he’s not likely to use any of the companies that he’s known to have an
interest in for his criminal activities. But the other two might prove
interesting. Anything so far?”

Moore shook his head. “Sadly, no; but
Mann’s only just got started.”

Brigid wandered over with her note
book in her hand. “This looks interesting sir, a Russian goon and his
girlfriend left the Blue Orchid early this morning and went to St. Pancras
Station where they booked seats on the Eurostar train to Paris. Apparently the
goon was carrying a big suitcase.”

Brookes was alert immediately. “When
exactly was this?”

“They arrived at the station just
five minutes ago.”

“Has the train left yet?”

“No, it’s due to leave at nine.” She
looked at her watch. “That’s twenty minutes, sir.”

Brookes scratched his head. “Who’s
following them Brigid?”

“Gill Foreman and her partner Brian
Millward. Gill wants to know whether you want them stopped and searched. Shall
I tell her to go ahead?”

Brookes frowned, uncertain about the
best course to take. “No, wait a minute while we think this through. How did
Gill first spot the couple?”

Brigid answered impatiently, “She saw
them leaving the nightclub and getting into a taxi.”

Brookes shook his head. “In broad
daylight? That sounds a bit obvious doesn’t it? We’ve already established that
Bronchi is no idiot. He must know we’re watching him and his gang.”

Brigid rolled her eyes. “Gill needs
to know what you want her to do sir, before the train leaves.”

“OK, don’t be so impatient woman.
Tell her to get tickets and follow. Get a description of the couple from her
and phone ahead to Folkestone. Get the Customs to stop and search them. Tell
them not to let on we’re interested. Then, if they’ve got a suitcase full of
cash Gill and her partner are there and can arrest them. If it’s just full of
clothes we won’t have egg on our faces.”

“Yes sir.” Brigid turned and stormed
across to her desk to make the call. Brookes studied her back but said nothing
more.

A light on Moore’s phone began
flashing. He said, “That’s a call on your phone boss, shall I take it?”

Getting up, Brookes said, “No, I know
who that will be, I’ll take it. Get Brigid to come to my office when she gets
off the phone.”

Arriving at his desk Brookes grabbed
the phone. “Hello, Brookes here.”

“John; it’s Jeremy, what’s so damned
urgent you phone before I’ve even got to the office?”

“Serves you right, the day’s half
gone before you stir. Listen, That rogue throwaway mobile we found on Hohner I
told you about.”

“Yes?”

“Well my boffin tells me he’s traced
it to a shop in a small French town near Marseilles.”

“Really? That is interesting;
Marseilles is one of the biggest smuggling ports in Europe.”

“Yes, I know. Now I need someone in
the French police that won’t give me the brush off if I contact him. You
wouldn’t happen to know someone would you?”

“You’re in luck, I know just the guy.
But you’ll have to behave yourself if you’re looking for their assistance. They
are not over-enamoured with us Brits you know. How is your French by the way?”

“Schoolboy at best. But I think
Brigid speaks the lingo. Just a moment Jeremy.” He looked at her with raised
eyebrows as he spoke, she had come into his office and sat opposite him whilst
he’d been talking.

“Which
lingo
is that, sir?”

With his hand over the mouthpiece he
said, “French; it looks as if we’re going to need help from the frogs.”

She rolled her eyes at him, then said
in a haughty voice, “With that attitude you won’t get very far with them sir.
But the answer to your question is yes, I do speak the language.”

“Good,” he said. Then into the phone
he said, “She does indeed ‘speaka da lingo’ so we’re alright Jeremy.”

“It’s not pigeon Spanish you heathen,
it’s French. OK leave it with me, I’ll phone my contact and get back to you.
How much can I tell him?”

“As much as you need to get his help.
Just tell him it’s important and we’ll fill him in on the details when we meet
him.”

Putting the phone down, he rubbed his
hands together. “We might have struck pay dirt Brigid my girl.” He filled her
in on what he’d learned about the mobile phone.

Brigid had got up to go back to the
Incident Room but he said, “Wait a minute Brigid, there’s something we need to
talk about. Sit down please and don’t roll those big blue eyes at me until
you’ve heard what I have to say.”

Her face turned a deep red and her
jaw set defiantly but she did as he’d told her. “Now,” he said, “answer me
this. We’ve been watching Bronchi for a couple of weeks now, haven’t we?”

She didn’t speak for a long moment
but finally said between gritted teeth, “Yes sir.”

“And how many times has he given us
the slip?”

“I don’t know, a few maybe.”

“Right, a few times. Do you think
that was luck on his part?”

“I don’t know, how could I?”

“Nor do I but I can make an educated
guess. He’s been in the drugs business for some years now and has never been
convicted of anything. He hasn’t even had a parking ticket. Do you think that
was luck?”

A frown had appeared on Brigid’s face
and her colour began to return to normal. “What are you getting at sir?”

“Bear with me for a moment. The
people who buy his drugs, how do you reckon they pay?”

“Well that’s obvious isn’t it, cash.”

“That’s right, cash. And what sort of
denomination of notes would you say they would pay in?”

Brigid’s expression had changed now
completely as she had begun to understand what he was getting at. “So what
you’re saying is that with the amount of drugs he sells, the pile of notes
would be very bulky.”

“Very bulky indeed. Think about it.
Supposing most people pay in £10 notes. And suppose he’s trying to move
£1,000,000 worth. How many notes would that be?”

She took a moment to answer whilst
she worked this out. Finally she said, “That would be 100,000 notes.”

“Yes and you would need a very large
suitcase to carry that lot it. And we know Bronchi’s turnover is enormous. Can
you imagine a constant stream of goons leaving the nightclub carrying suitcases
full of bank notes going to France with their girlfriends? I think his methods
would be a bit more sophisticated than that, don’t you?”

Brigid said nothing.

Brookes continued, “We know Bronchi
isn’t stupid, but it would seem he might think we are. This could be some kind
of a diversion.”

Brigid looked down, examining her
fingernails. “Yes sir, maybe I hadn’t thought it through properly.”

His
expression softened into a smile. “OK. I only realised how bulky a large sum of
money is when we raided the Moscow Lights club; the safe was stuffed full with
it and that was less than half a million. Now tell Bill Moore to alert the team
on surveillance; they should be suspicious of any unusual activity around the
club.”