THE LONDON DRUG WARS (20 page)

At nine that same morning, despite
his disturbed sleep, Brookes and Brigid arrived at Paris Charles De Gaulle on
the stockbroker shuttle. On the short hop across the channel Brookes was amused
to see the faces of just about all the other passengers hidden behind their
pink copies of the Financial Times. He sat back to enjoy the flight; the coffee
served was good and the journey took only forty minutes.

 As they entered the arrivals hall
Brookes looked around. There were the usual crowd of people waiting to meet
passengers. Among them was a man brandishing a card with Brookes’ name on it.
He introduced himself as Major Jacques Le Roux of the Gendarmerie Nationale;
his English was good if heavily accented. He was in his early forties,
well-built and well dressed. He had the dark good looks of the Latin and the
mannerisms and charm that went with it. He took them to a waiting car and drove
them to a hotel where they booked in and left their bags in their rooms. From
there he took them to the headquarters of the Gendarmerie Nationale.

Whilst en route, Le Roux explained
the structure of the French police services; it was unique to that country.
There were in fact two parallel police organisations: The Police Nationale
policed Paris and the large towns throughout the country; the Gendarmerie
policed the rural areas and, in addition, carried out other functions which
were more of a paramilitary nature. There were many overlaps and the two
organisations shared many resources. The Central Office for Narcotic Drugs was
an example of that. Brookes was to meet the Director of the COND and formally
request his assistance.

Initially the Director was somewhat
reserved; he apparently spoke no English. But Brigid spoke to him in fluent
French and Brookes, watching the exchange, saw him slowly warm towards her.
Then, with Brigid interpreting, Brookes filled him in on their mission. Clearly
the request struck a chord with the Frenchman. Through Brigid, he explained
that they too had a problem with Russian gangs and would be pleased to give
Brookes all the help he could in tracing the possible contact.

He went on to say that the COND’s
intelligence unit had already been busy on Brookes’ behalf. They had begun to
make discreet enquiries about any Russians living in Septèmes-les-Vallons. In
just a short time they’d discovered a great deal. A Ukrainian national named
Leonid Belyh lived in the town and ran a company named Com Dec. The company had
not come to the notice of police before and had the outward appearance of being
legitimate. Its accounts were in order and gave every appearance of it being a
thriving business.

One other point
of significance was that Com Dec was a wholesale company which imported
computers, spare parts and computer games from places as diverse as Asia, The
Ukraine and The America’s, then distributed them throughout Europe. Thanks to
Brookes’ enquiry, Com Dec was now under close scrutiny by the COND and Brookes
was invited to travel to Septèmes-les-Vallons and observe. Brookes made no
mention of his knowledge of the likely connection between Com Dec the computer
wholesalers, and PC Inc., the London based computer retailers.

He accepted the invitation with
thanks.

That evening Le Roux had taken Brigid
and Brookes out for a meal. The French are justifiably famous for their
cuisine. Apart from the many foreign influences that the French have
incorporated into their food preparation, there are two basic styles that
foreigners associate with the French. One is the nouveau cuisine, which places
great emphasis on the presentation of the food. This satisfies those who eat
with their eyes. The other is the traditional style, where the food is lovingly
prepared and cooked and satisfies people’s taste buds and appetites. Brookes
was pleased to find that Jacques tastes were traditional; his opinion was that
if he wanted pretty patterns he’d go to an art gallery, they had no place on a
food plate. The two detectives and their host enjoyed a superb meal before
returning to their hotel for a good night’s sleep. Before going to bed Brookes
phoned Liza.

Early the next morning, he, Brigid
and Le Roux travelled the 500 or so kilometres to Nimes by air. It was clear
that Le Roux would accompany them wherever they went in the country. Whilst the
two British detectives had been made welcome, the French police would not have
them wandering about on their own.

From Nimes Airport, Le Roux took them
directly to the local Police Nationale headquarters where he introduced them to
Commissar Henri Chesnaye, head of the French Narcotics unit for the area.
Chesnaye listened with a twinkle in his eye to Brigid’s by now well-rehearsed
greeting in her fluent French.

When she’d finished, he replied in
perfect English, “I see you are very careful to make the right impression,
young lady.” Then to Brookes he said, “Welcome to Nimes monsieur, I hope we can
catch the Russian smugglers for you; they are also a thorn in our side.”

Brigid’s face had reddened with
embarrassment.

Chesnaye grinned at her. “Don’t worry
I know how prickly some of my countrymen can be. But I’m sure we can do
business together.” He laughed and lightly tapped her on the shoulder. She
returned his smile, beginning to like this man and his sense of humour.

Brookes said, “I understand you have
a similar problem with Russian drug dealers in your big cities Commissar.”

“Yes we do. Please call me Henri, and
you are John I believe?”

Brookes nodded. “Yes. What have you
found out about this computer company Henri?”

“Enough to arouse my interest; it
appears your hunch may be a good one. We intercepted a phone call to the
manager’s house early this morning. The language used was Russian. The caller
arranged a meeting with the Ukrainian for late this evening. My Russian
interpreter said that the tone used was not one you might expect between
friends or lovers; more like business associates. If not an affair of the
heart, what business is conducted in the middle of the night?”

Brookes smiled. “You move fast,
Henri, with your phone taps; you must have a good relationship with your local
magistrates. We’re not so lucky.”

This earned another beaming smile
from the Frenchman, who said, “No, and I believe in England an accused person
is considered innocent until proven guilty; is that not so?”

Both laughed at this.

Brookes got serious again. “Where is
the meeting to take place?”

“That was not mentioned. Presumably
it was prearranged. We will follow the Ukrainian and find out.”

Brookes frowned. “It’s important to
us that he isn’t aware of our interest in him; isn’t it likely he will be able
to spot a tail if he is up to no good?”

“Yes, I expect he might. But my men
will keep out of sight; we have planted tracking devices on his vehicles. And
no, he will not find them with a detector; they are state of the art and
dormant until activated, and we will only activate them when he is on the
move.”

Brookes shook his head in amazement.
“Clearly we have something to learn from you Henri; I don’t think we’d get away
with that in the UK.”

“Thank you for the compliment. I have
arranged for you and your sergeant to travel in the control van for the
operation tonight. Then you can see first-hand how we work.”

Later at his hotel, Brookes called
Bill Moore and instructed him to check if he’d found out anything from his
Customs and Excise contact. He was told Moore was seeing her the next day. He
also phoned Liza. Then he took a doze so he would be alert for the night’s
exercise.

*

Chesnaye’s briefing was thorough and
to the point; Brigid translated for Brookes’ benefit. To Brookes’ relief
considerable emphasis was placed on the need for the observers to remain
covert. The objective was not to make arrests at the scene but to see where the
trail led them. Both the French and the English wanted to find the whole smuggling
chain before moving in. All this however, was hopeful speculation, Brookes
realised; all they had to go on at the moment was a name and number on a dead
man’s mobile phone and a cryptic phone call.

There were four mobile teams of two
French detectives who would take part in the surveillance, three of the teams
in cars and one young couple on a motorcycle. A mobile control van would
monitor the tracking device on the Ukrainian’s vehicle and co-ordinate the
operation. This was in addition to the static observations being kept on the
premises of Com Dec and the Ukrainian’s home. They would alert the police
mobile units when he was on the move and the vehicle he was using; only then
would the tracking device be activated. Brookes was again surprised at the number
of resources the French had put into this operation.

The mobile control was an unmarked
Renault delivery van. Brookes and Rose were to travel in the back beside the
operation controller and the detective monitoring the tracking device. After
the briefing the team assembled at a police station half a mile from the
Ukrainian’s home. He’d been seen to leave the Com Dec office shortly after 6pm
and go home. Everyone sat drinking coffee, waiting for the action to begin.

A call came just before nine from the
unit watching the house; the Ukrainian was on the move.

The squad mounted up and moved out
one at a time, keeping a distance between each vehicle in order not to appear
as a convoy. The control van remained well to the rear, plotting the
Ukrainian’s progress on a monitor. Superimposed on the screen was a detailed
map of the area, giving them the exact location of the subject van at all
times. The tracking device had a range of some five kilometres so there was no
need to crowd the quarry. The other police vehicle filled the space between,
always out of sight of the target.

The Ukrainian
was driving a small unmarked delivery van. Leaving his house, he drove around
the streets of Septèmes-les-Vallons in an apparently aimless fashion. Twice he
stopped for no apparent reason. Clearly the man was on the alert for anyone
interested in his movements; tailing the van without the tracking device would
have been almost impossible without being spotted by the quarry.

Finally he turned south and left
Septèmes-les-Vallons on a narrow country lane. After six or seven kilometres he
pulled off the road and stopped. The detective operating the tracker confirmed
that the van had stopped in the car park of an Auberge, or country inn. The
controller directed the first of the following cars to drive past the car park
and report. A minute later their message came through; the van was parked
beside the only other two cars there and the driver had disappeared, presumably
into the Auberge.

The driver of the surveillance car
stopped a hundred yards up the road and let his passenger out. He ran back to a
point where he could keep observation on the car park, himself hidden by
shrubbery. Next the controller ordered the couple on the motorcycle to enter
the inn. Parking the bike, they took off their helmets and walked through the
door hand-in-hand, looking for all the world like two lovers.

The Ukrainian was standing at the bar
with two other men and the patron; each had a glass of wine in his hand. They
all looked at the couple as they entered. The two nodded to the men at the bar
and ordered a carafe of red wine and some bread with olives from the patron.
Taking it to a table in the far corner they sat down opposite each other. As
they passed the Ukrainian gave them an appraising look before turning his
attention back to his companions.

The woman sat facing the bar. Whilst
appearing to stare into the eyes of her lover, she watched the group out of the
corner of her eye. There were no other customers in the bar. French
country-folk eat early and it was already past the hour when most dined.

It soon became clear that the four
men at the bar were well known to each other. Their conversation was in French.
The Ukrainian spoke it fluently but with a heavy East European accent. From the
way the other men spoke it was clear that they were local. The subject of their
conversation was no more sinister than the recent performance of the local
football team.

Over the next half hour the Ukrainian
drank two glasses of wine, giving every appearance of relaxing with friends.
Then, at 9.50 he looked at his watch. Finishing his wine, he said his goodbyes
and headed for the door.

Outside, the
detective watching the car park saw him emerge; he stood for a long moment
looking around him. Then, instead of returning to his van, he walked over to
the parked motorcycle. Squatting beside it he did something to the electrical
wiring beneath the petrol tank. Only then did he go to his van and drive off
back towards Lyon.

When translating this for Brookes,
Jacqui asked, “Do you think he spotted the two motorcyclists as police, sir?”

Brookes pulled a face and slowly
shook his head. “Not necessarily. I think he’s just not taking any chances. He
obviously wants to make certain he’s not followed.”

 In the meantime the controller had
ordered his other mobile units to follow but remain out of sight.

Two kilometres along the road, the
van pulled into a lay-by and stopped. A surveillance car went past without
slowing down, noting that there was no other vehicle there. The car went on for
some distance before turning into a side lane and stopping. A detective jumped
out and ran back over the fields to a point where he could observe the van from
behind a thick hedge. All the other surveillance vehicles pulled off of the
road at points where they could not be seen by passing vehicles.