THE LONDON DRUG WARS (24 page)

The assault team quickly reorganised;
two stayed to look after their wounded colleague, the remainder crept along the
viaduct towards arch number four. As they did so, their colleagues fired
bullets and smoke and teargas grenades into the open arch from behind the
garden wall opposite.

Brookes stood at his vantage point,
cursing. No-one could have anticipated the way things had turned out but he
felt the guilt that all commanders feel when they see men under their command
killed and injured. After a few moments, he regained control of his emotions
and radioed his men to cease firing. When the firing stopped, there was
complete silence for a moment. He ordered Barnes to use his loud hailer and
tell the Russians to come out and surrender. There was no response. He repeated
the demand three times. There was still no response. Smoke and tear gas were
pouring out of the open arch. Through binoculars, Brookes could see nothing
moving in the murky interior.

Now Brookes had no choice but to hand
over control to the Armed Response Team, they must be allowed to do their
thing. Barnes had discussed tactics with Brookes. If the Russians were found to
be armed and put up resistance, the team would take out the arches one by one
starting from both ends and working towards the centre, ensuring that they
could not be attacked from the rear. The violent response of the Russians
justified the use of maximum force. And his team now had a score to settle with
the Russians; one of their colleagues was dead and another injured.

Barnes sent half of his team along
the gardens to the other end of the alley. Once they were there, the two squads
set about their work. Each set small explosive charges on the hinges of the
doors at each end of the row. The charges were detonated and the doors blown
off. The results were spectacular; the remains of the doors fell flat,
revealing the interiors of the old coach houses. Teargas and smoke bombs were
hurled through the open doors. Once the smoke began to clear, armed officers
wearing gas masks went in and checked that the arches were empty. They then did
the same with arches two, six, and seven. These arches were empty of people,
containing only stacks of furniture shrouded in sheets.

Now for the ticklish part, arches
three and five were expected to contain armed men. Charges were placed on
hinges of the two remaining locked doors. Marksmen were lined up behind the
garden wall facing the arches. When the smoke from the explosions cleared, they
could see inside. There were several cars in various states of repair parked in
each one. In the corner of No. 3, was a partitioned area. There was no sign of
people but there were plenty of places to hide.

For a full minute after the
explosions, there was complete silence. Then Barnes used a loud hailer, “You
inside, come out with your hands raised, you are surrounded by armed police.”
There was complete silence. Barnes waited a moment then spoke into the loud
hailer again. “This is your last chance, come out with your hands raised or we
will open fire.” Again there was only silence. After a minute, Barnes ordered
his men to put on their gas masks. Two tear gas cartridges were tossed into
each arch. Within a few moments, coughing and spluttering could be heard from
within. Barnes spoke into the hailer again, his words were muffled by his gas
mask but intelligible. “Lay down your weapons and come out now.”

This time there was a response.
“Don’t shoot, we are coming out.”

Four
men emerged, coughing and rubbing their eyes, which were streaming with tears.
Police moved forward and led the men away, others went carefully into the
arches and searched; they were empty of people. Brookes had watched everything
from his high perch. When he heard Barnes on the radio say the words ‘all
clear’; he heaved a sigh of relief. He directed Brown to move his men in and
search for evidence.

“
An intelligent Russian once remarked to us,

‘Every country has its own constitution,

Ours is absolutism, moderated by assassination.’’

–
George
Herbert
, Count Munster.

Later that night Brookes sat in
Liza’s flat nursing a glass of whiskey. He’d arrived late, well after eleven,
but when he’d phoned her earlier she’d insisted he come whatever time he got
away. She’d greeted him with a kiss and poured him a stiff drink. Having
listened to the news earlier she knew he would be in a troubled mood and he
would not want conversation. For half an hour he just sat in an armchair saying
virtually nothing, occasionally sipping his drink. She’d made no effort to make
small talk.

Only when he’d taken the last sip did
she take him by the hand and lead him to her bedroom. There she slipped his
shoes off, laid him on the bed, and covered him with the duvet. Then she lay
down beside him and took him in her arms. He lay there for a long time before
exhaustion finally overcame him and he fell into a troubled sleep.

She woke the
next morning to find him just lying there looking at her. Seeing her eyes open
he ran his fingers gently down the side of her face. He said softly, “You know
you really are an angel. I’m surprised you haven’t got wings.”

“Huh, I tried those but I couldn’t
get to sleep with them so I gave them to a charity shop.”

He smiled. “I didn’t want to bring my
troubles to you.”

“I know. You are a silly man you
know; don’t you realise we women need to feel needed?”

“Well I certainly need you. You
obviously heard what happened?”

“Yes, I heard it on the news. I
already know you well enough to know how you would feel responsible. But you’re
not you know. It’s the criminal who fired the gun that’s responsible. No-one
else, just him.”

“Not quite no-one else. His boss,
Ivan Bronchi is the man behind all these killings. You know he is also
responsible for the death of your student, Amanda Page as well as God knows how
many other people.”

“Yes, I know.
How close are you to bringing him down?”

“Not close enough but I won’t rest
until I do.”

*

It was only when he got to the
incident room that morning that the exact details of what had been achieved
became clear. Ten kilos of heroin and cocaine had been found. One of those
arrested had been the chemist. He was not Russian and, whilst he was too
frightened to give information of who he worked for, he let slip that
consignments of drugs had been arriving every two or three weeks. This gave the
detectives an idea of the scale of Bronchi’s London operation.

Later that morning Groves debriefed
the leaders of the three raids that had taken place simultaneously. In addition
to the arches, detectives had visited the premises of PC Inc. and the Blue
Orchid nightclub. Nothing incriminating had been found at the computer
importers but the manager and the three remaining members of his staff had been
arrested and charged with drug smuggling.

Nor had drugs been found at the Blue
Orchid; Bronchi was too clever to keep such incriminating evidence on his
doorstep. But, over £1.5 million in cash had been seized from a safe in the
manager’s office and the nightclubs accounts had been seized. Dick Mann had led
the raid, taking with him officers from the Customs and Revenue. The cash would
be impounded pending enquiries as to how it was acquired.

Application was made at the local
magistrate’s court to have the club’s liquor licence revoked. The application
was granted despite the inconclusive evidence offered on the wrongdoings of the
licensee. Clearly the magistrate had received guidance from on high. Appeals
would later be made for the licence to be restored but in the meantime the club
was effectively out of business. Not too many punters enjoyed a night out
drinking only orange juice.

Groves congratulated them on the
success of the raid. He then read out a message received from Downing Street.
In it the Prime Minister offered his congratulations and sadness at the loss of
an officer. He’d also instructed the Commissioner to ensure that his widow
receive a full police pension.

Groves called for a minute’s silence
before continuing. All the hard-nosed police officers present bowed their heads
in the lad’s memory, and more than one had a tear in their eye.

After an appropriate pause Groves
said, “OK, thanks to John’s efforts we’ve made a start. But we still haven’t
got remotely close to Bronchi. How are we going to bring him down?”

Brookes responded, ‘Keep nibbling
away at his empire; when he’s broke he’ll get desperate and come out of his
lair, then I’ll have the bastard.”

Groves smiled. “I like your style
John but I want specifics; how exactly do we nibble away at his empire?”

Brookes
said, “This man will not give up because he’s lost one consignment of drugs and
his chemist. He’ll find a new smuggling route and a new chemist soon enough. I
will concentrate the team’s efforts on finding that and destroying it.” In
fact, the first thing he intended to do was put the listening devices in place
in Bronchi’s flat. But he could not tell the DAC that.

Arriving at Cundell House the next
morning, Brookes went through the observation logs on Bronchi with Bill Moore
and DI Eric Brown, who led the team currently tagging the Russian. The logs
revealed that he had had a busy weekend. He’d spent Friday evening at the Green
Emerald, a nightclub owned, on paper anyway, by another Russian with no known
criminal connections. But the manner in which Bronchi behaved there suggested
this was another of his stooges. Two detectives had followed him from his penthouse
home in Chelsea to the club. They’d followed him in and found a table. But
Bronchi had walked straight through the large dining room to the manager’s
office and hadn’t reappeared again until after midnight.

A large brute of a man looking
uncomfortable in a dinner jacket and black tie stood guard at the door to the
office. In the next few hours several hard-looking men were seen to go in and
out of the office. Some stayed for a considerable time; others for just a few
minutes. It soon became clear to the watchers that the Russian was busy
regrouping after the loss of his drug smuggling route.

A static observation team based in a
building opposite the club took photographs of all the people that came and
went. Several were identified as known gang members. Having to stay in the club
for over four hours, the detectives inside ran up expenses claims that were
enormous. With a beer costing over £8 for a small glass and a meal starting at
£50 they ran up a bill of over £150. They were both pleasantly surprised later
when Brookes authorised it without argument.

Bronchi had gone straight from the
nightclub to another address in Chelsea; it was where his mistress lived. The
watchers had followed him there on several occasions. Cold as he was, Bronchi
still had the physical needs of most men. This gave Brookes a further insight
into the Russian’s character; he was a careful man and kept his woman separate
from his business and home; he would take no chances of her being able to
inform on him.

He stayed the night, and late the
next morning returned to his penthouse flat. That evening he’d again gone to
the nightclub and spent most of it behind locked doors conferring with his
criminal lieutenants. This time he went straight to his home around midnight
and spent the night and the whole of Sunday there.

There were
several visitors to the building throughout the day but there were a total of
twelve flats in the place and there was no way for the watchers to tell who
they visited.

Brookes frowned on reading this. “Do
we know who else lives in the building?”

Brown nodded. “We’ve got a list of
the tenants, as far as we know they are all legit and nothing to do with the
Russians.”

“Tell me Eric; you’ve been watching
this man for weeks, what does he do for fun?”

“He doesn’t seem to have much fun.
Apart from his visits to his lady friend, he spends most of his time with his
Russian cronies. He occasionally goes horse racing. Oh, and he’s a Chelsea fan;
he’s got a box at Stamford Bridge.”

“Does he gamble much?”

“Nope, not at all. And he doesn’t
drink much either. Never likes to lose control; he’s a real cold bastard.”

“What about the rest of his gang?”

“Well his enforcer, Dimitri, is
another cold fish. But the rest of them seem to like a drink; there’s a lot of
vodka flows at the nightclub. But when Bronchi cracks the whip, they jump.”

Brookes nodded thoughtfully. “OK
thanks Eric, that’s useful.”

Brigid drove Brookes back to the
Yard. As they were in the car she said, “What are we looking for this time
sir?”

He gave her a look. “Have you ever
watched a boxing match Jacqui?”

She pulled a face and shook her head.
“No sir, not my cup of tea.”

“Well, in a boxing match each
opponent probes the other’s defence; once he finds a weakness, that’s where he
attacks.”

“I see, so we’re looking for the
Russian’s weakness.”

“Weaknesses plural; the more we know
about him the more likely we are to find weaknesses. I’m hoping Jeremy Hornsby
can give me a few pointers.”

Arriving at reception, Brookes used
the telephone to call Hornsby, who then came and collected them. He led them to
the same suite of offices and led them to his private one.

Brookes got straight down to
business. “There are a couple more things I need, Jeremy. I need more
background on Bronchi. First, do the Russian or German police have anything at
all on him?”

“Not according to Interpol, no.”

“I’m not talking about convictions
here, Jeremy. Someone like him must have been investigated; his movements
tracked; his associates noted. All the usual intelligence we gather on active
criminals. All police forces keep that kind of information even though it’s not
published. Don’t you have contacts in the Russian or German police forces?”

Hornsby smiled. “I suppose I might
get something out of the Germans but the Russians, no chance. They won’t share
a thing with us.”

“Well give it a try will you? I need
a lever, a big one, something I can clobber him with.”

“OK leave that with me; you said a
couple of things, what else are you after?”

“What about his family, he must have
some somewhere?”

Hornsby sighed. “OK I’ll check into
that too.”

It was time to be a little sneaky,
and as soon as they were in the car and on the way back to Cundell House
Brookes said, “Brigid, I want you to get me an appointment with Henri Chesnaye
for this evening. Then book me a flight to Nimes.”

She waited for him to say that she
would go with him. When he didn’t she looked aggrieved. Seeing her expression,
he said, “Brigid, there’s a very good reason I’m not taking you with me this
time. I can’t explain now but will later. In the meantime, please trust me.”

Not knowing what
else to say, she said simply, “Yes sir.”

As soon as he was back in his office
he called Moore in. He said, “Listen, the one thing that has bothered me about
listening in to Bronchi’s conversations has been how we monitor it; we don’t
have the expertise. I think I know where we can get some help both on
monitoring the conversations and tracking Bronchi when he’s on the move.” He
went on to explain his plan to the old detective sergeant.

As he talked a smile spread over
Moore’s face. The plan was simple. If they could ‘borrow’ the French
Gendarmerie vehicle tracking and listening equipment, they could follow Bronchi
and his gang at their leisure. Moore didn’t hesitate but threw himself
enthusiastically behind the plan.

Brookes made a few phone calls then
took the shuttle to Paris and picked up a flight direct to Nimes. He was met at
the airport and taken directly to Chesnaye’s HQ. Chesnaye greeted him like an
old friend.

Brookes said,
“Henri there’s something I need for you to help me with. Can we discuss it over
dinner, I’m paying?”

The two spent over an hour discussing
Brookes’ idea over a superb meal of
moules marinière
as only the French can do it, followed by rack of
lamb and steamed fresh vegetables; these courses were washed down with two
excellent bottles of wine. They came to an agreement over several glasses of a
good Napoleon brandy and parted the best of friends.

Brookes got back to Paris, Charles De
Gaulle Airport, just in time to catch the last shuttle back to London. His head
was swimming a little from the alcohol but the smile on his face was more to do
with what had been arranged than what he had drunk.

Two days later, a nondescript-looking
Renault van arrived at Dover Cross-Channel Ferry Terminal; it was met by Bill
Moore. The van was escorted to the Detective Training School at Hendon in North
London where the Frenchmen were welcomed by the school’s commandant. The van
was full of sophisticated tracking equipment and the French detectives were to
lecture their English counterparts under training on its use.

What hopefully would never become
public knowledge was the fact that a more practical demonstration would take
place in the streets of London in a real-life situation. The French had brought
three kinds of electronic wizardry; one was the vehicle tracking equipment that
had been put to such good use in the Lyon operation; two, state of the art
phone tapping devices and; three, listening devices. If Brookes’ plan worked,
all would be used to catch Bronchi in a criminal act.

Fitting the tracking devices to the
gang’s vehicles proved not to be difficult. All of Bronchi’s inner circle of
gang members had now been identified and the cars they drove noted. Each
vehicle was followed until left unattended. The devices were then attached
underneath the chassis where it would not be discovered without a thorough
search. The bugs would only be activated if and when a vehicle was seen picking
Bronchi up. Planting the listening devices would take a little more ingenuity.
It would also require a bending of the rules. To insert them someone would have
to enter Bronchi’s home and the nightclub where he conducted his business.

The English law on entering other
people’s premises without their permission is straightforward. Burglary is
covered by the 1968 Theft Act. It makes it an offense to enter a building as a
trespasser with intent to commit theft, rape, assault or criminal damage. As
Brookes had no intention of doing any of those things he was probably safe from
prosecution. The person entering would be trespassing but that was only an
offence at common law and not a criminal offence.

If he were a
police officer however, what he would be doing was to commit a serious breach
of the police discipline code and could well be dismissed from the force. But
only if found out. Such was the determination of Brookes and Moore to put
Bronchi away, they were willing to take that chance. But Brookes would not risk
the careers of other members of his team so kept them out of the loop.

First Brookes obtained a plan of the
apartment block in which Bronchi lived. It showed that the side entrance to the
building gave access to a staircase at the rear of the building that was out of
the view of the security guard on duty in the foyer. The problem was there was
only one flight of stairs and they were at the rear of the lobby where the
guard had his desk. Observations on the premises revealed that the maid did not
live-in; she came and went each day. When Bronchi, his chauffeur and bodyguard
were out, the apartment would be empty.

Picking the locks was not going to
prove a problem; Moore’s friend Green, the burglar turned locksmith, would help
with that as they had already planned.

 He planned the operation with
precision. Choosing the evening, he waited for Bronchi and his bodyguard to
leave. Only when they were seated at a table at the Russian’s favourite
restaurant and had ordered dinner did he set the operation in motion. An
attractive woman entered the apartment block and approached the security guard.

In a vaguely French accent she said,
“Can you please help me? I am lost.”

The guard was in his thirties and no
slouch when it came to chatting up the ladies. He gave her a beaming smile.
“Yes love, where do you want to get to?”

She produced a map and moved around
the desk to stand beside him. As she put the map on the desk in front of him,
her breast happened to rub against his shoulder. That plus the smell of her
perfume ensured she had his full attention.

She pointed with an elegant finger.
“There is where I wish to go, where am I now please?”

Whilst this was taking place Brookes
was picking the lock in the side door with tools provided by Moore’s friend
Green. It took him no more than a minute. Opening the door, he heard the sounds
of laughter coming from the entrance hall. DC Gill Foreman was doing her job
brilliantly. Brookes had asked her to distract the guard but had not told her
his reason for getting into the building so she could never be brought to book
for just doing as she was told.

Slipping through the doorway Brookes
and Moore closed the door softly behind them but didn’t lock it. Then, just as
quietly, they moved along the corridor towards the lobby. Peeping round the
corner, Brookes saw the guard and Gill Foreman, both with their backs to him,
poring over a map. Signalling Moore to follow him, he began to climb the stairs
to the penthouse.

The door to this proved even easier
and Brookes smiled at the thought of the arch criminal who didn’t bother to put
a decent lock on his home. Opening the door, the two detectives walked quietly
into the elegant apartment. The telephone stood on an antique desk; quickly
unscrewing the back Brookes inserted the listening device. Moore placed another
device under a coffee table in the lounge. Carefully wiping all the surfaces
they’d touched, the two left the penthouse flat, locking the door behind him.

Now Brookes started to implement the
next diversion. Whilst still on the top floor where they were not likely to be
surprised by residents of other flats, he dialled a number on his mobile phone
and let it ring three times. Then he switched it off; this was the signal for
those outside to get ready. Then he led the way down the stairs. Stopping just
before the final flight that was in full view of anyone in the foyer, he
redialled the same number but this time let it ring just once; the signal to
proceed.