The Dealer

by Robert Muchamore

  The coastline was dotted with yachts and motor launches out for a Sunday morning cruise. An elderly Hispanic gardener was hosing the terraces below. The man nodded politely when their eyes met. It made James wonder where he’d end up in life. Would he have the $10 million oceanfront house, or would he be like the crinkled old guy who watered the flowers?

  “Yo,” Junior shouted.

  He came strolling through James’s bedroom and stepped on to the balcony.

  “What you doing out here?” Junior asked.

  James shrugged. “Just thinking.”

  “Dumb idea,” Junior said. “Thinking wears out your brain. My dad wants us downstairs. We’re going to IHOP for breakfast.”

  “You what?”

  “It’s a pancake place,” Junior explained. “I’m getting a stack of strawberry whipped cream pancakes. They give you so many you can barely move when you finish. Dad and George are going into town for some business meeting, so they’re dropping us at the mega-mall. It’s about twenty times the size of the Reeve Center. We can spill some dosh on shopping, then there’s a sixteen-screen cinema and a rollercoaster if we get bored.”

  “Sounds good,” James grinned.

  • • •

  James bought himself new jeans and swimming shorts and a couple of CDs, including one as a present for Kerry; then they caught a movie and waited around until George arrived to collect them. It was mid-afternoon when they got back to the house.

  “How was the meeting?” James asked.

  “Good,” Keith grinned. “Very, very good.”

  “Does that mean I’ll be able to go back to making money from deliveries?”

  “I don’t know about that,” Keith said awkwardly. “Everything is gonna be different. Do you fancy going for a swim now the sun’s lower?”

  “Actually,” James said, “do you mind if I use your laptop to e-mail my family?”

  “No worries,” Keith said.

  George, Keith, and Junior put on swimming shorts and walked down to the sea. Once they were out of sight, James raced up to his room and got a couple of USB memory sticks and a hacker’s toolkit CD-ROM out of the bottom of his bag. He climbed on to one of the metal stools at the breakfast bar in the kitchen, turned on Keith’s laptop and connected to the Internet.

  James clicked on Hotmail and checked the e-mails in an account he’d set up for his James Beckett alias. He had three messages from April, including one that contained a blurry photo of April and Erin in their ski suits with the message “Miss U already, April, XXX.” James replied insincerely with “Miss U2,” before writing a longer message to Kerry, gloating about the weather and the beautiful house he was staying in.

  When he’d finished typing his e-mails, James stood up and peeked out the window, making sure Keith, George, and Junior were well clear of the house. As he flipped confidently through the files on the laptop, he realized that his marathon training sessions with Amy had been worth the brain-ache.

  He clicked on Keith’s documents folder. There were a couple of hundred files inside. Most had a little padlock symbol next to them, meaning they were encrypted. James decided it was too risky trying to read stuff with Keith just down on the beach. Instead, he plugged a memory card into the USB socket on the side of the laptop. The card was only the size of a pen top, but it held as much data as six CDs.

  A gray box popped up on the screen: NEW USB DEVICE DETECTED. James checked the size of Keith’s documents folder and realized there was enough space on the memory card to copy the whole lot over. He waited a couple of anxious minutes while the computer copied Keith’s files. Then he switched off the laptop and walked back to his bedroom. He got his mobile out of his luggage and set it to search for an American network. When it found a connection, James speed-dialed the number of a local Drug Enforcement Agency office he’d been given before he left.

  John Jones answered. “James?”

  “Hi.”

  “Settled in OK?” John asked.

  “Not bad,” James said. “You?”

  “My flight was fine, but the heat out here does me in. I’m more of a fish-and-chip-supper-on-a-cold-winter-night kind of guy.”

  “I can’t talk for long,” James said. “But I’ve been through Keith’s laptop.”

  “Anything exciting?”

  “Dunno,” James said. “I checked for fancy stuff, like hidden partitions on the hard drive, but there’s none of that. All Keith’s documents are encrypted. I didn’t want to fiddle about trying to open them. I’ve copied the whole lot on to a memory card for you guys to deal with.”

  “Good work,” John said.

  “The only thing is, how do I get the card to you?”

  “We can schedule an unscheduled rubbish collection for this evening. Have you got something you want to throw out that you can hide the memory card inside?”

  James looked around the room.

  “There’s a half-eaten box of Milk Duds I got at the cinema,” he said. “I can stick the memory card inside that then throw it out.”

  “Perfect,” John said. “Scrunch the box up, so the card doesn’t fall out. Then make sure you put your rubbish in the main bins out by the road. We’ll send a dustcart along to pick them up.”

  “Will you guys be able to break the encryption?” James asked.

  “Depends on what software Keith’s using,” John said. “But probably. Is there anything else you’d like to report?”

  “One thing Keith said struck me as odd,” James said. “I asked him when I’d be able to go back to making deliveries. Keith goes, ‘I don’t know, everything’s gonna be different.’ ”

  “Hmm,” John said. “I’ve no idea why he’d say that, but it’s certainly interesting.”

  “I better go anyway,” James said. “They’ll be wondering what I’m doing.”

  “OK then,” John said. “Keep up the good work and watch out for yourself.”

  Chapter 28

  ORLANDO

  James was having one of the best weeks of his life. Monday he went out on a fishing boat with Junior. He’d never fished out in the ocean, but the crew showed him the basics and helped him reel his first catch.

  He called John Jones from the beach that evening with some snippets he’d picked up from Keith’s telephone conversations. John told James that American drug enforcement agents had retrieved his Milk Duds box and MI5 specialists had managed to read most of the files. They contained details of several foreign bank accounts with transactions linking Keith to a money-laundering operation whose specialty was collecting your cash, bouncing it around the world banking system until it was untraceable, and finally depositing it in an anonymous foreign bank account—minus their 25 percent commission.

  John didn’t think it was enough information to get Keith convicted, but he reckoned it was a useful piece of the jigsaw.

  The next day, James, Junior, and Keith set off early for the 350-kilometer drive up to Orlando. It was low season, so the boys had a great time at Islands of Adventure, scaring themselves witless on all the roller coasters and simulator rides, without wasting too much time queuing. James went nuts in the gift shop, buying T-shirts for Kyle and Kerry, and a little bib and shorts for Joshua. When he went to pay at the till, Keith put the whole lot on his credit card.

  By mid-afternoon, they were all knackered and sunburnt, so they checked into a hotel and showered before heading down to the restaurant. They got an outdoor table at the edge of a man-made lake with ducks and fountains in the middle. Keith ordered tagliatelle, while James and Junior got half-pound burgers and fries. The waitress brought walnut bread and olive oil to the table while they waited for their food.

  “I think I’m safe to talk here,” Keith said. “Unless a bunch of cops follow me here and they’re pointing a parabolic microphone at me from the other side of the lake.”

  James looked away from the ducks, which were scrapping over a handful of bread he’d thrown into the pond a second before he noticed the PLEASE DO NOT F
EED THE DUCKS sign.

  “Talk about what?” Junior asked.

  “Anything,” Keith said.

  “Do you think the cops are listening to you most of the time?” James asked.

  “The cops have microphones everywhere,” Keith said. “The house in Luton, the house in Miami, my cars, my offices. I don’t even know what people I can trust any more. I’ve even got the secret service after me.”

  “MI5?” James asked.

  “They’ve been after me ever since the corruption allegations inside Operation Snort.” Keith nodded. “One of my better sources told me George is working for the cops. I don’t think it’s true, but you can never be sure. He’s a family man with a couple of kids. If the cops threatened him with a long stretch in prison, who knows what he’d be prepared to do?”

  “Are you gonna have him whacked?” Junior asked.

  Keith burst out laughing. “Son, if I had somebody killed every time I head a rumor about an informant, I’d be a mass murderer. The cops plant most of these rumors, hoping it will create friction inside KMG. We get our own back by dropping rumors that straight cops are taking bribes.”

  “Have you ever had anyone killed?” Junior asked.

  “I get problems and I tell people to make them go away,” Keith said. “It’s not my business to know whether they tickle the guy’s feet until he promises to be a good boy, or chuck him off a tenth-floor balcony.”

  “Cool,” Junior said, grinning.

  “You know that scene in the movies, where the car’s heading for the edge of the cliff, and the cop cars are chasing?” Keith asked. “That’s where everyone thinks I’m at, but the cops don’t realize something.”

  “What?” Junior said.

  “I’ve bailed out of the car,” Keith said. “Everyone thinks I’m out here buying drugs, trying to get KMG up and running again. I’ve made a few noises in that direction, but all I’m really doing is settling debts and sorting out finances. I’ll be staying in America for a few months, until things die down back home, then I’m gonna rest of my laurels. How many millions does a man need anyway?”

  “That’s cool, Dad,” Junior smiled. “I don’t ever want you going to prison.”

  “What will happen to KMG without you?” James asked.

  “I expect it’ll break up into a thousand pieces,” Keith said. “Some people will go to prison. Some of the ones left on the outside will make contacts with my overseas suppliers and start importing cocaine themselves. In a year or two, nobody will even remember me. The same guys will be making deliveries and selling coke on the street; it’ll just be new faces supplying them and stacking the big money into foreign bank accounts. Give it four or five years and you’ll probably find one group has become dominant; a new KMG. The police will set up another Operation Snort type deal; they’ll break it up. Then the whole cycle will start again.”

  “Stopping KMG must have some effect on the cocaine trade,” James said.

  “The police have budget cuts and efficiency targets, the drug dealers have got billions of pounds,” Keith said. “It’s like the weediest kid in Year Seven picking a fight with the entire Year Twelve rugby team. The police might land the odd punch, but they’re always gonna get their arses kicked at the end of the day.”

  “Do you think you’ll stay out of prison?” James asked.

  “I’m shelling out enough in bribes and legal fees,” Keith said. “So let’s hope for the best, eh?”

  The waitress came over with the three plates of food.

  “Anyway,” Keith said, shovelling down his first mouthful of pasta, “all this serious talk’s gonna spoil my appetite. You boys want to go see a movie or something tonight?”

  • • •

  James waited until Junior was asleep before slipping out of the hotel room. He made his nightly call to John Jones from an alcove down the corridor that had an ice dispenser and a couple of Pepsi machines in it. James explained about Keith’s retirement plans.

  “We’ve tracked down more of Keith’s money with the information you copied off the computer,” John said. “I was starting to suspect Keith wasn’t in Miami to do a drug deal and what you said confirms this. But I still don’t think he’s told you the whole truth.”

  “Why’s that?” James asked.

  “We traced a transaction from one of Keith’s bank accounts in Trinidad. Keith just purchased half a million dollars’ worth of U.S. treasury bonds in the name of Erin Moore. We contacted the bank and asked for details. Keith Moore has handed the bonds over to the bank, with instructions to sell them on Erin Moore’s eighteenth birthday and pay her the money. Keith has made similar transactions for Junior, April, and Ringo. He’s also set up a trust fund for his ex-wife. He’s paid off the mortgages for the two houses in England and sold the house in Miami for a lot less than it’s worth, to raise fast cash.”

  “But Keith told me he’s planning to stay in Miami until the heat dies down back in England.”

  “There’s a new owner moving into the Miami house in three weeks,” John said. “And we can’t find any trace of the eleven million dollars he got from the sale.”

  “Do you think he’s using the money to buy drugs?” James asked.

  “I don’t think so.”

  “What then?”

  “How many boats have you seen since you got to Miami?” John asked.

  “Millions,” James said. “They’re everywhere.”

  “Once he’s set up the arrangements to provide for his family, I think Keith is going to sneak out of the house, climb aboard one of those boats, and vanish like a puff of smoke.”

  “How come?” James asked.

  “Keith can feel the net closing in. He has informants inside Operation Snort, so he knows we’re close to having enough evidence to put him behind bars for a seriously long stretch.”

  “Where will he go?” James asked.

  “Eleven million bucks will go a long way in South America. My money would be on Brazil. It’s easy to disappear in a country with two hundred million people. He can buy a new identity off some corrupt government official, maybe even have a spot of plastic surgery to change his appearance.”

  “What about his kids and stuff?”

  “They’ll be set for life financially,” John said. “Keith will have made double sure that the money set aside for his family can never be traced back to drug dealing.”

  “But he’ll never be able to see them again.”

  “He won’t see much of them from inside a jail cell, either,” John said. “You keep telling me Keith is in a good mood, but that’s all front. He’s got to make decisions and none of his options are easy.”

  “So what are you doing to stop him disappearing?” James asked.

  “We have a big problem. We’ve asked the Americans to put a twenty-four-hour watch on Keith, but they’re only prepared to spare us one DEA agent. We’ve even offered to pay their costs, but they’re short-staffed and they’ve got their own bad guys to catch. We’re having more meetings with the Yanks to try and sort out a deal, but for at least the next few days, there’s nothing to stop Keith Moore slipping off into the night.”

  “Except me,” James said.

  “Remember you’re undercover,” John said. “And you’re supposed to be a regular kid, so don’t interfere. All you can do is call me if you think he’s about to leg it.”

  James heard someone coming along the corridor and quickly hung up his phone. It was Keith, wearing a hotel gown and carrying the ice bucket from his room. James was in a T-shirt and boxers, so he had nowhere to hide his phone.

  “Trouble sleeping?” Keith asked. “Who are you ringing at this time of night?”

  CHERUB training teaches you to always have an excuse ready.

  “Zara,” James said. “It’s morning back home and Joshua always wakes her up early.”

  “Most mobiles don’t work in America,” Keith said. “You must have a tri-band.”

  James’s mobile phone had been modified b
y the intelligence service so it worked on just about any network in the world, but he couldn’t tell Keith that.

  “I’ve got no idea,” James said, shrugging. “I just turned the thing on and it worked. I stepped out here because I didn’t want to wake Junior up.”

  “You know it’s about four quid a minute using your mobile from America?” Keith said.

  “Is it?” James gasped, acting like he was really worried. “Ewart will murder me when he gets the bill.”

  Keith filled his ice bucket from the dispenser and put quarters in the Pepsi machine.

  “I must have got dehydrated walking about in the sun all day,” he said. “I woke up with a raging thirst. Do you want one?”

  James nodded. “Yeah, I wouldn’t mind.”

  Keith fed in more quarters until a second can dropped out of the machine. He handed it to James and they both pulled back the tabs and swallowed a couple of gassy mouthfuls.

  “I’m really grateful you brought me out here on holiday,” James said. “Ewart and Zara could never afford to take me abroad.”

  “That’s OK,” Keith said, smiling. “When Ringo dropped out, it was me who suggested you came instead.”

  “Really?” James said. “Why?”

  “You’re the only one of Junior’s mates I thought I could rely on to look after him if something bad happens,” Keith said.

  “Bad like what?” James asked.

  “They could arrest me at any time, James. I know Junior likes to think he’s the big man, but he’s led a pretty sheltered life and I’m a lot happier knowing there’s a guy like you with him.”

  “You’ve got George back in Miami,” James said.

  “George is good for two things,” Keith laughed. “Breaking heads and polishing cars. I’ve known the man since infant school and I love him, but frankly, it’s a miracle he can tie his own shoe laces.”

  “Who knows?” James said. “Maybe you’ll never get arrested.”

  “Life is certainly full of surprises,” Keith said. “I’ll tell you that for nothing.”