Seventh (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 1)

by Lewis Hastings

  Cade nodded to the right wrist he was holding in his latex-covered hand and said, “This. Look, Jason, you’ll be seeing a few more of these soon.”

  Roberts got closer and saw a small blue tattoo. He looked back up at Cade and spoke.

  “And?”

  “And it’s the mark of Primul Val.”

  “Who’s that? Some bird that works down at the all-night supermarket?”

  “No, sadly not, it’s not short for Valerie, it’s Romanian and it means The First Wave. This young man is not Albanian, he’s Romanian and that worries me.”

  “Hey mate, one less criminal as far as I’m concerned,” replied an indolent Roberts.

  “I understand Jason, but why this concerns me is that he’s either been killed by the opposition – of which we know nothing about – in fact we didn’t even think there was one – or, perhaps more interestingly, he’s been killed by his own. Now that is attention-grabbing.”

  The light went on in Roberts’ head. “I get it old son, I get it.”

  Cade snapped a few images of the deceased’s face and the tattoo which stood out defiantly, a deep blue on the ashen skin.

  Both men thanked Mortimer, asked him to secure the body and left the chilled room, taking a lung-full of fresh air as they re-entered the world of the living.

  “Never get that bloody smell out of your nostrils, can you Jack?”

  “No. But I bet you remember your first as much as I do?”

  “I do mate – prostitute. I was searching the body for marks of violence, drug marks, weapons, you know the sort of stuff. Anyway, as I lifted her dress up, I found she had a nine-inch penis. As you say, you never forget your first!”

  Cade tried desperately not to laugh; he was a guest after all, but it was apparent that Roberts had a lively sense of humour. They would get along very well indeed.

  “I remember mine as if it were yesterday, Jason. I was very young in service and ended up going down to the local morgue with an older constable. He said he had a great way of me embedding with the team. So, being new and keen to impress I said yes.”

  “Go on, mate, I’m all ears,” replied Roberts, who felt he had heard them all but was conscious of being a good host.

  “Well, the older bobby got me to lie on a steel body tray and covered me with a light blue hospital sheet. As he was sliding me back into the fridge, he gave me my briefing. He said, ‘you lay there for about five minutes and then one of the other new lads will come in to inspect you. He’ll open the drawer and as he moves your sheet, you can sit up and make a ghost noise – it’ll be absolutely hilarious’.

  “Christ, I bet the poor bugger nearly shat ‘imself?”

  “No, he didn’t. You see, I lay there in that dark, chilled locker for about seven minutes, I know because I counted every bloody second. The place was dead quiet, still, eerie. Anyway, all of a sudden from the tray above me a cold clammy hand landed on my face and an unseen voice said ‘fucking cold in here isn’t it kid?’ Apparently the gathered masses of Four Section found it hysterically funny when my head struck the tray above me. In my abject panic attack, I’d hit it so hard I ended up in accident and emergency. Happy days indeed! Bastards.”

  “Christ, what a laugh. I wish we could still do such things. The job has changed me old mucker, the job has changed.”

  “You’re right, and on that rather depressing note I have a breakfast date with your somewhat feisty analyst,” said Cade as Roberts turned the key on the Mondeo and headed back to base.

  They were sat in rush hour traffic, so Roberts decided to brief Cade on O’Shea.

  “There’s more to her than meets the eye Jackie lad. She was a great street cop who sadly met her demise in unfortunate circumstances. Nasty job-related crash nearly killed her too. The twat that was driving should have known better, reckoned he was the next Nigel Mansell, but he came unstuck when he put the car into a bend that he simply didn’t have the skill to negotiate. Any road the job closed ranks on her, poor bugger. She got a pension and a small pay out, but justice was never seen to be done.”

  “Not good. I know how the job can close ranks – it’s brilliant when the chips are down but it can be a brotherhood when it wants to be.”

  Cade thought for a while about the events of his own demise – or at least the end of his marriage and how the job, or at least some of its key members, had seen to that. Then, equally, he thought of Tom Jackson and how he had saved him, if nothing else, from a prison sentence.

  Roberts’ cell phone rang and broke the temporary silence.

  “Yep, why not, we are in the area, might be connected.”

  Cade looked at his new partner inquisitively.

  “Might be something or nothing, Jack; a local branch of Barclays Bank has reported a problem with one of their ATMs. We have started to see a few of these jobs and we’ve had some source info suggesting it’s Romanians doing it. Someone is tampering with the outsides, putting something onto the machine, perhaps. Could be connected to your team? We aren’t seeing a lot of issues with bank machines at the moment. Fancy a run down there?”

  “Yep, sounds good. At this stage I have no idea what the group is capable of Jason. It seems that they are the full spectrum…lower-level bank machine jobs, online fraud right up to inter-governmental document scams and lines of credit enough to make a Rothschild look like a pauper. Should we pass a message to O’Shea given that we’ll be late?”

  “Jack, you are a sergeant, she’s an analyst. Lovely girl and all that, but she can wait. “

  “Fair enough. You were the one who said she had a temper.”

  They drove to Artillery Row, a few minutes from the Yard. Roberts pulled up outside, placed a card in the window of the Mondeo, and they walked into the branch. It was eight thirty.

  A disinterested bank employee showed them the targeted machine. She pointed it out and stood gazing down the street, already longing for home time picking a piece of skin off her thumb that had been annoying her for days.

  Roberts looked at her and said, “Black please my love, no sugar and my good friend Sergeant Cade will have a Rosie Lee, no sugar.”

  She just tutted, turned and walked inside; whether she would return with the ordered beverage was completely unknown.

  “Doesn’t look like much Jack, typical amateur effort once more. We’ve had a lot of these scratch marks but never anything tangible. I despise amateurs mate, give me a real crook anytime.”

  Cade looked up and down the street, to the floor and then upwards to the roof, constantly scanning for the unseen. He paused, then took a deep breath and spoke.

  “Jason, I suspect that you have one or more real crooks working right under your nose. We are ten minutes away from Scotland Yard and someone has been stealing money in broad daylight, or they will be soon.”

  Roberts scratched his head.

  “I’m not with you mate, the bank said that no money is missing and they’ve had no complaints from customers. End of.”

  Cade smiled and continued, “No Jase, start of. Start of.”

  Roberts was now intrigued but getting frustrated. The thought of someone criminally ‘taking the piss’ on his parish was not appreciated.

  “Go on…enlighten me do,” said a defeated Roberts.

  Cade rubbed his hands together, pursed his lips and began.

  “It’s like this my friend; this ATM is a busy one, but mainly during the day, so as such it’s vulnerable. The scratch marks are indicators of attack, by that I mean that someone has placed a device in or on this machine, most likely at night; they leave it there the next day and then come back the following night.”

  “A device, what like a bomb?”

  “No, thank God. I think it’s something like a grabber, a simple piece of kit often referred to as a Lebanese Loop. It grabs the card as it is dropped into the dispenser. The customer doesn’t get their cash, hears the card being retained, and then enters the branch to complain. Then the offenders return, place a slim metal pl
ate into the slot and recover the card, the device and the cash. Sometimes it’s a ten, perhaps a twenty, if the offender strikes gold it’s a fifty, either way it’s free and as the victim is unlikely to be charged, they often don’t report it, either because they can’t be bothered or can’t because the branch is closed.”

  “But it’s hardly Ronnie Biggs territory is it Jack, I mean a twenty at best, a day. Do me a favour you’d make more money robbing someone or busking!”

  Cade licked his right index finger and held it up to the breeze.

  “You are right, but the wind is changing. The Met, along with most forces, are concentrating on robbery, mainly the theft of cell phones, but cash too; am I right?”

  “On the nose, mate. But still, twenty quid, is it really worth it?”

  “Think broader, sergeant, start multiplying things a bit. Let’s count how many bank ATMs there are within a square mile of the Yard.”

  “Jack, I haven’t got a bloody clue, and I doubt you have either.”

  “Actually, Jason, it’s fifty. Another fifty in Belgravia and another in Pimlico, shall I continue?”

  Roberts got the point.

  “I get the point Jack and I guess we aren’t exactly looking at an area where the occupants would miss twenty sovs are we?”

  “Indeed. The biggest pain in the arse is the loss of the bank card. But imagine it though Jason, fifty machines here, fifty there – you’d only have to be lucky five times a day in each area. We have to be lucky all the time. At worst, our offender is earning two hundred pounds a day. Moving around in that patch, changing people, changing cars, it all means they are unlikely to get spotted. Multiply that across London and…”

  “Shit on a stick!”

  “I couldn’t have put it better myself, Jason. But as they say, ‘wait, there’s more’.”

  “Do go on, my friend,” Roberts offered in an encouraging tone.

  “I think they are retaining the card for the short win. It’s been bugging me all week how the offenders can benefit from this – as you rightly say nicking a twenty-pound note is hardly worth it but what if the offenders are working in larger groups, not just men, but women and children too?”

  “Christ mate, I like it, keep going.”

  “What if the women are looking over the shoulder of the victim when they enter the PIN number?”

  Roberts paused, thought about asking a great question, but just as he did in his schooldays he paused too long and regretted it when Cade continued surmising out aloud.

  “They then wait for the victim to leave, recover the card with the PIN number and head to another bank and withdraw the daily allowance. Now…”

  Roberts was quicker this time “Now start multiplying that by fifty banks a day Jacko! Fuck me, that’s a whole lot of money and hardly any risk!”

  Cade could see his new partner was now one hundred percent engaged.

  “Jason, we should start recording each crime and plot it on a map, looking at trends, hotspots, crime corridors, cross-checking CCTV recordings in the areas, but first we need to get the banks on board, get them to admit that the money is going. Let’s talk to Interpol too, see if they can offer any thoughts on what is happening across Europe, perhaps even further afield.”

  Although he may as well have been talking Klingon, Cade was right; the banks were already subjected to huge public scrutiny and great disdain. Whilst their CEOs lived like oligarchs the average customer found themselves paying inordinately large rates and charges that they simply had no control over. For the banks to admit they were failing in what appeared to be an area of simple security would have added to their woes.

  To the public this was going to be seen as a victimless crime and therefore uninteresting. Somehow, they needed to make it attractive; to the banks, the customers and above all an over-burdened police executive.

  DS Jason Roberts turned to Cade.

  “Jack, do you think our boy at Camden morgue might have made a mistake, possibly let the cat out of the bag and that is why he was killed – rather than being killed by the opposition. If so, that does indeed make your team ruthless.”

  Cade sighed heavily before replying.

  “Jason, to a point I’m guessing as much as you are, but having spent a few deeply intense days with Petrov, I reckon they are capable of anything. She reckons he beat her repeatedly, sometimes during sex, other times just for fun. He drowned a girl by pushing her into a frozen lake simply because she came second in a fight with Petrov. He made Petrov watch it all. He’s a psychopath by all accounts – but a clever one.”

  Roberts was shaking his head in disgust but now doing what he did best – thinking on his feet.

  “Right, sorted, guv! We take it to the banks, possibly even get the media involved, but above all we need to know that people are reporting this, encourage them however we can, then we plot up like you say, start thinking about surveillance, cross-match the top five locations for each area and then we sit on them. I like it.” He clicked his fingers together vigorously.

  “Good plan, but keep the media out of it for now; the last thing we want is to alert them and give other thieves the heads up. Do you think your bosses will be on board with it, given the other current activities?”

  “Absolutely mate. Just let the Crafty Jockney brief them. I’ll elaborate slightly, might need your help with this one, but we can make it sound international, all sexy and Bond-like.”

  Cade nodded, “Agreed, but let’s keep 007 out of this, shall we? All he would do is carve up half of the City of London, shoot a dozen bad guys and lure Nikolina onto a super yacht where they would make endless love as they sailed off on autopilot into the sunset.”

  “Jealous?”

  Cade replied in a faux Connery-esque voice, “Absholutely. Which reminds me, I need to talk to Nikolina today. She might be able to fill in some of the blanks; perhaps we could get O’Shea involved in this?”

  He quickly dropped the Scottish accent, “Christ, O’Shea, look at the time. Let’s get back or she’ll never forgive me!”

  Chapter 26

  They got back to the office. Roberts went to the early briefing and decided to use the opportunity to engage his team – he’d engage the bosses later, but this was a fresh approach to a new and insidious problem and he knew that with a hint of luck and Cade on his side he had a real chance to put his name firmly on the map and finally make the transition to detective inspector.

  Cade walked calmly over to Petrov who was already assisting her newfound colleague, discreetly making suggestions on how best to track down a group she knew more about than anyone in the building.

  “Good morning, how did you sleep?”

  “I slept well, Jack Cade, did you miss me?”

  “I did Nikolina, I did. How is the shoulder?”

  “Good. Better each day. I feel safe now. It helps. I am enjoying being here in the famous Scotland Yard. Who would have thought it, a communist spy in the lion’s den?”

  “Indeed, Miss Petrov, best you don’t broadcast that from the rooftops though,” Cade replied.

  She looked puzzled, “I will not be on the rooftops, this is dangerous? No?”

  He smiled, another translation error to correct, but it made her the attractive person she was. He decided to let her carry on with her work.

  “I’m going to start work with Miss O’Shea Nikolina. You have my number. Ring me if you need anything. And do as they say. I know you are trained to look after yourself, but you never leave here on your own. Do I make myself clear?”

  He did. She liked him even more when he was forthright and dominant.

  Roberts joined him and made an announcement asking his team to join him in the Briefing Room.

  “Right, everyone gather in. Quickly, please. Sergeant Cade is going to brief you on what we discovered yesterday. Jack, if you would be so kind?”

  “Thank you, Jason. OK, team, I know you are all busy so I’ll keep this as brief as I can, but it’s important that you all get
on board with this. I’ve spent a very long week in the company of Miss Nikolina Petrov, the young lady sat outside with your crime analyst. What she told me during a series of interviews was enough to engage the Home Office and change my career almost overnight. The group she associated with, all the while working undercover for her own government, is street-smart, clever, cunning, computer savvy and bloody ruthless. If you remember nothing else from this briefing, remember that.”

  He took a moment, checking that all were listening.

  “Right, what we are starting to see here in London is a trend. Forget all you know about bank fraud; the days of the chemically washed cheque and the crusty old forger are long gone. This is new, hot off the press and so simple it’s ludicrous. But, and it’s a big but, this will spread like wildfire across Europe and I suspect the world. Mark my words on this.”

  People were nodding now, a few even made notes in the back of their pocketbooks.

  “What DS Roberts and I saw yesterday was a device called a ‘Lebanese Loop’. In essence it’s a metal strip or piece of plastic that is inserted into the ATMs card aperture. They are so easy to construct and equally inexpensive that offenders can leave them in situ and walk away if they are disturbed.”

  He drew an example on the nearby white board.

  “Look out for these things during Stop and Search procedures please, especially near to ATMs. OK, imagine our victim walking down Grosvenor Place this morning, he or she was followed by another prospective customer, probably well dressed and apparently ‘normal’. This person could have been male or female. The person stands behind them in the queue and discreetly observes the victim inputting their PIN number and making a fund request. Once complete the ATM tries to eject the card but this lip prevents the card from being ejected. The machine senses that the card has not been ejected, and retains the card.”

  Some of Roberts’ staff were now shaking their heads in disbelief at how such a simple system could be utilised almost under their noses.

  “The cash drawer does not open; the money is retained by the machine. In most cases, the victim’s account is not affected. The victim thinks that he or she has been the subject of a genuine bank problem and goes into the branch. Meanwhile, Johnny Thief makes off with their card and whatever cash has been dispensed. They then continue to use the card until it is officially reported stolen. My guess is that at the moment we are seeing at the very least a fifty to seventy-five percent success rate. I’ll leave you to work out why this is suddenly more lucrative and less hazardous than stealing mobile phones. Right, any questions?”