“George, you’re aware I’m connected with a security firm here in London.” He nodded, sipping at his cup. “We’ve more than a passing interest in what happened last night. The killing of our friend in the restaurant is tied in with this. We’ve no desire to involve you personally, but you’re the only man who might be able to give us some closer insights on the Ching family.” She lifted her tea to her lips. A straight forward pitch.
Chu said nothing for a few minutes. He refilled their cups and continued to drink. His eyes moved around the walls to the paintings, almost as if he were seeing them for the first time, one by one, left to right, then back again, right to left. May-Ling was well accustomed to this. She had learned long ago the old Chinese adage, ‘You may speak to the silence…the silence will speak to the silence…then the silence will speak to you.’
Her host put the small porcelain cup gently on the tray and sat back with one hand each holding the arms of his chair, exhaling what seemed more of a sigh of resolution than a breath.
“My dear, May-Ling, it’s not our way to ask others to solve the community’s problems, no matter how severe they are. However, this issue brings much broader implications for our Chinese brothers and sisters. Already this morning over a dozen close business friends have called asking what to do. I indicated during your last visit, it’s common knowledge the Chings are involved in messy areas most of this community abhors, but we aren’t policemen, and we don’t try to do the job of the authorities.”
May-Ling bowed her acknowledgement as he continued.
“These atrocities last night scared our people. They’re wondering who’s next. They’ve no idea where the attacks are coming from. Anti-Chinese? Are their own businesses at risk? Is this a racial thing? I don’t have the answers for them.” He paused to pour more tea, and rang a small bell beside the tray. The servant appeared with a replacement pot and removed the original. As the door closed, George continued.
“You understand, I’m not in a position to talk with the police. Ever. My own credibility with the community would dissolve overnight if I did. Your firm is independent, and from what I hear, very efficient in what it does. Your father and I go back a long way, May-Ling. I would trust him with the lives of my own family. He’s a man of honour. I’m sure his integrity passed to his daughter. I’ll share some things with you in confidence, but I won’t speak with your partners. Whatever you choose to tell them is your business. Do I make myself clear?”
“I’m grateful to you for the trust, George. I give you my word my colleagues will never approach you. Confidentiality is key with us.”
Chu leaned forward and topped up their cups. “Now tell me, what information do you have? Let’s see if I can add anything helpful.”
“The police say it’s the Chings, but they keep such a safe distance from the illegal stuff, it’s impossible to nail them with anything,” May-Ling began. “The suspicion is they’re tangling with a heavy-duty syndicate from Central Europe. Last night shows how dangerous they are.”
“Why don’t the cops pick up these foreign mobsters?”
“It’s complicated. Interpol knows them, where they’re from, but like the local authorities, so far have been unable to tie them down. Fighting bureaucracy is as difficult as fighting the gangs.”
A flicker of realisation passed across Chu’s eyes. “And your ISP firm’s able to move quicker than the official guys?”
“Something like that.”
For the first time since her arrival, George Chu gave a wry smile. “I understand your place in all of this now and it makes things a whole lot easier for me.” He rose and moved across to a pair of filing cabinets in the corner of the room, withdrawing a set of keys from his pocket. The lock to the second cabinet opened with a sharp click. He rummaged through the middle drawer and took out several thick grey folders. No names showed on the files, but various coloured tab indexes protruded. Chu placed the papers on the table between them, so they could read them together.
“I think some of this’ll help you. As chairman of the business association I’ve had access to a great assortment of information over the years. The Chings may not align themselves with the association, but they always use Chinese tradesmen and professionals in their own dealings where possible. These tradesmen often refer to me for advice on things like pricing, the creditworthiness of others in the community, payment terms, not only for the Chings but for many of our members.”
May-Ling looked up from the documents “You’re a local credit bureau?”
“Exactly. Look,” he said, showing her one of the documents. “Here’s the quotation for the work done on the Chings’ mansion out near Hounslow. They paid the bills on the dot. Always cash, which isn’t unusual for Chinese businessmen, but not for these sort of amounts. Two and three hundred thousand pounds at a time, all in notes. One set covers the reworking on the mansion security systems. Here are the diagrams for the whole place.”
“You have the plans for their home? I’m surprised the Chings would let you have them.”
“Not so surprising, my dear. I receive dozens of similar requests for many other local businesses. The quotations arrive with the estimates and the credit runs. The Chings are unaware document copies frequently come to me as a matter of course. Here’s one for the fit-out of their warehouse at the airport, complete with the security and alarm systems, just as with the mansion. Now let me show you something a bit more interesting.” He picked out another file, this time with several names showing on green stickers. All of the folders carried the names of Chinese men.
“This one here, aged forty-two, entered the country twelve years ago. Sponsored by one of the Ching family businesses, working visa paid for legally and maintained impeccably. He’s listed as an office manager in one of their export lines and receives a salary of fifteen hundred pounds a month. Not bad, but not outrageous money. Now here’s his account statement from the Soho branch of Bank of Canton. Every quarter he’s credited another six thousand.”
“How do you get access to his statements?” asked May-Ling, half expecting the answer.
“My own friends and relatives work in many places in London. Favours given aren’t forgotten. This information is all reliable. In some cases the names on the accounts differ, I assure you they’re the same guys, because they come in to the bank in person to withdraw money. It’s not illegal having a different name on a bank account if you provide a bona fide document to attest who you are when you open it.”
George flipped through several more of the individuals’ files, around three dozen employees, all originating from the same province in Southern China, all linked personally to the Chings. Every connection was paid various large amounts each quarter using a range of Chinese bank branches in England, some in London, others in the northern cities.”
“Reasonable to assume these people are all into criminal dealings?”
“No doubts. I can show you something else, look,” he said, handing her copy invoices from a hotel in Cherbourg. “These men were staying in this hotel the night before those girls were killed in the truck on the pier. Circumstantial evidence in police parlance, right? My contacts in the hospitality industry helped with this lot.”
“You keep a heck of a network. Why do you take such a close interest in all of this, George?”
He pointed to a set of photographs on a shelf behind his desk. Among several smiling poses and family groupings, one faded black and white shot carried a young man in his early twenties, a graduation gown and mortar cap poised awkwardly atop a bad haircut.
“That’s my elder brother, who should be here instead of me,” said Chu, in a subdued voice. “Smarter than me by miles. Our parents adored him, as we all did. He was my hero, the first to show me how to study properly. His encouragement, the manner in which he applied himself, was hard to ignore. I loved him dearly and still do. He came to London a few years before me to learn the family business. Somewhere along the way, no-one can pin down with any accura
cy, a dispute arose with one of the Ching minions. A simple affair with a small amount of money at the centre of it. The upshot was my brother refused to pay. A week later he was found dead in an alley near the dockside with his throat slashed. Nobody was ever charged. The Chings came to the funeral as did everyone else. Some years afterwards, I was told of a conversation overheard in a drinking session; someone let slip my brother was killed ‘over the price of a few beers’. I know it was the Chings. Since then, I’ve tracked their activities. One day there’ll be a balancing. I’ve never shared with anyone before now, May-Ling and if I can help you to see this finished, I’ll happily do so.”
May-Ling rose and touched Chu gently on the arm. “I’m indebted to you for telling me this. Is there any way you’d let me copy these files?”
“I don’t want to risk copying them here. Why don’t you take them with you? Copy what you need and personally deliver them back to me?”
“You’re a good man, George. Be assured they’ll be used wisely. Thanks.” The files fitted neatly into her shoulder bag. She kissed his cheek and made her exit, leaving him holding the photograph of his brother.
The servant cleared the tea tray in the kitchen galley before dialling the direct number he’d used on May-Ling’s last visit.
“She was here again. Yes. For about an hour and a half. No, I didn’t hear what they discussed. They stopped talking when I came into the room. Yes, boss. Yes. Thank you.”
***
An hour later, Madam Ching Fan and Ching Mak deliberated the content of the telephone call.
“She goes to meet this rat bastard Chu. Then we get hit. Now she’s back seeing him again the following morning. It stinks, Mak. This ISP company she’s with? Security people they say? Security people have guns. These overseas assholes may have bought themselves a little backup help. Maybe not, but either way, George Chu and this girl aren’t doing us any good. We can act on this now. Do it.”
“Yes, Mama.” Clear signals worked best with her son. This end of the business he was good at. Right now a strike back, any strike back had to be positive.
CHAPTER 16
Never go in where the enemy expects you to hit them. Jules had key mantras that had served well in difficult assignments with the SAS over the years, and this one was high on the list. Deflect and divert. Draw attention and focus away from the ultimate target. Then hit hard. The original concept of taking Kaplani out with an immediate all-out strike on the compound in Wieliczka needed reappraisal. Retaliation would be expected, not from ISP, but from the Chinese. Regardless, security around the villa complex would be heightened for the foreseeable future.
“Killing the body by taking out the head’s not gonna work this time then?” Jack Calder asked Jules.
“All in due course, Jack. A somewhat longer process maybe, but doing the reverse’ll set up the end game better. Brad’s given us enough detail to start mopping up downstream where it hurts them in manpower and in cash flow.”
The Interpol man joined in. “He’s right, Jack. We can take out some of the smaller locations easily enough. If we tell Marcel where we’re gonna be next, he’ll step in when needed to cover what we’re doing. Not many tears’ll be shed, except local cops who’ve been on the take.”
Jules earmarked the wall map with three red circles and a further six in blue.
“How many’s that?” queried Malky. “Countin’s never been me strong suit.”
“The reds are bigger sites which’ll be first in line,” said Jules, ticking off Frankfurt, Warsaw and Cherbourg. “They’re the main drugs transit depots.”
“Nothing in England?” asked Donnie Mullen.
Brad replied, “So far we think they feed the UK from Cherbourg. Lots of smaller shipments, much harder to pin, less value at risk if they lose a courier. They’ll bulk up the drugs for doctoring once they have them in the country.” He stood up and moved across to the map. “Blue denotes the feeder points. Berlin and Dusseldorf in Germany, Lyons and Paris in France, but nothing as yet in Italy. They don’t need any complications with the Mafia. There’s some activity in Copenhagen here.” A large hand pointed to the most northern of the circles. “Closer to our boy’s home, there’s Krakow in Poland, right here.”
May-Ling leaned across and said, “Dumb question time. Where do they get the supplies?”
Jules smiled and looked at Jack. “Why has your wife got all the brains in the family?” The Scotsman grinned back and shrugged. “Who needs any when she’s around?”
The chief continued, “The sixty-four thousand dollar question, we’ve saved for last, May-Ling.” He double-ringed the Turkish city of Istanbul in green. “The favoured haven for centuries of bad-ass traders, ever since the days of Marco Polo. Brad, can you do the honours?”
The big man stretched his shoulders. “Sure. At least half a dozen major independent groups’ main business is getting the shit into Istanbul from Afghanistan. Interpol’s able to bust some of them occasionally, but like the Medusa, when you chop one off, the heads keep on growing. We run up against the usual raft of bent customs and police officials. The trouble is, a lot of it percolates to the top, an imbedded part of their black economy and has been for decades. From time to time, my unit comes in and removes certain players which couldn’t be done officially. It’s a drop in the ocean.”
“Kaplani’s people are there?” Jack asked.
“Yes. They’ve two trading companies, one’s a mailbox, the other exports oriental furniture from a warehouse near the docks, where they gather and ship out the heroin. We’re sure of that, but as usual, we’ve never had formal excuse to raid them. They’re well protected by the local cops.”
The room fell silent as Brad finished. Jules was out of his seat, pacing up and down.
“Let’s count our field resources,” he began, ticking off his mental notepad for them. “Brad, you and your boys are three, Guna Rana with his guys are another four. Jack, Malky and myself, tops us out at ten, plenty to handle this.”
Almost simultaneously, Donnie and May-Ling made to speak to protest being left out. Jules raised his hand to stop them. “I need you both here in London coordinating everything. Donnie we’ve unfinished business this end, and I want you plugged into the Met. May-Ling, the Chings aren’t going to lie down on this. The documents you brought from George Chu are invaluable, but we’ll want to keep the communication channel open with him. You’re his only possible point person.”
It was useless to argue with Jules in his command mode, and he was right, as ever.
The evening’s work was just beginning. Logistics and planning are always vital, immeasurably so in combat, and ISP was about to go to war. Intensive detail consumed the next six hours.
CHAPTER 17
The stale musty smell of alcohol vied with the overdose of body perfumes hanging over Kaplani’s bed as he stirred from sleep. On either side of him his partners of the night were also awake. The heavy curtains blocked the external light, but the bedside clock showed late morning in Wieliczka. The dimmed lamps made opening his eyes easier, and the instant recollection of yesterday’s news felt even better. Ah, life is good.
“Morning, girls,” he greeted them, putting an arm around each as they cuddled close.
“Good morning,” they chorused reply, as he stretched his naked torso in a long yawn. His hands began to move over their bodies, an invitation to react in kind. They moved alternately from his ears and neck, kissing, licking and nibbling, all the way down his chest and belly, followed by his feet and the back of his knees up to his groin. His arousal quickened, but they played him like a fisherman with a bite on a line. After almost twenty minutes of foreplay, the taller girl mounted him, while the second teased at his nipples. His back arched as he thrust into the rider, bringing her to climax at the same time as himself. He sank down as the ladies changed positions and started on him again until he was ready for a repeat performance. The clock ticked toward midday. Yurev would be back by now.
He dismissed
the girls and they left for their own quarters, leaving him to enjoy his shower alone.
Half an hour later in the dining salon, his lieutenant sat waiting, a partly finished meal in front of him. Kaplani seldom ate until late in the day, but a large pot of strong Turkish coffee rested on the table.
As with all of his subordinates, Yurev never stood up when his boss arrived, a throwback to field warfare, where saluting or acknowledgment of superior officers gave an obvious signal to waiting snipers.
“A good day’s work, Yurev. Your boys did well.”
“Yes they did, Jozef. We didn’t find the shipment they took at the airport, but we eliminated four of their main handlers. I’ve got watchers at the Chinese bastard’s house, nothing to report yet. When we flush him out, we’ll take care of him as well.”
“Good. So what next?”
“Business as usual is what’s next. We’ve a seven hundred kilo delivery to move from Istanbul in the next couple of days. That’ll need to be split up and moved down the channels, partly to replace the UK needs, the rest in the usual places.”
“What else?”
“I’m having more back-up come here to the compound. After the truck fire in Cherbourg I don’t want to take any chances with you getting hit, boss. The Chinese are capable of crazy things, especially after the damage we did yesterday.”
“You’re a good thinker, Yurev. Anything else?”
Yurev coughed. “Yes, Jozef, one more thing. The women at the villa. For the next couple of weeks, maybe they shouldn’t be here.”
Kaplani smiled and looked his man in the eye, “You think I’m getting soft? Some pussy’ll stop me thinking straight?” he asked, an edge to his voice.
No stranger to conflict, Yurev didn’t fear Jozef Kaplani. His boss needed him more than the other way round.
“No, Jozef. We’ve been around each other too long for pissing with stuff like this. You always think straight. That’s why we all trust you. We can’t trust pussy the same way. Sooner or later, there could be an attack on this property. When we fought the Slavs, we didn’t have any women around, right?”
VENGEANCE WEARS BLACK (Jack Calder Crime Series #2) Page 6
