The language came over so formal and clumsy, Ching Mak wondered if this was for real. “Are you a lawyer?”
“I’m not a lawyer, but believe me, I speak to you with full authority. My party wants to know if you would consider a meeting in a mutually agreed venue to explore further how we may proceed to our common benefit?”
“This is bull shit. I’ve nothing to say to you, whoever you are, and whoever you claim you’re speaking on behalf of.”
“I understand your caution. Please consider what I’m saying. I’ll ring you again two days from now at the same hour.”
Ching Mak would have been even more cautious if he had known the caller’s name – Tomasz Gorski, the Chief of Police in Warsaw.
His immediate concern was the interview in prospect. Flanked by the plain-clothes officers, he was escorted unhurriedly into the depths of police headquarters. The call he’d made on his mobile had been an instruction to summon Charlie Parker, one of the best criminal lawyers on the circuit. Expensive certainly, but with a track record second to none, his reputation for success matched only by the dislike he engendered among the prosecuting authorities. His manner was abrasive, a tactic which he used to great effect, unsettling even the most placid of officers. Granger had encountered Parker on several occasions, with past spats weighing heavily in favour of the lawyer. The DCI groaned inwardly when he saw his nemesis enter the interview room. The counsellor stood only five and a half feet, but a sumo wrestler’s girth paid tribute to his eating habits. There were never formal niceties with Parker.
His opening salvo typified his approach. “Why has my client been coerced into coming to police headquarters, Inspector? Has he been charged with any offence? What right do you have in pulling him all the way here from his home? Has anyone else been asked to assist in your inquiries, whatever they may relate to? And just what do they relate to anyway?”
The atmosphere in the interview room bristled. Ching sat motionless, staring at the wall in front of him, the Chinese officer at the end to his left, with Bob Granger positioned across the white-topped table. The DCI reached to switch on the tape recorder, ignoring the flurry of questions from the lawyer.
“Good morning, Mister Parker. These proceedings will be recorded as is standard practice.” He quoted the date and time of the meeting for the record, then continued, “Mister Ching Mak is assisting the Metropolitan Police regarding the shooting of three males at a commercial address in Hounslow at approximately four o’clock this morning.”
“Who did the shooting? Were there fatalities?” Parker interrupted.
“The incident occurred during a police operation, where the use of firearms threatened the investigating officers at the scene. The males died in the course of the response to that threat.”
Like a mongoose attacking a snake, the lawyer pounced. “You’re saying your officers killed three men at my client’s warehouse and you have the audacity to haul him here this morning? What has my client done to cause you to do that? Was he present during your killings? He knows nothing of any of this.”
The interview had already turned disastrous for Granger. This bastard of a lawyer was far too smart. Now both he and Ching knew the men and Chu were dead, not just involved in the shooting. No witnesses. No oral evidence. Ching also felt a tingle, knowing he’d done the right thing in getting the third man away from the hospital. No trails anywhere. The DCI switched tack.
“Two of the men carrying weapons were employed by Mister Ching, and…”
“My client can’t be held responsible for any criminal activity unknown to him carried out by others, whether or not they happen to be employed in his organisation, Inspector Granger. You’ll need much more substantial grounds to have the impertinence to implicate my client in something he knows nothing about.” Parker delivered the put down with a sneer and a dismissive wave of a pudgy fist. Granger realised this was going nowhere fast.
“Inspector, if my client is not under arrest and you’re not charging him, I demand he be free immediately to return to his home and his business. Are you pressing charges?”
It was pointless to continue. Granger suppressed the urge to punch back verbally and replied, “In the circumstances, Mister Parker, it appears your client is unwilling to assist with these inquiries. We ask that he be available in the next few days in case we need to talk further with him. He’s free to leave.” An uncomfortable and unpleasant climb-down.
The lawyer stood up abruptly and nodded to Ching, extending his arm toward the door. Bob Granger bit his lip. During the entire interview Ching had remained silent. More pointedly, Charlie Parker had spoken not one word to his client. This bastard was good.
Now for an awkward briefing with Alan Rennie and Paul Manning.
CHAPTER 25
Madam Ching sat back in the armchair as her son positioned the cushion for her.
“You taught me to trust nobody, Mama. This guy sounds for real, but we’ve no way of knowing if we’re facing a set-up. He says he’s talking for the other side. What I can’t figure out is who’s been hitting them. He wants to arrange a face to face. He’s saying we can work together. If we agree a safe place to meet, we should, at least to try to find out what else they know. What do you suggest?”
His mother ran a bony hand over her face as if stroking thoughts out of her head.
“Something’s worrying them, Mak, not us. After last week’s business, they feel they can hit us any time they please. Don’t believe for a minute they want to partner up. That’s too simple.” She leaned forward to pick up her glass of tea, and sipped thoughtfully. “Yes. Yes, I think you should meet and listen to what they say. Take your lawyer with you. He’s smart. And make sure you’ve plenty of back-up close to you. I don’t think they’re crazy enough to try anything then, but you never know.”
“Charlie Parker? Great idea, Mama, makes a lot of sense. It’s not illegal meeting people in a public place. Okay, I’ll get him aboard and readied for the day after tomorrow.”
***
The tap on Gorski’s line gave nothing useful to the listeners for the first twenty-four hours, but produced a bounty the following day. Marcel Benoit had the confidential reports in his hands minutes after each of two intercepts of special interest. The Warsaw Chief of Police had placed a follow up call to the Ching’s home in London followed by one to a mobile number in Albania.
The transcripts on both calls were concise:
London: Hello.
Warsaw: Hello. You’ve considered what I said in the last call?
London: I may be open to a discussion, but I’d need some assurances on security.
Warsaw: Understood. Equally so on our side. Perhaps for the first stage we can agree a venue, somewhere mutually acceptable?
London: Yes. The bandstand in Hyde Park is open ground. There’ll be two benches facing each other just off the pathway about fifty metres away. I want your boss and one other person only. I’ll be with one man. No-one else within fifty metres.
Warsaw: And beyond fifty metres?
London: I’m sure we’ll both have friends at that distance.
Warsaw: I’ll talk internally and ring you again in twenty-four hours.
London: Goodbye.
The second call to Albania tagged on from the London conversation:
Albania: Hello.
Warsaw: He’s biting. As expected, he wants a safe venue. Hyde Park. The boss and one other. Same for him. Everyone else back beyond fifty metres. I’m to confirm with him tomorrow, same time.
Albania: Good. Sounds like he doesn’t want any stupid stuff. This’ll work. Confirm.
Warsaw: Okay. Goodbye.
Benoit put the transcripts into his attaché case and got ready to leave for his flight to London. It was time to talk privately with Alan Rennie. The game was moving on to the Assistant Commissioner’s patch. The telephone used in Albania was clearly for a single use only, and the triangulation on the radio signal marked its location to no more than a fifty-meter ra
dius. Kaplani may have flown his usual nest, but his new locale would be pinpointed within an hour or two. The instructions to the field agents were unambiguous. Watch and track, don’t engage. The net had widened after the calls to Ching Mak. A little patience now should pay dividends.
More than eighty years of top-level policing experience gathered round the Assistant Commissioner’s coffee table with the presence of Alan Rennie, Marcel Benoit and Donnie Mullen. This conversation was completely off the record. No notes, no secretaries, no other officers present. There were times in the pursuit of difficult cases where going by the book didn’t always work. This was a perfect example.
The Head of Interpol took his time, laying his cards on the table, including the involvement of Donnie’s partners at ISP. He rounded off with the intelligence received from his trackers about the proposed Hyde Park meeting a couple of days away.
When Benoit finished, Alan Rennie sat back in his chair, a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. He gave a half whistle as he took in the extent and impact of what he’d just heard.
“The hits in Europe did strike me as the work of real pros, and I must confess you guys did cross my mind, Donnie.” He stared directly at his fellow Scot. “In my formal capacity, if there was any hint of involvement on British soil, I’d have to intervene, but as Marcel has so pointedly explained, that’s not the case. So, there’s no call for me to stick my nose in.”
“Officially, correct,” replied Donnie. “But there’s a small problem. Paul Manning’s got a bee in his bonnet about Jules Townsend in particular, and for all of us at ISP in general. He’s no mug, Alan. I think he’s halfway made the connection already and could be awkward if he’s not diverted.”
Rennie looked sombre. “Yes. Mister Paul Fucking Rambo Manning. For your ears in this room only, gentlemen, Paul screwed up big time at Ching’s warehouse, but he’d officially survive censure with any review board. However, it does give me grounds to move him away from the case in the meantime. I’ll position it for his own protection. He won’t be chuffed, but he’ll have no option if I tell him we’re doing this quietly and unofficially. I’ll hint that Ching’s lawyer, Charlie Parker, is growling. Bob Granger’s the lead inspector, and he’s a good man.”
A satisfied grunt from Donnie merged with Marcel talking again. “Officially, I’ll register a formal request for assistance to put a tail on Ching Mak. If we can convert some of your lads into park attendants in Hyde Park when they meet that would be helpful. Also, how about setting up some listening bugs and long range cameras?”
Reconnaissance with listening devices usually required formal authority. The Assistant Commissioner nodded his assent. “I’ll manage that. I assume we’ve no grounds to arrest and hold these guys at present? You just want them tailed and listened to?”
“Correct, my friend. Afterward perhaps it’s better for you to be brought in again only on a need to know basis?” said Benoit.
“Fuck that! Only on a need to know basis? Off the record, if you don’t keep me up to speed I’ll clip the balls off both of you.”
The trio took a minute or two to stop laughing.
“A week’s paid leave, just until the dust settles,” was how the Assistant Commissioner had pitched to him. “Give yourself a break, go enjoy a few days abroad, get a bit of sun.” But, as Donnie Mullen had observed, Paul Manning was nobody’s mug. He’d done the same thing many times to other officers over the years, sidelining personnel when they became a distraction to the case. Of course, protesting was pointless. Rennie wouldn’t be moved on this.
Fuck them. Fuck Rennie. Fuck Ching and these stupid bastards at the warehouse. His anger caught at his throat as he saluted smartly and left his superior’s office. He resisted the urge to slam the door on the way out. Nice and calm exterior. Don’t show the bastard the rage. His own informal network in the building had already told him Rennie’s early morning meeting included Donnie Mullen and another unidentified visitor. He harboured no doubt Jules Townsend’s hand played a large part in this insult. The other, darker nudge in his head was more uncomfortable. Alright, George Chu’s killing was unlucky, stupid maybe, but coupled with prior history, wasn’t stacking up well in his internal report files. Clear out for a week? Paul Manning had other ideas. Whatever these bastards might think of him, he was a good cop and his own record was important to him. He knew what he had to do to make this right.
***
Hyde Park at seven-thirty in the morning carries more pedestrian traffic than at any other time in the day. Joggers, fitness freaks, and people just walking on the way to work, enjoying the chance to breathe some fresh air before disappearing into the concrete jungle of buildings and Government offices surrounding the area. Unremarkable to the regular park users were the four men on facing benches along from the bandstand. The reconnaissance equipment covered the seats and up to a hundred metres all around. From four different angles, three hundred metres back, cameras supposedly capturing wildlife shots zoomed in. Imperceptibly, a scattering of undercover police officers busied themselves nearby as park attendants. To a discerning eye more obvious were the various heavily-jacketed individuals encroaching the meeting place. Each side knew the other would bring minders and respected the agreement to come no closer than fifty metres. Their clothing covered weapons, protection for their masters. The gathering parted company thirty minutes later, with each side departing in opposite directions. The entire proceedings were captured on the microphones and lenses and relayed back to Marcel Benoit and Alan Rennie.
“There’s no honour among thieves, is there?” asked Marcel Benoit. The boardroom at ISP doubled as a screening room for the voice tapes and the photographs. Spread around the table next to the recording equipment and overhead slides were Donnie, Jules, and Alan Rennie. Jack Calder, Malky McGuire and Brad Miles sat back against the wall, nearer to the door.
“Why do you say that?” asked Jules.
“Ching Mak was expecting the top man to show up. That’s not Kaplani.”
“Then who is it?”
“You’re looking at a vicious bastard, goes by the name of Yurev. He was the field commander for these guys in the Balkans. His family name has never surfaced anywhere. But he’s close to your man, Jozef. Probably worked with his father, too. We reckon he’s a lot smarter than his boss. Whatever they’re cooking, he’ll be the brains behind everything. Intriguing, Kaplani sends him instead of showing himself. Ching of course won’t be any the wiser.”
“Interesting partner for Mak as well,” intervened Alan Rennie. “Our old chum, Charlie Parker, as clever as a barrel of monkeys and every bit as trustworthy.”
With no vehicle noise to warp the reception the microphones had picked up the conversation well. The common language of English did away with the need for any translation.
“Run the film again,” said Jules. This was the third time. Malky and Jack were used to having their chief constantly go over and over detail. The first half contained the expected verbal fencing around the subject, each feeling out the other side. With Charlie Parker present, Mak was careful with his words, and no names were mentioned throughout the entire meeting.
Ching: What’s in it for us to work with you?
Yurev: The market is big enough for all of us. Share fifty-fifty in everything.
Ching: How can we be sure you’ll keep your word?
Yurev: We could ask the same question. But I’m not here to argue. We swap people.
Ching: Swap? What do you mean?
Yurev: Like in any combined business. Some of our guys with you, some of yours with us.
Ching: Let me consider that.
Yurev: We’re past the stage of just thinking. Our goods and your goods are needed in the markets immediately. I suggest we value up and pool the product now.
Ching: Let’s put that aside for the minute. I think there’s another issue to talk about.
Yurev: Yes, there is. I think you know there’s a third party screwing around with the business.
We can work together in taking care of them.
Ching: Well try this out (passing over a folded sheet of paper).
Yurev: What’s this?
Ching: The third party. You can show your good faith by addressing that problem.
The camera shots showed Yurev looking at the paper. He folded and stuck the document in his pocket.
Yurev: Let me see what I can do. We’ll call you on the other arrangements.
The meeting broke up without any handshakes.
Brad Miles spoke first. “What’s the betting that piece of paper’s got your family album snaps and all the dinner invites at ISP?” he said, looking at Jack and Malky.
“Bring them on, brother, bring them on,” replied the Irishman, giving a knuckle jab to Jack’s shoulder.
Jules turned from the table and addressed him directly. “If things were only so straightforward, Malky. From what went down at the restaurant these guys play dirty. They’re not ever going to come at us face on. We’re well used to protecting ourselves, but this tells us we’re even more on red alert now. All of us.”
Alan Rennie said, “We can provide some armed protection for you and your people, Jules.” Then catching himself in mid-thought he added, “I suppose for you it’s hardly necessary.”
He was rewarded with a smile from the ISP boss. “The offer’s appreciated, but probably better we keep your guys away from this. What’re your thoughts, Marcel?”
The Interpol chief had been sitting quietly making some notes on the pad in front of him. He cleared his throat. “Nothing changes for us, except the end game could prove more productive now. Two gangs, and a barrage of drugs and women-trafficking to disrupt.”
VENGEANCE WEARS BLACK (Jack Calder Crime Series #2) Page 11
