VENGEANCE WEARS BLACK (Jack Calder Crime Series #2)

by Seumas Gallacher

  The noise of an engine gunning into action broke across the conversation. Nearest to the smashed window, Zeb caught sight of the rear of a saloon car roaring away in the direction where Paul Manning had parked, on the coast road.

  “Bets are that ain’t Santa Claus,” chimed Malky. “Do we chase them?”

  “No,” replied Jules emphatically. “We’ve done them enough damage at the hotel and here on their own ground. Trying anything in public isn’t on. Where the hell did they get out from?”

  “Jules, look here,” said Johan Krull. He opened the doorway leading down into the basement. “I guess they had a party room downstairs.”

  ***

  The unmistakable noise of grenade explosions had reverberated down from the ground floor above them. All four knew immediately none of it came from their own people. Yurev reacted first. He moved across to a wooden chest, flipped open the top and removed Uzi submachine guns. He threw one to Kaplani and tossed another to Ching. “You know how to use one of these?”

  “Of course,” replied Ching, checking the bullet rounds were intact.

  “How about you, Charlie?” he asked, offering the weapon to Parker.

  The lawyer held up his hands and shook his head. “No, not me. I never handled a gun in my life.”

  “Then carry the second one for me,” instructed his new boss.

  Yurev drew out a fourth Uzi for himself.

  “We defend from down here?” asked Ching.

  “Not necessary,” said Kaplani, moving toward the back of the basement. “Follow me.”

  Ching and Parker followed his lead, with Yurev taking up the rear. A small door, about four feet high set in a recess in the wall. It was unlocked and swung open easily, leading to a tunnelled passageway. Kaplani touched a switch and stepped forward. They queued after him in single file. The tunnel was a perfect hallway, although they had to crouch a little to walk through. Even with Parker’s girth it was a simple passage. About forty metres along, it closed off against another door which Kaplani nudged open and listened. Voices drifted toward them, but all coming from inside the farmhouse.

  “I’ll go first, Jozef. Cover me,” said Yurev.

  He eased out against the wall of the building and looked around. Clear. He moved quickly and silently the few metres toward a dark saloon. He got into the driver’s side and signalled the others to join him. Ching and Parker bundled into the rear of the car, as Kaplani took the front passenger seat, the Uzi pointing out of his window. Ching rolled his down at the back and did the same. They roared away from the farmhouse as Charlie Parker wondered what the hell he’d got himself into.

  ***

  Brad Miles shook his head. “Well, we didn’t get the cats,” he said, his drawl bouncing through the basement, “but we certainly bagged their cream. This stuff must’ve cost them a fortune. And they’ve lost several times over because it’s not getting to the street. Major score, guys, major score.”

  “Call in your local agents to take this lot out, Brad,” said Jules. “We get the hell out of here. We haven’t seen the last of this.” He gestured to Manning. “And you and I need to have a little talk, Paul.”

  The Head of Serious Crimes nodded. God knows where this was going to land him, but somehow he didn’t mind. Wherever it led would surely be better than where he’d been heading for the last couple of weeks.

  CHAPTER 33

  Jozef Kaplani valued Yurev as a fine field lieutenant and an accomplished enforcer. Their time spent together as guerrillas in the Balkans had forged a partnership and unseverable bond of trust. They both acknowledged Yurev’s limitations in orchestrating broader strategy in their approach to war and to their criminal fiefdom. Kaplani was now at war. Charlie Parker had seen the Albanian’s well-honed capacity to think on his feet and come to decisive action. The best form of defence was always attack and if you needed something to happen, don’t wait. Act. In the last few weeks his empire had lost millions of dollars in drug shipments and dozens of personnel. These facts, although uncomfortable, didn’t represent fatal blows to his business. Money he had and more money he could produce. Men he still had, his network broad and strong. The proposed alliance with Ching looked more positive by the minute. The Interpol connection remained unclear, but the attacks weren’t coming from them directly. Dealing with ISP was now his top priority, along with reassuring Ahmed Fadi these events were temporary blips. He dialled the number of Tomasz Gorski. The conversation was brief.

  “Set up a meeting in Turkey as soon as possible. Tomorrow if it can be done.” The intercept made its way as usual to Marcel Benoit.

  His second call was not intercepted. Kaplani’s point man in London listened as he spelled out his instructions.

  “Got it, boss.”

  He closed the phone and spoke with Yurev.

  “Book a private flight to Istanbul. Four of us,” he ordered.

  Their escape from the farmhouse, skirting away from the coastal route on rough track country lanes back on to the main road to the capital had taken no more than an hour to reach the safe house in Tirana. Surprisingly, nobody pursued them. Yurev had received word of the slaughter at the hotel, at which Kaplani merely shrugged his shoulders. His number two recognised the ruthless detachment he’d seen from his commander so often before. He liked him in this mode. A phone call set up an early morning departure for Turkey.

  ***

  Elsewhere, Jules Townsend also had telephone calls to make. The first, a private discussion with Marcel Benoit on his secured line at Interpol headquarters in Lyons lasted a full twenty minutes. Part of the information Marcel relayed concerned Charlie Parker.

  “You won’t be surprised to learn we’ve been following the trail of money transferred from Ching’s bank accounts,” said the Interpol boss. “The dossier is close to being solid enough to bring to a courtroom. Among the normal legitimate currency transfers they deal with, we’ve one payment recorded in the last forty-eight hours to the Cobalt Bank in Gibraltar for three hundred and fifty thousand dollars, payable to an account, Parker, Chas. Now what do you think that’s for, my friend?”

  “Certainly not paying for light bulbs,” Jules replied. “Our friendly legal beagle’s building a little stash for himself. We might be able to leverage on that later. Thanks for the heads-up.”

  The second call was to brief Donnie Mullen in London on the results of the evening’s operations.

  “May-Ling’s safely with us, and no casualties on our side. The main targets slithered away at the farmhouse I’m afraid, but Marcel should be happy with the parcel they left behind.”

  “Excellent. What’s next?”

  “We wait again. This is only starting, Donnie. Charlie Parker won’t know he’s on our radar, and I’ve a suggestion for you to put to Alan Rennie and Bob Granger.”

  “Tell me.”

  He explained his thinking to the former policeman. When he’d finished, Donnie was laughing. “Jules. I don’t know where your mind gets this stuff, but it’s good. I’ll call Alan and bounce it off him. Cheers.”

  “One more thing,” added Jules. “Until further notice you keep the London office closed. No personnel. They can work from home in the meantime. The admin stuff we’ve got backed up out of Amsterdam anyway. Security level red on all other offices.”

  “Understood.”

  Jules returned to the hangar where their transport waited. He motioned to Paul Manning to step away from the others for a private word.

  “I’ve sussed why you came, Paul. You’ve got guts, I’ll grant you and I owe you one for the take-out, thanks. What’re your plans now?”

  “I’m not certain, Jules. I sure as hell can’t go telling Rennie where I’ve been. That would be career suicide to be honest. I was hoping to pull something out of this and get my credit back. I didn’t expect you guys to come in and make such a party.”

  “Well, here’s a proposal that might help all of us. You’re invisible as far as we’re concerned. None of us recalls seeing you here.
Let me try something else with you.”

  “I’m listening.”

  Jules outlined what he had in mind. A broad smile creased Manning’s face. “I like that. Yes, I like that a lot,” he said, shaking hands when Jules had finished.

  The ISP chief singled out Guna next. “My friend, I think you and your brothers can go home to your families now. This part of the operation has been well taken care of.” He stepped forward and embraced each of the Gurkhas in turn, as did all the Westerners.

  “We’re just a phone call away, Jules. At your service if you need us again,” said Guna. “Thank you for allowing us to make a contribution to Chandal’s memory.”

  Jules nodded as Brad approached the pair of them.

  “I just spoke with Marcel, Brad,” said Jules. “It didn’t take him long to learn where our boys went. When was the last time you were in Istanbul?”

  CHAPTER 34

  Ahmed Fadi measured success in payment for goods delivered. His own intelligence network relayed everything of importance to him, including the reverses Jozef Kaplani had suffered in recent weeks. Regardless of the loss of the heroin shipments, the Albanian paid his dues on time. A good payer is a good partner. The call from Warsaw asked for a meeting at short notice and Fadi readily agreed. He sent the message Kaplani and his company would be picked up and escorted to his luxury launch The Constellation, anchored just outside Istanbul harbour. Accompanying the confirmation of the meeting he apologised as he himself was currently travelling back from Afghanistan. They should be his guests on the vessel until he returned the day after their arrival.

  Kaplani had been aboard The Constellation several times. No ordinary cruiser, the purpose-built craft’s construction price had exceeded the initial budget of forty million dollars by almost half as much again. At seventy-five metres long and twelve metres broad, it was designed for maximum comfort and speed. With its sleek, jet-black hull and understated exterior elegance nothing had been spared on the interior design, hence the overrun on the building cost. A series of eight guestrooms and crew quarters supplemented Fadi’s personal stateroom. A swimming pool and spa graced the rear of the extended deck. A permanent chef and three waiting staff served aboard as well as a rotating squad of six bodyguards. The vessel anchored about eight hundred metres offshore, away from the direct shipping lanes. Well-marked buoys ensured the nearest boat floated no closer than three hundred metres. Bakshish paid to port authorities ensured privacy even this close to one of the world’s busiest sea-going thoroughfares.

  Waiting on board an extra day for Fadi’s return would be no hardship. Kaplani knew his host always supplied first class hospitality, including the best of female company. Despite the concerns about his business, Jozef Kaplani could relax until Fadi came to join them.

  ***

  Bob Granger’s people picked up Paul Manning’s arrival home, unaware he’d come from Heathrow. The Head of Serious Crimes was due to return to duty the next day. Meanwhile, May-Ling had insisted she travel with the other guys to Turkey, making the slimmed down squad seven in total as their Nepalese partners returned to Katmandu. Marcel Benoit’s ground agents in Istanbul ferried the ISP team to their strike base downtown, close to the port. No further telephone intercepts had been recorded, but the movement of Kaplani and his companions through the port and out to The Constellation were noted and relayed in due course.

  Malky carried a tray laden with coffee mugs into the sitting area as the mobile phone rang on the table next to Jules. Only a select few had that number. The chief picked up and answered, “Yes?”

  Jack sat next to May-Ling on the couch and watched his chief’s face harden, the furrow on his brow accompanied by the return of a familiar slight muscle twitch at the side of his neck.

  “Any casualties?” Jules asked the caller. “No? Good. Thanks, we’ll be moving on them within the next twenty-four hours. Reinforce the red alert message to the other locations. We’ll be in touch.”

  The whole team faced Jules as he closed the phone. “As I thought might happen,” he said. “That was Donnie. Someone targeted our London office again early this morning, Mister Kaplani’s usual calling card. The explosion wrecked the corridor, our entrance and most of the interiors. If our staff had been there, they’d likely be dead now.” Tight lipped, Jules stood up and left the room. Brad, Jeb and Johan would not have recognised them, but Jack and Malky had seen the signs before. The unmistakable look on Jules Townsend’s face. Controlled, certainly; enraged, definitely.

  Jozef Kaplani and his cohorts had become a personal issue to the former Major. This would end only one way, the thought not displeasing either of the ex-SAS men. It occurred to Malky yet again, Jules had pre-thought the likely movements of their adversary, without doubt saving lives at the London office from this latest atrocity. Jules’s other action, set in motion from the previous day’s telephone calls, began around the time of the bombing.

  ***

  Assistant Commissioner Alan Rennie quickly agreed with Donnie Mullen’s suggestion from Jules. A pair of squad cars, with DCI Bob Granger and a female Chinese officer aboard, attended the Ching residence in Hounslow. They arrested and charged Madam Ching Fan with terrorist activity, wholesale drug dealing, murder, arson, people trafficking, tax evasion and money laundering. The invented terrorism charge was thrown in to prevent an easy application for bail, but with Marcel Benoit’s cooperation, similar charges would be filed in Cherbourg and other jurisdictions across Europe. The arrest occurred just before seven in the morning. On purpose, they ensured as much screeching siren noise and flashing lights as they drove off with the matriarch toward Central London.

  ***

  Ching Mak found it impossible to control his temper when he took the call about his mother’s arrest.

  “A problem, Mak?” asked Charlie Parker, coming in from the deck to the air-conditioned lounge to see his client pacing up and down, his face flushed. At first Parker thought Mak may have been into the brandy a bit early in the day, but there was no sign of glasses nor alcohol on the table.

  “The bastards have arrested my mother! My mother, for God’s sake!” He spat the words with angry intensity. “She’s eighty-two, Charlie! What the fuck do they want with an eighty-two year old woman? They’ve charged her with a list of stuff as long as your arm. This is crazy, Charlie!”

  “Sit down, Mak, sit down,” said Parker, in a client reassurance manner that came as naturally to him as breathing. “What’s she been charged with?”

  “Just about everything you can think of. Murder, arson, drugs, prostitution, and, get this, terrorist activity. Do you believe this?”

  Parker leaned back in the lounge seat and thought for a moment. Then he spoke to his new boss. “A load of bullshit, Mak. They’re not after your mother. They’re after you. They want you to show up. We’ll play it a different way. I’ll fly back today and have her out of there in no time. Okay?”

  Parker’s words sank in with Ching. “Yes. That makes sense. Bastards. How low can they sink?”

  A bit like the pot calling the kettle black, mused Parker, but he kept the thought to himself.

  “I’ll get to the airport now and report to you when we have her safely back home. I don’t think you need me specifically for the meeting with Mister Fadi at any rate.”

  “Good. Do that. I’ll square things with Jozef. Just get her out, Charlie. She’s an old woman.”

  This development pleased Charlie Parker. He hadn’t relished getting sucked deeper and deeper into the dirty side of Ching’s business nor the speed at which it was happening. He’d hoped to keep himself at arm’s length from the filthy stuff. Here was an opportunity to distance a little, at least physically. Within twenty minutes, he disembarked from The Constellation on his way to Istanbul airport.

  From the watchers, word of the lawyer’s departure fed back along the line to Jules, who indulged a wry smile and a nod of his head. “The bait’s working,” he said, more to himself than to Brad and Jack who sat next to h
im. They looked quizzically but he didn’t elaborate.

  CHAPTER 35

  The inshore port area of Istanbul is always busy. At the nexus of East and West it is a tourist magnet as well as a vital international entrepot. Ocean-going cruise ships seldom miss a stop-over as part of the vacation colour and culture exposure eagerly sought by their paying guests. With so many visiting vessels waiting for berths alongside the quays, passengers are regularly ferried from the mother ship’s anchorage outside the harbour area into the port without the liners touching the quayside at all. They disappear into the city with cameras and wallets at the ready to capture exaggerated memories to flaunt at family and friends who either didn’t want to join them or couldn’t afford the fare. Other vessels from the commercial goods’ trade have constant scheduled berths unloading products all year long. Smaller craft, sailing yachts and ferryboats mingle up and down, criss-crossing the water bounding the entrance to the city. Contraband is part and parcel of the traffic plying daily in these surroundings, some of it too minor for the authorities to bother about, with no bribe value of consequence. Other more sinister loads find their way in and out of the harbour with prepaid clearance in payoff monies.

  The Constellation never experienced hassle with customs nor police officials. Until now, like all sensible crime bosses, Ahmed Fadi permitted no illegal material to be taken on board his floating palace, and onshore palm-greasing assured protection. With Fadi not yet aboard, the security complement was trimmed to four personnel, all of whom remained at the forward area of the boat, affording the guests maximum privacy. No threat had ever been directed at The Constellation in its six years in Istanbul, with none expected.

  Under the unobtrusive but watchful eye of Yurev, Jozef Kaplani made good use of the extensive bar aboard the vessel. The Albanian had consumed a full bottle of vodka by mid-afternoon.

  After Parker’s departure, Ching Mak appeared wrapped up in his own thoughts, sipping modestly at a couple of ice–charged glasses of superior quality brandy. Yurev didn’t disturb either of them. If they felt the need to unwind, so be it. He, at least, would remain sober. On cue around eight o’clock as darkness fell, The Constellation’s baby motor launch arrived back from the harbour with companions for the evening’s entertainment, courtesy of Ahmed Fadi. Dressed in expensive clothing, four beautiful girls stepped aboard and made their high-heeled way into the interior lounge area. Yurev noted with satisfaction no Asians among them. Let’s see how Ching Mak reacts to this, he thought.