Tanker (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 1)

by Nicholas E Watkins

  “There’s a surprise, daft question really.”

  “I want a couple of bodies to put their headquarters under surveillance?” he said.

  She thought for moment. Money was tight. “Go on then, I am curious to get to the bottom of it, but keep it cheap and cheerful.”

  Chapter 18

  The train journey from Eastbourne to London had been uneventful and it took Tim and Yosuf about five minutes to walk from Victoria station to the Premier Inn where they had booked into a room. Lisa had been true to her word and Tim had a lunch appointment with her current husband John.

  “Will you be alright on your own?”

  “Fine,” replied Yosuf.

  “I saw a print and copy shop as we walked here. I shall print the contents of the memory stick to show to Mr Midas and leave the stick with you.”

  “And I, my friend, shall sample the delights of a burger and chips while you wine and dine in the finest eateries the City has to offer.”

  Tim took the Tube to the Bank station and walked down Cornhill and turned into Ball Court. It was like stepping back into the eighteenth century. The courtyard was crowded with office workers on their lunch break. The eatery dated back to 1757 and it still retained the Dickensian feel. Tim had meet John on a couple of occasions over the years and spotted him at the bar as he walked in.

  “Ordered you a pint, if that’s ok?” John greeted him. He was slightly taller than Tim and immaculately turned out. If Tim were honest with himself he would have admitted to being slightly envious of him. He had a natural charm and charisma that made people notice him. He supposed the difference was self confidence. When he walked in a room where he was unknown to the other guests, he would quietly move to the side of the room. John would confidently walk to the centre of the room, thrust out his hand and announce his name. The outcome was obvious. Even if he was unimportant and unknown to everyone, the fact that he expected to be greeted and exuded confidence usually resulted in the most senior person there coming forward and shaking his hand. Being greeted by the head guy would in an instant confer his importance and status to those present.

  “Fine,” said Tim even though he would have preferred a soft drink.

  “Traditional ale, you can’t beat it,” said John.

  “Perfect,” Tim lied as he took a swig of the bitter tepid and warm beer.

  “They have a table for us and it should be ready soon.” The bar was packed and the cliental had spilled outside where they continued to drink but also smoked. “So how are you?”

  “Fit and well and you?”

  “As a fiddle but I am looking forward to getting out on the old yacht you know. We’ve had her sailed out to the Caribbean and Lisa and I are planning a quick trip round the Islands. Do you have a boat?”

  John knew full well that he did not have a yacht and it was just his way of letting Tim know their relative positions in social standing. “No I don’t.”

  “You should get one. Jolly good fun.”

  Luckily John was interrupted by a middle aged woman in an apron. “There are a couple of spaces now, darling” she said. They followed her downstairs and were shown to two seats on opposite sides of a table that was attached to a wall at one end. Four diners were already in place, two on each side sat on the bench. A tall brass bowler hat stand divided the back to back benches. The age of bowler hats had long gone but their use was now extended as a place to park laptops and brief cases.

  “Now what can I get you boys?”

  “You know me Mary, the usual rump steak” said John.

  “And you ducks?”

  In the absence of being given a menu Tim replied that he would have the same.

  “Would you like a sausage with that?” asked Mary.

  “Of course and a bottle of the house red,” said John. She looked at Tim who nodded.

  “Stylish carrier bag you have there. Does it contain what you want me to have a butchers at?”

  “I should be very grateful if you would.” He passed him the Copy Shop bag and its contents.

  The wine turned up with two glasses which Tim poured as John read. John studied the documents for a while and flicked page after page. “Ok got it,” he said.

  “Well?”

  “Well, I have not seen these for a while. They were a feature of the nineteen eighties. I need to give you a bit of background on the London insurance market if you are to make sense of it”

  “Go ahead,” said Tim.

  “Well around the time this place was established, coffee was a big thing. The merchants would meet up in coffee shops and do business. One of the most popular was one ran by a chap called Lloyd, who gave his name to the World’s first insurance market. The big steel building up the road designed by Richard Rogers is where they live today and is now called Lloyds of London.” He took a sip of claret.

  “These merchants decided to spread the risk of their ships and trade. If a ship sank a merchant would have the total loss of the ship and its cargo. So they decided to share the risk between them and marine insurance was born.” The steak turned up.

  “The market evolved so that wealthy individuals with no direct interest in the actual vessels or cargo would participate in the risk of a voyage by receiving a premium in return for insuring the loss. As trade grew into the modern era the cargos and ships become bigger and more valuable and even the wealthiest people became unable to withstand the losses on their own so they started to lay off their risk. Re-insurance was born”

  “Good sausage?”

  “Very good,” said Tim “Re-insurance?”

  “It is like a bookie who lays off a bet with other bookies. Say you go into a bookies and place a hundred thousand pounds on a one hundred to one horse to win he would lay that bet of with other bookies, So perhaps he would only be liable if you won for five percent of it and the rest of the bookies would stump up the balance. It is a way of sharing risk.”

  “What these papers relate to are what is referred to as “Tonners.” Using the bookie analogy; a bookie could receive in a day hundreds of laid off bets from other bookers. In effect he would receive a share of the stake money from dozens of other bookies. So he could theoretically claim that he had a stake in the outcome of every win or loss in every race.”

  “I am not clear,” said Tim.

  “Underwriters, like the bookies, take re-insurance premiums from hundreds of other insurers so one way or another when a ship flounders they will inevitably have a smaller or larger share of the loss somewhere along the line.”

  “Tonners?” said Tim.

  “A gamble really, the logic for it was. An insurer, though the re-insurance contracts he had written has an interest in every ship in the World and when it sank he theoretically would have to pay out, so he could re-insurer that notional risk. The way the gamble worked was that one insure would pay a premium, a bet really, saying that if a ship over a certain weight sank in a given period he would receive ten or twenty times his premium or bet from the other insurer, If nothing over that weight sank he lost his premium.”

  “These papers show bets being placed into the insurance markets for the biggest ships in the World. The bets are big and the payout would be massive.” said John.

  “How big?”

  “A billion perhaps or more, hard to say off the top of my head but the likelihood of any ship of this size sinking is infinitesimal. I would say that the insurance companies who paid the premiums or placed the bets if you like, have wasted their money.”

  “How come surely ships sink all the time,” said Tim.

  “True but these would be the size of super massive oil tankers and they don’t sink very often. They are the biggest and the best.”

  “”Stewed cheese?” interrupted Mary.

  “Of course, what else?” answered John for both of them.

  Tim considered the information, “Who benefits from this if one of these tankers sinks?”

  “The insurance companies listed here,” he looked at the
list in front of them, “Mostly the arseholes of Alaska.”

  “What, the arseholes of Alaska?”

  John smiled. “It a phrase we use for second rate insurers who are undercapitalised, poor security and usual located in some dodgy country. The ones on the list taking out these Tonners are mostly Middle Eastern and North African.”

  “Terrorist linked?” said Tim.

  “Who knows, but at a guess they are used to launder money and move it about the World.”

  “Tell me if I have this right. If a super sized oil tanker sinks then these guys stand to receive millions from these so called insurances.”

  “In a nutshell, yes.”

  “What do those columns of letters and numbers mean?” said Time pointing to the last sheet of paper.

  “I am afraid I can’t help you with that bit,” he said.

  “Did you enjoy your food, love?” asked Mary.

  Tim had to admit that he had.

  Chapter 19

  Tim and Yosuf were on their drug run. They had left the hotel and boarded the tube at Victoria and after changing to the Piccadilly line at Finsbury Park, got off the train at Wood Green. It was beginning to get dark as they walked down the High Street past Toys R Us and turned down the road leading to “Spicy Chicken and kebab”.

  It was still quite early in the kebab world and the shop was empty. From eleven o’clock at night the place would be full of drunken teenagers in need of a greasy doner before bed. They entered the shop. The smell of the slow cooking lamb on the rotating spite and the skewers of meat on the grill did have a delicious aroma and tempted them despite the fact they had both eaten.

  A Turkish worker in a red t shit, with the takeaway’s logo and name on it, wearing a white folded hat again displaying the logo approached them at the counter. The takeaway decorated in mostly red and yellow had a glass entrance door, a few tables which you walked past in order to approach the counter that ran the width of the back of the shop.

  “What can I get you?” asked the server.

  Yosuf said the phrase, a password and glances were exchanged between the employees. The end of the counter was lifted and they were shown past the kitchen to what looked like the cold store. It was in fact a heavily reinforced door and required the employee to speak into an entry phone system to gain access for them. Distributing heroin was a very hazardous occupation and you needed to be very well organised and security conscious. The doors in this kebab shop would have been the envy of many a bank.

  Gang rivalry in London for drug distribution was intense and shootings and murders for turf were not uncommon. Wood Green was right in the heart of it with Tottenham and Finsbury Park a spit away. The area was dived up between the various gangs but conflict was inevitable. The Turks had a fierce reputation for extreme violence and gunfights were not uncommon. Things had recently quietened after the shooting of a police woman which had enraged public opinion. In truth the drug dealers were careful not to harm the police or ordinary citizens but matters had in this instance got out of hand when some Poles had tried to establish themselves.

  The door swung back for them and a gang member showed them up a flight of stairs into what was effectively a café with tables and chairs. Coffee was on the brew and gang members sat playing the inevitable back gammon.

  “Hello and welcome,” said a middle aged slightly overweight man., “my name is Jimmy and these are John and Mick. Not their real names of course.” All three were Turkish. John and Mick looked formidable and were clearly not known for their sensitivity. “Is that for me?” he said looking at the cases.

  He pointed at the two cases Tim and Yosuf were carrying. They had left their clothes and other belongings at the hotel and split the heroin between them. They passed the suitcases over to John and Mick who in turn passed them over to two men who stopped playing back gammon and immediately left with them.

  “Sit down,” said Jimmy. They sat and were offered the mandatory sweet thick and ground filled cup of Turkish coffee.

  After a pause Jimmy spoke.” A disturbing fact has come to light and I wonder if you may have anything to add. Your friend and my fiend and colleague Osman has been killed. Were you aware of this fact?”

  He studied their faces intently. They were clearly surprised and this seemed to re-assure him. “How?” asked Yosuf.

  “In a very unusual fashion for our line of work, he was killed by a bomb. We do not like to use bombs, they may kill a rival but they also may kill innocent bystanders and that is not good, it really draws attention to us and is very bad for business.”

  Tim was feeling very uneasy in the presence of this rather jolly rotund man who casually discussed killing people so matter of factly. He realised that he was weighing up Tim’s and Yosuf’s involvement and deciding if the best course of action would be to have them disposed of and so overt any further danger to him.

  Tim was regretting their decision to delivery the drugs at all. Yosuf had persuaded him to do so, based on the logic that adding the drug ring to the list, already containing Mehmet and ISIS, of people trying to hunt them down and kill them would not be a good idea.

  “He was my friend we grew up together I am greatly saddened. I fear we may be partly to blame. We are being hunted and he helped us by getting us out of France and in return we have kept our part of the bargain and made the delivery safely to you,” said Yosuf.

  Jimmy studied him and considered. “I believe you. Had you been involved you would hardly walk in here. In any event it may have nothing to do with you. Osman has had to deal with some very dangerous people to ensure the supply of our product. These people are driven by idealism and not profit. The bombing suggests ISIS and a dispute over the payment or such and after all you are dodging Turkish security as are we all.”

  At that moment Jimmy’s mobile rang three times then went silent. It rang again four times. “You may go now, my men have safely delivered the product to be cut and packaged.” He spoke on the phone and turned to address them again.” There is a car and driver out front and Mick and John will see you safely to the car. The driver will take you where you want to go. Safe journey,” Jimmy said.

  They exchanged handshakes and followed Mick and John down the stairs and out of the shop. It was now dark as the three of them left the shop and began the walk towards the car.

  The next few minutes turned into a blur. Three men stepped forward, the ISIS trio, and just opened fire on them. Yosuf pushed Tim to the ground and simultaneously pulled his gun. Both Mick and John went for their guns. John fell to the ground blood pumping from the gunshot wound in his neck. He shook violently as a fit engulfed him and blood spurted from his nose and mouth. He died chocking, gargling his own blood.

  Yosuf lying on the ground fired wildly in the direction of their assailants. Mick had his gun out and fired as he turned his back and started to run back to the shop. There was a burst of gunfire and his back became a mass of shredded clothing and flesh and he slowly slumped forward onto his knees screaming in agony.

  Yosuf fired again. Tim finally moved and pulled his gun. A bullet skipped in front of where they lay and Yosuf let out a yell of pain as a fragment hit his arm. Tim raised his gun as the three ISIS assassins ran towards them. He fired the recoil sending his arm jolting back and the bullet flying harmlessly of into the sky.

  It seemed that all was lost and the assailants would soon have him and Yosuf. They were running towards them closely followed by a black Ford Transit van. They would soon be prisoners of these fanatics.

  Tim fired again and as if by magic one of them, the largest fell, his head exploding a mess of brain and blood. The other two dropped to their knees and crouching began shooting past Tim and Yosuf. Bullets were streaming past. The driver of the black van rolled down the window and began firing.

  The doors to the kebab shop flew open and Jimmy and his men ran out onto the street firing in all directions assuming they were being attacked by a rival drug gang

  Mehmet was running towards
them with three operatives from the Turkish security firing at the terrorists. They were the better armed with Uzi 9mm machine pistols spraying short bursts. Tim grabbed Yosuf and made to run to the waiting car but as they approached it drove off. One of Mehmet’s soldiers sprayed it with bullets the car veered across the road wheels squealing and continued to accelerate and crashed into the Transit. The mix of bullets, twisted and smashed fuel tanks caused the vehicles to explode with deafening roar of heat and flying shrapnel. The windows of the kebab shop were blown out and Jimmy and his men were showered in glass and flame.

  The last ISIS soldier died in the onslaught and Jimmy and his men were screaming from their injuries. Mehmet’s men fired a short burst in their direction and there was silence

  Mehmet advanced on Tim and Yosuf as they staggered to their feet and began to run down street. They continued running. There was another burst of gun fire and Tim watched in horror as Yosuf staggered a few paces and fell forward. His face held a look of surprise as life faded from him. Tim had no time to stop and in shock, half expecting death to catch him as well ran for his life.

  Suddenly silence and then a voice “Stop this now MI5.”

  Mehmet stopped in his tracks. He and his men lowered their guns. He could probably kill, drug dealers and terrorists on the streets of London, with only a stiff protest at Government level but he knew he could not kill a member of the British Security without very bad consequences for him and Turkey.

  “You lot fuck off,” Jeff Stiles said waving Mehmet back. Tim just kept running.

  Chapter 20

  The small village in Northern Iraq where Dr Jaffer worked was in the main quite and mostly peaceful. He had two children Mem, Akram and a wife Telenaz. The rule of Saddam Hussein and the Ba’th party was of course a restrictive factor in all their lives. Dr Jaffer was part of the Muslim minority in this part of the country being a Sunni Muslim.

  The majority of the World’s Muslims, some one and a half billion people, are Sunni. The word Sunni is derived from “Ahl al-sunnah,” people of tradition and they based their religion on what the Prophet Muhammad practiced, preached or condemned. The Shia Muslims derived their name from “Shiat Ali” the party of all. They claim that Ali, the leader of the Muslims following the death of the Prophet Muhammad, in 632 AD, was his Prophet’s rightful successor. The majority of the Muslims in Iraq are Shia Muslims.