The hallway and stairs were mired in graffiti and the smell of stale urine pervaded the atmosphere. Discarded tin foil and needles were kicked causally to the sides of the stairs by the feet that entered day and night, on the quest for their owner’s next fix. Benedict struggled to keep up with the youth leading him and was breathless by the time they approached the door to the apartment.
Words were exchanged and the heavy steel reinforced door was opened by another youth with a hand gun. It was clear that the contents of the apartment were valuable and were strongly defended. Given the checkpoints, the watchers and the armed guards it would be no mean feat to steal drugs from this gang.
Drugs were, however, merely a side-line for this crew, a means to finance and further their Cause. They passed through the passage way and entered a large cluttered room. The youth gestured for Benedict to sit on an old wooden chair off to the left side. He waited as a discussion took place between three men in Arabic. The room was cluttered with boxes and packets. Clearly a distribution hub for the various illegal activities the group partook in. The room was dominated by a covering, hanging from the long wall behind the men. The black and white Arabic scripted familiar banner of the Islamic State. Here, in this Muslim controlled area of Marseilles, they were operating openly with impunity.
The discussion over, two of the men departed taking their packages for delivery with them. The third man dressed conventionally and with no beard approached him as he sat waiting. “Mr Benedict,” he said in an appalling French accent, which was even worse than the youth, he had first encountered. Benedict rose and responded in English. It was clear that the man had an English accent to his French.
He gestured for Benedict to approach a table in the corner where two chairs had been placed. “Please sit, do you have the money?”
In reply Benedict reached into his jacket pocket and placed the envelope on the desk between them. The contents were checked and he was offered tea, which he declined, only wanting to complete the transaction and depart as quickly as possible.
“I am intrigued as to why a distinguished gentleman like you would require such an unusual purchase?”
“I am not here to satisfy your curiosity, but you can rest assured, I am not involved in a religious crusade, but in an enterprise of a far more personal nature. May I have it please?”
“Of course,” he got up from the chair and left for the next-door room, returning in less than a moment. He placed a large cardboard box on the table. “As ordered,” he said
Benedict stood up and pulled open the lid to the box which had just been folded closed. He reached in and removed the vest and placed it on the table. It weighed less than he imagined.
“Are you familiar with how it works? Shall I demonstrate?”
Benedict indicated that he was unfamiliar with its operation and was instructed to remove his jacket. He was helped into the vest and stood uncomfortable in front of his instructor.
“This arms it. You complete the connection by screwing down. The light will come-on when you have done it. This pipe goes down your sleeve and you hold the bulb in your hand. Squeeze and hold. You detonate the device by releasing the pressure. If you are killed, the relaxation of your hand will trigger it. If it is not detonated, say by a freak that the hand is unable to freely move, say by you falling on it, the device will detonate if anyone tries to remove it. Is that clear?”
Benedict returned to the waiting car and the box was placed in the boot of the car by the AK47 welding youth. As he was driven back to Monaco, he was satisfied that he had enough high explosive to blow randyjim6552 and tomcock85, the Lady Heloise and the fucking Russians to hell.
Chapter 31
Harriet Shaw knocked on the deputy Directors door, she was eager to share her findings with Tim. “It paid off. “
Tim had been concentrating on reworking the staff schedules to cover the absentees that were away sick. Even MI5 was not immune from the influenza virus that was doing the rounds this winter. It took a brief second to refocus his mind.
“The passports?” she said.
“Got you, what do you have?”
“A British passport, that doesn’t fit the profile. I obtained the details of all flights and passports for the dates and for men twenty to fifty years of age. I got nothing suspicious and started doing background checks, life style, jobs and education, cross matching for authenticity. Were they real people with real lives being lived?”
“And you found one that did not?” he was excited.
“No it was taking forever getting responses from all over the place. So I just had a look at the passport numbers, more as an exercise. I did maths and engineering and I thought I would, while waiting, for amusement, see if the passport number could be determined from the date and place of issue.”
“Fascinating I am sure, but does it get us anywhere? I am sure there is a system to get the next number or something which they have sorted out for themselves.”
“More than that it gives you the bio details, age, name, the date of birth and so on. That was not the number I was interested in. When a new passport is issued, or renewed it receives a new number. Passports are issued at various locations in the UK, by post and around the World. These numbers are like a phone book you can look them up. Can you see where I am going with this?”
“Not really?” Tim was not of a mathematical leaning
“I sat and thought about the details you gave me. If a new identity had been created for your killer, it would have to have been done very quickly. The other alternative is that he or she just used their own passport. So working on the idea that it was a rush and the recipient was British I did the obvious.”
“I am not sure what the obvious is?”
“Look at the sequence, date and place of issue of the passports, in the target range.”
Tim was becoming a bit irritated by the build up. “Look I don’t want to dampen your enthusiasm, but is this going anywhere?” Harriett looked a little crestfallen. “Go on,” he said.
She took a breath and continued in full verbal flight. “You can tell where a passport is issued and the number is of course unique to that passport. That is obvious, or you could have two people with the same number and the checks would be useless. First, I looked for fakes by checking all UK passports for duplicates. There were none. Then I looked at the actual issuing of the numbers themselves and posed a question. If you or I or someone doing a bit of spying, needed a passport in a hurry how would you get one?”
“That I can answer,” said Tim. “The home office sends one over in a few hours.”
“I figured that much myself,” she was less than impressed. “But they are genuine passports and any details you want are put on them. No records are kept at the passport office for obvious reasons. Any junior employee could check out the details and pass on the information to an alien power. There have been numerous breaches in the past and they last thing the Security Agencies want is a list of spies and their passport details being sold on the internet.”
“You need to help me here. You checked what passport numbers are not there on record?” said Tim.
“Exactly, I didn’t look at the numbers that were there, but at the numbers that were out of sequence. Working backwards, if a passport was issued today at the UK passport office the number should be in a certain range, So using the bio encoded information on all the passports used and extracting the date of issue and place of issue I wrote an algorithm to estimate and compare the number that it should carry. One came up.”
“Who?”
“Steven Melville.”
“Show me,” he said.
“There’s the problem. The passport was not issued by the Passport Office, just a genuine number. There is no record, no application, no photo, but the passport is genuine. We have no idea what is on it, just a name on a passenger list. He flew into Crete the day after you did, flew back a day later and disappeared. I have a name and that is all but it tells us nothing.”<
br />
“It tells us everything. It tells me that someone at MI6, or here, either provided a passport to the assassin who travelled to Crete and killed my wife. Someone is covering for the Russians. Now it gets difficult because there are numerous possibilities. Firstly the British Government, via possibly MI6, wanted the documents conveniently suppressed.”
“Why would they want that?” Harriett asked genuinely shocked
“You are being naïve. The ex-Prime Minister, Tony Blair, did a good job of putting a stop to the investigations into British Arms export to the Saudis in the so called National Interest. There are billions involved on the trade with British Firms. There are plenty of reasons to cover up the fact that Russian black money may be being used fund the process.”
“Who else would want to cover it up?”
“It could be a favour to the Yanks. Putin is running rings around them at the moment in Syria. They have no answer, no threat to employ and he is defiant in Syria and the Ukraine. The last thing they need is publicity that their sanctions, that are the only answer they have, are being completely circumnavigated. They are losing diplomatic face daily. This would make them look even more ineffectual.”
“Is there anybody interested in outing the bad guys?”
“I am” said Tim, “And I shall find the murdering bastard and whoever is covering for him.”
Chapter 32
Lifestyle resumed, the Driver was enjoying it to the full in the clubs of London. He was aware though that he still owed his old mentor twenty five million. He was tempted to not repay him, but he remembered what Benedict had told him when he had started out with him in the arms trade. “Leave enough in it for the next guy. You never know when you may want to do business with him again.”
He picked up the phone and dialled. “Hambros? It is Jimmy.”
There was a long pause. Benedict was surprised to hear from him. He toyed with the idea of just putting the phone down. After all, the man on the phone had been responsible for Mimi’s brutal murder. He forced himself to listen, even though he just wanted the bastard dead,” Hello.”
The Driver recognised the awkward delay in the response, He was not surprised. If you owed someone twenty five million dollars and then ignored them, it would be only natural for them to be a little miffed.” Look I am sorry for avoiding you. The deal went badly wrong. I lost the shipment and the Russians wanted their money. I just had to keep a low profile until it got sorted. How’s Mimi?”
“How’s fucking Mimi? She’s dead you cunt,” Benedict wanted to scream down the phone. He realised that the Driver had no idea that she had been killed or that he was to blame. He calmed himself and forced his voice to remain neutral.
“She’s fine. Tell me what happened, I was a bit worried when you failed to answer my calls?”
“I got the launchers into Syria then the next thing I know the fucking Russian planes appeared and blew the lot to kingdom come, just before the ISIS bastards had paid me. I was fucked. I was left owing you twenty five million and the Russians one hundred and seventy five million.”
“I am surprised you are still alive,” wishing he wasn’t.
“It was touch and go so I went to ground and then I had a stroke of luck. I got my hands on something the Russian bastards wanted.”
Benedict did not care what he had or how he had acquired it. He was hoping that if he kept calm and showed interest, he would learn where the Driver was and somehow find a way to kill him.” What do you have on them?”
“Just a stupid file showing what a bunch of scumbags they are. If the CIA had it, it would really shaft them. So they let me off the debt and gave me fifty mill to keep shtum. So I can pay you back.”
The money was no use to Benedict now, he had weeks to live, but he feigned pleasure at the news. “I knew you would come good, but tell me about it.” The more the Driver could be put at ease the more chance he had of locating him and killing him.
“It just fell into my lap. I got a tip off that this file was with dudes that were doing a trade with Yerik. I got on a plane to Crete and took it from them.”
“Crete, why Crete?”
“Yerik had his big fucking boat parked there. He was swapping some tart for the papers.”
“How did you get the papers then?”
“Messy, I just shot the Dude and the woman and took them.”
“Fuck, you killed them? When did you become a murderer?”
“I had no choice, it was them or me. If did not get the file I was dead meat. I had no fucking choice, you see that? You would have done the same.”
Benedict now was completely certain he wanted him dead. “Where are you?”
“In London, how do we sort out the money you are owed?”
I thought we might meet and I could hear the full story. We could settle up face to face, reminisce about the old times that sort of thing?”
There was a pause. The Driver was wary. He knew he had messed Benedict about and was one hundred per cent sure he was not happy with that. “Listen, I have a few loose ends to take care of. Give me a few days and I will sort it out. Got to go and I am looking forward to seeing you.”
The phone went dead. Benedict checked the number on his handset, it was a mobile. He was worried that the Driver had suspected all was not well, but he had a least a means of contacting him and possibly tracking him down. It would have to do for now. He had other fish to fry today.
Monaco was quiet, there was an international poker tournament taking place at the casino but no other big events in town. The drive to the Marina was easy with none of the usual tourist traffic. His chauffeur dropped him a few hundred yards from the Lady Heloise and he made his way on foot to the quayside where she was berthed.
Sitting at the café under the tabac sign that overhung the pavement, he ordered his coffee. He had become a regular here, coming daily to watch the Yacht. He was impatient to take revenge, but he knew that the two killers where not on board. He would wait for their return. He would keep his vigil at the dockside for Mimi.
His regret was that there was so little time left. As he sat watching, he wondered how he could make Jimmy, the Driver pay. He had taken him from the streets in the States. He had given him work. He had made him a partner. He had passed on the business to him. In return he had caused the death of his wife. Not in person, like those two sadistic, callous murderers that had enjoyed abusing and killing her, but nevertheless he had caused it.
His doctor had called at his apartment that morning to discuss his end of life plan. “What a fucking joke, an end of life plan.” He had a plan. A very simple plan, kill a load of fuckers and take them to hell with him.
He laughed to himself,” so many cunts to kill and so little time.”
Chapter 33
Tim was beginning to lose the will to live with the new MI5 awareness of cyber crime. It had become a hot topic of discussion in parliament, so they were liaising with everyman and his dog from GCHQ to more government advisors than he could shake a stick at. It was becoming hysterical with every expert identifying yet another area of weakness that could spell Armageddon for the Country. If all were to be taken seriously then nothing was safe. Social payments and benefits could be attacked. The mail could all be misdirected with an attack on the automatic postcode sorting system. The car taxation and registration was vunerable with millions potentially lost in revenue and unregistered cars driving everywhere.
He was in the middle of writing another brief for the Home Secretary on the latest set of fears when Harriet knocked on his door.
“Come in,” the door opened and before she could cross halfway he asked. ”What do you know about a likely cyber attack on animal passporting with specific reference to sheep?”
She looked blank. “Call yourself a computer expert?” he said.
“Are you serious?”
“Semi, it is an issue, we can’t have sub-standard meat entering the food chain. It is one of a list of fears raised by the advisors to the vario
us ministries. Since the Russian attack on the US automated Presidential polling system every Minister wants to look like they are on top of cyber related activity in their area of responsibly.”
“I see that. We don’t want a cell of sheep spying for the Russians do we? God knows what the security implications are with rogue sheep roaming freely around the country.”
“Exactly, get on to special branch and make sure they are on top of the undercover shepherd training programme.” He laughed, “What have you got for me?”
“Just more of the same, Hambros Benedict and his wife’s murder, the police reports are very detailed and graphic and it is pretty well established that it was not just a run of the mill murder. The timing is of interest to us as well. Her death ties in perfectly to this Jimmy Riddle, Steven Melville, whoever he is and the Russians and the Baltic Bank.”
“Do you have a theory?”
“I sort of do, but it has lots of holes filled in by guess work. Look, we know that Benedict is trying to get out of the arms business. We know that if he is not in the arms business then, whoever this Riddle is, now calls the shots. We know the Baltic Bank finances a deal for him to buy arms. We know something goes wrong and he can’t pay them back, or at least they for some reason write off the debt and even give him more money. All this at the time that the same Russians have taken your wife to trade for the file you have on their operations. The file is stolen and the debt goes away.”
“You think that Benedict’s wife is murdered because they want to send out a warning that they mean business and want their money back. Then they decide they don’t want their money back and write the debt off because?” he paused.
“Because this Riddle, Melville character had got his hands on something more valuable, that they will accept, in payment.”
Tim’s gut was telling him that Harriet had worked it out. Whoever this Jimmy Riddle was, he had travelled to Crete on a fake passport issued by some branch of the Security Service, killed his wife and stolen the file. Then to save his own neck, he had traded it to the Russian scumbags in exchange for his debts to be written off.
Dealer (A Tim Burr Thriller Book 3) Page 12
