Shadows

by Conrad Jones

  “No one has heard anything about the gear, Ron,” Rickets warned. “It would be better to wait for it to surface before we go steaming into the wrong crew.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “We need to wait.”

  “Not a fucking chance, Rickets!” Ron growled. “They will break it up and start selling it. I want the shipment intact. The Irishmen will want their money. I’m not paying for half a load. We’re going to hit them first and hit them hard. I want them reeling to the point where they don’t know what fucking day it is. We’ve got to go in hard.”

  “How do you know who to hit though, Ron?” Rickets asked carefully. “We have to be sure. There are couple of Russian outfits around nowadays. It’s not just the Karpovs anymore. We need to narrow it down. We have to be sure, Ron.”

  “How do you propose to do that?”

  “Let’s ask one of them.”

  “Good idea.” Ron smiled. He stood up and walked to the table where a new bottle of JD was waiting. “Bring one to the farm and let’s talk to him. Do it tonight.”

  “It’s too dangerous bringing them to the farm, Ron,” Rickets warned. “The police will be all over this and they’re looking for us. I’ll improvise.”

  “Just find out who killed my brother.”

  “I’m on it, Ron. Trust me.”

  “Call me when you know something.”

  Young Ronny listened to the conversation from the doorway. His hands were shaking. He felt like a fool. All their assurances had meant nothing. They had said that nothing bad would happen. His father was grieving for his brother. He was hiding it but he knew that he was. His thirst for Jack Daniels wasn’t helping. It would fuel his anger. It always did. The police would want to talk to his father and they would want to talk to him too and they would get them eventually.

  His father was angrier than he had ever seen him and that was saying something. Big Ron was always angry. It was just a matter of time before he exploded. Ronny felt like he was inside a pressure cooker. The urge to open the front door and run across the fields was overwhelming. The atmosphere was oppressive. The farmhouse was like a cage. He didn’t want to be there but he could hardly complain. His room was like a cell. It was cold and damp and the single bed stunk of sweat and urine. Whoever had slept there before him, had poor personal hygiene. He was hungry too but the kitchen was filthy and the cupboards were empty, the shelves spotted with mouse droppings. He hadn’t been in the cellar. The door was always padlocked. He had heard what went on down there. Rickets would tease him with horror stories when he was drunk. He knew that the stories were embellished but the dark truth ran beneath them. The people they took down there didn’t come up in one piece. He knew what his father, Rickets and the others did to people down there. They extracted information and then made them easy to dispose of. Anyone that crossed the firm was dealt with. Having heard Big Ron on the phone, he had a feeling that it would become operational again very soon.

  19

  George knew that he had been compromised but he didn’t know who by. There was no other explanation for what he had stumbled across at the Kodak building. Five Irishmen nailed to a table in the exact place where he was supposed to leave an emergency communiqué, was not a coincidence. It was not just the same building, it was the exact place. The canteen. Somehow, they knew that he would show up there eventually and now they had him on camera. That meant that their knowledge of UC protocol was in-depth and current. He had to assume that the first picture was an undercover who had been tortured for the protocol. George didn’t know him but then he didn’t know any of the other UC officers. He also had to assume that if they wanted the protocol, then they knew that Cain had stopped communicating. How could they know that?

  It narrowed down who he could trust to no one. George had ripped the camera from the wall and stuffed it into his pocket along with the mobile phone and took them with him. They had gone to a lot of trouble to compromise him and find out his identity. He was convinced that they would follow him from the derelict office block. They would be watching. The emergency services were parked to the north so he headed to the south side of the building and checked around. Dense overgrowth bordered the abandoned building. There were a hundred places to hide and wait. They could be hiding anywhere. He took a deep breath and climbed through a broken window. The rain soaked him as he walked across the blistered car park, weeds as tall as he was pierced the asphalt. He stumbled over an abandoned pram and headed for a gap in the bushes, keeping his eyes on the shadows. The undergrowth was muddy and fallen branches cracked loudly as he clawed his way through the foliage. The leaves were saturated, rainwater dripped on his skin, trickling down his neck, sending cold shivers down his spine. He felt fear tickling his mind. Someone had set a trap to identify him and he had walked into it with his eyes wide shut. They had a picture of him and they had let him know that they had it. His instinct told him to step out of the dark world of undercover work back into the light immediately but his conscience wouldn’t let him. There were things he had to sort before that could happen. He needed to shake them off long enough to tidy things up. Any traces of his life as George had to be erased before he could surface. They were toying with him but he wasn’t going to play their game. The Irishmen had said that they were taken there by Russians. It had to be the Karpovs. There could not be any other explanation. They were onto him and now they knew what he looked like. He would clean up and then get out.

  The sound of sirens blaring came to him. They were entering the building from the other side. He could simply walk around the corner and identify himself to an armed officer and get escorted back into the real world. If he did that, the informer would vanish. All the months of hard work and persuasion would have been for nothing. He couldn’t bring himself to give up on that. A mole in the Karpov empire was priceless. The opportunity to bring them down was within their grasp. It was there for the taking. He knew Cain would play things by the book and bring in the NCA as soon as the informer had been brought in. The NCA would put him into the protection program and they would never see them again but the information gleaned from him could bring the Karpovs down. It could achieve more than any police force in Western Europe, Eastern Europe or the Soviet Block had. The Karpovs had run riot over the law for too long to let them off the hook now. He had to try to wrap things up before he went back in.

  Climbing the boundary wall, he landed on the pavement next to the main road into town. The light was fading. The traffic was heavy, headlights glinted off the surface water. He waited for a break in the traffic, crossed the first carriageway and then studied the bushes where he had come from. No one had followed. He crossed the second carriageway, weaving through the vehicles and headed to a crowded bus stop. The rain poured harder, soaking the people not covered by the shelter. He mingled between them, watching to see if anyone followed from the bushes. There was no sign of anyone tailing him. That meant nothing. They may just be very good at it. He couldn’t be complacent. Not now. Hidden by the miserable commuters, he slipped through a gap in the railings and jogged across a children’s playground, checking behind him every fifty metres or so. No one followed. At the other side of the park, he crossed the road and jumped onto a bus headed for the city centre. The windows were steamed up with condensation. He sat on the back seat and closed his eyes, planning his next move.

  When the bus stopped at the station, he opened the emergency exit at the rear of the vehicle and jumped down onto the crowded pavement. He could hear the driver cursing him as the alarm rang but he ignored him and slipped into the throng of shoppers. After circling the bus station, he checked behind him and then disappeared into the crowds that were heading towards the shopping centre. He walked around the block for ten minutes and then ducked into Primark and headed for the lift. He stayed in it until it reached the top floor and then made for the changing rooms that were nearest to the fire escape, grabbing a pair of jeans, a coat and hat as he went. A security guard stood chatting to
a pretty brunette. He was too distracted to notice George as he slipped into the male changing rooms and swapped clothes. He removed the security tags from his new outfit and then took out his lighter, setting fire to his old trousers before he left the booth. As he crossed the shop towards the fire escape, he heard voices shouting, a scream and the sound of panic. The fire alarms began to ring and an automated voice ordered everyone to leave the building via the nearest exit. The stairwell was crammed within minutes and he allowed the crowd to carry him down the stairs and onto the access road at the back of the building.

  He turned left and walked up to Hardman Street before crossing Lord Street to the St John’s precinct. There he ran up an escalator that led into the centre and then waited near the balcony, watching the crowds go by, searching for a face he had seen before. People flocked to and fro, white, black, yellow, mixed race, fat, thin, tall and short. He waited until he was convinced that he hadn’t seen any of them before. Convinced that he wasn’t being followed, he headed back down the escalator and walked for a hundred yards, then he turned sharply and headed back up the escalator and repeated the process. Despite his caution, he knew his spell undercover was over. There was no option now.

  George walked into Wilkos and bought a padded envelope and a pen. He ripped the packaging open and addressed it. His time was limited. He had decided to do what needed to be done and then go into the station the following day. It would be an end to his stint as George but he could always reinvent himself somewhere else, a different city maybe. The priority now was warning their informer that they were in danger. He moved to the stairs and ran down them, taking them two at a time. There was a post box on the ground floor. He pumped coins into the machine and stuck the stamps onto the package. Taking another look around, George posted the padded envelope and checked around again to make sure that no one had seen him. The camera and mobile phone from the derelict offices were in the envelope, which was addressed to the senior Detective Inspector of the Drug Squad. He wasn’t sure what they could pull from them but it was better than carrying them around. There was nothing more to do for an hour or so. He had to keep on the move until then.

  Hunger hit him like a sledgehammer. Things had been so out of control that he hadn’t had time to eat. He pulled up the zip on his new jacket and headed towards his favourite chip shop, the Lobster Pot. His mouth was watering at the thought of fish, chips and mushy peas. As he crossed the road, two figures moved from the shadows. One female and one male. They spoke briefly and then followed him.

  20

  Braddick nodded a silent hello to the armed officer on guard. He stepped inside and looked down at the man in the bed. His face was bruised and swollen, black and blue with contusions, his arms bandaged from the wrist to the elbow. The smell of disinfectant was overpowering. A nurse added notes to his file and half smiled at him as he approached the bed.

  “Not too long,” she said as she straightened her hair self-consciously and turned to leave. “He’s in a lot of pain and might drift in and out.”

  “Okay, thank you,” Braddick said smiling as she left. The door closed silently behind her. “I’m DI Braddick,” he said introducing himself. “You’re Peter Collins?”

  “Aye,” the fisherman answered, his voice thick with phlegm and congealed blood.

  “What can you tell us about who did this to you?”

  “Only what I have said already,” he muttered. “It all happened so fast. One minute we were tying up the boat, the next we were being held up by Russians with guns.”

  “How do you know that they were Russians?” Braddick asked. The fisherman frowned. “I mean how can you be sure they weren’t Eastern European for instance?”

  “One of the lads told me,” he stammered. “When they were moving us. He said they were Russians.”

  “So you can’t be sure yourself?”

  “Not really.”

  “They questioned you?”

  “That is not how I would describe it.”

  “Sorry. They wanted information.”

  “Yes.”

  “What did they ask you?”

  “They wanted to know what we knew about the drugs,” he said quietly. Braddick remained silent to let him expand. “If we knew who had supplied them. They kept asking who had given them to Linus. We didn’t know anything. None of us knew anything about it. Linus stitched us up good and proper.”

  “You must have known something was going on.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean you must have realised that it wasn’t a normal fishing trip.”

  “I didn’t know anything about it.”

  “I checked the nets,” Braddick said. “They were dry. You must have thought it was odd not dropping the nets.” The fisherman shrugged, pain creased his face. “Linus is dead, staying quiet won’t bring him back.”

  “The fish were already on board when we sailed. The load was already crated and iced.”

  “You must have thought that was odd.”

  “Linus told us he had made a deal with some of the bigger trawler captains. He said he was buying everything over quota to save them dropping them back in the sea.”

  “Go on.”

  “He said he could double what he had paid by selling it on the black market to wholesalers in the UK. All we had to do was sail to Holyhead, unload and sail back. He said it was easy money. Fishing without the hard graft. None of us knew what was in those crates. If we had, we would have told the Russians when they tortured us, believe me we would.” He gestured to his arms and began to sob. Tears ran from his eyes. “They did me last. I had to watch them nail my pals to the table, knowing it would be my turn soon. They beat us senseless and nailed us to a table for fuck’s sake!” His voice quivered. “If I had known anything about the drugs, I would have told them.”

  “I believe you.” Braddick nodded. “Take it easy. The last thing I want to do is upset you but we need to know what happened.” The fisherman closed his eyes and bit his bottom lip. “Tell me how they moved you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “When they moved you from the dock,” Braddick said calmly. “Can you remember what vehicle they took you in?”

  “No,” he said, his eyes still closed. “I was blindfolded. I didn’t see a thing. I think I passed out for a long time. I don’t know any more than I have said already. I just want to go home.” He heard the door open and Jo appeared in the doorway.

  “Did you see any vehicles?” Braddick pressed. “Think hard.”

  “I remember a white van, that’s all.”

  “You didn’t see anything else?”

  “No.”

  “You didn’t see the Russians arrive?”

  “No. They must have been there already. I have no idea what they put us in but I can tell you it was quiet.”

  “Quiet how?”

  “Just quiet. The floor was metal, I remember that and I heard doors slamming like on a van but when we were moving, it was quiet.”

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “The engine sound was muffled. Maybe I imagined it. I was out of it.”

  Braddick looked at Jo and she shrugged. “The doctors said that your families are on their way. Once you’re on the mend, they’ll release you. So long as what you’re telling us is true of course.”

  “It is the truth,” he snapped. “Linus used us. The silly old bastard nearly got us all killed. He lied to us. It is his fault that we are here.” The door opened and the nurse walked in.

  “I think that is enough for today,” she said smiling. “Peter will be exhausted from the meds. He needs to sleep.”

  “We’re about done,” Braddick said, turning for the door. “Just one more thing.” He glanced back at the patient.

  “What?”

  “The man who found you and called it in, what was he doing there?”

  “He was just a tramp looking for somewhere dry to sleep, I guess. I think he was on the run from you lot. He defini
tely didn’t want to be there when the police arrived.”

  “Have a safe journey home.” Braddick smiled. The fisherman nodded and closed his eyes again. Braddick and Jo stepped into the corridor and shut the door behind them. “What about the others?” he asked Jo.

  “I talked to two of them. The others are out of the game for now.” She shrugged. “Same story from both. I think they are telling the truth.”

  “Me too,” Braddick said thoughtfully. “Do you know what I can’t understand?”

  “Why they let them live,” Jo said flatly.

  “Exactly. It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Maybe they were happy that the fishermen didn’t know anything about the shipment. Linus did and they killed him.”

  “I get that,” Braddick said, shaking his head. “But why bring them all the way back here?”

  “To send a message that this is their turf,” Jo tutted. “The usual testosterone fuelled bullshit.”

  “I’m not convinced.” Braddick shook his head. He pushed his hands deep into his pockets. “I get the feeling that we’re missing something.” He took out his mobile and dialled the station. It answered almost immediately. “Any joy with the cameras from the bridges?”

  “We’re ploughing through the footage, Guv,” the detective said enthusiastically. “Two container ferries and one passenger ferry docked during the timescale we’re looking at. Over two hundred vehicles landed. We’ve asked the ferry companies for their records to eliminate registration plates but it is going to take some time.”

  “What about Ron Mason?”

  “Still no joy. He’s gone to ground. If anything comes in, I’ll call you straightaway.”

  “Good man,” Braddick sighed. “Keep on it.”

  “Yes, Guv.” Braddick was about to hang up. “There is one thing though.”

  “Please give me some good news.”

  “There’s a parcel on your desk, Guv,” the detective said, lowering his voice. “One of the post room boys said the handwriting looks like DI Cain’s.”