by Conrad Jones
“Can we have your attention please,” Braddick said. Silence fell across the gathering. “We have a lot to catch up on and not much time so let’s get started.” The image of a burning house appeared on one screen and Big Ron’s body appeared on another. “I’m sure you have all heard that we finally found Ron Mason. He was found shot dead with four of his men at his security compound in Liverpool 8. His home was fired and the bodies of Brian, Jimmy and Frank Farrell were found dumped on the lawn. We know that this is the aftermath of what happened in Holyhead.” He changed the images again and Jo took over.
“This is Rebecca Thomas, partner of Lawrence Mann, better known to us as Rickets. Rickets is an enforcer for the Masons. Last night Rebecca Thomas was brutally raped, the assault was filmed and the images were posted online. She is certain that her attackers were Russian. They left her for dead and set fire to her home. She’s recovering in the Royal.”
“We know that this is all tit for tat retaliation but we are struggling to prove that the Karpovs are responsible,” Braddick carried on. “What we do know from all this is that the witness, who made the emergency call from Holyhead, is Ron Mason’s son. When we notified his family of his death, they told us that Ron junior, known as Ronny, is still missing.”
“The good news is that a call was made to his father’s mobile from Ronny’s phone last night. We have traced the number to this property on the edge of Woolton Village.”
He nodded to Jo to take over. The image of a huge bungalow appeared on the screen. It was set in a few acres of land and surrounded by trees.
“This is the target property,” Jo began. “You all know that Steff Cain was working on bringing in an informer from the Karpov family.” Nodding heads and serious faces told her that they did. “Three weeks ago, Cain gave the informer a mobile. It is active and it is switched on and it is in that bungalow.” A picture of Alexei Karpov appeared on the screen. “When we enter that building, we need to do everything possible to make sure that Alexei Karpov comes out of there alive. We don’t know what the connection between Karpov and Ronny Mason is yet but they are both at this address. The ACC has given us a green light to enter and search the place with the support of the ARU and we’ll have air support. We don’t have much time. You all know what we are dealing with.”
She looked at the ACC and he nodded for her to continue. Images of Yuri and Sergei Karpov appeared.
“I am at liberty to tell you that Yuri and Sergei Karpov were arrested at Gatwick airport this morning on the strength of the sample evidence recovered from Steff Cain’s laptop.” A cheer went up around the room. Applause echoed through the department and expletives filled the air. When the noise subsided, Jo carried on. “The NCA are on their way to take charge of Alexei Karpov. Remember that Steff Cain died believing that bringing Alexei Karpov in could bring the Karpov cartel down for good.” Determined faces looked back at her. “You all know what to do. Let’s get on with it.”
40
rONNY
RONNY COULDN’T HEAR the helicopter that hovered above the bungalow, its engines running on stealth. Its thermal imaging cameras had identified six bodies, four mobile and two static. The static bodies alerted the tactical unit that they would have to encounter hostiles on entry. They had used snake cameras to pinpoint where all the occupants were and to identify their targets. It had been hoped that Alexei could be brought in without a shot being fired but now it appeared that would not be the case.
Ronny looked at Alexei but he couldn’t see his eyes. His head was lolling onto his chest again. Blood and saliva dripped from his mouth onto his trousers. His toes had stopped smouldering but the stench of burning flesh still hung heavy in the air. He didn’t like seeing Alexei being hurt. It had ripped him apart inside. He knew that he had strong feelings for him but he hadn’t realised just how strong they were until now. He loved him. It was that simple.
The windows exploded inwards, covering Ronny with shards of glass. He felt a piece embed itself into his cheek. Gas canisters hissed and his eyes began to sting and water. His nostrils burned inside and his lungs constricted, making breathing almost impossible. He held his breath and listened to the chaos around him. Men’s voices boomed all around him. British voices and Russian voices. Orders were screamed and shouted. Shots were fired, more glass shattered, more voices and more shouting. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to make himself invisible.
Ronny felt his hair being pulled and then his head was jerked back violently. He felt a strong arm around his neck and it pulled him upwards. The chair came up off the floor and he felt himself being spun around one hundred and eighty degrees.
“I’ll kill him!” He heard a Russian voice in his ear. The man squeezed tighter, cutting off his air supply.
“Put the weapon down!”
“I’ll fucking kill him!”
“Put the weapon down!”
“Drop the weapon!”
“Fuck you!” Ronny heard the exchange and then felt a very brief moment of red hot pain as a nine millimetre bullet entered his skull through his cheek and exited through the back of his head. Then all was shadows.
41
NCA/ KARPOVS
Braddick and Jo watched the helicopter take off from the roof, Alexei Karpov safely on board. The ACC clapped his hands together and patted them on the back. Braddick looked at Jo and she half smiled. Her blue eyes seemed a little sad but they hadn’t lost their sparkle. The energy behind them was still there. She had an aura around her, an inner strength that only a few possess. The NCA had taken possession of Alexei Karpov.
“He should have been taken to hospital,” Jo said as the helicopter disappeared over the city.
“He will be,” Braddick said. “Just not here. It’s too risky. The Karpovs will be desperate to shut him up.”
“Where will they take him?” she asked.
“Foxley Hall first,” Braddick said, turning away from the window. “He’ll go to the medical unit and then they will process him before they whisk him away to some secret location where he will be interviewed until he is of no more use to them.”
“Europol are gagging to talk to him,” the ACC said. “I think he’ll be farmed out to agency after agency and bled dry until the information that he has becomes of no consequence. That will be a very long time from now.” There was an awkward silence as they all reflected on the day’s events.
“When is Steff Cain’s funeral?” Braddick changed the subject.
“Next Tuesday,” Jo said. “Mike Pilkington’s is Thursday. I haven’t heard anything about Ade Burns.”
“They won’t release the body,” Braddick said. He shrugged. “I spoke to his sister this morning. The coroner hasn’t ruled yet. She said the family are devastated. They want him buried as soon as but because of the suspicious circumstances, he’s still in the fridge.”
“Suspicious?” Jo chuckled dryly. “Suspicious like a dead woman in the bed?”
“The NCA are all over it,” the ACC added. “They have found a PayPal account with a lot of money in it. Regular payments have been paid in for the last two years.”
“So he was on the take,” Jo sighed. “That worked out well for him didn’t it?”
“If you make a deal with the devil then you can’t complain about the heat,” the ACC said. “The NCA are making a point of finding out what happened to our missing Matrix officers. Apparently the Karpovs aren’t talking.”
“No surprise there,” Jo said flatly. “As much as it pains me to say it, they are gone.
“We can only hope. Whatever happens, you have done a marvellous job,” the ACC said quietly. “I will remember this day for the rest of my days. I feel like we squared things for Steff Cain.”
“I don’t think we did. Not really,” Jo said, thoughtfully. “Not even nearly.”
EPILOGUE
After securing some cutting equipment from Clint, Patrick and Henry burned their way into the safe van. It took them less than an hour. Henry was overjoyed wit
h the amount of drugs and cash that they had recovered. Clint secured a buyer for the gear and they converted them into cash before they left the city. Patrick wasn’t sure exactly how much cash had been recovered but he could see that Henry was happy. He looked like a huge weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
When they left Liverpool, they split the haul into two vehicles for safety and headed for Anglesey once more. The roads were quiet and they stopped at a roadside Starbucks for coffee. Patrick had followed Henry along the North Wales coast, keeping to the speed limit all the way. They stayed in convoy in the slow lane allowing the faster moving traffic to overtake. When they reached Holyhead, Henry weaved through the back roads, through narrow lanes and warren like housing estates to avoid CCTV. They weren’t being chased by the police or Ron Mason but it was better to avoid the cameras just in case. He followed Henry along Land’s End and then they navigated the speed bumps for half a mile along the Newry Beach before taking the road towards the quarry. A mile on, the road split into two. The left hand road took tourists to the coastal park, right took locals to a couple of disused boatsheds and some little known fishing spots. They took the right turn. The road was no more than a track, grass and weeds formed a green strip down the middle. Overhanging trees formed a canopy above the road. Henry slowed as they reached a sign, which pointed towards the Rocky Coast. They trundled on for another mile before Henry indicated left and turned into a yard. The gates were hanging off the hinges and thistles the size of grown men surrounded a tin hut. He saw a torch being switched on, the beam swept from side to side. Patrick wasn’t aware that they were being met by anyone. Henry had kept him in the dark but then he did that a lot.
Henry switched off the headlights and turned off the engine. He climbed out of the vehicle and reached inside for two large sport’s bags. Patrick watched two men emerge from the darkness. Both wore black waterproof jumpsuits, the type worn by lifeboat crews. They greeted Henry with a handshake and took the bags from him. He couldn’t hear what they were saying but they turned and looked in his direction. Patrick turned off the engine and the lights. He felt a wave of relief wash over him. The journey from Dublin had been a long and dangerous one. He opened the door and climbed out, popping the trunk to retrieve his bags. The men walked towards him as he reached the boot of the car. Patrick grabbed the bags and placed them on the ground. He felt scared as the men approached. He didn’t know why, he just did.
“Patrick Finnen?” one of them asked.
“Yes.” Patrick looked at Henry but Henry wasn’t watching. He felt a prickle of fear touch his soul.
“I watched you box a few times,” the man said. He reached out his hand in greeting. “You were good!”
“Thanks,” Patrick said. He relaxed and shook his hand.
“We’ll take the bags for you.” Patrick hesitated. “Don’t worry, we’ll look after them for you.”
Henry looked up and nodded that it was okay to hand them over.
“We’re going to take you home,” the other man said. “We’ve got a rib waiting off the breakwater. It shouldn’t take more than a few hours to cross. I bet you’re looking forward to getting back, eh?”
“I am that,” Patrick said.
“Over here, Patrick,” Henry called. He was walking towards a path in the heather. The path was narrow and led steeply down to a shingle beach. Patrick could see white stones glowing in the moonlight. The breakwater loomed in the darkness. It snaked out to sea for a mile and a half. The lighthouse at the end shone a rotating beam that warned ships miles away. They walked across the beach to the breakwater and climbed up a stone staircase. The steps were covered in cockles and seaweed. “We need to divvy up, Patrick.”
Patrick reached the roadway on top of the breakwater and turned to face Henry. Henry put out his hand and Patrick pulled him up the last few steps. The older man bent over to catch his breath.
“I’m out of breath,” Henry panted and smiled. “I’m too old for this shit, Patrick.”
“You and me both, Henry.”
Henry stood up and looked at the stars. A crescent moon hung in the inky sky to the west and Venus twinkled like a diamond above the Skerries to the North.
“We did okay, Patrick,” he turned and smiled. “You’re a good man.”
“We got there eventually, eh?”
“We did,” Henry said, nodding. “How much cash did you put into the original deal?”
“I put two hundred and fifty thousand Euros in and raised the rest.”
“Another seven hundred thousand Euros?”
“Yes.” Patrick kicked a stone into the sea. It splashed, the concentric circles in the water shimmered in the moonlight. “Why, how much did we recover?”
“One point two million.” Henry smiled and shook his head. “Pounds, Patrick. Not Euros.”
“That’s what?” Patrick worked it out in his head. “One point four million Euros?”
“There or there abouts.” Henry smiled and patted Patrick on the arm. “One point four million!”
“It was worth the trip,” Patrick sighed.
“Now listen to me.” Henry stopped laughing and lowered his voice. “The General is only expecting what the investors put in.”
“What do you mean?” Patrick asked. He frowned but the cogs started turning. His heart started to beat a little faster.
“The investors want their money back, right?”
“Right.”
“That is seven hundred and fifty thousand Euros. That is what we tell the General that we recovered. That leaves you with your initial investment and us with four hundred thousand to split down the middle.”
“Two hundred thousand each?”
“Yes.”
“Plus my money back?”
“It was your money in the first place, Patrick.” Henry offered his hand to seal the deal. Patrick shook it with both hands.
“Deal,” Patrick said, smiling. “Thank you, Henry.”
“You don’t have to thank me, Patrick,” Henry said, looking serious again. “I did this job for you.”
“What do you mean?”
“I came out of retirement because of you.”
A bullet went through Henry’s back and exited his chest, splaying his ribs open and leaving a hole the size of an apple. Blood splattered Patrick’s face. He blinked and looked at Henry. He was still holding his hand and looking into his eyes. Henry looked confused as the light began to fade. A second shot hit Patrick in the jaw, shattering his teeth before spiralling upwards into his brain. He was already dead when the two men in waterproofs emptied their magazines into them until the guns clicked. Silence fell again.
“The General said that they would try and cut a deal between them.”
“He did?”
“He did indeed. He guessed they would.”
“Clever man.”
“Not really. Blood is thicker than water.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Blood is thicker than water and you’re thicker than both, so you are,” the man said, shaking his head. “They were father and son.” He shrugged. “It’s a crying shame really but some people are just plain greedy. Let’s get the chains on them and dump them in the water.”
The End
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p; Readers who enjoyed Shadows will also enjoy
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Table of Contents
Copyright
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Epilogue
A Note from Bloodhound Books:
