by Karl Holton
Simola sat back in his chair. “We need to talk to you about your new job.”
She sat silently reaching over and placing a finger on the wine glass, knowing the prolonged silence would be agonising for both men. Let’s see how long it takes one of them to ask a proper question.
“We should never have let you leave, Pip,” Simola said, ensuring he maintained direct eye contact. “Interpol should have found a solution. We made a mistake.”
Pip nodded towards him. “We can agree about that, Eikko … but it’s done now. We’ve both moved on and there’s no turning back.”
The two men caught a look at each other.
Forrest moved closer to the table. “You’re working with Ray Hanson.”
Pip watched the spook-like threat in Forrest’s posture. She wasn’t warming to him. She’d looked him up and he’d always been well liked and respected by his superiors but not by those under him. “Pleasant as this is, guys, you really do need to get on with it and come to the point.”
“We want you to work for us,” stated Forrest.
She squinted. “What does that mean?”
Forrest’s left hand stretched across the table, his palm facing upwards. “We think it would be very beneficial if you worked for MI5 while … well while doing what you’re doing.”
Pip laughed, staring at Forrest’s hand. “I’m really quite enjoying working with Ray.”
“We thought you might retire to the country and write books,” Simola said. “Wasn’t there a rumour that you wanted to write spy thrillers?”
Only Pip’s eyes moved towards Simola. She felt the blades pouring through her pupils. “I’m sorry to disappoint. But unlike others, Ray seems to think that I still have the capacity to be useful.”
The two men couldn’t stop themselves apologising with their hands.
Forrest put his other hand on the table with the palm up. “So do we.”
Her eyes turned to Forrest. The blades were still slicing her cornea. “Don’t you think I might feel that it’s a little late for that?”
Forrest went to say something, but Simola placed a hand on his arm.
She’d discussed with Benedict and Paddy that she would be approached by the security services. Benedict had made them laugh about the way MI5 had spoken to him. The three found it interesting that Hanson had never discussed this with them. They knew he would be aware of them being approached. They concluded that Hanson knew he needed to trust them to make their own decisions about what was the right thing to do.
Simola looked up at the ceiling before returning his gaze to her. “We’re sure we could come to some arrangement.”
Pip repeated her silence.
“What would it take to get you to help us?” he asked.
Pip looked down and feigned checking her clothes. “I clearly should have dressed better for dinner.”
The two men looked at each other. Simola raised a hand to his mouth, rubbing his lips.
Inside Pip smiled at causing confusion. “Do I look like I need money?”
Forrest picked up his glass and drank the remaining wine.
“So, gentlemen, begging and bribery hasn’t worked. What’s next? No, don’t tell me, let me guess … seven letters, begins with 'B'. Of course; I know, bondage?”
Simola moved forward in his chair. “There’s another reason why you would want to do this.”
Pip stayed silent. She was lost in a moment’s amusing reverie about Forrest being bound to a chair.
“Duty,” Simola said.
Pip pursed her lips. “Who do you think I owe a duty to?”
Forrest sat back and grabbed one of his thumbs. His eyes tightened on her. “Your country.”
“The last week has taught me that I can do quite a bit for my country where I am.”
Simola faintly tipped his head to one side. “You can do a lot more if you help us.”
“But here’s the thing, guys … when I was sacked you gave up something very valuable. You now regret that decision and want it back and there’s nothing you could give me to get me to hand it back to you.”
Forrest forced out a short derisory laugh. “What’s that?”
Pip sensed her nostril’s flare. “Control of my decisions.”
Simola grabbed Forrest’s arm as he moved forward. “You could be in peril working with Hanson. He’s an exceptionally dangerous person to be around,” he said. “We want to protect you. We’d like to think you can trust us to do that.”
Pip allowed a nonchalant grin to grow on her face. She beckoned beyond them and through the restaurant window. “Have you seen that man standing on the other side of the road?”
The two men turned around and noticed the tall figure standing in the early evening dusk. They looked back at Pip, who’d sat back in her chair, her fingers weaved together.
“I’ve only known him a few days, but in terms of trusting someone to protect me … I think I’ll take my chances with him.”
Forrest tutted loudly. “He looks old enough to —”
“I’d shut the fuck up if I were you, Adam,” snapped Pip. “I’m minded to start a fight with you right now. The only thing stopping me is that it would be the beginning of the last seven seconds of your life.”
Forrest shook his head. “Why seven seconds?”
Pip felt the corner of her mouth rise as she stared at Paddy standing outside under a building’s shadow. “It would take that guy five seconds to get here and two seconds to rip your windpipe out.”
Chapter 15
Day 8
Towerfield Road, Southend-on-Sea, Essex
11.03 p.m.
Billy Horne stood outside the small industrial building he owned and sucked on his Dunhill cigarette. As he let the smoke trail from his nose it was pulled away from him in the prevailing wind. He’d smoked since he was eleven, initially stealing the red and gold packets from the local shop.
The building was similar to every other one on the industrial estate and had the outward appearance of a glazing business. But although this was a real business providing glass its purpose for the family was as a front for the import of cocaine. The Horne family were one of the largest importers in southern England.
Billy was on edge. They rarely used this building but today the huge quantity of drugs brought in was the largest single shipment they’d ever imported. The small lorry they’d used had come across on a ferry to Dover with imported tomato paste cans from the start point in Spain. The drugs had been purchased from one of the main Spanish drug gangs that imported them from Columbia.
The lorry had arrived twenty minutes ago and his younger brother, Rich, was standing beside it about five metres away. The driver and two other men were inside the office having a drink before they started bringing the crates into the unit’s storage area.
Billy flicked away the ash on his cigarette. “Rich, we need to get this moving.”
“Chill, Bill,” said Rich, before laughing at the same joke he cracked every time his brother sounded impatient.
Billy shook his head as he sucked in another lung full of smoke. He walked to the back of the lorry. “Come on let’s get it open so these boys can get on with it.”
“Let them finish their drink, Bill. Toby has driven all the way from Spain for fuck’s sake. Benny and Jason were supposed to be out with their family tonight. Let them have a laugh.”
Billy stared at his brother. Rich was eighteen years younger than Billy and their four male siblings were either dead or in jail. Their mother hated Billy berating Rich, but he knew the kid was not really cut out for drug dealing. “Just open the back of the van.”
He started walking towards the open door of the office and flicked his unfinished cigarette into the road. He could hear Toby, Benny and Jason laughing inside the building. Toby was sitting at a small table with Benny telling a joke; Jason was standing beside them flicking the tops off three new beer bottles.
As he got to the door, he heard Rich turning the large handles
on the back doors of the lorry. He looked over his left shoulder and smiled.
The first indication that something was wrong came with the faint squeak of tyre rubber on tarmac. He’d heard this before on the industrial estate at night which was often used by joyriders. Then to his right he noticed headlights drawing rapidly nearer.
A second car approaching from the other direction had crept up to the scene slowly and it stopped in front of the lorry. None of the Horne gang had seen it.
Billy almost sensed time slow down as the first car sped around the bend and then as the driver pressed the brake he saw them; balaclavas.
He threw himself into the office as gunfire erupted around them. He looked up to see all the three men frozen as the office window splintered and bullets peppered the walls.
Jason flew backwards towards the back of the room as the bottles of beer in his hands shattered. His chest opening up as a bullet tore through him.
Billy hit the floor and immediately started crawling towards the desk where he’d left his pump-action shotgun. Bullets rained in through the window and open door. Benny’s head was hit, slicing through his skull, his limp body slipped off the chair onto the floor.
Toby screamed, stood up and started running to the back of the office towards a door. Billy looked up to see three bullets puncture Toby’s back, throwing him face down in the office.
Billy was now crawling through a mixture of blood and glass as the sound of bullets spliced with voices shouting outside. His hand reached up to feel the shotgun. He pulled it down and checked it. Three cartridges.
The bullets stopped.
He slid himself back over to the front wall of the office and moved closer to the open door. “Rich … Rich!” he shouted. “Are you there? Get in here.”
“Hello Billy,” said a voice from outside.
He knew the voice.
“Come on, Billy, get out here.”
“Why don’t you come in and we can have a chat, Tommy?”
“I think your shotgun might be bad for my health,” Gibbs said. “Anyway, you need to come out here … your little brother has something to say to you.”
Billy felt himself breathing deeply. How does he know I have a shotgun? “Let him go. He never had anything to do with what happened between us.”
“Throw out the shotgun and come out. I’m not going to ask again.”
Tommy remembered looking down the barrel of the shotgun he pointed at the chest of Mick Gibbs all those years ago. The thrill he’d experienced killing those men now started to twist within him. He took his finger off the trigger and threw the shotgun out of the door. He stood up and stepped outside.
Rich was on his knees, his head bowed towards the ground. He sobbed as tears ran down his cheeks.
Tommy was standing behind Rich pointing a shotgun at the back of his head. He smiled at Billy who stood in the doorway and stepped to the side of Rich, keeping the weapon pointed at his head. “Two of your brothers were killed, Billy, but I don’t think you’ve experienced what it feels like to live with knowing who killed them?”
Billy felt his body start to shake. “No, I don’t.”
Tommy shook his head. “We were all friends once, Billy. That’s why the boy is gonna say somethin’ to you.”
Rich was weeping. “Please … please no.”
Tommy pushed the tip of the shotgun into Rich’s forehead. “Say it!”
Billy took a step forward and noticed each man behind Tommy focus their weapons on him.
Rich let his face look up towards him, crazed fear raging through him. “Bye, Billy.”
Rich’s head was obliterated as Tommy pulled the trigger. He instantly turned the gun towards Billy and took a deep breath. “Now you know what it feels like.”
Billy dropped to his knees, unable to take his eyes off his brother’s body. His mother’s crying face flashed before his eyes.
The two men looked at each other. Billy remembered playing football with his four brothers out on the street and a little four-year-old Rich trying to join in the game. His mum shouting at them to come in for food as his brothers tried to tackle the ball off him.
Tommy allowed gravity to pull the aim of the shotgun downwards away from his desperate target. “Bye, Billy.”
The single sniper bullet hit Billy in the centre of his forehead, turning his memories into blackness.
Chapter 16
Day 9
Bristol Central Park Hotel, Chisinau, Moldova
5.17 a.m. GMT (7.17 a.m. Local)
Lomax walked into the empty hotel restaurant and was met with the scent of freshly baked croissant mixed with seething terror. It wasn’t the gaudy comparison of grandiose decoration and modern furniture and cutlery which seemed somehow wrong. It wasn’t that; there’s a phantom in the room, he thought.
He didn’t recognise the first guard who was holding a MAC-11 automatic gun with a suppressor attached at his side. He was tall and lean; clearly ex-military by his stance. The man nodded his head, pointing him to the back of the room.
Lomax had travelled to Moldova to attend a meeting with another member of Jasper’s organisation. They were due to have the meeting later this morning. He’d been summoned downstairs by the other member of the team, who was a finance guy from their New York team. Lomax knew his name was Urna and everyone was saying that he was one of the rising stars. A contact in the US had told him that Urna had the ear of Jasper and was driving a lot of change across the organisation. Urna had only been around for just over two years but it already felt like he outranked Lomax; especially as it had been so long since he’d spoken to Jasper directly.
They would be having a meeting later with a man named Moraru, who was behind the Moldovan bank robberies, where one billion dollars had been stolen.
As Lomax walked further, another large guard appeared holding the same type of weapon. The guard raised his empty hand and pointed a finger towards an area. He got closer to one of the large green seats and a man was sitting pulling apart some pastry, filling the space with the scent of baking. A small pile of fresh croissants was sitting invitingly on the table.
The man looked up and gestured the closer guards to leave.
The aroma of fresh coffee mingled with the pastry as the man poured him a cup. “Hi, I’m Urna … Lomax, sit please.”
Lomax was unhappy. He’d been called down to the restaurant from his hotel bed and we wished he was still there. He moved into the seat. “Did we need to meet quite so early?”
Urna smiled. “Sorry, but we have quite a bit to discuss.”
Lomax sipped his coffee. As one of the longest people with Jasper, Lomax felt resentful. He’d always served Jasper well, always delivered results, yet here he was at this guy’s beck and call. “Really? I thought this meeting was going to be relatively straightforward.”
“There’s more to this meeting than you think. We must get it right.”
“I’ve got no intention of getting it wrong,” Lomax said, putting a croissant on his plate.
Urna stared at him. “You know Jasper well I hear. He likes you.”
Lomax tore the pastry. “Yes, I spent a lot of time with him in the early days. You’ve not been around long; I don’t believe you’ve met him, have you?”
“No I haven’t,” Urna said. “But he’s told me what we need to do here and what you need to get done in London.”
Lomax felt a twitch in his eye. “London?”
“Yes. I hear there’s a lot going on. Hence why he asked you to come here; he wanted us to discuss it directly … rather than using the normal channels.”
Lomax sat back and sighed, remaining quiet.
“You appear to have Raske under control,” Urna said. “The killing of Garrett all went well and he’s assisted with the raid of the drugs imported by the Horne gang.”
Lomax allowed his eyebrows to rise. “Yes, so far all is ok,” he said. “It’s a shame that we had to pull out of Garrett’s fund; good performance and well hidden.”
Urna smiled at him. “Should we kill the two other hedge fund partners?”
Lomax started to see what Jasper might like about this guy. “It might be counterproductive and make things look even more suspicious.”
Urna touched his chin and then nodded. “Well, we have a new person … helping us in the police now. If it becomes necessary I think they’ll let us know.”
Lomax was surprised that Jasper had not told him this and he saw that Urna noticed it on his face. “I thought Hanson was the focus, especially as we know exactly where he is now.”
“Yes, he is but only at the point that Raske has completed everything we want to be done. We can use him right now in London. There are other priorities,” Urna said, reaching out and pouring more coffee. “In fact, we need him to get something done very quickly. We cannot wait.”
“What do we need to do?” he asked.
“The cocaine; we need to steal it back and hide it.”
“Why are we stealing it back?” Lomax asked. “It’s about a tonne of cocaine inside those tomato paste cans. Tommy Gibbs is under our control and can distribute it easily enough.”
Urna laughed. “Because it’s worth about £150 million in the UK and the Gibbs gang can no longer be trusted to deal with this quantity properly. We need a wider distribution there and we probably need to involve our European partners.”
“So what do we do with the Gibbs gang?” Lomax asked.
“Raske can help the men deal with them, including that guy Johnnie,” said Urna, putting a small piece of pastry in his mouth. “Our police contact will help with locating him.”
“I told Tommy Gibbs to sort him out.”
Urna looked at him and sighed. “I doubt Gibbs would kill Johnnie. Their bond is too tight. I think Gibbs has probably let him go. But we’ll find him.”
“Will you let me have the police contact directly?”
“No,” Urna said, before sipping his drink.
Lomax looked at Urna, for the first time he felt like Urna was hiding something, some insecurity perhaps. Was it possible he did not know the contact himself? Perhaps the man was not as close to Jasper as he pretended. “I’m sure if Jasper has arranged this guy then we can trust the information he gives us.”
