by Karl Holton
Paddy sat down at the table. “How would he do that?”
“If the crimes had been left to DCI Rowe to close, they would have paid him to put the Horne gang murders down to the Gibbs gang alone. Then he would have found someone who supported the Horne gang to blame for the Gibbs murders. They just used Rowe.”
“What did Watkins tell you about Rowe on the phone driving over here?” Wallace asked.
Benedict rubbed his earlobe. For a moment the two paintings took over in his head. Even though they were wrapped they seemed familiar in relative size. “He said that Rowe had stated that his real reason for doing this wasn’t the money. He’d got their agreement to take the drugs out of the country if he helped. Rowe seems to think he was doing the right thing.”
Wallace squinted at the words. “He really is a fucking idiot, isn’t he?”
“I did try and make that obvious to everyone,” Benedict said. “The truth of stupidity is that it’s a virus with no inward symptoms except ignorance. If you have it, you’ll never know.”
They all laughed.
Pip touched her sunglasses. “Has Rowe said anything about who ‘they’ are?”
Benedict looked at her. “Nothing … he says that his only contact was with a man some time ago and since then everything has been done on a phone. He has no idea who this person represented or what they were.”
“But we know that there must be a second informant somewhere, otherwise they never could have told the sniper where we were in Hyde Park,” Wallace stated, turning to Hanson. “So are you going to answer me now, Ray?”
Hanson grinned at her, before a shock of pain went through the muscles in his back. Paddy moved towards him, but Hanson waved him away. “I have asked these guys to help me deal with someone called Jasper.” He pointed around to Benedict, Pip and Paddy. “I’ll leave it to them to give you all the information you want about him. To do this I need the very best … hence the team.”
Wallace looked around at each face, stopping at Benedict. “Is there an obvious reason why the police cannot deal with him?”
“Yes,” Benedict said, considering how to answer. His eyes went to the paintings; The stolen paintings? His head tipped. “He will have too many informants in the police as we’ve seen and as Ray told you … he has no time for law enforcement. He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way.”
“Is the answer the same for the secret service?” she asked, turning to Hanson.
Hanson coughed in pain. “Not exactly … I’ve worked with them and crossed paths with Jasper before. They agree that we work together to try and catch him but we’re going to lead the investigations.” Hanson was holding his back, wincing. Paddy got up and helped him move in his chair. “You’ve seen what he is capable of, Wallace, even when you’re only dealing with his minions. This is just the beginning; the danger level is going to increase and I think we’d prefer if you stayed at a distance from all of this.”
Wallace let her head turn still maintaining eye contact. “You and this Jasper have a far deeper connection than you’re letting on,” she said. Her eyes flicked around to Paddy. “And every time this guy’s name is mentioned you react, Paddy. If I didn’t know better I’d say you were scared.”
Benedict grabbed her elbow, but she pulled it away.
Paddy raised a finger towards him. “It’s ok … she’s fine,” he said, smiling at her. “You’re right, Wallace. I do have a major issue with this guy. When you learn a bit more about him you might see why. But just know this, if the last few days haven’t made it obvious. He wants to kill us and run the world the way he sees fit … I only know one way to react to that.”
Wallace leaned towards Paddy. The memory of being carried away from the scene earlier by Paddy the soldier with his back to the sniper ran through her. The way he’d enveloped her as he picked her up and then placed her gently behind a wall knowing where it was safe. Her clinging to him as she screamed in her mind at the tourist’s head exploding so closely followed by his scent filling her sinuses. The way he’d grabbed the bottle of water off someone and used it to try and clean her, softly wiping the blood off her face. She reached down and touched his hand. “You saved me today, Paddy.”
He looked at her, shaking his head. “Not really, all I did was —"
“I know you’ve done the same for many people.” She looked at each of them, before turning back to Hanson. “I think I’ll stick around if that’s ok with you, Ray.”
Chapter 61
Day 12
Erasmus Street, London
2.20 p.m.
Lomax made sure his knock on the door was obvious and it opened. The two men stared at each other for a moment, before Raske checked the corridor; there was no one with him.
They walked into the flat and stood in the kitchen.
“I’m on your side, Raske.”
“Really?” he asked. “This was a complete fuck up. Your information was useless. Tommy Gibbs never even turned up at either site … so it was fairly difficult to shoot him.”
“Exactly … that’s what I’ve told them,” said Lomax. “I know if you get a shot you’ll kill him.”
Raske clenched a fist. “I want the information you promised me.”
“I cannot tell you anything until you’ve dealt with Tommy and then the final target. That’s the agreement.”
Raske bit his top lip, sensing the pain. “So where is he then?”
Lomax walked over to the cafetiere on the kitchen top and poured himself a cup. “Tommy is currently in the house of the final target, so you can get them at the same time.”
“If they’re both there let’s fucking go now.”
Lomax glared at him. “That’s not your normal calm self. You sound a bit … chaotic.”
Raske wondered if it might be worth killing Lomax right now. “Why not just tell me everything I need now?”
“No,” Lomax stepped towards him. “You must kill Tommy and the final target … then I’ll tell you. That’s the deal.”
“We’ll need to be in constant communication … things will happen quickly and I wouldn’t want you running away and not letting me know what I need.”
Lomax went back to his coffee and drank. “We’ll be on the mobile,” he said. “So you’ll need to be able to talk to me.”
Raske sighed. “That’s going to limit my choices depending on when we decide to do this,” he said, smiling at Lomax. “That woman from the police who was near the goddess statue? Did she kill Richter?”
Lomax gave him nothing with his silence or face.
Raske turned and drank from his cup. Shame I didn’t shoot her earlier today; that would be one done, he thought. “Why don’t I just kill everyone in the house?”
Lomax sniggered. “If we could get near the house we would suggest it but it isn’t possible. It’s too well protected. Your welcome to recon it but we think you’ll come to the same conclusion.”
“Where is it?” Raske asked.
“Limehouse … beside the river, close to the bend.”
Raske finished his coffee. “That means I can see it from further down the river and the other side. I’ll have options for this with the new weapon.” He touched the TAC-50 rifle case.
“It only has five bullets in the magazine. Will it be enough?”
Raske nodded. “More than enough … whatever I hit is killed with this tool.”
Chapter 62
Day 12
Arch Street, Greenwich, Connecticut
4.23 p.m. GMT (11.23 a.m. Local)
Urna enjoyed the power rush of applying even the lightest touch to a pressure point; it still gave him immense pleasure. “So, Signore Nizzola, you will do what I say?”
Tommaso Nizzola, the Italian bank manager, was silent on the phone.
“I’ve really no interest in telling your wife about the visits you make to the various brothels in town. I cannot imagine what seeing the photos would mean to your daughters and their friends, who go to school at Saint Peter sc
uole superiori.” He enjoyed hearing the faint squeak the man made as he mentioned the children and their high school in Varese.
“It’s a small favour, Signore Nizzola. All you need to do is return the funds that were transferred to the corporate account I’ve given you.”
Nizzola stared at the photo that an unnamed man had handed him in an envelope during his lunch. “But, Signore, it is a great deal of money and I cannot —”
“Nizzola, I know exactly what you can do … just return the funds immediately and you will enjoy a long life with your wife and children.”
“I will need something requesting the return of the funds,” Nizzola stated, talking to himself rather than making a request. “I’ll need paperwork and signatures.”
Urna smiled as his prey bled out. He’d already explained that Celso would not be available to challenge the validity of Nizzola’s actions. “I’m sure that’s something that you can manage to generate. You have thirty minutes to get this done. Understand?”
The funds originated from the corporate account in Paraguay. Urna had sent them via other corporates to an Italian shell company they used, which was where Nizzola would put the money. Celso had the money sent to the bank account of a company he used and as Urna had expected he hadn’t moved it yet.
Urna licked his lips as he imagined holding his thumb on a lethal injection while staring into the victim’s eyes. “If you do this for me I’m sure we can do business in the future. I’ll know you’re a man I can trust. I’ll remember you.”
Nizzola swallowed the little saliva he had. “I’ll do it now.”
“Good. Now do enjoy your day, Tommaso … speak soon,” Urna said, before terminating the call. He reached out to his desk and picked up a small glass of cognac. He rarely drank alcohol but one of the guards had brought it in and put it on the desk without saying anything. He sipped it.
Something about the painting was playing on his mind. He wondered if he should have Bas in Paris kidnap the thief to discover more about the faked art. He looked at the piece on the wall of his office and remembered how it was acquired, making him smile. He didn’t want too much fuss in the Paris art underworld as it was a significant source of asset transfers for them. There’s no way this thief trying to scam us has anything to do with Moraru, he thought.
On the computer screen showing his Dark Web connection, a video conference request arrived from his preferred buyer of the arms he was shipping to Mogadishu in four days. Urna opened it and another one of his false IDs opened on the system; Peter Elkin, an arms dealer. The face of the person calling him popped up on the screen; Misha Savko, Ukrainian government official, responsible for the secret purchase of weapons for the army.
“Savko, how are you?” Urna said, smiling. The avatar was perfectly formed by the software.
Savko stared at the camera in his secret government office in Odessa, southern Ukraine. “I’m good thank you, Elkin,” he said. “Is all ok with the weapons?”
Urna smiled. “Yes, everything should be in place at our end. We will have everything ready for delivery to Odessa Airport on time. Do you have the bond portfolios ready?”
On the screen, Savko looked away for a moment. He was reading from another screen. “I’m looking at it here and everything should be ready. I may need to give you some different bonds or mixing on the ones we discussed but we should —”
“I don’t like last minute changes, Savko,” Urna said, allowing his avatar to shake its head. “You know I can sell these weapons to the Syrians, Iranians or if I start to feel upset I’ll speak to the Russians.”
“No, no … please. Just give me time to arrange everything and it will be in place on time.”
“I want this ready in Euroclear well in advance of the transaction; you need to send me a full portfolio analysis three days in advance … that’s by tomorrow. We’ll value it on the day. We’ve agreed on the price at three hundred and fifty million dollars; if there’s a shortfall you need to make it up in cash on the day. But it all goes through Euroclear.”
Savko smiled. “Doing business with you is always a pleasure. You’ll get the portfolio analysis tomorrow.”
The video conferencing system closed down.
An email popped into his system. It was another one forwarded from the secure servers. He opened it and read that the manager at the bank in Zimbabwe was making all corporate clients aware that a security update was due on their systems. He didn’t finish the email as one word started to echo in his head; hackers. He recalled something Lomax had said to him in the walk across the park to meet Moraru. ‘Hanson has a woman spending time with him. She was previously the head of cybercrime at Interpol.’
Urna picked up the glass and threw the alcohol to the back of his throat. He turned his chair and looked out of his office window. His hand touched one of the faint scars on the edge of the skin grafting. They stretched around his head and down his neck. I need to find this hacker. His eye moved back to the painting on the wall. I need to kill Ray Hanson.
Urna opened the case he’d brought from the house and took out the mobile sitting inside and entered the code. He called the only number on the phone. “Santos.”
Santos was an underground fixer who only made himself available to certain clients; Santos chooses you, was his maxim. But if you used his services you paid him one million dollars for each request on top of the fees for the work.
“Hello, Jasper, how can I help?” Santos said.
Chapter 63
Day 12
Seacon Tower, Hutching’s Street, London
6.26 p.m.
The number of people walking into the building had started to increase during the twenty minutes Raske was waiting outside the glass door entrance. The workers from Canary Wharf and the other offices on the Isle of Dogs were beginning to make their way home.
Raske had stood where the concierge for the building couldn’t see him; he hadn’t taken his eyes off him even though it looked like he was reading the paper. He was good at it. The man hardly ever looked up at the people entering the building; he knew it wouldn’t be hard to get past him. He just needed a little help to walk into the building through the secure door unnoticed.
Three minutes later his moment arrived. A young attractive woman with long blonde hair and curves walking into the building; that’s all I need, he thought.
Raske hid from her direct view and then started walking behind her, about four metres away but in the same stride pattern so his steps echoed hers. She touched the security pass touchpad and the door unlocked. As she opened it, he made his steps louder; she turned and looked directly at him. His smile was broad and thankful. She held it open for him.
As they stepped into the building, Raske walked on the opposite shoulder of the woman to the concierge. They passed him and in the brief glance he gave them he spent it all looking at her. Just as expected, he thought.
As they walked a few more steps into the building towards the lift, Raske fought the desire to get in the small space with the woman. He could smell her. It was stimulating but he had a job to do so he turned towards the stairwell. She smiled again at him as they parted.
The stairwell took him up to the top of the building.
He’d looked at his options for the shot at Tommy Gibbs in this house. Although directly across the river in Rotherhithe was good, he decided it was too obvious. It would also be swarming with police because that was where they’d expect him to be. This building met his need for a clear shot at the back of the Narrow Street house. There were others along the river but he didn’t think this was one they’d consider.
He looked around. Above him was an exit door to the roof, with an alarm attached. I cannot risk tripping an alarm. He needed time to settle for the shots and he needed to be able to speak to Lomax. On the roof I might be seen. It looks like I need to kill someone else.
He walked up to the entrance of the top flat and placed his ear on the door to listen. Although good at stopping the sound,
he could hear music being played on the other side. He knocked.
He heard steps coming, but no conversation. They came closer.
“Why are you knocking, mate?” said the resident. “You should be using the buzzer from downstairs.”
Raske smiled in a friendly manner. “Sorry, I’m from the building management company and we’re knocking on every door. I need to ask you and your wife some questions.”
The man shook his head. “I’m not married. I live here alone.”
“Sorry … again, we never get very good records from the office,” Raske said. “It’s always like that at work isn’t it?”
The man grinned. “Yeah; sure. What do you need to know?”
“I just need to ask some questions about ideas for the common areas of the building,” Raske said, pointing at the corridor. “Can I come in and go through them? It shouldn’t take any more than five minutes.”
The man looked at him, not knowing this was the last face he’d see. “Sure, come in.”
Chapter 64
Day 12
La Truffière, Rue Blainville, Paris
9.30 p.m. GMT (10.30 p.m. Local)
Celso had enjoyed the meal as his favourite food was infused with the unmistakable taste of truffles. The hotel concierge had been right; this experience had been well worth the journey across Paris. Since he’d been young his father had taught him the joy of white truffles and they’d cooked meals together having hunted and found them in the woods.
Now he intended on finishing the night with the other request he’d given the concierge; the prostitute sitting facing him. Let’s hope he’s equally right about her, he thought, as he stared at her.
The maître d' was holding his hands up high as he walked down the stone-walled archway in the restaurant up to their table. The tip Celso had just given them had obviously come to his attention and he wanted to say thank you.
