Tango One

by Stephen Leather

  Fullerton nodded.

  "I understand, but how does me being an art dealer get me close to Donovan?"

  "He's an art freak. A bit of a collector, but he appears to be more interested in visiting galleries. He also uses galleries and museums as meeting points. What we're suggesting is that you establish a small gallery, then start moving into the drugs business. You presumably have your own suppliers?"

  "Sure."

  "So start with them. Start increasing the quantities you buy from them, then move up the chain."

  "And then you bust them?"

  Hathaway shrugged.

  "That depends. We're after the big fish, Jamie, not street dealers. Not everyone you tell us about is going to be brought in, but all the information you give us will go on file. You just keep working towards Donovan."

  Fullerton sat down.

  "How do you know this will work?"

  "We don't. It's a new strategy."

  "It's a gamble, that's what it is."

  "Maybe," Hathaway conceded.

  "You're gambling with our lives."

  Hathaway frowned.

  "Our? What do you mean?"

  "I'm assuming I'm not the only agent you're sending undercover. You don't strike me as the type who'd put all his eggs in one basket."

  Eventually Hathaway nodded slowly.

  "Don't assume anything, Jamie. Don't go into this thinking that there'll be other undercover agents who'll pull your nuts out of the fire if anything goes wrong. You can't trust anyone. Is it a risk? Of course. But the uniformed bobby walking the beat puts his life at risk every day. He never knows when a drunk's going to try to hit him with a bottle or a drug addict's going to stick him with an HIV-infected needle. In a way, you'll be in a better position, because you'll know the dangers you're facing."

  Fullerton exhaled deeply.

  "Have you ever done it?" he asked.

  "Gone undercover?"

  Hathaway nodded.

  "Several times, but never long term. A few months at most."

  "What's it like?"

  "It means living a lie. It means developing a second personality that has to become more real than your own. Everything you say and do has to be filtered through the person you're pretending to be. It means never being able to relax, never being able to let your guard down."

  "That's what I thought."

  "But you'll be in a slightly different position. When I was working undercover, I was pretending to be a villain. You'll be the real thing."

  Cliff Warren stood up and walked through to his kitchen.

  "Do you want a beer?" he asked over his shoulder.

  "Thanks," said Hathaway.

  Warren opened his fridge door and took out two bottles of Sol. They clinked bottles and Warren sat down again.

  "What happens if I get arrested?" he asked.

  "It's up to you, but once you've revealed to anybody that you're undercover, you're of no further use."

  "But if I get pulled in on drugs charges, I could be facing a long prison sentence."

  Hathaway nodded.

  "You could indeed." He drank from the bottle but his eyes never left Warren's face.

  "So what do I do?"

  "You could go through the system and serve your time. If that's what you were prepared to do. It would do wonders for your cover, Cliff."

  Warren sat stunned as the ramifications of what Hathaway was proposing sank in.

  "You'd expect me to serve time?"

  "It'd be your call, Cliff. No one would force you. At any point you can ask to be pulled out." Hathaway reached over to his jacket and took out a brown leather wallet. From it he removed a pristine white business card which he handed to Warren. Printed in the middle was a single London telephone number.

  "You can call this number at any time of the day and night. You'll either speak to me direct, or you'll speak to someone who will immediately transfer you to me, no matter where in the world I am. No matter what trouble you're in, we'll have you out of it within minutes."

  Warren ran the card between his fingers.

  "It's a get-out-of-jail-free card," he said quietly.

  "Sort of," said Hathaway, 'but it can only be used once. The moment you reveal you're undercover, it's over. There's no having a quiet word with the investigating officers, no smoothing things over behind closed doors. You're either in or you're out." He pointed at the card.

  "Memorise the number. Then destroy the card."

  He turned around the laptop so that Warren could see the screen.

  "The same goes for what I'm going to show you on the computer. You're going to have to memo rise the procedures and passwords. You must never write anything down."

  Tina watched as Hathaway tapped away at the keyboard.

  "So I'll be e-mailing you reports, is that it?" she asked.

  "It's the safest way," he said.

  "No meeting that can be watched, no phone conversations that can be tapped. You just find yourself an internet cafe and Robert's your mother's brother."

  "My mother didn't have a brother, but I get your drift." She pointed at the laptop, a grey Toshiba.

  "Do I get to use this?"

  Hathaway shook his head.

  "Absolutely not," he said.

  "Under no circumstances must you ever use your own machine. Everything you do will be stored somewhere on your hard disc. Someone who knows what they're doing will be able to find it. I'll use this to show you what to do, but once you're up and running you should use public machines. There are internet cafes all over the place these days."

  He sat back from the laptop. On screen was a web page and he tapped it with his forefinger.

  "This is Safe Web," he said.

  "It's a state-of-the-art privacy site. You can use it to move around the web without being traced. No one knows who you are or what you're doing. That goes for sites you visit or any e-mail you send or receive. It's so secure that the CIA use it."

  "Okay," said Tina hesitantly, 'but does that mean you think someone will be watching me?"

  "If you get close to Donovan, or to any of his associates, there'll be all sorts of agencies crawling over you, Tina. The Drugs Squad, Customs and Excise, Europol, the DEA, law enforcement agencies right across the world will put you under the microscope. And every one of them will have the capacity to open your mail, listen in on your phone calls and intercept your e-mail. If any one of them were to discover that you were an undercover agent, your life would be on the line."

  "Even though they're the good guys?"

  "Someone at Donovan's level can't operate without help from the inside."

  "Bent cops?"

  "Bent cops, bent DEA agents, bent politicians," said Hathaway.

  "There is so much money involved in the drugs trade that they can buy almost anyone. Everyone has their price, Tina. And Donovan has the money to meet it."

  Tina tilted her head on one side.

  "What about you, Gregg? What's your price?"

  Hathaway flashed her a tight smile.

  "I prefer to be on the side of law and order."

  "White hat and sheriffs badge?"

  "I don't do this for the money, Tina."

  "You're on some sort of crusade, are you?"

  "My motivation isn't the issue." He turned the laptop towards her.

  "Once you've logged on to Safe Web, type in this URL." His fingers played across the keyboard. The new web page loaded then the screen turned pale blue.

  She looked at the graphics and wording on the screen. It appeared to be an online store selling toiletries. There was a "Feedback' section where e-mails could be sent to the company.

  "That's where I send my stuff?" she asked.

  "That's it. But first you have to log on. For that you'll need a password. Something you'll never forget so that you won't have to write it down. It can be a number, or a word. Anything up to eight characters."

  Tina gave him a password and watched as he tapped it in. His fingernai
ls were bitten to the quick and there were nicotine stains on the first and second fingers of his right hand. He was a smoker, yet he'd turned down her offer of a cigarette when he'd first arrived at her flat. She wondered how much she should read into the nicotine stains and the bitten nails.

  "Sure you don't want a cigarette?" she asked, offering her pack.

  He shook his head, his eyes still on the screen.

  "Gave up, six weeks ago."

  "Wish I could."

  "Anyone can. Just a matter of willpower."

  Tina blew smoke but was careful to keep it away from Hathaway.

  "Is that when you started biting your nails?"

  Hathaway flashed her a sideways look.

  "Not much gets by you, does it, Tina?" He gestured at the screen.

  "Right, this is you logged on. If there's a message for you, there'll be an envelope signal here. If you want to send me a message, you click here." Hathaway clicked on a letter icon.

  "Then it's just like any word processing or e-mail programme. When you've finished, click on "send" and you're done. If you want to attach any photographs or documents, use the paper-clip icon here."

  "What sort of photographs?"

  "Anything you think might be of use to us."

  "And am I supposed to be in contact with you every day?"

  Hathaway ran his hand down his face and rubbed his chin.

  "I'd advise against that. Once a week would be enough, but you want to avoid making it a routine. If you sit down at a computer every Saturday morning, it's going to be noticed. Vary it."

  "What if you need to get in touch with me? Say there's a problem and you need to warn me."

  "That's not going to happen. We're not going to be watching you, Tina. You will be one hundred per cent on your own. From time to time I might need to brief you on operations, perhaps point you in the direction of possible targets, but I won't be expecting instant results. Weekly contact will be fine."

  Tina stubbed out her cigarette.

  "Will you be running other agents, Gregg?"

  Hathaway's face hardened.

  "Why do you ask?"

  "Because you're going to a lot of trouble over little old me," she said with a smile. She nodded at the laptop.

  "The website, you, Latham. I can't believe this is all being done just for my benefit."

  Hathaway nodded slowly, a slight frown on his face as if assessing what she'd said.

  "Suppose I was having this conversation with someone else. You wouldn't want me to tell them about you, would you?"

  "That sort of answers my question, doesn't it?"

  Hathaway smiled thinly and folded his arms.

  "There's nothing I can say. Other than lying to you outright, and I'm not prepared to do that."

  "And are they all being sent against Tango One?"

  "That I can't tell you, Tina."

  "But suppose one of your people gets close to Donovan and I see them. If I send you details of what they were doing, doesn't that put them in the spotlight?"

  "All your reports will come through me and I won't pass on anything that would put another operative in danger." He smiled again.

  "Assuming that there are other operatives."

  Tina walked over and sat on the arm of the sofa.

  "The reports I send. What will you do with them?"

  "I'll go through them and pass on whatever intelligence there is to the appropriate authorities."

  "But isn't there a danger that it could be traced back to me?"

  "I'll make sure that doesn't happen," he said.

  "When you do file, by all means highlight anything you think might be linked to you, but frankly it's the big players I'm interested in. Donovan and the like. I'm not going to risk blowing your cover for anything less."

  "Blowing my cover!"

  Hathaway closed his eyes and put his hand to his temple as if he had a headache.

  "That came out wrong," he said. He opened his eyes again.

  "What I mean is that the important thing is that you stay in place. That is my primary concern, keeping you undercover as long as possible. The only reason I'd want to pull you out is if it meant putting Donovan behind bars."

  Tina stared at Hathaway. She knew next to nothing about the man who was about to become her handler, who would have her life in his hands.

  "You realise that you can't ever tell anyone what you're doing?" said Hathaway.

  "No matter how much you want to. No matter how much you think you can trust the person. There'll be times when you'll want to talk to someone. To confide."

  "I don't think so."

  "What about your family?"

  "I haven't seen them for six years. Don't want to see them again. Ever."

  "Friends?"

  "Not the sort I'd confide in. About anything."

  "It's going to be lonely, Tina."

  "I'm used to being on my own."

  "And how do you feel about betraying people who might well become your friends? Your only friends?"

  Cliff Warren took a long pull on his bottle of Sol while he considered Hathaway's question. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

  "Thing is, they won't really be friends, will they? They'll be criminals and I'll be a cop."

  "Easy to say now, Cliff, but you might feel differently three years down the line."

  "If they're criminals, they deserve to go down. Are you playing devil's advocate, is that what's going on here?"

  "I just want you to face the reality of your situation, that's all."

  Warren pursed his lips and tapped his bottle against his knee.

  "I know what I'm letting myself in for." He leaned back in his chair, looked at the ceiling and sighed mournfully.

  "Funny how things work out, in nit

  "In what way?"

  "By rights I should be square bashing at Hendon. Left, right, left, right, back straight, amis out. And instead I'm gearing up to hit the streets as a drug dealer." He lowered his chin and looked over at Hathaway.

  "That's a point, where do I get my cash from?"

  "I'll be supplying funds. At least in the early stages. And drugs."

  At first Warren thought he'd misheard, then the implications of what Hathaway had said sank in and he sat upright.

  "Say what? You'll be giving me drugs?"

  "You'll be operating as a dealer. You can't be out there selling caster sugar."

  "The police are going to be giving me heroin?"

  Hathaway winced.

  "I was thinking cannabis," he said.

  "Just to get you started. You ever taken drugs, Cliff?"

  Warren shook his head.

  "Never. Saw what they did to my folks." Warren's mother had died of a heroin overdose when he was twelve. His father was also an addict and had ended up in prison for killing a dealer in North London. Warren had been passed from relative to relative until he'd been old enough to take care of himself, and it seemed that every household he stayed in was tainted in some way by drugs. He had steadfastly refused to touch so much as a joint.

  "I don't see that's a problem, though. Plenty of dealers don't use."

  "Absolutely, but you're going to have to know good gear when you see it."

  "I've got people can show me. The stuff you're going to give me. Where's it coming from?"

  "Drugs we've seized in previous operations," said Hathaway.

  "They're destroyed if they're no longer needed as evidence. We'll just divert some of it your way."

  Warren took another drink. His heart was pounding and he felt a little light headed. It wasn't the alcohol he'd barely drunk half of his beer it was an adrenalin rush, his body gearing for fight, fright or flight in anticipation of what lay ahead. He felt his hand begin to shake and he pressed the bottle against his knee to steady it. This was no time to have the shakes.

  "There's one word I haven't heard you mention," he said.

  Hathaway raised an eyebrow.

  "What's that?"


  "Entrapment."

  "It's no defence in an English court," said Hathaway.

  "Cases have gone as high as the House of Lords and the end result has always been the same entrapment evidence can't be excluded from a trial, because there is no substantive defence of entrapment in English law."

  "I thought there'd been cases where undercover officers had obtained confessions and the confessions weren't admissible because they hadn't administered the caution?"

  Hathaway smiled.

  "It's a grey area," he said.

  "You're right, a confession without a caution required under the Police and Criminal Evidence Act of 1984 would be technically inadmissible. But that wouldn't apply if you weren't questioning them as a police officer. Anything they tell you would be admissible if it was a conversation between equals. Or at least as if they perceived it as a conversation between equals."

  "But if I'm encouraging the commission of a crime, doesn't give them a way out?" asked Warren.

  "They could say that I was leading them on, that I was waving money around saying that I want to buy drugs. They could claim that if I hadn't approached them they wouldn't have committed the crime in the first place. How are you going to get a conviction on that?"

  "We won't. We'll note the transaction and the people involved, but we won't be moving in to arrest them. A couple of busts like that and your cover would be well and truly blown. It's information we want, Cliff. Good quality intelligence that will help us mount effective operations. The last thing we're going to do is to put you in court holding a Bible and swearing to tell the truth." Hathaway drank from his bottle of Sol, then leaned back and studied Warren for almost a minute.

  "Entrapment isn't covered by PACE or by the codes of practice issued under PACE," he said, eventually. And it is one hundred per cent true that claiming entrapment isn't a defence under English law. But there were Home Office guidelines issued in 1986 which do refer to entrapment. Basically the Home Office said that no informant must act as an agent provocateur, that is he or she mustn't suggest to others that they commit an offence or encourage them to do so."

  "But that means .. ." Warren began.

  Hathaway held up a hand to silence him.

  "That's what the Home Office says, but between you, me and that cheese plant in the corner, the likes of Dennis Donovan don't pay a blind bit of notice to the Home Office, so why should we?"