“I can give you a bit of a heads-up, but I am not going to give you all the details. I know you have the highest clearance but, in these matters, we try to keep it compartmentalised. So, a lot of people know a small bit and a much smaller number of people know a big bit and then there’s me, who knows an awful lot.”
Hooley glanced at Roper to see how this was being received and was relieved to see the younger man didn’t look as though he was going to argue.
“From what you’ve just said, would it be reasonable to suggest that main ports of entry to this country are probably well-protected?”
“Yeah, that’s right. Look: I’m not going to be giving away too many state secrets when I say that technology has really jumped in the last few years and it is possible to install radiation scanners at airports. Not something you could have done at the time your boss and I first met.”
“Before we go any further, are you two here because you think there is a genuine threat? You’re not asking me for some game-playing exercise - you think something might actually happen?”
Now it was the turn of the two detectives to shrug their shoulders.
“Well, I’ll be. No wonder I was woken in the middle of the night. Well I guess the best way I can help you is by pointing out the problem areas - and be prepared to get even more worried.”
By the time he finished talking, Hooley thought he had a distressingly long list of possible ways of smuggling plutonium into the country. Moss tried to cheer him up with a teeth-rattling slap on the back. While it failed to do that, it did have the bonus of taking his mind off his troubles - at least until his body stopped vibrating.
“Look, guys, I don’t want to know who you’re up against here. But the only time I would be getting really worried was if it involved brilliant Russian scientists with a history that stretched back to the KGB and the old Cold War days.”
The way the pair reacted to this statement made even the ebullient Moss go pale.
“Oh dear. I was only joking but now it looks like the joke’s on me. I’m thinking that may be exactly what you are up against. Now I can see why you’ve been a little anxious since you got here.”
Chapter 29
Georgi Yebedev was alone in his Sloane Square mansion. It was constructed from three neighbouring homes he had knocked through over a five-year period. From the moment he had arrived in London this was where he had wanted to live.
He was sitting in his second-floor study, a space that other people would have called an apartment in its own right, given that it was a suite of rooms which allowed him specific areas for work and play. He had even recreated a London pub with original fittings, including a beautiful polished oak bar and brass railings.
Satellite allowed him to access live ice hockey matches from Russia, a real passion of his, and of course football from the English Premiership. While he wasn’t close to the Russian owner of Chelsea the two men enjoyed a cordial relationship and liked to compete over who had the biggest yacht. Yebedev was about to take possession of a newly constructed vessel that would give him bragging rights by 10 metres.
The door that led into his personal zone had red and green “traffic lights” in a panel. Today the red light was blazing telling his staff to keep out. Only his head butler could come in, and even then only if there was a crisis.
The children were away at school and his wife had gone to the South of France, taking a friend with her, after complaining that spring was late coming this year, meaning London was damp and grey. She’d even pined for the crisp, clean coldness of Moscow, still emerging from the grip of winter.
He was mulling over his instructions to organise the importation of the various bomb components to the UK and to do it without gaining attention from members of the Russian mafia, many of whom seemed to operate in London with apparent impunity.
Vasilev had been very clear on this last point. Her information was that the British were aware of the outright gangsters in their midst, and preferred to keep them under observation. That way they had some idea of what was going on.
She had advised Yebedev that he too was on the radar - his extreme wealth was enough of a draw to merit that - but his behaviour over the last 20 years made it unlikely he was under close watch.
“Their best people are looking at our best people,” she had told him, before choking on the tea she had swallowed laughing at her own joke. He had cautiously patted her on her back and she made a quick recovery.
“The point is that you are not a criminal, so you will be way down their list of priorities, so long as you are careful.”
She’d rummaged around in her bag and produced a hardback book which she passed to him. He saw it was a spy novel by John Le Carre, titled Call for the Dead.
“It’s the first in the series and people who know say you should read that and get some ideas for what you need to do to avoid detection. I doubt you’ll need to go as far as dead drops in Green Park, but it will tell you about basic anti-surveillance techniques.”
He shrugged and didn’t bother to mention that he was a huge fan of Le Carre. Part of him couldn’t wait to walk down the street using shop windows to check if he was being followed, but a much bigger part felt sick at the obvious danger he was placing himself in.
“When you rent the accommodation and the space to build the laboratory, you must be careful to do it through third parties and ideally offshore companies, but be careful not to leave any traces that could be followed back to you.”
She stopped and took a cautious sip of her tea, suddenly looking tired.
“I don’t like having to spell this out to you, but you need to understand there is no going back to where you were. You have been selected and we are not waiting for you to make up your mind and tell us that you agree to do this.
“If anything goes wrong, you will be held to account and you and your family will pay the price. We have a long reach so there is nowhere you can go where you will be safe. If you start having second thoughts, just think about your children.”
He couldn’t stop the feelings of anger that bubbled up as he listened to these threats against his family. He was strong enough that he could have reached across and throttled this woman where she sat, but with all his physical strength he was powerless. She was just the messenger. He clenched and unclenched his fists to relieve the stress.
Vasilev paled and moved away from him as she sensed the sudden danger she was in.
“It gives me no pleasure to pass this on.” She wanted him to know that she was just following orders. “But I have also been told that this is the only task that will ever be asked of you.
“Complete this mission and you will never hear from us again, and your family will be quite safe to live their lives.”
His journey back to London had seemed to drag on but by the time he arrived home he was beginning to regain his equilibrium. He needed to think because whichever way he looked he had a problem that needed to be factored in.
It was all very well ordering him to stay away from fellow Russians but how else was he going to find the people he needed? He could hardly enter “smuggling gangs” into Google. He was going to have to find someone who could navigate their way around that world, while ensuring they kept their mouth firmly shut.
He sank back onto his antique leather settee; this space was styled after the London club to which he had tried and failed to gain membership. It still rankled that the British looked down their noses at this nouveaux-riche Russian. He supposed it was because most of them envied the resources he could draw upon. If he owned a large ancestral home, he could easily afford to maintain its upkeep without having to put up with paying visitors.
He forced himself to calm down. If he and his family were going to come out of this alive he needed to make some hard-headed decisions. The task was straightforward even if the means of achieving it were going to be complex.
The longer he thought, the more one solution remained in view. It was going to cost him a lo
t of money, but he could easily afford to be generous to the right person, and what price could you put on keeping your own family alive?
Chapter 30
There are rarely any certainties in life, but Julie Mayweather knew she could be sure of one thing: if she told Brian Hooley something in confidence, then it would remain that way. Never once, during the near-thirty years they had worked together, had he ever let her down.
He was listening attentively now as she ran through her conversation with the Commissioner and his offer to ensure she took over the top job at Scotland Yard.
Just a decade ago, they might have been enjoying a single malt; now it was a cup of instant coffee from the canteen. Hooley wasn’t entirely convinced it was a change for the better, but he knew senior officers couldn’t really afford to have it known they were drinking in the office.
It was late, getting on for 8.30pm, and she had been talking quietly for the best part of ten minutes but now she was drawing to a close.
“I’m sure it won’t be as straightforward as Sir Thomas says, but with him and the Mayor behind me there has to be very strong possibility that this will go ahead.
“While I feel quite certain that I do want the job, I wanted to hear myself talking out loud about it and there was only ever one person who I was going to be doing that with. What do you think - anything sound a bit off to you?”
“Not a single thing. In my opinion, you should have got the job last time and it was only the old boys’ club that stopped you. But the world’s moved on now and I think we can all stand the ‘shock’ - he mimed quote marks around the word - over having a woman in charge.
“I’ve never mentioned this before but there was real disappointment around here when you lost out, so your team is going to be delighted if you do succeed.”
“I bet they’re all hoping you’ll get the top job if I’m moved on. You’re not without your own fan club, you know.”
Hooley was silent for a while as he gazed down at his hands that were crossed in his lap. She knew he was thinking deeply and was content to leave him to start talking once he had marshalled his thoughts fully.
“Funny you should mention that, but I’ve been thinking there should be a change for a while now. You and I have been running this team for a long time and I think it’s time for fresh minds to take over.
“The nature of crime is changing again - the web, terrorism and global conflict - and we need to bring in a new generation of leaders. I’m not talking about me taking over; I mean we should be finding replacements for the two of us.
“The timeframe of you becoming Commissioner allows us an opportunity to identify the right people and get them in place. By the time we are ready to stand aside they will be up to speed and sorting things out the way they want it.”
“What about you? What are you going to be doing in all this?”
“Well, I do have something in mind, and I have been waiting for you to get offered the top job before I came out with anything.”
“Are you trying to tell me you knew this was going to happen?” Her expression was a mixture of amusement and curiosity. She’d long thought her deputy was one of the best-connected policemen in the Yard.
“I wouldn’t say I knew in a very precise way, but it wasn’t the hardest thing to speculate about. You’re just too good and you have one added bonus.”
He looked at her expectantly.
“Go on, tell me.”
“You don’t have any ghosts rattling around in your closet, and you might not believe how many of your contemporaries have reasons to be very nervous about anyone checking too deeply into their background.”
“Ha! I can confirm that I am clean as a whistle but as for my rivals, I suspect you’re being mischievous.”
The DCI laughed and held his hands up in mock apology.
“It’s certainly true that I had been thinking you might move on, and that’s why I’ve got one eye to the future; and, as I said, I do have an idea.”
She nodded to show he should go ahead.
“My big concern is making sure that Jonathan is OK, and I want to keep him close to me. He’s an awkward sod but at the same time one of the best people I know and there’s no way you and I could leave him here. He has too much history with some of the guys and he won’t last if we’re not there to watch his back.
“So that got me thinking. If you are the Commissioner you get the chance to do what you like, within reason, so why not set up a new, smaller team? I can be running things, for now, and it leaves Jonathan to provide the sort of input that only he can, and we hand-pick some other talented mavericks to work alongside us.
“I’m betting that if we put the word out we will find all sorts of people hidden away and not getting to do the work they are capable of because they don’t get the recognition they deserve, or the opportunities to prove what they can do.
“If we had a few more with Roper’s skill at research and keeping up to date with the real world imagine the possibilities. I bet we could even start predicting crimes.” He paused. “OK, I may have got that last bit from a film, but you know what I mean.
“Just take one example. We really need a couple of computer bods. Roper’s not bad but even I know he’s not in the super league. Then we can shape the team to work hard and help to bring down some of the criminals who at the moment are getting away with murder because they can hide behind firewalls.”
He stopped talking and then burst out laughing.
“I’ve just thought of a name for us. We can call ourselves the Odd Jobs - or maybe, even better, the Odd Bods.”
Chapter 31
Pressure does strange things to people. In Yebedev’s case, it made him forget that he had the answer to his problems right in front of him. It had taken hours of near panic before he remembered.
The man he needed had connections in a complex smuggling operation that saw a huge amount of stolen art and antiquities being shipped to Russians living in the UK. Yebedev had never used the service himself but he had an idea about how to make contact.
The trade was run by ruthless operators, since you don’t get to ship ancient treasures out of Middle-East war zones unless you know what you are doing, and the costs involved were astronomical.
The man he needed was former KGB agent Arkady Sokolov. If you needed to source something particular, then he was the man you turned to. He wasn’t cheap, but he was discreet.
Sokolov had styled himself as a ‘citizen of the world’, flitting between Russia, the USA and capital cities all over Western Europe. But he had also developed a passion for the so-called London season and could always be found at events like the Henley and Wimbledon.
Yebedev knew this for certain because he was himself a huge rowing fan and, for the last ten years, had been quietly spending large sums of money on it. Every year he sponsored a private box, entrance to which had become highly sought after once people discovered they could eat as much of the finest Beluga caviar as they could manage, only leaving room for the rare vintage champagnes. People did like to eat and drink on someone else’s tab.
To reach Sokolov, he was going to have to be subtle. Trying a direct approach would be a waste of time since the former agent only dealt with people he knew and whose backgrounds had been thoroughly checked.
There was a way to speed the process up. He was going to have to pay a large amount of money to a very discreet public relations company that was run by a former British government minister and aristocrat, Sir Valentine Topper, a baronet.
While Sir Valentine had impeccable connections and position within society, he had inherited severe financial problems caused by the ever-spiraling costs of maintaining a crumbling mansion and several thousand acres of the most worthless type of land, good only for sheep grazing. He had suffered the indignity of becoming the first Topper to actually need a job, although this was somewhat mitigated by his being selected as the candidate for MP for his very safe constituency.
It was whil
e he was hosting a summer drinks session on the Terrace of the House of Commons, aimed at promoting Anglo-Russian relations, that Sir Valentine had first met Sokolov - and they had hit it off straight away. They made an unlikely pairing. Sokolov was a small, broad shouldered man who wore cheap off-the-peg suits, had thinning hair and used a translator, even though he had perfect English.
Sir Valentine, on the other hand, was the product of an excellent breeding process. He was tall, handsome like a film star, and had an imposing presence, peering down his slightly oversized nose when he spoke to anyone. His suits came from the best tailors on Jermyn Street and fitted him like a glove.
Within minutes of being introduced, Sokolov had done away with his translator as the two men spoke, ignoring the others around them until their aides reminded them that they both had duties that needed to be performed.
They had arranged to meet for lunch the next day. Sokolov said it would be his treat and insisted on the Ritz. It was to prove the start of a highly successful business relationship that gave the Russian access to all manner of contacts and, for Sir Valentine, it provided the funds to afford the lifestyle into which he had been born.
Of course, if reaching Sir Valentine was easy any fool could have done it. But, once again, Yebedev showed he had lost none of the networking skills that had first earned him attention in Russia and he had been able to use the services of a globally-known public relations company to make the introduction. The reference they provided won him the coveted meeting.
A few days later found Yebedev sitting across from Sir Valentine in the private dining room of a private members club in Belgravia. The Russian had chosen a three-thousand-pound bottle of Australian Cabernet Sauvignon; he wanted Sir Valentine to know that money was not an issue. The enthusiastic way that the former cabinet minister savoured it suggested that he had judged things about right. Sir Valentine was a wealthy man, but that sort of money for a bottle of wine was too much even for someone like him.
(Jonathan Roper Investigates Boxset Page 54
