Tallis stared at him. Surrounded by white noise, he felt something click more firmly into place in his mind, forcing him to briefly wonder how Crow was getting on.
‘You listening?’ Kennedy said tersely, as a father might discipline a child.
‘Sure, you were saying about one of the Colombian cartels fronted by a woman.’
‘What you have to remember at all times is respect,’ Kennedy said. ‘Everyone believes that the Yardies are the big face-savers. They’re not. The Albanians and triads corner that particular market.’
From what Tallis knew of the Albanians, he could believe it. He was part Croatian himself so he had some experience of their peculiarities. ‘You’ve only mentioned international crime families—what about British?’
‘Coming to that,’ Kennedy said. ‘Asians have taken the high ground here in Birmingham. Yardies mainly run the show in Bristol, Hell’s Angels in Plymouth, but they won’t come because they never publicly admit they’re anything other than a group of fun-loving motorcycle enthusiasts.’ Tallis smiled, remembering Oz. Perhaps he ought to view Oz’s mates in a different light. ‘Then you’ve got various outfits representing Liverpool, Manchester, Doncaster…’
‘Doncaster?’ Tallis expressed surprise.
‘Important connection to the north-east,’ Kennedy said matter-of-factly. ‘Nottingham’s on the slide with a nasty power vacuum developing since a main man got banged up.’
‘Gunn by name, gun by nature,’ Tallis said, referring to Colin Gunn, who had been responsible for a notorious reign of terror until his arrest for conspiracy to murder.
‘And let’s not forget London,’ Kennedy said. ‘Turks heavily embedded in the north, but there are about five other major crime families, including the Adams family.’
‘Whose boss is serving time for money-laundering,’ Tallis chipped in.
‘See, you’re not so wet behind the ears.’ Kennedy grinned. ‘You actually work for MI5?’
‘No.’
‘Thought not. You’re too grounded. More of a mercenary.’
‘I prefer to think of myself as a freelance.’ Tallis smiled. He had often thought of himself as a mercenary, but coming from Kennedy’s lips he found himself resisting the man’s cold-blooded assessment.
The first of the crime lords and their seconds-in-command began to trickle through twenty minutes later. It had to rate as one of Tallis’s more surreal experiences. It was a bit like being at a high-class cocktail party, everyone greeting everyone, asking after family and, in Kennedy’s case, villains making solicitous enquiries about Billy, his son. One constant thread of conversation was the recent drugs bust in the city that morning.
Tallis was introduced to a smiling Sicilian whose boss, by all accounts, headed an outfit specialising in stolen fine art and black-market anti-obesity drugs. From the other side of the room, Kennedy was deep in conversation with a large, dough-faced man from Manchester who’d recently diversified into cannabis importation, as he put it.
‘Yeah, but the profit margins are crap, Steve,’ Kennedy was saying.
Steve let out a loud, throaty laugh. ‘Be surprised. Customs are busting a gut on Class-A stuff. All I’m doing is using a bit of common,’ he said, knuckling his forehead. ‘Nothing like cashing in when everyone’s looking the wrong way.’
While Steve moved off to greet a wiry-looking Russian with feral features, Tallis watched Kennedy fall into thick conversation with a huge black man who spoke in an incomprehensible Bristolian dialect coupled with Jamaican patois. If Kennedy’s information was correct, the guy was the king of crack cocaine. He’d somehow managed to survive turf wars and numerous attempts on his life. Tallis reckoned the West Indian was no more than twenty-five. He looked edgy and unpredictable, like he’d sampled too much of his own product. The rate he was going, Tallis thought, he probably wouldn’t see his next birthday.
Every time the door opened another face arrived. Tallis observed two mean and Mediterranean-looking men slide into the room unnoticed. Both took a stand away from the others. Tallis slowly positioned himself so that he could listen to them. It didn’t take him long to work out they were Turks. Ergul and Alpi, as he soon discovered, were bemoaning the fact they’d lost twenty-five million pounds’ worth of heroin.
The door swished open again. On the threshold stood a tall, handsome-looking Asian. Dressed in an expensive suit, his sophistication and presence went well beyond the clothes he wore. Tallis had the impression that this guy had learnt to control the expression on his face and the giveaways of body language a long time ago. Kennedy rushed over to greet him, calling him by name, Ahmed’s light Midlands accent confirming his geographical status. So this is the would-be terrorist sympathiser, Tallis thought, never taking his eyes off him. Like most criminals, he didn’t look mean or evil, or give the slightest hint that he was capable of taking someone’s life, let alone aiding and abetting the bombing of hundreds of people he didn’t even know.
By now the room was filling up more quickly. There was a definite protocol. Seconds-in-command talked only to seconds-in-command. Among the bosses, there emerged some curious alliances. The Italians and the triads seemed to have a number going with high-tech crime, involving counterfeiting. The Russians appeared to be hooking up with the Albanians in their pursuit of sex trafficking. As with all gatherings, there were those Tallis suspected he might like if they didn’t go round murdering and torturing people, and those he’d never want to share the same air space with in a million years.
Kennedy, however, made no such distinctions. He was polite and effusive to everyone. Although there were no class differences, it soon became clear from the seating arrangement who held most power. While the seconds-in-command stood silently behind their bosses, the heads of state, as Tallis regarded them, elaborately and with a great deal of shunting around, took their places. He was reminded of an all-star pop concert at Wembley some years ago. It had taken bloody ages for the class acts to step onto the stage.
Kennedy took his place opposite a fearsome-looking Albanian called Vasel. Next to him sat a thin-faced Chinese man who represented the oldest and one of the largest criminal organisations. Mr Wo was at pains to point out that he was not speaking only for himself but for the other three major triad gangs. Observing the softly spoken Chinaman, Tallis found it hard to believe such a harmonious-sounding individual was part of the same group that had meted out extreme violence in a Birmingham restaurant a few years before over a loss of ‘face’. Ahmed, Tallis noticed, was seated closely to Kennedy’s right. He would not have been surprised to see either Kennedy pulling out a written agenda or a secretary taking the minutes.
After a brief welcome by Kennedy, debate swiftly followed. It included a thorough précis of joint operations, the smuggling of arms top of the agenda, a résumé of the state of the drug market in the UK and where certain products like crack cocaine could be more successfully introduced, marketed and increased, followed by the promotion or otherwise (meaning elimination) of certain individuals within the various organisations. The names of a number of high-profile people within the judiciary and political circles were also bandied about, some of whom Tallis recognised as being eminently bribable. Then things took an unconventional path.
‘Where’s Gabriel?’ It was the meaner of the two Turks, Ergul.
All eyes were on Tallis.
‘My fault,’ Kennedy said smoothly. ‘Let me introduce you to Milton, my new second-in-command.’ He glanced behind him, looking up at Tallis. They’d already arranged to give him a suitable pseudonym. He was simply known as Milton.
‘That because your old one’s dead?’ Vasel let out a laugh, displaying an appalling set of broken and discoloured teeth.
Tallis couldn’t see Kennedy’s face but, from the way everyone was looking, he could picture his embarrassment and irritation.
‘That’s true,’ Kennedy said slowly, with great precision. ‘How did you find out?’ The suspicion in his voice was obvious.
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sp; The Russian answered. ‘We have all lost good men, one way or another,’ he said, looking around the table. The Italian nodded. ‘After our last meeting one of my men was abducted. It was not good, not a clean kill,’ he said, shaking his head ruefully.
‘We is suffering, man,’ the West Indian said. ‘Nothing is cris. Yannerstan? Got a bird dog in the house, man.’
Shit, Tallis thought. The guy means an informer.
‘Yeah, how else did we get busted?’ Alpi burst out. He was tall, rake-thin, with twisted features.
‘Tell your man to shut up, Ergul,’ Vasel said, picking his teeth with a dirty finger.
Ergul, flat-faced and pudgy, did as he was told, speaking aggressively to Alpi in rapid Turkish. Only Tallis understood what was really being said. His gut felt as if it had been lanced with a laser.
Kennedy spoke, trying to restore some order. ‘Gentlemen, in the circumstances, I’d like to call a sidebar.’
To Tallis’s dismay, this was met with a unanimous murmur of agreement. He tried to catch Kennedy’s eye as he and the other seconds-in-command were forced to file out of the room. Either Kennedy was lost in concentration or deliberately ignoring him. Perhaps he’d planned it from the beginning, Tallis thought suspiciously, outwardly playing ball, inwardly continuing his own terrorist agenda, whatever that was. Always at the back of his mind, he knew that Kennedy’s success lay in his ability to deceive. If he was a master at deception, he could also be a master of disinformation.
Out in the corridor, the ‘lieutenants’ were shepherded into another oblong-shaped space. Formica tables, four chairs at each, the room resembled the type of enclosed and dingy place where jurors waited before selection. Nobody sat down. Everyone stood, backs to the wall, at arm’s length from the man next to him. The bonhomie that had kicked off the proceedings suddenly vanished, to be replaced by stone-faced looks and hard don’t mess with me expressions. The heat was on. Everyone felt under threat. As the newcomer, Tallis knew that he fell under most suspicion. Wasn’t logical. Simply human.
Like the rest, he was wondering about what was being discussed. The Sicilian looked at his watch. The Albanian’s henchman did the same. Others followed suit. Tallis didn’t need to look. He had an internal and accurate sense of time, and reckoned they’d been inside alone for forty minutes. Fifteen minutes later the door opened, Rex and Darren giving the all-clear. Tallis watched the faces as they filed out. He’d expected them to be grave and stern. Only Ahmed seemed vaguely troubled, although it was difficult to detect from the calm expression on his features. The others seemed buoyant, jubilant, as though stirred to action by a great leader. Kennedy came out last of all. He too was smiling. Tallis wasn’t fooled. He’d seen that strange light in his eyes before.
Suddenly he got the unholy feeling that he was stepping into a dead man’s shoes.
26
* * *
AS SOON as the others left, Kennedy’s demeanour changed. Gone the smile, the warm expression. Face set like weathered concrete, he told Tallis he was going to see Billy.
‘What happened in there?’ Tallis asked, falling into step beside him.
‘Not now.’ Curt, angry.
Tallis caught Kennedy’s arm. ‘You might have talked to Gabriel like shit, but you’re not doing it with me.’
‘Take your hand off me.’ Kennedy’s eyes flickered dangerously.
Tallis had the unpleasant sensation of feeling like he was caught in the crosshairs of an automatic weapon. In that moment he understood what Kennedy was capable of. No stretch at all to link him to Garry Morello’s murder. ‘Not until you tell me what went on, or am I going to contact my superiors and say you no longer wish to cooperate, that you’ve changed your mind?’
‘Tell them what you like,’ Kennedy said, bullish.
Tallis dropped his voice. ‘Perhaps some of your colleagues might like to know what you’re really about.’
‘Fuck you,’ Kennedy snarled. ‘I’ve been saving your arse.’
‘The only arse you’re intent on saving is your own.’
‘Get out of my way.’
‘Everything all right, boss?’ It was Justin. Christ, Tallis thought, how long had he been standing there, how much had he overheard?
‘Fine,’ Tallis answered, never taking his eyes off Kennedy.
‘Everything’s good.’ Kennedy twitched a smile. ‘Make sure we’re all secure, would you?’
Justin nodded, threw a vicious glance at Tallis and lumbered back down the corridor. Tallis caught up with Kennedy, grabbed his arm again.
‘I’ve pulled off something quite remarkable,’ Kennedy spat, still visibly furious. ‘It wasn’t easy in there. Those blokes’ default setting is suspicion. Some of them didn’t care for the look of you. They wouldn’t hesitate in ordering a hit. Now, with your permission, I’d like to see my son.’
Tallis released him. For reasons he didn’t understand he felt quietly ashamed. ‘Sure, I’ll pick you up in twenty minutes.’
‘Back entrance,’ Kennedy stated, voice drenched with sarcasm.
‘We’ve put Ahmed under surveillance,’ Asim said.
‘Good.’ Tallis was standing in his kitchen, watching a spider demolishing a fly. ‘What have you got on him?’
‘Nothing that would stand up in court.’
It didn’t sound to Tallis that they had very much at all. Not on Ahmed. Not on Kennedy.
‘Two things you need to understand,’ Asim said. ‘In this business, terrorists have a very different timeframe to the rest of us. They play a long game.’
‘They’re not averse to opportunism,’ Tallis pointed out. ‘Change of government, appointment of a new Home Secretary, announcement of Olympics all triggered a spate of attacks.’
‘Agreed, but their overall policy is one of attrition. They’re marathon runners, not sprinters.’
‘What’s the other thing?’
‘Most contact takes place with mirrors,’ Asim said.
‘Somebody who knows somebody who knows somebody else.’ He was thinking of the Moroccan, Tardarti, again. Had he really been a contact man, a cog in the machine, or had he been more important, the facilitator who organised a campaign?
‘Often making it extremely difficult to establish a concrete chain of evidence,’ Asim said.
‘And leaving the door wide open to Chinese whispers. How the hell do you know that the information relayed back is accurate, that it hasn’t morphed into something entirely different?’
‘We don’t. That’s why we have to check and double-check our sources. The Turkish authorities originally flagged Ahmed up to us a while ago, although, in their assessment, he didn’t pose a terrorist threat at the time. We formed the same conclusion.’
‘So what’s changed?’
‘The company Ahmed keeps. For some time he’s been regarded as a low-grade follower. He hasn’t been caught with his hands in the cookie jar, but he has links to those who we suspect, at some stage, might. He’s also suspected of funding certain individuals to return to both Iraq and Afghanistan to support insurgents.’
Exactly as Kennedy had stated, Tallis thought, and if Ahmed was fuelling insurgency, it explained why the Americans were sniffing around. Also explained their interest in Tardarti, with whom Kennedy suspected Ahmed had had links beyond the business of drug dealing. What it boiled down to was connections and the means to those connections, something Asim and his ilk strived for every single day. Kennedy was also in the connections game and, Tallis recognised, so was he.
‘And Kennedy, is he under surveillance, too?’
‘He is so you can relax for the next twenty-four hours.’
Make the most of it was what Asim meant, Tallis thought. He had no doubt that the next few days would prove to be testing ones. ‘Terrific.’
‘You don’t sound happy.’
‘Not every day you have a run-in with a crime lord.’
Asim let out a laugh. For someone with responsibility for the safety of the nation, he sounde
d remarkably relaxed, Tallis thought. ‘Any news on the videotape sent care of a-Q?’
‘Ninety-nine per cent certain it’s the real deal. Usual narrative, threats of retaliation for Britain’s role in Iraq and Afghanistan, decadent Western values, plus there’s the additional seasonal aspect.’
‘Seasonal?’
‘Nothing like putting the fear of God into the general public on the run-up to Christmas.’
‘Christmas? That’s over two months away.’
‘I can tell you’re a last-minute shopper.’
Tallis let out a laugh. His Christmas-present list extended to his mother and his sister’s kids. ‘Surely, if al-Qaeda is in bed with a bunch of Asian gangsters, they’re hardly going to warn of an attack. The tape’s nothing more than a cheap publicity stunt.’
‘You’re having a real credibility problem with all this.’ Asim’s voice was ringed with concern.
‘Comes back to Kennedy.’
‘Still don’t trust him?’
‘I don’t know.’ At least he was being honest. In this game, trust was a rare commodity. Come to think of it, so was honesty.
‘GCHQ, the government’s main listening base, at Cheltenham have been monitoring Kennedy’s mobile and home telephone calls for some time. Nothing untoward’s been thrown up.’
‘How many phones are they monitoring?’ Tallis gave a snort. ‘The guy could open his own Carphone Warehouse, and he uses his daughter’s mobile.’
‘We know,’ Asim said, cool. ‘Look, intelligence supplied to date has been superb. Single-handedly, he’s given Organised Crime Officers details of villains responsible for money-laundering, people traffickers. I could go on, and, remember, this is all aside from the drugs busts.’ Sounded to Tallis as if Asim was backtracking. Closer to the truth, Asim couldn’t afford to ignore the unverified intelligence that had landed on his desk, but Kennedy’s actions seemed to speak louder than words. At this point in time, Kennedy looked clean.
The Mephisto Threat Page 23
