‘Hello, my little policeman friend,’ said Zjelko Branko in his low growl. ‘I hope you have some information for me?’ Taylor could picture the unpleasant grin on the Serb’s face.
‘Look, I have the address of Novak’s foster family here now. I can send it to you, but you must keep my name out of this, and you must promise they won’t be harmed. They’re innocents in all this.’
‘Mr Policeman, I’m hurt you think I’m such a monster who would hurt the innocents. But you’re giving us nothing to catch Novak, so we have to go proactive on him. We won’t hurt a hair on their heads, my friend. As long as Novak comes up with the goods.’
‘Okay. I’ll send it to you after I finish this call. Novak is too careful, and I can’t see him popping his head up for you, so you’ll have to see what this brings. By the way, they live miles away: in Scotland.’
‘Never mind that; we have associates in Scotland who can at least get proceedings underway while we get up there. Give me the address and keep us informed of any developments. Your career and your liberty depend on it.’ The line went dead.
Taylor felt he had no choice. His fingers hovered over the smartphone in a last vestige of hesitation before he pressed Send. He placed the handset back in his pocket and sat with his fingers massaging his temple, utterly ashamed at what he’d become.
*
Zjelko Branko sat with his sons in an empty café in the centre of Islington, eating a large breakfast of eggs and bacon as he contemplated the message that Taylor had just sent. He smiled to himself, realising that this was the way to tip the scales back in their favour. Novak’s only family had to be good leverage to get him out into the open and finish it all for good. He’d been involved in organised crime long enough to know that it could only end one way. Novak had to die and, by involving the foster family, Taylor had just signed their death warrants too.
He checked their postcode on Google Maps, noting grimly that it was a ten-hour drive to the property in Scotland.
Branko had no qualms about using murder to resolve the situation. He’d killed countless times during the Balkan conflict and couldn’t deny the big thrill he gained from exercising the ultimate power over other people. He felt no pity for his victims, feeling no more than when he used to kill the vermin that ate his father’s chickens.
He turned to Aleks and Luka. ‘My boys, you need to get yourselves to Scotland as soon as possible. I will get an associate to secure the packages, and you can take over when you arrive. I want to keep it within the family as much as we can. It’s just a babysitting job until we have Novak.’
‘How far is it?’ asked Aleks through a mouthful of egg.
‘Over five hundred miles. Take the BMW and buy a new phone on the way. Leave yours here. The police must not be able to trace you to the scene, as I’m sure there will be a big investigation.’
Both men stood and made ready to go without questioning his orders. Aleks caught the car key tossed by his father.
‘Items are in the boot under the carpet,’ he said, referring to the two Glock 17 automatic pistols secreted in the spare wheel space. ‘There are false plates as well; put them on so ANPR doesn’t catch you. Also, collect Boris on the way. I will tell him to expect you.’ Boris was a proven operator and another ex-paramilitary who he knew would have no hesitation putting a bullet in any head. His boys had no kills to their name, and so he couldn’t completely trust their ruthlessness. He had no such doubts about Boris.
‘Do me proud, my boys. This is a big responsibility. Call me with the new phone and we will talk on the way. Stay off all CCTV; there must be no trace of you in Scotland.’ He fixed them with his pale blue eyes.
Both men nodded and turned, leaving the café.
He picked up his phone once more and selected a number from the contacts list. Danilo Arken was another paramilitary associate from the old days. He was a vicious bastard who headed up the Serb mafia in Glasgow and beyond. He also had no scruples or empathy and could be trusted to do a good job for a price.
‘Danilo, it’s Zjelko,’ he boomed, a huge grin etched across his craggy features. ‘How are you, my friend? Good, good. How is your family?’ He paused, pretending to be interested in the reply given.
‘Anyway, old friend, to business. I may have some work for you in Bonnie Scotland, if you could do an old Chetnik comrade an urgent favour. I assure you it will pay very well.’
26
Michael Adebayo sat in the office of his friend and solicitor, a worried look on his face.
‘So, my friend, where are we?’ asked Asif Khan.
‘Novak is nowhere to be seen, despite me offering one hundred grand to see him silenced. Those incompetent fools, the Brankos, can’t find him anywhere, and Taylor is having no luck. I’m worried he’s making plans to reveal the footage. If he does that, I’m in major trouble.’ He rubbed his hands across his tired-looking face, tension evident in his features.
Khan paused for a moment, a contemplative look on his handsome face. He straightened his already-immaculate tie knot and spoke. ‘As I understand it from my police source, the female is nowhere to be found. She fled the women’s refuge and the police think she’s back in her homeland. If that’s the case, you only have the immigration offence left and, without knowing what’s on the SD card, it’s difficult to advise you properly. If you’ve told me everything that could be on it then you’re going to get convicted and you will almost certainly be going to jail for a number of years.’
Adebayo sighed deeply. Jail would also mean that the Solicitors Regulatory Authority would strike him off, leaving him disgraced and unemployable.
Khan continued. ‘In addition, the Home Office would do a financial investigation into your businesses and may seize all your assets if they can argue they are the proceeds of crime. If I understand correctly what the Home Office are saying, they can evidence that you processed all the corrupt visa applications on the basis of sham marriages introduced by the Brankos.’
‘How can they prove I knew it?’
‘They had the Brankos under surveillance and Novak had infiltrated them for a month at least. They also have all the statistical data of the obviously corrupt applications. Added to the evidence they seized from your office, they have a strong case. You should have been more careful, my friend.’
Adebayo knew he had been careless, made worse by the fact that he’d felt invincible in his own community for so long. He had been feared and respected in equal measures, and he’d never thought that anyone would give evidence against him.
‘So, what’s my best-case scenario, then?’
‘That the SD card, Novak, and the girl never surface again. We can then argue entrapment; but it’s hard to argue the previous month away when you have personally signed over twenty patently sham marriage visa applications. My advice, as your solicitor, is to wait this thing out and see what we can plea bargain, but the reality is you’re finished as a solicitor. I also suspect you will go to jail for a number of years, and you will lose hundreds of thousands of pounds at least. They can look at the last six years of your earnings and income and they will assume it’s all from crime. Don’t forget, my friend, that the burden of proof in proceeds of crime hearings shifts to you. You—not the prosecution—have to prove that all your money and assets are lawful.’
Adebayo sat back in the leather chair and stared at the ceiling, stunned at the reality of the situation. This could amount to millions of pounds. His business was corrupt to the core, and it wouldn’t take a genius to unpick the extent of it. The money laundering teams had forensic accountants who could unravel his accounts and investments, all of which came from his legal practice.
‘What would you do if you were me?’ Adebayo asked.
‘You have many assets in Nigeria, and your home in Lagos is wonderful. You could make a new life there, leave all this behind. You’ll never get extradited from Nigeria, you have far too much influence.’
Adebayo paused. He’d been clever: learni
ng the lesson of another solicitor friend who had been convicted of corruption and lost over a million pounds when the police seized all his assets, he had transferred many assets to Nigeria. There had been an added incentive, with taxation in the UK being so extortionate. Not only that, but the UK’s money laundering regulations also made it more than worth his while to use money-brokers to get his cash into safe investments and property in Lagos.
As a result, he owned a palatial detached property in an upmarket, gated development in Lagos. He also had investments in Nigerian banks and some gold reserves in safe deposit boxes. He could live comfortably forever and never have to face the shame of a criminal trial, jail, and the loss of his UK assets.
‘The police have my passport. I also have many assets in the UK. Will they all be lost?’
‘I’m sure you know someone at the Nigerian Embassy, so a new passport won’t be difficult. The police or Home Office haven’t restrained your bank accounts yet. To be honest, I don’t think it has occurred to them, what with all the issues with Novak. This may be the perfect time to go. Shall I speak to Syed?’
Syed Shafiq was Adebayo’s accountant, a bright and inventive man who could always come up with a plan to move money quickly from anywhere to anywhere.
‘Do it. I’m not giving a penny to the fucking government and I’m not going to jail. The house is in my wife’s name. She and the kids can follow me later. I’ve sold several properties recently so I’m cash-rich and only have the two houses left in London, including my home.’ Resolve gripped him. He could make a new life for himself so easily in Lagos; he had many contacts and friends and a good home waiting for him. He smiled triumphantly at his friend, showing his capped, white teeth. He would win once again.
‘And your brother, Michael?’ Khan asked.
‘Fuck him. He can look after himself.’ Adebayo waved a hand dismissively. ‘One more thing: the contract on Novak stays. The SD card doesn’t matter, I just want him dead.’
‘As you wish, my friend. I will call the Brankos and accelerate things.’
Adebayo didn’t reply, instead looking out of his office window and down at the drab, rain-soaked Ilford streets. He would miss the place, but not enough to risk jail and dishonour. He smiled at the prospect of his new life in Lagos.
27
Back at the Canaletto, Tom let himself in to the apartment to find Pet hunched over her laptop, exactly as she had been when he’d left. She looked up and offered up a dazzling smile at his arrival. The detritus of a takeaway meal was scattered about her feet.
‘All good, Detective?’
‘As good as can be expected,’ he replied. ‘Any movements at the Brankos?’
‘None. Quiet as a grave, but I’ve been busy.’
‘How so?’
‘Taylor sent a text to Branko which went through iMessage on the phone system. I managed to get an IP address and link it into his Cloud account. I’m running the password hack I used for Ana; I’m hoping that will get us into his last backup, which will give us everything on that phone. I’m being even more clever than that, though,’ she teased.
‘Go on, then,’ Tom smiled.
‘I’ve managed to remotely jailbreak his phone and I’ve planted some malware I designed onto it. It will hopefully give us full access to his phone. He’s not been clever as he’s not been updating his software.’
‘Could be useful, even though it’s not been a busy phone.’
‘I also tracked a call between Taylor and Branko just before the message was sent, which may make it important. Branko called a new number straight after the iMessage which is registered to a Danilo Arken in Glasgow. Cell site puts Branko in Islington and Arken in Glasgow. Any ideas on that?’
‘The name’s unfamiliar. There is a Serb population in Glasgow and the mafia have the vice trade sewn up. Can you run the name through your databases?’
‘Sure thing, Detective. Have you learnt any more?’
‘I’m good. I know who the bent cops are; I now just need to prove it.’
‘I can’t help you with admissible evidence,’ she said, her fingers tapping at the keys. ’But I’ve just fully hacked his phone.’
‘You’ve done what?’
‘The malware has worked. I can mirror his phone onto my laptop. You can look at his photos, emails, messages, and everything really. Won’t even have to wait for it to backup to the Cloud. I impress myself sometimes. I’ve not managed to do this before, but thankfully it’s an old phone and old software. High-five, Detective.’ Pet held her hand aloft and Tom lightly slapped it.
‘I’ll load all messages into a spreadsheet for easy searching.’ She continued typing.
Tom sat next to her in front of the computer, watching as she opened Excel. There were very few messages and his eyes were drawn to the most recent one sent just four hours ago to someone listed as ‘Z’ with the number he recognised for Zjelko. The message content simply listed a name and address. Tom’s stomach lurched and rage gripped him like a vice.
The familiar Highlands address jumped off the screen and hit Tom in the face like a thunderbolt. His face darkened as the anger boiled, showing only as a hardening of his features and tenseness in the jawline.
Pet noticed the shift in his demeanour and asked, ‘Tom, what is it?’
‘That’s my foster family’s address. Taylor has sold them out to get to me. This changes everything.’ He voice was flat and emotionless but something in the delivery of the words conveyed the fury behind them.
Tom picked up the satellite phone and dialled a number from memory, holding it to his ear and walking around the apartment as he listened to the tone until the answer machine kicked in. He hung up without leaving a message and dialled another number, but that also went straight to answerphone. He dialled one more number: again, straight to answerphone.
‘No reply on their landline and both of their mobiles are switched off. That’s unheard of: Cameron is always on-call for mountain rescue and Shona is never without her phone. Something’s happened, I know it.’
‘Give me their numbers; I’ll run them through.’
Her fingers blurred across the keyboard and, after only a couple of minutes, she said, ‘Both phones were hitting a cell mast close to their home address until about thirty minutes ago. They were clearly switched off at the same time as they both lost the signal at about three-thirty. As they’re on different networks, it’s unlikely they lost signal at exactly the same time.’
‘No. It means someone else switched them off. There’s only one explanation: Branko despatched Arken from Glasgow to get to them. He will want to get in contact to make his demands. I’ll have to switch my phone back on in case I have a message. Start clearing everything up, we need to get out of here.’
Pet nodded and began packing her equipment up as Tom grabbed his iPhone and switched it out of airplane mode. Its connection was indicated by a buzz as a text message arrived from a number he knew to be Zjelko’s. With a sense of dread, Tom opened the message and saw that a video clip was attached.
Wordlessly, he pressed Play and the clip immediately filled the handset’s screen in sharp clarity, showing four figures in the kitchen of Cameron and Shona’s home. Cameron was blindfolded, his hands pinned behind him, secured by some means to the radiator at the side of the room. Shona was on the floor on her knees, facing away from the camera. Her wrists were fixed behind her back by what looked like zip-ties. Her wrists were pulled upwards and her head forced down by a burly male, who was wearing a balaclava. Another masked man towered over Shona with an automatic pistol tucked into his belt. Tom’s heart sank when he saw that the man had a pair of pruning secateurs in his hand.
‘No!’ Tom screamed pointlessly at the small screen, realising with horror what was about to happen. The man with the secateurs grabbed Shona’s left little finger and, without hesitation, closed the blades around the digit. He then paused to stare at the camera and, even through the balaclava, Tom could see the grin on his face. He
clamped the blades shut and Shona emitted a piercing scream, bucking in agony as blood flowed and the severed digit dropped to the carpet. Cameron started to thrash against his bonds at the sound of his wife’s scream. Suddenly, the clip was over.
A mix of fear, rage, and hatred rose in Tom, almost threatening to overwhelm him. He forced it down, aware that it was a time to think clearly, not emotionally. He breathed deeply, trying to organise his thoughts, as he spoke quickly and decisively.
‘I’ll have to call Branko but he’s going to want the SD card. I need to buy some time as it’s in the post to Buster. I can always burn another copy from my phone, but I don’t intend handing it over in any case. There’s no way they’re going to let any of us live, whether they get the card or not.
‘I’m going to phone Zjelko now. Can you cell site Arken’s phone and get me any intel you guys have on him or his associates?’
Pet nodded and retrieved her laptop from its bag.
Tom punched the number for Zjelko into his iPhone and was answered almost immediately.
‘Detective Sergeant, so kind of you to call.’ His voice was gruff with a hint of menace.
‘You fucking bastard, you fucking animal. She’s a fucking innocent.’
Branko chuckled. ‘We wanted you to know that we were serious, Novak. We want the card and all copies. If we get it, your family lives. If not, they die. But they won’t die easily, Novak. My men will use your mother’s shears and will cut pieces off them until they beg to be shot. The men who are with your parents are very dangerous and won’t hesitate in putting a bullet in each of their heads. You will bring the card to me at a place of my choosing in London. You will come alone, and I will know immediately if you tell anyone in law enforcement. You have four hours to comply.’ His voice was level, but there was no mistaking the malevolence behind it.
‘I can’t get it by then. It’s in a safe deposit box and by the time I get there it will be closed. They don’t open until nine in the morning. I’ll get it then and bring it to you.’
Going Dark Page 19
