Seven Degress (The Seventh Wave Trilogy Book 2)

by Lewis Hastings

  “Is there something you need to tell me?”

  “No, not at this time Brigadier-chef. Do not worry, in a few hours you will see for yourself. Primul Val is about to be become headline news. But only when we are far away from this cesspit. Now, please remove your hand before I break it with my remaining working one. Come on, we need to eat and I know how much you French love your coffee and your croissants.”

  Hewett suppressed a feeling of dread and nausea, caught a glimpse of himself in the van window and prayed for rain – torrential rain, enough to wash the paint off the bloody thing and reveal to anyone that gave a damn that something wasn’t quite right.

  Stefanescu was quickly back onto his phone. Holding down the number four.

  “It is me. We are ready.”

  He repeated it with the following five numbers – all pre-loaded for speed dialling.

  Behind him the Audi was already stripped off its glass and was being wheeled into an awaiting booth as a panel beater began to skilfully alter its identity, happy to be using his skills and earning a living once more.

  Cade and Daniel were doing their level best not to adhere to the local speed limits – heavily enforced in the never-ending road works. The wipers on the Mondeo swept a light shower off the windscreen as the grill lights illuminated the myriad red and white road cones.

  “Move over, that’s the boy,” said a steady-nerved Daniel as he made progress through the traffic – which in typically British style parted like the proverbial sea at the sight of flickering blue lights.

  Cade’s mind began to roam as they surged through the red and white alleyway, each cone acting as a mesmerising aid to his hypnosis. Behind him in the City of London lay a great friend and a potential lover who he accepted, quietly, he might never see again.

  The skies were clearer, and he had a future. All he had to do was let go of one or two things from the past and he could be free to pursue a new life. The force appeared to have adopted him – quite how he was still unsure – and with the skeletal remains of his former life now buried in his old home town he could head wherever he wanted to. He had to smile, unlike many a British fictional police character Cade had neither the demon of drink or drugs in his closet. But like everyone, he had been let down, and that was often enough of a catalyst.

  Whilst he considered his immediate future he couldn’t help but think about what else was on the horizon.

  The job in Lyon and working with Interpol had its own unique appeal. Staying in London, a place he had only previously considered as a tourist location, had its own charm, and he felt that somehow he could adapt. He wanted more than anything to adapt with O’Shea. But what if? He was changing his mind with the passing of every traffic cone, aware of more voices joining his own internal monologue.

  “Jack. Am I having this discussion on my own?”

  Cade came to his senses, deciding to leave any decision to a time when he was at least able to remember his own name.

  “Sorry John, miles away. You were saying?”

  “Indeed. You need a rest pal. I was asking, what is your call? Dover? Or the Tunnel?”

  The port of Dover was a place very recently dear to Cade’s heart. Situated on the south eastern corner of the Garden of England it had a maritime history ten times older than Admiral Nelson and had broken countless passenger records over the years as its impressive fleet of ferries, hovercraft and gargantuan catamarans had plied their trade between the ports at its French equivalents in Calais and Boulogne.

  It seemed like only a matter of hours before that he had picked up the diminutive but fiery Nikolina from the Immigration centre and whisked her northwards to London – where it had all unravelled, from where both of their lives had changed.

  ‘My God what an amazing woman. If only…’

  The second option was Folkestone, or rather slightly inland at Cheriton where the infamous tunnel started its anfractuous journey underground, deep under the bedrock of the English Channel, meeting its French counterpart at the midway point or Point Median.

  Officially the longest undersea tunnel in the world it had its own claims to fame, and for Cade was the lesser of two evils. He considered it more secure than the surface option at Dover and outlined his reasons to Daniel.

  “OK, Dover it is Jack.”

  Daniel stayed on the M2 motorway avoiding the chance to divert onto the parallel M20, both of which headed south and terminated at the two very different ports. A few miles away their targets sat in old car seats, propped themselves against walls and generally rested, eating cheap and generic take away meals and sleeping where possible. Constantin embraced caffeine in place of any more noxious commodities.

  For the first time in weeks he felt alive. He must never allow himself another moment of weakness.

  North of the River Medway another two Renault vans joined the traffic and headed south. White, far from unique and ready for their new identity they merged with the growing numbers of vehicles travelling towards the southern ports. At Chatham they exited and headed for the same industrial complex.

  Further north, a young Eastern European male, twenty-three at the most adjusted his collar against the wind and walked quickly from a clichéd silver vehicle towards a doorway. He knocked four times. Deliberate, twice, then again. The door opened a fraction before it was unlocked completely and the male was embraced by another of similar age. The street-front room contained eight men now, all of similar age and build and all wearing almost identical clothing. They were waiting for one more to join them.

  In a thoroughly miserable bedsit flat a mile away, Alin Vasile a twenty-four-year-old from the small Romanian town of Bucovat was waiting patiently for a phone call that he was promised would eventuate. He would receive the call on the onetime cheap Nokia he had been given a week before.

  He missed his home. The nearby city of Craiova had always captivated him, its beautiful buildings and churches, its people were special too and he always recalled with great fondness the fountains that he danced under when just a small boy. He adored them so much, skipping through them on the way to a warm summer day.

  He stopped his thoughts. Was it only so very recently that he was that same child?

  He took a long breath and exhaled, blowing out the inferior British tobacco smoke and marvelling at how it found a draught that had otherwise remained veiled.

  He missed home indeed, but the opportunities were too few, and so very far between.

  His older brother had introduced him to Gheorghiu – a strong man, a man of principles and a man he admired.

  ‘Come with us Alin, we will make you wealthy and you can return with your head held high – and leave the place you grew up in…for Craiova or better still anywhere you want to be in Europe, or America. Imagine that? The choice is yours. Come. Come with us.’ Hope had become a drug as addictive as any other.

  It was so personal, so crafted to him alone.

  Such a pity he had given the same crafted speech to his eight young companions.

  The call came. He lifted the phone to his chiselled and slightly pock-marked jawline and listened. He formatted the phone and removed the SIM card, dropping it between the floorboards of the austere room before exiting the flat via the fire escape. He walked quickly, head down and also pulling the collar around his neck. He was used to cold weather but he felt chilled today. He separated the phone from the battery and dropped them into adjacent and overflowing waste bins.

  Cade looked out of the window, in the distance he could make out the magnificent Canterbury Cathedral, for eons a centre of Christianity and a place not visited by Cade since he was also a boy. The rain danced across the passenger window, droplets twisting and turning before relenting to the air pressure and departing.

  Lost in their hypnotic actions he too began to consider his past, and his future; his mortality too, probably for the first time in his life.

  As his woodwork teacher always said, ‘Carpe Diem Cade – Seize the Fish!’

 
He always laughed as he feared the ruddy-faced bully. Such a shame he hadn’t got a clue what he meant. But he had always harboured a desire to take one of his prized rasps and run it across the back of his hand – bastard – he had picked on Cade when he was at his most vulnerable. It was a strange moment of mental purification for the young Jack who had sown a seed of policing or enforcement of some kind which wouldn’t bear fruit for years. As with many who were bullied he vowed to fight them in later life.

  ‘Ripping of your skin Mr Adams, slowly, revealing the inner workings of your hand. Not nice is it?’

  Cade was always aware he didn’t have it in his heart to harm someone for no reason. But he’d make a few exceptions.

  His own rewarding personal thoughts jolted him back to reality. He looked at Daniel who was as visibly tired as he was.

  “Want me to drive?”

  “No you’re fine Jack. At this rate we’ll be there in fifteen minutes.” It was typical of police understatement when it came to judging distance and time. At the speed Daniel was driving it was more like sixteen.

  The car phone rang. It was Kent Police’s control room at nearby Maidstone, offering their services and acknowledging Cade’s earlier VHF radio announcement that they were on their area and travelling swiftly across the county.

  “We have staff at all of our ports, including Ramsgate sir. My boss just wants to make sure you appreciate that we have jurisdiction over this – but is happy to work with you of course. All we ask is that you keep us informed via VHF. Our traffic units are in place on the M2, A2, A20 and M20 plus our local units are aware that you are in the area. Confirm we are looking for a blue Audi S6 with four males on board?”

  “Yes, over.”

  “Confirm whether armed or currently unknown?”

  “Armed.”

  “Roger. And that they are wanted for a number of offences including GBH, burglary and theft?”

  “You can add attempted murder to that. In fact, let’s just stop it and then we’ll tot up what we have on them when they are safely locked up”

  “Copy that sir. Our armed cars are using the call signs Trojan on VHF 46 Kilo Alpha. If you can use Zero Two Mike Papa and designation Golf Tango we will monitor you.”

  “Golf Tango. Received thank you.”

  He turned to Daniel and with a twisted smile said at exactly the same time, “We forgot about Ramsgate.”

  Alin Vasile reached the second house in time to watch the sun start to set in the winter skyline. He liked this new city, a city of hope but he knew that he could not remain. He tapped the door twice, then again and entered.

  “Hello my friends. Are we all ready to earn our fortunes?”

  Some smiled, others clapped their hands together. One stayed resolute, staring back at him without comment. The last one visited the bathroom for the sixth time since he last checked his watch only a few minutes before.

  “We all know what to do and where to go? Once we have enough, we get back here and split up with the goods. You all remember where your vehicles are parked and which way we head home? Good.”

  He looked around the room sensing a few gaps in the information.

  “Have I made myself clear? Do not fail to ask me a question – better to do it now than look foolish later, or worse still in prison with a man who will make you his late night plaything. Any questions?” He expected none.

  There was one.

  “So, you are the boss man?” It was the unyielding male who had earlier locked eyes.

  “I am. Do you have a problem with this?”

  “No, boss, not at all. I just needed to know. Now if that little boy has finished with his nervous visits I need to take a piss too!”

  Dragos Saban left the room, pulled the warped wooden door closed behind him, slid the aging brass bolt into place, noisily closed the toilet seat and began his business. It was a genuine need as he too was nervous, but he failed to display his fear. He also took the opportunity to remove his own phone and write a text.

  “Robbery. Tonight. Time unknown. Hatton Garden. Jewellery Convention. Leader is Alin Vasile.”

  He typed in the familiar free number and within seconds a member of the Crimestoppers team had received the message and was processing it, triaging the information and firing it off to the Metropolitan Police control room team.

  He quickly located a contact in his phone under the letter V, then deftly typed in another message.

  “All done uncle. Wish me luck. I am doing this for the family and for you so that…”

  Saban heard a tap on the door. He paused and called out that he was almost done, flushed the toilet, overly washed his hands and cleared his phone of evidence as he took one last look at himself in the decaying mirror.

  “…so that we can finally get you home, to the family, and where you belong.”

  In France, Valentin Niculcea drained his glass. He needed to stop drinking so much if his plans to retire happily in Bordeaux were ever to eventuate. In truth he had given up all hope of ever returning to his homeland but agreed that the ability to at least visit was attractive.

  He deleted the text message from his nephew, praying quietly that Dragos would get across the border and once in France make his way to his gîte, where if luck and other factors allowed he could keep his head down, lie low for a month or so and then blend back into his hometown – a folk hero who had navigated his way across France and southern Europe during his escape from the authorities.

  Niculcea picked up a less-traceable Blackberry phone and dialled a number.

  “Jack, it is me. Can you talk?”

  “I can.”

  Cade was beginning to feel comfortable with the conversations he held with the faceless ally.

  “I think you may be heading in the wrong direction. I have a very close-held source that has just provided some information to your authorities – there is going to be a raid on the jewellery convention in London tonight.”

  “But that has nothing to do with what we are working on Valentin. Our local staff can deal with that.”

  “Correct. Normally. But this is a distraction. You and your team head south whilst Stefanescu’s boys carry out the robbery. They stand to make a lot of money. They will be armed and only one of them has morals. Once they have carried out the operation, they will also head towards a port – this has not been confirmed yet. Are you still listening?”

  Cade was making frantic and basic notes on the back of a McDonald’s serviette.

  “I am. Just one thing. You told me earlier that the group were heading to a port. But now you are saying they are carrying out a major robbery in London before they go? Have they not made enough money? What am I supposed to believe?”

  “Jack. This is no longer about money – for the young, impressionable boys, yes. But for Jackdaw and his brother and their lieutenants, then no, this is all just a training exercise for the future, when their group will spread like a virus across Europe. Mark my words, this will happen. If you decide to walk away, to listen to your bosses, then you must be like the ostrich and bury your collective heads in the corporate sand. But they will march across Europe just as the Nazi’s did when they hunted down their grandfathers. These are survivors Jack. Please, do not ever forget that.”

  “OK. Point made. Actually, what is your point?”

  “Tonight there will be a robbery in London. When it is done, and it will be successful, the group will split up, some will head north where they will board a ferry to Europe. Worst case they will act as a draw, taking your colleagues north with them. The others will head south and join Stefanescu, their plan is to cross the border using Hewett. Stefan and Hewett could be in either group, you need to decide which one you want. My advice is focus on the southern group. But Jack, within the group is one I want you…rather, I need you to trust.”

  “Tell me more.”

  Valentin outlined his nephew’s connections, his agenda and his strict moralistic upbringing.

  “And yet he choo
ses to risk it all playing with this bunch of…”

  “Yes Jack, he does. You have no idea how much importance his generation, and where they are from put on material things. He values me highly too and I know his mother wants me to return to our home. I believe he is doing this act to support me. Little does he realise I don’t need his help. If I remove him from the group now, he will be at risk. But Jack, you must appreciate that for now this is all I know.”

  Cade was over-tired, and it began to show. “Valentin, forgive me. I am listening, and I am tired and above all I am wholly pissed off with these people. Tell me what I did wrong and perhaps I can examine things and make amends, but right now I have twenty-four hours to find the haystack. All I need you to do is provide me with enough evidence to convince my bosses that there is a needle in it.”

  “Mr Cade, Inspector. If you listened carefully, I gave you the needle, you just have to decide where in the haystack it sits – north or south. Just watch you do not prick your finger on it when you find it.”

  Valentin had already hung up – he vaguely understood what the Englishman was alluding to – he wanted to help him, for he knew that in doing so Cade might return the favour. His own life had been mapped and yet somehow at the point where he chose to head over the faraway hills and into the unknown somebody had kindly turned the map the right way up.

  ‘That is the direction you want to go in my friend.’

  He looked at the Armagnac but decided against it, for now and for the immediate future. One day soon he would remove the stopper from a bottle he had hidden for a special occasion and share it with someone he trusted. And there were very few people who managed to sit in that category.

  He considered the Englishman to be one of them.

  Daniel turned to Cade and said, “Care to elucidate old chap?”

  Cade replied through tightening lips, “If I knew what it meant, then yes, absolutely. I think we have an ally there, but I’m not one hundred percent sure.”