Death Dealer: They started with Blackmail. They ended with Murder. (Max Blake Book 1)

by Ian Brett

  He came round the bench, saw me on the floor and lined up his sight on me.

  It’s an uncomfortable feeling. No matter how much their hand is shaking, watching someone aim at your head with a gun is… disconcerting. I flinched as he fired and missed.

  My finger twitched and the gun was in my hand. I flicked the safety, raised and fired in one go. He went down hard. I’d aimed at his chest - no time to screw about but I’d hit him high up in his hip. He’d dropped his gun and fell to the floor in a faint.

  I walked slowly round him and out of the door shutting it behind me. “Phil, can you relock it when I’ve gone?”

  “Yep. No problem.” I heard the click “OK it’s locked. All the lights are out in the block and I’ve switched the car park lights off too so you should be fine.”

  I was into reception and out of the door in seconds. No one was about as I ran the woods. I was through the wire and into the truck in seconds. I’d done it. “Can you still hear me?”

  “I can.” Phil sounded shaken but was still functioning.

  “Jam all the doors, so they stay locked and find some way of letting the local police know that there was gunfire in that building. Let’s see how they deal with that”

  “OK, I’ll do it now - I’ve got an untraceable line. You OK?”

  I’m fine - we got lucky there.

  Half an hour later I was back in our office having a shower.

  Chapter 5. Capture.

  “Synthetic Cocaine?” I looked at Howard in amazement. “That’s what the white powder is? What the hell are they up to?” After my shower I had got my head down for a few hours while Phil and Howard got on with analysing the results of our night’s work. Apparently the world had gone crazy while I was asleep.

  “Things have moved rather quickly in the last few hours, that’s why we woke you up. I’ll let Phil run over what we found on the computers, then I’ll carry on.”

  “Hang on, I need some caffeine before all this.” Coffee and croissants sat on the boardroom table and I was hungry. I looked up at the clock - 11:30. Just a few hours ago I was being shot at - I needed some breakfast. “Right,” I wiped a few crumbs away “you can start.”

  Each of us had a networked lap top in front of us. Phil pressed a key and a list of files came up. “This is Prof Miller’s computer. There is a lot of data here but to make it quick, let’s just look at this one.” He opened a file labelled Phase O results. Again more data and a few copied emails.

  “It’s quite clear what has been going on here. Although they have not reported it Zanic have just completed some clinical trials - we’ve been over the significance of clinical over lab trials before yes?”

  We both nodded.

  “Well in this case their test drug failed. Here is the phase O data, in some humans the drug appears to be toxic even at low test levels.”

  “Bloody hell.” I was beginning to get the point. “All that work and cash and a failure...I”

  Phil interrupted. “But you need to see this to understand the real problem.” An email came onto my screen

  From: Professor James Miller

  To: Tom Patterson

  Subject. Phase 0 trial and our response.

  Date….

  Tom,

  After our recent conversation I need to make my position clear. The first molecule has failed its Phase 0 trial. I most emphatically disagree with you that we can keep this quiet and carry on with the floatation. We need to report the results and continue the development of our three alternatives. Despite what you say, I’m sure we can raise the capital to do this. It would be both unethical and outright fraud to float the shares or attempt to sell the company using only the positive lab results and I refuse to be party to any such actions.

  James

  I let out my breath. “Phew, I can see why Patterson doesn’t want members of a select committee running around his labs asking questions.”

  Howard agreed. “Patterson already has a bit of a dodgy reputation in financial circles. He represents himself as successful and he’s been puffing Zanic to the sky, but I’ve done a bit of ferreting. It seems as if all his other investments have gone tits up so he desperately needs this one to work.”

  “So he wants to sell the company or float it and hide the results.” I said “Make a fortune and bugger off. Before the shit hits. How does he think he could get away with that?” It made no sense.

  “Lots of small companies sell at an early stage purely because the next bit of the development - the regulatory issues and marketing are so expensive they can’t afford it.” Howard said.

  “But why should anyone buy an unproven development?”

  Another set of data came up and Howard explained. “Big pharma is getting worried. A lot of their best sellers are coming off patient. The generic boys are coming in, copying their drugs and selling them at a cheap price. Consumers think they are great but big pharma sees them as parasites. So the big boys need something new quickly - they’re buying up development companies if they’ve got good results at the lab stage. They have the cash and they need to stay ahead. It’s very common now.”

  “So Patterson’s going to have a huge problem with Miller.”

  “Oh yes, plus I think he’s fallen foul of his own advertising.” Howard agreed. “Zanic is always in the news as this fantastic British success helped on by enlightened Regional and Government funding. Your mate Charles’ committee was going to visit them for precisely that reason - to find out if the story could be replicated elsewhere. Bioscience is a major earner for the British economy, we’re world leaders and want to stay that way - more small companies will help the balance of payments.”

  “Hang on.” I was thinking about the white powder. “So how does, the other lab and the synthetic cocaine fit in to all this.”

  “Well, all Patterson’s other investments have failed”, Phil said, “He’s probably lost his investors more than £60 million. So he was praying that the phase O would be a success. I think the drug dealing is just to cover his short term cash needs. He seems to have got in with some very dodgy partners, but if he manages to sell the company his profits would more than cover his debts. If he’d sold after a positive phase O trial he’d be a very rich man. Note it’s synthetic cocaine - it’s a rip off from an American product. It’s got a different chemical structure to cocaine so it’s not illegal - what they call a legal high, but the hit is about 5 times greater. Our lab considers that since it’s not derived from amphetamines or cannabis or anything like that users will be able to pass company drug tests. That opens up a big market for him.”

  “Highly addictive and no chance of clients losing their jobs or him being prosecuted for illegal drug dealing, sounds perfect.” Howard continued. “So why the heavy duty guards?”

  “Look at the email Miller sent.” Phil replied. “Neither he or the other investors know anything about this side-line, they’d never accept it. The second lab just has Private on the door and, as we found out, a different security system. I think Patterson’s scamming everyone. He’s getting nervous now and is way over his head. Unusual but he seems to run the commercial side of Zanic himself now. One of the files suggests that he’s laundering cash for another group through losses made in Zanic. And it looks like things have got more complicated recently. We think one of the local gangsters, Dan Bacon, or rather his lieutenant Vince got upset by Patterson eroding their drugs market. He’s piled in with muscle and Patterson seems to have been forced into some sort of deal with him. Hence the guards with guns.”

  “Another thing.” Phil, looked down at his feet in embarrassment. “I’ve been worrying about those guards. I’ve re checked my feed from the security office. I didn’t see it before but they’ve got old fashioned style pressure pads in the second lab. They’re not connected to the main security system, that’s why I missed it….there’s a small red light over one of the monitors that started blinking after you entered the private lab. It took the guards a while to notice it b
ut when they did they panicked. I’m sorry Max, I know I let you down there.”

  “Don’t be daft, you didn’t let me down, you got me out - that’s all I care about. Look, that’s how it works in the field, we can’t anticipate every problem. That’s what makes it fun.” He still looked downcast so I slapped him on the back. “Phil we’d never have got this far without you so don’t be a dick.”

  Seeing Max and Howard smiling at him Phil relaxed a little. “Thanks, I’ve checked his files and Patterson recently reorganised lab security through Bacon. Prof Miller and the others know nothing about it. He’s probably passed the lab off as a store room belonging to another of his companies. It just says ‘Private’ on the door and they’re all too busy to worry about it.”

  “OK, so what next?” Howard queried.

  “I guess the first thing is that you should update ‘Himself’ about this lot and get a view from them. Then I can go and see Charles. The House is sitting late tonight but he’ll be back home around 10:30 ish. I’ll go over there and show him what we’ve found.”

  “I’ll see if I can identify these two.” Phil picked up Charles’s compromising photos, see if we can get any info on them.

  ‘Himself’ is Sir Octavian Hunt, a senior civil servant at the Home Office who is our unofficial link to the Security Services. His spidery signature commissions about a quarter of our work. He’s important because Government contracts are the sector we want to develop.

  As the Managing Partner of our Consultancy, Howard liaises with Octavian; the system works well. They’ve known and trusted each other for nearly 40 years. Their acquaintance began at the age of 7 when they were Shells or first years at Harrow, learning about life and the system. They’ve been friends ever since. Their relationship means that we are considered to be reliable - but that necessitates our keeping Octavian informed “as necessary”. The Patterson enquiry was definitely one of those occasions.

  ***

  It was 4:00 p.m. when I got back to the flat. I was dead on my feet, in the last 48 hours I’d had under three hours sleep and I needed more plus some food - but that could wait. I flopped down on the bed and slept till after 8:00 when my stomach woke me. I sent Charles a text. “See you at your place at 11.00 pm tonight. Max.” and wondered into the kitchen to get some food. It’s just as well that I have such an active lifestyle….I love food and socialising. Unfortunately tonight my meal was just microwaved rubbish for one to get the calories inside me.

  I sat down with a tray to watch the news. I wasn’t concentrating till:

  “Breaking news, Professor James Miller of Cambridge University, a distinguished medical researcher has been found dead in his home. At the moment we have no details except that the police are saying that foul play is not a factor. Professor Miller was 52 and one of this country’s leading researchers into anti-cancer medication. He…”

  I was sitting staring at the TV when Howard phoned. “I assume you saw that. I’ve spoken to Octavian, he’s worried; he will pay for the investigation from here in. They want Charles kept out of it, Millers death’s convinced our masters that you’re right and they definitely want Zanic saved. That means that Patterson and Vince have to go quietly. They’re not too worried how, as long as the company can carry on with its work. For other reasons they want us to leave Bacon alone or at least work out some sort of deal with him - I’ll explain later.”

  “So who takes over at Zanic?”

  “At the moment Dr Blair, Miller’s no 2 will take over the research but they’ll bring in another MD to run the business side.”

  I agreed. “From what I’ve seen of the files I think Blair’s fine. In fact all the research staff are clear in my view. I guess Patterson wanted to drag Miller along in his wake - when that didn’t happen he just murdered him. The man’s a moral vacuum who would do anything apart from real work. He doesn’t like any sort of effort - just the type that runs this sort of scam.”

  “When are you off to see Charles?”

  I looked at my watch. “He gave me a back door key the other day so we can meet off the record - never know when he is being watched. He’s got one of those town houses with a back entrance on another street, so I’m off there in half an hour. He should be back soon.”

  “OK let me know how it goes.”

  I was surprised to see the house in darkness. I seemed to remember that Charles has one of those remote security systems that will switch a few lights on and draws the curtains. But I suppose he’d forgotten. With all the fuss about his private life and the Government sitting on the smallest majority needed to pass their legislation he’d plenty to occupy his mind. Charles is notorious for absent minded lapses in domestic matters, so I was not particularly concerned. I’d heard him speaking in the House on the radio so I knew he was fine.

  The street was deserted so I unlocked his door and turned to key off the alarm. It was off already. I --.

  ***

  When I awoke I was sitting in the study. My arms were immobile, handcuffed round the back of a tall wooden chair.

  Charles would not have been pleased, they had taken one of his prize Georgian pieces from the passageway. They may look OK but they’re somewhat fragile for regular use. He regards them as an artwork to be appreciated.

  But that was not my key problem at the moment. My head was still dizzy from the heavy blow to the back of my skull and blood dripped down my neck.

  There were three men in the room. I recognised Tom Patterson from his picture in the papers but the other two were unknown. One was an ugly, muscle-bound, guy running to fat. The other was tall, sallow skinned and dead eyed - the man in charge? None of them looked particularly friendly.

  “So who the fuck are you?” Patterson asked.

  I said nothing.

  “Well we know you’re not Moore, so why’ve you got a key to his back door.”

  The fat guy grinned lasciviously. “Perhaps their best friends Vince.”

  “Shut up Winston.” Said Vince. “And stop using my name, you prick.” He looked round the room and picked up a heavy book from a side table. He swung it viciously into the side of my head over my ear. It hurt - not too bad but it hurt.

  “Now, let’s try again. Who are you?”

  For now, it was better if I was just a normal member of the public disorientated by being knocked unconscious and beaten. “My…” I shook my head as if to clear it. “My name is Max Blake, I’m a friend of Charles. Where is he…?”

  Patterson leaned towards me and studied my face closely. “I remember him. He’s that wanker Moore goes rallying with,”

  Vince accepted that. “OK so why are you here and why have you got a key?”

  “I came to talk about the car… we crashed the other day - we need to decide what to replace it with…it’s a write off.” I hung my head. “Why are you here….what do you want from me?”

  “Nothing - but we may as well use you as you’re here.” He walked over and held my chin in his hand. “Moore may talk better when you’ve been bashed around a bit. He should be back soon.”

  Vince took a small gun from his back pocket and used it as a pointer. “Tom you and I’ll go down and wait for Moore. Winston, see if you can find out what this prat is really doing here. If he pisses you off, kill him QUIETLY; he’s seen us but we don’t want to disturb the neighbours do we? And don’t make too much mess.” He stared at me hoping this had sunk in.

  “Seems this room is soundproofed. Moore likes to listen to music without disturbing the neighbours - how thoughtful - I think it will suit us just fine.” The smile on his lips did not reach his eyes. “Have fun Winston, we’ll be back in about 20 minutes, see if you can work up a sweat, don’t want you falling asleep again do we?”

  Winston winced but recovered by shoving my head into the wall as he closed the door.

  Chapter 6. Escape.

  Winston paced the room. He seemed edgily nervous - obviously he didn’t like being chastised in front of witnesses even if they would be dea
d soon. He took a large machete from a bag in the corner and wiped it on his sleeve. He started to look round the study. Eventually he found Charlie’s drinks cabinet and sat down with his feet on the desk, poured himself a large whiskey and began to hone the blade on a small wet stone that he got out of a side pocket.

  Finally he got up. “Let’s find out who the hell you are.” Making sure that I was watching he turned the machete on its side. Winston lined the flat of the blade up against my ear. “This usually works.” He took a step back and using both hands smashed the blade into the side of my face.

  My world exploded in pain and I shook my head to clear it. I needed to stay in character, so I whimpered. “I keep telling you, I’m Max a friend of Charles.… I came about the car….You don’t need to do this ….I’ll tell you anything….Just ask.”

  He smiled, it was genuine. Winston was enjoying himself. Using an open palm he slapped me a couple of times. He leaned forward to whisper. “You don’t know anything do you boy?” He stood back to admire his work then punched me hard in the face, blood spurted from my lip and dripped down my chin to stain the floor. He stood looking at me for a moment watching my eyes. As the pain receded he smashed me again with the flat of his machete. I slumped forward and pretended to lose consciousness. His interest waned and he went back to his drink.

  Winston wasn’t paying much attention to me. I was no fun and anyway I was already dead. The soft loser who knew nothing and deserved a good shoeing. He’d done it all his life - beaten the weaker guy. Sometimes, when they screamed or ran it was fun, for now he was just bored and sat back to relax. The whiskey was g-o-o-d.