STATUS DRIFT: A gripping undercover detective crime thriller, page 16
‘Good to see you alive, although I don’t fuckin’ appreciate the way you entered my club and treated my staff and punters.’ He motions to an open bottle of champagne. ‘Drink?’
I nod in agreement.
‘I was on edge, I thought you’d organised a hit and wasn’t best pleased.’ I take the offered glass and wait for him to take a slug before drinking mine.
‘You could’ve phoned.’ He carries on eating and sits back wiping his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Kat tells me you would have seen it all. I need to know who it was. My contact has been spread all over the road and I’m still down half a million.’
‘Well you’re out of luck. I was too busy on the tarmac making sure I didn’t get shot. I saw nothing other than the aftermath. It wasn’t pretty.’
Razor doesn’t react.
‘I’ve put the word out but no one’s talking yet. There’s rumour of a firm of Lithuanians getting ripped off by the same family, but that doesn’t sit well. Someone’s talking and I don’t know who. It ain’t you as I reckon you were up for offer. It ain’t me, as I need the money and the business. I’ve had the head of the Turk’s family on the blower and he’s spitting feathers. I don’t blame him. I’ve got a war I don’t want. It needs cutting off at the pass. What I need to know is are you still in or out?’
He lifts a plate off the trolley and passes it over. Pie, mash and liquor. How traditional. He doesn’t have the look of a troubled man about him. His club is open as usual, security remains the same. His fleet is outside where it usually is. He’s either lying about something or has an arrogant self-confidence that his empire is indestructible. He’s a tough man to read. I know from our brief time together that he’s a player at the top of his game. I also know that he is a grass and that he’ll have been feeding Mike whatever he saw to get the heat away from his area of work. What I hope to find out is why he thinks he needs me and what I can bring to the table.
‘That depends on what you need doing and what my cut would be.’
Razor looks up from his full plate. ‘The job earlier was more of a pimple on my arse than a full-blown boil. I can’t afford to take a knock on half a million. I won’t appear weak. The Turk’s family has a long history of good quality heroin. The best in London and they know it. I want his line. The only way I’ll get that is by having the main man taken out of the equation. It’s not a bad thing now his son’s gone as there’s no one else to take over the family firm. I want you to pay him a visit, offer my condolences and an offer of joint working. If he refuses, I want him dead.’
He looks out over the dance floor. I down my drink and help myself to a top up. I refill his glass at the same time. A contract to kill. Now that’s heavy shit. I’m not wired and it would be his word against mine. I dispense with the open questions of how, where and when and concentrate on the what.
‘So, what’s in it for me? You could get someone much cheaper, I can assure you.’
He cuts into his pie and the gravy leaks out and intermingles with the green of the peas. Two elements joined together through a cut. I need to know he’s serious and not just bluffing to see my reaction.
‘I could do it myself but I’m a busy man. I can afford to outsource my work to the right person. I know your capabilities. It comes with being wanted by an Italian mobster. I also know it takes balls to walk back into a den you think you’re no longer welcome at. I’ll get your debt written off and you’ll be free to go wherever you please.’
‘Very generous. I’m already free to go where I please, as I’ve demonstrated. I’ve no fear of Big G or his cronies. He’s looking for the wrong man, but I don’t intend on telling him that face to face. I appreciate your generosity but it isn’t worth a man’s life.’
I sit back and mirror Razor’s breathing. He says nothing and rubs the inside of his thumb with his index finger. His eyes look up to the right as he leans forward. He’s thinking of his next move.
‘Very well. There’s a shipment of heroin on our soil making its way to the capital. Arrangements are in hand to take possession of the said load. A wedge of it will be yours on condition I move it through the club. You pick up the cash once it’s done. You’re looking at coming out with a hundred grand. In addition, you come on board here as my business advisor. I like you, you fit in well. The Turk needs a quiet departure, if it comes to that. If he comes on board and gives up the money he owes, you get two hundred and fifty thousand and still have the option to join. You won’t get a better offer. You’ll be earning more than you could dream of. You’ll have my security as far as Big G goes too. The Turks’ line is huge. Once it’s under my control we’re laughing. The stakes are high; I need the best for the job. None of the goons I have are anywhere near capable of this. You’ve got twenty-four hours to come back to me. If it’s a no, then we part here.’
I have Mike’s words in my head and take the opportunity to vacate the premises. ‘I’ll be in touch. Thanks for the hospitality.’
We don’t shake hands. We have no agreement. I fasten my jacket and pull it down. The shadow at the outside of the door opens and music fills the void. Kat lets me out and escorts me across the dance floor, this time by linking arms. Once we’re out in the quiet bar she unlinks. She smiles and smart-cards the next internal door. Snowy is at the other side and ignores me as we both walk past and up to the upper bar where the barman is absent.
‘What did he have to say?’
I look at Kat. She’s leaning on the bar, her body open towards me. Not in a sensual way. She’s never sensual. Always in control of her environment. Her posture is her way of telling me she could take me with a sweeping kick. She stands up and steps closer. Her face close to mine. I feel her hand enter my back pocket and my phone slides in.
‘Like you said, just wanted to make sure I was all right.’
I smile and leave.
Sensitive log entry 20
21st September, 2100 hours
Today has been long, but productive. Intelligence has come in quickly and links have been made between Razor and associates that also include Detective Superintendent Mike Hall.
An execution has also taken place in a London street involving a prominent associate of Razor. I am in contact with the senior investigating officer for this offence to further any links with my investigation.
Full surveillance is now in operation and as of 2200 hours I have Batford and Razor together without my knowledge. This is exactly how I saw this operation playing out. Batford clearly underestimates my ability and that of my team. He will rue this day.
He is fully aware of his role as an undercover officer and the condition to maintain contact with the operational lead. This was made clear in the beginning and this is not being adhered to.
Entry complete.
Klara Winter DCI
National Crime Agency
Senior Investigating Officer
Op Kestrel
27
‘What will it take to make you realise you’re a joke? A nobody who no one will listen to or have any respect for?’
I try and turn from the smell of his putrid, alcohol-addled breath as his mouth emphasises each point and spittle spatters my face. His grip on my cheeks prevents my head turning. I have no way of moving. I’m in a chair and he’s in front. The room is bare save for a few personal effects; photo frames of distant memories capture my mind and help me focus on something other than the fat twat’s lips that invade my personal space. I plot; I wait for my time to come when my world will invade his like a savage army of hate and bitterness. My army will rip his throat out and have his tongue as a trophy.
‘Are you listening or lost in that fucked-up childish world of yours?’
There’s a bang at the door. He ignores it. My heart rate has increased. I’m tense and wait for the next slap, punch or worse. He’s looking about the room. He’s after an object of retribution. He’ll be lucky to find anything of worth in here. As a prison guard he’s destroyed all I’ve ever had that would warrant keeping, apart from one framed photo. He looks at the photo and back at me. I can’t hold back my feeling of attachment towards it.
He sees the reaction in my eyes and moves towards the broken chest of drawers it rests on. He picks the photo up and looks back at me. He’s smiling now. The only time he smiles is when he knows he’s got me. He’s found my trigger point. He holds the ammunition and he makes a low-throated growl as he coughs up phlegm then gobs it all over the photo and throws the frame down with such force the glass smashes. He grinds the remaining pieces of photo and frame into the floorboards with his boot.
I no longer feel fear. With a battle cry that echoes from the bare walls I launch myself at the callous bastard and prepare to take the punishment. Any other ten-year-old would do the same if their foster carer destroyed the only image they had of them as a baby.
I’m unsure if I’m fully awake. My head is still woozy. At the end of the bed sits Stoner. She’s crying. Her face is as I last remember it. ‘I never knew you were treated like me. I suffered at the fists of every man I ever met, apart from you. I didn’t listen and I paid the price. You should’ve been there, babes. I was so alone. Now look at ya. You’re all on your tod with nowhere to turn but over your shoulder every time you leave your house. Now you know what it was like for me every time I had to call or meet you. Watch yourself, lover, or you’ll be joining me.’
She blows a kiss and fades. My eyes snap open. All I see is the ceiling and the flicker of a dying thirty-watt bulb.
* * *
I knock the thumb switch out of neutral and beat the traffic across Pentonville Road as I head towards Smithfield and a meet with Mike. The chosen café venue’s quiet. I park the bike near the ambulance hut where I can watch for any unwanted attention. I insist on sitting facing out the window with Mike opposite. Any attempt on my life here and he’ll provide me with some firearms cover. Mike’s upbeat – an unusual trait for such a miserable bastard. He’s ordered the coffee. He knows I’m a stickler for punctuality.
The bitterness of the first sip catches my throat and reactivates my mind. We waste no time bringing each other up to speed. Mike will take the lead. I’m just for decoration. When we’re done, we leave separately. I go first, making sure I’ve enough time to get to the meet destination. Mike gets a cab.
* * *
‘Operational Control, from Alpha One. Subject Hall and subject Batford have left café venue separately. Will update further as route progresses.’
‘Received at Operational Control. All Alpha teams are advised targets are mobile. Operational Control standing by.’
28
Waiting in the commander’s pre-meeting room is like waiting for the head teacher but without the same fear and trepidation. I say this because the job is moving forward and she can’t afford to pull the plug on the whole thing now.
The personal assistant has changed and a new breed of by-the-book wannabe sits in the chair. This one’s male and has always been in uniform by the look of his crisp, ironed shirt and suitable tie. A level transfer into the world of specialist policing.
Yes, I’m bitter. Yes, it could have been my choice at some point in my fucked-up career, but I chose the dirty path and have no shoe polish or need for an iron. We check in five minutes before our allotted slot. Mike has a fresh suit on. He must have gone back to the flat before getting here. I’m dressed in jeans and an AC/DC European tour T-shirt. I can’t believe they’re still going and not thrown in the towel. Will the commander mind? I’m beyond caring. Besides, I’m operationally deployed and may need to leave at the drop of a text.
Don’t get me wrong, she is the one person in this screwed-up force I have the most respect for. She’s been there and got the T-shirt. A seasoned detective who decided to take the glass ceiling and bulldozer the thing to the ground to make her own panoramic office windows. She takes no shit and I respect that. Mike checks his phone and turns it off. I don’t touch mine. You can never underestimate the urgency of others’ calls. I have my own force response criteria and that amounts to when I choose to answer the call. The phone goes on the PA’s desk and he gets up and opens the door and ushers us in. I put in my first request.
‘Black coffee and two packs of biscuits.’
His face doesn’t even break a smile as he leaves the door for me to shut. DCI Winter and DI Hudson are present.
In better times we had a closer relationship with operational teams. We’d all go into a commander’s meeting knowing we were singing from the same hymn sheet. Now there are no hymns but the sermon remains the same. Get the job done and put to bed, spending the least amount of money. I’m a dying breed in the field of intelligence-led policing. The commander opens the meeting just as her PA brings in a round of tea and coffee and places it on a side desk designed to receive such a gift. The commander begins.
‘Good morning. I will dispense with introductions and move onto the updates for my knowledge and oversight. Before we begin, I expect the contents of this meeting to be accurate and all information shared, where appropriate to do so. We will break with tradition and open with your side of the house, Superintendent.’
She looks away from Mike. I nudge him to look up and to tell him he’s on.
Mike shuffles in his seat and leans forward. ‘Very well, ma’am. DS Batford has done an excellent job gaining access to the group. He has been accepted as a criminal. Batford reports Razor has done his own homework and believes DS Batford is on the hit list of our friend Big G. This hasn’t altered my assessment of the threat. The threat level remains at low.’ Mike pauses and no one interjects. ‘DS Batford has established the group have access to guns and this information has been passed to DCI Winter. At this stage it is evident Razor has a criminal plan. DS Batford believes this will come to light imminently.’
The commander isn’t impressed.
‘Nothing you have said leads me to believe he has any plan in place. Yes we have the gun angle and that can be dealt with conventionally without further need for DS Batford. You updated Klara on this and she has identified the premises and has an observation point in place. What is this “job”? I have to justify my covert resources, Superintendent. Why can’t we react to the flat that has the gun provider in and move on?’ She looks at Mike, her threaded eyebrows raised in anticipation of his response.
‘We need more time to establish if there are any matters that would cause a national security concern, ma’am. The guns may not be at this address. At present it is unknown where any more may be.’
‘Don’t start with the national security bullshit, Mike. At present there’s been a gun and no mention of others. Now you’ve mentioned national security! I know you’re doing your best to bolster a dead duck of a job.’
Mike looks aghast. Winter chips in.
‘Ma’am, if I may come in at this point. We may be able to add more intelligence that has come to light as a result of our work. We were running a profile of Razor on our systems and established a list of known associates. My team has been monitoring reports of a select number of these associates. One came up in dramatic circumstances yesterday. A Turkish male by the name of Kemal Ahmet was gunned down in North London. I have spoken to the senior investigating officer for the murder. He has told me there are no leads at present. Information is coming in that may be of use to us. I have requested that I be kept up to date with the inquiry. In return we will provide any assistance the Met may need in terms of research or analysis. The NCA feels the inquiry should continue until we are satisfied there are no links between our operation and their investigation.’
‘Yes, I’m sure the National Crime Agency would love to have Met resources for as long as possible but the link is tenuous to non-existent. So an associate has been shot and killed. But there is no further intelligence linking Razor to the shooting.’ The commander is succinct in her summing up.
‘That’s correct, ma’am. Unless DS Batford or Detective Superintendent Hall have anything further to add?’ Winter pauses and looks across at us. The commander has her head down and is writing.
Mike is even quicker. ‘First we’ve heard. Rest assured we will report back anything we may pick up our end.’
The commander looks up and we all look in her direction. I attempt a slug of coffee but it’s cold and the timing isn’t good for a refill.
‘You’ve got two weeks. That’s sufficient time for each side to come up with a substantive investigation other than the gun angle. If nothing has changed in this time, then I expect the gun address to have a warrant executed. I know my surveillance authority has more time but I don’t. The commissioner wants swift action. Gone are the days of long, protracted operations. Unless this government comes up with more cash and detectives in the next fourteen days then that’s all the time you have. I have a limited budget to manage and different priorities to address. That’s all, thank you.’ With that she nods at the PA and he opens the door and ushers Mike and I out. Winter remains and the door closes.
* * *
The phone rings in the commander’s office. The commander listens then turns to Winter.
‘They’ve left the area. It’s clear to me, Klara, that from the briefing you gave me before they arrived, information is being withheld. You have my full support for this operation. I have spoken with John Cooper at Professional Standards and our Intelligence Unit. I expect they will have new information within twenty-four hours. If they don’t, then I’m sure you will. Be prepared that Batford and Hall may choose to react within the time frame given as they need the cover of an authorised operation for them to execute whatever plans they may have. Speak with your CHIS, Alex Kennedy, and let’s add meat to the bones.’
