Going Back: Tom Novak Book Three, page 11
‘Looks like Pavlović cared about security.’
‘I was just thinking the same thing,’ Pet said, her eyebrows raised behind her dark spectacles.
The sunlight flooded into the garage revealing metal shelves all full of wooden crates, cardboard boxes, and a few hessian sacks. Tom located a light switch and flicked it on, quickly closing the door behind him. A box of nitrile gloves was positioned on the floor by the entrance: clearly Pavlović was forensically aware and very careful. Tom was always amazed at how lax many criminals were about forensic matters, so clearly Pavlović had been a cut above the average. Something as simple as a pair of gloves would prevent fingerprints and DNA transferring onto firearms, ammunition and any other contraband used by criminals.
Tom plucked two pairs out of the box and tossed one to Pet. ‘Glove up. No need to leave anything behind.’
He stood and surveyed the garage with a detached, professional eye. This was meat-and-drink to Tom: searching premises for evidence.
‘Okay. You start this end, I will do the other, and we will meet in the middle. I want to be out of here as soon as we can.’ Tom said, snapping a pair of the blue gloves on his hands.
‘What are we looking for?’
‘Anything that looks bad. Anything that gives us a clue as to who Pavlović is.’ In reality, Tom didn’t know what they were looking for, but his instinct told him that Pavlović was not who they thought he was.
Tom lifted the lid on the first crate, which was empty apart from dense black foam with pistol-shaped cut-outs. The next crate contained tightly packed boxes of 9mm parabellum ammunition. Tom whistled through his teeth. There were thousands of rounds in there, all US manufactured, in red and white boxes.
‘Check this out,’ Tom said. Pet joined him.
‘Jesus. That’s thousands of rounds of ammo. By the looks of it all from US manufacturers. How has a low-grade arms dealer gotten his hands on this? Another thing: why the hell isn’t he flagging up more on intel systems?’ she said, her eyes wide.
‘Let’s keep going. We don’t have long, and we really don’t want to be caught here by the police.’
The next crate’s lid was loose on the top and, at first sight, appeared to be empty with a pile of polystyrene chips littering the bottom of the crate. Tom dug his hands down into the chips and immediately stubbed a finger on something hard and metallic. Stifling a curse, he gripped the metallic object and pulled it upwards, revealing a Heckler & Koch MP5SD, with a bulbous integrated silencer.
‘How the hell has he got hold of this?’ Tom said, removing the empty magazine, racking the slide, and checking that the firearm was unloaded. The weapon had a light sheen of oil and looked brand new. He wasn’t surprised to see that the identifying number had been removed, a deep, rough groove where the serial number should have been.
‘What is it?’ asked Pet.
‘A Heckler and Koch MP5SD, the silenced version of the MP5. It has an integrated suppressor that turns the 9mm supersonic ammo into subsonic and cuts most of the noise down. It even had an aftermarket low-light optic fitted and, even more unusual, an underslung sure-fire torch secured on a bracket at the front with a remote-control cable secured front handgrip guard.’
Tom pressed the rubberised pressel and a beam of white light flooded out from the LED torch. ‘This gets more interesting, Pet. This is a top quality and really expensive weapon system. Special Forces use them, and they are seriously hard to come by. I’ve never seen one on the black market. More to the point, there was clearly a whole crate of the bloody things and there’s only one left. This means that whoever we are facing is armed with reliable, modern weaponry that your average criminals definitely can’t get hold of. Just who are we dealing with, and who provided these weapons to Pavlović?’
Tom looked at the weapon admiringly as he extended the telescopic stock and raised it into his shoulder, looking along the iron sights. He had fired countless rounds at various ranges in the past through identical weapons and he knew how effective they were. Handling the submachine gun almost gave him a comfortable feeling, such was his familiarity with it. He closed the telescopic butt with a snap and lay the MP5 on the ground, reverentially.
He dug down again into the crate and pulled out a black canvas magazine holster that contained three empty thirty-round magazines for the weapon, which he placed on the ground with the MP5.
The next two boxes were empty, save for some packaging, but the next, a stout wooden crate, was nailed shut. Tom found a crowbar hanging neatly on a nail on the wall and quickly prised the lid off the crate. Six rectangular batteries, all brown/grey in colour and encased in ruggedized military looking plastic. Each was marked with the brand name “Saft”, and had metal fold-down carry handles on the side.
‘I’ve seen batteries like this before,’ said Tom. ‘Can you search the web for Saft 28-volt battery boxes? If my memory serves me well these are used as part of missile systems that we once had a presentation on when I was a Marine.’
‘Hold up,’ said Pet scrolling at her smart phone before saying, ‘Your memory does serve you well, Detective. Saft Industries, 28-volt lithium battery box. Used on US Army target acquisition systems. Preferred option owing to its low weight and being maintenance-free and an ability to work in all temperatures. And only available to military. You think this could power a directed-energy weapon?’
‘How much do they weigh?’
‘Specs say fifteen kilos.’
‘I’m sure it could but that’s really heavy for a man-portable weapon. Let’s see if there are any more.’
They continued searching the various boxes, and it seemed that most were empty apart from two. One contained a ruggedized pelican case that contained a label with the logo “Saft McEc2” and a red and black charging lead both rolled neatly within the lid.
‘Bingo. Here is the field charger. I’ve definitely seen this type of thing before. They’ll charge different types of battery and all operate in poor conditions.’
‘So at least we know what we can supply to Cerović, then.’
‘Yes. But you know what worries me?’ said Tom, scratching his face.
‘What?’
‘The empty crates. All these empty crates suggest that Pavlović had already supplied a significant amount of arms and ammo to these guys. I’m also very curious as to how a supposed small-time Bosnian arms dealer managed to get his hands on a significant quantity of US-made or supplied weapons and ammunition.’
‘You think the MP5 is US-supplied?’
‘Definitely. Same erased serial number technique. We can be sure that these weapons are supplied by Uncle Sam, if indirectly.’
‘Well that’s a nice thought.’
‘Isn’t it.’ Tom said, mustering as much sarcasm as he could.
‘What are we going to do with this stuff?’ Pet said, indicating towards the firearms and batteries.
‘Leave them here for now and lock up tight. I take it all your research found no link between Pavlović and this lock-up?’
‘Nothing at all.’
‘My guess is that whoever stores this type of weaponry in a garage won’t register it to himself. We don’t want to be driving around with all this kit until we absolutely have to.’
‘Who are we dealing with here, Tom? This kind of weaponry—American weaponry and ammo—shouldn’t be in the hands of a minor, low-grade arms dealer from Sarajevo who advertises on the dark web.’ Pet’s face showed confusion and concern.
‘My guess: it all came from an American. What we need to know is who and why.’
18
They sat in their hotel room, Pet staring at the screen of her laptop intensely as Tom made tea.
‘Any luck with the decryption of Cerović’s data?’ Tom asked handing over a steaming mug.
‘He’s more careful than I gave him credit for. I won’t bore your techno-averse brain with it, but the encryption was of a far more complex type than I first imagined. The first layer was real easy, but the subsequent ones are far more challenging. If I had more processing power it would be quicker, but I am being careful which servers I am accessing remotely.’
‘Fair enough. How about his phone?’
‘He’s still not moved from his apartment. Looks like he’s down for the day; I guess hard narcotics and liquor does that to a dude.’
‘Any phone activity?’
‘Not really. I have downloaded his call data, but I’ve not had a chance to analyse it yet, we’ve been on the move so much.’ Pet stared intently at the screen and it was clear that the challenge of the encryption on Cerović’s computer data was frustrating her.
‘Okay. We need to prioritise here as to what is actually going to give us the best chance of finding Mike. I think we can be clear that these weapons are central to this. Nothing else makes sense, agreed?’ Tom asked, sipping his tea.
‘Sure, but what else do we know?’
‘It’s clear that no one knew for certain why he was in Sarajevo. Rudy didn’t seem to know, that’s for sure. But it is really odd that Rudy seems to have disappeared from the Embassy as well.’
‘Do we think the bad guys have him as well?’ asked Pet.
‘No way of knowing, but my instinct says no.’
‘So, what next?’ Pet asked, turning back to her screen.
‘We need to stir this hornets’ nest a little. I’m going to call Cerović and let him know that I have batteries. Let’s see what that prompts. He will have to call the rest of the network. He is just there for his electronics expertise, there is no way that he is the brains behind anything else. Get ready to monitor his phone. I think that we should risk activating the microphone on his phone so we can hear half of any call he makes after I tell him I have the batteries.’
‘Sure. I’m ready when you are,’ Pet said, clamping on a set of headphones.
Tom picked up his phone and dialled. Cerović answered almost immediately. ‘Hey, buddy, I’ve been waiting for you to call. You got something for me?’ his nasal New York drawl echoed down the handset.
‘I have six items for you. I think they will be suitable for your requirements,’ Tom said, flatly. Pet signalled with a thumbs up, a smile, and a nod. That was good; the microphone monitor was working.
‘Awesome. What type and what spec?’
‘Saft battery box, 28-volt, lithium-ion. Used by the Americans for missile target acquisition systems. Can be used in all climates. I have a field charging system as well.’
Tom could hear a tapping of keys in the background and he could imagine Cerović furiously researching the batteries online as they spoke.
‘Man, they look perfect, if a little heavy. Fifteen kilos but lots of reserves and the charge profile looks adequate. When can you get them to me?’
‘Tomorrow?’
‘Tomorrow is good, my man. How about tonight, you and me go paint this town red again? Try and get to the night club if I don’t pass out again, you motherfuckin’ animal?’ He guffawed and Pet winced at the irritating, high-pitched sound. It made Tom realise that, however this situation turned out, Cerović’s days were numbered if he was this irritating when in the company of brutal militia criminals.
‘I can’t tonight. Maybe tomorrow after I deliver batteries.’
‘Man, I’m gonna be busy once you hit me up with them. I will have lots of work to do and my people won’t want me going missing with you,’ he laughed uproariously, once more. Tom couldn’t help notice Pet shaking her head at the noise in her ears. Tom smiled, at least the microphone monitor was working.
‘I’ll call you in the morning to confirm a time and place. They are heavy and there is six of them plus the charger so you will need a car.’
‘I have a car, don’t worry about that, dude.’
‘I mean, they are in a big crate, with a suitcase-sized field charger. It can’t be a Smart car.’
‘It’s cool, I have an SUV: plenty big enough. How much?’
‘A thousand euros for each battery and five hundred for the field charger.’
‘Okay, that’s cool.’
‘I’ll call you tomorrow,’ Tom said and hung up.
‘Jesus, that man is really annoying,’ Pet said, pulling her headphones off her head and unplugging the cord. A hiss erupted from the laptop speakers and a tapping of keys could be heard accompanied by a muffled coughing. The sound of a TV could be heard in the background.
‘You should try spending a few hours with him,’ Tom said.
‘I’ll pass, thanks.’
Further clicking sounds erupted from the computer screen and then the sound of a phone number being called was audible.
‘He’s making a call. I’ll run the number and see what comes out,’ Pet said, that familiar look of utter focus on her face as half a conversation began to come from the speakers.
‘Babić, it’s Stefan. Yeah, I have sourced the batteries, through a contact… Six of them… Yeah, I know we need eight but it’s all he has… I’m sure he can get more, but this gives me something to work with. They’re military spec and will be perfect. No way could we get these by conventional means… Tomorrow… Not sure… I’ll be fine… Don’t worry, Babić, I can handle this… it’s only batteries, he’s just a dude off the dark web, no need to have him see your face… Man, you worry too much… Dude, I negotiated a great price, ten thousand euros… I have the dough to pay him here and you can reimburse me. I will bring them to the farm as soon as I have them. I want to get straight onto integrating them. Okay. Laters, my man.’ The phone clicked as it was set down on a hard surface.
Pet snorted a chuckle, ‘I think our friend is definitely gonna get whacked. He’s ripping them off.’
Tom paused for a second before speaking, a perplexed look on his face. ‘Fifteen kilos is really heavy for a battery powering a man-portable weapon. If it’s shoulder-launched then maybe, but if the battery alone is that heavy, the whole weapon is going to weigh a ton. I’m not sure this makes sense.’ Tom paused for a second, the cogs turning, before he shook his head and continued. ‘I think we can chalk that up as a worthwhile exercise. We now know there are eight weapons, they are being built somewhere near Sarajevo on a farm and that Babić won’t be present at the handover. We also now know for a fact that Cerović and Babić are the key. This gives us all sorts of options. A farm would also be a pretty good place to hold Mike if they want to keep all their resources in one place. Can you tell where Babić is?’
Pet screwed her face up as she looked at her screen. ‘I’m struggling to access the cell site database. The phone is a burner predictably but the CIA intelligence profile I am piggybacking doesn’t have the correct access levels. I could try to hack the cell phone company, but that would be using a lot of time that we don’t have. I could use my own profile, but it risks exposing us.’
‘Don’t bother. We don’t need to take any risks; Cerović will take us to them. Do you have any surveillance kit with you?’
‘What are you thinking?’
‘GPS tracker?’
‘Won’t his phone suffice? I can monitor that in real time,’ Pet said.
‘I don’t want to risk that he doesn’t take it, or that the group has enough operational security procedures that he has to switch off. We can’t afford to lose him, but we also can’t follow conventionally into a rural location without showing out.’
‘I have nothing with me, sorry. Minimal kit only was Mike’s brief.’ She shrugged.
Tom paused, the cogs almost visibly turning. ‘Okay, no worries. I’m sure I can come up with something.’ Without waiting for a response, he picked up his phone and dialled.
‘Zdravo?’ Braslav’s voice was rough down the phone.
‘Braslav, it’s Tomo.’
‘My boy, good to hear from you. Good news: your passports are ready now. I have them ready for you at the office,’ he said, sounding particularly pleased with himself.
‘You work fast, my old friend. I figured you were well connected but coming up with passports in a few hours is impressive.’
‘To reach my age in this city, my boy, you need contacts and influence. When will you come?’
‘I’m coming now.’ Tom looked at his watch: it was 5:30pm. ‘I’ll be with you by six.’
‘Be careful, my boy. A man who needs two passports in a few hours has enemies, and Sarajevo is a small city. There are eyes on every street corner.’
‘I’ll be there soon.’ Tom hung up.
‘What now?’ asked Pet.
‘We go and get our new passports and then we head out of the country.’
‘You make it sound simple, Tom. Why do I get the feeling that it will be anything but simple?’
‘It is simple. Come on, bring your computer and internet access but we’ll leave anything we don’t want to take over the border here. Last thing I want to take is thousands of dollars and a pistol. Come on, let’s get going. We need them to think we’ve fled like rats deserting a sinking ship.’
‘Why is it, Novak, that any time we hang out together it is trouble? One day, let’s just go out for dinner and a show,’ Pet shook her head and sighed.
‘Pet, I promise you that after this we’ll have the best dinner and musical in the West End.’
‘Musicals suck. I was just joking. Let’s get Mike back.’
19
Pet drove the Skoda as they made their way back to Sarajevo, Tom directing her to stop briefly at a large pet store in a small trading estate on the outskirts of the city. He disappeared into the store briefly before returning clutching a bag.
‘I’m sure you have a good reason, Detective, but try as I might I can’t think of why now would be the time to visit a pet store, beyond some weird English pun about my name.’ She looked quizzically at the brown paper bag from which Tom produced a blister pack, which he then began to open.
