SAVAGE PAYBACK (Jack Calder Crime Series #3) Read online

  Most of the employees in the building had left an hour or two earlier and the second-level basement car park was almost empty. Her small Volkswagen tucked in near the corner, close to a green Ford van parked in one of the general visitor spaces. She pointed the key remote at her car and clicked the locks open. Before she could get in, the side door of the van slid back and she caught the slightest movement of an arm with a gun pointing her way. The silencer reduced the sound to a couple of whiffs as the bullets entered her head and neck. The transit drove off, leaving her body slumped halfway into the front seat of the Volkswagen.

  ***

  The Calders had moved to the sitting room after dinner when the phone rang. Being nearer, May-Ling picked it up.

  “Hello, this is May-Ling Calder.”

  A torrent of frantic Cantonese met her ear from the Hong Kong operations manager. May-Ling was his natural first point of contact at Head Office as she had general responsibility for the Asian offices. Despite Jack’s scant knowledge of the language he understood the repeated word for ‘dead’, and his ears pricked up. His wife spoke quietly into the receiver. She managed to calm the caller enough for him to understand her immediate response to put the Hong Kong office and all personnel on red alert. Her face looked grim as the call ended.

  “Two of our guards have been shot dead at a dai pai dong stall in Kowloon,” she said. “I’ve ordered a complete lockdown. We’d better ring Jules.”

  Jack’s reply was cut short as the phone shrilled again, and this time he picked it up.

  “Jack Calder.”

  Donnie Mullen’s east coast accent came on, the stress in the Scotsman’s voice evident, unusual for the former street-hardened cop.

  “I’ve just had a call from Germany. Our head accountant’s been gunned down in the office car park. I lunched with her the day before yesterday. The woman wouldn’t hurt a fly. She was talking about how difficult it was to balance being a mother and an executive. Geez. I’d better get over there as soon as I can. I’ve ordered all personnel to stay home until further notice.”

  Jack felt a shiver. He understood operational killings. These had cause, but having their own support people attacked violated a whole different code of conduct.

  “Shit. May-Ling got word a couple of minutes ago: two of our people’ve been killed in a drive-by shooting in Hong Kong. What the hell’s going on? I’ll talk to Jules right away, but yes, I think you should get to Berlin tonight. We’ll head over to the office now. I guess we’ll be there overnight with this. Let us know what’s going on as soon as you can. I’ll put out an all-offices signal red as well. Tread careful, big man.”

  “You too. I’ll be in touch.”

  May-Ling never felt out of her depth in the company of the three former commandos. She’d spent an intensive part of her own career for several years combating heavy-duty criminals in the Anti Triad Unit in Hong Kong. Here in the London boardroom, she sensed again the invisible switch thrown when these men faced the ugly side of their business. Her husband, a fair-haired, blue-eyed, six-feet two, Glasgow tough man, with a gentle nature she loved and few apart from herself ever saw, sat across from his life-long, fighting buddy, Malky McGuire. The Irishman stood four inches smaller, with a stocky, muscular frame toned by regular exercise. Jules Townsend, the ex-Major who’d employed each of them, entered the room and took his seat at the top of the table. At six feet tall, Jules always appeared relaxed, belying his tenacious fighting abilities, a leader with a well-earned reputation as a ruthless field commander. His leadership qualities included a legendary, almost obsessive regard for detail.

  Detail saved lives. Detail took the lives of opponents.

  Jules leaned forward and asked, “Have you informed our other offices, Jack?”

  “We’ve spoken to all of them, yes. High alert everywhere.”

  “I don’t expect any more hits right now,” said Jules. “We would’ve had them by this time but the red alert stays until further notice.”

  Jack watched the jaw tighten and the slight twitch at Jules’ neck, the sign he and Malky had come to recognise over the years. The suppressed anger of a man who took as a personal issue any attack on his people anywhere in the organisation.

  “Who’s talking to the families?”

  “I touched base in Hong Kong,” said May-Ling, and Donnie’ll be seeing the family in Berlin in a while.”

  “Any ideas where this is comin’ from, Jules?” said Malky. “Who’ve we pissed off this time? These are obviously related attacks, right?”

  “There’s no doubt they’re related and I’ve a strong hunch who’s involved, but I’ll get back to you on that after I check out one or two things. Meantime, we’ve got Chuck Morrow due in shortly. Jack, you can meet him with me.”

  CHAPTER 6

  The bags under the eyes betrayed Morrow’s loss of sleep. A sober, black necktie replaced the one from the previous encounter, indicating family mourning.

  “Make yourself comfortable.” Jules indicated a seat, and pushed some coffee towards their visitor. “Anything fresh from the police?”

  “It’s a bit too early to expect significant news. A guy called Granger’s being very helpful,” said the American. “He’s keeping me abreast of things every few hours.”

  “Bob Granger’s a good man. Trust him. How did your insurance partners respond the other day?” asked Jules, switching to the real reason for Morrow’s presence.

  “As expected, there’s a lot of confusion among the member groups, including whether or not the cover is terrorist related. Most large clients nowadays require a clause covering that, so it’s a moot point. The merchandise valuations vary, but the aggregate tops seven hundred million bucks and maybe up to another thirty million.” Morrow paused and topped up his coffee cup.

  Jack held out his own for Morrow to refill. “How many groups are we talking about?”

  “Nine core re-insurers, and as I told you the other day, my company, Quantum, covers the biggest exposure, two hundred and fifteen million. The smallest is in for twenty million. Quite a range.”

  “What did you decide?” asked Jules.

  “The discussion didn’t take long. Deryk Ostman relayed his experience with you guys and of course your company name is familiar to most of the players in the business. We’ve agreed and I’ve been instructed to offer you a contract by the Society as a whole, the members will be liable pro rata for your fees and expenses.”

  Jules nodded. “What kind of scope and success measurements do you have in mind?”

  Morrow coughed. “That’s the tricky part. Getting all these guys in one room to agree on anything is pretty much like trying to herd cats. What we kinda hoped you might accept is a double-layered deal.”

  Jack put down his cup. “Go on,” he said. “You want all the stuff back, gift-wrapped, right?”

  Morrow spread his hands and smiled. “That’s a perfect-world scenario, Jack, and we’re practical people. We’ll be lucky to sniff any of this in the short term. We don’t think this stuff’ll be offered into the market as the made-up articles. Only a minimal mark-up in the pieces covers the craftsmanship costs in jewellery. The gems can be removed and sold separately. The intrinsic value varies with the universal trade prices for the individual stones. The gold, silver and platinum settings are tradable too. A huge black market is always available for these and for the gems themselves. Of course, we’ll factor in an element of payout based on percentage of goods recovered, if any.”

  “What’s the other consideration?”

  “A proposed success fee for nailing the people responsible for this. The Society would generally provide a certain sum, paid out to whoever’s instrumental in bringing the perpetrators to justice.”

  “Isn’t that what the law’s there to do?” said Jack.

  “The law’s the law, Jack. I repeat, my members have been in this game a long time. Most of us acknowledge the need occasionally to move in ways other than the usual legal routes.”

 
Now the discussion had taken a different turn.

  Jules intervened. “Let me understand clearly what you’re saying. Your people would be pleased to have the jewellery returned, but may have a keener interest to ensure the guys who did this could never do anything like this again? Am I correct?”

  “Ten million dollars says that’s right, Jules.”

  Chuck Morrow wasn’t smiling any more. He reached out for his coffee and sipped, watching for Jules’ reaction, before adding, “If you accept the engagement, I’m authorised to handle all communications with you. The contract would be worded in a way that broke no laws, but we want justice. Proper justice.”

  His words hung in the air, the meaning unambiguous. Jack nodded to his boss.

  “You’ve talked us into a deal,” said Jules, standing with an outstretched hand to the insurance chief. “Get something to me as soon as you can to document this.”

  “Thanks, I’m pleased and grateful. Good day, gentlemen.”

  CHAPTER 7

  Less than an hour after the jet touched down on the short, saddle runway in Gibraltar, he was sitting with his private banker in the secluded salon reserved for High Net Worth clients of Reliance Bank. The connecting flight to Casablanca didn’t depart for another few hours, leaving ample time to discuss the investment portfolio profile for the recent addition to his funds. The general manager knew him as Robert Cavendish, but guessed his client answered to other names. All paper correspondence from the bank awaited collection, with any urgent communications transmitted in code to a forwarding email link. The non-distinctive, casual clothing dressed the body of a man who kept himself at a high level of fitness. The bank officer couldn’t recall ever seeing the tight line at his lips graced by a smile. The plain, tanned face bore no beard nor moustache, no scars nor distinguishing facial features, except for his eyes. The piercing, dark grey eyes.

  Like those in the sort of painting that followed you around a room, never directly looking at you, but always watching you, the officer thought.

  There was the noticeable slight limp on his left side when he walked into the office. He delivered instructions quietly, which strangely imparted a mild sense of menace. Whatever his client’s background, the executive treated him with the utmost courtesy. This man’s investments now accounted for more than forty million dollars of the funds under management at Reliance. The discussion lasted less than an hour before the client left the bank and hailed a taxi for the airport.

  CHAPTER 8

  It took months to have them come face to face. Intermediaries from both sides postured and wrangled about how to meet, where to meet, who should attend with them, and when. In the end, the top guys decided themselves. Just the two of them. Neutral ground. For their first meeting they’d agreed on here, the presidential suite of the Four Seasons Hotel in Boston. For Ahmed Fadi, talking cost nothing. His hold on the drug trade and prostitution rings was solid across two continents, in Asia and Europe. Manuel Estrada matched him for power in North and South America.

  The suite was booked in the name of one of Estrada’s front corporations, as were the empty suites on either side. The rooms were swept for surveillance bugs, a matter of routine. All three had double guards in the hallways with concealed weapons. Their masters were careful men.

  Fadi and Estrada could mutually afford the other the courtesies attendant with positions of enormous power and influence. The first half hour was absorbed by the customary, polite exchanges as the two became more relaxed in each other’s company. They weren’t direct competitors in any arena, which made conversation easier.

  Fadi leaned back in his armchair and addressed the issue head on.

  “I won’t deal in America, my friend. Too many places for things to go wrong. My channels are in Europe and Asia, so I’m not sure how you’d think we can work together.”

  “It’s because your network’s outside of the States I wanted this meeting. I agree with you,” said Estrada. “It’s tighter than ever over here. People everywhere screwing up the business. I can’t figure if it’s the DEA becoming smarter or the street guys getting dumber. Maybe a combination of both. Whatever, I think this is a good time to explore other options. I’m looking for fresh outlets and you’re the best where you operate. With my strong supply lines, I feel we’d work a great partnership.”

  “I’m flattered, but must say my organisation’s pretty settled. I don’t need to spread myself any further than I am now.”

  “I’m aware of that. However, let’s talk straight. We’re both businessmen. It’s no secret you took a big hit when the cops whacked your boat in England last year. That kind of thing gets to all of us. Shit, my business is constantly getting knocked off by the DEA. Spillage is part of the cost of being in this game, and yours was huge. Tying up together is a bit like a mutual insurance policy. We help each other out, make sure supplies keep regular. You know what I’m talking about.”

  The Mexican had touched a nerve, but Fadi responded with a faint smile. Less than a year had passed since an operation led by Jules Townsend and the ISP squad just off the English south coast had resulted in the loss of half a billion dollars of street-value heroin, plus the impounding of his prized, luxury super-yacht, The Constellation. The blow hadn’t been fatal to his business, but it was a major setback.

  “As you say, we all have our little incidents to cope with. Your own recent path hasn’t been smooth either,” said Fadi, alluding to a couple of large DEA interventions at the border in Texas with the publicised seizures of costly shipments of cocaine. “We’re not here to score points on each other, my friend. Tell me what’s on your mind.”

  Estrada opened the small folder by his side and took out a few sheets of blank paper.

  “I’m a simple man, Ahmed. I don’t like things too complicated. Here’s an approach to consider,” he said, writing several headings on the notepaper. For an allegedly uneducated man, Estrada’s command of facts and figures was impressive. Like Fadi, running an empire such as his took a focused mind, with ruthlessness an imbedded trait.

  “Your supplies are from Afghanistan, Myanmar, Nepal and Pakistan,” he went on. “Mine are from Colombia, Peru, and Mexico itself. Your transits channels are Turkey, Eastern Europe and then Western Europe. We use many points along the USA border, Canada, Panama and Hawaii. You’re mainly heroin. Me, cocaine, heroin and meta.” He paused and looked at Fadi.

  “How am I doing so far?”

  “You should’ve been a college professor,” said Fadi, smiling. “But with all these things, the devil’s in the details. I could see how operational matters would be covered. The big question is how to share the profit? Many a marriage ends in divorce, almost as it starts, over money.”

  “We create a separate business we own and run as partners.”

  Estrada leaned forward with his pen again and sketched out a rough diagram.

  “Our existing operations feed into the new one, so all the supplies and costs are identifiable. The money chain we both track together. Equal shares, a case where one plus one’ll make much more than two.”

  Fadi steepled his fingers to his lips.

  “I like the idea of spreading the risk, but it’s never quite as easy as you’ve got on paper,” said Fadi.

  “That’s why we ease our way forward, test the waters, so to say. What’s to lose?”

  “Seems reasonable. When do you want to start? And how?”

  “A shipment of cocaine’s ready to send to Europe now. Do we let our people do a trial run together?”

  “Hmm.” Fadi nodded to his proposed new partner. “I presume your senior men are here with you, as mine are. Why don’t we bring them into the discussion, find out how they’ll coordinate? No two outfits ever function exactly the same.”

  “They’ll operate as we tell them. With us driving them, we’ll make it work.”

  “Agreed. Let’s get their heads together for the next day or two.”

  He stood and offered his hand to the Mexican.

/>   “Now, time for some lunch, don’t you think?”

  Ahmed Fadi had several aliases, with legitimate passports for all of them. Well over fifty years earlier, his name at birth in the Slavic town of Sarajevo had been Viktor Bodan. The records showed Bodan headed a command of guerrillas in the fiercest fighting of the Balkans conflict of the eighties. Rules of conventional warfare were ignored as a savage culling of enemy population horrified the rest of the world. Entire villages of men, women and children were wiped out as the ethnic purges took their toll. Bodan led much of the action. The story had this urban commando perishing with several of his unit in the midst of street fighting in Tuzla. His body was never recovered for identification and burial. The reason was simple. During the confusion in the conflict, the guerrilla leader just walked away. Possessed of guile and the loyalty of the remnants of his fighters, Bodan reinvented himself, changing his name to Ahmed Fadi. Over time he built a criminal operation that feasted on the turmoil in the region. The same ruthlessness he carried over from the ethnic warfare helped him establish a stranglehold on the drug supplies from Afghanistan. A strong trade in prostitution rings and people trafficking created more cash for the main business, the movement of heroin into the European markets beyond the near East.

  In Europe, Fadi steered clear of the Italian mafiosi, ensuring no overlap of territorial coverage. Inviting unneeded complications with powerful rivals was not his style. The control Estrada brought from the Americas made it worth the time to learn what his Mexican counterpart had to say.

  CHAPTER 9