DARKNET CORPORATION (18 page)

However, none of this information gives us any clue as to the location of
the server they use. The TTR network uses a concept of introductions and
rendezvous’ to connect users to services without either being able to trace the
other…” she said.

“Yes, I got the full explanation of how it works in Kabul. I understand,”
said Bill.

“The most interesting content was the Instant Messaging conversation
between ‘Security4’ and ‘Security1’ in this image. It’s about conducting the
breakdown of a shipment into eighteen separate deliveries for client
purchasers.” She clicked a switch and the screen showed the image.

[3:14:49 p.m.] Security1: how are you going?

[3:19:13 p.m.] Security4: good. We are up to 11, 7 to go

[3:19:25 p.m.] Security1: cool.
any
problem with
the brick count?

[3:20:27 p.m.] Security4: no. we had one bag ripped we had to reseal, but
otherwise no issues

[3:21:57 p.m.] Security1: be careful with
Fermin
,
the
marseillais
.
he’s
hot
headed.
don’t
give him any reason to go off. Just help
him pack the stuff into his car and get him away.

[3:22:56 p.m.] Security4: got it

[3:23:11 p.m.] Security1: any sign of surveillance?

[3:23:48 p.m.] Security4:
nah
...all quiet, all
secure

She clicked through the rest of the images, mainly for Curry’s benefit,
but also for Bill to see again and have time to pay attention.

“The communications system lists roles that we would expect for almost
any organisation. The ones we thought were interesting were ‘Identities”. We
surmise that they utilise a wide range of false identities to help with the
account ownership for money laundering and therefore they need an
administration to look after it.

Similarly ‘Sourcing’ in their case we imagine would be a very specific
group interacting with opium suppliers. However, the images do not provide any
information that is useable,” said Chen.

Chen turned to the final image, the table containing the consignment
details. “This table tends to confirm a number of things; the origin, size, and
purity of the drugs in the consignment and the route it took and implicates the
transport services used, at least in terms of nominating them by initials.
We’re not sure this is good enough to be admissible in court though.”

John chimed in again, “That’s it.
Any questions?”

“No. Thank you, John and Chen,” said Curry, turning to Bill with raised
eyebrows. Bill shook his head slightly.

Curry switched off the television screen and lifted the telephone and
placed it back onto its receiver to close out the connection.

Chapter Twenty One

The phone on Bill’s desk went. The caller said that Detective Chief
Superintendent Cullen was at the front desk to see him, again. Bill asked that
he be shown into a conference room on the ground floor and that he would be
there directly.

Looking in each of the conference rooms in turn Bill found Cullen and his
offsider Gower and stepped into the room.

“Thank you for your time Mr Hodge. I wanted to bring you up to date on our
enquiries and ask you a few more questions, if
that’s
alright,” said Cullen, his face smiling, but not his eyes. Bill had to supress
the impression of a crocodile that came to mind.

“Sure, what can I do for you,” replied Bill, amiably spreading his hands
out to show his palms and sitting down.

Cullen and Gower sat down and took off the inevitable raincoats, even
though it was nearly
summer
.

“We’ve traced the black SUV to a firm in Peckham, called…” Cullen
referred to Gower, who looked up a flip top notepad.

“HGK Services Group.”

Cullen turned back to Bill, “Mean anything to you?”

“Nothing.
Is it real?” Bill responded.

“It’s funny you should say that. No. It’s fake. How did you know?” Cullen
was watching reactions again which made Bill feel slightly ‘accused’.

“Look. The people we are dealing with have so many false identities they
have a department just to manage them. It’s not surprising that the black SUV
is untraceable back to anybody. That seems to be their
modus
operandi
,”
said Bill, just a little exasperated. He was already fighting with deadly
enemies. He didn’t relish fighting with those he considered should be
‘friends’. “How did you find them?”

“We checked traffic cameras on the M20 and spotted the SUV near Maidstone
and tracked it north to Lewisham. We were able to get the registration number
off the images and checked the DVLA back to….” Cullen turned to Gower again.

“HGK Services Group,” chimed in Gower.

“…of Peckham, but of course the address was a convenience address with
mail collected, the company seems to be little more than a name registration
from a convenience company lawyer. We investigated the named directors of the
company; bogus. We interviewed the dealer who sold the SUV, six months ago, to
find out it was paid for in cash, all £25,000 of it, by two gentlemen of normal
appearance, normal height and weight.” Cullen paused for effect. It seemed to
be a trait.

“Then the SUV showed up on waste ground at Deptford Creek, burnt out.
Bullet holes in the rear nearside; traces of blood in the rear,
nearside passenger window well.
The blood matches blood found at the
scene of the shooting incident on the M20.” The obligatory pause ensued.

Bill said, “What about a body?” thinking of the shooter he was sure he
had shot in the head.

“No. Given the forensic awareness they’ve shown, I suspect we’ll never
find a body. I seem to be collecting lots of facts, but not much information.
Can you help us with
any
of this Mr Hodge?” It sounded like a desperate
plea.

“I think you are beginning to discover how organised, ruthless and
sophisticated these people are Chief Superintendent. I sympathise. I’ve asked
those from whom I need clearance to give me permission to share classified
information with you, but I‘m far from sure that anything we currently know will
solve this case for you. However, as we move forward I expect we will solve it
together. Let me go and check whether that permission has been given. Please
wait here.”

Bill went to a workstation in the secure area on the floor above and
checked his email. There was an email from Joe Martin copied to Jenkins
outlining the limits of what could be shared with the Metropolitan Police. From
Bill’s point of view none of the secrets the CIA wanted to keep were of any
interest whatever to Cullen. However, he studied the wording and satisfied
himself he understood the limitations. He replied with acknowledgement and
thanks.

Walking back into the conference room on the ground floor, Bill explained
the confidentiality limitations that had to apply to his information and
launched forth to explain everything he knew so far about the syndicate he was
chasing.

One of the key exclusions was the source of his information. Cullen was
experienced enough to recognise that sources would not be divulged and he and
Gower took it all in quickly. Bill was right. The light he was able to shed on
the topic was not particularly helpful to Cullen, but it seemed to break the
ice, relationship-wise.

“Thank you for that Mr Hodge,” Cullen said at the end of Bill’s
monologue.

“Why don’t you call me ‘Bill’,” said Bill, extending his hand and
smiling. Cullen’s face cracked into a smile and he shook Bill’s hand and said,
“I’m DCS Cullen,” and they both laughed.

“OK, ‘DCS’” said Bill. “Can you give me the details on HGK…whatever they
were called…we are compiling a database of companies and people and phone
numbers and accounts and their connections? You never know, we might hit a
connection that counts. Now what else have we got,” said Bill.

Gower had an opportunity to contribute. “We have been chasing down
information on ex-corporal Wood. We know that he has travelled to Afghanistan
and Pakistan, as well as various countries in Europe and had a holiday in the
Seychelles last October. He had a couple of traffic infringements and a drunk
and disorderly last December.”

“Whereabouts?
The D&D?” asked Bill.

Gower looked up his notepad, flipping over pages to find the entry,
“Ilford.”

“Ilford is the other side of the city from Clapham. It’s the best part of
an hour away. Why would he be there?” he mused rhetorically. “Can you copy me
in on the paperwork, and can I see the bedsit?”

“Sure. It’s only 5 minutes from here, but I doubt it will tell you
anything more than it told us,” said Cullen.

-|-

The street in Clapham was your typical London hamlet.
Narrow,
yellow lines down one side; car parking for residents on the other.
Three storeyed terraces in brick with ornate white plaster door and window
lintels; satellite dishes sticking out from walls. Wood’s bed sit was on the
first floor of number 11.

They had to contact the landlady to get the key. She was short and stout
and getting on in years; grey and cantankerous. She complained about being
disturbed from her daytime soaps; she complained about the stairs; she
complained about the police being ‘good for
nuffin
’;
and finally she opened the door on the first floor.

Before they went in Bill asked her, “How’s the rent
paid?”

“Cash in advance;
quart’ly
,” she said.

“How do you get the cash?” he asked.

“It’s in an envelope addressed ‘care of’ me once a quarter, regular’s
clockwork,” she said.

“You collect his mail?” Bill asked.

“
Yesss
.
I collects ‘is mail once a
mumph
and takes it
dan
‘is post
office box and the rent comes in ‘is mail, once a
quarta
,
addressed to ‘
im
, ‘care of’ me,
innit
,”
she clarified. The two policemen audibly groaned.

“Can you give this policeman the details of his post office box, and if
you still have any of the envelopes, ‘care of’ you,” Bill said indicating
Gower. “Thank you. You’ve been most helpful,” he added.

Bill stepped into the flat. The musty smell hit him first and he stood
just inside taking in the whole view.

The bedroom was the first room off the corridor which fed into a lounge
that had a kitchenette on the far wall; the sink on the return and a large
window looking onto the street. The floors were all wood veneers; different
ones in each room. There was a radiator in each room and the walls were all
painted the same light, creamy colour.

The bedroom had a double bed and a flat screen television on top of a
chest of drawers opposite it. There was a cheap-looking ‘built-in’ wardrobe and
a ‘student’ desk with a computer monitor and a block with sockets for plugging
in a laptop. There did not seem to be anything much that was personal.

Bill looked in the wardrobe. There were a few shirts and slacks; a jersey
and an overcoat; a pair of black shoes and a pair of running shoes. Bill
started to search now thinking why Wood would want this bolt
hole
;
not just an address for mail, surely?

He was thinking deeply and the two policemen watched him in fascination.
He felt all the radiators; it was nearly
summer
and
the flat was empty; they were all cold. No surprise. He turned them all on in
turn; then went back around and felt them again. Hot; hot; hot
;…
.cold. He looked carefully at the cold radiator and lifted
the dress mirror that was perched on top of it, leaning against the wall. The
radiator was nearly 100mm thick with a grill along the top to allow the heat to
rise out of it.

Bill levered off the grill and released two clips on either side at the
front and the front panel pivoted down to reveal the radiator fins with a
completely missing section approximately a foot square in the centre. In this
recess was a plastic bag. Bill looked up at the two policemen, who were clearly
gobsmacked, mouths like fish.

“Jesus Christ!” cried Cullen. He barked at Gower, “Get forensics back in
here and get them to do a ‘thorough’ search, this time.”

Bill pulled on latex gloves offered by Gower and pulled the plastic bag
out of its hiding place and fished out the contents; a
Sig Sauer 9mm
with a box of rounds; three passports;
Canadian; South African and Irish all showing pictures of Wood with different
aliases; and a thick wad of British bank notes held together with elastic bands
and an equally thick wad of Euros. There was a credit card wedged under the
elastic bands; one in the Canadian alias in the sterling wad and one in the
Irish alias in the Euros, both issued by
Banco
Tequendama
of
Colombia. Finally, there was a key; a USB stick identical to the one that had
just been analysed by GCHQ. “Bingo!” thought Bill.

Gower produced an evidence bag from his raincoat and Bill returned the
contents into the plastic bag and deposited the whole thing into the evidence
bag. Gower was already on the phone to ‘
forensics’
.

“And see what you can get out of the post office box; who it’s registered
to and anything that might be in it. But I won’t hold my breath,” said Cullen,
reacting to his embarrassment.

“So what’s in Ilford?” Bill mused to himself.