Limit of Exploitation (8 page)

Across the far side of the courtyard was the estates rear fence, a chain link type that was broken and sagging in places. The breaks were big enough to move people through and the sprinkling of cigarette butts and empty beer cans suggested that this maybe a hot spot for the local pissheads too.

Beyond the fence was a railway cutting, its overgrown grass banking lead down to the train tracks. In places the grass had been worn away into dirt paths by years of feet heading for the short cuts of the fence breaks.

Pacing up and down as people do while on the phone, John captures the imagery. He breathed in the scene and nodded his head in imaginary conversation. With a big pretend smile on his face, he ends his call as an intercity screamed past.

As the rain started to fall he ambled back to the main, eyes down looking at no one. John knew that the unit must be holding some deeper secrets; imported goods or maybe a small child? He needed more time on target but the amount of people milling around other lockups made that impossible.

His mind started to drift. Paula had made her decisions about her life, but little Emma? What the fuck had she done to deserve all this?

Before he finished with Miroslav John was deter­mined to bring the Zemun empire in London crashing down. But that was emotion talking, right now he needed to think clearly and stay on track. The aim was to locate Emma; destroying Miroslav's world would be a side benefit he would take pleasure in later. Returning to the EL unit under the cover of darkness would be his next task, hopefully with Santa's little helpers in support.

By the time John returned to Paula's place he was wet from the rain and gripping a lukewarm Starbucks. He stops abruptly on entering the living room as two new faces are there to greet him.

Phil Bridge and Jack Lyndhurst stare impassively from armchairs while Paula sits on the sofa, legs tucked up underneath her, the way only women do. John drops his daysack on the carpet and grunts.

“Fuck me, its Bodie and Doyle.”

The seated pair smirk and Phil breaks the silence “Happy to see you too, where ya been?”

“Sightseeing. You been on a sunbed Phil?”

“Fuck off Logan.”

Jack gets to his feet and crosses the room; he eyes John with his hawk eyes and cocks his baldhead to one side.

“See anything nice then? Like some drug dealing? Serbs Gangsters? Kidnap victims? Some organised crime maybe? Never was one for the quite life were you John.”

“You still being my dad Jack?”

They're joined by Phil. “Your sisters been filling us in mate, we've seen the imagery from your recce too. This could be quite an event, you sure your ready for it?”

“Ready for anything, remember?”

Phil shakes his head. “Wanker.”

The three men grin at the reciting of their regimental motto. John flops into an armchair as Paula takes it all in. Phil perches on the sideboard and folds his arms. The banter ends and the serious stuff starts.

“No idea where they're holding your niece yet then?”

“No 'fraid not. It's gonna take more time on the ground and the clocks ticking. That's why I called in the Cavalry.”

“Well it took us two days to get here so we're both on board, you know that mate, just don't let Jack's wife know he's here.”

John half smiles his gratitude and pauses. “I also asked someone else to help too.”

Jack raises an eyebrow. “Oh? Who?”

Another pause, this won't go down well. “Sam Mayfield.”

Jacks eyes widen and he exchanges looks with Phil. “Your kidding right? Samantha fucking Mayfield? I'm surprised she's even still alive.”

Paula jumps in. “whose Samantha Mayfield?”

“A head case we can well do without, you sure this is a good idea John?”

“You know her background Phil, she has the experience, she has the connections and she'll be useful. She can access…”

Phil stares at his Timberlands shaking his head. “John mate, she's a loose cannon, a fucking psycho. I can't believe the Army even kept her in.”

Paula's eyes are all questions, they dart around the group. “What are you guys on about? Who is this person?” The question was aimed squarely at her brother.

“Sam was married to our old boss when we were all together in Ireland, a young platoon commander from way back. Tony Mayfield was his name. He was killed by an IED blast in Belfast. Sam didn't take it well.”

Paula is horrified. “Didn't take it well? Fuck me John; is there a good way to take something like that?”

Phil just shrugged. “Shit happens love.”

Jack cuts in. “What your brother is trying to say is, it sent her fucking bat shit, pushed her over the edge. You see, what nobody knew at the time was, Sam was working covertly for a specialist army unit in Belfast. This unit's job was to collect intelligence on an IRA cell thought to be operating in our area. That same cell later murdered Tony in an RCIED attack.”

“A what?”

“A remote controlled improvised explosive device Paula. In other words, a radio controlled bomb.”

“Jesus Christ.”

“Jesus Christ is right. Took quite a toll on her and she blamed herself for not coming through with the intelligence in time. Apparently she hasn't been the same since.”

John takes a look at his Suunto. “Well we're soon gonna find out.”

“Eh?”

“We're meeting her in an hour, over in Wapping.”

Phil's head jerks up. “You ARE joking of course? Fuck me, your not are you.”

“Boy's, we need her on board, I need her on board.”

“And she's still serving?”

“Yep, now a Captain back in SRR and back Belfast as it happens.”

Phil is unimpressed. “A Captain eh? Brilliant. Well if she thinks I'm calling her Ma'am, she's got another thing coming.”

Jack stands and zips up his Rab jacket. “Still got that problem with authority eh Phil? I think we'll be dropping the rank on this one mate.”

Phil shoves his hands into his pockets in protest. “Fucking Rupert's.”

After leaving the underground station the three men walked in silence along Wapping High Street. Although there was still a light rain in the air and darkness was rapidly approaching, there was no mistaking that this place was a long way from the stale piss and empty beer cans of Paula’s concrete shed.

Warehouses converted into luxury apartments lined both sides of the cobbled street. City traders and young professionals rubbed shoulders in the designer bistros and yakked shit about the Euro crisis, or ignored each other while they surfed on their iPads waiting for their fish carpaccio’s to arrive.

Jack spoke to no one in particular. “They used to hang Pirates here, now look at it, drenched in Hugo’s and 944’s.”

Phil, ever the cynic, wasn’t impressed either. “Half the Bankers that live here now need fucking hanging.”

As they approached one of the gated warehouse conversions, John changes the subject. “Okay here we go, this is it.”

“I work Close Protection in Iraq, and I’d have problems affording a place here, how’s she do it?”

“Knowing Sam, the Governments probably picking up the tab. A tenner says this is a safe house.”

“For the Army?”

Jack answers. “Army, Box, SIS, take ya pick.”

Next to a set of electronic vehicle gates was a secure entry system with a video link. John punches buttons on the keypad and waits for a response. There’s an audible click as the intercom picks up.

He leans forward. “Its me.”

Sam’s metallic voice comes slicing through the speaker. “So I see, and your two chums as well. Cosy.”

There’s a soft buzz and a decorative wrought iron pedestrian gate clicks open.

Phil shakes his head. “This is gonna be fucking great.”

“I know she’s a Rupert, but she brings a lot to the party and I need her, so please, play the game eh mate?”

Sam’s apartment could almost be described as sterile. It was very smart and very modern but devoid of any personal touch, much like a hotel room or a show house.

There were no photos hanging on the bare brick walls, just a large plasma TV silently playing
Sky News.
No personal effects were on display and what wasn’t white was beige or brushed stainless steel. The apartment was open plan and a number of the original cast iron pillars divided up the space.

The three men sat in awkward silence on a new three piece admiring the varnished floorboards or watched Syria destroy itself on Sky.

Sam, casual in jeans and a white T-shirt stood facing them with her back against a wall. Her blonde hair was tied back in a tight ponytail and she looked distinctly unimpressed at the little reunion.

“I haven’t seen you three hoods since Tony’s funeral. Funny how we only seem to meet when the shit hits the fan.” Her cut glass English accent was clinical, business like and bordering on the arrogant.

John was expecting this. “Sam, I wouldn’t have got in touch if it wasn’t important. I could really use your help.”

“Yes well, you, or rather your niece, is in the shit neck deep and securing her release will be no easy task. You know who you’re dealing with don’t you?”

“Yeah, an organised crime ring, the Zemun Clan.”

“Actually they’re a Serbian Mafia based in Belgrade and they have a long reach. Their members are principally Ex Serb Soldiers with little in the way of morals. This will be quite a safari John.”

Phil jumps in. “We’ve dealt with Serbs and Kosovars before ya know Sam. This isn’t our first Rodeo.”

Sam ignores the remark; she keeps her eyes on John. “Fine.”

Jack senses the tension in the room. “And this guy Miroslav Sam, how does he fit into all this?”

Sam slips into geek briefing mode. “Miroslav Nikolic was an officer in Arkans Tigers during the civil war in Kosovo. His family didn’t survive the bloodletting, so after NATO rocked up on the scene he moved to Serbia proper and became a senior member of the Zemun Clan. His job in life these days is the importation and distribution of Afghan Heroin into the UK, and then on throughout Europe and the US.”

“I like him already. How big is the Zemun’s footprint here?”

“Like everything else in life Jack, crime has been globalised. Mafia’s like the Zemun are involved in arms trafficking, people trafficking, money laundering and racketeering. Name your pie; they’ll have a finger in it.” She looks at each of them in turn. “They have weapons, they have technical and they know how to employ both.”

She turns back to John. “Now, tell me more about this office in Bishopsgate.”

“Eastern Logistics? I reckon it’s a front for moving Zemun drugs into the UK.”

Sam considers that. “Entirely possible. And this storage unit in Deptford? You think maybe that’s where they’re holding the girl?”

John feels all eyes on him. “Right now it’s a possible, that’s all. The office is definitely a no though.”

Sam paces the room, processing information. “I suggest we have a chat with this Senka woman you told me about before we do anything else.”

Phil is not having that. “Eh? Fuck off, she’ll go straight back to her boss’s and we’ll be blown.”

Sam gets missile lock on Phil. He’s already starting to piss her off and they both know it. She turns back to John.

“Think about it, because I have. Senka comes to see your sister, Miroslav has not sent her, she goes on her own and offers help. Why’s she doing that?”

A silence descends as the cogs turn. Sam looks at each of the men in turn.

“Come on guy’s, she’s after something. All this “I’m your only friend” and “we’ll both get what we want”? This chick is running her own agenda. She wants something all right, and I bet you she sees this kidnap as her opportunity of getting it. Whatever ‘it’ may be.”

John sits up. “Something in exchange for Emma’s release?”

“Possibly. This is a K&R scenario after all. We’ve had the Kidnap, but any sign of a ransom demand?”

“No, fuck all.”

“Right, nothing, and it’s been how long now? Not even Senka has made any demands on her visits.”

Jack idly watches Syrian rebels on the plasma giving it max with an RPG. “Not yet she hasn’t.”

“And my gut instinct says she won’t, not till the time is right anyway, or she would have done it by now.”

Sam leans back on the wall. “John, look at me, think. Why has there been no ransom demand?”

The penny drops. “Because they have no intention of letting her go.”

Sam slowly nods. “Correct. These fuckers already have the only thing of value to your sister; she has nothing else to give. All this crap about running more gear to work off the debt? Its just that, crap.”

Jack leans forward. “Sam’s right. Lets get hold of Senka and drag her in for a hot fucking debrief.”

“No. Give her the hard word and you’ll just scare her off, and any lead we might have to Emma’s location.”

“So what do you suggest?”

“We set up a meet and see what she wants, see what’s motivating her. Remember WE, or rather your sister John will be calling HER, so she’ll be suspicious. She won’t want to do this down some country lane either; she’ll want it somewhere nice and public.”

John nods, “And then?”

Sam’s eyes flare, she’s getting into it. “And then we can see exactly what it is we’re dealing with and why Miroslav really wants your niece. Human Int is always the best Int”

“And the lock up unit?”

Phil can’t resist. “Yes Captain, what’s your plan for that one then?”

Sam shoots him a look of pure venom as John answers. “Let’s pay them a visit, see what they’ve got hiding in there. I’ve done a recce already and got some imagery, but it would be nice to get inside.”

Jack drifts back to the TV, the rebels are at it again. “Well if there’s not a young kidnap victim in there, I think I can imagine what is.”

Sam perks up. “You may be right. More than ninety-five percent of heroin that ends up on UK streets comes from opium grown in Afghanistan, but then you guys would know that.” The three men slowly nod as she takes a breath.