THE LONDON DRUG WARS

The London
Drug Wars

By

T J Walter

Copyright © T J Walter 2015

This
book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade or
otherwise, be lent, resold, hired out, or otherwise circulated without the
publisher's prior consent in any form of binding or cover other than that in
which it is published and without a similar condition including this condition
being imposed on the subsequent publisher.

The
moral right of T J Walter has been asserted.

ISBN-13:
978-1515072775

ISBN-10:
1515072770

To my good
friend Karen who read my story and encouraged me to get it published. Without
that encouragement it would no doubt have remained unread on my computer.

This
is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organizations, places,
events and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are
used fictitiously.  Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events,
or locales is entirely coincidental.

The sleek Jaguar pulled smoothly to the kerb. Almost
before the wheels had stopped turning the front passenger door opened and a man
stepped lightly onto the pavement. He was tall and slim, a fit
-
looking thirty-something. Dressed in
a Marks & Spencer’s business suit, collar and tie, he could have been an
office worker. Only the very observant would have noticed that the loose
fitting jacket concealed a slim pistol in a shoulder holster under his left
armpit.

As he moved across the pavement
his eyes did a complete
360
degree circuit
,
taking in
everything around him. Apparently satisfied
,
he knocked
sharply on a door bearing the words
‘
STRICTLY NO ADMITTANCE
’
. The door
opened almost immediately and an armed uniformed police officer looked out. A
few brief words were exchanged and the man on the pavement returned quickly to
the car. He opened the rear passenger door and stood back.

The man who stepped out of the car had a face that
everyone in the country would immediately recognise. Well into his second term
in office
,
Adam Sinclair, Britain’s prime
minister, very much looked the part. A Savile Row suit
,
dark grey in colour
,
and a plain blue tie on an immaculate white shirt hung
comfortably on his stocky frame. His smooth, clean shaven face wore a grim
expression as he quickly moved across the pavement and through the open
doorway. Unusually his head was down and he glanced neither right nor left.

Behind him the bodyguard passed quickly through the
doorway and firmly closed the door.

The uniformed officer pointed to the end of the
corridor
.
“Take the lift to the third floor.
Then second door on the left, sir.”

The bodyguard nodded and led the way to the lift bay.
Behind him
,
the uniformed officer spoke briefly
into a radio. It took but a moment for the lift to arrive. The doors opened and
another armed police officer stood inside. Nothing was said as the lift rose to
the third floor. The bodyguard was first to emerge. Looking right and left, he
then signa
l
led for Sinclair to follow him. Ahead
of them yet another armed police officer stood outside yet another closed door.
He stepped away from the doorway as the two approached.

Without hesitating the bodyguard opened the door and
led the way into a room. It was brightly lit. There was just one bed; on it lay
a young man. Beside the bed stood a doctor in a starched white coat and, in one
corner of the room sat another plain clothes bodyguard who got to his feet as
the two entered.

The man in the white coat said, “I’m Doctor Cohen,
Prime Minister, I’m treating your son.”

Sinclair responded with a distracted smile
,
shaking the proffered hand. “How is
he doctor?” he asked urgently.

“Not well sir; but stable. He was very lucky.”

“Lucky? In what way? What exactly happened to him?”

Cohen frowned
.
“I thought you’d been told sir
,
he overdosed on drugs.”

“What drugs? What do you mean? My son is not on
drugs.”

Cohen paused
,
then said, “I’m afraid it was heroin sir; he’d injected himself with
heroin.”

“That is not possible. This is my son; he has his own
bodyguard who is always with him. There is no way he could get hold of heroin.”

“I’m afraid there is no mistake Prime Minister.
There’s no indication that he’s an addict, he may just have been
experimenting.”

*

Sinclair spent an hour with his son hoping he would
wake from his coma but the doctor informed him the boy would be comatose for at
least another twelve hours. Sinclair’s wife who had been staying at their
country house in Gloucestershire then arrived and Sinclair returned to Downing
Street to resume his duties.

His first task was to telephone John Weaver, the Met
Police Commissioner. Without preamble Sinclair said, “I’m sure you are aware of
what has happened to my son. I want to see you immediately.” Without waiting
for a reply he slammed the phone down. Turning to his PA he said, “Cancel all
my appointments today and tell the Home Secretary I wish to see her.”

Half
an
hour later John Weaver arrived at Downing Street and was
ushered into Sinclair’s private office. Barbara North, the Home Secretary
,
was already there.

Sinclair rose as Weaver entered the room. With only a
cursory nod of greeting he indicated that Weaver should sit in a chair the
other side of his desk. Only when Weaver was seated did Sinclair speak. There
was a glint in his eye and his voice was crisp as he spoke. “Commissioner, can
you tell me how it is that my seventeen-year-old son, a pupil at one of our
best public schools
,
can obtain and
inject himself with a dangerous drug under the very eyes of your officers whose
job it is to see that no harm comes to him?”

John Weaver didn’t flinch under the barrage. Unusually
for a police commissioner he’d come up the hard way. He was not one of the fast
-
track twerps who’d sped through the
lower ranks without gaining a real understanding of what the job was about; he
was a policeman’s policeman
,
respected by all. As he’d risen through the ranks his police management skills
became apparent
,
and to those
he’d added the skills of a diplomat. He’d spent three years as Chief Constable
of the Greater Manchester Force before taking on the most senior police role of
all as the Met’s Commissioner. He was both vastly experienced and confident of
his own ability.

He was not in the least fazed by Sinclair’s outburst.
There was a firm note in his voice as he replied. “First
,
Prime Minister, my officers and I
are appalled at what happened to your son.” He paused then added, “How did it
happen you ask
,
sir. How indeed?
My men are there to ensure
no other
person causes harm to your son. But,
other than keeping him on suicide watch or being present everywhere he goes, we
are unable to protect him from himself. I can tell you sir that his school
friend appears to have obtained the heroin the evening before from a disco bar
near the school. The boys are of course not searched when they return to the
school after an evening out. He and your son injected the drug in the friend’s
room.”

Sinclair frowned
.
“And what about the person who sold him the heroin?”

“I have that in hand sir. This is the first indication
we have had that drugs were being sold at the disco and we only discovered that
this morning. Please bear in mind
,
sir
,
that drug users do not as a rule
inform on their suppliers
,
unlike the victims of other crimes
,
so we are at a distinct disadvantage. But I will make sure we pursue
this matter vigorously.”

“How is it that dealers can operate so openly? I do
not understand how they can be so blatant. And what about the gang leaders and
all their thugs who make a living polluting our youngsters with their evil
drugs? Why haven’t you brought them to justice? Why has it come to this?”

Weaver took a deep breath before
replying. When he spoke it was from between his teeth. “Why indeed sir? The
short answer is that our much vaunted legal system protects them. We are
obliged to obey the rules whilst the criminals laugh in our faces. The law
bends over backwards to protect the innocent and impedes our efforts to bring
these criminals to justice. I have spent the last ten years petitioning for a
look at the effectiveness of our system and been told to get on with my job and
leave the politics to my betters. That’s why these people can act with impunity
and thumb their noses at us. Sad as it is to say; in this country, if you have
enough money, justice can be bought.”

Sinclair was red in the face
.
“Just like all bad workmen you blame your tools when you’re
caught out not doing your job properly. If the job is too difficult for you
then you should resign and let someone else do the job. And our legal system is
admired the world over. How dare you try to shift the blame to that?”

A grim smile spread over Weaver’s face. “You won’t get
me to fall on my sword to ease your guilt. I’m sorry Prime Minister
,
it’s not in my nature to throw in
the towel. If you want rid of me then you’ll have fire me and be damned sure I
won’t go quietly.”

“
As for our legal system there are so many holes in it you
could drive a bus through them. The lawyers are so concerned with the rules
they forget the object of the system is to achieve justice. And the judges are
just as bad
,
they act as if refereeing a boxing
match: May the best man win and all that rot. And it is not just the cream that
rises to the top; so does the scum. Some of these drug lords are so rich they
can afford the most able of the barristers; those who can best work the system.
And these so respected barristers have no compunction about who they represent
as long as their exorbitant fees are paid.

“
And what about the evidence my officers collect? You and your
government make we, the police
,
operate with one hand tied behind our backs When the gathering of the evidence
doesn’t comply exactly with the rules why not let the jury decide whether it’s
acceptable or not
?
I’m not talking
about fit-ups here; I’m talking about sometimes vital evidence gathered in the
heat of an investigation that is excluded because it doesn’t comply strictly
with the rules imposed by pompous asses examining it in the sterile
surroundings of a court. There are so many examples I could give you.” He
paused for breath but Sinclair made no attempt to intervene.

Weaver continued, “But I ask just one thing here: Give
me the tools and I’ll do the job. I am just as angry as you are that these drug
dealers can get to our youth and endanger their lives all the name of profit. I
too want to see them brought to justice. So to suggest that it’s me that’s
passing the buck is laughable,
sir
.” He might have added ‘so there’ but
wisely didn’t.

Sinclair’s mouth actually hung open for a moment. Not
since he was a teenager had anyone spoken to him like that. For a long moment
he was actually lost for words. But he hadn’t got to the very top in politics
without being able to think under pressure. Finally he said, “Clearly you have
strong feelings Commissioner. OK you have twenty-four hours to give me and my
ministers a clear idea of what you need to put these drug dealers out of
business.”

As
Weaver left Downing Street he had a smile on his face. At last someone was
waking up to the problems he faced. And that someone was the man at the top.
Now perhaps he could get something done about the problem.