“And it might have worked if he wasn’t so connected to everything,” Edwards snapped, bringing Black to heel.
“I thought he was just an interloping drug dealer,” Burke replied.
Edwards scoffed. “If only. This guy’s a one stop crime shop. He’s into things the rest of the criminal fraternity haven’t even thought of yet. He’s running drugs, arms, counterfeit fags and booze. He’s trafficking girls from most of Eastern Europe with the promise of the western life and the end result that they wind up working it off in one of his knocking shops. He’s got waiters and shop assistants, employees in airlines and banks, anyone with access to cards getting your details and feeding them back to his cyber bods. He’ll sell you anything you like at a knock down rate, which in this harsh economic climate goes down a storm. He’s got contacts in the mother country who get him access to IP addresses in deepest darkest Siberia so he can bring down whatever the hell he likes and the Ruskies just say nothing because he knows who to pay to turn a blind eye. You name it, he’s into it and that’s fine, but not on my turf. Not on my watch.”
Burke was torn between rising irritation and confusion at the lack of communication regarding the size of Edwards’ operation and the hilarity of his last statement. It reminded him of Tony Blair trying to sound Churchillian. “Nice to be kept in the loop.”
“Need to know basis,” Edwards replied, “but yes, there’s a lot more going on than you know.
“I’m sure, but with all of this going on there can only be more opportunities to catch him at it.”
“Of course, but we have a tight window of opportunity. How long before he leaves the country? He’s only here for a finite time. We’ve got to make something stick but I’m fucked if I know what.”
“You must know something,” Burke probed.
“I know dealers connected to him have got hold of a large amount of pure coke from somewhere, really pure stuff, but no one knows where the hell it’s coming from. You’d expect to see an increased volume stopped at border controls at least. The coastguard, or customs or the ports units should be expected to pick it up but everything’s been very quiet of late. Surprisingly so.”
“And you haven’t picked up anything from the competition say, if as the theory goes, they’re involved in some kind of chemical arms race.”
“No sign of that either.”
“Could they be in this together, using the same supply chain maybe?”
“Unlikely,” Edwards replied with a patronising grin, “but say that were the case, it’s too big an operation and there would conceivably be too many people involved to not have someone caught along the way. It only takes someone using a yacht too many times on the same route to cause suspicion.”
“Maybe the competition are trying to corner the market with other things, if Andreyevich is spreading himself too thinly. Might create a gap in the market they might want to shoehorn themselves into.”
“Perhaps.”
Burke said nothing more, letting the thought hang in the air for a few seconds.
“There was one episode, a few years back,” Edwards began, causing the beginnings of a smile to form at the corners of Burke’s lips. “Some yardies took it upon themselves to try and kick off a bit of a switch selling scheme.”
29
Giles was not used to being ordered around like this. His superiors at the firm had always been respectful, to the lawyers at any rate. Those in polite society at least regarded professionals as having some kind of social standing, even in this dire age of waning formality, where everyone was required to address one another by first name only, lest anyone be allowed to get on in the world and be respected for it.
His client had said very little, made no attempt at thanking him for services rendered and the accompanying risk to the integrity of his bollocks which had been placed well and truly on the line. A substantial Christmas bonus was in order. He was being well rewarded for this, naturally. That was everything to these new money types. They hadn’t had time to acquire the necessary tastes or interests to spend it properly. He would concede that Andreyevich knew how to travel though. Not for him the driving three hours or catching the three trains and bus it would take to get to their final destination.
He’d wanted to head back to the flat in Morningside, the place he was now starting to think of as a second home. He wanted to climb into the shower and wash away the scummy residue the day’s events seemed to have left on him and then down half a bottle of Remy Martin and fall into a comatose state.
There had been no discussion on the subject. His presence was mandatory as far as the client was concerned. End of story. He’d been shown to the car outside the cop shop in Gayfield Square and driven to the airfield at high speed. He hadn’t felt the time to protest present itself. There was a time and a place to raise certain objections with clients, draw a line now and again but he was starting to doubt that was the case here. No one said no to Victor.
They sat at some kind of a cruising height in the Cessna now, four of the six seats filled by himself, his client and two heavies who looked like they meant business but said very little, certainly nothing to contradict the vibe their collective demeanour gave off. For his part, Andreyevich seemed to stick with a similar theme. He may have been like this all the time. How would Giles know after all? He’d only just met the man. Perhaps all of this; the meting out of casual brutal violence to unsuspecting members of the public, followed by bribery of witnesses, the hacking into Lothian and Borders Police servers to tamper with evidence and locate those witnesses and the owners of the premises, finding an employee willing to assist in the destruction of all CCTV footage and then ensuring the correct pressure was exerted at the correct level to secure his timely release after due consideration of all these facts, then flying off with what could only realistically be described as mercenaries to some God forsaken outpost to do God knew what that required the services of a frankly inexperienced lawyer, maybe all this was just mundane to him. Maybe this was just another day at the office.
At least the weather wasn’t as extreme as it had been on the way up. Clear skies it seemed, and so far no turbulence. How often did you get to fly like this?
He was just asking considering that when finally the client turned to him with a look of contemplation. “So maybe now you know quite a lot,” he said with a sigh.
Edwards had properly thrown the rattle out and made for the nearest exit. His two minions had hung around for a short time, seemingly none too sure what to do with themselves and probably more than a little embarrassed for their boss, like he was a slightly tipsy parent or a babbling older relative whose mental capacity they were starting to doubt. But then it seemed fitting, dressed as they were like overly preening teenagers most of the time.
“Something funny sir?” Wilson asked, before looking down, probably realising again that she was admonishing a senior officer.
“Nothing really,” he replied, enjoying her discomfort.
Sarah Armstrong worked for “a very particular department in Whitehall” she had said, with a knowing grin.
She could have been late forties, given her unhurried confidence, but he wouldn’t have put money on it. Burke considered himself a reasonable judge of character but all that went out the window when dealing with certain types of people, specifically the type that specialised in knowing all and telling nothing. This made her all the more intriguing.