"Drugs?" said Warren.
"One of the country's biggest importers of marijuana and cocaine. Virtually untouchable by conventional methods. He's so big that we can't get near him. Den Donovan never goes near a shipment and never handles the money. He never deals with anyone he doesn't know."
"And you expect me to get close to him?" said Warren, bemused. He passed the photograph back to Hathaway.
"Unless you haven't noticed, I'm black. Donovan's white. It's not like we went to the same school, is it? Why's he gonna let me get close to him?"
"We don't expect it to happen overnight," said Hathaway.
"Donovan is a longterm project. He's not even in the country at the moment. Most of the time he's in the Caribbean. I'll supply you with details of his known associates, and as you go deeper all you have to do is keep an eye out for them. It's going to take time, Cliff. Years. You build up contacts with his associates, and use them to put you next to Donovan."
"You make it sound easy," said Warren.
A police car sped down the road outside the house, siren wailing.
"Not easy, but possible. Donovan is a major supplier, you'll be a dealer."
"You said he didn't go near the gear."
"He doesn't, but if you can get into his inner circle we can get him on conspiracy. He's also been shipping drugs into the States. If we can tie up to a US delivery, the Americans will put him away for life."
Warren raised his eyebrows.
"I'm working for the Met, right? How does that involve Yanks?"
"There's no national barriers when it comes to drugs, Cliff. It's way too big a business for that. They reckon that every year some three hundred billion dollars of illegal money gets laundered through the world banking system, and almost all of it is from drugs. Three hundred billion dollars, Warren. Think about that. No one agency can fight that sort of money. In the States the market for illegal drugs is worth sixty billion dollars a year. In the UK about five billion pounds is spent on heroin, cocaine, marijuana, amphetamines and ecstasy. The drug suppliers are working together, so the anti-drug agencies are having to share their resources."
"So I might end up working for the DEA?"
"With rather than for," said Hathaway.
"It'll be more a question of sharing intelligence."
"So they won't know who I am?"
"No one will know you're undercover, except me. And Latham."
Warren frowned.
"But what if I come across other undercover agents? Won't they report back on me?"
"Sure, but all they'll report on is your criminal activity. That's just going to add to your cover."
"Do I report on them?"
"You report on everything." He patted the laptop computer in front of him.
"That's what this is for. Everyone you meet, everything you hear, everything you do, you e-mail to me. You supply the intelligence, I process it and, if necessary, act on it."
Warren gestured at the photograph.
"This Donovan, why's he so important?"
"Because he's big. Responsible for maybe a third of all the cocaine that comes into this country. If we take him out, we reduce the amount on the streets."
"You reckon?" said Warren.
"All you'll do is push up the street price for a while. Take out Donovan and someone else will move in to fill the gap. That's how it works. Supply and demand."
"So we take out Donovan, then there'll be a new Tango One and we'll take him out, too. And we keep on going."
Warren sighed.
"It's not a war we can win."
"Putting murderers in prison doesn't mean that murders won't continue to happen," said Hathaway, 'but murderers still belong behind bars. Same goes for men like Donovan. Not having second thoughts, are you?"
Warren shook his head fiercely.
"I only have to look out of the window to see the damage drugs do. But I know how it works in the real world, Gregg. You put a dealer behind bars, there's half a dozen want to take over his customers. Clamp down on the supply and the price goes up, so there's more crime as the addicts raise the extra cash they need. More break-ins, more muggings."
"We're not interested in the guys on the street," said Hathaway.
"We're after the big fish. Guys like Dennis Donovan. Put Donovan behind bars and it will make a difference, I can promise you that."
Warren reached over and picked up the photograph of Donovan again. He looked more like a foot baller reaching the end of his career than a hardened criminal.
"He's thirty-four years old, married with a six-year-old son. Wife is Vicky. She's twenty-seven. They've got a house in Kensington, but Donovan spends most of his time in the Caribbean."
"Are they separated?" asked Warren.
"No, it's just easier for him to operate out there. He was under round-the-clock surveillance here Customs, police, the taxman. Couldn't take a leak without someone recording the fact. His kid's settled in school and his wife likes shopping, so they've resisted moving out there. Donovan's over here every month or so and they spend all their holidays in the sun, so it seems to be working out okay."
"Is he still under the microscope?"
"Sure, but it's more to keep the pressure on him than it is to catch him in the act."
Warren wrinkled his nose.
"Why do you think I'm going to do any better than the teams who've already been targeting him?"
"Because you won't be watching him, Cliff. You'll be working for him, ideally."
"And just how do I get to him?"
"You start dealing." Hathaway nodded at the window.
"Most of the crack cocaine sold in the streets out there can be traced to Donovan if you go back for enough."
"If you know that, why don't you arrest him?"
"Knowing and proving are two very different things, Cliff."
"So the idea is for me to work my way up the supply chain until I get to Donovan?"
"That's the plan."
"That's not a plan," said Warren.
"That's a wish. A hope. It's what you do when you get the biggest piece of turkey wishbone, that's what that is."
Hathaway leaned forward.
"It's what'll happen in an ideal world. But even if you don't get close to Donovan, you'll still be supplying us with useful intelligence. Whatever you do, wherever you end up, you keep your eyes and ears open for news about this man. Tango One."
Tina Leigh ran both hands through her hair, brushing the strands behind her ears.
"I'm not a criminal. Why's Donovan going to be interested in me?"
Hathaway looked away, awkwardly.
"I'm his type, is that it?"
"You're a very sexy girl, Tina."
Tina glared at him, "Go screw yourself "Give me a chance to explain, Tina. Please."
"You don't need to explain. I used to be a hooker, so now I'll just lie back and spread my legs for a gangster. Well, fuck you, Hathaway. I worked my balls off to put that behind me. I ain't going back for you or anyone."
She stood up and Hathaway put his hands up in front of his face as if he feared she might attack him.
"That's not what I said. And that's not what I meant."
"I know exactly what you meant. I can't join the Met because I worked the streets, but I'm being given official approval to sleep with a gangster. How fucking hypocritical is that?"
"I didn't say you had to sleep with him, Tina." He waved at her chair.
"Please sit down and hear me out."
Tina raised her right hand to her mouth and bit down on the knuckle of her first finger, hard enough to feel the bone beneath the skin. She wanted to throw Hathaway out of her flat, she wanted to yell and scream and call him every name under the sun, but she brought her anger under control.
"Okay," she said. She sat down and crossed her legs, lit a cigarette, the third since Hathaway had arrived, and waited for him to continue.
"Donovan's out of the country most of the time, but he comes back regularly on flying visits. When he does come back, we know of several clubs that he frequents. We'd like you to apply for a job, whatever job you think you'd be suitable for. Once you're employed, we'd want you to keep your ears open. You pass on anything you hear. And if you can get near Donovan, that'll be the icing on the cake."