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“It’s a price worth paying,” said William. “Perhaps you haven’t noticed Russian riot police don’t sit around in coaches if the public even think about protesting.”
“And on that note, Choirboy, I’m going to try and grab some kip. Wake me up when our next ship comes in.”
She leaned back in her seat, closed her eyes, and had fallen asleep within minutes. William wished he could do that, but his mind refused to rest even at night. He stared out at the empty gray sea, and thought about Beth. God, he’d been lucky, and it wouldn’t be long now before they were a family of three. Even more reason to hope that the promotion Jackie had hinted at wasn’t too far away. He thought about becoming a father. If it was a boy he could open the batting for England, while his daughter could be the first woman director of the National Gallery.
His mind turned to Miles Faulkner whose trial would open at the Bailey next week. So much rested on Adrian Heath’s evidence. William had been interested to hear from his sister that Booth Watson had phoned their chambers earlier in the week offering to plead guilty to the lesser charge of possession, if the Crown would drop the more serious offense of intent to supply. He wasn’t surprised when Grace told him that their father had politely rejected the offer. His thoughts turned next to Khalil Rashidi. After he’d left Tea House at midday that Monday, he’d taken the tube to Stockwell, and then changed onto the Victoria Line ending up in Brixton, where DC Adaja was waiting for him. Paul had made no attempt to shadow him when he’d emerged from the station, but returned to the Yard on the next train. When Lamont demanded to know why, Paul explained that Rashidi had been met outside the station by half a dozen heavies who kept checking in every direction to make sure no one was following him. At least they now knew which borough Rashidi’s slaughter must be in, but they were no nearer to locating it in what was virtually a no-go area, although the police would never admit it. Perhaps Jackie’s UCO would finally be able to solve that particular problem.
Next, William thought about Lamont, whose wavelength he still hadn’t managed to get onto. The superintendent didn’t bother to disguise the fact that he still thought of him as a choirboy, and Paul as an immigrant. And finally, the Hawk, who soared above them all.
William snapped back into the real world when he spotted a dot on the horizon. He waited until he could make out the name Saxon Prince on its bow before he woke Jackie. She was wide awake within moments, as if she’d never been asleep, something else he wished he could do.
“Saxon Prince is making its way in
to the harbor,” he said.
“Do please be on this one,” muttered Jackie plaintively, as she switched on the car engine.
They drove back down Bath Hill and returned to their favored surveillance point, which allowed them a perfect view of the ship as it entered the harbor, without being too conspicuous. It wasn’t long before the first vehicle drove down the ramp.
Once again Jackie, her binoculars focused on the cars as they headed toward customs, passed the details of each number plate on to Paul back at the Yard.
Suddenly she said in a far more animated voice, “I don’t believe it! Get the guv’nor on the radio, Paul, sharpish.”
She handed the binoculars to William, who focused on a Volvo as it proceeded slowly along the dockside. He now had the answer to his unanswered question, and wondered how Lamont would react. He passed the binoculars back to Jackie.
The next voice they heard over the radio said sharply, “What’s the problem, Jackie?”
“A Volvo towing a caravan has come off the ferry and is heading toward customs, sir.”
“And?” said Lamont impatiently.
“You’re not going to believe this, sir, but MM is behind the wheel, and Tulip is sitting next to him in the passenger seat.”
“Where are they now?”
“In the queue waiting to clear customs. But as I’m his liaison officer, I’m not quite sure what I should do next?”
“Hold on. Don’t let them out of your sight while I have a word with the boss.”
The encrypted radio was silent for so long that, if it hadn’t been for the occasional crackle, Jackie might have thought she’d lost contact. At last they heard the unmistakable voice of the Hawk. Brief and to the point.
“Are you certain, DC Roycroft?”
“Yes, sir,” she said firmly, her binoculars still focused on the Volvo.
“Are they still in the queue?”
“No, sir. A customs officer is checking the car, and another one is chatting to Tulip. Now they’re smiling and waving the car through.” She paused for a moment. “A couple more minutes, sir, and we’ll lose them,” she said, trying to keep her foot off the accelerator.
“Stay put, DC Roycroft,” said the Hawk. “We can’t afford to compromise a UCO, and if the gear is being delivered to Rashidi’s slaughter somewhere in Brixton, that could help us fill in one of the last pieces of the jigsaw. I repeat, stay put.”
William snatched the radio out of Jackie’s hand. “What if your UCO has been turned, sir? In that case we’ll be none the wiser as to the location of the factory, and we’ll have lost ten kilos of cocaine and a chance to put Tulip out of business.”
“That’s just not possible,” said Jackie, almost shouting. “Ross would never switch sides,” she added, breaking a cardinal rule.
“Perhaps your UCO is only telling us half the story,” said William calmly. “As you never stop reminding us, sir, there’s a vast amount of money involved with these drug cartels, which must be a temptation for even the most scrupulous officer.” This silenced Jackie, not least because she’d never heard anyone speak to the commander like that.
“You’re quite right, DS Warwick,” said the commander equally calmly. “It’s possible that, as DC Roycroft and I are running this particular UCO, we’re too personally involved. I’ll leave the final decision to you, Bruce.”
