'The money was about the only decent thing she ever did for me,' Jake nodded, his husky tone betraying his true emotions.
'—But you and money together spelled more trouble.' Trask chose to ignore the interruption. 'So maybe you didn't have too much going for you, you and your Ma — still her death affected you badly. You went on a long drinking spree in all the Mediterranean resorts from Genoa to Marseille, wrecked your car on the Italian Riviera; the paparazzi took your photograph during several fist-fights in Cannes. Also it's not at all unlikely that you returned to your drug-taking habits.'
'I never had much of a habit,' Jake told him. 'Oh, I tried just about every brand, that's true, but they only made me ill. Those 'funny' cigarettes were about as bad as it ever got, and where I've spent the last three months even they were far too expensive. I'm used to my asshole the shape and size I've always known it!' He looked at Liz and said, 'Sorry, but if you insist on being here…'
She shook her head, answered, 'I'm not a child, Jake. After tonight I thought you'd know that much, at least.'
And Trask went on just as if no one else had spoken: 'Then you met a girl. There'd been women in your life — quite a few — but this one was something else. She was special.'
'This is the bit you can skip,' Jake told him gruffly. But:
'Unfortunately not,' Trask answered. 'If Liz is to be your partner, and the rest of E-Branch is to work with you, they'll need to know that you aren't quite the savage that the world — and probably you, too, Jake — thinks you are. They'll need to know you had your reasons.'
And Jake sat silently now, his head lowered…
CHAPTER FIVE Jake's Story
'Her name was Natasha,' Trask went on. 'And she was working for the Moscow Mafia. She was a courier for the Mob in the guise of a fashions artist, but in fact the only designs that interested her were the designer micro- drugs in her sports car's roll-bars. Natasha was also the Mob's collection agent and ferried lots of high- denomination francs and lire back to a vastly depleted Russian economy… or rather, to the thugs who were in large part responsible for that depletion.'
Trask shook his head in disgust. 'God.' Hoods of the world, unite.' We thought it was over and done with when the Mafia took a couple of bad falls back in 1984 to '87. In America, the families really suffered. When Gotti went down everyone thought it was the end of that kind of corruption, at least in the USA. In Sicily, '87, nearly four hundred of these lizards were convicted of murder, extortion, graft, racketeering, prostitution, you name it. Surely that was the end of it? Oh, really?
'But the Russian Mafia were just starting out, and with the collapse of the European immigration laws ten years ago and the removal of border controls on the continent… well, as I said, thank the Lord that the UK's an island. We kept our border controls, our immigration laws, and for once we got it dead right. Even so, the illicit drugs trade is hard to beat and we're suffering our fair share, though not nearly as badly as the rest of the world.
And, of course, hard-core survivors of police activity and 'old' Mafia-style gang wars in Italy, Sicily and the States have formed liaisons with the ever more powerful Russian gangs, which means that, in common with the world's terrorist organizations, they're now pretty much integrated.
'Marseille has always had a big drug problem. The Riviera, with its jet-setters and high-roller socialites, has been drug-dealer heaven for a long, long time. Natasha Slepak's mobility — the routes she used — were several, but mainly she would fly from Moscow to Budapest and then drive down into Italy or over into France. Or she might use another route into France, driving into Genoa, then taking a yacht to the French Riviera. The Mob have contacts, keep boats, in most Italian sea ports.
'Jake met Natasha in Marseille. According to a statement he made later — much later — to the Italian police, she wanted out of the drugs business. She was being pestered for sex by one of the Italian Mob's top men, one Luigi Castellano, a young Sicilian who ran the French side of the action from a sprawling villa on the outskirts of Marseille. Castellano was Natasha's top contact in France, and he was also the man she most feared and hated…'
As Trask paused, Jake — who had been looking more and more agitated — burst out, 'If it has to be told, let me do the telling from here on in.' Trask pursed his lips, then nodded.
'We met in a bar,' Jake began. 'What you've just heard is true: Natasha wanted out. But there was nowhere she could run, not on the Continent, anyway. No border controls; the Mob would find her wherever she went. Maybe that's why she went for me — because I had British nationality — but that's only a maybe. I prefer to think… well, otherwise. Anyway, we got on famously. For a couple of days I wined and dined her; she was a very good reason for staying sober, staying clean. We roomed at different hotels… so I thought. But in fact she was staying at Castellano's villa, and all the time fending the bastard off! And she wouldn't come anywhere near my place. In short, she wasn't any kind of pushover. And I knew she was worried about something.
'Eventually she told me just about everything. And all the time — all through our 'romance,' if you want to call it that — I was aware that she was being watched; even when I'd first met her, this tall guy had been watching from the shadows. I didn't tell her about it, but I knew I wasn't mistaken. Finally she told me why we couldn't be together. It was for my sake: she didn't want me to get into trouble.
'The time came when she said she'd have to be moving on. I knew I loved her, even though we'd known each other less than a week. Maybe I needed someone to love. My mother was recently dead, and I guessed that at the rate I was burning myself up it wouldn't be too long before I'd be joining her. And now there was Natasha to fill a void I had never thought would exist, and I just couldn't see anything to stop us being together. But she could: the Mob. So I asked her why shouldn't we go and tell her story to the local police, the Surete? She said they were in Castellano's pocket. So I said she should think about something: next time she'd be in Marseille, let me know beforehand and I would be there to take her out of it; to England where she'd be safe. Or comparatively safe, anyway. And she said okay.
'So on our last night together I was in a pretty frustrated mood. And wouldn't you know it? Her tail was there as always. I would know him anywhere: this tall man with his thin white face and dark eyes. But we had made our plans and the next time Natasha was in town would be the last time. She would come with me into England on a tourist visa, we'd get married, and she would stay on as my wife. It seemed more than likely she'd be lost to the Mob for good. So maybe she thought we should seal our pact. Or perhaps it was more than that; maybe she simply wanted to be with me on what would be our last night for some time to come.
'Anyway, she said yes, she would come back to my hotel with me. But there was no way I intended to have the tall fellow for company!
'We took a taxi to a bar a stone's throw from my hotel, and when Natasha went to the ladies' I waited just inside the door.
Sure enough, a car pulled up and the tail got out. And that finally did it for me; I'd had it up to here. So, stepping outside, I didn't bother to introduce myself but simply lashed out and knocked him down. Some of the stuff the SAS had taught me was finally coming in useful. And before he was even nearly ready to get up again, I took Natasha off to my hotel.
'Looking back on it now — oh, I was some kind of clown! To actually believe I could get away with it. Worse, I hadn't considered the repercussions where Natasha was concerned. Though I certainly did the next morning…
'After breakfast, when I took her down to catch a taxi, the heavies were there. And this time I didn't see them, didn't see it coming — didn't even feel it until I woke up at Castellano's villa. Not that I knew where I was at the time; my location was something I found out later. Anyway:
'… I was tied to a chair in one of the bedrooms. And Natasha was tied to a bed. We were both in our underwear. I seem to remember windows with thick drapes, so that not even a chink of sunlight came through. But it felt like day. Midday, quiet, too hot outside to even think of movement. That was what it was: no movement. A
