stock went through the roof after the Kosovo conflict thanks to the US and UK governments. Before the war we got the IMF to impose economic sanctions that caused Albania’s economy to collapse, putting us in a prime position to ‘save’ them. Skender was one of the organisers of the Kosovo Liberation Army against Milosevic. We trained and equipped the KLA and then handed them the bulk of the rebuilding contracts after our bombers levelled the place. Skender used those projects to launder millions of his illegal dollars and in a few short months he became a legitimate billionaire. By the end of the decade he was, or at least we suspect he was, running Europe’s most powerful heroin cartel. You’re probably wondering what the hell this has got to do with Sally.’
Stratton didn’t want to interrupt, expecting Seaton to get to the point eventually. All he had been briefed about the Almaty job was that the trade route was used by Islamic terrorist organisations moving components of WMDs, weapons of mass destruction, into the West. Interestingly, the boxes found on Mohammad Al-Forouf’s train in Iraq had been identical in appearance to those that Stratton had photographed in Almaty and had had traces of heroin as well as explosives in them. But there’d been no sign of WMDs.
‘Skender has lived most of his life in Albania,’ Seaton went on, ‘where he has extensive interests in chrome, copper, nickel and platinum as well as an abundance of as yet untapped oil deposits. The guy is one of the most important characters in that part of the world and not just because of his wealth and connections. He has something else, something far more important that we want. He knows the real bad guys. I’m talking Bin Laden, Zakarwy, Usef, Moamar. He can get to them. Hence our very “special” relationship with him. Guess where he lives?’
‘I have no idea where this is going but would Los Angeles be too wild a guess?’ Stratton asked.
‘Got to connect to Sally somehow,’ Seaton replied with a nod. ‘Skender moved his base of operations to LA from New York a year ago and is currently in the process of centralising his western economic empire on the Pacific Rim, we think in readiness for a move into Asia and south and central America. You’ll see it more clearly if you know the background. This next part is my conjecture after I’d read the FBI file and added to it what little I know from the Almaty operation. I believe the FBI has something on Skender – although they wouldn’t tell us if they did. It looks like they waited until he’d set up his West Coast oper ation and secured a couple billion dollars in US and foreign banks that we have some control over before they moved in on him. He hasn’t left the country in more than nine months, which is unusual, but neither has the FBI charged him with any crimes. Yet all the signs indicate that they’re exerting some kind of pressure on him. If the Feds aren’t moving in it’s because they’re getting something out of it. At a guess I’d say they were pushing for his al-Qaeda connections. They don’t need to physi cally tie him down because if he runs they’ll seize his assets, and not just in the US. The FBI are pretty well entrenched in Eastern Europe now and have a lot of influence. US control of much of the world market has many advantages. Sally was killed by two of Skender’s soldiers. Open up that glove compartment.’
Stratton opened the compartment in front of him to reveal an inch-thick manila envelope.
‘Inside the envelope,’ Seaton said.
Stratton removed the envelope and took out its contents: a file containing dozens of photocopied pages.
‘What you have there is the long version of what I’ve just told you. Go to the first tab.’
Stratton held the tab and flicked over a quarter of the file to reveal a photograph of a grisly-looking man in his late thirties.
‘Read the guy’s name,’ Seaton asked.
‘Ardian Cano.’
‘There were two guys involved in Sally’s death. He’s one of them. Let me give you another little bit of background. A characteristic of the Albanian crime families – and a major reason why they remain so powerful – is the way they stand together, especially in a crisis. No one gets in unless they’re family, and God help anyone who tries to come between them. They’re famous for their brutality, chopping up their enemies into pieces – including those enemies’ women and children. You cross them and your family could end up being savagely punished. In Albania entire villages have been executed because of a single dispute. It’s effective and people think twice about screwing with these guys. Go to the next page.’
Stratton turned the page to reveal a picture of another man, equally brutal-looking. ‘Leka Bufi,’ he said, reading the name on the top.
‘Bufi is Ardian Cano’s partner,’ Seaton explained, ‘and the other guy involved in Sally’s murder. Both men were in the KLA together under another guy I’ll come to in a minute. The CIA has files on them because we also happened to train them. Skender used the Kosovo war to settle a lot of territorial disputes, which is how he gained control over many of the clans – those two characters came out of Kosovo with a lot of blood on their hands. Both Ardian and Leka are lowlifes, small fry and not related to Skender who might well have thrown them to the wolves for killing Sally but for one reason. Ardian just happens to have a family connection close to Skender. Next page.’
Stratton flicked between Bufi and Cano, embedding their images in his memory before turning the page to a photo of another man. ‘Ivor Vleshek.’
‘So his papers say. Claims to be Russian, a Muscovite and Skender’s right-hand henchman – which is interesting, considering Skender’s penchant for nepotism. So why does Skender have a non-Albanian that close to the family? We’re pretty certain that Vleshek’s real name is Dren Cano, Ardian Cano’s younger brother. Ardian and Leka were under Dren Cano’s command while in the KLA. Dren was more intelligent than his older brother and much more ruthless. So bad, in fact, that he was wanted by the war crimes tribunal. Shortly after the end of the war Dren went missing, which was no surprise. The few prewar pictures we have of him are too poor to match. If that
‘The FBI has Ardian Cano and Leka Bufi down as suspects?’
‘They were identified by a Korean shopkeeper who witnessed the killing. The shopkeeper’s son was almost killed by Ardian that same afternoon. The son’s a small-time pusher who owed Ardian some money. Can you see how the picture is coming together?’
‘You’re suggesting Ardian and Leka are not being charged with Sally’s murder because of a special relationship that Skender has with the FBI? You’ve got to be joking.’
‘No, I don’t think that. It’s one more thing they’ll have against his organisation. What I am saying is that it might be a question of timing. There is another problem, of course. No witness will testify against Skender’s people in court. That Korean shopkeeper spilled the names but he won’t say anything under oath.’
Stratton looked unmoved but deep inside he was stunned.
‘At the end of the day it’s going to be like any other crime,’ Seaton said. ‘Their guilt has to be proven.’
Stratton looked up as a sign passed indicating that Langley Fork Park was next right. Langley was the CIA’s vast operational headquarters. They carried straight on through the junction. Stratton went back to the file and turned the page.
The next photograph was of a man much older than the others, in his early sixties and clean-shaven. He had a large head with long, straggly hair combed back and looked every bit as hard as the younger men.
‘That’s Skender,’ Seaton said.
Stratton studied the photograph for only a moment before going back to the two men who interested him most. A minute later he shut the file and put it back inside the manila envelope.
Traffic was light as they joined the brightly lit Interstate 495. After less than a mile Seaton took an exit onto a highway and a short distance later turned along a minor road. He pulled sharply into the driveway of a large, two-storey house before killing the engine and turning off the lights.
‘Home sweet home,’ Seaton said, opening his door.
They climbed out and Stratton grabbed his pack off the back seat, the manila envelope still in his hand.
The front garden was manicured and amply stocked with a variety of plant life. Lights were on downstairs while the top floor was in darkness.
‘Let’s go around back,’ Seaton said, leading the way. ‘See what we have to eat. I’m hungry. You?’
‘I could eat something,’ Stratton said, more out of politeness than genuine hunger.
Seaton unlocked the back door and stepped into a modern, tidy, well-appointed kitchen. ‘Want a beer?’ he asked.
‘Sure,’ Stratton said, putting down his pack and placing the file on top of it. He didn’t particularly fancy one but was fighting against a growing realis ation of his lack of sociability.
Seaton took a couple of bottles from the fridge, popped them with an opener, handed one to Stratton and
