'It's obvious to me what's going on.'
'What's that?'
'Well, these Irish guys were buying cocaine from the Colombians. It came by the normal route to the Florida Keys, then the Caribbean and North Africa. They then used Gibraltar as the jump-off point for the rest of Europe. They made fortunes, and at the same time we took our cut for letting them move it through South Florida. All of a sudden, though, at the end of' eighty-seven, it stopped going through Gibraltar.'
'Why was that?' I was finding it hard to stay calm.
Big Al shrugged.
'Some big hullaballoo with the locals. I think they now run it from South Africa instead, into the west coast of Spain, something like that. They're linked with some other terrorists up there.'
'ETA?'
'Search me. Some bunch of terrorists or freedom fighters.
Call them what you like, to me they're all just dealers.
Anyway, they help the Irish now. No doubt old Raoul organized things Stateside with Daddy's boss to ensure that the route stayed open for the Irish, because otherwise the Colombians would have given it to someone else.'
'You make it sound like allocating air routes or something.'
Big Al shrugged again.
'Of course. It's business.' He spoke as if all this stuff was common knowledge. It was news tome.
So who the fuck was PIRA talking to in Gibraltar? Was the PIRA there in an attempt to keep the drug trafficking going?
It came back to me that in September 1988, Sir Peter Terry, who'd been instrumental in pressing for a crackdown on drug smuggling and who'd been governor of Gibraltar until earlier that year, had narrowly survived an assassination attempt at his home in Staffordshire. A gunman who'd never been caught had given him the good news with twenty rounds from an AK-47 something, as it happened, that Mr. McGear was not unaccustomed to doing. Maybe the fourth man in the photograph was getting a similar warning? And was there some sort of connection between the ending of the drug runs and the shooting of PIRA players in Gibraltar just a few months later?
Whatever, it confirmed that there were some strange things going on with some members of the DEA, including Kev's boss. Maybe they were getting a cut of the action from PIRA and Kev found out?
Big Al sucked through his teeth once more.
'You've got a brilliant package here, man. So which one are you going to blackmail?'
'Blackmail?'
'Micky, you've got a senior figure in the DEA talking with big-cheese cartel members, your terrorist fellas, and Gibraltar government, law enforcement, whoever. You're not trying to tell me these pictures aren't for the purpose of blackmail? Get real. If it's not you who's going to use them, whoever took these photographs is certainly intending to.' We went through all the pictures one more time. Kelly didn't recognize any more of the people.
I asked de Sabatino if there was any way we could enhance the photography.
'What's the point? You seem to know everybody.' He was right. I just wanted Kelly to look at 'Daddy's boss' more closely.
There was silence for about three minutes as we just kept on flicking through.
'What else do you know about Gibraltar?' I asked.
'Not much. What more do you want?' His second cigar was well on its way, and Kelly was waving away the smoke.
'It's common sense if you've got enough money, do a deal with the Colombians and get the goods into Europe. Every other bunch of bad asses is doing it, so why not your Irish guys?'
Big Al was looking at me as if what we'd stumbled across was very mundane. And I had to admit, it didn't seem enough for Kev and his family to have been murdered for.
There was too much silence; Big Al had to inject some thing.
'Whatever, someone is definitely in the blackmail biz.'
I wasn't so sure. Maybe it was some kind of insurance for PIRA. If Kev's boss or the Gibraltarians decided not to play anymore, maybe this was what would keep them in the game.
I looked at Kelly.
'Can you do us a favor? Will you go and get some cans of soda?'
She looked happy to get out of the smoke. I followed her to the door, gave her a handful of coins, and pulled the curtain so I could see the machines. The landing was clear; I watched Kelly until she reached the dispenser, then I sat down on the bed. Big Al was still playing with the laptop.
I pointed at the screen.
'First Kev is killed. Now we've got Daddy's boss mixing with the cartels. It's reasonable to assume that what we've got here is corruption within the DEA, involving drug shipments via Florida to Irish terrorists who've been getting it into Europe via Gibraltar. Only now it seems there were some problems for them in late 'eighty- seven.'
Big Al wasn't really listening. The thought of a corrupt DEA officer had taken him to another planet.
'Way to go!
You gonna nail the bastard?'
'I don't know what I'm going to do.'
'Fucking nail him, Nicky! I hate cops! I hate the DEAf I have to live like a fucking hermit federal witness protection program, kiss my ass!'
I was worried that five years of frustration were about to explode out of him. I had no time for that.
'Frankie, I need a car.'
He wasn't listening.
'They used me, then they just fucked me over...'
'I need a car.'
He looked at Kelly as she returned with a selection of soda cans, then slowly came back to earth.
'Sure, OK, for how long?'
'Two days, maybe three. And I need some money.'
'When do you want it by?'
'Now.'
Big Al was weird and a sad fuck, too soft and stupid to be in this sort of world, but I felt sorry for him. Me turning up must have been the best thing that had happened to him in years. Life must be shit with no friends, and always worrying about being hit. But that was how mine was going to be if I didn't get this stuff back to Simmonds.
Big Al used the room phone to call a car rental agency. It would take about an hour to deliver a vehicle, so the three of us strolled to an ATM. He drew out twelve hundred dollars from four different accounts.
'You never know when you're going to need mucho dinero in a hurry!' He grinned. Maybe he wasn't so stupid after all.
Back in the room, waiting for the car, I could sense there was more to come from him. He'd definitely been brooding on something for the last half hour.
'Would you like to make some money, Nicky real money?'
I was checking my bag to make sure I hadn't left anything.
'Why's that? Are you going to give me some?'
'In a way.' He came and stood by me as I zipped the bag closed.
'On those files there are some account numbers stuffed with narco-dollars. Give me two minutes to access what I need and then I can hack in. I could do it in my sleep.' He put an arm around me.
'Nicky, two minutes on my laptop and we could be talking serious enrichment. What do you say?'
His head was nodding at a thousand rpm, his eyes never leaving mine.
I let him sweat a bit.
'How do I know that you'll pay me my half?' I thought I'd let him know how much I wanted.
'I can transfer it anywhere you want. And don't worry, once I've moved it they'll never know where it's
