Whether that particular story was true or not, one thing wasn’t in dispute: he definitely knew the right people. Using his lecturing as a front, he’d reached out to several London-based organized crime groups (including, allegedly, the Kalamans), made some introductions between the buyers in the UK and the sellers in South and Central America, and had helped to set up some very effective coke and heroin smuggling routes into Europe – and all this simply through some old-fashioned charm.
It said something about Archie’s skill as a criminal operator that it had only been six years earlier, when he was already in his mid-fifties, that he finally came to our attention. I was working organized crime at the time and we’d got wind that he was the person brokering a huge coke deal between the Gulf Cartel in Mexico and a Chechen outfit who’d recently arrived in London and were looking to become significant players.
And that, in essence, was Archie’s Achilles heel. Because he acted as a free agent, with no particular affiliation, he ran the risk of upsetting people, and unfortunately didn’t have the muscle backing him up for that not to matter. And it turned out that someone didn’t like the idea of him helping the Chechens because one night, while a surveillance team I was leading were watching his house, there was an attempt on his life.
It all happened very quickly. Archie came out of the front door of his beautiful townhouse deep in the wealthy heart of Belgravia en route to one of the flashy London restaurants he liked to eat in and was on his way down the steps when the back doors of a van parked further down the road opened and two men in balaclavas jumped out and ran down the street towards him, holding pistols. Archie spotted them almost immediately, but by that point they were barely twenty yards away, and he knew there was nothing he could do. He’d never have made it to the front door, or his car for that matter, which was further down the street.
Luckily for Archie, the cavalry were on the scene, and before the gunmen could open fire my team of twelve armed surveillance officers were out of their vehicles and drawing their weapons. Stunned, the gunmen had dropped their own weapons immediately and thrown their hands in the air and, while my team searched and cuffed them, I’d marched up to a simultaneously relieved and stricken-looking Archie and arrested him for conspiracy to supply a controlled substance. I remember him smiling then as he realized for the first time what had just happened, and thanking me profusely for saving his life. He’d even said those classic words: ‘I’m forever in your debt.’
It wasn’t the usual reaction from an arrested suspect and, of course, once we got to the station he denied any wrongdoing whatsoever. However, he was courteous and jovial, a real character, and I have to admit, I liked the guy. We didn’t have enough to charge him but he was temporarily placed under police protection while an investigation started into who’d targeted him. During those weeks I got to spend a bit of time with him, my objective being to get him to cooperate with us in return for a new identity and permanent witness protection. Archie was old school, though. He never gave us a thing we could use. We never did find out who’d targeted him either, but the experience had made him realize it was best to retire while the going was good and he’d headed off to Ibiza and bought a boutique hotel in one of the more picturesque parts of the island. I’d occasionally get an email from him saying that if I ever fancied coming out to Ibiza, I could stay at his hotel for free for as long as I liked.
I’d never taken him up on his offer, although once, when I’d needed some help on a case, he’d given me some off-the-record information that had proved useful. But I’d never properly called in his debt to me, and now was my opportunity.
I still had his mobile number. Like a lot of numbers I thought I might one day need again, I’d learned it off by heart. I doubted if he’d have changed it.
But I was taking a risk calling him. Courteous, jovial and in my debt he might have been, but he was still a criminal, and there was still a big reward on my head, from the police and from the Kalamans, with whom I’m sure he still had contacts.
I was drinking a cup of coffee and mulling over whether to call him when the landline phone started ringing inside the house. I wondered if it was Steve Brennan telling me he’d made it back home safely, although I’d told him before he left that it was safer for everyone concerned if we had no further contact.
I let it ring until I heard the answerphone kick in, but the caller hung up without leaving a message.
I put down my coffee and stood up. The call had made me nervous. Perhaps Brennan was trying to warn me about something. Either way, I decided it might be best if I made myself scarce.
I went back inside the house and I was halfway up the stairs when the phone started ringing again. Again, I let it go, going into the bedroom and chucking all my stuff into my backpack.
When it hit answerphone, the caller hung up again.
Ten seconds passed. And then it started ringing a third time.
There was a handset next to the bed in the master bedroom and I went inside and picked it up.
‘Ray Mason. Get out of the house now,’ said a male voice that sounded vaguely familiar. ‘The police are on the way. The car
