undercover operations. He had intended that the first down payment of the money for the stolen whisky should have taken place in an environment which he controlled. The last-minute party invitation had thrown him off kilter and he could not really refuse it. Gary had said he wanted to settle things at the party and for Henry to have said no would have probably aroused suspicion.
At least it meant he was in the bloke’s good books and maybe there would be some opportunity to get Gary or Gunk to start blabbing whilst under the influence of drink.
Henry, wired up, walked into the marquee entrance and had a listen to the Freddie Mercury lookalike for a few minutes, quite impressed.
Whilst lounging there and being treated to a rousing rendition of ‘Hammer to Fall’, Henry’s eyes roved across the assorted assemblage. Then he did a double-take and tensed up as he recognised someone in the crowd — a guy called Fallon, a Manchester crim, low-level drug dealer, who Henry had surveilled and locked up a few years before when he’d been on the squad. Henry moved away from the marquee, quickly putting his drink to his mouth to cover some of his face. This was one of those exact reasons why undercover cops do not work near home. The possibility of being blown out, accidentally or otherwise, was very real and dangerous.
And if Fallon was here, who else could be?
What he needed to do was conduct his business with Thompson, make his excuses and then a sharp exit.
He tried to stroll nonchalantly away from the tent whilst holding his glass up to his cheek, pretending to scratch the corner of his eyes. He had gone about ten yards towards the restaurant when a big, heavy arm wrapped around his shoulders. Gunk Elphick stuck his face into Henry’s, overpowering the detective’s sense of smell with a combination of booze and a particularly repugnant aftershave. The fusion stung Henry’s eyeballs, made him blink rapidly.
‘ Frank, how you doing, pal?’ slurred Gunk, oiled to a very high viscosity.
‘ I’m fine, considering.’
Gunk stepped back, affronted. ‘You still moanin’ about me duffin’ you up?’
‘ Duffing isn’t the word I would choose. Hammering the shite out of, is the phrase. And yes, I am sore.’
‘ Y’soft twat.’ Gunk punched him hard on the shoulder. ‘Nowt personal.’
‘ So I’ve been told.’
Gunk’s face warped into a ‘Don’t give a monkey’s anyway’ sort of look. ‘What do you think about the do?’ He swept his arm in an all-encompassing gesture, taking in the whole of the party.
‘ Big do. Nice.’ Henry nodded appreciatively.
‘ Yeah, you’re right — effin’ big do.’ Gunk gave Henry a salacious wink for some unfathomable reason. ‘We’ve invited a lot of top boys to this, both as a sign of friendship and also to put ‘em on notice that me and Gazzer’ve arrived. To let ‘em know where the power is going to be in the future. A kind of friendly poke in the ribs to our competitors, sorta.’ Gunk’s big index finger rocketed towards Henry’s chest to reinforce the point. Henry caught it in his fist and slowed it down before it broke his sternum. The finger was as podgy as a semi-erect cock. Henry let it go quickly.
Gunk leaned into Henry again. The drink was making him voluble. ‘We’re going to be big, me and Gazzer,’ he breathed. ‘Got big plans
… and now that we’ve got the backing… and we’ve already let the rest of the nobs know we won’t be twatted around with.’ Again, he winked.
‘ You mean by that, the way you dealt with Jacky Lee?’
Gunk tapped his nose conspiratorially. ‘Ex — fucking — zacktly. We are going to be immense in this town.’ He leaned back slightly, teetered, then regained balance.
‘ Can you talk Russian?’ Henry asked him.
‘ No need. English is the language of the world, these days. They talk it better’n me, and they talk money. That’s all we need to get along, innit?’
‘ Sounds a good enough combination to me,’ Henry agreed — except that he seriously questioned the wisdom of such a partnership as, over the last couple of days, he had done some research into the Russian Mafia.
Henry had contacted his friend and colleague at the FBI office in London, a man called Karl Donaldson. He and Henry had met each other a few years earlier on a case concerning American Mafia connections in the North of England — a job that had almost cost Henry his life. Henry knew Karl would be able to give him the lowdown on the Russians, in particular how they operated abroad.
He had made the correct assumption. The Russians, it transpired, were very high on the agenda of the FBI for reasons Donaldson did not immediately explain.
Donaldson got quickly into his stride. Since the demise of the USSR, the American began, the Russian Mafia had internationalised very quickly and became a leading player in global crime. He went on to quote a few facts about Russian operations outside that country. They fell into three main categories.
The first was known as hard penetration. This is where the Mafia decide to establish themselves as the predominant criminal force in a particular area or country. In some cases this is achieved by aligning themselves with local organised crime and in others taking on the locals directly and bloodily in turf wars. Examples of countries in which this approach had been taken were Poland, Austria, Germany and Israel.
Next category, Donaldson went on with relish, was a more subtle technique known as soft penetration. This method is chosen when the marauding Russians see either the local law enforcers or the local organised gangs as threats, such as in the UK where the cops, on the whole, are pretty effective or in Italy, where the local Mafia are just as ruthless and well-organised as the Russians themselves. In these cases, their usual method of infiltration is by way of legitimate business fronts.
Finally — last but not least — came Donaldson’s third option: service penetration. In this way the Russians are able to cash in on their undoubted skills and abilities in several areas by providing key services to criminal gangs, whether it be money laundering or assassination.
There were examples, he said, of the Russians combining two or all three of these approaches where necessary. They sometimes kill for the locals, then move into their organisations, then take over — often by use of force.
Henry felt slightly queasy at the revelation.
Donaldson had concluded by telling Henry that the FBI, and the CIA, he believed, were investigating several murders which appeared to have been carried out by highly trained Russian killers contracted by local criminals.
‘ Good Lord,’ Henry exclaimed as Donaldson finished the last point. He quickly asked the American if he knew any of the Russian language. Henry knew Donaldson was a whizz at language.
‘ Yeah, I’m studying it at night school in Basingstoke, doing what you Brits call an A level. Why?’
‘ What does… let me try to get this right… “ Astana veesta” mean? He tried to recall what Jacky Lee’s killer had shouted at him.
Donaldson thought for a moment. ‘If you’ve got it right, it could be “Stop” maybe.’
Henry quickly told him about the situation in which he found himself, described Jacky Lee’s murder, and the subsequent appearance of the Bryan Ferry lookalike, Mr Drozdov, on the scene in Manchester.
As a matter of urgency, Donaldson asked Henry to send him a copy of everything he had, and promised to do some digging for him with his European contacts.
Now, as Henry looked at Gunk, swaying drunkenly before him at the party, he wondered who would come off better in the partnership, the Russians or the locals. But he already knew the answer. For all their bluster and violence, Gary and Gunk did not have the brains to foresee the implications of getting into bed with the Russians.
Henry did not have one jot of sympathy.
‘ They did Jacky for us as a favour,’ Gunk said bluntly, astonishing his listener. ‘They wanted to work with Jacky at first, but he told them to sling their hooks. Then they talked to us, discreet like, put a deal to us and we had the vision to see ahead.’ Suddenly Gunk clammed up tight, realising he had said too much, even in his inebriated state.
Yeah, thought Henry, the Russians do not do favours without a payback day.
