as in the Cosa Nostra, they are very divided, fractious and families are often at war with each other. Some families are more powerful than others and one of the top five are the Drozdovs, headed by an old-fashioned patriarch called Alexandr. Their power base is Moscow. They are one of the richest and most pro active of the families, very strategically-minded with long term goals. They are also one of the most extreme in terms of violence — if measured by the number of people they are alleged to have murdered. They specialise in drugs, prostitution and extortion rackets — extorting mainly from multi-national companies, not corner shops, incidentally. Nikolai Drozdov is Alexandr’s grandson. Nikolai’s father was killed in a gang shoot-out four years ago. Nikolai is being groomed to take over the number one spot when the old man (he’s about 90!) either dies or abdicates.
‘ You may (or may not) recall an article in the Sunday Times recently about “crime kings” gathering in Europe to divide up the continent between themselves. One name not mentioned in the article is Drozdov, but they were the main players behind that meeting. Intelligence from French sources filtered through to the FBI about that meeting indicates that the Russians are very interested in wrestling the UK heroin trade from the Turkish gangsters who now control it. There was a lot of friction between the two parties and subsequently a lot of dead bodies have turned up across Europe this year. However, the position is still unclear as to whether the Turks have kept control or whether the Russkies have taken over. Time will tell, no doubt.
‘ The other interesting snippet of intel states that the Russians intend to form a bridgehead into Britain for all types of criminal activity. I think it stands to reason they might choose a city like Manchester and an area like the North-West as starting points for their invasion. Nikolai will be eager to earn his spurs by setting up structures and networks within the already-existing infrastructure to achieve this. Britain is a biggie and carries a lot of kudos for Nikolai if he can achieve this.
‘ Some facts and figures for you to chew on: there are eight thousand organised crime groups in Russia. Two-thirds of the country is controlled by them. Two hundred of these groups have constructive contacts in fifty other countries. They are spreading faster than AIDS ever did — and they are more lethal.
‘ The appearance of Drozdov in the UK tells me this is the British foothold and once they’re in, they are here to stay. Very worrying, H.’
Henry glanced up at Terry. ‘Hm,’ he breathed thoughtfully.
He continued to read the fax. ‘The FBI are investigating a series of killings believed to have been committed by one man across Europe. He is called Yuri Ivankov (no photo, all descriptions poor). Ex-KGB Colonel and hit man, now in private practice, freelancing exclusively for the Drozdovs. Late forties — that’s all I have. Working on a photo and desc as we speak. He has murdered several Turks and some Euro-based American mobsters, operating on the continent, hence our interest, and also the CIA, I’m told, but cannot confirm this.
‘ From what you’ve told me, putting 2 and 2 together, I would say he is Jacky Lee’s killer. Jacky was a barrier to the Russians, and they wanted his business. Thompson and Elphick are ambitious etc, etc… I’m sure you’ve already worked this out. What it means is that you’ve got real trouble up there and I think you need to get a big operation underway to disrupt them — NOW!
‘ Will be pleased to assist — in a consultancy capacity, of course.
‘ Best wishes, Karl D.
‘ PS — there was a killing in Paris just over a week ago. We think it could be the work of Ivankov.’
For the first time that year Danny was able to wear a loose T-shirt and cut-off jeans in the open air. With open-toed sandals, a clipboard and a shoulder bag, she set off to find Barney Gillrow. Whilst strolling along she noticed that couples tended to give her a wide berth; she wondered about this for a while until she realised she was in the uniform of a timeshare tout, many of whom were out prowling for their commission along the beach- front.
Twenty minutes of slow walking brought her into Playa de Las Americas, a large, bustling, purpose-built resort with three manmade beaches and three natural ones — dark, volcanic, typical of the Canaries.
She found Gillrow’s apartment block sooner and more easily than expected. It was set back about 800 metres from the Playa del Bobo beach, and was low rise in comparison to the surrounding blocks and hotels.
Danny wandered in through the reception area unchallenged and to one of the four lifts, taking it up to the third floor, stepping out on to a walkway running along the rear of the apartment block, overlooking a narrow side road. She found Gillrow’s apartment and rang the bell. Whilst waiting she rooted in her bag and found her warrant card.
Gillrow answered the door, dressed in a light short-sleeved shirt and slacks, nothing on his feet. He looked very tanned and healthy. Danny gave him her best smile and held up her badge.
It was with a great deal of reluctance that he invited Danny into the apartment, muttering, ‘I told you all I know over the phone. Wasted journey, this. Wasted.’
‘ Well, you never know,’ she said positively.
He gave her a withering look.
The inside of the flat was airy and bright, with patio doors opening out on to a wide balcony overlooking the pool. It was nicely furnished, with broad comfortable sofas and easy chairs. A huge TV squatted in one corner; Danny assumed it was able to receive satellite channels the world over.
Stairs led up to an interior landing off which were several doors — bedrooms and bathrooms, no doubt.
Ceiling fans rotated silently but effectively.
‘ This is very nice,’ Danny acknowledged. ‘Where’s Mrs Gillrow?’
‘ Down at the health club.’
‘ In that case we can have a nice chat, can’t we?’
Barney sniffed doubtfully and gestured for her to sit down at the table out on the balcony.
‘ Lovely view,’ she commented, once seated.
‘ Mmm. Can I offer you a drink? You’ve come a long way for nothing, so it’s the least I can do.’
‘ Thanks. Anything soft will be fine.’
Danny watched him go back in through the patio doors to the spacious kitchen beyond the sitting area.
He looked very well. Life out here in the sun obviously agreed with him. His hair was still dark with the odd streak of grey, swept back from his face, and he had a nicely trimmed moustache. Danny thought he was good- looking and could easily imagine him as a smooth-talking detective of the type to whom she had so often been attracted in her earlier days when she was younger and easily led. She had been very promiscuous way back then and, whilst not proud of it, she wasn’t raked by guilt either. A little regret, maybe, because she had a reputation which often preceded her and the ‘decent’ guys — as opposed to the ones after a bed for the night — avoided her like she had the clap, which she had once had.
Gillrow came back with a long, cool lemonade. Danny thanked him.
‘ I’ll bet you do most of your eating out here. It must be wonderful. I love eating in the open air. Food tastes so much better.’ She was out to do a little softening by flattering his lifestyle if nothing else.
‘ Yeah, we do eat out here mostly.’
‘ What’s the social life like?’
‘ OK. I’m a bit of a loner anyway, so I’m not bothered about mixing all the time, but my wife gets out and about. There’s a lot of ex-pats around here.’
‘ What made you decide to come out here?’
Gillrow opened his arms, looked around and said, ‘This.’
Danny nodded, sipped the lemonade: real lemonade.
‘ OK,’ Gillrow said. ‘Niceties over… what do you want?’
Danny shrugged as if to say, ‘You pushed it.’ She opened her folding clipboard. ‘Malcolm Fitch was found murdered in Blackpool, shot through the head. He was dumped into a vehicle inspection pit with two other bodies, both of whom had connections with the drugs trade from Tenerife. Fitch used to be one of your informants. He hasn’t been seen, or at least we’ve had no recorded sightings of him, for about fourteen years.’
‘ I had a lot of informants. He was one of many, as I remember,’ Gillrow said, making a great show of trying to jog his memory by screwing up his face. ‘He didn’t really give me much. I didn’t use him much, either. So you see,’ he apologised, ‘you have had a wasted journey.’
‘ Mr Gillrow, your record suggests you were a very diligent, highly motivated cop. I’ve got to say, I find it hard to believe you can’t remember more about Fitch.’
