Джеффри Арчер - Hidden in Plain Sight

‘He was born in Marseilles in 1945,’ began William, checking the Interpol report. ‘His father was an Algerian farm labourer who fought alongside the French Resistance during the Second World War, and was killed by the Germans only weeks before hostilities ended.’

‘And his mother?’

‘The daughter of a local politician from Lyons, who didn’t acknowledge his grandson until he was awarded a place at the Sorbonne, from which he graduated with honours.’

‘And after that?’

‘He attended business school in Paris, and like so many second-generation immigrants —’ Adaja raised an eyebrow — ‘he worked a damn sight harder than his indigenous rivals, which resulted in him being snapped up by the Lyons tea importers, Marcel and Neffe. After just three years, at the age of twenty-seven, he was posted to the company’s Algiers office as regional director, the youngest in the firm’s history.’

‘How did that work out?’ asked Hawksby.

‘He resigned without explanation after a couple of years, and no one at Marcel and Neffe was quite sure why, because he’d doubled the company’s profits during that period.’

‘So did he resign or was he sacked, and they simply didn’t want to explain how he managed it?’ said Lamont.

‘With that in mind, I’ve asked the fraud squad to carry out a full Companies House investigation on our behalf. See if they can throw any light on his unexpected resignation.’

‘Even more mysterious,’ said Adaja, ‘is that five years later he returns to Lyons unannounced, takes over the company and appoints himself chairman. No one knows where he got the money from. And if anyone asked, they were either sacked, or were never seen again.’

‘I’m pretty sure,’ said William, ‘that Marcel and Neffe is nothing more than the respectable front for what Rashidi’s really importing, and it’s not tea. After Britain joined the EEC in 1973, Rashidi and his mother moved to London. She now lives in The Boltons, and my old school chum assures me that he visits her every Friday afternoon at five o’clock.’

‘Do you think she’s aware that her son is leading a double life?’ asked Lamont.

‘I don’t think so,’ said Jackie, coming in on cue. ‘I’ve been keeping an eye on Mrs Rashidi for the past few days, and she gives every impression of being a model citizen. She does the ladies who lunch circuit, attends the occasional concert at Wigmore Hall, likes Debussy and Strauss, sits on the local committee of Médecins Sans Frontières, and never misses Sunday-morning mass at the Brompton Oratory. It’s either an elaborate smoke screen, or she has no idea what her son’s up to.’

‘I presume,’ said Hawksby, ‘her house is now under constant surveillance?’

‘Night and day,’ said Lamont. ‘But other than a few local tradesmen, and the occasional visit from the parish priest, no one else has darkened her doors.’

‘Does she employ any staff?’ asked Hawksby.

‘A chauffeur, who used to be a corporal in the Guards, a cook and a housekeeper, who’ve been with her for years,’ said Adaja.

‘I assume you’ll all be out in force waiting to see if Rashidi turns up at five o’clock next Friday? Not that visiting one’s mother is a crime.’

‘Yes,’ said William. ‘A retired solicitor who lives across the square was only too happy to allow us the use of his top-floor flat, and more important, he didn’t ask any questions.’

‘Then let’s hope that Rashidi’s weekly visit to his mother is something we can rely on, in which case it will have been two hundred pounds well spent.’

‘And it’s possible there’s more to follow,’ said William. ‘OSC hinted that he was working on something even bigger.’

‘Like what?’ asked Lamont.

‘No idea, but he says it’s going to cost us a damned sight more.’

‘Then it had better be a damned sight bigger,’ said the Hawk.

‘It has to be one of two things,’ said Lamont. ‘Information concerning a large shipment of drugs coming from abroad...’

‘Or he’s discovered the location of Rashidi’s slaughter,’ suggested Paul.

‘Slaughter?’ said William.

‘Where they cook up the drugs, and prepare the clingfilm wraps, before selling them on,’ explained Paul. ‘Also known as the boiler room or hot house.’

‘If it turns out to be a large shipment from overseas,’ said Hawksby, ‘don’t arrest everyone in sight at the port of entry. Try to follow the cargo all the way to the slaughter. The commissioner is more interested in locking up Rashidi than a bunch of minnows, so it will be fascinating to see who locates the hot house first, William’s old school chum or Jackie’s undercover officer.’

‘Don’t put your money on DS Warwick,’ said Jackie, ‘because my UCO contacted me again last night.’

Suddenly the team’s attention was focused on DC Roycroft.

‘Thanks to DS Warwick’s intel,’ Jackie continued, ‘Marlboro Man has taken a part-time job behind the bar of the Three Feathers.’

‘Where no doubt he’ll work hard enough to ensure it will end up a full-time job,’ suggested Paul.

‘But not so hard that anyone becomes suspicious,’ threw in Jackie.

‘How did he manage to get the job so quickly?’ asked William.

‘DC9 supplied him with a reference from a pub in Wiltshire that would have impressed any landlord. He’s playing the innocent West Country bumpkin who’s just arrived in the big smoke.’

‘Is the landlord also involved?’ asked Lamont.

‘MM doesn’t think so,’ said Jackie. ‘But he’s happy to turn a blind eye while the cash keeps flowing across the counter. In fact, our man tells me he’s making more in tips as a part-time barman than he earns as an undercover DS.’

‘Which no one would begrudge him,’ said Lamont.

William frowned but didn’t comment.

‘Has he come up with anything substantial yet,’ asked the Hawk, ‘or is it still too early?’

‘The Three Feathers turns out to be a regular haunt for several well-known dealers, including Tulip, so he suspects the slaughter can’t be too far away. But so far he’s made no attempt to speak to Tulip.’

‘That makes sense,’ said the Hawk. ‘Patience has a whole new meaning when you go undercover. If Tulip suspected for one moment that MM was a copper, he’d slit his throat and leave him to bleed to death while he ordered his next pint.’

‘Why would anyone even consider becoming involved in anything quite so risky?’ asked William.

‘My UCO watched his younger brother die from a heroin overdose,’ said Jackie, ‘so for him, it’s personal.’

Jackie and Paul took it in turns to focus their binoculars on the front door of No. 24, while William was in constant touch with his team on the ground. He’d told them they needed to blend in with the natives if Rashidi wasn’t going to become suspicious. At the same time he kept Lamont informed back at the Yard.

They had been expecting a chauffeur-driven car to appear at the far end of the square, and were taken by surprise when a black cab pulled up outside No. 24 just before five o’clock. The police photographer focused his long lens and started clicking from the moment the cab door opened. An elegantly dressed man of average height, wearing a hat, a long black coat, a scarf and leather gloves, despite it being a warm afternoon, stepped out onto the pavement, opened the gate, and walked up the short path to the front door. He knocked once.

By the time Rashidi’s mother had opened the door and embraced her son, the photographer had shot thirty-nine frames, but he wasn’t feeling optimistic. When the front door closed, William gave the order for the Yard’s unhailable taxi service to be on standby, as he couldn’t risk a squad car tailing Rashidi if he left on foot. He radioed the Yard and brought the super up to date.