Day Three

He ordered a Pizza from his room. Only ate half of it, but drank the rest of the miniatures that he’d stolen from the Gatwick Hotel. He slept soundly and woke at seven o’clock, then went for breakfast. He had the full English with lots of black coffee. He knew that by now the Russians would know about Bepa and the fact that he was missing. Ivan would be uncontrollable. He would want him dead. He wouldn’t want to hear the truth; he would just want him dead. Ivan’s men controlled the taxis along the coast. All of them paid a small amount each week for Ivan’s permission to work the area. So it was likely that his men had tracked down the cab driver that took him to the airport. The “family” had people working at the airport so he would also know about the flight to Gatwick. But that’s where their search should come to a stop. For now, at least.

What would they expect him to do? Go back to Essex? Too obvious. Besides, apart from an old uncle, he had no family there anymore.

He’d have to start his life all over again just as he did three years ago when he first arrived in Spain. Back then he only had a few hundred quid with him. But he survived and survived well. It would take time. But he was a patient man. He had skills that he could rely on. But there was one big problem this time. Last time it was only the Police who were looking for him. The worst that could have happened was he was caught and put away for a few years. This time he had to be much more cunning. If he was caught this time they would kill him and he would die screaming. These people wouldn’t give up, they never did.

He had to avoid major cities like London, Manchester, Birmingham and Leeds. The Russians controlled all of these now. Ivan would often talk about his British “family” and how they were gaining control of most of the UK.

He decided he shouldn't stay longer than two or three days at any one place. Keep moving. As his dear old dad used to say “It’s difficult to hit a moving target.”

He would use public transport and cabs. He figured he needed more money before he moved on. But not the watch. The watch he would keep.

He dressed in different clothes. Jeans, sweatshirt and trainers, courtesy of Mr Thompson. He ruffled his short hair. He looked completely different from the man who walked into the Swan and Cuckoo yesterday. Today he looked like everyone else.

He walked into town and headed for the pub. If there was one thing he could always rely on, was that bad pubs normally attract bad people and some of these bad people would have dirty money.

The pub was quiet. He counted thirteen people. Groups of twos and threes. He got a beer and sat in a quiet corner. Just watching, waiting. He was on his third pint when a crowd of eight young men walked in. They were loud, excited, animated. He recognised the signs. They were on the gear. If they were, then someone had to be supplying them. Either in the pub or somewhere else. He waited. An hour passed before a motorbike pulled up outside. A tall thin guy took off his helmet and walked inside. He decided he would call him Lanky. Everyone was pleased to see him. Relieved even. He got a beer, drank half then went into the toilets. Soon after one of the eight made his way to the toilet. He came out a few minutes later, alone. Lanky was still in there. Then another one of the group made a visit. Again he came out within a few minutes. Still no sign of Lanky. One by one they all took their turn. When the last one of the eight went in, he followed.

The toilet looked deserted but he could hear voices coming from one of the cubicles. He started to wash his hands. The cubicle door opened and one of the guys came out and left. He dried his hands under the hot air machine. He looked straight at Lanky, who was still standing in the cubicle.

“Got any coke?”

“Yeh man, what do you need?”

He took a step forward towards Lanky, as he did so he smashed the palm of his right hand hard into his face,catching him square on the bridge of the nose. Lanky fell backwards against the system and slid down onto to the toilet seat. Blood was pouring from his nose and his head was swaying from side to side. Pain and shock were his two new friends. He quickly went through his pockets and took everything he could find. He walked out of the toilet just as another guy was about to go in.

“I’d give it a minute before you go in there mate. Someone’s shooting up.”

The guy smiled at him and walked back to the bar.

He made his way through the pub and out onto the street. It was market day and he mingled with the crowd. There was a taxi rank by the station. He got in the one at the front of the line and went back to the hotel. Once there he turned out his pockets. There were bundles of notes all screwed up and just as important there were small bags of coke, tabs and powder. There was three hundred and eighty quid. Not bad for a few hour’s work. Staying another night at the hotel would be a bad decision. It was time to move on. Everything he needed was put into Bob’s Louis Vuitton bag and everything else was left in the room. He walked passed reception and out onto the main road. There was a sign that said Reigate sixteen miles. After ten minutes walking he flagged down a black cab.

“Reigate, please mate.”

“Sure guv, whereabouts in Reigate?”

“The best Hotel in town please.”

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D.I. John Morgan was standing naked in a room at the Belgravia Hotel. He dialled a number on his phone.

“Hello Sergeant, look something’s come up, you take the briefing this morning. I’ll be in later.”

He threw the phone onto a chair beside the bed. He could feel a stirring in his groin. The Viagra was kicking in. He looked down at the beautiful black girl who was laying naked face down on the bed in front of him.

“That is the most perfect arse I have ever seen.”

He couldn’t see her face but he heard her giggle.

She opened her legs slightly.

“Wow, now that is a sight for sore eyes.”

Another giggle. Then she turned over to face him.

“You weren’t joking when you said something had come up were you. Now, are you just going to look at me or fuck me?”

She giggled again. His phone rang. He sighed in frustration.

“Leave it, don’t answer it, come to bed.”

“I’d better, just in case.

He picked up the phone and looked at the display. He answered it quickly. His voice suddenly became shaky.

“Demetri?”

“Hello Mister John. I need to meet with you urgently and I need you to get some information for me.”

“Okay, what do you need?”

“Meet me in two hours at the Hilton in Mayfair. Get me everything you have on a certain Mister Robert Jackson.”

Demetri hung up.

He dressed quickly all the time muttering “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” He threw a handful of fifty pound notes at the girl and left. This was one meeting he dare not be late for.

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Ivan Andronovski wiped his forehead with a napkin. The heat in the disused restaurant was stifling. He had bought it a month ago from an old Spanish family. It was a prime location on the seafront. The builders had been in ever since. Today it was empty and looked like a building site.

At the end of the room were Nikor and Leonid with two other members of the “family. Between them was Paul Merritt. Paul was Robbie Jackson’s closest friend in Spain. He was strapped to a chair and had tape across his mouth. He had long given up struggling. Ivan walked towards him. Paul could see he was holding something. It was a hammer.

“Mister Merritt we are both mature men and we both know how this works. I will ask you a question and I want you to answer me honestly. Understand?”

Nikor removed the tape from Paul’s mouth.

“Ivan, I swear, I know nothing about what happened to Bepa, I swear it Ivan.”

Ivan put a finger to his lips.

“Ssshhhhh. Ssssshhhhh. I will ask you some questions and then you will answer. Okay?”

Paul nodded.

Ivan smiled and continued.

“Good man. Now then Mister Merritt, where can I find your friend Robbie Jackson?”

“Ivan, I swear on my kid’s life. I don’t know. Please Ivan, it’s the truth.”

Ivan interrupted him. His voice raised.

“Mister Merritt, my precious daughter Bepa is fighting for her life in hospital. She was found badly injured in your best friend’s apartment and now he has disappeared. He was your best friend. So I will ask you once again. Where can I find Robbie Jackson?”

Paul Merritt began to sob.

“Ivan, I swear, I swear, I don’t know. Please please, believe me."

Paul looked in almost disbelief as he saw Ivan raise the hammer above his head. He watched as it came down hard on his left knee. He heard the crunch well before he felt the pain. It must have taken a fraction of a second before his brain understood what was happening and then he realised he was screaming.

Ivan handed the hammer to Nikor.

“Finish it, then get rid of him. He knows nothing.”

Ivan walked to the door of the restaurant and opened it. He put on his sunglasses and adjusted his tie. Behind him he heard a thud. Then the screaming stopped.