Intervention: Murky Depths

James Hanford

Description

An alliance between the intelligence services and a master criminal hangs by the thread as Rob Krane and his partner 'in crime' return for more thrilling exploitsWhen Burak Demir absconds from protective custody, he risks destroying the alliance between MI5, Rob Krane and himself. Demir has played both sides by supporting the alliance to dismantle his criminal empire, while maintaining some elements for his own purposes, but now he sets out on his own, dismissing those ties in order to seek revenge for the murder of his former lover.The timing is highly inconvenient as the British authorities prepare for anti-capitalism demonstrations and have to divert resources to track Demir and react to the chaos his activities of death and destruction cause. While Demir pursues his objective, he tries to placate Krane and MI5 by providing new information, but that has unexpected and deadly consequences. Worse, a trail of counterfeit money leads to a discovery that will shake the foundations of Canary Wharf... the country as a whole, and the world.Intervention: Murky Depthsis the third in the popularInterventionseries, and delivers on all levels while still holding firm to its unique premise of linking organised crime with police agendas. Readers will delight in the international intrigue and shady deals in a world where everybody's motives may be murky, but all have hidden depths.

Sujets

• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 28 mars 2019
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781789019155
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 1 Mo

Extrait

Also by James Hanford
Intervention: The King Pin
This first book in the Intervention series charts how Rob Krane comes into an unlikely and tense partnership with billionaire master criminal Burak Demir—the start of a turbulent relationship that seeks to break a criminal network with ties to international terrorism.


Intervention: EAVESDROPPERS
The second book in the Intervention series finds Rob Krane jetting between Bulgaria and Britain, trying to untangle a web of apparently unconnected criminal activities. Soon, security operations are launched across Europe as global financial meltdown could be triggered.



Copyright © 2019 James Hanford

The moral right of the author has been asserted.

Apart from any fair dealing for the purposes of research or private study, or criticism or review, as permitted under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, this publication may only be reproduced, stored or transmitted, in any form or by any means, with the prior permission in writing of the publishers, or in the case of reprographic reproduction in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency. Enquiries
concerning reproduction outside those terms should be sent to the publishers.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, organisations, places, and events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is unintended and entirely coincidental.

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ISBN 9781789019155

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Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd


In loving memory of my mother-in-law, Irmgard Biner (1927–2016), who, like my own mother, and my wife, Belinda, demonstrated the loving, quiet, and persistent support of all good mums.
Thank you to them, and to all mums.
Contents
Also by James Hanford

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About the author
1
Sweat started to trickle down the spine of the middle-aged man as he meandered through the ancient, narrow lanes of the medina, near the Old Port of Bizerte in Tunisia. His linen shirt stuck irritatingly to his back as he passed the time until his late-afternoon meeting. Staying at the hotel had given him cabin fever, and patience was not one of his strengths, so he had left the hotel to explore. However, lugging his large and heavy shoulder bag around in the heat had soon made him wish he had stayed put.
The hot afternoon sun occasionally made its way into the narrow lanes that bustled with life as the locals went about their business in the souks throughout the medina. Shadows were long, so the man had no need of sunglasses, nor a sun hat, which was as he liked it. His sparse, slightly curly blond hair and fair complexion marked him out as a foreigner, but he was not a tourist. Despite the city’s rich history and sandy beaches, Bizerte was still not fully on the tourist map. Many eager traders tried to attract his attention with their wares but failed dismally; he simply was not interested.
Feigning nonchalance, he turned this way and that, completely lost. Pride prevented him from asking for directions from his two bodyguards, who hung back a few metres. He was sure that the dim-witted thugs would have less of a clue than he. However, he was unconcerned; he had ample time and appreciated the multitude of rich colours and variety of smells that assailed his senses. Eventually, quite by chance, he emerged back at the Old Port and made straight for a café where he ordered a fresh lemonade, leaving his bodyguards loitering on the pavement. Pretending to read a book, he surreptitiously looked at a map of the Kasbah, trying to memorise the route he would take to the meeting place.
An hour later, after another drink and something to eat, he paid the bill and set off. The Kasbah gave the impression of a small fortified town from the Old Port’s dockside, with its many brightly coloured fishing boats. Within those high stone walls, however, it was no different from the medina. The narrow lanes, which only pedestrians and the occasional scooter could access, twisted and turned between white buildings, many with pale blue doors and shutters. The peeling paint and heavily-worn cobbled streets gave credence to the two thousand years of its existence.
The man was nervous but refused to show it. Nowadays he rarely dealt directly with new contacts, which was why he had employed some expendable thugs, just in case something went wrong. But this was different; this was not going to be one of his usual consignments and he wanted to meet the seller as well as test the merchandise. This was for his own, special initiative.
His eyes flicked all around, checking off the landmarks that he had committed to memory; thankfully, he had been sent detailed instructions. Eventually, certain that he had found the correct address, he knocked on yet another blue door and walked in, stifling a cough from the heavy, swirling smoke that hit him as he entered.
“Mr Norcott, I presume?” came a thick, growling voice from somewhere deep inside the gloomy space. “Please, invite your friends inside as well.” Having waited for Donald Norcott to oblige, the voice continued, “If you don’t mind, my colleagues will now make sure that we are all comfortable.”
With no further warning of what was about to happen, a number of figures emerged from the shadows, and silently frisked Norcott and his two bodyguards. Having removed a number of handguns, one of the figures broke the silence.
“They are clean, no wires, and now harmless.”
“Good! You must excuse me, Mr Norcott; one can never be too careful nowadays when meeting a new customer for the first time. The number of people the authorities persuade to wear electronic devices is quite astounding. Now, come, take a seat.”
Norcott’s eyes had started to grow accustomed to the gloom and he could make out the source of the voice. In the far corner, seated behind a rough wooden table, the silhouette of a large, imposing man waved an arm, inviting Norcott to sit. An oil lamp in the centre of the table was lit and threw eerie shadows that flickered about the room.
Norcott moved forward with a sense of purpose and confidence that belied reality, and placed his heavy backpack beside the chair as he sat down. “I thank you for seeing me, Mr Smith. I always like to meet those whom I do business with, and after so many telephone calls and emails, I thought now would be a good time.” Norcott had no compunction about lying. He still struggled with firstly not knowing the true identity of the man, and secondly, the idea that a Tunisian would go by the name of Smith.
“I do agree. Nothing beats actually meeting people and seeing where they do business, although in our case the place frequently changes!”
They both shared a laugh at this witticism.
“Quite right. We can never be too careful. And, of course, it is always good to find new partners to establish long-term arrangements.”
“Exactly. So, do I understand from that comment that you intend to acquire more merchandise?”
“Absolutely. This is just the start.” Norcott hoped that his voice did not give his lie away. He had a distinctly uncomfortable feeling about this man, but Smith had been the only contact he could find without becoming beholden to others, and he didn’t want that. Norcott had had enough such meetings to recognise that the posturing on both sides was not conducive to a long-term relationship, but he needed this man, at least for the time being.
“May I ask, are the items for you, or for onward transportation?”
“Oh, mostly for valued clients.” Norcott lied again.
“I see. You have the money, I presume? That always helps a new relationship.” The man fixed Norcott with a steely stare.
“Yes. Five million US in total. Two million in used US dollars upfront, as agreed. Half here, half when I see the sample merchandise.”
“What?!” the man roared, slamming his hand down with a sudden, loud, resounding thump that rattled the table, making the lamplight flicker on the dark walls. “I said the two million down payment was to be made today!” Spittle sprayed Norcott’s face.
“Yes, you did,” Norcott replied, trying to sound unfazed by the outburst. “And I responded very clearly that as a sign of good faith I would pay one million today and the balance upon seeing a sample of the merchandise being tested. That has not changed since we first spoke.”
“You don’t clearly understand business here, Mr Norcott! Good faith means that you deliver the money as I require, and know for sure that I will deliver. Are you questioning my good faith?” The threatening tone was evident.
Norcott realised with shocking certainty that he was cornered. He could not insult this hot-tempered man by acknowledging that he was, of course, impugning the man’s integrity. Likewise, he had no intention of losing face when he now suspected that he would not see any merchandise.
“That was never my intention. I propose that—”
“No!” Smith barked back. “What I propose is that you leave the money you have here with your two men, and one of my men will accompany you to collect the balance.”
“That seems reasonable,” Norcott replied careful