Intervention: The King Pin

James Hanford

Description

An intervention by an everyday Joe to prevent a master criminal's death will change their lives forever...Rob Krane, now unemployed, has taken a holiday in beautiful Slovenia - except it turns out not to be as peaceful as expected when he witnesses a woman's murder and the abduction of a man and his daughter. But this isn't just any man: Burak Demir, a master criminal with an extensive international network of criminal and legitimate business operations, is a ruthless man with his own code of honour and now at his own henchmen's mercy.After hiding in a getaway vehicle going to the kidnappers' hideout and taking pity on the daughter, Krane strikes a deal with Demir: he will aid their escape if Demir agrees to surrender his immense wealth and cooperate with the authorities. When Demir realises parts of his network have been aligned with terrorism without his permission, all bets are off as past loyalties are forgotten and an unlikely partnership is formed.From Slovenia to the UK, with help from various authorities including a straight-talking MI5 agent with whom Krane develops an attraction, this first book in Hanford's gripping crime series has elements of terrorism, organised crime, suspense and romance. It will appeal to all readers, especially those interested in the genre. Its new twist in the tale of how criminals are turned, crime can overlap or be used as a cover by terrorism, as well as how authorities let crime continue for their own ends, brings a fresh feel to this compelling read, with the next two books in the series on the way.

Sujets

• Eslovenia
• Slovenia
• Thriller

Informations

• Publié par: Troubador Publishing Ltd
• Date de parution: 20 novembre 2018
• Nombre de lectures: 0
• EAN13: 9781789011562
• Langue: English
• Poids de l'ouvrage: 2 Mo

Extrait

Copyright © 2018 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.

Matador
9 Priory Business Park,
Wistow Road, Kibworth Beauchamp,
Leicestershire. LE8 0RX
Tel: [phone]
Email: [e-mail]
Web: www.troubador.co.uk/matador
Twitter: @matadorbooks

ISBN 9781789011562

British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data.
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library.

Matador® is an imprint of Troubador Publishing Ltd



In loving memory of my father,
John Hanford (1932–2013),
and with immense gratitude to my
family for their encouragement whilst
I was writing Intervention: The King Pin.
Contents
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25

About the author
1
Rob Krane emerged from the ensuite shower room at the guesthouse where he was staying and pulled his long-sleeved T-shirt on before opening the curtains with a flourish. The room was spartan, furnished only with the bare essentials, but it was perfectly adequate for his purposes.
“Damn, that’s bright,” he muttered, crinkling his eyes into a squint.
The blackout curtains had certainly done their job. Add the room’s poor lighting and the morning sun appeared very bright as it broke through the clouds. Instinctively, Rob suddenly stepped to one side of the battered, loose-fitting window. He brushed some blistered paint off his shirt while continuing to look down on the street below.
What is it with this place? he thought as yet another twenty-something man wandered along the street. The man was as equally out of place as himself in the small town, but there was a distinct difference; Rob was a legitimate tourist, and these guys did not give that appearance.
Despite himself, Rob tensed as the adrenalin rush of butterflies hit his stomach. It was the same feeling he had before meeting a senior executive at work. Well, that had been until a few weeks ago, when he had lost his job. He also had the same feeling prior to a championship fight as he anticipated an unknown combatant’s moves. Shaking these thoughts away, he recalled how uncomfortable he had felt the previous evening, and during his morning’s run, when he saw these characters wandering the streets of Postojna.
Everyone he had spoken to and all he had read indicated that travelling around Slovenia was safe. However, the number of times he had seen these out-of-place, twenty-something, lone men was distinctly disconcerting. The similarities were evident. Their dress-sense, swagger, and expressionless faces all resembled those of the guy who was currently disappearing from Rob’s sight. They were certainly not locals, so who were they? And why were they here in such numbers?
Okay, there had been similarly dressed men elsewhere when he travelled to Postojna the day before. But this was different. Something was up. He knew it. Regardless, why should he be bothered? Rob was having a great time on a holiday paid for from his redundancy and prize money. Two weeks ago he had won the gold medal at the European Combined Martial Arts and Unarmed Combat Championships at Wembley Conference Centre in London.
A sufficiently loud gurgle from his belly reminded him that he was hungry. Breakfast! He picked up his iPhone from the bedside table, scanning the screen to read the time. “Damn it!” The low-battery indicator was flashing.
Rob pulled a small day sack from a far larger backpack, smiling as he rubbed a thumb over the flexible solar panels on the face of the bag. It was a new toy—one that he had been unable to resist because he was planning a few days camping. After looking out of the window again at the weather, Rob decided he would go out for breakfast. It was warm enough and certainly bright enough for him to test his new purchase. He could also check his e-mail instead of having an ingratiatingly painful conversation with his hosts.
Jogging down the stairs, Rob waved to the unconvincingly jovial owners of the guesthouse. “No breakfast today, thank you. I ate too much last night.”
While that was partially true, the pleasant weather gave him the opportunity to avoid the unnecessarily large and unhealthy breakfast Madam Kos insisted upon rustling up. And, of course, he would avoid having to converse with the elderly couple.
Closing the door gently behind him, Rob turned and headed towards the Kras Hotel. He had noted the previous night that breakfast was served outside in the square, and, since it was the only four-star hotel in town, he hoped for reasonable fare. Breaking with habit, he didn’t bother looking around at the buildings and the general environment; he had seen enough during his run. The area where he was staying was really rather bland, the house frontages having very limited architectural appeal.
Few of the exterior tables were occupied, and those that were clearly contained tourists. Schools had restarted after the summer holidays, so the number of tourists was dwindling, which was by far Rob’s preference. There was little movement inside the hotel foyer, all he could see was an attractive woman with a fidgety young girl sitting down, looking out into the square. The woman was a few years older than himself, had pleasant but not striking features, shoulder-length, straight blond hair, and the tired looks of a concerned, caring mother. Rob recognised the signs from his sister-in-law. He settled himself at a non-shady table not far from the hotel door, set up his solar-panelled backpack, and plugged in his iPhone, iPad, and other gadgets to recharge.
The pretty waitress gave Rob more attention than he really wanted, distracting him from his e-mails and reading the day’s news. Not that he really minded. The girl was a few years younger than him, and engaging her with some idle banter and reciprocating her playful flirtations was fun. Rob felt good as he noted her name, Irina Vidmar, and ensured he used it as they chatted. He made a mental note to come here more frequently, particularly after he returned from his planned hike in the hills and mountains to the south and east of Postojna.
Half an hour later, Rob broke off from reading the news and drinking his coffee when an apparently distinguished, well-built man in a dark tailored suit and open-neck shirt walked into the hotel foyer. Only the tanned face and purposeful, almost-cold demeanour suggested something entirely different. Ignoring the man, Rob continued to read the ridiculous intrigue and implications of the latest sex scandal involving a government minister. Rob shook his head slightly, Why do they always dice with the illicit? Eventually the press always finds out.
A few minutes later, the same man left the hotel, holding the young girl’s hand, with the mother walking along beside them. The girl was smiling, half-skipping, and happily chatting away to the man, whose demeanour had softened markedly. Rob watched their progress across the paved, pedestrianised square, their direction suggesting they were headed for either the Karst Museum or transportation towards the Postojna Caves. Rob presumed the latter; a museum of predominantly archaeological collections would be of little interest to the young girl. She did not have the grumpy air of a child going somewhere that, in her mind, would be dull and boring. Instead, she exuded excitement and joy. As they approached halfway, one of the young men Rob had seen earlier appeared at the far corner, talking on a mobile phone. Moments later, a black saloon and a red four-door Nissan pickup with white cover over the rear charged into the square, tyres squealing.
The man froze, his free hand inching into his jacket. Glancing at the woman and young girl, he dropped his hand to his side and became a spectator to the impending horror in which he would play a central role.
The black saloon raced over towards him while the Nissan screeched to a halt adjacent to the hotel. Young hooded men jumped from all doors of both cars, each wearing dark jeans and shirts. It’s like a uniform! Rob thought, remembering the many dubious characters from the past few days. Each also carried a machine pistol. Those from the saloon approached the man, woman, and girl while the others turned their attention towards Rob and the others having breakfast.
Without hesitation, Rob grabbed his belongings and flipped his and a neighbouring table over to provide a semblance of cover. As the other hotel guests looked on with bemused, uncomprehending expressions, the square was filled with bursts of gunfire and bullets slammed into walls and pinged off the metal tables.
As bullets started piercing nearby tables Rob realised that his cover was decidedly limited. Quickly assessing his position, Rob glanced over his shoulder towards the hotel lobby and the relative safety that being behind its walls would bring. Screams fr