Darke Mission (73 page)

Victor continued his computer based search on Robert Nilsson. He found legitmate Robert Nilssons, with full UK credit histories over several years. His credit card search revealed, however, that a Robert Nilsson had two credit cards issued recently one of which was used for the first time on the night of the Bert's Garage murders. They were registered to a fictitious address. In the past two days they had recorded transactions in San Jose. The loop had closed. Neil Robson was Robert Nilsson and he was living it large in Costa Rica.

While Victor and Gil went over the details, just to be sure, JJ went to his desk and dialled two numbers, the first in London and the second in the United States.

“Ethel, it's JJ. Victor's done a really fantastic job. One of the results of that is that I need not one, but two favours, from you. Can I run through them and then meet up at your station tomorrow?”

“Of course, JJ. Let me know what time? Keep that Victor out of harm's way,” Ethel replied.

“I will Ginger, he's definitely the ace in the pack,” said JJ.

He then dialled Carolyn's number. It would be around 10am in California so she would be up and at work.

“Reynolds,” said the recognisable voice at the other end of the line.

“Hi Princess. Hope you're well. Am I going to be a granddad soon?”

“No, you're not Father and I wouldn't be holding your breath either. I'm a career girl and you know it!” responded Carolyn.

“Look, Cally,” said JJ, more seriously. “We may have tracked down Robson. I've a few more checks to do but he may be in Costa Rica. Keep it to yourself, but do you think there's any way you could get a satellite to hover over the place in a day or so? I'll probably have more details by then and might be able to narrow down the area of interest.”

“I'll try, Dad. I need to check where the NGA satellites are and what they're up to. I still have a pal at Langley who might be able to help as well. Ring me tomorrow around this time and I'll have more information.”

“Thanks Cally, that would be great.”

“You're not going to get into more danger are you? Scotland was heavy enough.”

“There's danger round every corner, Princess. I'll do my best to stay alive.”

“That's neat, Dad, really comforting. Come to California, bring Cyrus, that would be fun,” encouraged Carolyn.

“I will Princess, once this is all over. Be safe, I'll call tomorrow,” replied JJ and hung up.

The pieces of the puzzle were fitting into place. The hunt was truly on for Neil Robson and this particular Boojum was no fictional character. His precise whereabouts would soon be revealed.

The rest of the evening was spent planning. Victor had, yet again, done a spectacular, if not wholly legal job. JJ would keep his promise to Ethel, and Victor would not be going on the field trip. He would see Ethel tomorrow, ask his favours and get ready to depart for the Central American isthmus, having first shaken off the tail that Sandra Hillington had stuck on him.

* * *

The next morning, Ethel and JJ were seated in a small room off the main HSU building at Belmarsh Prison. As the guards escorted the prisoner into the room before leaving, the convict's garb reminded JJ of the first time he had set eyes on Victor Pagari. The jailbird sitting opposite him, however, deserved to be there and was older, fatter, uglier. The three chatted for a while. The prisoner seemed to have a sense of bravado to begin with but this slowly dissipated. He had been sentenced to thirty years inside, no parole and at sixty-five, was unlikely to see the light of day again in his miserable lawless life, bar the supervised exercise break in the prison yard each morning. Ethel offered him the chance of having fifteen years cut from his sentence and the possibility of parole. She had no authority to do this but the incarcerated one was foreign and he was looking at a serving policewoman and an ex-MI5 officer. He didn't know any different.

“Do we have a deal, Babikov?” asked JJ impassively.

“Yes,” replied the Russian, feeling it wise not to add ‘my friend' in response to this particular Scot's question. JJ then handed Babikov a cell phone and he and Ethel sat there silently, preparing to absorb the half of the upcoming conversation they could hear.

“You will have what you ask by this evening,” said Babikov, hanging up and returning the phone to JJ.

“We'll be in touch,” said Ethel as she and JJ rose to leave. This was a white lie, clearly being for the greater good that this criminal never again was released to the public domain. As it happened, fifteen years off of his sentence would have made no difference as the overweight semi-alcoholic had liver cirrhosis which would later develop into chronic liver failure and death before his seventieth birthday.

JJ drove Ethel back to her station base in Mayfair and he thanked her for her help.

“JJ, you're obviously going back into some lion's den. Do you need me to come with you?”

JJ pondered and looked caringly at Ethel.

“Ginger, you've done so much for me, had my back in North Korea, introduced me to Victor, and now this favour with Babikov. In return, I got you shot. I think you've done enough.”

“You left out the part that you made me a multi-millionaire, JJ, that this facilitated my burning desire to have children and have them raised in a good environment, not to mention the best excitement I've ever had in the field!” exclaimed Ethel.

“It's OK, Ginger, you can stand down on this one. It's personal. Gil and I will be the field team for this mission. I don't want to put anyone else, especially my closest friends, in danger again.”

“Alright. You better come back in one piece you stubborn Scot. My future kids will need a godfather, one that can shoot and protect them if necessary. You're in the frame for that JJ Darke and I won't accept any weaselling excuses. Got it?”

“Yes Ginger, I've got it.”

Just before JJ drove off, Ethel tapped his side window and JJ pressed the button to lower it.

“Regarding your second favour, JJ. I should have the paperwork through by tonight. I'll send it over to your house by courier.”

“Great, thank you. Take care Ethel.”

It took JJ about fifteen minutes to drive from Ethel's police station to Markham Square. He was paying attention to the traffic but he knew the route well so he was simultaneously going over the plan in his mind. Becky and Cyrus would stay in the Chelsea house while Gil and JJ were away. JJ was confident that if Neil Robson was in Costa Rica then neither of the youngsters were in danger. However, just in case that evil bastard eluded them again he had arranged for one of the Project LFD Gurkhas to stand watch over them, day and night. If Babikov came through and Ethel's paperwork arrived on schedule then everything would be set for Gil and him to travel to Costa Rica.

Tomorrow was Toby's funeral. That was a harrowing prospect, especially as Toby's family had asked him to say a few words about his friend. Guilty as he still felt, JJ would man up and deliver the most sincere, heart-felt eulogy he could muster. Toby had earned that and the entire funeral congregation deserved to know what a quality man Fathead was. Once safely and respectfully in his final resting place, JJ would then seek to avenge his friend and keep his promise to his son.

* * *

Neil Robson was glad to be back in Costa Rica. After seeing to that uppity Scot's best friend he had caught a regular BA flight from Heathrow to San Jose the next morning. He had managed to stay awake long enough to deflect any serious jet lag and his dose of Rat Catcher's Yellows had now completely gone. He was back to his full energy. Later that day, he thought, he'd go to Grupo Mutual and deposit the money he had brought in with him on the flight. In total, he reckoned he would then have around US $6-7 million deposited there. It was a far cry from the hundreds of millions he had initially planned to siphon off from the money earmarked to keep Britain afloat, but with some common sense and a decent rate of interest he'd be comfortable for the rest of his life. Even with the measly 2% rate offered by Grupo Mutual on US$ deposits, he'd make $120,000-150,000 per annum, at a minimum. That would fund one whole lot of sex and a fair ration of drugs.

Today, though, he'd take it easy before going to the bank. He might take a stroll around the Sabana Park, take a seat near the lake therein, and puff on a joint or two. This was the life.

“Mr Nilsson! How nice to see you again, so soon,” exclaimed AVP Alfonso Barrichello, clearly well trained in the banker's art of bonhomie and bullshit.

“Senor Barrichello. How are you?” asked Robson.

“I am fine, I am fine,” he espoused in decent English. “How can we help you today?”

“Just a few more dollars to deposit,” replied Robson.

“Excellent, excellent,” said Barrichello, clearly partial to his new deposit-boosting customer. “May I suggest that you consider some of Grupo Mutual's investment services? You have large deposits here now, Mr Nilsson. The interest rate is quite low. Still no inflation!” he laughed.

“I'll consider it,” said Robson, keen to leave and return to the sun. The fugitive criminal had no real interest in investing with this bunch of backward amateurs.

Grupo Mutual's offices in Mata Redonda were just outside the south west corner of the park. Robson was feeling good so he thought he may walk to the Costa Rica Tennis Club near the south east corner, have some lunch and maybe even join the club. He could play a bit of tennis though he hadn't done it regularly since university days. Still, his main interest was not in the quality of his tennis or that of any of the club's members. He just assumed that there would be some hot tamale tarts there that he could shaft in the changing rooms. Robson's day was good. Even if he had no pussy success at the tennis club, he'd meander his way back to his apartment and get ready for a night on the town. Armed with a wad of US dollars and a flash suit, sleazy success was guaranteed, a sure thing, a done deal.

* * *

JJ had received both courier deliveries he expected on the eve of Toby's funeral. As anticipated the funeral was tough going but not as tough, by a long shot, as what Toby went through at the hands of Neil Robson.

The following morning Gil and JJ made their way to Heathrow to catch a Voltea flight to San Jose. Although neither of them expected Neil Robson to be checking incoming flights to his hideaway, taking seats on a low cost Spanish airline would reduce the chances of their arrival being monitored.

Losing MI5's tail was easy. Gil left the house with kit bags over her shoulder looking, to all that cared to look, as if she was headed for a local gym or Pilates session. A few minutes later, JJ left the house, went down the west side of Markham Square, traversed the zebra crossing on the King's Road and went into Marks & Spencer via the main door. Sandra Hillington's tail got out of his car that was parked in the Square and followed JJ on foot, keeping the required distance behind to avoid being made. Unfortunately for him, and fortunately for JJ, the Scot had already made him a few days earlier. JJ walked quickly through M&S, ducking down the stairs to the menswear department and out the side door heading to the underground car park. He then walked briskly up to the outside ramp and into the waiting taxi containing Gil and gear. Tail lost, game on.

The flight was a little late in landing at Aeropuerto Internacional Juan Santa Maria San Jose, but Gil and JJ still had plenty of daylight time to get to their hotel. They had booked connecting rooms at the four star Hotel Balmoral between 7
^th
and 9
^th
Streets. JJ liked the Scottish connection and while he was confident that Robson would be unlikely to have stayed in a hotel for the length of time the villain had been here, he was absolutely certain he would not stay anywhere that reminded him of Scotland.

Once checked in, JJ and Gil had work to do. They would eat with each other but in one of their rooms. Neither wanted to be a victim of Murphy's Law. How totally FUBAR would it be if they bumped into their target inadvertently and unprepared. Gil freshened up and went into JJ's room via the connecting door. JJ already had his tablet open and working. Gil put hers down on the coffee table as JJ had commandeered the writing desk in the room. They were fairly sure that they were in the right city but that was about it. They needed more intel on Robson's activities or whereabouts. They were waiting for Victor or Carolyn. Eating, drinking, waiting. There was no point wandering the streets asking ‘have you seen this man' especially since this man was a master of disguise and probably wouldn't look anything like his photograph or e-fit. JJ was waiting and hoping that the techno-whizz kid or his NGA daughter had one more choice piece of information to reveal.

Young Pagari was not about to let them down. At 10.05pm local time, JJ received an email.

JJ replied to Victor and thanked him. Gil downloaded a map of Mata Redonda, which showed the park, the tennis club and the Grupo Mutual offices. JJ picked up his smartphone and speed dialled. A familiar voice answered.

“Hi Princess, it's Dad, can you speak?”

“Sure, Dad, are you far away?”

“I'm closer than you think. I'm in San Jose, Costa Rica. The co-ordinates are 9° 56ˈ latitude North and 84° 5ˈ longitude West. My particular interest is focused on the southern perimeter of Sabana National Park in the Mata Redonda district, bounded by the ring road to the west and a hospital, I think it's the Hospital Nacional de Linos to the east. Any chance of a decent image from your eye in the sky?” asked JJ.

“Well, there might be. The first thing you could do though would be text or email me all that information. My Korean's better than my Spanish and on this connection you sound like Rab C. Nesbitt after one bevy too many.”