Tango One (7 page)

“Unless you haven't noticed, I'm black. Donovan's white. It's not like we went to the same school, is it? Why's he gonna let me get close to him?”

“We don't expect it to happen overnight,” said Hathaway.

“Donovan is a longterm project. He's not even in the country at the moment. Most of the time he's in the Caribbean. I'll supply you with details of his known associates, and as you go deeper all you have to do is keep an eye out for them. It's going to take time, Cliff. Years. You build up contacts with his associates, and use them to put you next to Donovan.”

“You make it sound easy,” said Warren.

A police car sped down the road outside the house, siren wailing.

“Not easy, but possible. Donovan is a major supplier, you'll be a dealer.”

“You said he didn't go near the gear.”

“He doesn't, but if you can get into his inner circle we can get him on conspiracy. He's also been shipping drugs into the States. If we can tie up to a US delivery, the Americans will put him away for life.”

Warren raised his eyebrows.

“I'm working for the Met, right? How does that involve Yanks?”

“There's no national barriers when it comes to drugs, Cliff. It's way too big a business for that. They reckon that every year some three hundred billion dollars of illegal money gets laundered through the world banking system, and almost all of it is from drugs. Three hundred billion dollars, Warren. Think about that. No one agency can fight that sort of money. In the States the market for illegal drugs is worth sixty billion dollars a year. In the UK about five billion pounds is spent on heroin, cocaine, marijuana, amphetamines and ecstasy. The drug suppliers are working together, so the anti-drug agencies are having to share their resources.”

“So I might end up working for the DEA?”

“With rather than for,” said Hathaway.

“It'll be more a question of sharing intelligence.”

“So they won't know who I am?”

“No one will know you're undercover, except me. And Latham.”

Warren frowned.

“But what if I come across other undercover agents? Won't they report back on me?”

“Sure, but all they'll report on is your criminal activity. That's just going to add to your cover.”

“Do I report on them?”

“You report on everything.” He patted the laptop computer in front of him.

“That's what this is for. Everyone you meet, everything you hear, everything you do, you e-mail to me. You supply the intelligence, I process it and, if necessary, act on it.”

Warren gestured at the photograph.

“This Donovan, why's he so important?”

“Because he's big. Responsible for maybe a third of all the cocaine that comes into this country. If we take him out, we reduce the amount on the streets.”

“You reckon?” said Warren.

“All you'll do is push up the street price for a while. Take out Donovan and someone else will move in to fill the gap. That's how it works. Supply and demand.”

“So we take out Donovan, then there'll be a new Tango One and we'll take him out, too. And we keep on going.”

Warren sighed.

“It's not a war we can win.”

“Putting murderers in prison doesn't mean that murders won't continue to happen,” said Hathaway, 'but murderers still belong behind bars. Same goes for men like Donovan. Not having second thoughts, are you?"

Warren shook his head fiercely.

“I only have to look out of the window to see the damage drugs do. But I know how it works in the real world, Gregg. You put a dealer behind bars, there's half a dozen want to take over his customers. Clamp down on the supply and the price goes up, so there's more crime as the addicts raise the extra cash they need. More break-ins, more muggings.”

“We're not interested in the guys on the street,” said Hathaway.

“We're after the big fish. Guys like Dennis Donovan. Put Donovan behind bars and it will make a difference, I can promise you that.”

Warren reached over and picked up the photograph of Donovan again. He looked more like a foot baller reaching the end of his career than a hardened criminal.

“He's thirty-four years old, married with a six-year-old son. Wife is Vicky. She's twenty-seven. They've got a house in Kensington, but Donovan spends most of his time in the Caribbean.”

“Are they separated?” asked Warren.

“No, it's just easier for him to operate out there. He was under round-the-clock surveillance here Customs, police, the taxman. Couldn't take a leak without someone recording the fact. His kid's settled in school and his wife likes shopping, so they've resisted moving out there. Donovan's over here every month or so and they spend all their holidays in the sun, so it seems to be working out okay.”

“Is he still under the microscope?”

“Sure, but it's more to keep the pressure on him than it is to catch him in the act.”

Warren wrinkled his nose.

“Why do you think I'm going to do any better than the teams who've already been targeting him?”

“Because you won't be watching him, Cliff. You'll be working for him, ideally.”

“And just how do I get to him?”

“You start dealing.” Hathaway nodded at the window.

“Most of the crack cocaine sold in the streets out there can be traced to Donovan if you go back for enough.”

“If you know that, why don't you arrest him?”

“Knowing and proving are two very different things, Cliff.”

“So the idea is for me to work my way up the supply chain until I get to Donovan?”

“That's the plan.”

“That's not a plan,” said Warren.

“That's a wish. A hope. It's what you do when you get the biggest piece of turkey wishbone, that's what that is.”

Hathaway leaned forward.

“It's what'll happen in an ideal world. But even if you don't get close to Donovan, you'll still be supplying us with useful intelligence. Whatever you do, wherever you end up, you keep your eyes and ears open for news about this man. Tango One.”

Tina Leigh ran both hands through her hair, brushing the strands behind her ears.

“I'm not a criminal. Why's Donovan going to be interested in me?”

Hathaway looked away, awkwardly.

“I'm his type, is that it?”

“You're a very sexy girl, Tina.”

Tina glared at him, “Go screw yourself ”Give me a chance to explain, Tina. Please."

“You don't need to explain. I used to be a hooker, so now I'll just lie back and spread my legs for a gangster. Well, fuck you, Hathaway. I worked my balls off to put that behind me. I ain't going back for you or anyone.”

She stood up and Hathaway put his hands up in front of his face as if he feared she might attack him.

“That's not what I said. And that's not what I meant.”

“I know exactly what you meant. I can't join the Met because I worked the streets, but I'm being given official approval to sleep with a gangster. How fucking hypocritical is that?”

“I didn't say you had to sleep with him, Tina.” He waved at her chair.

“Please sit down and hear me out.”

Tina raised her right hand to her mouth and bit down on the knuckle of her first finger, hard enough to feel the bone beneath the skin. She wanted to throw Hathaway out of her flat, she wanted to yell and scream and call him every name under the sun, but she brought her anger under control.

“Okay,” she said. She sat down and crossed her legs, lit a cigarette, the third since Hathaway had arrived, and waited for him to continue.

“Donovan's out of the country most of the time, but he comes back regularly on flying visits. When he does come back, we know of several clubs that he frequents. We'd like you to apply for a job, whatever job you think you'd be suitable for. Once you're employed, we'd want you to keep your ears open. You pass on anything you hear. And if you can get near Donovan, that'll be the icing on the cake.”

“These clubs? What sort of clubs are they?”

Hathaway pulled a pained face again.

“They're sort of executive entertainment bars .. .” He tailed off as Tina's face hardened.

“Lap-dancing clubs?” she hissed.

“You want me to be a fucking lap-dancer?”

“Lap-dancing isn't prostitution,” said Hathaway.

“Students do it to work their way through college, single mothers do it, it's totally legal and above board.”

Tina took a long pull on her cigarette and blew smoke at Hathaway. He looked uncomfortable but didn't say anything.

“I don't believe this. I don't fucking believe this.”

Still Hathaway said nothing.

“It's not much of a plan, is it? Putting me undercover in a lap-dancing bar in the hope that Donovan wanders in and spills his guts.”

“Give us some credit, Tina.”

“Why should I give you any credit at all? You say you know who this guy is and what he's doing. Why can't you put him away yourself?”

“Knowing and proving are two different things, Tina.”

“I thought with new technology and stuff there was no way anyone could hide any more.”

Hathaway nodded.

“You're right. We can tap his phones, we can watch him from CCTV, from satellites even. We have his DNA and fingerprints on file, we know almost everything there is to know about Dennis Donovan, but we can't catch him in the act. And if we stick to using traditional methods, we probably won't.”

“See, that doesn't make sense to me. How can he operate if you've got him under surveillance?” She flicked ash into an ashtray shaped like a four-leafed clover.

“Because at the level Donovan operates, it's all about contacts. It's not as if he hands over a briefcase of cash and picks up a bag of drugs. He has a conversation with a Colombian. Face to face. On a beach maybe. Or walking down a street. Somewhere he can't be overheard. Then he talks to a shipping guy. Probably a guy he's used a dozen times before. Then money gets transferred from a bank in the Cayman Islands to a bank in Switzerland and the Colombian puts the drugs on a ship and the ship sets sail. Donovan flies to Amsterdam and has another meeting with a couple of guys from Dublin and money is transferred between two other bank accounts and the drugs are unloaded on the south coast of Ireland and driven up to Belfast and on to a ferry to the UK. We put him under the microscope and what do we have? Donovan chatting to his friends, that's what we have. And even if we could hear what he was saying, he'd be talking in code. It wouldn't mean a thing to a court.”

“So the plan is he's going to open his heart to me when he sees me dancing around a silver pole? Just as a matter of interest, Gregg, is there a Plan B?”

Hathaway chuckled and leaned back, putting his hands behind his neck and stretching out.

“You're right to be suspicious, Tina, but we have thought this through. This is long term. Years rather than months. If we put you undercover now, you might not get to meet Donovan for two years. Three. But the pool he swims in isn't that big and I have no doubt at all that you'll come across his associates if not the man himself. And they're going to open up to you because you're a pretty girl.” He held up a hand heading off her attempt to interrupt him.

“I'm stating that as a fact, Tina, I'm not trying to soft soap you. Put guys together with booze and pretty girls and tongues start to loosen. These guys work under such secrecy that often they're bursting to tell someone. To boast. To show what big men they are.”

Tina had smoked the cigarette down to the filter and she stubbed it out in the ashtray. She took another and lit it. She offered the pack to Hathaway but he shook his head.

“Let's suppose I agree to do this,” she said.

“What happens to the money?”

Hathaway looked confused.

“What money?”

“I'll be a police officer, right? On standard pay and conditions?”

Hathaway nodded.

“But if I'm working in a what was it you called it an executive entertainment bar? If I'm working there, I'll get wages. And tips.”

“Yours to keep.”

Tina blew smoke up at the ceiling, a slight smile on her lips.

“Do you how much those girls earn?” she asked.

“Sixty, seventy grand. Sometimes more.”

“Yeah,” said Tina.

“That sounds about right. And I get to keep it, yeah?”

“Every penny.”

Jamie Fullerton's jaw dropped.

“Let me get this straight,” he said.

“Any money I make from illegal activities is mine to keep?”

“It has to be that way,” said Hathaway.

“Believe me, the powers that be aren't happy with the idea, but we don't have any choice.”

“And I won't ever be asked to pay the money back?”

“I don't see how that could ever happen.”

Fullerton stood up and paced around the sitting room.

“And you're going to set me up in this new life? Make me look like a criminal?”

“Initially. Hopefully you'll become self-funding quite quickly.” Hathaway waved at the section of bookshelves devoted to art.

“You studied art history at university. Got a First, right?”

Fullerton nodded.

“So we'll build on that. Set you up in a gallery. Give you some works of art to get you started. And we'll put some stolen works your way. To add authenticity.”

Fullerton's eyes widened in astonishment.

“You're going to give me stolen paintings? To sell? And I get to keep the money?”

Hathaway wiped his forehead with his hand. He looked uncomfortable and when he spoke he chose his words carefully.

“What we will be doing is establishing your cover, Jamie. This isn't a game. If Donovan, or anyone else for that matter, discovers who you are or what you're doing, your life will be on the line.”

Fullerton nodded.

“I understand, but how does me being an art dealer get me close to Donovan?”

“He's an art freak. A bit of a collector, but he appears to be more interested in visiting galleries. He also uses galleries and museums as meeting points. What we're suggesting is that you establish a small gallery, then start moving into the drugs business. You presumably have your own suppliers?”

“Sure.”

“So start with them. Start increasing the quantities you buy from them, then move up the chain.”

“And then you bust them?”

Hathaway shrugged.

“That depends. We're after the big fish, Jamie, not street dealers. Not everyone you tell us about is going to be brought in, but all the information you give us will go on file. You just keep working towards Donovan.”

Fullerton sat down.

“How do you know this will work?”

“We don't. It's a new strategy.”

“It's a gamble, that's what it is.”

“Maybe,” Hathaway conceded.

“You're gambling with our lives.”

Hathaway frowned.

“Our? What do you mean?”

“I'm assuming I'm not the only agent you're sending undercover. You don't strike me as the type who'd put all his eggs in one basket.”

Eventually Hathaway nodded slowly.

“Don't assume anything, Jamie. Don't go into this thinking that there'll be other undercover agents who'll pull your nuts out of the fire if anything goes wrong. You can't trust anyone. Is it a risk? Of course. But the uniformed bobby walking the beat puts his life at risk every day. He never knows when a drunk's going to try to hit him with a bottle or a drug addict's going to stick him with an HIV-infected needle. In a way, you'll be in a better position, because you'll know the dangers you're facing.”

Fullerton exhaled deeply.

“Have you ever done it?” he asked.

“Gone undercover?”

Hathaway nodded.

“Several times, but never long term. A few months at most.”

“What's it like?”

“It means living a lie. It means developing a second personality that has to become more real than your own. Everything you say and do has to be filtered through the person you're pretending to be. It means never being able to relax, never being able to let your guard down.”

“That's what I thought.”

“But you'll be in a slightly different position. When I was working undercover, I was pretending to be a villain. You'll be the real thing.”

Cliff Warren stood up and walked through to his kitchen.

“Do you want a beer?” he asked over his shoulder.

“Thanks,” said Hathaway.

Warren opened his fridge door and took out two bottles of Sol. They clinked bottles and Warren sat down again.

“What happens if I get arrested?” he asked.

“It's up to you, but once you've revealed to anybody that you're undercover, you're of no further use.”

“But if I get pulled in on drugs charges, I could be facing a long prison sentence.”

Hathaway nodded.

“You could indeed.” He drank from the bottle but his eyes never left Warren's face.

“So what do I do?”

“You could go through the system and serve your time. If that's what you were prepared to do. It would do wonders for your cover, Cliff.”

Warren sat stunned as the ramifications of what Hathaway was proposing sank in.

“You'd expect me to serve time?”

“It'd be your call, Cliff. No one would force you. At any point you can ask to be pulled out.” Hathaway reached over to his jacket and took out a brown leather wallet. From it he removed a pristine white business card which he handed to Warren. Printed in the middle was a single London telephone number.

“You can call this number at any time of the day and night. You'll either speak to me direct, or you'll speak to someone who will immediately transfer you to me, no matter where in the world I am. No matter what trouble you're in, we'll have you out of it within minutes.”

Warren ran the card between his fingers.

“It's a get-out-of-jail-free card,” he said quietly.

“Sort of,” said Hathaway, 'but it can only be used once. The moment you reveal you're undercover, it's over. There's no having a quiet word with the investigating officers, no smoothing things over behind closed doors. You're either in or you're out." He pointed at the card.

“Memorise the number. Then destroy the card.”

He turned around the laptop so that Warren could see the screen.

“The same goes for what I'm going to show you on the computer. You're going to have to memo rise the procedures and passwords. You must never write anything down.”

Tina watched as Hathaway tapped away at the keyboard.

“So I'll be e-mailing you reports, is that it?” she asked.

“It's the safest way,” he said.

“No meeting that can be watched, no phone conversations that can be tapped. You just find yourself an internet cafe and Robert's your mother's brother.”

“My mother didn't have a brother, but I get your drift.” She pointed at the laptop, a grey Toshiba.

“Do I get to use this?”

Hathaway shook his head.

“Absolutely not,” he said.

“Under no circumstances must you ever use your own machine. Everything you do will be stored somewhere on your hard disc. Someone who knows what they're doing will be able to find it. I'll use this to show you what to do, but once you're up and running you should use public machines. There are internet cafes all over the place these days.”

He sat back from the laptop. On screen was a web page and he tapped it with his forefinger.

“This is Safe Web,” he said.

“It's a state-of-the-art privacy site. You can use it to move around the web without being traced. No one knows who you are or what you're doing. That goes for sites you visit or any e-mail you send or receive. It's so secure that the CIA use it.”

“Okay,” said Tina hesitantly, 'but does that mean you think someone will be watching me?"

“If you get close to Donovan, or to any of his associates, there'll be all sorts of agencies crawling over you, Tina. The Drugs Squad, Customs and Excise, Europol, the DEA, law enforcement agencies right across the world will put you under the microscope. And every one of them will have the capacity to open your mail, listen in on your phone calls and intercept your e-mail. If any one of them were to discover that you were an undercover agent, your life would be on the line.”

“Even though they're the good guys?”

“Someone at Donovan's level can't operate without help from the inside.”

“Bent cops?”

“Bent cops, bent DEA agents, bent politicians,” said Hathaway.

“There is so much money involved in the drugs trade that they can buy almost anyone. Everyone has their price, Tina. And Donovan has the money to meet it.”

Tina tilted her head on one side.

“What about you, Gregg? What's your price?”

Hathaway flashed her a tight smile.

“I prefer to be on the side of law and order.”

“White hat and sheriffs badge?”

“I don't do this for the money, Tina.”

“You're on some sort of crusade, are you?”

“My motivation isn't the issue.” He turned the laptop towards her.

“Once you've logged on to Safe Web, type in this URL.” His fingers played across the keyboard. The new web page loaded then the screen turned pale blue.

She looked at the graphics and wording on the screen. It appeared to be an online store selling toiletries. There was a "Feedback' section where e-mails could be sent to the company.

“That's where I send my stuff?” she asked.

“That's it. But first you have to log on. For that you'll need a password. Something you'll never forget so that you won't have to write it down. It can be a number, or a word. Anything up to eight characters.”

Tina gave him a password and watched as he tapped it in. His fingernails were bitten to the quick and there were nicotine stains on the first and second fingers of his right hand. He was a smoker, yet he'd turned down her offer of a cigarette when he'd first arrived at her flat. She wondered how much she should read into the nicotine stains and the bitten nails.

“Sure you don't want a cigarette?” she asked, offering her pack.

He shook his head, his eyes still on the screen.

“Gave up, six weeks ago.”

“Wish I could.”

“Anyone can. Just a matter of willpower.”

Tina blew smoke but was careful to keep it away from Hathaway.

“Is that when you started biting your nails?”

Hathaway flashed her a sideways look.

“Not much gets by you, does it, Tina?” He gestured at the screen.

“Right, this is you logged on. If there's a message for you, there'll be an envelope signal here. If you want to send me a message, you click here.” Hathaway clicked on a letter icon.

“Then it's just like any word processing or e-mail programme. When you've finished, click on ”send“ and you're done. If you want to attach any photographs or documents, use the paper-clip icon here.”

“What sort of photographs?”

“Anything you think might be of use to us.”

“And am I supposed to be in contact with you every day?”

Hathaway ran his hand down his face and rubbed his chin.

“I'd advise against that. Once a week would be enough, but you want to avoid making it a routine. If you sit down at a computer every Saturday morning, it's going to be noticed. Vary it.”

“What if you need to get in touch with me? Say there's a problem and you need to warn me.”

“That's not going to happen. We're not going to be watching you, Tina. You will be one hundred per cent on your own. From time to time I might need to brief you on operations, perhaps point you in the direction of possible targets, but I won't be expecting instant results. Weekly contact will be fine.”

Tina stubbed out her cigarette.

“Will you be running other agents, Gregg?”

Hathaway's face hardened.

“Why do you ask?”

“Because you're going to a lot of trouble over little old me,” she said with a smile. She nodded at the laptop.

“The website, you, Latham. I can't believe this is all being done just for my benefit.”

Hathaway nodded slowly, a slight frown on his face as if assessing what she'd said.

“Suppose I was having this conversation with someone else. You wouldn't want me to tell them about you, would you?”

“That sort of answers my question, doesn't it?”

Hathaway smiled thinly and folded his arms.

“There's nothing I can say. Other than lying to you outright, and I'm not prepared to do that.”

“And are they all being sent against Tango One?”

“That I can't tell you, Tina.”

“But suppose one of your people gets close to Donovan and I see them. If I send you details of what they were doing, doesn't that put them in the spotlight?”

“All your reports will come through me and I won't pass on anything that would put another operative in danger.” He smiled again.

“Assuming that there are other operatives.”

Tina walked over and sat on the arm of the sofa.

“The reports I send. What will you do with them?”

“I'll go through them and pass on whatever intelligence there is to the appropriate authorities.”