24

It took quite some time for Julien to find the right person to talk to at the Met. It wasn't easy because he hadn't wanted to say too much to the wrong person. Mentioning the name Viskhan Lors helped and finally, he was told to wait for a Signal call from a Detective Chief Inspector West, whose job remit was fighting organised crime.

"He wants to see your face?"

Ilya asked.

"I guess he wants to confirm who he's talking to. You stay out of sight."

They had to wait for almost thirty minutes and Julien was on edge by the time his phone rang. But he told his story, all of it. Three years of being tumbled over and over in the surf, worn away layer by layer until what was left was a shadow of what he'd been. Now he was stranded on the beach, almost above the high tide mark, but not quite. Not yet safe.

Admitting his part in criminal activities had been much harder than he'd imagined. It brought back painful memories along with a deluge of guilt. He'd felt he had no choice, but maybe the authorities wouldn't see it that way. Of course they fucking won't. They hadn't been on his side over his brother's death. Why should he expect it to be different now? When he forwarded West the document he'd been working on, his throat filled up. In the end, the only name he'd withheld was Denis'. He'd given the initial D, that was all.

Talking about his parents was even more difficult, but he maintained they weren't to be told about why he was associated with a Chechen gang leader, just that he was, and that he'd explain everything to them later. Assuming I survive.

West had listened to it all, occasionally interrupting to ask him to clarify some point or other. Julien couldn't interpret how West felt about him. He heard nothing but professionalism in the man's tone, though how often did someone offer the opportunity to bring down the leader of a notorious Chechen gang.

Ilya held his hand as he spoke and that had grounded him somehow, reassured him that he was doing the right thing.

"Lors thinks you have something to tell him about the night his son died?"

West said.

"Yes."

Julien wasn't surprised West had come back to this point.

"Why didn't you speak out before?"

"I didn't make the connection at the time. When Abrek said brother I thought he was talking about me. But maybe Borsha came to kill Sébastien because he disapproved of their relationship. Abrek tried to stop him, only to end up being fatally stabbed himself. Even if Borsha had been investigated by the police, he'd have had an alibi. Though he does ride a motorbike. I don't know what became of the French police's investigation into that."

"Why didn't you think of Borsha's involvement once you'd met him?"

West asked.

"I was still thinking Abrek meant me when he said the word brother. It was a friend who made me think again."

"A friend?"

"The only other person to whom I've told the truth. I trust him completely. He's here with me now."

"His name?"

"Ilya Morozov,"

Ilya said.

West didn't speak for a moment. Julien imagined he was checking out the name.

"You think Lors will wait for you to come back from France, then press you about what you know?"

"I'm pretty sure he'll be intrigued enough to demand I tell him what I know sooner rather than later. He might already be in France. I don't know if I was intended to survive this job."

Ilya gripped his fingers.

"I'm going to check details and call you back,"

West said. "I'll give you a number to contact me directly. Memorise it."

The safety of Julien's parents and Ilya, let alone himself, depended on West believing him, and Julien had known just how crazy it all sounded. He could hardly tell West to be careful who he spoke to.

"Be careful who you speak to,"

Ilya blurted and turned Julien's phone so West could see him. "If Lors catches any hint of betrayal, he'll kill everyone."

"I understand."

Julien wasn't convinced he did, but there was nothing more he could say.

"Julien's done the right thing in telling you all this,"

Ilya said. "But please don't arrest him for what he's been made to do over the last three years."

"I can make no guarantees."

"Well, try."

Ilya said. "He's giving you and the French police a Chechen gangster and people who work for him both here and in France. They need taking off the street. They're dangerous. Chechens hold grudges, they—"

Julien pulled the phone away and put his hand on Ilya's mouth. Ilya nodded.

"I understand the danger. I'll be in touch within the hour."

West ended the call.

"Oh God,"

Ilya muttered. "That was horrible."

Julien started the engine. "We might as well head back. I can talk to him while I'm driving. I'll stop if necessary."

"If something goes wrong, we'd have to go into witness protection and live in some shady place in the middle of nowhere and change our names to something ridiculous and not have contact with anyone we knew before and have new histories made for us and I'll probably have to pretend to be a window cleaner called Serge and—"

"Stop thinking about things going wrong."

"Maybe they don't even need to go wrong for all that to happen."

Julien glanced at him. Ilya shrugged.

"You're right but let's not think about that now."

"Shall we stop and get a coffee? Something to eat?"

"Let's see how it goes."

Julien just wanted to get back to Driftwood.

"We have two full days before we collect the van. We can make some just-in-case plans of our own."

"You're not coming with me. You need to stay at Driftwood."

"What! I won't do that."

Ilya turned into a bristling ball of fury. "Why would you imagine I'd do that? Don't shut me out!"

"I want you to be safe."

"There is no way I'm not coming with you."

Julien's fingers tightened on the wheel. "I can't have you with me when I pick up the van."

"Okay, yes, I get that, so you stop a few streets away, drop me off, then pick me up again. Take me to France with you. Leave me somewhere before you make the delivery, then pick me up again once you have the new vehicle."

"The police aren't going to agree."

"I don't care what the police say,"

Ilya snapped. "I can help you. Two heads are better than one. I can fight. I can be a distraction. I'm quick. Please!"

"There's no need for you to be trawled up in this."

He heard the catch in Ilya's breathing. "No need? There's every need. We're in this together. A team. Aren't we?"

His voice had dropped. "Is this our first argument?"

"I need to know you're safe. I need to know you'll be there when I get back."

If I get back.

"Please. It makes sense for me to be with you."

Julien sighed. "I'll think about it."

"Which means you won't let me go with you,"

Ilya muttered.

"I didn't say that."

Though Ilya was right.

"If the French police are watching your parents' place, I'd be safe there."

"Not from my parents,"

Julien said.

"Oh God, don't leave me behind. Please."

"We'll see."

No way was he going to put Ilya in danger.

"I know what you're thinking."

"Hmm."

"No is written all over your face. I'll persuade you. Two days is oceans of time. You'll be begging me to go with you."

Julien made himself chuckle. Now he had something—someone to lose, life seemed so fragile.

They were almost back at Driftwood before Julien had the call. At least West was using Signal as Julien had requested. He pulled over to listen because he wanted to be sure he was concentrating on what was said.

The good news was that West was on board and had spoken to his counterpart in France. The bad news was that everything had moved out of Julien's control. Though had he ever had any control?

"Obviously, we need to know what's in that van as soon as possible,"

West said.

"What if it's explosives?"

Ilya blurted. "The vehicle might be a bomb."

"I doubt they're planning to blow you up. Draws too much attention."

A bullet in the head was more likely, but Julien was glad West hadn't said that.

"CCTV will pick you up close to the vicinity of the place you'll be heading for in Croydon. The actual address is not covered by cameras. Do you have any other thoughts as to what the van might hold?"

"I don't see the value in transporting explosives. They can be manufactured just as easily in France,"

Julien said. "Money is a possibility. Real or counterfeit. Drugs. Arms. People. Diamonds. Gold. But you'll have thought of all those."

"Yes. Drugs are more likely to be coming from France to the UK, but if Lors has found a method of getting them into the UK more easily than into France, they would be top of my list."

"I told him at the outset of me working for him that I wouldn't be involved in anything to do with trafficking, drugs or violence."

"Yes, you said,"

West commented. "But did you?"

Shit. "Mostly I did medical work or I stole. I was only used as a courier a few times. Whatever I carried was small. I gave you the list."

"Obviously, we'll have to get into that vehicle before you travel too far. Certainly, before you cross the channel."

"They wouldn't want to blow up the Channel Tunnel, would they?"

Ilya asked.

Julien gulped.

"Unlikely,"

West said. "They're gangsters, not terrorists. They want money above everything else. We'll give precise details later, but we're thinking that after you've left Croydon and we're sure you're not being followed, before you reach the motorway, you'll drive the van into a specially adapted lorry that will then keep moving along the route you'd take. It's very likely they'll have put a tracker somewhere on the vehicle. They'll want to know where you are at all times. We can search the van on the lorry."

That was a good idea.

"Short stops can be explained by traffic hold ups. We can manufacture one of those if we need to. We might not have completed searches by the time we reach Clacket Lane services on the M25 but we can stop at Maidstone services on the M20 and you can drive the van from there."

Julien's heart was thumping.

"Once we know what you're transporting, you'll continue to France, with their tracker and one of our own. We'll make sure the other three vehicles with you in your compartment on the train are ours. Then the French police will take over surveillance. We're going to get a voice recorder to you."

Julien swallowed hard. "They search me every time I meet Lors. Even if he's not there, they probably will."

"It's a very neat piece of equipment. Looks like a car key. You can attach it to a set of keys and all you have to do is push a hidden button to activate recording at any time. They'd expect you to have the keys to your other car, or house with you. I've seen the device. It's amazing. Seven hours of continuous recording is more than enough."

"It's not going to be of any use when Julien is in there, is it?"

Ilya said. "You'd have to download the data afterwards. What if he needs help? How do you help him?"

"The key also acts as a silent alarm."

"Assuming I can access it,"

Julien muttered.

"You're right. This is dangerous. We're not trying to pretend otherwise. It will be left in your mailbox at Battersea."

Ilya's hands clenched into fists. Julien wrapped his hand around one of Ilya's.

"When you make the delivery in Lorient, the police will be watching. We'll coordinate our strikes in both countries and hit at the same time."

"Right."

"If you have any problems, need to abort, and can access your phone, then say the word horizon."

"Okay."

"Any questions?"

"No."

The call ended.

"Can you see any problems?"

Julien asked.

"Are you kidding?"

Ilya gaped at him. "It's full of problems. Lors knows your parents live in Lorient, so how do we know he hasn't got people watching their house? That he's not going to kidnap them to persuade you to do something else? We don't even know if this is a real job. Maybe there's no van and it's a way to get rid of you. If the police, on either side of the Channel, miss anyone important, such as Borsha, they'll go all out to get revenge. And Lors isn't going to be personally involved in this, is he? He'll be sitting in his ivory tower, probably disguised as an unsinkable yacht in Monaco, thinking he can't be touched."

"Maybe not now I've said that about Abrek. I asked him if he was alone. That was a hint that what I have to say involves Borsha."

"Or someone else who works for him."

"True."

"If Lors says anything to Borsha, Borsha isn't going to let you live long enough to speak to his father. He won't take the risk that you've worked out he was responsible."

"He might not be responsible"

"But he could be. Well, unless there's another brother."

"There isn't."