Chapter 17

Bad Ass

It was late afternoon on Sunday, and Andy McNab crouched in the shadowy recess of a tall yew hedge, his digitally enhanced binoculars trained on the opulent mansion across the street. Nestled in the heart of London's most exclusive suburb, the house was a fortress of wealth and vice. To the world, it belonged to Victor Duran, a wealthy entrepreneur with a spotless public image. But Andy knew better. Duran was the name he'd found on the mobile phone of drug dealer Vinnie LaRosa, who ran a casino in the East End . . .

The previous day.

Saturday night in London's East End, and a tall, athletic, blonde haired man, wearing a smart blue suit and tie, entered the "House of Cards" casino.

'Good evening sir,' the doorman greeted.

'Evening,' Andy McNab replied. Everyone at the "front of house" were just regular people, earning a living as you would serving tables in a restaurant or working behind a bar. They were unaware that their boss was a drug dealer who organised the distribution of class A drugs around the country.

The doorman nodded and stepped aside, allowing Andy to enter the main gaming area. He scanned the room, taking in the sounds of clinking glasses and murmurs of conversation. To the side of the gaming area was a wide archway which led to the restaurant. He noted the position of surveillance cameras, and which members of staff were security.

Andy made his way to the poker table, where he bought in for a few hundred pounds and began playing against a group of seasoned players. He deliberately didn't win too many hands, keeping his stack modest whilst keeping an eye on the security cameras above. He knew that security was tight in this establishment, and he needed to blend in without drawing attention to himself.

After an hour or so of playing, Andy excused himself to take a break and visit the restroom. As he entered the toilet stall, he quickly removed his wig and turned his blue suit inside out, transforming it into a black suit. The bathroom was dimly lit and cramped, but he moved quickly and efficiently. He took off his tie and tucked it into his pocket with the wig, before putting on a pair of spectacles and slipping out of the stall.

Without drawing attention to himself, and avoiding the sweep of the surveillance cameras, Andy made his way upstairs to the office level. He knew that Vinnie's office was located on the second floor; he had infiltrated the establishment in the early hours of the morning as part of a team of cleaning staff.

As he reached the top of the stairs, Andy waited for a moment, listening for any tell tale sounds of movement, before peering briefly around the corner. There was a man sitting on a chair, to the side of the office door, reading the sports section of a newspaper.

Vinnie LaRosa was sitting behind his desk, in his deep red, leather chair. His office was wood panelled, and also doubled as a lounge, containing expensive chairs and sofas. Four of his "business associates" were relaxing on those comfortable items, chatting about their drug shipments and money laundering activities, when there was a knock at the door, and a man in a black suit entered. Suddenly, everyone stopped relaxing and became very alert.

'What the fuck!' Vinnie exclaimed. 'Who the hell are you?'

'Oh! Er, um, sorry,' the man said nervously. 'The man outside said it would be alright.'

Vinnie stood up and moved around the desk, assessing the man as he did so. He appeared to be nervous, his eyes darting this way and that behind his glasses, his hands fumbling in front of him. His posture was slightly stooped, as though he was apologising for even existing. The four other men stood and moved to encircle this uninvited guest.

'Did he now?' Vinnie said, not believing a word of it. 'And why would he say that?'

'Erm, ah, yes. It's because I have something for you.' The man reached inside his jacket pocket which made the four men reach for their shoulder holsters, but all he took out was a pair of black leather gloves. 'Something important which could change your life . . . or end it.'

The last part of that sentence put everyone on high alert. Vinnie looked menacingly at the stranger. 'Really? And what is it you've got for me?'

'Oh, er, it's a choice,' said the nervous man, seeming almost reluctant to tell him.

All the men looked at each other questioningly. 'A choice? What choice?' Vinnie asked.

The timid man pulled on the gloves, speaking as though he were reciting something he had been told to say by a bully. 'Er, tell me who you work for and live, or don't.'

Vinnie laughed, and the four men sniggered. 'Or don't what?'

When the man replied, he was Andy McNab, SAS soldier, the timidity and nervousness having gone from his voice. 'Don't tell me, and don't live.'

The five men suddenly realised they were in trouble and reached for their handguns, slung under their armpits in shoulder holsters. Andy saw who moved first with his peripheral vision and in a sudden movement, was behind him with an arm around his neck, his other hand controlling the handgun, his index finger over the man's trigger finger. As each in turn drew their weapon, Andy dragged the gun arm to point at them and pulled the trigger. The man he was holding took a hit, shielding him from the shot, and then it was all over. Three men were on the floor, dead or mortally wounded.

Andy took his arm from around the man's neck and the body slumped to the floor. He turned his cold gaze towards Vinnie. 'They've made their choice . . . What about you?'

'I don't have a choice . . . You don't know who you are up against.' Vinnie was a hardened criminal who had done his fair share of violent crime in the past. He'd even enforced the code of silence before climbing the rungs of the syndicate. 'If I don't tell you, you kill me. If I do tell you, they kill me.'

'Oh I know who I'm taking on,' Andy told him as he picked up a discarded handgun. 'It looks like you've got a real Hobson's choice to make.' Andy pointed the gun at Vinnie's head, standing like a statue, his face an impassive mask, his eyes dark and cold. And then, he lowered his arm. He had seen the "Doc" looking at him, a sad, disappointed expression on his face.

'Damn you Doc,' he muttered to himself. 'Okay, I'm not going to kill you, not unless you give me a reason to, like your friends here did. The evidence on your desk is enough to send you to prison, along with the latest shipments, which are being intercepted by Border Force.'

'An anonymous tip off?' Vinnie said, more as a statement than a question.

'That's right, I'm anonymous . . . a ghost. I was never here,' Andy told him.

Vinnie looked at his fallen comrades. 'Then how do you explain them?'

'A falling out between criminals. A disagreement about their cut of the profits. The police won't look too closely.'

Vinnie moved to his chair behind the desk and sat down, his hands resting on the edge. 'So you now have four dead bodies, I'll be sent to prison, this operation shut down, and you still won't have what you came for.'

'That won't work,' Andy told him.

'Excuse me?'

'The panic button under the desk. It was one of the first things I disabled yesterday when I surveilled the place.' He saw the surprised look on Vinnie's face and smiled. 'You should pay more attention to the little people. The people who clean your establishment.'

'You were in here yesterday?' Vinnie asked in surprise.

'Yeah. And the gun in the drawer has no firing pin now . . . Didn't find your burner phone though. I presume you keep that on you,' Andy said, waving the handgun to indicate that he wanted Vinnie to empty his pockets.

Vinnie glared at him as he took his phone out of his inside jacket pocket and threw it down on the desk. 'It won't do you any good. It's encrypted with a passcode.'

'And I reckon you're too smart to use biometrics to unlock it, in case someone cuts your thumb off,' said Andy. Vinnie just smiled smugly. 'Never mind. I'm sure this kid I know will work it out.'

Andy put the handgun down from where he had picked it up, and moved to the door, taking the key out of the lock. 'The police will be here soon. You can try and escape, but you won't get far.'

He left the room and locked the door behind him. He would make his way back to the restroom and change back to his original appearance before leaving the casino and heading for the home of Haruto Suzuki, the new apprentice in Tech Support at Torchwood, who would crack the phone for him, and knowing he was on probation, would keep quiet about doing it until Andy had finished his bit of business . . .

Andy knew Victor Duran's spotless public image belied his ruthless, violent, underworld reputation in The Firm, a large crime syndicate operating in London. The former SAS captain had spent the day meticulously surveilling the mansion, using every trick and gadget his military training, and Torchwood technology had afforded him. He had mapped out the entire estate, the sprawling garden with its meticulously trimmed hedges, the pool house, the tennis courts, and most importantly, the security systems. High-tech cameras, motion detectors, and the ever-present hired muscle, Tony "The Bull" Russo, patrolling the grounds.

One of Andy's first tasks had been to get a "Spy-Fly" into the house, where he could follow Duran around and eavesdrop on conversations with visitors to the house, and on conversations over the phone. As the "Spy-Fly" flew around the house, unnoticed as just another fly which had flown into the house, the flight control software on the tablet PC mapped the house and produced a floor plan of the property. Andy had also managed to get the combination to the safe, hidden in Duran's home office.

Andy watched as Russo lumbered past a window on the ground floor, his bulk filling the frame. Russo was an imposing figure, known for his brutal efficiency and loyalty to Duran. He was the immediate threat that Andy would need to neutralise to gain access to Duran. As Russo moved out of sight, Andy reviewed his plan once more. It was Sunday evening, and Duran was on his own . . . except for Russo of course. Duran's glamorous wife had taken their two daughters to visit her parents on the other side of the city. Andy wondered if Misses Duran knew what her husband actually did for a living.

There were a number of techniques the SAS used to gain entry to properties, depending on the situation inside, the number of hostile targets, and their assets. Tonight, he would use stealth. He was dressed in black, with thin, lightweight Kevlar body armour. He wore a utility belt with the equipment he needed for his mission, and a balaclava, where only his eyes and mouth were visible. He put what looked like a ski mask over his eyes, and in the darkness could see as if it was midday.

Moving with the silent precision of a predator, he crossed the street and slipped into the garden. The night-vision visor illuminated the path ahead, allowing him to navigate the intricate web of motion detectors. He reached the corner of the house, and carefully edged his way under the study window towards the front door. Near the front door portico, were the gas and electricity meters, contained behind small metal panels. Andy took a small key out of his utility belt which any householder would recognise. He put the key in the hole and opened the door to the electricity meter.

In the lounge, Victor Duran poured himself an expensive scotch whisky from the drinks cabinet, and made his way over to the plush, leather sofa, where he sat down and picked up the TV remote off the low table. He turned on the TV and flicked through the channels, looking for some sport to watch. Suddenly, the TV and the lights went off.

'Oh damn it,' Duran muttered to himself. 'A power cut, that's all I need.' He threw the remote on the sofa in disgust and stood up. 'TONY?! CHECK THE CIRCUIT BREAKER, IT MIGHT HAVE TRIPPED,' he called out as he opened the lounge door.

What he saw when he opened the door took him by surprise. It wasn't the bull of a man Russo, although the person standing there was the same height, he wasn't as wide. Also, the person standing there was dressed in black, including a balaclava. The next thing that took him by surprise was the blow to his chest, just at the lower tip of his sternum, which sent him barrelling backwards onto the floor. Air in the room suddenly seemed to be in short supply as he noisily sucked air into his lungs . . . And it hurt . . . a lot.

'Mister Duran, I presume,' the man in black said. 'Nice place you've got here.'

Duran was on his hands and knees, making "whurping" noises as he tried to breath. 'Who,' whurp, 'the fuck,' whurp, 'are you?' Whurp.

'Ah, now, if I told you that, I would definitely have to kill you, and at the moment, I've no real reason to do that.'

Duran sucked in a large breath. 'TONY!' Whurp.

'Mister Russo won't be joining us.'

Duran's breathing became easier. 'What do you want? Money? Jewellery?'

'No,' Andy said scornfully. 'This isn't a robbery.'

'What then? Revenge for something in the past?' Duran guessed.

Andy thought about that one. 'Hmm, you could say that, yes. You see, one of your employees tried to kill a friend of mine.'

'One of my employees? Which company? Tell me his name and I'll see to it that he's fired,' Duran assured him.

'A kind offer,' Andy said, as he kneeled down beside him. 'But it wasn't one of your companies . . . It was the syndicate you work for.' He quickly applied a handcuff to a wrist, wrenched the arm back and secured the other wrist behind Duran's back.

'What syndicate? I don't know what you're talking about,' Duran protested.

With Duran face down on the floor, Andy put his knee in the small of his back and pulled a plastic shopping bag over his head, pulling it tight around his neck. 'Comments like that will get you killed, Victor. Imagine the effect seeing you dead in this position will have on your wife, not to mention your two daughters.' He took the bag off Duran's head, who stopped struggling and sucked in lungfuls of air. 'I've come for information. I want the name of the man you work for, the head of the syndicate.'

'I don't know what you're talking about, honestly,' Duran replied.

'Okay.' Andy put the bag back over his head. He let him struggle until he could feel him weakening, and then removed it again. 'Now do you know what I'm talking about?'

'The syndicate?' Duran asked tentatively.

'That's the one, and next time I put this bag over your head, I'll Gaffa Tape it in place and leave your family to find you. Understand?'

Duran nodded. 'Okay. I understand.'

'Good. Now we're getting somewhere. So, your boss. Who is he?'

Duran laughed a single laugh. 'She calls herself "The Director".'

This took Andy by surprise. 'She? The head of The Firm is a woman?'

'Yeah. A surprise, isn't it? There was a power struggle a few months back and Vladimir Timchenko's private jet crashed into the Atlantic,' Duran explained.

'Timchenko? The Russian oligarch?' Andy asked.

'That's him,' Duran confirmed. 'Who would ever suspect someone like that of being the head of a crime syndicate?'

Andy shrugged. 'I suppose. And who's this new woman then?'

'I don't know.' Andy reached for the plastic bag again. 'NO! No, honestly. Nobody knows. We've never met her,' Duran blurted out in a panic. 'All contact is online, and she uses one of those virtual avatars . . . you know, one that looks like a real woman, quite a sexy one at that.'

'So it could be a man using a female avatar?' Andy reasoned.

'No, because Vlad talked about a sassy woman who wanted to be part of the firm. Said she had contacts in the government which could be useful.'

'And he never mentioned her name?'

'Not to me, and I don't think he did to anyone else on the board.'

Andy laughed. 'You have a board? You sound like a legitimate business.'

'Well, maybe not legit, but we are a sort of business,' Duran told him.

'Hmm, I suppose so. So, which PC do you use to contact "The Director",' Andy asked him.

Duran was silent, and Andy rustled the plastic bag in encouragement. 'My laptop, on my desk in the Study.'

'Good man. And the other people on this board you mentioned, who are they.' There was another rustle of the plastic bag. 'You might as well tell me now. All this is coming tumbling down around you anyway.'

Under the pressure, Duran began to talk, spilling the details of the network, the shipments, and the hierarchy. Andy recorded every word on Vinnie LaRosa's phone, streaming it to the Metropolitan Police online crime reporting tool, and piecing together the puzzle that would lead him to The Director of the syndicate. Andy had come across a sassy female director before, and wondered if the coincidence was too great.

Satisfied, he bound Duran in Gaffa Tape, gagged him with it, and removed the handcuffs. 'Thank you for your cooperation, Victor. The police should be along soon to read you your rights.'

He went to the study and picked up the laptop before stepping over Russo's unconscious bulk in the hall, and disappearing into the night, knowing that this was just the beginning. With Duran's information, he would tear down the entire syndicate, one piece at a time. Justice was within his grasp, and he wouldn't stop until every last one of them paid for what they'd done to Garry.