Manhunter by Chris Ryan (the false prince series .TXT) 📗

‘To protect some greedy bankers and tax dodgers?’

‘That’s not what we do. We’re the only specialist team dedicated to fighting the gravest threat to our country: foreign criminal elites.’

His Scottish accent grew more pronounced as he warmed to his subject. Bowman listened as he went on.

‘The world has changed, Josh. The desk jockeys in Whitehall like to say that we’re no longer living in a unipolar world. What they really mean is that the rules of the game have been thrown out of the window and we’re in a free-for-all. Traditional state spies are no longer the main threat. It’s not from terrorist groups, either. Some nutter mowing down a few civvies in a truck is a tragedy, but it’s not a serious threat to national security. No,’ Mallet added, ‘these days, it’s all about mobs and big business, working together.’

‘Like Russia, you mean?’

‘Exactly. We all know that Russia isn’t a country, not anymore. It’s a mafia state run by organised crime groups, oligarchs and the security services. Those guys aren’t interested in ideology or state spycraft, and they’re not looking to go toe-to-toe with the West in some direct military confrontation. Bad for business. They’re only interested in lining their own pockets. Their motivation is pure greed.’

‘They don’t sound much different from the gangs in Romford, mate.’

‘Amateur thugs. Small-time crooks,’ Mallet said with a sneer. ‘These guys are different. They’re a cut above your average criminal. And it’s not just the Russians, either. This is a global problem. Everywhere you look, organised mob networks have infiltrated governments. Central America. Eastern Europe. Africa, Asia. In some places they’ve taken complete control. We’re dealing with a whole new criminal elite. These guys pose a serious threat to our interests, at home and abroad. That is why the Cell was created. To fight the criminal groups threatening our security.’

Bowman noticed a hard gleam in Mallet’s eyes. He thought: This man hates mobsters. He hates them almost as much as I do.

‘What has all of this got to do with me?’ he asked.

Mallet thrust a hand into his jacket pocket and plucked a cigarette out of a crumpled packet, lowered the window. He looked at Bowman. ‘Do you mind?’

‘My mother smoked forty a day. She died of lung cancer.’

‘I agree. It’s a terrible habit.’

Mallet sparked up. He sucked in a deep lungful of air, blew it out through the open window.

Bowman waited for him to continue.

‘We’re being given the green light for a hard arrest,’ Mallet said at last. ‘It’s a fastball operation, and it’s going to happen soon. I can’t go into any details at the moment. There’s a briefing later – if you accept our offer. But if you agree to join us, there’s no going back. Once you’re in, you’re in.’

‘Who’s the target?’ asked Bowman.

‘I can’t say right now. That will be explained later. All I can tell you is that if you agree to do this job with us, you’ll be doing your country a great service. This is a highly sensitive mission, lad, and you’re made to measure for it.’

Bowman looked at him doubtfully. ‘What do you mean?’

Mallet tapped the side of his head with a thick finger. ‘You know mobsters. Better than most people. You grew up around them, you went to school with them. You worked undercover in gangs with the Met. That means you know what makes them tick.’

‘That’s why you’re interested in me? Because I’ve hung out with a few gangsters?’

‘It’s one of the reasons, aye. There are others.’

‘Like what?’

Mallet sucked on his cigarette one last time and tossed the butt out of the window. The burning tip somersaulted through the frigid night air. He closed the window.

‘I’ve seen your file,’ he carried on. ‘The Cell keeps a close eye on the rest of the SF community, naturally. We’re always on the lookout for people with particular skills. People such as yourself.’

Bowman shook his head. ‘I’m no different to the other blokes at Hereford.’

‘I disagree,’ Mallet said. He rested his hands in his lap and stared out of the windscreen. ‘You did your undercover work in the Met. Then you left the force and did three years in Special Forces Support Group. Then the Regiment. Multiple tours in Afghanistan, Iraq, followed by a two-year secondment in the Special Reconnaissance Regiment, so that’s your surveillance skills sorted. You’ve done a posting with E Squadron, so you’ve got experience of working with Vauxhall and Thames House. That makes you unusual, you see.’ Mallet hesitated. ‘I know what happened to your family, too,’ he added in a low voice.

Bowman felt something cold and wet slither down the base of his spine. Everyone at Hereford knew the story, the tragedy that had wrecked his life fifteen years ago, but they never mentioned it in his presence. They knew better.

‘What those Albanian thugs did to your wife and daughter was despicable,’ Mallet continued quietly. ‘No husband or father should ever have to deal with that.’

Bowman closed his eyes for a moment. The violent images flashed across his mind again, tormenting him. He saw the blood splatter, the mutilated bodies. His wife and daughter. Murdered.

‘There’s no need to . . . to bring that up,’ he stuttered. ‘There’s not a day that goes by without me thinking about . . . what happened. You can’t imagine . . . ’

His voice trailed, he looked away.

Mallet said, ‘This is your chance for revenge. You can’t bring your loved ones back, but I’m offering you the next best thing. The opportunity to avenge their deaths.’

‘It’s too late for that,’ Bowman said. ‘Those Albanian bastards got away with it. That’s in your bloody file, isn’t it?’

‘Aye, lad, I know. But if you agree to work with us, you’ll be waging war against the criminal elite. The David Langs of the world. The same type of scum responsible for murdering your family. This is a chance to make them pay.’

Bowman stayed silent as he weighed up Mallet’s offer. But he already knew