Riley chewed her lip and tapped the address on the wheelchair brochure. “Spain. That’s where I first saw Mitcheson, before we met at Gibraltar airport. If this villa is near Malaga, it makes it only a couple of hours from Gibraltar — three at most.”
A shadow loomed over the table and the proprietor cleared the cups and plates. “This ain’t the boardroom of Microsoft, you know,” he muttered bluntly. “You two gonna sit here all day, or what?”
Riley smiled sweetly and stood up. “Thanks, but no. I’m not sure all my jabs are up to date.”
They went outside where Palmer looked up at the grey sky, and stretched. He turned to Riley: “How important is this assignment to you?”
“Important? I don’t follow.”
“Well, the investigation. Would it matter if you dropped it here and now?”
Riley looked at him, her eyes narrowing. “I took this assignment on,” she said with quiet resolve, “and that means I have to see it through. And time is getting short. Are you suggesting I quit?”
“No.” Palmer was unfazed by her reaction. “I just want to know if you’re sure about it, that’s all.” He held up a hand to forestall her objections. “Frankly, I reckon the only way of getting more information is to follow the band.”
“You mean to Spain?”
“Can you afford it?”
Riley nodded with certainty. “If this story is worth anything, it’ll lead onto other things. I’m prepared to take a punt on it. How about you?”
“If you’re paying, why not? I could do with a spot of sun.”
Riley nodded. “I was thinking the same. I hope your passport’s up to date.”
Palmer patted his breast pocket. “Never travel without it. Shall I book tickets and rooms in the name of Mr and Mrs Palmer?”
Riley gave him a withering look. “In your dreams.”
Chapter 23
In the villa at Moharras, Mitcheson sat across the living room from Lottie Grossman. Alongside him sat Doug and Howie. Gary and McManus hadn’t yet returned from disposing of Bignell’s corpse.
Outside, the sun was sinking over the hills behind the villa, lending a soft, heavy appearance to the landscape. To the front, overlooking the sea a mile away, a fast boat carved a pale scar across the flat surface of the water, and closer inshore, two jet skis sent up fantails of spray. On the patio Ray Grossman sat in a new, motorised wheelchair, idly toying with the controls. An instruction manual lay on the ground.
Lottie glanced at her watch and put her cup down. “Well, I can’t wait all day for the others. As you know,” she said, looking at each of them in turn, “our first priority was to take over the controlling interest in three night-clubs — two in London and one in Brighton. This has been accomplished, and the managers are now happy to be reporting to a single owner rather than three. Business is good, but we’ll be making adjustments where necessary to reflect the change of… shall we say, emphasis.” The woman smiled coldly behind her glasses, oblivious to the lack of response from the three ex-soldiers. “We’re now moving into the next phase, which means improving turnover in this part of the world. And I’ve decided to make some changes.”
They all looked at her and she smiled with evident satisfaction. Mitcheson gritted his teeth at the false school teacher manner and wondered how he had ever managed to get embroiled with this madwoman.
“Shipping more drugs, you mean?” he said bluntly.
Lottie turned her eyes towards him. “I prefer to call it ‘the product’, Mr Mitcheson.”
“So where is this product going?”
“I think that’s obvious, isn’t it?”
“Through the clubs.”
“What’s the matter, don’t you approve?” She glanced at the others, who looked bored by the discussion. Then she sprang a surprise. “The drugs are just a side line. I’ve decided to move into a different product range altogether. We’re going into the people business.”
When nobody said anything, she continued: “I’ve been doing some research. There’s a high-value end of the people trade just like any other. Wealthy families prepared to pay extremely good money to get sons or daughters into any EU country — but especially Britain. They want them to have a new start in life and are ready to pay accordingly. In exchange for the fee, we get them into the UK and supplied with a full set of papers.”
“Illegal immigrants?” said Howie. “Bit risky, isn’t it, with all the fences and detection systems.”
“Not for the people we’re aiming at, Mr Howard. I’m not talking about shipping them inside the backs of lorries or packed in containers. We’ll take one in for the same price as half a dozen would normally pay to go through somewhere obvious like Calais. They can afford it, so why not? We’ll use top quality papers and take our time, and we’ll never use the same entry route twice. That way we avoid coming to the attention of the police or customs. If we do it right, word will start to spread. As it does, the price goes up.” She smiled. “Two or three a month maximum will bring in a great deal of money and with far less risk than drugs.”
Mitcheson was stunned. She had obviously thought this through, and it was daring enough to work, given the right handling. But he had severe misgivings. “You never said anything about illegal immigrants when you took us on.”
“Because there was nothing to say. Since then I’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to set up the right people. People who can supply the documentation we’ll need.” She smiled archly. “You’d be surprised how many civil servants we get as regulars in our clubs. And debt is such a cruel burden, isn’t it?”
“So what now?”
“Now we need to make it happen, before we lose momentum. I want to move forward. The clubs were dying — and had been for years. McKee was getting old and comfortable, and Cage was senile. My husband has not enjoyed the best of health, and there was no one capable of taking over the running of the clubs the way I wanted.” She smiled grimly. “Basically, we needed a new product line under new management. It’s done every day in the City of London and nobody turns a hair.”
It was the first time Mitcheson had heard anyone admit that Ray Grossman was no longer in control. He wondered if her husband knew. After the way the old man had left the room just before Bignell was shot, he probably did but was powerless to stop her. Maybe this villa and the fancy new wheelchair was his payoff.
“Anyway,” Lottie waved a dismissive hand, “where I need your particular skills is making sure there are no problems with this end of the operation… in particular with our new friends across the water in Morocco, who will also source our new product. They’re bound to be suspicious at first, but I’m sure we’ll win them round as soon as turn-over increases substantially.”
“Won’t they kick up at Bignell being dumped?” Doug asked, finally taking an interest.
“They might,” Lottie replied coolly, “but I doubt it. Bignell was never going to amount to anything significant. He was a minnow who thought he was big-time.” She sniffed with contempt. “He was happy making peanuts. I’m after much bigger rewards. And anyone who works with me will share in those rewards.”
Mitcheson said nothing. He had no wish to be involved in drugs or illegal immigrants at any level, but you couldn’t always choose the path you trod. At least this way offered a chance of getting some money together until he decided what else he could turn his hand to. Unbidden, a vision of Riley crept into his head, sitting alongside the swimming pool. He shook his head to dismiss the image. That was over. For now, anyway. Maybe he could meet up with her sometime.
“All right,” he said. “So what’s the next move?”
Lottie Grossman smiled. “I’ve called a meeting,” she announced. “Here, tomorrow afternoon at four-thirty. The Moroccans are sending a representative over. His name’s Andre Segassa. I want absolute security in place.”
Mitcheson was surprised. “You want the meeting here? That’s risky.”
“Why?”
“Because once they clock the layout, you’re exposed; they might try something later.”