Crash Course Derek Fee (interesting books to read txt) 📖

“Ah, Mark,” he said, closing one of the manila folders. “All cleared up down below?”

Kane dropped into the chair in front of the desk. “My cases are pretty much cleared and I’ve distributed what I can’t finish to the other boys.”

“I assume that there are some rumblings in the squad room; I can only imagine the envy that your latest assignment would generate. Half the officers in SO10 would give their right arms to go on a continental holiday at the expense of the Met.”

“You could say that,” Kane said. “Stupid buggers think that I land all the juicy ones.”

“And maybe you do,” Davenport said. He pushed one of the folders on his desk towards Kane. “This is you. We’ve gone for the simple solution. The less complicated the background the better. Your name stays the same. You are now Tom Bell’s nephew so you’d better get used to calling him Uncle Tom.” He watched Kane pick up the folder and scan the pages it contained. “You’re ex-army. Recently demobbed because of the Department of Defence cuts. You’ve been a bit of a bad boy during your military service. Lots of action and lots of disciplinary problems. A complete file on you has been lodged with the ministry and you’ve been added to the computer database. Anybody with the right connections who wishes to check you out will find a full file on you. We’ve opened a bank account for you as well. Full history going back to your student days. You’re a bit of a spendthrift. Rather heavily overdrawn for the moment.” He saw Kane’s eyebrows raise. “Don’t worry. The bank is fully informed. There’s no chance of the bailiffs snatching any of the rubbish you have stored in that flat of yours.”

“You obviously don’t know banks as well as I do,” Kane said, continuing to read the file. His latest reincarnation was a right bastard which wasn’t so far from his actual character. “When you don’t pay your debts, the bailiffs lift your stuff and when you complain the bank puts it all down to computer error. My stuff gets lifted, SO10 pays up. Agreed?”

“In the unlikely event—” Davenport began.

“Agreed?” Kane asked again.

“Very well.” Davenport shuffled the papers in front of him. “We have established you as a fairly capable if undisciplined individual who likes to spend more money than he earns. You like to drive fast and you like to take risks. We can only hope that the drug smugglers become alerted to the possibilities of taking a man of your undoubted talents on board.”

Kane closed the folder. Davenport had done his job. The background material would be easy to learn and even easier to pass off. There were no complicated stories to trip him up. Lots of Hooray Henry high jinks and a propensity to leak money. “I’m still not convinced that I’m the man for this job,” he said, stuffing the folder into his jacket pocket.

“On the contrary,” Davenport said. “You’re perfect.”

“What makes you so sure that I’ll be able to race powerboats?” Kane asked.

“They tell me it doesn’t require a lot of skill but that one needs nerves of steel. I think you might fit that bill.”

“This whole operation is cockeyed,” Kane continued. “Bell has set the whole thing up and he’s nothing but a bloody amateur. And I don’t care much for those desk-bound clowns in Holland. They’re not real coppers.”

“You mean not like you and me. Don’t sell either them or Bell short. This operation will succeed or fail on our ability to develop good intel. Bell is one hell of a businessman and as far as I can see he’s an excellent organiser. He’s also persuasive. After all, he persuaded Strofeld and me to go along with him. We’ve checked out the boatyard he’s decided to sponsor and we couldn’t have made a better choice ourselves. They’ve got total credibility in the powerboat racing world and they’re down on their luck. They were begging for a guardian angel like Bell to come along. Watson is already installed in their yard as a mechanic so everything is in place. Don’t worry. I couldn’t have organised it better myself.”

“And you really think this Watson guy is a good idea?”

“In this case, yes. If you were staying in Britain where we could monitor you locally, I’d let you off on your own. But you’ll be off station for a large part of this operation where we can’t easily keep an eye on you. That makes Watson a necessity. He’ll be our link if anything goes wrong. Don’t undersell him. He’s a hell of a good copper. You can trust him with your life.”

“Looks like I’ll have to. And that doesn’t sit well with me.”

“Watson’s committed. His daughter died of an overdose when she was sixteen. He hates drugs and the people that peddle them.” Davenport handed Kane a file. “That’s Watson’s file. Check out the photo near the end.”

Kane flicked quickly through the file. Watson hadn’t been lying about his operational experience. But he had never worked undercover. The second last page showed a young girl spreadeagled in a toilet. The needle was still in her arm. “Can I keep this?”

“No, you can read it here. But you take nothing with you on the op. Take it from me. Watson is a useful man to have around.”

“I still don’t like it but I said I was in, so I suppose...” Kane tailed off.

“That’s the spirit,” Davenport said, filling the pause. “Let’s nail the bastards. De Vries expects you in The Hague tomorrow for a final briefing and then it’s off to Cornwall with Bell. Or perhaps we should start calling him ‘Uncle Tom’.” Davenport smiled. “It all sounds pretty exciting. I rather envy you myself.”

“Yeh, right,” Kane said as he pushed himself out of the chair. A vision of the photograph of Henri Lamont’s Columbian necktie flashed into his mind. “I’m sure it’ll be jolly hockey sticks.”

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