NATIONAL TREASURE Barry Faulkner (the little red hen ebook .txt) 📖

it as he flies past, is he? Randall would have had the money from the buyer before the delivery and either sorted it away into an offshore account ready to send to the drug cartel after he received the package, or he’d sent it already. Most drug deals are delivery then payment.’

‘Be nice to know who the driver was, he might know where the money is.’

‘Yes.’

‘What are you going to do next?

‘Nothing until we get the girl back.’

‘We?’ I didn’t like the ‘we’ bit.

‘I can get the Romanian police to work with you – they have a unit called the Special Operations Directorate who I’ve worked with before on getting info on Romanian organised crime gangs with branches over here.’

‘No, definitely not – I do this solo. I don’t want anybody to know I’m coming, least of all the local police. The Bogdan family is big, you know that – big and rich, and they would have friends in the force.’

‘You worried about leaks?’

‘Yes. You’re the only person who knows what I’m doing, so if it goes belly-up and something happens to me Gold has orders to kill you.’

‘I hope you are kidding, Nevis.’

‘I am, but you and I are the only ones on this at the moment. Let’s keep it that way until I get the girl back and trace the money.’

Clancy thought for a few moments. ‘Okay, but if it does go belly-up you are on your own. I know nothing about it, and we’ve not had this conversation.’

‘You’d better change your SIM card then.’

‘I will.’

‘One thing you can do.’

‘Yes?’

‘Harry Cohen, theatrical agent with offices in Wardour Street – he’s a bit player in all this as far as I know, but he might be bigger than he lets on. Keep an eye on him, he might try to hop it. You can get his photo off the internet – might be worth putting a flag on him at the borders.’

‘Harry Cohen… Okay, will do.’

‘And another thing.’

‘Yes?’

‘Do you realise how much you’ve just cost the British taxpayer in mobile roaming charges?’

‘Bollocks.’

Click.

I went back to my clouds with a slight smile on my face. I’d managed to keep official law enforcement out of the case, which meant I could make decisions and generally wreak havoc if I needed to. One thing was for sure, Janie Johnson was coming home with me.

       CHAPTER 8

I changed five hundred pounds into euros at the money exchange in Debrecen Airport and used some of it to rent a Range Rover at the SIXT car rental counter, all cash and using my George Hadlow passport and international driver’s licence. I always carry a thousand pounds in fifties in a small waterproof wallet strapped to my left ankle. I never use ATMs abroad; I wasn’t going to leave a trace of the real me anywhere. The drive over the border to Romania was without incident, drove straight through.

I got a text from Gold, Marriot Hotel name Mr and Mrs Springer. Gold likes dogs. That didn’t mean we’d be sharing a room – she would have booked another room for herself – but by booking a double for Mr and Mrs it meant that if anything went wrong and I had to take a low profile at the hotel, the police would be checking the hotels for a recent booking for a single male, not a couple.

I parked up in the hotel car park and checked in, keeping my head down and my face away from the CCTV camera. Fifth floor; nice room – should be for €180! Gold had paid upfront – cash, no doubt. So that was a bill going Marcia’s way sometime in the future, together with the cost of the flights. I took a shower, changed into casual and sent a text to Gold to say I was in. I checked my watch: four o’clock. With a bit of luck I’d have Janie out from wherever the Bogdans were holding her that night and back to Debrecen, onto the charter flight and home by the morning. Well, that’s the plan. Simple, eh? Well, aren’t they all on paper.

Gold came into my room half an hour later. She was dressed to kill – and by that I mean literally to kill. All in black: black jeans, black ankle boots, black sweater and black padded jacket over a stab-proof vest. She had her Burberry shoulder bag with her; Gold’s shoulder bag is our toolbox, inside would be night vision glasses, gloves, balaclavas, earpieces and clip mics with belt clip batteries, and double-edged eight-inch knives and sheaths, flares and a grenade. See what I mean? Dressed to kill. If she’d been stopped at Customs I’d probably be bailing her out now.

She took out a street map and laid it out on the table.

‘She’s here.’ Gold pointed to a street not far from the hotel. ‘It’s a club called The Amsterdam, big place with three floors above. The club’s in the basement, so Janie will be upstairs somewhere. First floor is illegal gaming with machines and tables, and then second and third are the Bogdans’ storerooms and living space. If you get in and find her, the only way out without risking being seen is down a steel zigzag fire escape bolted on the back of the building that comes down into a back alley. And it is an alley, not wide enough for a car.’

I sat back. ‘How do you know all this?’

‘The wonderful internet – the city planner’s office is all online, plans of just about every building in the city.’ She pulled out a copy of a building plan. ‘This is The Amsterdam Club – I looked it up, went back to the original planning permission details and hey presto.’ She pushed it in front of me. ‘All the