Capital Punishment (49 page)

‘And Frank sided with the Muslims?’

‘Being Catholic, he could play both sides, but Chhota Tambe, who led the Hindus, thought he was with the Muslims. All Frank’s big breaks came from his Muslim connections.’

‘So Chhota Tambe had grounds for suspicion?’

‘Frank was still working for D-Company, but they weren’t gold smuggling anymore; that business dried up when the government opened up the Indian economy, and by 1992, gold could be freely imported,’ said Mistry. ‘Frank was employed in Dawood Ibrahim’s new business, which was smuggling heroin.’

‘Now
that
is not something Frank would like to be in the public domain,’ said Boxer. ‘That would certainly ruin him. Nobody in the West would go anywhere near him. Does Chhota Tambe have any proof?’

‘It’s not like there’s a bill of lading with Frank’s name on it,’ said Mistry. ‘When I told Chhota Tambe about Amir Jat, he was really excited because he knew Jat had close ties to the Afghan Taliban and that he’d been the main conduit of heroin out of Afghanistan back in the 1980s and 1990s. Amir Jat had rewarded D-Company with the heroin business when gold smuggling was no longer viable. Chhota Tambe also knew, as everybody else does now, since a CIA report was published in the
Times of India,
that in late 2007 the ISI merged D-Company into Lashkar-e-Taiba, who were the terrorists responsible for both Mumbai attacks, in March 1993 and November 2008.’

‘So Chhota Tambe puts two and two together and assumes that if Frank knows Amir Jat then he must be involved with Islamic terrorism in some way?’

‘Not necessarily now, but certainly then, in 1993. The explosive used in those bombings was a military type called RDX—Research Department Explosive—and the quantity required, which was three tons, meant that it could only have come from Pakistan and the person who probably supplied it would have been Amir Jat.’

‘And how does Frank fit in?’

‘Chhota Tambe is convinced he smuggled it in by boat.’

‘Any evidence?’

‘None,’ said Mistry. ‘Doubt is a very powerful thing and obsession a very dangerous condition. It clouds your judgement. And that’s what
both
Chhota Tambe and Frank D’Cruz are suffering from. Chhota Tambe is obsessed by who Frank is and what he’s done to get there; and Frank is obsessed with what I know about him and Konkan Hills.’

‘Well, that’s enough motivation for Chhota Tambe to have had Alyshia kidnapped,’ said Boxer. ‘Did you hear about a plan of that sort in any of your dealings with him?’

‘No. The kidnap was a complete surprise to me,’ said Mistry. ‘The first I heard about it was from someone masquerading as a representative of Alyshia’s mother’s lawyer. He was very clever. He came through the High Commission. But I’m sure he’d been sent by Frank because he brought Anwar Masood’s men to my door. There was a shootout. I think he was killed. At first I thought the news of the kidnap might be another trap set by Frank to bring me out into the open. Then, after talking to Yash, we realised it was Chhota Tambe.’

‘So Chhota Tambe ordered the kidnap to draw Frank out of his schedule, tried to kill him on his first night in London and, when that failed, he continued with the kidnap in order to punish him?’ said Boxer.

‘No, it was Yash who organised the hit on Frank,’ said Mistry. ‘He didn’t ask permission from Chhota Tambe. He did it just to protect me. I’d been in hiding for months. When Yash found out Frank was going to London, he contacted a gang in Southall.’

‘The only demand we ever got from Chhota Tambe was for “a demonstration of sincerity” from Frank.’

‘I can’t believe he was expecting an admission of guilt from him. I mean, not after all this time, but you never know; maybe his obsession had driven him that crazy. I’m sure he had no proof of Frank’s involvement in the 1993 bombings or the heroin smuggling, so he might have had some vague hope of a confession,’ said Mistry. ‘But no, I think it’s more likely he was just torturing Frank. Holding his daughter with no interest in a ransom, giving him a riddle that he couldn’t hope to solve while escalating the brutality. All that must have driven Frank mad.’

At 6.00 a.m., Mercy got a call from the drug squad saying they’d picked up Xan Palmer.

‘He says he and his girlfriend saw MK last night. They left when a couple of Asian guys turned up to talk to MK. He hasn’t heard from him since. Tried to call MK’s mobile, got no answer.’

‘Ask him if one of those Asian men was called Hakim Tarar.’

She heard the officer ask the question, didn’t catch the reply.

‘Says he doesn’t know his name but he’d recognise both of them. One was a small, hard-looking guy and the other was a big, scary fucker, with eyes that turned you to stone.’

‘Would you mind bringing them down to the station? Bethnal Green’s the nearest. I’m going after Hakim Tarar now.’

Mercy asked for some local police back-up before she called on Hakim Tarar, who lived on the fourth floor of a big block of flats on Nelson Gardens. She wanted all possible exits of the building covered before she knocked on his door. Six officers came with her, two with a door breach in case Tarar was feeling shy.

A neighbour came out of his flat on his way to work, just as the law turned up.

‘You know if he’s in?’ asked one of the officers.

‘I heard somebody in there earlier this morning,’ he said, eyeing the door breach before he shot downstairs.

Papadopoulos did what he was good at: hammered on the door.

Mercy nodded at the two officers with the door breach. They swung it and the door flew open.

Papadopoulos went in first, checking each room as he went. The bedroom was dark. He turned the light on.

‘He’s in here, in bed.’

Hakim Tarar was curled up in the foetal position under the bedclothes, running a fever. Above his head was a poster of Amir Khan, World Light Welterweight Champion, and on a shelf below, a few small trophies.

‘You don’t look too clever,’ said Mercy. ‘Where’ve you been?’

‘Got the flu, that’s all,’ said Tarar. ‘What you want?’

‘That’s funny, because I heard you were out and about last night, went to visit your friend MK, took a look at his unit on Branch Place,’ said Mercy. ‘Did you find anybody in there, Hakim?’

‘I don’t know what you’re talking about.’

‘Mercy,’ said George, from the bathroom.

She called one of the officers in to keep an eye on Tarar, went to the bathroom. George was pointing at a pair of sodden underpants on the floor in a pool of dirty water.

‘I think our friend ended up in the canal last night.’

‘Get an evidence bag, run it down to the lab with a comparative sample from the canal outside the Branch Place unit,’ said Mercy. ‘I’ll take Hakim down to Bethnal Green for a chat.’

Boxer and Mistry came out of Hammersmith onto the Great West Road and drove in silence to the Hogarth roundabout.

‘So what are you doing in London, Deepak?’

No reply. Boxer could see the complications from the intensity in the man’s face.

‘Hoping for reconciliation with Alyshia?’

‘I just want to help.’

‘Somehow you’re going to have to appease Frank.’

‘Impossible,’ said Mistry. ‘He’s spent the last three months trying to kill me.’

‘How would you describe your relationship to Chhota Tambe now?’

‘It’s finished. It’s one thing for him to attack Frank, but Alyshia? A mock execution? That’s unacceptable.’

‘Do you know where Chhota Tambe is now?’

‘Yash told me he’s in London, hoping for some kind of victory.’ ‘Do you know where?’

Mistry nodded.

‘So tell me what you’re doing in London, Deepak.’

Another long silence.

‘You’re right,’ he said finally.

‘And you hope that by giving up Chhota Tambe to Frank, he’ll stop trying to have you killed and allow you to see his daughter again?’

They reached a traffic light and went into the right hand filter lane. They crossed the road into Turnham Green.

‘Where are you taking me?’

‘Some friends who live in the States have a big house in Chiswick with a small flat at the bottom of the garden. It’s quiet and nobody knows about it.’

‘You’re going to put me there and do what?’

‘I’m thinking,’ said Boxer. ‘We have to be careful how we do this.’

‘How we do what?’

‘Achieve what you want to achieve.’

‘And why should you help me?’

‘Maybe it’s because I’m a romantic,’ said Boxer. ‘Do you have any of the recordings you made in the Juhu Beach house with you?’

‘No.’

‘Where are they?’

‘Some of them are with Chhota Tambe and the rest were in my flat in Mumbai.’

‘Can you remember what was in those recordings? Any names?’

‘I listened to them all several times. I supplied notes to Chhota Tambe so he could understand what was going on. I remember everything pretty well.’

‘Maybe you heard something that wasn’t significant to you or Chhota Tambe, but which Frank doesn’t want anybody else to know about.’

‘But only Frank would know that.’

‘Maybe. I’m thinking that if I get a friend of mine from MI6 to come and talk to you, he might be able to clarify if that’s the case.’

11.00 A.M., WEDNESDAY 14TH MARCH 2012

Wycombe Square, Aubrey Walk, London W8

Boxer jerked awake. Only four and a half hours’ sleep, but brain instantly sharp. Isabel was standing at the door, fully dressed, cup of tea in hand.

‘I didn’t know if you wanted to be woken up.’

‘I did. That’s good.’

‘There’s been no news,’ she said, sitting on his bed, giving him the tea. ‘Total silence since she disappeared again last night. No contact. Nothing.’

‘It’ll come,’ said Boxer.

‘Rick Barnes said he saw you leaving the house with someone last night. You didn’t come back until after six this morning.’

‘Deepak Mistry turned up,’ said Boxer. ‘Frank’s been looking for him. He’d been spying on Frank and using Alyshia to do it.’

‘Is this the Mumbai problem? Why it all fell apart?’

‘More or less,’ said Boxer, and gave her the full story about Chhota Tambe and what Alyshia had seen at the Juhu Beach house. Isabel’s face was locked in horror, mouth slightly open, eyes unblinking.

‘He made Sharmila do
that
?’ she said in the ensuing silence. ‘You see what I mean about him?’

‘You said Sharmila was from that world. You described her as a “gangster’s moll”. Do you know which gangster?’

Isabel was shaking her head, looking at nothing, barely listening.

‘Chico’s downstairs, you know. He’s been asking me what happened last night,’ she said. ‘There’s something wrong with him.’

‘Physically? Mentally?’

‘Both. He looks as sick as a dog on green meat. He’s depressed and I think he’s scared - which is scaring me.’

‘And he’s still not talking?’

She shook her head. Boxer kissed her on the mouth and could feel all her worry in the tension within her lips. He hugged her and she clung to him.

‘Just tell me it’s going to be all right.’

‘Everything is going to be fine,’ said Boxer, with all the remembered confidence he could muster.

He showered and dressed, went downstairs to the kitchen. D’Cruz watched him eating his breakfast in silence.

‘How did it go with the MI5 debrief last night?’ asked Boxer.

‘It was long and exhausting.’

‘Did you tell them anything interesting?’

‘Only what I told you about corrupting Amir Jat and how he hated me for it.’

‘I don’t want you to disappear again,’ said Boxer. ‘I’m going to need to talk to you later today. It’s important; you’ll want to know.’

‘Talk to me now. I’m here.’

Boxer wiped his mouth with a piece of kitchen roll, shook his head. He went into the drawing room and called his best friend, Simon Deacon.

‘We have to talk,’ said Boxer. ‘I have new information that could help. I think you know what I’m talking about.’

‘I’m on my way somewhere,’ said Deacon. ‘In fact, it could be interesting for you to see this. Let’s meet in London Fields. You’ll see where I am. Near the lido. The police have taped it all off.’

It took Boxer well over an hour to get to Hackney. He’d always imagined, with such a name, that there would be something significant about London Fields, but it was just a large, flat piece of greenery with big bare trees, a cricket pitch, a lido, tennis courts and some playgrounds all empty of people. He wasn’t sure what else he’d been expecting: the sheep still grazing before going to market? He saw the police cordon and Simon Deacon standing within it. He went over and called to him. Deacon beckoned to him; a constable lifted the tape.

White-suited, masked forensics were working around a body. Deacon was looking down at it, hands in his coat pockets.

‘Good to see you, Charlie,’ said Deacon, shaking hands. They grabbed each other by the shoulder, genuinely pleased. ‘Takes me back to the good old days. It’s been a pleasure working with you again, even if it has been at one remove.’

‘I’ve felt your hands on the controls, which has been very reassuring,’ said Boxer. ‘Who have we got here?’

‘This is Amir Jat,’ said Deacon. ‘You’ve probably heard of him.’

‘A little more in the last day than in the rest of my life.’

‘We were rather hoping he wouldn’t be in this state,’ said Deacon.

‘Did you know he was coming?’

‘Only after debriefing Frank D’Cruz last night,’ said Deacon. ‘We’d begun to suspect this kidnap of Frank’s daughter might have some sort of terrorist connection. We gave him some freedom of movement yesterday in the hope that he would take us to a valuable intelligence source, but...’

‘He told me he was in contact with people he described as “intermediaries”.’

‘We don’t know who he spoke to. He went through some complex series of internet relays to a scrambled line. We suspect he might have been talking to his Pakistani friend, Lt General Abdel Iqbal.’

‘So what do you think happened here?’

‘It’s difficult to say, but I think we might be looking at the end result of a power struggle within the Pakistani intelligence service,’ said Deacon. ‘Perhaps Amir Jat was holding too tightly to the reins and not prepared to let go. We know he was becoming an embarrassment to the Pakistanis in their relationship with the Americans. CIA field agents have not been happy about him for some time. Pressure has been applied at the very highest level since they suspected Amir Jat’s involvement in the NATO fuel convoy bombings and hiding Osama bin Laden.’