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Authors: Stephen Leather
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Hathaway.
“Donovan is a longterm project. He's not even in the country at the moment. Most of the time he's in the Caribbean. I'll supply you with details of his known associates, and as you go deeper all you have to do is keep an eye out for them. It's going to take time, Cliff. Years. You build up contacts with his associates, and use them to put you next to Donovan.”
“You make it sound easy,” said Warren.
A police car sped down the road outside the house, siren wailing.
“Not easy, but possible. Donovan is a major supplier, you'll be a dealer.”
“You said he didn't go near the gear.”
“He doesn't, but if you can get into his inner circle we can get him on conspiracy. He's also been shipping drugs into the States. If we can tie up to a US delivery, the Americans will put him away for life.”
Warren raised his eyebrows.
“I'm working for the Met, right? How does that involve Yanks?”
“There's no national barriers when it comes to drugs, Cliff. It's way too big a business for that. They reckon that every year some three hundred billion dollars of illegal money gets laundered through the world banking system, and almost all of it is from drugs. Three hundred billion dollars, Warren. Think about that. No one agency can fight that sort of money. In the States the market for illegal drugs is worth sixty billion dollars a year. In the UK about five billion pounds is spent on heroin, cocaine, marijuana, amphetamines and ecstasy. The drug suppliers are working together, so the anti-drug agencies are having to share their resources.”
“So I might end up working for the DEA?”
“With rather than for,” said Hathaway.
“It'll be more a question of sharing intelligence.”
“So they won't know who I am?”
“No one will know you're undercover, except me. And Latham.”
Warren frowned.
“But what if I come across other undercover agents? Won't they report back on me?”
“Sure, but all they'll report on is your criminal activity. That's just going to add to your cover.”
“Do I report on them?”
“You report on everything.” He patted the laptop computer in front of him.
“That's what this is for. Everyone you meet, everything you hear, everything you do, you e-mail to me. You supply the intelligence, I process it and, if necessary, act on it.”
Warren gestured at the photograph.
“This Donovan, why's he so important?”
“Because he's big. Responsible for maybe a third of all the cocaine that comes into this country. If we take him out, we reduce the amount on the streets.”
“You reckon?” said Warren.
“All you'll do is push up the street price for a while. Take out Donovan and someone else will move in to fill the gap. That's how it works. Supply and demand.”
“So we take out Donovan, then there'll be a new Tango One and we'll take him out, too. And we keep on going.”
Warren sighed.
“It's not a war we can win.”
“Putting murderers in prison doesn't mean that murders won't continue to happen,” said Hathaway, 'but murderers still belong behind bars. Same goes for men like Donovan. Not having second thoughts, are you?"
Warren shook his head fiercely.
“I only have to look out of the window to see the damage drugs do. But I know how it works in the real world, Gregg. You put a dealer behind bars, there's half a dozen want to take over his customers. Clamp down on the supply and the price goes up, so there's more crime as the addicts raise the extra cash they need. More break-ins, more muggings.”
“We're not interested in the guys on the street,” said Hathaway.
“We're after the big fish. Guys like Dennis Donovan. Put Donovan behind bars and it will make a difference, I can promise you that.”
Warren reached over and picked up the photograph of Donovan again. He looked more like a foot baller reaching the end of his career than a hardened criminal.
“He's thirty-four years old, married with a six-year-old son. Wife is Vicky. She's
“Donovan is a longterm project. He's not even in the country at the moment. Most of the time he's in the Caribbean. I'll supply you with details of his known associates, and as you go deeper all you have to do is keep an eye out for them. It's going to take time, Cliff. Years. You build up contacts with his associates, and use them to put you next to Donovan.”
“You make it sound easy,” said Warren.
A police car sped down the road outside the house, siren wailing.
“Not easy, but possible. Donovan is a major supplier, you'll be a dealer.”
“You said he didn't go near the gear.”
“He doesn't, but if you can get into his inner circle we can get him on conspiracy. He's also been shipping drugs into the States. If we can tie up to a US delivery, the Americans will put him away for life.”
Warren raised his eyebrows.
“I'm working for the Met, right? How does that involve Yanks?”
“There's no national barriers when it comes to drugs, Cliff. It's way too big a business for that. They reckon that every year some three hundred billion dollars of illegal money gets laundered through the world banking system, and almost all of it is from drugs. Three hundred billion dollars, Warren. Think about that. No one agency can fight that sort of money. In the States the market for illegal drugs is worth sixty billion dollars a year. In the UK about five billion pounds is spent on heroin, cocaine, marijuana, amphetamines and ecstasy. The drug suppliers are working together, so the anti-drug agencies are having to share their resources.”
“So I might end up working for the DEA?”
“With rather than for,” said Hathaway.
“It'll be more a question of sharing intelligence.”
“So they won't know who I am?”
“No one will know you're undercover, except me. And Latham.”
Warren frowned.
“But what if I come across other undercover agents? Won't they report back on me?”
“Sure, but all they'll report on is your criminal activity. That's just going to add to your cover.”
“Do I report on them?”
“You report on everything.” He patted the laptop computer in front of him.
“That's what this is for. Everyone you meet, everything you hear, everything you do, you e-mail to me. You supply the intelligence, I process it and, if necessary, act on it.”
Warren gestured at the photograph.
“This Donovan, why's he so important?”
“Because he's big. Responsible for maybe a third of all the cocaine that comes into this country. If we take him out, we reduce the amount on the streets.”
“You reckon?” said Warren.
“All you'll do is push up the street price for a while. Take out Donovan and someone else will move in to fill the gap. That's how it works. Supply and demand.”
“So we take out Donovan, then there'll be a new Tango One and we'll take him out, too. And we keep on going.”
Warren sighed.
“It's not a war we can win.”
“Putting murderers in prison doesn't mean that murders won't continue to happen,” said Hathaway, 'but murderers still belong behind bars. Same goes for men like Donovan. Not having second thoughts, are you?"
Warren shook his head fiercely.
“I only have to look out of the window to see the damage drugs do. But I know how it works in the real world, Gregg. You put a dealer behind bars, there's half a dozen want to take over his customers. Clamp down on the supply and the price goes up, so there's more crime as the addicts raise the extra cash they need. More break-ins, more muggings.”
“We're not interested in the guys on the street,” said Hathaway.
“We're after the big fish. Guys like Dennis Donovan. Put Donovan behind bars and it will make a difference, I can promise you that.”
Warren reached over and picked up the photograph of Donovan again. He looked more like a foot baller reaching the end of his career than a hardened criminal.
“He's thirty-four years old, married with a six-year-old son. Wife is Vicky. She's
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