"Goodbye, Ramon. My regards to your family and the Colonel."
"He really wants you to accept that medal you know, Jack."
Ropell smiled.
"Yes I know, Ramon, but I would have a difficult time explaining what it was for when I got back home."
The Spaniard nodded, smiled and then saluted and walked away. He was in full dress uniform and was on his way to the memorial service for the lost helicopter pilot and co-pilot, incinerated in their seats when the missile had struck their aircraft. Only the crewman in the rear cabin had survived
It was odd, thought Jack as he went through the doors of Alicante airport again, that the only other body recovered from the sea in the Barcelona area that week had been that of Henri Parsouel, who had a bullet hole through his head. He tried for the umpteenth time to work out what had happened and why Parsouel and his daughter had been wiped out. The only reason he could come up with was that Angelique Parsouel knew enough to cause the cartel trouble and Henri would not stand still for her being killed, so they had tried to rescue her and when that failed, had killed them both. A telephone conversation with Alan Sobers had ruined that theory as Sobers was convinced that the girl knew next to nothing.
It was hard to believe that it was less than forty-eight hours since he had run down and killed two men. He was thirty-six years old. He had reached that age in a fairly dangerous occupation without ever having to kill anybody. Then in the last week or so he had killed at least five people. Deliberately killed them. Deliberately taken their lives. He wondered why he felt so calm about that and if delayed shock was waiting to pounce on him. He watched Garcia climb into his car and watched it out of sight before turning through the automatic glass doors.
Once inside the airport building he looked back out at the warm Spanish autumn sunlight and began to mentally prepare himself for the coming English winter. He was mentally tired and felt that he had probably jumped back into the deep end too soon after his return to work following his long period in hospital. Perhaps it was time to take a desk job. He carried his suitcase to the check in desk.
Sir William was sat behind his desk with a small smile of satisfaction on his sharp features and Ropell felt that it made him look more weasel like than ever. He took a sip of the awful Scotland Yard coffee and for a moment wished he was back in Spain drinking the real stuff. He made a mental note that in the unlikely event that he should ever return to this office he would ask for tea. With difficulty he brought his attention back to Sir William.
"So there we have it. We seem to have smashed the distribution network in this country and if our suspicions about Henri Parsouel were right, and I am ninety nine percent sure they were, the organiser is dead as well."
He took a sip from his cup. He had asked for tea. He evidently knew about the coffee.
"We also know that there has been a massive explosion in the Borrodo factory that will put it out of any meaningful production for at least several months. The Satellite pictures the Yanks sent confirm that. We have heard no more from our informer there and although the Yanks tell us it is too early to draw conclusions, I think they feel they have heard the last from him."
He took out his empty pipe and sucked on it although he had actually given up smoking it some twenty years previously. It was known as Sir William's dummy among some of the more junior officers. He continued.
"What happened in Spain, Jack?"
Ropell was on tricky ground here and he knew it. He had to tell them that Crucero was gone and most of his distributors with him, but he could not possibly be associated with what had gone on if he wished to remain with the Excise service. He thought he had best stick to what he had agreed with Ramon. After all there was going to be the official Spanish line anyway.
"We got lucky. After the helicopter and the pickup boat were destroyed it seemed that the incident was closed. But before the operation started we had put teams to watch all of Crucero's different interests in case they managed to avoid us somehow and get the drugs ashore. One of them was a huge disco out in one of the industrial Poligonos on the edge of Barcelona. It was obviously supposed to be the distribution centre for the nights catch because from two in the morning every big name villain in the Barcelona area started to arrive. There were more Mercedes and BMWs parked outside than at the average car dealers. Crucero arrived at three thirty and by then he must have known his consignment was lost. Ten minutes after he entered the building all hell broke loose. It seems his partners in the deal were none to pleased that they had nothing to take back with them."
He paused and took a sip of the awful coffee to moisten his mouth.
"We don't know how it happened. Maybe a loose round from some ones gun, but the butane supply for the kitchen went up. There were a dozen large bottles down there."
He shrugged.
"Well although the place was built to look like a castle it is actually made out a concrete framework filled in with hollow red bricks that have been plastered to look like stone. The explosion took out the bottom floor and the lot collapsed like a house of cards. No Survivors."
Sir William put his pipe down on the desk.
That seems remarkably fortunate, Jack. How many people were in there at the time?"
"Twenty two, Sir William."
The commissioner's eyebrows rose.
"And there were no survivors?"
Ropell avoided his quizzical gaze and kept his features carefully neutral.
"No, Sir."
"Remarkably fortunate, especially as there were policemen with radios on hand to call for medical assistance."
Ropell kept silent.
"Seems as if the Spaniards didn't have such bad night after all, Jack. The almighty obviously felt sorry for the way their efforts went astray at sea and compensated by arranging the explosion."
Ropell knew the sarcasm wasn't personal and was only to let him know that the commissioner didn't really believe in miracles and that some other force had removed Crucero and company. All the same he felt he had to defend the Spaniards.
"The Spaniards lost three Coast Guard officers the first time they tried to intercept that cargo. On a second occasion they had a helicopter shot down with the deaths of two crewmembers. Do you think they should have just backed off and tried to follow that launch? I think if you had been in command at the time, Sir, with the greatest of respect, you too would have sunk the bastards before they could get the second helicopter."
Alan Sobers voice broke in.
"We didn't exactly cover ourselves with glory here if you will forgive me saying so. Three dead prisoners and two dead policemen are hardly likely to get us a Queens commendation."
The second policeman who had been on guard duty at the hospital had died of his wounds and Sobers felt it keenly. He went on.
"I would also point out that we were incredibly lucky with this one. From what we can put together now I would say that if Angelique Parsouel had not run Doolan over in that car park months ago we would still be trying to find a hole in the fog on this whole business."
Sir William stared at him as he spoke and Ropell had the feeling that Sobers would remain a Detective Chief Inspector for the rest of his service if Sir William remained Commissioner. However, Sir William actually smiled.
"All police work relies on a large element of luck and information, Alan, only Sherlock Holmes would tell you otherwise and he isn't real you know."
The phone rang. Sir William answered it with speaking. After thirty seconds he said thank you and replaced the receiver. He looked up.
"Well I think that wraps it up gentlemen. I shall be reorganising the Narcotics Task Force in the light of these recent happenings and I will be writing to your service with my proposals in the near future, Jack. Thanks for your help."
He turned to Sobers.
"Well done anyway, Alan. A result is a result however we achieve it. Jack can you stay for a moment?"
Ropell got to his feet and held out his hand to Sobers who shook it and left. Sir William got up and came around the desk.
"No easy way to say this, Jack. Peter Romsey died this morning at ten o'clock.