‘It's the DCI,’ said Williams, a slight trace of urgency in his voice.
Jarvis took it and made a silent screaming face. ‘Yes Guv?’ He listened attentively for a while and then broke into the conversation. ‘Look Guv, I know all that. But if we hand them over to the Italians we've got nothing … Yes, I know that, but what do they say? … Well do we know where we're meeting him? … OK, well we'll just have to see what happens then, but it'd be a bloody farce if all this work went to waste … Well it'd be a waste as far as I'm concerned and how would we get Terry Porter out at this stage? … OK Guv, well look, I'll see what this Italian guy has to say and wait to hear from you.’
He snapped the phone shut and threw it into the car. ‘For fuck's sake!’ he barked and thumped the roof of the car more in frustration than anger. Williams looked at him but said nothing. He knew from experience that Jarvis would tell him what had happened because it helped him to think. He didn't have to wait long. ‘You're not gonna fucking believe this,’ he burst out angrily. ‘The DCI has had a call from the Home Office. They're getting twitchy about all of this and are considering pulling the plug. We may have to hand the whole operation over to the Italians and let them deal with it. Can you believe that?’ Jarvis kicked out at the front tyre. ‘Bollocks!’
Williams gave him a second to calm down and then spoke up. ‘Well what's happening now?’
Jarvis leant on the car roof and put his head in his hands. The pressure was clearly getting to him and Williams wondered just how he would react if they were pulled out. ‘They're speaking to the Italians at the moment to try and find out what they want to do.’
Williams smiled. ‘Sounds like a buck-passing exercise to me Guv.’
Jarvis looked up. ‘That's exactly what it is and there's fuck all we can do about it.’ He rubbed the back of his neck and looked skywards. ‘Shit, I don't need this.’ He let out a sigh and took a drink from a half-empty cup of coffee. It was cold and he spat it out on to the road with a curse. ‘Do you know where we're meeting this copper?’
Williams nodded and picked up the map. ‘His name's Fabio Casoretti or something and he'll be waiting for us at a junction on the motorway here, at a place called Magliano Sabina.’
Jarvis let out a sigh and scratched his head. ‘Well let's get down there then and see what he's got to say. I'll give Steve a call and tell him what's happening. He'll have to track them until we find out what's what.’
‘Well, that shouldn't be a problem,’ said Williams as he began sorting out the empty cups. ‘Half the motors on the motorway seem to be English, and they're all heading in the same direction. I've already seen a few of them about ten times so the chances are Evans won't even notice Steve.’
Jarvis threw his wash-bag into the boot and slammed it down. ‘I bloody hope not,’ he muttered, climbing into the front passenger seat, ‘or we'll be in the shit.’
Terry Porter walked out of the toilet and crossed the foyer of the service station to the small shop. Through the windows, he could see Gary Fitchett and Hawkeye leaning against the Lexus smoking. They had been joined by a man in an England shirt and were watching a game of football that had begun among the England fans at the far end of the car park. There were about fifteen people on each side, and even with his restricted view it was clear to Porter that skill was in short supply. He guessed all the lads were killing time and staying out of Rome until later on to avoid the attentions of the local police. A sensible move judging by what he could make out from the front of the Italian papers on display in the shop. They were covered in photographs from the last England visit to Rome, in 1997, when the riot police had given a good number of the England fans a serious hiding. ‘I'm going to be smack bang in the middle of that lot tomorrow night,’ he thought.
He paid for four cans of coke and was about to walk out to the cars when he noticed three pay phones on the wall by the main door. He stared at them for a brief second and then turned away; it wasn't worth the risk. And besides, even if he did manage to get through to Jarvis and the others, he had nothing much to say. What time he had spent with Evans and Hawkeye had involved conversations about previous trips abroad with England and the poor management of the national side. No politics, no drugs, not even any criticism of the police. He wasn't even certain that Hawkeye knew anything anyway. Truth to tell, he was intelligent in a streetwise sort of way and was even quite a nice bloke, but he was hardly Mastermind material. Porter had been working undercover for long enough to know that people like him were fighters, not planners. Evans on the other hand, well, he was a different beast altogether. There was something about him, an arrogance that Porter had rarely come across before. He certainly knew the score as regards the hooligan hierarchy but it was more than that, as if he almost believed he were untouchable. He had tried to get more information about him from Fitchett but he'd been no help at all. Whatever he knew, and he was sure it was more than he had let on, he was keeping it to himself.
Porter pushed open the door and walked out across the car park to the waiting cars. The guy in the England shirt had wandered over to the football game and was now cheering on the players. Porter gave a brief nod in Fitchett's direction and handed him and Hawkeye a can each. He looked around. ‘Where's Billy?’
‘He'll be back in a minute, he's just making a call,’ replied Hawkeye. ‘Probably using your phone knowing him. He's a tight cunt.’
Porter opened his can and took a long drink. It was freezing but the jolt it gave him was just what he needed to wake him up. ‘Well he can't be that tight,’ he said. ‘This lot must be costing him a packet.’
Fitchett sucked in a mouthful of air through his clenched teeth, but if Hawkeye noticed, he didn't show it. He simply laughed out loud. ‘Don't you fucking believe it mate. One thing I've learnt about Billy, he never does anything for free.’
‘Is that right?’
‘Oh yeah. Billy'll be making out of this trip, have no doubt about that. He ain't no charity.’
Porter took another drink from his can, pulled out a packet of cigarettes and offered them round. Hawkeye took one but Fitchett looked at them like they were poison. ‘So what's he up to then?’
Hawkeye shrugged his shoulders. ‘Fuck knows; it don't do to ask too many questions where Billy's concerned. Besides, whatever he does is nothing to do with me. I'm just here for a laugh, a few beers and a ruck. A bit like Dublin really.’
Porter took a drag from his cigarette and glanced at Fitchett. He was clearly getting angry at the way this conversation was going and after opening the door of the Lexus, dumped himself inside and turned on the radio. ‘Oh, so you were in Dublin then?’ Porter continued. ‘That must have been the dog's bollocks.’
Hawkeye took a drink and nodded furiously until he had swallowed it. ‘Yeah, it was fucking top. We spanked some Irish arse over there I'll tell you. The Micks we were dealing with were a bit of a pain in the arse but…’
Fitchett jumped up out of the car and interrupted the conversation, or was it interrogation. ‘Here's Billy!’
Porter gave him a vicious glare and then turned to see Evans walking back across the car park towards them. He had a mobile in his hand and Porter was relieved to see it wasn't his. The thought that he might take a look at the stored numbers had occurred to him as well and although he had given everyone on there a false name, if he had called one it wouldn't have been difficult to work out who they really were. As he approached, he ended the call and stuck the phone back in his pocket. ‘All right lads?’ he asked.
‘I need a kip and a few beers, I know that,’ replied Porter.
Evans nodded as he took the can Porter held out for him. ‘Yeah, I know what you mean Terry. Still, it won't be long now. That was one of the wops on the phone. There's been a change of plan.’
Porter took a drag from his cigarette and, in as indifferent a voice as he could manage, asked, ‘Anything we should know about?’
Evans lowered the can from his mouth and looked at him. Suddenly,
the humour had gone from his face and his eyes were blazing. He moved forward until he was barely a foot away, his finger pointing aggressively at Porter's chest. ‘There's nothing you need to know about,’ he hissed. ‘Nothing at all. The only reason you're here is to keep an eye on your man, you leave everything else to me. Besides, if I had my way …’ He let the sentence drop.
Porter stood up straight and turned to face him. ‘If you had your way, what?’
Evans left a pause and then laughed out loud. ‘Forget it,’ he said, slapping Porter on the arm and looking around. ‘Who flashed the ash?’
Porter waited for a second and then relaxed. That had been the first time he had seen Evans do anything other than laugh and joke and the transformation had been startling. He pulled out his cigarettes and Evans took one gratefully, lit it and then looked at his watch.
‘Right, it's twelve thirty. We've got just under a hundred miles to go and we need to be there at about three so we best get our arses in gear.’ He lit his cigarette, took a deep drag and then leant into the Lexus where Fitchett was still fiddling with the radio. ‘Are you fit fuck-face?’
Fitchett climbed out and scratched his backside. ‘Yeah. Let's get this over with then. You can drive Terry, keep you from getting bored.’
Evans rubbed his hands together and then flicked his cigarette away. ‘Right, let's go then.’ The four men climbed into their respective cars, and within a few moments were back out on the motorway heading for Rome.
Jarvis was half asleep when the phone rang. It was Steve Parry telling him that the two cars had left the service area and were heading towards Rome.
‘OK Steve,’ Jarvis sighed, ‘we're not far from where we're meeting our Italian so we should know the score fairly quickly. I'll give you a call if we find anything out.’ He listened for a while and then let out a laugh. ‘Yeah, I know, I'll keep an eye out for you. Oh, while I think of it, make sure the phones are charged up. I've a funny feeling we'll be spending some time walking around the delights of Rome tonight.’ He said his goodbyes and turned the phone off as Williams nodded towards a road sign.
‘Here we go Guv, our boy should be waiting around here somewhere.’
Jarvis stared at the blue motorway sign as it rushed past. His whole operation could fold in a matter of minutes; everything depended on what the Italian police had decided. He stifled a yawn and stretched his arms. ‘I tell you what Phil, when we get home I'm going on three weeks’ leave to catch up on my sleep. I don't know how you do it.’
Williams let out a chuckle. ‘It's called youth Guv.’
‘You cheeky fucker.’
Williams indicated and took the car up the slip road.
‘Best keep out of sight of the traffic,’ said Jarvis. ‘Our Italian could be in a patrol car and we best not take the chance that anyone will spot us.’
Williams nodded and slowed as the car reached the junction with the main road which crossed the motorway. ‘Is that them?’ asked Williams. He pointed to a green Fiat parked by the side of the road. Two men wearing jeans and leather jackets were leaning against it smoking. One was quite tall and slight, the other was more stocky. Jarvis was unsure if he were muscly or just fat. Typically, they both had thick black hair.
‘Fuck me, even you could spot them for Italians Phil.’
If Williams spotted the sarcasm, he didn't show it. ‘Well, d'you think that's them then?’
Jarvis gave him a blank look and answered tetchily, ‘How the fuck do I know? Drive over and find out.’
Williams pulled the car over in front of the Fiat and after climbing out, walked over to the two men. As the three of them shook hands, Jarvis got out to join them.
‘Guv,’ said Williams as he approached, ‘this is Fabio Casoretti and Paolo Tessoni, from the state police.’
Jarvis held out his hand. ‘Hello, I'm Detective Inspector Paul Jarvis.’
‘Yes, I know,’ said the shorter of the two men in almost perfect English, ‘I've been waiting for you.’
Jarvis rubbed his hands together. He had no jacket on and was feeling the cold. ‘Shall we …?’ he said, gesturing in the direction of the Fiat.
‘Ah, no. If it's OK, I will come with you. Paolo has got to get back to Rome. You must understand we are under a little pressure at the moment … the game …’
Jarvis smiled. ‘Of course, please …’
Fabio rattled off something to his colleague, grabbed a briefcase from the Fiat and walked over to the Vauxhall. ‘OK,’ he said, as the Fiat roared off and disappeared down the slip road and onto the motorway, ‘we must go over a few things, yes?’
Jarvis held up his hand. ‘Hold on.’ He felt uncomfortable saying a strange, foreign name and so made a conscious effort to avoid using it. ‘The first thing we need to do is find out what's happening. My guv'nor, I mean superior, has told me that they are waiting to hear what you … I mean the Italian government, want to do about this operation.’ He paused for a while and then added: ‘Are you going to arrest these men or not?’
Fabio looked at him and smiled. ‘It's cold and we should have some coffee. Let's drive and I will tell you as we go.’
They climbed into the car and Williams was soon speeding southwards on the motorway. Fabio was in the front and Jarvis was squeezed in the back among all their junk. The Italian twisted round to face the back seat. ‘You asked me if we will arrest your men, the answer is no. Not unless they break the law.’
Jarvis shut his eyes for a second and sighed. ‘That's good news,’ he smiled.
Fabio smiled back. ‘I understand you must be worried but there is no need. You see at the moment, all we have is a group of your English hooligans, nothing more. On the face of it, they are no different from the hundreds of others you and your Unit have told us are coming and we are more than ready for them.’ He gave a broad grin and then continued.
‘Your officer, Harris, said that there were about twenty cars coming. That's forty men yes?’
Jarvis rubbed his chin and then gave a nod. ‘Yes, we think about forty in all, but there may be more. To be honest, we're not sure if others are coming by train.’
Fabio shrugged. ‘No matter, we will keep an eye on your targets and if their numbers get out of hand, they will be dealt with. And you say you have a man undercover?’
Jarvis nodded. ‘Yes, he's in one of the cars we've been tailing. If anything happens, he will of course identify himself to your men.’
‘Good, very good.’ Fabio turned back in his seat and stared out of the window. Without turning back to Jarvis he began speaking again. ‘Do you still think there is something else to this?’
Jarvis shook his head and leant forward. He wasn't about to have a conversation with the back of the seat. ‘Well, you should know all there is to know by now. But at the moment, my idea that they're planning to smuggle drugs back to England looks a bit off.’
The Italian twisted round. ‘Off?’
‘Wrong.’
‘Ah, well we will keep an eye on them in any case. They will not do much we do not know about.’ He paused for a moment and then added, ‘So it looks like the riot will go ahead maybe.’
‘That's up to you isn't it?’ said Jarvis snappily. He was getting slightly irritated by the man in the front seat and wondered if he knew that he was talking to a senior ranking officer.
Suddenly, Fabio spun round, almost bumping into Jarvis who fell back into his seat with surprise. ‘If, as you say, this group are involved with some kind of political plot, then that is very serious. We have been talking to some of the Ultras as well as a few of the political activists but they know nothing. But we must find out who is behind this. We must.’
Jarvis nodded and went to speak but Fabio held up his hand to stop him. ‘It is no secret that Italian politics can be very disorganised, Paul, but we are very wary of the extreme right here. If it is them …’.
‘Well my money would be on the right every time,’ interrupted Williams.
‘As would min
e,’ said Fabio turning his head towards the driver. ‘And if they are growing in Italy, then many people will be concerned, which is why we must stop them.’ He turned back to face Jarvis and gave him another grin. ‘We just have to hope that your hooligans can help us do that. Then we will arrest them all.’ Jarvis relaxed back into his seat. He was beginning to warm to this man.
Chapter 15
Tuesday, 26 October
15.00
Terry Porter slowed the Lexus to a crawl and steered it in to a parking bay three away from the Mercedes. ‘Well, that's it, what a bloody journey.’ He turned off the engine and looked across at Fitchett. He was white as a sheet. ‘You all right?’
He flicked a nervous glance across the car and said, ‘Yeah, I just need some fresh air and a fag that's all.’
Porter reached over and held his arm. ‘Listen Gary, all this will be over with soon. You're doing OK so don't worry.’
Fitchett pulled himself away. ‘You think I give a fuck about you?’ he hissed. ‘I'm shitting it at what that lot'll do if they suss what I've done. They'll do for me, no messing. And you.’
‘They won't, there's no way they can. Don't forget, I'm in the middle of this as well and it may have escaped your attention that I'm hardly a white Anglo-Saxon. I've got all that shit to deal with as well.’
‘Oh, and I haven't? Remember, I fucking brought you. And besides,’ he added, looking around nervously, ‘it's your fucking job.’
Porter stared at him and shook his head. ‘Why do you do it, Fitch?’
‘Why do I do what?’
‘Why do you travel with these wankers? You're no racist, nor are half the blokes here. So why do it?’
Fitchett looked out of the window. ‘It's no different from being at home. You know what football is all about for lads like these. You should do, you've been in the middle of it for long enough.’
Porter shook his head. ‘You're full of shit. This is nothing like it is at home, that's just gang warfare. This is more than that, so what is it? Come on. Tell me?’