Traders

By Terrance Wallander

Two billionaire industrialists, James Ward and Neville Robb with unlimited resources, use their Stock Exchange listed company, Southcape Holdings, as a front to cover a clandestine mafia type organisation which they name the Monastery. The organisation ruthlessly controls the drug trade, human trafficking and child pornography in the whole of England; to boost millions of additional pounds into their coffers. The tentacles of the Monastery encircled the whole of England, ruthlessly sowing bribery, corruption and larceny throughout their domain. Even the commissioner of Scotland Yard, Robert Mortley, could not escape their web.

Following the event of three brutal murders, executed by Striker Baum, the Monastery’s executioner, a young inspector from Scotland Yard, Owen Wallis, and a young crime reporter from the London Globe, Tony Crafford, are given the unenviable task of investigating the murders under impossible conditions. Over a period of many months, with their lives in constant danger, they get nowhere and Scotland Yard decide to close the case. Owen Wallis and Tony Crafford are still confident of a solution and they decide to continue their investigation in their own time. Did they have the resources and the ability to go against this powerful ruthless organisation and bring down their leaders? Would they survive the brutal executioner Strike Baum who was constantly breathing down their backs and who could strike at a moment’s notice? Only time would tell.

The story builds up into a gripping thriller from start to finish.

About the Author

Terrance Wallander is a business man who lives in Cape Town, South Africa. His published novel, Quest for the Truth, was successfully marketed in 2012. He is keen on journalism, particularly writing novels, and enjoys playing tennis, hiking and mountain climbing.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Terrance Wallander
• Release date: Oct 5, 2018
• ISBN: 9780463155974

Book preview

Chapter One

Her shrill screams rent the air as they echoed down the slopes of Hayward hill, but no one could hear them because of the howling wind and the swirling mist that was coming off the sea. The head-master’s cottage was situated at the top of the rise. On the one side, it overlooked the placid village of Ambly down below and on the other side was a twenty metre cliff, which went down to a private beach.

The village of Ambly was remotely situated on the eastern coast of northern Northumberland, tucked away below the steady rise of Hayward hill. The village was small in comparison to other towns along the eastern coast of England. It had a population of a few thousand residents and only a primary school, going up to grade seven. Pupils who reached that standard had to further their education at the bigger town of Alnmouth, where there were higher grades and boarding facilities available.

Anna Kolsky was secured to a bed, on a bare mattress, by a single cord, tied to her wrists. Her bound hands, which stretched out over her head, were tied to the centre of the headboard’s metal structure. Her twelve year old naked body, flayed around as head-master Victor Palsky, of Ambly’s primary school, took video pictures of her stressful movements. Even though Anna was mildly sedated, she was still terrified as to what Victor’s intentions would ultimately be.

It was not long, before Victor was forced to duct-tape her mouth, to ally her screaming. He then placed a balaclava over his face, hiding his image, and positioned the video camera in a strategic position so that the recording of his beastly deed could continue.

When Victor had finished, he didn’t hesitate from removing the duct-tape from Anna’s mouth, and placed a pillow firmly over her face. Even though she initially struggled, he was too powerful for her young body. He held the pillow over her face until she had breathed her last breath. When he was satisfied that she could no longer be a witness to his beastly crime, he bundled her young body, with the pillow that he had used to smother her, into a heavy plastic body-bag, filled it with five bricks, and then tied up the opening of the bag with the cord that had bound her wrists.

He then vacuumed the top of the mattress with a powerful cleaner to make sure there was no trace of any evidence that young Anna was there. He packed the powerful digital camera with its tripod into a small canvas bag and locked it into a safe, which was imbedded into the bedroom wall behind a landscape, framed picture.

He then left the cottage, into the howling wind and swirling mist, with the weighted-down body bag slung over his shoulder, and made his way down a rickety staircase to the small private beach below.

He placed the body-bag into his powerful ribbed rubber-duck that was secured to a sturdy post, a few metres from the water’s edge. Although the sea water was roughly whipped up by the gusting wind, he was used to such conditions as he left the shore and made his way three kilometres out to sea. He then lifted the weighted body-bag and pitched it over the side of the boat. However, as the heavy bag moved over the side, part of it was ripped open by a metal stay holding the roped covering on the side of the boat, and a huge hole was created which revealed the tangled hair of young Anne’s head, which collided with the metal stay before the bag plunged into the water.

Victor crossed himself and said a silent prayer as he watched the bag vanish to the depths below.

When Victor arrived back at the cottage, he was distraught. It was only a few months ago that he swore blindly after he had done the same abuse to Mary Jane, another twelve year old, that he would never involve himself in another outrageous abuse of a minor child again. The risk was too great. However after Mary Jane was reported missing and an investigation made by Inspector Owen Wallis from Scotland Yard came up with nothing a few months later, the coast seemed clear to commit another malicious kidnap. The financial gain that he would receive from Neville Robb, once he had delivered the video to him, was tempting. His greed for money was taking over from his sense of ethical values. And now, he had once more committed the same crime, and this time with his step-sister. It was so easy to lure her to his cottage because of their close relationship. It was also the compulsive phobia he carried from his childhood when he was abused by his English step-father, Garth Sole, and then, again, when he was sent to boarding school in Manchester by the priest, father Jacobs. Retribution gave him the window of opportunity.

What also instigated this wicked deed was the constant pressure put on him by Neville Robb. The first time when he had disposed of Mary Jane in the same manner by dumping her body into the ocean, he told Neville that there was no way he would ever want to get involved in this type of trade again. However, his will-power was once more shattered.

The damage was done and as remorseful as he felt, it couldn’t be undone. He was suddenly overcome by a fit of nausea. He rushed to the bathroom and violently vomited into the toilette.

After resting for a while, he engaged himself with a cleaning-up operation. He vacuumed the living room and bedroom where Anna had been, and cleaned all items with a strong detergent to clear any fingerprints which she may have left behind.

When he was satisfied that there would be no trace of his victim, he used his disposable cell phone and made a call.

I have something for you, Neville. It’s a good one, said Victor, once he had got through to Neville Robb’s unlisted private number. But this is the last Neville, last time I swore I was not going to get myself involved with this shit and you persuaded me to do another one for a good price. I was the biggest ass-hole to agree, but I can tell you now; you dudes can go to hell as far as I’m concerned. I’ll still do the drugs for you and that’s it.

How much? asked Neville.

100,000 pounds, this is high-risk stuff, replied Victor.

100,000 quid! You must be joking. For the last one I only gave you fifty grand and it wasn’t for much, either.

I couldn’t care a shit, Neville. Taking pictures from this source is becoming dangerous. This is a small town and when another missing child is reported in the next few days, Ambly will be swarming with cops. I can’t go on like this. Those fucking Scotland Yard dudes will be back again and this time they’re not going to lie off easily as they did the last time.

Okay, if it’s not to my liking, I’ll deduct it from future payments. When will the next shipment of gear arrive, I’m running out of the powdered stuff.

Harry’s boat is delayed because of foul weather. It should be clearing soon and then I’ll let you know.

It had better be soon Victor. I can’t afford to lose clients.

The moment when Neville Robb ended the call he dialled another number.

Shetler, answered a husky voice. Joe Shelter was the owner of a string of porn shops servicing London and Manchester.

Joe, Neville, I’ve got something for you, excellent material.

How much, Neville? asked Joe.

300,000 pounds and not a penny less, replied Neville.

Christ! 300,000 quid, you must be out of your fucking mind. It must be straight out of Hollywood.

Come on Joe. By the time you’ve mutilated the video, you’ll make a million out of it. You’re clients are all screwed up dudes, but they’re also all multi’s. As usual, EFT before delivery.

"I’ll have to think about it Neville, the market’s not that good at the moment. Guys are using the internet for free, now-a-days.

I’m sorry mate. I’ll need an answer now. This is so good that I’ll get twice that amount if I went direct.

"Okay, I’ll take it but if it’s not to my liking, I’ll come over to your Monastery warehouse and cut you’re fucking throat."

Pleasure doing business with you Joe, EFT the funds to the usual account and I’ll let you have the goods ASAP.

I’m also going to need some more heroin. When can I have it?

I’m out of stock at the moment, but the next shipment should be here soon. The weather in the North Sea at the moment is holding things up. The moment it arrives, I’ll contact you.

Neville once more got onto Victor. Victor, I need that video chop-chop. Like over-night. I don’t care if you have to drive yourself, to London, but I’ll need the goods first thing tomorrow.

"Neville, you’re lucky I don’t have a class tomorrow. For 100,000 grand, I’ll deliver it myself, on time. I might just stay the week-end in London. Away from the cops that I’m sure will be swarming the place looking for another missing child in a matter of months.

What I don’t do for you is nobody’s business. But this is definitely the last Neville. I swore blindly that the last one was finite, but like the asshole I am, you talked me into another. This is a small village; one can’t just go around picking up young kids and forcing them into illicit sex. Don’t even think about another one from me. If the cops ever get onto to me, I’m out of this country and back in the Ukraine. At a moment’s notice, I can be in my rib-craft and back in Kiev within a few hours and then your drug business will also go for a shit.

Chapter Two

Victor Palsky was born in Ukraine, on a pig farm near the town of Cherkasy. His mother, Isabelle, who married at the early age of seventeen, fell pregnant with Victor immediately after she had married Albert Palsky. Albert died of a rare cancer disease when Victor was only three years old, leaving the farm to be run by Isabelle. When Victor had turned eight, his mother sold the farm for a pittance, and moved to Kiev. She managed to get a job at the British consulate in Kiev, as a translator. Two years later, she married one of the visiting diplomates by the name of Gareth Sole. Victor had now turned ten years old and because of his mother’s involvement with languages, he managed to learn a smattering of English.

From the start, Gareth Sole didn’t get on well with young Victor. The problem was that Victor made too many demands on his mother, taking up much of her off-duty time, which normally, she should have been spending with her new husband. The other problem was that Ukraine law was against any adoption of children under the age of fourteen, where a foreign personality was involved, so, theoretically, Gareth Sole had no jurisdiction over Victor.

For the next two years, the relationship between Victor and Gareth deteriorated to such an extent that Gareth started to sexually abuse the young boy. He psychologically adopted this attitude to make up for the loss of attention he was receiving from Isabelle. Victor accepted this abuse with a developing hatred for his step-father, and after two years of unwarranted punishment, he ran away from home.

However, it was not long before young Victor was traced walking the streets of Kiev, begging for alms to keep him from starvation. He was once more placed under the care of his mother. However, this time, Gareth couldn’t live with the situation once again. So that Gareth could get rid of Victor, he forced Isabella to send him to a boarding school in England, on the pretence that he could become more literate in English and qualify at an English university.

Isabelle thought this was a good idea, and agreed that Gareth take him to England, and see that he was properly lodged as a boarder at the All Saints School, in Manchester. Victor, now only thirteen years old, was livid at this new move, but there was nothing he could do about it until he was a lot older. Being a lonely foreigner at the school, he was vulnerable to further abuse, and it wasn’t long before he fell victim to Father Jacobs.

As of somewhat compensation, Victor was protected by Father Jacobs from any other attack on his personality. The abusive priest also made sure that Victor made good progress with his school work. He particularly received ‘A’ grades in computer science and maths.

Victor graduated at the age of seventeen. He made it quite clear to his mother that he had no intension of going to a university and that he wished to come back to Kiev and look for employment in the city. At this stage, the marriage between Gareth and Isabelle had not worked out, and although she still kept her job at the British embassy, they got a divorce. This made it easier for Victor to once more stay with his mother, until he could decide what he was going to do with his life.

His mother, who had already obtained a new boyfriend by the name of Peter Kolsky, a restaurateur, had decided to leave her job at the British embassy and join Peter in his restaurant, specialising in Russian cuisine. A year later, a daughter was born to the couple, which they named Anna, keeping her father’s name of Kolsky.

At the age of nineteen, Victor took on a job at the British embassy as a translator and he stayed with them for four years, and then resigned.

He then decided to join a Russian academic contingent that was stationed in Afghanistan, which educated students at the Kabul Technical College, in computer science. He stayed with them for four years. During this time, he befriended the son of an Afghanistan farmer by the name of Abdul Reezer.

During his off-breaks, Victor visited the farm which was situated in a secluded valley fifty kilometres from Kabul. He was not surprised on his first visit, when he noticed that most of the cultivated fields were strewn with poppy plants.

After a few visits to the farm, Abdul’s father, Ahmed spoke to Victor about his future.

You’re still a youngster, Victor, and you appear to be a highly intelligent man, teaching computer science in Kabul, but this will not make you a rich man. You’re fluent in English and I know of a man in Kiev who is looking for a partner to run his business in England. There’s much money to be made in his sort of work.

What sort of business is it, Ahmed, asked Victor. He was having problems with the Afghanistan anti-Russian regime at the time, and he was contemplating getting out of the country before things got too unbearable.

His name is Mikael Novikov. He runs a paper mill and a pharmaceutical manufacturing business in Kiev. I export many of my farm products to him.

You mean mainly poppy seeds?

Well, let’s just say that I send him the flowers; what he does with them is his business, but he’s an extremely wealthy man, for Ukraine standards anyway.

"I can well imagine, Ahmed. I have to get out of this country fast, so give me his details and I’ll contact him when I’m back in Kiev.

Chapter Three

Mikael Novikov ran a paper mill at an industrial centre in Kiev. He would import the poplar tree pulp from Russia and mill paper for industrial use for the making of cartons and stationery. As a reciprocal arrangement, he would also export two-ton rolls back to Russia. However, this was not what made Mikael a wealthy man at the age of fifty-five. Mikael run an opium processing plant at a concealed section of his factory, for the supply to pharmaceutical companies in Ukraine, from the poppy seeds he obtained from Ahmed Reezer’s farm in Afghanistan. For this, he had a licence, but what he didn’t have a licence for, was his exports of the same product to England, under a clandestine operation.

The moment Victor got back to Kiev he contacted Mikael Novikov and made an appointment for an interview. When Victor walked into his plush office, and after the initial greeting, he produced a file and handed it to Mikael.

What is this? asked Mikael.

It’s my CV, Sir, replied Victor who was still overwhelmed at the big man and his impressive office.

I don’t need a CV, son. I know all about you. If Ahmed Reezer speaks highly of you, that’s good enough for me.

Thank-you Sir. So what do you have in mind for me, asked Victor, gaining much confidence from the compliment.

I’d like you to spend a year with me at the factory, and then I want you to immigrate to England and be my representative there.

But Sir, I’m not that proficient in marketing.

You’re proficient in English and computer science. That’s good enough for me. The rest you’ll learn in the year you’re with me. And stop calling me sir. My name is Mikael and that’s what you must call me in future.

Yes, Sir, thank-you, replied Victor with a wistful smile.

Now let’s talk salary. As a rookie to this business, I’ll start you on 80,000 hryvnia a month. That will increase as you improve.

That’s very generous, Mikael. When do I start?

Immediately, replied Mikael, holding out a well-coming hand to Victor.

*****

Victor spent a year working with Mikael. At first he was surprised that he was not seconded to the paper mill, but to the small concealed section of the factory that processed the poppy seeds. Apart from Victor, there were only two other personnel operating in this section, a qualified mineral scientist and a chemist. Victor’s job was to receive and process orders from the various pharmaceutical companies, which purchased the opium from Mikael. Victor also became intrigued that a by-product was being processed from the opium, into heroin. This product was not offered to any customers in Ukraine. It went to a special store controlled directly by Mikael, and Victor could only imagine that it was exported out of the country where it earned valuable euros and sterling.

A year later, Victor was called into Mikael’s office for a private interview.

Well, Victor, you’ve been a year with us and it’s time for you to move on, said Mikael with a tersely smile.

Move on, Mikael, you mean to the paper mill.

No. I need you to immigrate to England, with your mother and your young step-sister. I have arranged everything. You will still be working for me and the pay will be excellent and in euros. You will be moving to a small town on the norther-east coast of Northumberland by the name of Ambly. There, you will join the one school that exists in the town, as head-master. Your appointment is already confirmed. You will be allocated a cottage on a small rise overlooking the village and on the other side will be a cliff which will take you to the sea, with a private beach. I have arranged British passports for you and your family. The cottage has only one bedroom, so your mother and step-daughter will have to stay in the village and not with you in the cottage on the hill. This will be appropriate considering the work you’ll be doing for me.

Holy shit! Mikael, exclaimed Victor. This sounds like something very sinister. I have no experience in teaching. I’ll be fired within a few days.

No you won’t. It’s a small primary school, only going up to grade seven. It’s a desolate town with only a small population and nobody wants the job as principal of the school. I have arranged it with very influential clients in England, who organised the appointment for you.

And how the hell do you come into this lot?

"Once you’ve settled down, I’ll contact you about the next move, which is the main reason why I want you there, at that location. But first, the moment when you arrive in Ambly, I want you to contact Dennis Wilks, he’s the village councillor. He’ll have all the necessary instructions regarding the school and how you’ll fit in there. You’ll be receiving a meagre monthly salary, something only that the school can afford, but don’t worry about it. You’re still working for me. I’ll be paying you 12,000 euros a month, paid into an account at the bank of 1st National, Guernsey. This is tax free and you can draw on your available funds at any time."

Jesus, Mikael! This doesn’t look very good, although the money sounds excellent.

Victor, I promise you, within the next three years, you’ll be a multi-millionaire if you co-operate exactly how I want you to function, and then you can decide whether to pull out and retire a wealthy man.

Victor really had no option. Over the last year that he had worked for Mikael, the industrialist had developed such an influence over him that he was forced to go with the flow, until he could sort things out for himself.

He approached his mother with trepidation, to tell her the news. She was going through a bad time because of another difficult divorce, from her present husband, Peter Kolsky. Fortunately, she had managed to retain custody of little Anna who had just turned ten years old. According to Ukraine laws, she would still have to keep the surname of Kolsky, if she was going to receive a maintenance allowance form Peter.

To Victor’s surprise, Isabelle was delighted at the news of immigrating to England. She had had enough of Ukraine politics, and bad husbands. She foresaw a better future and education for her daughter, than what she would get in the schools of Ukraine.

Chapter Four

To get to the remote village of Ambry, Victor and his family had to fly from Gatwick to Newcastle. Then take a train to Morpeth, and then a rickety bus ride to Ambly. That was the only way of getting there. Fortunately there was a bus service out of the village every day so that necessary deliveries could be made in, or out of the village.

It was mid-day when Victor and his family arrived at Ambly. They were immediately met by Dennis Wilkes, the village councillor who welcomed them to his small town. Isabelle and Anna were shown to their cottage which was near the only school. It was an old two-bedroomed semi-detached building with a small garden and no garage. However, inside the cottage it was freshly painted and neatly furnished. Isabelle liked it immediately and so did Anna.

Once they were settled, Dennis Wilkes, took Victor up to his residence at the top of Hayward hill, in his old Rover. It was only a one-bedroomed cottage, but just as neatly painted and furnished in a style that a head-master of a school could live practically in it. The view of the village down below on the west side and the stunning view of the sea on the east side was awesome.

With the assistance of Dennis Wilkes, it took Victor two months to settle down as head-master of the Ambly primary school. There were four junior teachers allocated to the school, one male and three females. While this allocation of teachers recognised that Victor was not a very experienced principal, Victor quickly crushed any contentious speculation of his ability to rule, by putting his foot down from the start. His experience in computer technology was a plus factor and the first thing he did when taking over was to upgrade the two computers that were used by the school and programmed them so he could record any defaults in his function in controlling the 140 students who attended the school.

Eight months after Victor had settled into his schooling routine he contacted Mikael Novikov.

Right, I’m settled in now, enjoying the fruits of controlling 140 unruly youngsters, but I’m sure this isn’t the reason why you’ve put me here. So what’s the story, Mikael?

"Good to hear from you Victor. My spies tell me that you’ve settled down well as a school head-master. I can complement my intuition for choosing you for the position. I trust that you’ve already noticed that your bank balance in Guernsey has already increased to nearly 90,000 euros, tax free. This isn’t bad pay for the position that you hold. Have you completely familiarised yourself with your surroundings, particularly the private beach below your cottage on the hill?

Yeah, it’s quite a schlep down that rickety stairway, but I go there just about every evening for some exercise. The water is bloody cold though.

Well, that beach will be earning you a fortune within the next few weeks. Don’t be surprised if in the next few days you’ll find a powerful rubber-duck secured on the beach. This will be your craft to use at your leisure. How much fishing have you done?

None, the only thing I’ve caught from water is a few tadpoles on my father’s farm when I was a youngster.

Well, I suggest you take up the sport. You’ll need an alibi for the work I have in mind for you if ever trouble arises, which I hope will never happen.

Shit, Mikael, what the hell do you have in mind for me?

Just relax my friend. Everything I have in mind is fool-proof. I’ll contact you in the next few weeks. What I’d like you to do in the meantime is familiarise yourself with that rubber-duck. It will be powerful and very sea worthy. Get yourself some fishing equipment and start practicing catching your supper for the evenings.

With that Mikael closed the call.

Chapter Five

Mikael Novikov had been supplying the UK drug market for the last ten years, specialising in pure heroin. He had only one customer and that was James Ward who was CEO of Southcape Holdings, a public quoted organisation. The quantity he supplied James every month was not more than 240 kilograms of the gear, but it was one hundred percent pure. Being such a small amount it had to be one hundred percent pure. Because Mikael legitimately supplied the Ukraine and Russian pharmaceutical industries with morphine, he had much experience in how to manufacture a pure drug, no matter what category it fell under.

From the 240 kilograms of pure heroin, James Ward could mix it with enough powder to quadruple the supply and it would still be considered pure by his customers who were the drug lords of London and Manchester, and because heroin was purer and more expensive than coke, it was the preferred drug by the upper middle class and the wealthy who were into their fixes.

James’s front business, Southcape Group, situated at Canary Warf near London, was the controlling company for UK Motor Spares, and a barrage of other investment subsidiaries. UK Motor Spares was a motor spares manufacturing company, situated in Redcar industrial area, specifically catering for motor-bikes and scooters and it was the main operating source of financing the whole group. He took over a thriving business from his father fifteen years ago after his father, Jeffery Ward, fell ill to lung cancer which proved terminal. He died two years after he had retired.

It wasn’t long after taking control of the business that James realised that with the imports of cheaper motors-bikes and scooters coming into the UK from the east, where spares were freely available from the same source, that his demand for the UK product was deteriorating rapidly which forced him to enter the drug trade or ultimately, face bankruptcy. He chose heroin as a niche product and he was determined that within the next few years he would take over the whole market and ruthlessly, vanquish any opposition which stood in his way. His trump card was that his product was much purer than what any opposition could produce at the same price. He used UK Motor Spares as a front company to launder money from his growing drug trade.

James was a tall slender man in his early-forties. He had piecing steel, grey-blue eyes and while he was an astute business man, he was ruthless to anyone who opposed him as far as the drug trade was concerned. After ten years of marriage he divorced his wife, Maria, who was still childless. The pressures of the economy had no place for him to concentrate on marriage and his relationship fell apart when the recession in 2008 hit the British economy.

James had met Maria, who was the daughter of Mikael Novikov, when he was visiting the Ukraine at the time, to gender a market for his motor spares in the new Republic of Ukraine. Through the influence of Mikael, James successfully opened a small outlet in Kiev, catering for a specific bundle of scooter parts to go with an Italian model which he was making under licence in the UK. It was coincidental that the Italian manufacturer, Merconi Motors, specialising in motor bikes and scooters, made the Isabi scooter, which was being imported into the Ukraine in vast quantities.

This union had become opportune when James had decided to go into the drug business. At the same time, Mikael was looking for a market for his product in the UK, which would complement his growing drug business.

Shipping 240 kilograms of heroin a month into the UK was an easy task. From his paper mill business, Mikael would supply UK Motor Spares with a conglomerate of various cardboard containers manufactured at his paper mill, which was used to ship motor spares back to Kiev. It was easy to store the 240 kilograms of heroin in some of the specific containers which was sent by special courier to the UK.

This arrangement worked well for two years until a courier shipment was stopped at a roadblock for carrying illicit liquor. Fortunately the containers, with the drugs were not discovered. The liquor was confiscated and the company was heavily fined. James and Mikael could not take a chance again using this method of smuggling the drugs into the UK and this is when a new plan was born, where Victor came into the equation.

At the time, James was doing so well with his drug distribution that he asked Mikael to double the shipment to 500 kilos per month. This necessitated a new plan because it would become more risky to send the gear by courier.

In addition to most of Mikael’s interests, scattered around Eastern Europe, he ran a trawler fishing business from Denmark, which visited the North Sea once a month. The manager of this business was a fifty year old Danish citizen who had been trailing the North Sea for twenty years. His name was Harry Brylandt. Harry had from time to time delivered heroin to a dealer in New Castle, but since James had started his drug business, Mikael closed the New Castle account stating that they should buy their supplies from James in future.

Harry Brylandt was now commissioned to ship the 500 kilos to a vicinity near Ambly while he was on his fishing expedition in the North Sea. Once he had arrived at an agreed destination which was five kilometres out at sea from Ambly, Victor would meet him in the sturdy ribbed rubber-duck and take delivery of the stuff. Victor would then personally deliver the 500 kilo package to a warehouse in Redcar, near London.

Chapter Six

When James made his decision to go into the drug trade almost four years ago, at the time, he called a meeting with his life-long friend Neville Robb. Neville was the owner and CEO of Prestige Jewellers, a chain of jewellery stores scattered around London and Manchester. The purpose of the meeting was for him to form some sort of association with Neville, to come in with him as a partner in the new venture.

Neville, in his chauffeur-driven 500 SE Mercedes arrived at the security gates of James’s Wards stately manor Brentwood Lodge, situated in the plush London suburb of Chelsea. The chauffeur lowered the electric window of the car, and signalled to the security guard, who was already putting the automatic function of the large wrought iron gates into action.

The plush limousine passed through without further ado. It slowly drove up the long tree-lined driveway, its powerful engine barely audible. It came to a stop at a brick paved forecourt, facing the large Burmese teak double doors of Brentwood Lodge.

The manor was built 150 years ago, and although it was altered and updated over the years, the garden was old, and wooded with large trees. To give it extra privacy and protection, a large wall surrounded the property.

Neville waited for his chauffeur to open the door for him, before he alighted from the luxurious back seat of the limousine.

"Thank you, Trevor. We’ll most probably be about three hours. You can take the car back to Sable Lodge and fetch me later." He nervously smiled at his chauffer for a moment, and then turned towards the entrance of the large manor.

Before he reached it, the front door was opened by James butler, a man in his sixties with receding grey hair, but he carried himself well, dressed in a black tuxedo suit.

Thank-you Roy, murmured Neville as he passed through the doorway. How have you been keeping?

Fine Sir, answered the butler respectfully. Mr. Ward’s in the library.

Thank-you, said Neville.

Neville was familiar with the layout of the mansion, being a close friend and intimate of James Ward for many years. He said nothing more to the butler, Roy, but proceeded in the direction of the right-hand wing, where the large panelled library was situated.

James greeted him with a hearty handshake, and led him into the sumptuous room.

It’s lovely seeing you again, Neville. Sherry?

Thanks James, chilled would be nice.

While James went to the built in refrigerator in the panelled wall to get the sherry decanter, Neville wondered with intrigue, the reason why he had been summoned to this meeting. He half guessed what it would be about, but he couldn’t be sure. James was always full of ideas, and now that he had become such a powerful personality in London’s industrial and political circles, Neville was never certain what he would come up with next.

They stood around the room sipping their drinks, chatting lightly. They had a lot in common. They were extremely wealthy, and were in the same age group. They were also powerful men in business.

While they were talking, Neville glanced at the immaculately tidy desk at the far end of the room. Everything was in place. The desk calendar in the centre, read the date on both sides. It was the 15th June 2003. Time sure flies, he thought to himself.

It was almost 15 years ago that he’d bought out a small chain of jewellery stores and turned them into the now successful Prestige Group. It had been hard work. Thank heavens for his friendship with James, who had given him the encouragement and guidance during the most difficult stages of building up the business. However, with the astronomical price increase in diamonds and gold over the last few years, the chain of jewellery stores was starting to lose turnover. With the rapid increase in inflation, the man in the street could no longer afford the luxuries of gold and diamonds. His market turnover was dropping rapidly. That is the reason why Neville, being a bachelor, was starting to look at the porn market.

Neville was an only child. He was a confirmed bachelor at the age of 42 and this led to his sexual inclination as being suspect. His tendency was to consider himself as bi-sexual, although he and some of his wealthy friends had joined an illicit child porn ring which also catered for homosexuals.

So James, to what do I owe this honour? asked Neville, after he had finished his second glass of sherry.

Let’s sit here. James indicated towards the highly-polished rectangular table at the side of the room. When they were seated, he continued. "I don’t have to tell you Neville, that business is up to shit and it’s becoming more so as each month goes by.

We have to think of quick money making alternatives to what we’re doing now; otherwise we’re going to land in a spot of bother. I’ve thought of a way out of this. The drug trade which I’ve been running successfully over the last few years is now starting to bear fruit. But there’s still too much opposition around and new people are coming into the market each month.

Neville nodded his head approvingly. It sounds intriguing James, what do you have in mind?

We must merge our two companies. With our combined financial resources we could become one of the most powerful controlling forces in this trade in a matter of a few years. We have the influence, the wealth and the power. We must form an organisation, the two of us, so we can control the drug market of England. By good or foul means, with our combined resources, we can easily do this. James paused for a moment so that his friend could appreciate the importance of what he was saying. His steel, grey-piercing eyes had a malicious glint to them and they were on fire with excitement. We have to be ruthless, he continued.

For a moment, there was silence in the room. The tension was electrifying. Neville thought about the implications of what they were discussing. He felt a tremor pass down his spine.

It sounds good, said Neville softly. How will we go about this?

"I spent quite a lot of time in researching the market and I came to the conclusion that what gear is being supplied at the moment is not good quality stuff. I have a source of good one hundred percent pure stuff coming from the Ukraine at a good price, we can easily compete with this product.

"This contact in the Ukraine will supply us with as much pure heroin as what we need. Heroin is the drug favoured by the upper middle class and the wealthy and that’s what we’ll concentrate on to start with.

"We have to form a secret organisation that can control the trade in our favour. I already have a name for it. We’ll call it Monastery. We must enhance the loyalty of all the drug lords so that they buy from us and no one else."

It’s going to take some organisation and planning, commented Neville.

Yes, I have to plan. I have in mind a cellular system. No one must know of our identity, except our closest and trusted lieutenants. We’ll have to obtain sworn loyalty from them. We’ll organise a network of modules, just like the Mafia. All connected, but none knowing what the right and the left are doing. We’ll be ruthless. Anyone who disobeys, or is disloyal, must be severely punished. Betrayal will not be tolerated, and where it becomes a threat to our organisation, it could mean certain death. There will be no compromise whatsoever.

Neville sighed deeply. The enormity of what James was proposing, bordered on the brink of insanity, but the idea had logic.

Have you any plans how we’re going to start this lot? asked Neville.

"Yes, I’m going to base my ideas on an organisation of a similar nature, which existed in Greece about 250 years ago. They called themselves ‘The Monastery’, and their symbol was a ‘M’ with a serpent in the shape of an ‘S’ imposed on it. This organisation existed on the island of Poros. They broke away from their established sect on the mainland because they were into narcotics, even in that ancient time. The reason why they chose Poros was that they could live side by side with the monastery of ‘Zoodochos Pigi and they were not persecuted because of their addiction or their sexual preferences. Homosexuality was not frowned upon, something that should intrigue you Neville.

"Their members were controlled by strict discipline, and anyone who was disloyal to this Monastery was treated ruthlessly. Betrayal was considered a cardinal sin, and in the most severe cases, they were brutally murdered in a ritual manner. Their throats were slit from ear to ear and their foreheads were branded with a ring, which had the symbol of The Monastery on it. Once the deed was done by their executioner, the victim was mercilessly dumped into the sea, as an example to others."

James stood up and walked to his safe, which was built into the rosewood panelled wall. He took out a ring and a glittering, razor sharp knife. The ring had the symbol of The Monastery on it, which was a M with a serpent going through the M in the shape of a S.

They performed their executions with this, he said, placing the objects on the polished table top, in front of Neville who stared at the instruments of death in awe.

Where the hell did you get these? asked Neville, his hands trembling and reluctant to touch the evil looking objects.

It happened by chance, answered James, a wistful smile on his face. He was getting some pleasure out of the surprise he had sprung on his friend. "I’ve always been interested in the ancient monasteries. I happened to be in Poros visiting a few of these, when I came across the priest who was the protector of the ancient archives. He spoke fluent English, and after questioning him for details of something unusual in ancient times, he came up with this Monastery establishment. Obviously, I was most intrigued by what he had to say, although there was not much information on them. It took a shit of a load of euros to persuade him to let me borrow the articles to make a copy, and after virtually emptying all my pockets, he finally agreed."

We’re surely not going to use these in practice, are we James? asked Neville.

Why not? answered James. "If we have to take drastic action to save our Monastery, then we should conform to the ancient ritual."

But this is the fucking 21st century! We don’t have to resort to such barbaric extremities. Neville could not get rid of a cold sensation at the pit of his stomach.

We may have to. The whole success of our organisation will depend on secrecy, and to maintain it, we’ll have to be ruthless.

Who’s going to perform such a ritual? asked Neville. He was not inclined to violence. I certainly don’t have the stomach for this sort of thing.

I’ll take full responsibility, said James. I’ll appoint an executioner, just like they did in the past. To protect you, I’ll be the only one who’ll know who he is, and he’ll only be answerable to me. This will let you off the hook if it ever came to a confrontation with the law, which I doubt will ever happen, when I explain what I have in mind.

He didn’t elaborate further on this subject. He had given Neville enough to chew on for the time being, without going further into the bribery and corruption he had in mind, in order to get his way.

Well, mate, are you with me or not? He glared at Neville with his piercing steel-blue eyes, cutting cold lines across his face.

I think the concept is good and I’ll give you all the support I can muster, I’m a bit wary of the violence you have in mind, but I’ll leave the administration to you James,

"Thank-you, Neville. We have to conform to the code of our Monastery, which is what makes it unique and fearsome. The methods that I propose will ensure discipline, and who knows, there may never be a need to institute severe measures. But we’re jumping the gun at this stage.

"With the merger of our two companies we’ll be able to get rid of quite a bit of staff. If we’re going to operate under strict secrecy the least we have working for Southcape Holdings the better. However, we must keep John Brown and our legal dude Peter Clark. They’ve been hard-working, loyal staff. We’ll need them to assist with the mundane operations of running our Monastery, as well as keeping their fingers on the Southcape pie."

Just one thing, James, said Neville ruefully. I’ve been looking at the porn market recently and I think there could be money to be made with this in mind. Have you any thoughts on this? asked Neville.

I don’t know. It used to be good but since the internet has taken over, going into this type of trade could be risky. I think we should rather stick with drugs.

What about child porn?

Christ, Neville, don’t say you’re into that lot.

"Not directly, no. However, I know that Joe Shetler, who owns the Porn Shop Group, is making a fortune out of a clandestine operation he’s running and I’m sure it’s to do with servicing the paedophile market where millions of pounds are involved. He invited me to a secret ring of well-established guys living in upmarket Rosebank, and what he showed us was on the brink of child porn. At that stage he wouldn’t go further with the subject but he invited any individual who was interested to contact him on a private viewing."

‘We can look at it Neville, but were treading on dangerous ground there. Get me facts and figures. If the money’s good we may be able to filter it in as a side line, but that will be your baby. I’ll have nothing to do with it."

Chapter Seven

During the two years it took for James to establish his Monastery organisation, he was in constant touch with Victor Kolsky regarding the supply of heroin from Mikael’s factory in Kiev. Victor was never invited to Brentwood Lodge for these meetings from where James ran his Monastery organisation, as opposed to his Southcape head-office in London, which operated as a front for his illicit drug trade. The business side of the Monastery was conducted at a secret warehouse in the Redcar industrial area of London, where the drugs were processed and stored, and this is where Victor conducted his meetings, mainly with Neville Robb.

At one of these meetings Neville interrogated Victor on the feasibility of obtaining pornographic material for supplying his paedophile ring.

"I’m not sure if