Northern Mafia

By Luis Portas

Discover the exciting world of crime and espionage in "Northern Mafia" by Luis Portas. This thrilling novel follows the journey of Henrique De Guerra, a former spy who has been living a quiet life as a farmer.

But when the Portuguese Secret Service calls him back into the game, Henrique springs into action and is tasked with infiltrating the dangerous Eastern European crime syndicate operating within the Oporto's nightlife businesses. As he delves deeper into the shadows, he finds himself the target of a manhunt and his mission spirals out of control, fueled by lust and an international conspiracy.

Perfect for fans of mafia thrillers and spy fiction, "Northern Mafia" is a page-turner that will keep you on the edge of your seat. If you're a fan of fast-paced action and intriguing stories, this book is for you. And for those seeking new and exciting authors, "Northern Mafia" is the perfect starting point. Don't miss this thrilling tale of crime and espionage.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Luis Portas
• Release date: Feb 12, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215055793

Luis Portas

Luis Portas is a Portuguese Architect, a fiction writer, and a director. Welcome to his page.

Book preview

Prologue

Oporto's nightlife is a dangerous business.

A government commission was created to intervene on the verge of international sanctions due to security breaches at Portuguese airports. They used all means to eliminate organised crime and cut a terrorist smuggling trail into North America.

Besides the international public humiliation, public prosecutors must fight the two factions controlling most night businesses. The local Portuguese Mafia tries to outmanoeuvre government sanctions, while the Eastern Mafia prefers a more violent approach.

The Portuguese Secret Service operates as a governmental branch, maintaining several ties with a secret society named 'the Noblemen'. They were contacted regarding the intent to infiltrate an airtight Russian security organisation.

Chapter I

On that bloody dawn, shadows stretched across the street. After parking the car at the entrance of the slum, Peso lit his cigarette outside the building, not knowing it would be his last.

Looking around at the deserted street, he took a deep breath. Only a few stray dogs scoured the trash. The first inhabitants would begin to leave their cramped apartments near the city centre in a few hours. He always hated that unhealthy place. Finally, the opportunity was presented to him by his boss Don Benedict. He had increased his prospects of switching to a better location. His young wife did not appreciate him working as a private security guard all night. Still, the salary that it provided was welcome.

The previous night, when arriving at one of the nightclubs where he should be coordinating all the security personnel, he was summoned urgently back to headquarters. He understood the order as a bad sign. During his trip back, he wondered what he had done wrong. Perhaps he unintentionally lied about the number of hours worked during the previous month. The nervousness increased exponentially when he entered a room filled with four guards and the boss Don Benedict. He figured he would be punished physically for the plausible mistake, as was often the case with other guards. That would mean he would spend the next few months recovering from injuries. Perhaps he would have the good fortune to only break a few ribs, but before he could apologise, Don Benedict spoke. Everyone gave full attention to his spoken words as a sign of respect.

'Peso, after talking with all the managers, they assured me you are the one with the most integrity. Therefore I've decided to promote you to the post of personal adviser.' When he finished, he waited for Peso's answer with a smile. He knew the power that the job entailed. The smile lit up his features and wrinkled his eyes, making him look less dangerous, but he rarely laughed. His perfect white shirt, which gave him a powerful presence, brightened up his face and relieved him of some of his weight and age.

The role of personal adviser was, in fact, Don's private security guard. The struggle between the club's security was becoming increasingly violent. Don Benedict knew the danger, so he couldn't disregard his safety when doing nightclub rounds.

Peso was speechless. He smiled and nodded 'yes' with his head enthusiastically.

Peso was the diminutive of Pedro Sousa. Until then, he earned a living with odd jobs, but since he had been hired as a private security guard for some of the nightclubs of Oporto, his life seemed to have taken the right path.

The sense of relief and the opportunity to become one of the key employees of the agency filled his ego, even before he could think about his new responsibilities. The title entailed several vital tasks related to the functioning of the international agency and its nightclubs. Still, he had never imagined becoming an adviser to the Don. During the night rounds, he had to pay more attention to who was approaching his boss. His duty was to filter and remove all undesirable people from his surroundings. If any member of a rival security agency dared to approach him, Peso was expected to retaliate to protect Don Benedict. Peso vowed to maintain Don Bento's level of respect intact. Peso would arrive home later every day, but his salary would double as compensation. He would also need to take Don Benedict's place at some events and negotiations. He immediately told his wife Joan the good news by phone, and she also became thrilled.

The night went by without significant incidents. After driving Don Bento back to his house, he stopped at a hotdog stand on the waterfront of River Douro to stave off hunger. Fulfilled, he returned home to Vila Nova de Gaia.

While inhaling smoke at the door of his building, Peso tried to dream about the future. He wasn't sleepy, but his senses were noticeably slower. He did not notice the man who lurked behind the building to the rear of his car.

Smoky, with a sigh, Peso raised his head to enjoy the cool morning breeze. The orange dawn-painted clouds drifted slowly between the red brick buildings reflected in the windows. A window shattered towards the street after a glance as if in a dream. Peso watched in horror a lifeless corpse flying from the fourth floor to the ground. For a split second, he admired the inanimate figure in the air. The very constitution he had sworn to love forever. At the same time, a shadow materialised from behind Peso's car. It was holding a gun. Peso could see the shadow from the corner of his eye but did not turn his head. He wanted to react immediately. He thought about turning the neck towards the threatening shadow. Still, he couldn't take his eyes from his wife's flying figure. He followed her body up until the impact. The dogs looked stunned at the window and fled with their tails between their legs. Some sparrows and doves fluttered by the nearby trees, waving branches. But Peso remained motionless with cigarette smoke burning his fingers. Emotions overflowed within, causing him to inhale a breath of fresh air, clearing his lungs. A jolt of adrenaline was introduced into his bloodstream, but he still could not move a muscle. All energy, all impetuosity, was directed at her floating body.

When she crashed onto the ground, Peso had already relived every moment they spent together. Then, when a bullet struck him in his right temple, all those thoughts vanished. Peso would never hear the voice of Joan again, and her image would not remain recorded in his memory. She could not tell him how she woke up in the middle of the night with a muffled sound. She would never describe the shiver down her spine, warning her of the imminent danger. Peso would never hear her last panic words, and he would never get revenge on the hooded men that broke into her bedroom that night.

The killer searched Peso's pockets and placed the gun in his hand to stage a murder-suicide. Then he walked back to the rear of the building, where he sat on an Audi A4. Before turning the corner, he looked back, slightly proud of his efficiency. He would never be discovered. The terrible violation of Joan would later be attributed to Peso. His cruelty was already famous in the neighbourhood and at various locations in Oporto.

Earlier that same night, he was provoked to harm a young man for the protection of Don Bento. That aggressive attitude was captured by the new security cameras scanning Oporto's unsafe streets.

The next day's headlines would read:

'Man murders wife and commits suicide.'

Chapter II

Henrique de Guerra looked at the mountains when he stepped outside. Before heading off to his farm, he ate breakfast at his neighbours' house. He discovered a passion for agriculture in the village. During the last few years, after returning from his experience as an immigrant, where he had the opportunity to understand the reason for living fully. He learned the art of planting and growing. He worked hard, season after season, to make it blossom. The pleasure he felt while watching the plants grow made him go on until he realised he could survive only with what he produced. In a couple of years, he watched his young hands becoming calloused. His muscles are more defined. Sometimes, for a few months, he would search for a job in the city to be able to buy small electronic luxuries. However, all he needed to eat was the product of his hard work.

All the food consumed by the locals was produced in the village itself. With those brief city jobs, he would also date for no more than a couple of months. When he returned to the town with enough money to buy a new cellphone or a computer, unconsciously, he would let the distance erase the passion. Henrique was in love with the mountain's peace. He woke up early every morning to see the sun rising behind the ridge that protected the village, warming up the valley. He would usually wait to see the people leaving their stone houses. Sometimes his city friends visited him, sometimes the village neighbours.

Someone would appear to thank him every day for what he had done, and Henrique would dismiss his actions as unimportant. Either acts of pure kindness led him to lend money to someone in need or write letters of recommendation to youngsters who wanted to find a job in the city. Many villagers would believe every trick they were told. So Henrique also operated as a filter to help his illiterate neighbours not to give money to strangers. Wisely, he would surprise the burglars by making them believe he was a villager who kept some cash saved and convincing them to return later. When they did, they would find themselves greeted by the local police. While living in Finland as an emigrant, running away from hard economic times, he never had the opportunity to interact with the community around him since the Fins were too distant. After moving to the village, he again found that passion, enjoying neighbours' friendships.

That morning, he woke up with an uncomfortable feeling. When he left home, it was still dark outside. He sat on the cold granite bench with the newspaper he had bought the day before at the village and started peeling an apple. The sun rose calmly, and Henrique admired it as if it was the last sunrise. He preferred sunrise rather than sunset. The first beam of light presented a day with new and exciting opportunities. Looking at it, he would imagine at what distance it was from its origin. Henrique knew it had travelled millions of kilometres in eight minutes. He thought about walking through the village. Every time he did it, the villagers invited him to eat smoked meat and drink glasses of sugar-cane rum. That was a rich breakfast, designed to provide enough strength to work hard on the land.

The sun warmed him like a cold-blooded animal sitting on the stone bench outside his house overlooking the valley. Then he saw a UMM jeep getting closer through the village's bumpy roads. Inside the vehicle were a high-ranking official and another suit. Henrique was still sitting on the stone bench admiring the view while the jeep got closer and closer. He immediately knew that day would be different. In the meanwhile, Henrique lit a cigarette with his Zippo. He analysed the driving skills and the silhouettes inside without concern. His concern was only about the news these strangers would bring. The serviceman, a Captain by insignia, left the vehicle whilst the other suit remained at the steering wheel. Henrique concentrated on the Captain approaching carefully while holding his knife under the newspaper. Henrique didn't move. Instead, he stared at them.

‘Good morning Mr. De Guerra. I'm Captain José Castro.’ The serviceman heard stories about Henrique's temperamental behaviour, so he adopted a careful approach.

'What brings you here, Captain? Go straight to the point.' Henrique didn't like strangers and kept his circle of friends tight. That kind of attitude came naturally over the years. But something inside was telling him that they needed help.

'Your name and location were given to us by the National Security Observatory Officer. We think the country is in danger, and we need your help. But if you wish, we won't bother you again, sir.' Both Captain and Henrique knew he would never refuse. His past deeds had granted him the Order of Bragança's gratitude.

Henrique had that ceremony still alive in his memory. He remembered every moment of it immediately. It had been celebrated on a secret and obscure Port Wine cellar on the shore of Vila Nova de Gaia. That night, the most significant number of Noblemen Henrique had ever seen filled the room. At the end of the ceremony, the Officer called Henrique to a private room. Some barrels were leaning on a wall, and the opposite side had a wooden table. On it rested a black wooden box with an enormous locker. This man wisely kept his face hidden in the shades. He wrote all personal information about Henrique on a yellowish, fragile paper. Afterwards, he took a rusty key out of his pocket and opened the box to store the piece of paper. Inside, Henrique saw dozens of other documents with the same handwriting.

'I keep this information safe. I guarantee I'll only call you if your help is essential to maintain the country's safety.'

Henrique smiled incredulously, doubting the true meaning of those words. The man looked at Henrique's ring on his finger, representing his heritage.

'Do you have your license?'

'Driver's license?' Henrique did not know what the Officer was talking about and found the question odd. Still, he grabbed his wallet from his jacket pocket anyway. The Officer looked at him from above his glasses, trying to figure out whether Henrique was joking, and immediately realised he didn't know its whereabouts. That worried him.

'Your father left us unexpectedly. He didn't have time to take care of these last details. Don't you worry, Mr De Guerra. I will make sure all the documents are delivered to you. Until then, as a Nobleman, you must protect the innocent. Your father told you about it when you were a child. Search inside yourself, in your innermost, and you will always know what to do.' Saying this, he bowed slightly with his head, and his right hand pointed towards the exit. Henrique left that meeting knowing they were going to call him. He thought about that conversation day and night. He thought about the meaning of his ring and the joy he felt when helping others. The terrorist attacks had grown in number, and all the help would be necessary to dismantle their intricate webs.

When those two men appeared in the village, Henrique believed they had some information from the Officer. Still, his instinct didn't let him put the knife away until the conversation was over.

After a short pause, he finally answered.

'Yes, I'm willing to help if national security is at stake. When?'

'We need to leave immediately.'

Henrique put his inflexibility aside for the first time, opening his eyes widely. When he turned his attention back to the strangers, he tried to analyse any action that showed the Captain as a fraud, without any luck.

'I know it's a bit sudden. An SIS agent is inside the car, and he can show you the file while we drive you to the city. The Republic of Portugal would be extremely grateful.'

Henrique watched him. He seemed an honest person. Afterwards, he glazed over his surroundings. He puffed his cigarette for the last time and threw it away. The UMM had a military license plate, which began with MX. The colour was army-green, and Henrique knew it was reserved for military vehicles. The windshield didn't have a tax stamp. But it was the worried facial expression of the man inside the jeep that assured Henrique of the harmlessness of the situation. Without giving time for the serviceman to react or even blink, Henrique stood up with the knife in his hand, forcing him to step back in fear. Henrique smiled and placed the blade on the stone bench.

'I will only take a minute, and I have to pick up my wallet and lock the house.'

The serviceman exhaled in relief and walked back to the jeep, still dazzled by the knife in Henrique's hand. When he sat down, he said to his colleague:

'Well... I wasn't expecting that one. He could have killed me right then and there with that knife.'

'I didn't see it coming either.'

'I think we must keep him at close range, so he doesn't make any trouble. He could hurt someone important.'

The SIS agent smiled.

'The Officer warned us this Nobleman was dangerous and that he would give his life for his country. He told me it was in his veins.'

Will you give him the package now?' the SIS agent asked.

'First, let's present him the case. We will leave him in the city, and only then we'll give him the package from the Officer. This way, he won't get too distracted.'

Henrique searched his house and grabbed a pair of jeans, a couple of shirts and some underwear. He placed everything, carelessly folded, inside a small backpack. As a bedside table, he had a bench designed by Alvar Aalto. On it was a minimal CK white watch. He fitted the watch to his wrist. The thought of meeting an old friend from his last city relationship crossed his mind. She was a waitress from a restaurant where he had worked a part-time job. It had been a few months now. After tying his Panama Jacks, he dressed in his black leather jacket and left the room. He took less than a minute. Right after, he packed his toothbrush, cut the water and electric supply and carried his bag, closing the door behind him. Henrique wasn't expecting to be away for long, although he wasn't told how long the mission would take.

Maybe because it was the first time he was being called since the Order of Bragança emissary or because they had mentioned that the Republic of Portugal would be grateful. Henrique placed his wallet in the inside pocket. While walking to the UMM, he looked around. He admired the village hiding on the mountain with its few inhabitants. This peaceful Tâmega river washed the mountain's slope full of vineyards and flowed to the Douro. Everything seemed empty. Something inside told him he had dreamt of that scenario once before, though he didn't have time to think about when it had been. When he reached the jeep, the second man in suit presented himself.

‘Good morning Mr. De Guerra. I'm Narciso Oliveira. I'm a special informant agent who works for the Portuguese state, the well-known SIS.'

After greeting him, the three drove away, through the narrow roads of Gondar towards the mountain range.

During the trip to Oporto, Henrique admired the mountains as he did so many times before. This time though, he felt something special about that view, maybe because his country was in danger.

'The situation is quite simple.' the Captain started. 'We need an undercover agent who can give us information about a security company that we think is involved in organised crime.

Henrique knew about the controversy of organised crime in Oporto and its relation with nightclubs' security. He didn't understand what it had to do with the country's safety.

'How do those small cases put national security at risk?'

'Well... the file next to you has all the information about the security company and its members. Many recent murders have been perpetrated by them, for we consider them violent. We've been on their track for a while. With wiretapping, we managed to gather information about them being responsible for the traffic of Iranians to Canada. We need undercover help to find out how they do it when we understand that we'll be able to capture the leader Vlad Skripnikov, who's hiding behind the security company.

'And that's the threat? The traffic of people overseas?'

Agent Oliveira looked to Captain Castro.

'Well … we need to tell you what is not on those files. The human traffic to Canada is in exchange for a product. We suspect that that product is information. But if we are correct, it is valuable information. We still don't know how or where they are exchanging it. This organisation keeps its communication lines closed. We can't take anything out of him, not even with all the wiretapping on their phones and decoding sent messages via the internet. Only now have we found an opportunity to get inside the company, and that's why we need you. '

'Why don't you use his cellphone to hear all the talking full-time? I recently heard you only need to send a stealthy virus to his cellphone for the wire to be always on. It's a reliable method since we always carry our cells.'

Henrique talked with simplicity, but agent Oliveira was impressed and took his eyes out of the bumpy road for a moment.

'How did you know about that? That virus has never been spoken about widely.'

'I might live in a small village but also have an internet connection.' Henrique said in a mocking voice. 'So I have access to all of your world's information too. Besides, I like to be aware of any kind of attack.'

The agent hesitated a bit before answering. 'We have a virus on his cellphone, but Vlad is cautious and turns his cellphone off regularly.'

While the agent was talking, Henrique remembered that he had recently received a strange MMS with publicity. He wondered if he had been wiretapped since then, once this virus he mentioned was user-friendly and undetectable. He decided right there that he had to buy a new cellphone when he arrived in town. One that was virus and Horse of Troy impenetrable. Without knowing, that would be the beginning of the end.

'But how do you expect to get me in then?' Henrique suddenly asked Henrique as he was growing impatient.'

'Vlad's firm is now looking for a designer capable of making several amendments to the company's website and cover pages and the company's envelopes. They look forward to making full graphic modifications to the company's corporate image. We believe the designer will be asked to manipulate some documents.' The SIS agent looked at the holes on the dirt road leading them to the main road.

'So, you want me to apply to this company as a designer?' Henrique spoke without looking at agent Oliveira. He was admiring the numerous green mountain ranges while thinking about the risk and responsibility of the request.

'Yes. We sent your curriculum, and your job interview is today before lunch.' Henrique noticed that agent Oliveira looked directly into Captain Castro's eyes through the mirror.

'Hmm … and what if I told you I don't want to help?' he asked with a smile, Making himself comfortable on the leather seats.

'We would have to go back empty-handed.' Said the Captain with a harsh voice. 'We didn't have a choice. Anyway. The recruiter set the job interview today by e-mail without a previous warning.'

'So … Tell me what I must do.'

'Well ... We arranged everything. Now all you need to do is go to the interview and make them hire you. We believe the interviewer will be Vlad Skripnikov himself, our main target. We prepared an apartment for you in Oporto, where you'll go when the interview is over. Their agents might follow you, so from the interview onwards, you'll have no more contact with our agents.'

'How will I talk with you if I find something?'

'There will be a permanent agent around your apartment. You can communicate with him through the wireless net we installed.'

'I don't have my laptop with me.' Henrique knew the answer to