Chapter 14

 

The weekend was spent in the Pheasant Hotel where Milton had decided to stay for the time being rather than move into an apartment. He was confident that by remaining in a hotel his phone calls couldn’t be monitored and he regularly swept his room for listening devices.

Jacks and his army were true professionals and he couldn’t afford to leave anything to chance.

Milton couldn’t get his head around the fact that he was now earning 50,000 quid per year tax free. How on earth could Jacks afford it? There certainly wasn’t enough revenue coming through Expatriatedotcom to pay all that money to so many men.

It was not surprising that the men were so happy. Not one of them was paying taxes, so they were pocketing more money than the average cabinet minister.

The mathematics just didn’t add up. Milton would somehow have to tap into the financial records of the company, but only one man was in control of them and that was Jacks.

“Jacks runs the whole financial side of the company. We’re just happy picking up our bucks at the end of the month and he hasn’t let any of us down yet,” Stardust had said earlier in the week.

Milton was invited to spend a wild weekend away with a few of the lads from the company, but decided he wanted to get things straight in his own mind. The whole situation was moving along at an alarming pace and he wanted to go over all the events of the past two weeks to ensure he was still in control.

France was just three weeks away and surely they would be planning their operation soon. Maybe they had started it already.

Milton had been in Dubai now for three weeks and, despite the initial culture shock, he was enjoying his time there. The city had so much to offer and he thrived in the climate.

Most of the weekend’s mulling was done by the hotel pool and his occasional trip out of the hotel was to the magical souks and markets sprinkled across the city.

He scarcely thought of the wife and kids back home and each time he tried to call he reached the answering machine. His private life appeared to be in tatters but out here it didn’t matter. He had struck up new friendships and was earning more money than he could ever possibly hope to achieve in the force.

Life was getting a little too cosy for Milton in Dubai, a fact that he was reminded of in a telephone conversation with Waite.

“How are things going?” asked Milton over the phone.

“Very well, sir, but the chief is getting anxious,” he replied.

“What do you mean?”

“He wants you here, sir. They all want you here.”

“Waite, I’m relying on you. You’ve got to be a reassuring figure. If I leave Dubai now we will never get to the bottom of this. They are planning something big, Waite, for France and, believe me, we will be helpless to stop it unless I’m on the inside.”

Waite seemed convinced but simply wanted to put his boss in the picture.

“They think you’re having a holiday, sir,” he said after a small pause.

There was another silence on the phone as a temper boiled from within Milton. If only they could see how he had put his life on the line, all for a job at the end of the day. Having said that, he had just spent the best part of the last 48 hours at the hotel swimming pool.

“Sod ’em, Waite. Sod ’em all. We will crack this case if it is the last thing we ever do. I need you to be strong, Waite. Don’t worry about me, everything will be fine.”

Milton hung up, knowing his operation balanced on a knife edge. He ordered a conference call with Deputy Assistant Commissioner Dobson and his colleagues. He knew it could be his last chance to prolong his Dubai operation. He feared the worst and was sure that they would order him to return home and back to the helm of the task force.

Luckily for Milton, his biggest fan, Commissioner Sir Michael Bryers, was in on the conference call too. If Dobson were the top-ranking officer there he would for sure be on the next flight west.

Milton spilled the beans for the first time and gave a complete report on what was happening at Expatriatedotcom and Carson Jacks. He named Jacks as the man in charge of the operation and the single most dangerous threat to England’s chances of staging the World Cup in 2006.

As Milton went on, the interruptions became less frequent; a sign that his audience was as shocked as he first was at the revelations.

Sir Michael tried to conclude by saying, “So what you are saying, John, is that this Jacks fella has trained an army in football hooliganism?”

“Well, in a nutshell, sir, yes.”

To substantiate his claims, Milton referred to the alleged anti-globalisation camps set up in parts of Europe and the USA to train eco-warriors and the like.

“But why on earth would someone who believes he is so patriotic do such a thing?”

Milton went on to paraphrase the sermon that Jacks had delivered a couple of days earlier and described him as a character similar to Timothy McVeigh, the former US soldier who became disillusioned with his government and carried out the Oklahoma City bombing.

“This man is smart and has an army eating out of the palm of his hand,” explained Milton.

Milton could hear chatter on the other end of the phone line and presumed that Sir Michael was holding some kind of response forum with his officers.

“Milton, well done. You have carried out some stunning work over there. What assistance can we give you now?” offered Sir Michael.

Milton knew he had just won a personal battle. They were 100 per cent behind him now.

“Sir, I just need a bit more time. At the moment they have not even mentioned the France game so I need to gather more intelligence,” he explained.

“Do you want us to contact the authorities in Dubai? Surely we have enough evidence to close this man down now, do we not?” Sir Michael asked.

“No, sir. For some reason, a member of the local ruling family sponsors this company and anything under their umbrella is untouchable. I do not know how this man has done it, but he is basically above the law here.”

This particular piece of news raised a huge red flag. Could they be facing an international diplomatic incident too?

Concerned, Sir Michael requested clarification. “Are you saying, John, that the Dubai Government is sponsoring football hooliganism?”

Not wanting his boss to be misled, Milton replied with confidence, “No, sir, I am sure that is not the case. Far from it. Somehow his company is running under their sponsorship but I am confident that their operations are completely independent. I am not even considering that option. Sir, in my opinion, the Dubai ruling family is completely oblivious to this and has no idea what they are up to. I am sure they would have closed them down if they knew.”

Sir Michael seemed relieved. “Do carry on, John,” he said.

“Thank you, sir. We have run international checks on Carson Jacks and we have run checks with the military, navy and air force and have unearthed nothing so far on neither him nor his men. I can only conclude that he is living under a fresh identity here. I have a lot more work to do here and I request more time, sir. There are too many loose ends. I desperately need more time.”

Milton waited while his bosses chatted amongst themselves on the other end of the line. He couldn’t quite hear what was being said but felt confident.

“Request granted, John. Please do keep us informed. Time is running out.”

Milton breathed a huge sigh of relief on hanging up. He could now concentrate on the job at hand without the nuisance of worrying about work on the ground in France. That was entirely in Waite’s hands now and he was confident his young sergeant was up to the challenge.