CHERUB: Brigands M.C. - Robert Muchamore Page 0,41

Devon and members of their puppet gangs have been linked to a variety of crimes from organised prostitution to armed robbery.

In recent years South Devon has developed a reputation as a place to purchase illegal firearms and ammunition. Criminals from as far north as Newcastle and Glasgow are known to source weapons from South Devon. The lucrative trade and linked smuggling operations are thought to be controlled by members of the Brigands.

Police investigations into the firearms dealing activities of South Devon Brigands have been hampered by the tight-knit nature of the biker community and the fact that the Devon police are a rural force without the resources necessary to deal with major criminal activity.

In early 2006 a decision was taken to place an undercover police officer inside the South Devon motorcycle gang community. A twenty-eight-year-old officer began hanging around with the Monster Bunch. After three months he was voted into the club and in early 2007 he was made treasurer for the Salcombe chapter. The next stage of this undercover operation will be the most difficult: to infiltrate the Brigands themselves.

Excerpt from a confidential Home Office Briefing Document, written by Chief Inspector Ross Johnson, March 2008

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Sergeant Neil Gauche had been undercover for two years under the alias Neil Smith. He rode his Harley Davidson like a pro, he’d grown his hair long and had a twentycentimetre Monster Bunch tattoo inked on his shoulder. The police had even helped to establish Neil’s criminal credentials by allowing him to take part in drug deals and setting up an elaborately faked truck robbery.

After two years living a lie Neil felt comfortable around most Monsters and Brigands, but the Führer could still put the shits up him. Presently the pair sat in the back of a silver AMG Mercedes, with a tan leather arm rest between them.

They’d pulled off a country road on to a farm track, with wheat growing high on either side. Teeth sat in the driver’s seat. The engine was off and the only sound was a gentle tap-tap-tap of something cooling down in the engine bay.

The Führer held a razor blade and Neil had no doubt that he’d be sliced open if the fancy took. The Brigands President might have grey hair and a beer gut, but after a few pints he could match any drunken teenager for craziness.

‘So you want to be a Brigand?’ the Führer asked, his words slurred with booze and his breath smelling like chips and vinegar.

‘All my life,’ Neil said.

‘Take the blade then,’ the Führer said. ‘Get that Monster Bunch shit off your jacket.’

It was a hot night, so Neil’s leather jacket was balled up on the carpet between his boots. He took the loose razor blade and used it to slice the nylon thread that he’d used to sew on his Monster Bunch patch less than a year earlier. Once a few stitches were cut, Neil dug his thumb under the patch and ripped it away.

The Führer pulled an embroidered patch with South Devon written on it. This would go on the bottom of Neil’s jacket and would mark him as a prospect. It was another step into the world of the Brigands, but he’d only earn the right to wear the Brigands logo after several months of doing the gang’s dirty work and a unanimous vote by the nineteen existing members of the chapter.

‘Thanks,’ Neil said, but as he reached for the badge the Führer pulled it back.

‘Dirty Dave said you’re a good man,’ the Führer smiled. ‘He made a lot of money on that cigarette truck you turned over together. But we had to check you out. Your background. Old schools, ex-employers, inmates at that young offenders’ institute.’

NPBTF had done an enormous amount of work building up Neil’s false background. Getting into Brigands puppet gangs like the Monster Bunch was easy, but becoming a full-patch Brigand was a major deal that involved application forms devised by the Brigands mother chapters in the United States and the attention of private investigators if there was the slightest suspicion about your past.

‘I’ve got nothing to hide, Führer.’

‘The guys we had looking into your past say that your job at the clutch centre checks out, as does your prison record and arrest sheet. They broke into your place last week and had a rummage. Nothing untoward there either.’

Neil smiled inwardly. There had always been the possibility of a break-in, or that one of the bikers who occasionally slept over in his flat after a night’s partying