The banker was snatched back by the opposition and found floating in the Thames. But all that led me here, to a lawyer named Cassidy.”
Fitzroy looked up at this. “Terry?”
“Yes. You know him?”
“Youngish bloke, to me, anyway. He’s a fixture at my members-only club in Westminster. He’s in there all the time.”
“Well,” Court said, “he’s dirty.”
“These are his clients?” Fitzroy held up the list.
“Yes, including the head of the local brigade of the Solntsevskaya Bratva.”
Fitzroy nodded. “Yes, I see his name here.” Fitzroy put the list down. “These Reds are all known men. I don’t see any of them going after MI6 or even Agency blokes, for that matter. Too risky. No . . . the man you need is not on this list.”
“Who is he?”
“Bugger if I know. But there’s been talk around London for years about a Russian mastermind pulling the puppet strings of both the Bratva and the local OC firms. There are hallmarks of a skilled hand over some of the local criminal organizations’ work. Some sort of three-way nexus between the Kremlin and all the Russian criminal organizations, and the billions of dollars expatriated out of Russia.”
“Who is the puppet master?” Court asked.
Fitzroy shook his head. “No bloody idea. No one knows. I’ve heard a code name that’s whispered here and there . . . might just be disinformation, exaggerations.”
“Tell me his code name.”
“Chernny Volk.”
Court’s eyebrows furrowed. “Black Wolf?”
Fitzroy waved a hand. “Again. Nothing you can hang your hat on at all. But, still, if I had to wager I’d say there is an architect lording over everything going on in Russian circles in the UK these days. I’d also say he is next-level skilled.”
“Couldn’t he just be running the Bratvas here?”
Fitzroy shook his head. “This Black Wolf, if he exists at all, is not part of the Russian mob himself, that much is assumed. The Solntsevskaya Bratva owns swaths of this town, and swaths of politicians and cops, as well. They own banks here, more property than you can imagine, and they are growing all the time. But they don’t have the sophistication that we are seeing in the UK these days that involve Russian interests. Topflight political killings, targeted poisoning, kidnapping, financial and hacking schemes to support the Kremlin.
“Our mastermind has a very careful hand, and an extremely deft touch.” Fitzroy added, “That doesn’t sound like the Russian mob, now does it? And then the loads of contract killings against Kremlin outsiders that have taken place here. Too many to believe that SVR assassins are causing all the damage. The SVR has its own problems with moles and compromises. They wouldn’t be getting away as cleanly as they are.” Fitzroy sipped his drink. “Chernny Volk, he’s the mastermind, if you believe the rumors.”
Court said, “What do you suggest I do, Don?”
“Forget all this bollocks and go home.” Court said nothing. “But since that is out of the question, you could do this.” Fitzroy thought a moment. “Cassidy is at the club every afternoon, usually by four. He takes over one of the small parlors to do business, meets with people there.”
“Business with other club members?”
“Yes, you don’t get into the Red Lion Club without being a member.”
This surprised Court. “You have Russian oligarchs and crime bosses in your club?”
“Heavens, no. We don’t let that ilk in. Terry does his deals there with proper Englishmen.”
Court didn’t suspect that people working with Terry Cassidy were proper anything, Englishmen or not, but he did not say this. Instead he said, “There are just a few people with Western names on his client list.”
“Perhaps this list isn’t all his clients, just the ones he wants to keep a paper trail on. The corrupt, the criminals, the dangerous ones.”
Court asked, “Do you recognize the names of the Westerners? Are they OC?”
Fitzroy looked down again. “Yes, now that you mention it. Most of these blokes are known gangsters of varying degrees. David Mars is a name I don’t recognize, although that doesn’t mean he’s not someone. As I said, I’m out to pasture.” He looked up. “What are you planning on doing, lad?”
Court shrugged. “You know, same old thing. Find the bad guy. Kill him.”
Fitzroy smiled. “You are a nutter.”
“No argument there. Could you get me into your club this afternoon?”
Fitzroy drank the rest of his scotch and then laughed. “You want to beat Cassidy into a confession?”
“Of course not. I could plant some bugs. Do they sweep there?”
“Cassidy does it himself before he starts his meetings.” Fitzroy added,