Chapter 2015 - 836: Cargo~_2

It's Hendrick's voice.

"Three tons."

"Can it be sold?"

"Yes, but it needs time."

The phone was silent for a few seconds.

"The boss says time is running out. Greek police have started checking the port, checking the fishing boats, checking all ships coming from Africa. In two weeks, your three tons of goods will rot in your hands."

"Scorpion" said nothing.

"Over in Kosovo, Cheku is urging. He's willing to pay double for this batch, but the goods must be delivered to the Albanian coast."

"Scorpion" was silent for a few seconds.

"Albania? That's someone else's territory."

"That's why the price is doubled."

"Scorpion" stood at the café entrance, watching the sparse pedestrians on the street.

"I need a boat."

"The boat is already on its way. Three days later, south of Crete Island, that abandoned small fishing port. You know the place."

The call ended.

January 11, 1998, Edinburgh.

McTavish looked at the data Sarah Kent had just sent.

In the Liverpool Port Authority's security system, three ships have been suspicious in the past three days. One from Morocco, the customs declaration says "olive oil", but the draft depth is one meter more than normal goods. One from Spain, the customs declaration says "fruits", but it docked at three in the morning, unloaded at four, and then left. And another one—no customs declaration, no ship name, no registration information, it just stopped offshore Liverpool for two hours, then turned north.

He forwarded the data to that encrypted number.

Ten minutes later, a reply came:

"The third ship is the pickup. Destination: Glasgow."

McTavish's fingers paused on the table.

Glasgow.

His city.

"Callum."

Callum walked in from the doorway.

"Tell MacLaine, starting tonight at Glasgow port, work in three shifts, twenty-four hours monitoring. Any ship without a customs declaration, any ship that docks at night, any ship unloading without lights—take photos, record videos, write down the license plate."

Callum nodded.

"Also," McTavish stood up, "tell the Mexicans, here in Glasgow, we need real-time monitoring. Not post-mission reports, real-time."

January 12, 1998, early morning, Glasgow port.

MacLaine stood on the third floor of an abandoned warehouse, looking at the pier below through the window.

The night was dark and windy. Only a few lights illuminated small circles of dim light on the pier.

At three twenty, a fishing boat docked.

No lights, no sound. Four men jumped from the boat, quickly moving to carry several plastic barrels from the cabin onto a waiting truck.

MacLaine raised the camera, pressing the shutter.

The truck started, leaving the dock. He noted the license plate.

Then he dialed a number.

"The goods have arrived. The truck headed east."

The phone was silent for a second.

"License plate."

"Fake, but the truck is a white Iveco, the left tail light is broken."

"Pursue."

MacLaine hung up the phone, gestured to his team. Three men went downstairs, got into an inconspicuous Ford, and chased in the direction the truck had gone.

January 12, 1998, morning, Glasgow.

McTavish looked at the photos sent by MacLaine.

In the photos, four Black men were carrying plastic barrels onto a truck. The barrels had no labels, but their shape was identical to the batch seized in Liverpool.

He forwarded the photos to Sarah Kent.

Ten minutes later, a reply came:

"It's the same batch of goods."

McTavish stood up, walked to the window.

Outside the window was Glasgow's gray sky. This industrial city was once the heart of shipbuilding, later had the highest unemployment rate, now is one of Scotland's poorest cities.

Also the place where drugs are most likely to spread.

"Callum."

Callum walked in.

"Notify the police station, anonymous tip-off. Say there's a white Iveco in Glasgow East District, fake license plate, tail light broken, and it's loaded with drugs."

Callum hesitated for a moment.

"Anonymous tip-off? Will the police believe it?"

"They will." McTavish turned around, "Because the informant will say the goods in that truck are from the same batch as the five hundred kilograms in Liverpool."

January 13, 1998, Berlin.

Dr. Wagner received a report from Scotland.

The report was short, but every word made his heart race.

"Glasgow police seized five hundred kilograms of 'Black Pearl', its chemical characteristics consistent with the drugs seized in Liverpool. Three people involved were arrested, all from Guinea-Bissau. Currently under interrogation."

He put the report down.

Five hundred kilograms. Liverpool five hundred kilograms, Glasgow five hundred kilograms. Same source, same network, same target—to occupy the UK market.

He picked up the phone, dialed a number.

"Get me through to Scotland Yard. Tell their Drug Enforcement Administration Director that Germany is willing to share all data related to 'Black Pearl'. The condition is—intelligence sharing, synchronized actions."

January 14, 1998, London, Scotland Yard.

The Drug Enforcement Administration Director looked at the draft agreement sent from Berlin, tapping his fingers on the desk.

Intelligence sharing. Synchronized actions.

Germans rarely propose such things. They always work alone, even the European Union Criminal Police Organization can't direct them.

Now they're willing to share data.

It shows the situation is more serious than imagined.

He picked up the phone, dialed a number.

"Get me through to Thames Police Headquarters. Find Gray."

January 15, 1998, Mexico City.

Victor looked at the report just delivered.

Liverpool five hundred kilograms, Glasgow five hundred kilograms, Greece five tons, Italy twenty tons. Over the past two months, the total 'Black Pearl' seized in Europe—exceeds thirty tons.