The Ninth Step - John Milton #8 (John Milton Thrillers) by Mark Dawson Page A

show of reaching inside and withdrawing the contents. There were several bundles of bank notes secured with elastic bands. Higgins examined one of the bundles. The top note was a fifty, and Hicks estimated that there must have been thirty or forty notes in the bundle, with at least one other bundle in the envelope.
    “Thank you.”
    “Do you need anything else?”
    “I don’t think so. Stay here for the next day or two. I’ll let you know when it’s handled.”
    Higgins turned his back on the old man and left the room without a word.
    The old man looked at Hicks with anxious eyes.
    “Goodbye,” Isaacs said to Higgins’ retreating back.
    The general didn’t answer.
    #
     
    HICKS FOLLOWED THE GENERAL out of the apartment and caught him up as he stalked to the elevators. Higgins said nothing as they descended to the reception, and nothing as they passed through the space and onto the street beyond. It was only when they were both in the Range Rover that he provided his summation of the awkward twenty minutes that they had spent with Isaacs.
    “Pathetic.”
    “Sir?”
    “Drive, Corporal.”
    Hicks started the car and pulled away.
    Higgins shook his head. “What did you make of it?”
    “This man Isaacs is worried about. He knew him when he was a boy?”
    “Yes.”
    “And when you said he had ‘personal weaknesses,’ is it what I think it is?”
    “What do you think it is, Corporal?”
    “He’s a paedophile?”
    “Him and plenty of others. Be frank, Hicks: is that a problem for you?”
    “I don’t understand why you would want to help him. I think he’s disgusting.”
    Higgins waited a moment before agreeing with a terse, “Undoubtedly. Him and the other men who were involved. They’re all scum, Hicks.”
    “And so why are we protecting them?”
    “Because the damage that would be caused, were the details of what they did to be released, would be catastrophic. Isaacs was a very senior politician. But it isn’t just him. He was involved with senior men from the military. The civil service. The police. And politicians who were even more senior than he was.”
    “How senior?”
    “The most senior. I’m sure I don’t have to spell it out.”
    There was no need to ask; Hicks knew what he meant. The clouds had cowled the sky again, and he stared into the glowing red lights of the car ahead until he had to blink to clear them from his vision. It was very likely true, but that didn’t make what Higgins was suggesting any more palatable. It felt as if he was taking steps out into deeper water, knowing that at some point, without warning, the seabed would fall away from beneath him and plunge him into the depths.
    “It is our duty to protect them,” Higgins said.
    Hicks glanced across at the envelope in the general’s lap and looked away again before Higgins could notice. Duty? Hardly. The motive was baser and more venal than that.
    Higgins had reached a decision. “Whoever was bugging Isaacs—find out whatever you can about him.”
    “And then?”
    “And then I’ll give some thought about the best course of action. Don’t worry, Corporal, I’ll be sure to let you know.”
    “Where to now, sir?”
    “Hatton Garden.”
    The general was silent as Hicks drove them to the northeast. He followed the line of the Thames until they reached the junction for Blackfriars Bridge, then he turned to the north and passed along Farringdon Street until they reached their destination. Hatton Garden was one of the most famous streets in London, a district with an unusually dense collection of shops and merchants concerned with jewellery and the diamond trade. The shop frontages advertised everything and anything that could be associated with jewellery: there were watchmakers, jewellery manufacturers, a dozen shops that specialised in engagement rings, and diamond traders. It was a little shabby, the bright displays shining out from shop windows that were set into bleak concrete buildings.
    “Straight ahead,”