Bullets in the Sand (The Inspector George Zammit Series Book 2) Read online

  BULLETS IN THE SAND

  AJ ABERFORD

  CONTENTS

  Praise for The George Zammit Crime Series

  Author’s Note

  Are you a thriller seeker?

  Prologue

  1. Superintendent George Zammit

  2. Article in Malta Telegraph

  3. Yaroslav Bukov

  4. Abdullah Belkacem

  5. Article in Malta Telegraph

  6. Yaroslav Bukov

  7. Natasha Bonnici

  8. Superintendent George Zammit

  9. Marco Bonnici

  10. Superintendent George Zammit’s House

  11. Article in Malta Telegraph

  12. Yaroslav Bukov

  13. Yaroslav Bukov

  14. Article in Malta Telegraph

  15. Natasha Bonnici

  16. Superintendent George Zammit

  17. Article in Malta Telegraph

  18. Marco Bonnici

  19. Abdullah Belkacem

  20. Assistant Commissioner Gerald Camilleri

  21. Superintendent George Zammit

  22. Article in the Malta Telegraph

  23. Natasha Bonnici

  24. Mike Lloyd

  25. Abdullah Belkacem

  26. Natasha Bonnici

  27. George Zammit and Abdullah Belkacem

  28. Yaroslav Bukov

  29. Natasha Bonnici

  30. Mike Lloyd

  31. George Zammit

  32. Marco Bonnici

  33. Ivan Karavayev

  34. Marco Bonnici

  35. Natasha Bonnici

  36. George Zammit

  37. Abdullah Belkacem

  38. Captain Eric Sobolev

  39. Rania Belkacem

  40. George Zammit

  41. Natasha Bonnici

  42. Mike Lloyd

  43. Abdullah Belkacem

  44. Marco Bonnici

  45. George Zammit

  46. Natasha Bonnici

  47. Nick Walker

  48. Hugo, Toni and Signor De Luca

  49. George Zammit

  50. Salvatore Randazzo

  51. Abdullah Belkacem

  52. George Zammit

  53. Natasha Bonnici

  54. Marco Bonnici

  55. Natasha Bonnici

  56. George Zammit

  57. Abdullah Belkacem

  58. Natasha Bonnici

  59. Nick Walker

  60. Natasha Bonnici

  61. Yaroslav Bukov

  62. George Zammit

  63. Marco Bonnici

  64. Danka Bijak’s Apartment

  65. Mike Lloyd

  66. Natasha Bonnici

  67. Marco Bonnici

  68. George Zammit

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  The George Zammit Crime Series

  Meeting in Milan

  Hawk at the Crossroads

  1. O. R. Tambo International Airport – Johannesburg

  Hobeck Books – the home of great stories

  This edition produced in Great Britain in 2022

  by Hobeck Books Limited, Unit 14, Sugnall Business Centre, Sugnall, Stafford, Staffordshire, ST21 6NF

  www.hobeck.net

  Copyright © AJ Aberford 2022

  This book is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in this novel are the work of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons (living or dead), events or localities is entirely coincidental.

  AJ Aberford has asserted his right under the Copyright, Design and Patents Act X-Bo88 to be identified as the author of this work.

  All rights reserved. No parts of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the copyright holder.

  A CIP catalogue for this book is available from the British Library.

  ISBN 978-1-913-793-73-9 (pbk)

  ISBN 978-1-913-793-72-2 (ebook)

  Cover design by Spiffing Covers

  www.spiffingcovers.com

  Printed and bound in Great Britain

  PRAISE FOR THE GEORGE ZAMMIT CRIME SERIES

  BODIES IN THE WATER – BOOK ONE IN THE GEORGE ZAMMIT CRIME SERIES

  ‘I thought I knew everything about murders in the Med – not so – this series is a fantastic read!’

  Robert Daws, bestselling author of the Rock crime series

  ‘What a fantastic debut thriller from AJ Abeford! Bodies in the Water gives the real lowdown about crime and corruption in the Mediterranean, in an adventure that ranges from the tourist enclaves of Malta to the war-torn deserts of Libya and weaves together an intricate tale of murder, human trafficking, money laundering, terrorism and organised crime. In the centre of it all is Detective George Zammit, an intriguing new character on the crime thriller scene who is sure to become an instant fan favourite. Meticulously researched by someone who clearly has a deep understanding of the subject matter, Bodies in the Water rattles on at a supercharged pace, leaving the reader waiting expectantly for the next novel in what is destined to be a hugely popular new series.’

  J.T. Brannan, bestselling thriller and mystery author

  ‘I am definitely a fan of George and 100% will look forward to reading the next in the series.’ Alex Jones

  ‘… a cracker. Organised crime, people smuggling, run ins with ISAL and the hapless Detective George Zammit. Tricksy as a Zen novel.’ Pete Fleming

  ‘Highly emotive and gripping.’ Louise Cannon

  ‘I really enjoyed it. The writing was crisp and flowed well. The characters were strong and it was interesting how their paths crossed. The pace was excellent.’ ThrillerMan

  ‘I enjoyed this book immensely … very exciting and unpredictable.’ Sarah Leck

  ‘What started as a cross between The Godfather and Midsomer Mysteries soon developed into a twisty thriller, full of humour and coincidence where you can't help but root for unlikely hero, Inspector George Zammit.’ Angela Paull

  AUTHOR’S NOTE

  Although the plot points are inspired by the political circumstances and certain events at the time of writing, the story is the product of my imagination and not intended to be an accurate account of any such real-life events or a comment on any of the people who may have been involved in them.

  Malta is a small island and three-quarters of the population share the same one hundred most common surnames. As a result, there’s a chance I have inadvertently given a character the same name as someone alive or maybe dead. If that is the case, I apologise. The events, dialogue and characters in this book were created for the purposes of fictionalisation. Any resemblance of any character or corporation to any entity, or to a person, alive or dead, is purely coincidental.

  ARE YOU A THRILLER SEEKER?

  Hobeck Books is an independent publisher of crime, thrillers and suspense fiction and we have one aim – to bring you the books you want to read.

  For more details about our books, our authors and our plans, plus the chance to download free novellas, sign up for our newsletter at www.hobeck.net.

  You can also find us on Twitter @hobeckbooks or on Facebook www.facebook.com/hobeckbooks10.

  To my family and my wife’s family, who stuck close and tight during the pandemic, helping us to bear our losses and keep our hope.

  PROLOGUE

  SANT’AGATA PRISON, AVELLINO, ITALY

  The correctional facility of Sant’Agata was hidden away in a wooded area of
Avellino province, in the Campania region of Southern Italy. As it accommodated a good number of senior organised-crime figures, and other wealthy white-collar prisoners, its governor and his crew provided a menu of special privileges, on a pay-to-stay basis, to help their guests pass the time more comfortably.

  Over the previous four years Sergio Rossi had enjoyed the full range of these concessions, from specially prepared meals to, initially at least, fortnightly visits from his girlfriend, Carlita. His wife, when she was inclined, only visited on his name day and religious holidays. He received an ample supply of cigarettes, DVDs, and even had access to a sports streaming package, direct to the TV in his cell. It was true, he had it better than most, but other more important promises had been broken and that had gradually eaten away his trust in his former associates, to such a point that he now harboured feelings of profound illwill towards them.

  He had been sentenced over four years ago. This morning, his term was up. At 08:00, he was free to go. He had paid the price, and anger at his treatment by those he had trusted had helped him survive the physical confinement. During that time there had been plenty of opportunity for him to plan how to avenge himself on those associates who had persuaded him to take the fall for their criminal enterprise, only to abandon him once he was inside.

  The buzzer sounded and the steel gate swung open – he was free. Before he crossed the threshold to freedom, he spat on the floor in front of him. Unless a person had survived confinement, they could never understand that no revenge would ever be sweet enough to compensate for the loss of four years of normal life. No revenge would ever be harsh enough to redress the humiliation and insult of standing trial, displayed in a glass box. All because of what had turned out to be a misplaced sense of loyalty. Sergio had agreed to accept sole responsibility for an oil-smuggling conspiracy so that others could remain free.

  The prison was set in open countryside. A double wire fence separated the inmates from the fields and forests beyond. Sergio walked out into the sunlit car park and paused to view the facility from an outsider’s perspective. It was a stylish three-storey building, with tasteful grey and brown cladding on its lower faces. Only the undersized windows spoke of its true purpose. It looked more like a heavily protected junior school than a prison. Turning his back on Sant’Agata, he immediately spotted the immaculately clean black saloon with heavily tinted windows, parked at the edge of the car park.

  Sergio was short, with a barrel chest and long grey hair that he wore swept back behind his ears. The time inside had taken its toll, but he still looked good for a man in his mid-fifties. The occupants of the car recognised him and the doors swung open. Two men got out. Both were wearing black suits, white open-necked shirts and sunglasses. One was holding a silver tray, with a glass and a bottle of champagne on it. Sergio walked towards them, pinning a big Sicilian smile to his sallow face.

  “Signor Rossi, Salvatore Randazzo sends his regards and is looking forward to meeting you.” The man held out a brimming glass as he spoke and gestured to the back seat while his companion, smiling broadly, bowed slightly and held the door open for Sergio.

  He hesitated, one hand on the door, the other around the stem of the glass. He drank some and felt the entire four-year experience begin to recede. He allowed himself to smile, as some of the accumulated anger and hurt started to subside, but his words were still pointed.

  “So, he couldn’t be bothered to come himself? A big man now, sì?”

  “Please, Signor Rossi.” The driver bobbed his head and waved him into the back of the car.

  When it had become apparent that someone would need to go to jail and Sergio had been informed that he should be that person, Salvatore Randazzo had replaced him as head of operations within the Family. Though the Wise Men of their organisation favoured Randazzo, who was clever, good looking and hungry for success, Sergio had found him arrogant and disrespectful. Salvatore had never visited him once in the four years he had been inside, preferring to send messages through intermediaries and grudgingly conduct the occasional brief conversation with Sergio by mobile phone, until it seemed he started to find even these irksome and left further calls unanswered. It had been agreed that Sergio would be distanced during his time inside. Nevertheless, it still hurt his pride and he thought the behaviour of the younger man at best, discourteous, at worst, insolent and short-sighted.

  The rear passenger door shut behind him, with a solid clunk; the driver and his partner got into the front seats. He sank back into the comfortable leather upholstery, taking another long swallow from his glass. As he refilled it from the bottle left in a wine cooler beside him, he noticed a glass screen between the front and rear seats and rapped on it.

  “Where’re we going – what’s the plan?”

  To his surprise, the men did not drop the screen, but continued to look straight ahead, while the one in the passenger seat replied through an intercom.

  “We’re going to Naples, Signore. It’ll take an hour, so relax, drink champagne and enjoy the journey. There, we’ll meet Signor Randazzo.”

  Sergio realised his phone was in his bag, which the guys had put into the boot of the car. He banged on the screen again.

  “Hey!”

  “Signore?”

  “I need my phone, it’s in the boot. Pull over.”

  There was no reply from the men in front, who continued to stare at the road ahead. The intercom went dead. The car rolled on, with no change of pace. Sergio banged on the window again.

  “Hey, pull over, I want my phone!”

  The silence from the front started to unnerve him. He tried once more, banging frantically on the glass.

  “I’m telling you, stronzi, pull over – now!”

  He put his hand on the door handle and was not entirely surprised to find it locked. Starting to feel uneasy, he sank back in the soft leather seat.

  “Listen, you dickheads – let me out now. You don’t know who you’re messing with.”

  The intercom crackled.

  “Signor Rossi, we know exactly who you are and we’ve got our instructions. Please, sit back. Everything is fine. There’s nothing to be concerned about.”

  There was nothing dignified Sergio could do in response, other than set his jaw and stay silent. His body tensed, his heart rate began to race. He acknowledged to himself that he was afraid. The only weapon to hand was the champagne bottle. He put it to his mouth, half-full, and took a long draught.

  The single carriageway road from the prison ran through countryside for a while, before it joined the state highway to Naples. After only ten minutes, however, the car slowed. To Sergio’s increasing alarm, it pulled off onto a rough, unmade track, leading up a gentle slope bordered by a thick scrub of willows and poplars. Beyond this, they found themselves in an area of reforested pines and cypresses. Not that Sergio noticed the details clearly – his mounting sense of unease was now verging on panic. His breath was coming in short sharp bursts, sweat beading on his brow and upper lip.

  He shouted and swung at the glass screen with the base of the champagne bottle. It bounced back at him each time he lashed out until, with a gasp of despair, he realised the screen was not glass, but a thick sheet of acrylic – probably designed to be bullet-proof. The car turned off the track and slowly edged its way towards a small clearing amongst the trees. He could not believe what was happening. This was it. The Family wanted him dead. The intercom came on. The man in the passenger seat turned to look at Sergio. His face was completely calm and relaxed, no sign of tension.

  “Signore, they told us you’d be a fighter, so we can do this in one of two ways. We’re professionals. It can be handled quickly, with respect and without pain. Please, consider that option. It’s the best way. Or you can fight and we’ll keep you in the car, with the doors locked. We have ten litres of petrol stored behind those bushes and we’ll use it to burn you alive. That won’t be so quick and there’ll be much pain. It’s up to you. Either way, the end will be the same.” br />
  These chilling words put the matter beyond any doubt. Sergio slumped back in the seat and took a very deep breath. Despite his efforts to appear calm, his voice was shaky and his words garbled.

  “I’ve got money. More money than you can ever imagine. I’ll pay you both and then I’ll disappear. Tell them it’s done and there’ll be no trouble. You’ll be rich. We’re all businessmen, yes?”

  “I’m sorry, Signore. I have to deliver proof of death, otherwise it’ll be me in the back of the car next time. Now, which way is it going to be?”