Rafi was glad that he was only 5’ 9”; as it was a tight squeeze. His initial panic of being bundled into the small space had soon disappeared. The claustrophobic boot was definitely better than facing Mike and Andy.
Their arrival at the City of London police headquarters in Wood Street was low-key. Kate parked in the covered rear car park.
Rafi was motionless when she opened the boot. The rocking of the car had lulled him into a deep sleep. He heard a woman’s voice saying, ‘Wake up,’ and felt his body being shaken and prodded.
‘Christ, I thought you were unconscious and for a horrible moment that you’d been asphyxiated. Roll over and let me take your handcuffs off,’ said Kate. ‘And in case you have any ideas, let me point out that this is a secure compound. You are going to cooperate, aren’t you?’
Rafi nodded. ‘Sorry to have scared you,’ he mumbled. ‘I haven’t had any sleep for a couple of days. I could have slept in a dustbin and not given it a second thought.’
With the blanket draped over his head, Kate hurried Rafi though the back door. They made their way up the back stairs to a modestly sized office on the fourth floor.
‘This is where I work. Let me introduce you to Detective Constable Emma Jessop – my ever-helpful sidekick.’
Rafi looked across the room and saw a beautiful woman sitting behind a computer screen. She had a mop of curly fair hair, light brown eyes and a disarming smile.
Kate surveyed Rafi carefully. ‘First we need to get some ground rules sorted out. You are to remain with us until this is all over. You will keep a low profile. As far as everyone else is concerned, you’re being held by MI5. In the meantime Emma and I will try to make your stay here as comfortable as possible.’
‘Thank you,’ Rafi replied.
‘I think we need to get you cleaned up. A shower and a shave wouldn’t go amiss,’ said Kate.
Rafi stroked his left hand over his rough stubble and nodded.
‘Would you like a coffee and something to eat?’ Emma asked.
‘Something long and cold to drink would be nice, please,’ Rafi replied in a hoarse voice.’
Emma smiled, ‘Thirsty, are we?’
Rafi nodded. He was badly dehydrated and hadn’t peed for what seemed like ages.
Emma left the room and returned a couple of minutes later with a bottle of chilled water and a can of cold Coke. ‘I thought that this might keep you going.’
He was going to like working with Emma. ‘What do I call you two?’
The two women looked at each other and smiled.
‘Kate and Emma would be fine, Mr Khan,’ replied Kate.
‘Rafi, please.’
‘Done!’
The phone rang. Kate picked it up and listened intently.
‘That was the commissioner. It seems Special Branch downstairs have found an eyewitness who was standing behind you in the queue at the cashpoint. She has confirmed that you put the cash straight into your wallet. It seems she was amazed to see so much money coming out of the machine and didn’t believe it would fit! Also, she overheard your conversation with the terrorist, and confirms that you simply gave him directions and handed back his A to Z.’
Kate smiled. ‘This substantiates your claim that you were an innocent bystander. The commissioner says that we can treat you as a colleague,’ she paused. ‘Though he thinks it’s best if your presence here remains our secret. Please bear in mind that we lost good friends in the Bishopsgate bombing and our colleagues may not be as welcoming… And I am to ask, if you will cooperate fully with our enquiries?’
Rafi remained silent as he took in the news.
‘Will you help us?’ asked Kate.
‘Yes, I’d be pleased to,’ replied Rafi – overcome by a sense of relief. ‘I am so sorry about your colleagues. Believe me, I want these bastards caught as much as you do.’
‘That’s good… And Mr Kahn – sorry – Rafi,’ said Kate, ‘Just so that there is no misunderstanding – you will use only those parts of the police station we tell you to… Is that agreed?’
Rafi nodded.
‘Excellent, that’s settled then.’ Kate left the room, leaving Rafi to enjoy his drink. He looked around his new surroundings and found them to be typical of an older style office building: plain and functional.
Kate returned clutching a pair of dark blue tracksuit trousers, some white jogging shorts, a pair of white socks and a Harlequins rugby shirt with the number 14 on the back.
‘Best I could find but at least they’re clean. I hope that they fit.’ In her other hand was a large white towel and a bottle of shampoo. ‘Unfortunately, I couldn’t lay my hands on a razor,’ she added.
‘Don’t worry,’ replied Rafi, ‘my wrist isn’t up to shaving.’
‘Follow me,’ said Kate.
Rafi was taken off to a utilitarian washroom with an adjoining shower cubicle. ‘I’ll come back and get you in fifteen minutes,’ said Kate.
Rafi beckoned her to stay. ‘Actually could I possibly have some help, please? I’m having problems getting my shirt off!’
‘That’s one of the worst chat-up lines I’ve ever heard,’ Kate said with a smile.
Rafi hesitantly finished unbuttoning his shirt with his left hand and she helped him slide it off.
There was silence. She stood there, looking at his back. ‘I’m sorry… I didn’t realise. How the hell did you cope in the boot of the car? The bottom of your back looks as if it stopped a runaway train… The bruises on your shoulder and arm look awful.’
‘You should see my legs.’
‘Don’t tempt me!’ Kate turned to leave. ‘Please lock the door when I’ve gone.’
Rafi stepped slowly into the shower and stood under the flowing water, still holding the cold water bottle in his left hand. The warmth of the shower and the ice cold of the drinking water were pure bliss.
He had no idea how long he’d been there when there was a knock at the door. It was Kate. ‘Can I come in?’
‘Yes. Give me a moment.’ At the third attempt he managed to wrap the towel around his waist with his left hand. He unlocked the door and stepped aside to let Kate in; she was clutching a first aid box.
‘I thought this might come in handy. I’m afraid there’s not much I can do for your bruises. She started to work on the grubby, wet Elastoplast dressing on his wrist. There was gauze underneath the sticky plaster bandage, which made removing it a fairly straightforward task. She cleaned his arm.
Kate considered the swelling; his wrist was at least twice its normal size. The angry colours of the bruise spread up his arm towards his elbow and down to his fingertips. They matched the bruises on his shoulder, lower back and calf. She glanced at his wet hirsute chest. His physique, for a lightly built man, was surprisingly good, but – my God – he had taken a battering.
‘Do you have any water left?’
He nodded.
‘You might like to take a couple of these. They’ll ease the pain.’ Kate carefully re-strapped his wrist. There was no gauze in the first aid kit. She hoped she wouldn’t be the one to take the sticky plaster off. ‘Would you like a sling?’
Rafi shook his head. ‘Thanks, but no thanks; I may have some writing to do.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘Forgive me for asking, but how precisely do you propose to hold a pen?’
‘With difficulty,’ came Rafi’s modest reply. ‘Could I ask you a favour, please?’
Kate noticed he’d started to blush.
‘I’m not very good at bending at the moment and my right hand doesn’t like gripping things. If I move over to a dry bit of the floor could you help me pull my shorts and tracksuit trousers up to my knees?’
Kate pointed to a dry area of floor.
Trousers and shorts in hand, Rafi walked slowly to the spot and dropped the two items of clothing on to the floor. It was a close-run thing between his towel unknotting and slipping down, and the shorts and trousers being pulled up.
Kate had to smile to herself. She liked what she saw, despite the bruises all over his body.
Minutes later Rafi was fully dressed, hair combed and looking and smelling like a normal human being. He ached all over, but despite his tiredness, he felt equipped to meet the world again.
Back in Kate and Emma’s office he was shown to a desk. ‘This part of the fourth floor is your home for the foreseeable future,’ explained Kate. The Gents across the corridor is for now off bounds to the rest of the force here. That’s as far as you can go, understood? If you need to go elsewhere else, please ask.’
‘Will do,’ said Rafi.
He was given a desk opposite Kate’s. Across the room, to his left, was Emma and to his right there was a large whiteboard and a pair of empty desks positioned back-to-back. Scattered around the room were a number of filing cabinets and there was a networked printer next to Emma’s desk. The room had a lived-in feel. Paperwork was everywhere.
Kate looked across at Emma. ‘I think we need to tidy up. Any empty filing cabinet drawers?’
Emma nodded. ‘OK, let’s collect all the paperwork that does not relate to this case and for the time being put it in the empty drawers.’
Fifteen minutes later the room had taken on a minimalist look.
‘Nice work,’ said Rafi to them both.
‘Thank you… Now we can make a start and have a proper look at your USB memory stick. But first let me tell you more about the team you’ll be working with. Emma, who you have already met, has a first in something or other highly numerical from University College London and is great at finding things out. Point her in the right direction and wait to see what she uncovers. She’s our little Exocet missile. Before she joined us, she qualified as an accountant, so knows her way around things financial. We will shortly be joined by Jeremy Welby, who is being seconded here from MI5 to keep an eye on you and, no doubt, us, and to help where he can, but otherwise I know very little about his previous experience.’
‘It depends what you mean by experience,’ said a masculine voice from the doorway. ‘Mine is OK but I have recently spent far too much time undercover. My section commander Neil Gunton thought I might like a change of scene.’ He paused, then continued, ‘It seems that your commissioner pulled an impressive flanker on us to get our friend here sprung from Paddington Green.’Jeremy grinned and went on, ‘A good move, no doubt. My instructions are simple: “Help them get whoever is behind the Bishopsgate bombing. Find out what the terrorists are up to next and please make certain that Mr Khan doesn’t go missing.” Neil has offered us whatever support we require because, in his words, “This is a joint venture”. Basically, I’m here to help you get to the bottom of what’s going on.’
Kate looked at Jeremy. He was in his early thirties and in great shape; his handsome tanned face and his boyish good looks were emphasised by a strong jawline. She introduced Emma and herself. ‘We’re part of a specialist team that looks into major corporate and financial fraud. We tend to do the research side of things and from time to time are allowed out! We report to Detective Chief Superintendent David Pryke who’s on his way back from MI5 headquarters, having given the press and anyone else interested in Mr Khan the runaround.’
‘I had hoped to get here sooner,’Jeremy hesitated as he decided on how much to tell his new colleagues. ‘I’d a couple of matters to deal with after this morning’s Joint Counter-Terrorism meeting. They think that you are part of an ITS, and are at Paddington Green.’
‘What do you mean by ITS?’ enquired Rafi.
‘Islamic Terrorist Syndicate – it’s our catch-all phrase for Islamic groups hell-bent on terrorist activities in the pursuance of their fundamentalist ideals.’
Rafi nodded, ‘Thank you.’
‘As I was saying,’ continued Jeremy, ‘My boss Neil and I have been told by the head of MI5 to run with Mr Khan’s line of thinking. The head of Five reckons there are inconsistencies which need investigating – quietly – off other people’s radar screens. Neil’s section and I have stuck our necks out on this one, so Mr Khan I look forward to you proving your doubters wrong!’
Jeremy stopped talking and looked around the room. ‘How many people know that Mr Khan is here?’
‘The three of us plus David, our boss, and Commissioner Giles Meynell,’ replied Kate.
‘Good. Let’s keep it that way. My section is briefed and will be able to provide you with back-up.’Jeremy turned to Rafi. ‘I look forward to hearing what you suspect is going on. By the way, you really pissed off my colleagues who interviewed you. It seems that you managed to evade their questioning for over sixty hours without any sleep and practically no food or water. I dropped by to see them before I got here. They looked absolutely knackered! They thought that they’d got you hook, line and sinker, and are now – how can I put it? – in the doghouse! They’d never seen so much evidence stacked against a terrorist suspect and have the bugger slip through their fingers. I’m sorry for the harsh treatment the guards gave you.’ Jeremy paused. ‘It seems that you were set up good and proper.’Jeremy looked at Rafi. ‘Mr Khan I hope we can forget Paddington Green and focus on unravelling what the hell is going on.
‘Fine by me, but do call me Rafi – please.’
‘Good; thank you,’ said Jeremy. ‘And by the way we have arranged for Jameel Furud to be put under surveillance in Morocco…
Rafi suddenly remembered Mike and Andy’s comments about his sister, and looked across at Jeremy ‘On the basis of me being innocent, could you check that MI5 haven’t arrested my sister, and if they have, arrange for her release, please?’
‘A reasonable request… Leave it with me,’ replied Jeremy.
Rafi smiled – a weight had been lifted from his shoulders.
‘Kate what have you got planned for us?’ enquired Jeremy.
‘David should be back shortly. I suggest we then have a council of war to sort out our strategy. In the meantime I’ve asked Greg Thompson, our IT specialist, to pay us a visit to set up some more computers. He should be with us any time now.’
As if on cue, Greg, a thin, bespectacled man of indeterminate age, walked into the room. ‘How can I help? I have arranged for two more networked desktops to be set up. Do you need anything else?’
‘When you have a spare minute could you ring Ray Isles, our IT gatekeeper?’ said Jeremy. ‘And Kate, who would you like to have in the loop with my section at MI5?’
‘Emma and me, please.’
‘Greg, please ask Ray to sort out the necessary encryption software so that MI5 emails and texts can be read. Also, please give him Kate’s and Emma’s mobile numbers.’Jeremy turned to Kate. ‘I’ll run you through the text message codes which will alert you when an important email has been sent.’ He turned to Greg. ‘Ray is a bit sensitive when it comes to his security software. If he stalls you, tell him you have clearance from the top,’Jeremy smiled. ‘You know how it is?’
Greg nodded. ‘If that’s all, I’ll be off.’
As he was leaving the room, Kate turned to her team. ‘Let’s get started. First how about we get Rafi to tell us what he really believes is going on. How long will you need to pull your thoughts together?’
‘A few minutes should do,’ came Rafi’s hesitant reply.
‘Excellent,’ said Jeremy. ‘That will give me time to visit Luigi’s, a small restaurant round the corner. Is it any good?’
‘Yes, but we tend to use the canteen downstairs,’ replied Kate.
‘I’ve been living off cruddy food for the past eight weeks,’ explained Jeremy, ‘I could do with something to perk me up; if it’s alright with you lot I’ll nip out to see what they do. How about I put the first lot on my card and after that someone else can have a go?’
Everyone looked sheepish.
Rafi guessed that expenses for food weren’t reclaimable. ‘Does anyone know where my personal effects and wallet ended up?’ he asked.
Kate looked at Rafi. ‘We got you out of Paddington Green in a bit of a hurry. Sorry, I’ve no idea.’
‘I’ve a suggestion,’ Rafi continued. ‘Could you get Luigi’s to run a tab, and as soon as I’ve got my wallet back, I’ll pay the bill?’
‘Great plan Rafi. I’m going to enjoy working here.’Jeremy looked delighted and was off out the door.
Kate and Emma looked a little surprised and uncomfortable.
‘I’m uncertain how to say this Rafi, but that doesn’t seem fair,’ said Kate.
‘I could do with some good quality food, and I owe you for getting me out of that hellhole. Don’t worry; I’m good for the money regardless. We’re in the City, remember? My word is my bond, and all that.’
Emma smiled. ‘Most unusual, but thank you.’
The door swung open and Jeremy entered, acting like a conjuror who was about to pull a rabbit out of a hat. He was clutching three bags with Luigi’s restaurant logos.
‘Here we are! Sorry for the delay. Luigi is a great chap. I’ve lined up a tab and have put it in your name, Kate. I hope that’s in order. Seems the guys downstairs were helpful when someone tried to break into his restaurant several months back. He’s very pleased to help in any way, any time of day. Who’s for coffee? And I’ve got orange juice, cappuccinos and some pizza… Help yourselves!’
The two women looked at the pizza and hesitated, thinking of the calories, then grinned at each other.
‘I should tuck in, you don’t know when we’ll next have time for a break,’ said Jeremy. He looked at his watch with a smile, ‘Or even time for a meal!’
Rafi sat savouring the food and drink.
‘Now that Jeremy’s back and Rafi has done his thinking, let’s get started,’ said Kate. ‘First question: how does the Bishopsgate bombing fit in with your theory of what is going on?’
‘I’m not entirely certain,’ replied Rafi, ‘but my gut feeling is that Callum Burns was on to something in Luxembourg and his crash was no accident. It also suggests that Prima Terra and others were up to no good.’
He paused. ‘Do we know what Jameel Furud is doing in Morocco?’ asked Rafi. ‘I thought he had work to do in Paris.’
Jeremy flipped open his mobile and spoke to a colleague. He listened intently and hung up. ‘My colleagues tell me that Jameel’s on his way to Marrakech. If I wanted to go somewhere safe as a Muslim, Morocco would be an excellent choice. He has booked a two week stay at a luxury five-star golf hotel on the edge of the city where he is scheduled to arrive later this morning. We’ve a colleague keeping an eye on him.’
‘I thought he’d do a runner,’ said Rafi smiling.
‘Can we please move on to the spreadsheets,’ asked Emma. ‘I see that Callum identified two public quoted companies with dubious shareholders: Dewoodson plc, a property services business and Renshaw Smithers plc, a small finance house focusing on public sector projects and outsourcing companies.’
‘Yes that’s correct,’ replied Rafi.
‘Let’s start at the beginning – exactly when did Prima Terra buy into these two companies?’ enquired Kate.
Rafi thought for a moment. ‘About two years ago. We took a large stake in Dewoodson plc when it came to the market.’
Jeremy grimaced.
‘What’s wrong?’ asked Kate.
‘That’s bad news. If you plan something for a couple of years you are definitely up to no good! We’re likely to be up against a very well-planned plot, whatever it might be.’
Rafi sat there, thinking about what Jeremy had just said. Then, as if from nowhere, an associated thought flashed through his mind. He was wasn’t sure, but what if…
‘Are you feeling ill?’ asked Emma.
‘Er… No, I just remembered a company presentation I attended a few weeks ago and an incident that completely slipped my mind. Please bear with me for a moment,’ Rafi began hesitantly. ‘Let me try and recall it. It may seem like a shaggydog story, but it’s relevant, I’m sure.’
Rafi closed his bloodshot eyes and took his mind back to a bright January morning a few weeks earlier… ‘Yes, I recall it was a Wednesday, three weeks ago. I’d had a hectic morning. The market was buoyant. I had lunch scheduled with a bank and some brokers who were launching an IPO. It was a normal sell-side promote. I was running late and took a taxi. It dropped me a couple of minutes’ walk away from their smart new office building on the South Bank; a stunning development scheme. Great attention to detail: black granite walkways, fountains for children to play in and even a small Pooh sticks stream which flows down the middle of the walkway to Tooley Street, almost 400 yards away… Sorry; I digress.’
Rafi paused to collect his thoughts… ‘After the short presentations, the cheeky buggers pushed through lunch at a cracking pace – they were running two sittings. At 1.15 p.m. I was politely offered my coat and a couple of minutes later I was standing in front of the building feeling rather pissed off. My nice lunch had turned into a fast food experience. I stood there, taking in the view across the Thames. It was a lovely afternoon; the winter sun was out and London looked great, so as I wasn’t expected back in the office before 2.30, I decided to stretch my legs and walk back to the office rather than take a taxi.’
Rafi smiled. ‘I set off towards Tower Bridge, along the river walkway past the London Assembly Building.’
‘Is that the one with the unfortunate nickname relating to a part of the male anatomy?’ enquired Jeremy.
‘Yes,’ Rafi smiled, ‘a singularly imposing building,’ he paused. ‘I then made my way up the steps of Tower Bridge. By the time I reached the far side, the cold wind had got to me. I considered being a wimp and taking a taxi back to the office, but opted for the exercise and turned down the steps that cut under the bridge, went past Dead Man’s Gate and headed out into the sunshine past the Tower of London. Whoops, sorry I’m rambling again.’
‘Don’t worry. As long as you remember something useful we don’t mind if you ramble on a bit,’ said Kate reassuringly.
‘I continued my stroll and headed along Lower Thames Street. I crossed the road and walked up St Mary at Hill, then turned into a narrow cobbled street – St Dunstan’s Lane. What prompted me to go that way, I don’t know. Perhaps it was because I was enjoying my amble and the lane, with its cobbled surface, looked quaint. It was an impulse. On the corner where St Dunstan’s Lane turns into Idol Lane there was a delivery van blocking the single carriageway.’ Rafi paused again. ‘And fifty metres up Idol Lane, was a chauffeur-driven Mercedes, with its door open waiting for someone to come out of a building.’
Rafi stopped; time seemed to stand still. He stared towards the printer to the right of Emma’s desk. It all came flooding back as if it were an action replay. He continued with his story. ‘I walked around the corner behind the parked lorry and reappeared just in time to see someone getting into the car. At that precise moment the lorry driver leant out of his window and called to me. I turned and walked back towards him. He wanted to know where the nearest McDonald’s was. I apologised, saying that I didn’t know, but thought that there was one in Cannon Street and pointed to the end of the road. He thanked me and drove off.’
Rafi’s eyes widened. ‘As the lorry left, it was followed by the Mercedes; no wonder the person in the car had looked familiar: it was Jameel! I looked at him and, fleetingly, our eyes met – but he didn’t acknowledge me. At the time I assumed that he was engrossed in his work. Thinking about it though, what must it have looked like to my boss? One moment I was there, the next I was hiding behind a lorry. He couldn’t have known I was speaking to the driver.’
‘It would have looked suspicious,’ said Emma, ‘Like you didn’t want to be seen.’
‘So what did you do next?’ asked Kate.
‘I walked to the top of the lane and passed by the building Jameel had come out of. It was nondescript, with the numbers 2 – 4 on a plain dark blue front door. There was nothing to give away who or what was based there. At the time I wondered who Jameel had been seeing but, as I didn’t think it was important, I dismissed the thought and carried on back to the office,’ said Rafi.
‘Anything else?’ asked Kate.
‘That’s it!’ Rafi, looked at his audience. ‘Sorry it took a while to get to the punchline. Could I have spotted Jameel doing something he wanted to keep secret… And that is what triggered his interest in me, particularly if he thought I was spying on him? What do you think?’
Emma looked up. ‘Rafi, did he look sheepish when he left the building in Idol Lane?’
‘No – just businesslike.’
‘I think I should get a list of all the occupiers,’ said Emma. ‘You can then see if any ring a bell. I’ll nip downstairs and raid our database.’
‘Good idea,’ said Kate.
A short while later Emma returned looking rather pleased with herself; she walked confidently up to Rafi’s desk and handed him three sheets of paper.
‘Here is the list of occupiers for Idol Lane. Bit of a rabbit warren down there. In case your boss was visiting someone nearby, I took the liberty of checking the adjoining streets as well,’ said Emma.
Rafi ran his eyes down the list.
‘Emma, could you find out what AGVC does, please? And could you get me a large-scale map which shows exactly where their offices are?’ asked Rafi.
Only a few minutes later she had the requested information up on her screen. ‘Right, here goes. AGVC – business type: venture capital company and financiers. Any good?’
‘Yes!’ said Rafi. ‘That is what I was hoping for.’
‘They are located halfway down on the left-hand side of St Mary at Hill.’
‘Hold on a moment,’ said Kate, ‘I thought you said you saw Jameel in Idol Lane?’
Rafi looked at her slightly crestfallen. ‘Good memory,’ he said looking at Kate approvingly. ‘Yes, you’re right.’
Emma smiled. ‘No problem, the two properties back on to each other.’
‘That’s interesting. Who are the occupiers of 2-4 Idol Lane?’
‘Rainer Spencer and Mitchell,’ answered Emma. ‘Says here that they’re chartered accountants and company registrars.’
‘What’s the link?’ asked Kate.
‘Link?’ said Emma. ‘What if the buildings were physically linked or interconnected, this would allow Jameel to keep his visits to AGVC’s offices secret. Shall we see if the two buildings are in the same ownership?’ Emma’s fingers worked quickly over her keyboard. ‘Right, I’m into the Land Registry website; let’s take a look at AGVC’s offices first. The address and postcode?’ Before anyone could answer, Emma had cut and pasted the information into the Land Registry boxes. ‘Oh dear, not much help: the freehold is owned by British amp; Scottish Property Company.’
‘A major London listed property company,’ Rafi chipped in.
‘Hold on a minute,’ said Emma. ‘I shouldn’t have been too hasty. There seems to be a long leasehold interest in the property owned by a company called PREH.’
‘OK, what about the building next to it in Idol Lane?’ said Kate.
‘Would you believe it; it’s owned by PREH as well.’
‘That’s fantastic, so they are connected.’ Kate was standing behind Emma, and gave her a friendly pat on the back and then did the same to Rafi.
He almost jumped out of his skin. ‘Ooouch!’ he exclaimed.
‘Whoops, sorry, I’ve done it again!,’ said Kate. ‘I forgot about your bumps and bruises.’ Her look turned pensive. ‘So what have we got? A venture capital business, a property company, plus a firm of chartered accountants and company secretaries. Jeremy could you ask your teams to get chapter and verse on these three businesses, and see if there are any links to Jameel Furud or Prima Terra.’
‘Will do… By the way, Rafi what precisely does Prima Terra do?’ asked Jeremy.
‘They’re fund managers, with about?30 billion of funds under management,’ replied Rafi.
‘It’s not your money, is it?’ added Jeremy.
Rafi looked at him. ‘No.’
‘So what’s to stop you flushing it down the pan?’ continued Jeremy.
‘Our reputations. Plus we do get bonuses if we outperform,’ replied Rafi.
Jeremy smiled. ‘Just a thought – but in my book, bad guys don’t go around improving things, they trash them…’ He was stopped mid-sentence by his phone. He glanced at its small screen. ‘Sorry, I need to take this…’
Several hours later, Commissioner Giles Meynell and Chief Superintendent David Pryke walked into Kate’s office, which had paper everywhere.
Giles looked around the room. ‘Hell’s bells. Last time I came in here it looked sort of tidy!’
‘Sorry, sir… Things have sort of mushroomed. We found a link between Jameel and a venture capital business,’ replied Kate. ‘The link has taken us all over the place. They have a wide range of business interests. They’re into security, fish processing, have a large property investment company… And one of their businesses runs various public sector services – hospitals, prisons, schools, government buildings…’
The door swung open and Jeremy walked in, looking pleased. ‘Sorry to interrupt – MI5 have found that Jameel and Basel both did their PhDs at the London College of Finance.’
Kate glanced across to Giles and David. ‘Would there be any chance of borrowing DCI John Dowsing to visit the London College of Finance with Jeremy?’
‘Good idea. As the officer in charge of the Bishopsgate bombing, it would be sensible to have him involved with your enquiries,’ said Giles. ‘Do please keep me informed of your progress. We have to leave you now, David and I are late for another meeting.’
‘My MI5 colleagues,’ said Jeremy, as the door closed behind Giles and David, ‘Tell me they’re expecting another series of bombings. The consensus of opinion is that the target will be a transport hub. Security levels have been increased and leave has been cancelled. Rafi, they now think you’re a bit of a red herring. Talking of food,’ said Jeremy, ‘Would you like a cake?’ The food had arrived fifteen minutes earlier and been put on the top of a couple of filing cabinets next to Kate where it had been forgotten.
Jeremy tucked in. ‘Yum, I must give Luigi a ring and thank him.’
Emma looked across at Kate and smiled. She was about to add something when Jeremy caught her look. ‘If you’d spent two months living off Pot Noodles and black coffee…’
‘Sorry, I forgot. It’s just that we are not used to this,’ apologised Emma.
‘Now that I’ve topped up the food levels, where’s this London College of Finance and what’s the low down on John?’
Emma, on the ball as ever, had found the vice chancellor’s address and that of the administration department. She walked over to the printer, collected the sheet and passed it to Jeremy.
Kate picked up the phone. ‘Hi John,’ she said in a friendly tone, ‘Would you have a spare moment? I need some help, please. We’ve unearthed something that has a direct bearing on the Bishopsgate bombing. I could do with a seasoned brain to give Jeremy Welby, our MI5 friend, a hand. Yes… Yes, I know you’re very busy and dislike spooks.’
She paused and listened. ‘Yes, I appreciate everyone thinks it’s going to hit the fan. But we’ve come up with an angle which opens up a whole new dimension. I need your input and not that of a sidekick, please… Fantastic, thanks. Jeremy’s on his way down to your car. He will brief you on the way. I owe you.’
Kate looked across to Jeremy. ‘John will meet you downstairs. Don’t be put off by his manner. He can be a bit of a gruff old codger, but he’s got a great nose for information and has a good sense of humour once you get to know him.’ She smiled. ‘One other thing, Jeremy, time may well be of the essence… So be as quick as you can, please. And good luck’
Jeremy nodded and left.
‘Let’s see what we can dig up and reconvene at, say, 5 p.m.,’ said Kate.
John and Jeremy had an uneventful drive to the London College of Finance. Initially, though, John had been somewhat taciturn. Jeremy had decided that it was best to take the bull by the horns. ‘What in particular do you dislike about spooks?’ he enquired.
‘Basically too bloody secretive by half and treat the rest of us as if we couldn’t run a frigging whelk stall.’
‘Fair point,’ said Jeremy. ‘Do me a favour; if you think I’m freezing you out then tell me… No excuses, but from time to time we have to watch our backs. Cock-ups put people like me in danger, so we can get a bit obsessive.’
John’s frostiness thawed as Jeremy brought him up to speed on Rafi and the leads that Kate’s team had uncovered.
They drew up in front of a smart, white, Georgian terrace and made for the vice chancellor’s office. The reception hall could have graced any palace. No expense had been spared – the crystal chandeliers, ornate ceiling cornices, the large, period, gilt-framed mirror, the old grandfather clock and an array of oil paintings gave an air of refinement.
John walked over to the reception desk. ‘The vice chancellor, please. He is expecting us.’
‘And you are?’
‘Detective Chief Inspector John Dowsing, Special Branch, City of London police.’
The smartly dressed, forty-something receptionist looked uncomfortably at John and imperceptibly squirmed in her seat. ‘Sir Gerald Staniland is rather busy at the moment. If you could please sit over there, I’ll find out when he can see you. Would you like a cup of tea or coffee while you wait?’
‘He is expecting us. How long do you think he might be?’John looked displeased. He didn’t like to be given the runaround.
‘I really can’t say. Unfortunately, he’s left strict instructions not to be disturbed and his meeting could go on for quite some time.’
‘Tell the vice chancellor we’re here and it’s not in his best interests to mess us around.’
The receptionist picked up the phone. ‘Margery, I’ve two policemen to see the VC. They don’t like being kept waiting. Can you help? Thank you. Gentlemen, if you could go upstairs Sir Gerald’s PA will look after you.’
Margery looked a formidable gatekeeper. Her anteroom dripped with antiques. John guessed that few students made it this far. He approached the ample, well-manicured PA.
‘Sir Gerald is expecting us,’ he announced waving his warrant card under Margery’s nose.
‘There may be a bit of a problem…’ she started.
‘Too bloody right! If he doesn’t see us here and now, he’ll spend the rest of the sodding afternoon in an interview room and he won’t be offered flaming tea and biscuits!’ exclaimed John.
Jeremy had moved in front of a pair of tall double doors. ‘This his office?’
‘You can’t go in.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jeremy as he opened the doors and beckoned John to follow him.
The vice chancellor’s office was huge. He was sitting behind an antique desk at one end of the room; in between him and the door was a set of comfortable-looking armchairs in front of an ornate fireplace to one side and, on the other side, a boardroom table which would not have looked out of place in the dining room of a stately home.
The VC looked up from his paperwork. ‘I’m busy, go away.’
Undeterred, John and Jeremy entered, closed the doors and walked towards him.
‘If you cooperate this won’t take long, or would you perhaps like to see where we work?’ said John.
Jeremy took up the running. ‘We’re here to get information on two of your former PhD students: Jameel Furud and Basel Talal. What can you tell us about them?’
The VC stalled. ‘When did they study here?’
‘About ten to fifteen years ago.’
‘Ah! We’ve a problem there – we archive most of our old student records; data protection and all that, you know. It doesn’t pay to get on the wrong side of the law.’ He looked at John over his half-moon glasses as if he were a student who had just had an appeal turned down.
‘We’ll come back to your former students in a moment. Tell us about the college’s PhD programme,’ said John.
‘We offer one of the largest PhD programmes in the field of Finance. The college takes on between fifteen and twenty-five new applicants each year. We have over 100 PhD students coming from more than fifteen countries.’
‘And how many non-EU students are there here?’ asked John.
‘Nearly 500 out of almost 850,’ came the reply.
‘So, roughly speaking, I guess your college earns, say,?10 million a year from its overseas students… And without them would it be fair to say that you wouldn’t have a business?’ enquired John.
‘Er… Yes, I suppose so, but that’s not relevant,’ snapped the VC.
Jeremy stepped forward. ‘It is, as I can arrange for the visas of all your non-EU students to be rescinded. It would take just one phone call.’
‘Who the ruddy hell do you think you are – barging in here, threatening me with something outside your powers? The City Police can’t take away visas.’
‘Correct,’ said Jeremy, ‘But MI5 can! Here’s my identification.’Jeremy flashed his warrant card under the VC’s nose.
‘Now let’s start again,’ said John.
‘What do you know about Drs. Furud and Talal?’
‘Nothing! Why do you ask me this banal question?’
‘OK your time is up,’ said John. ‘Gerald Staniland, I’m arresting you in connection with knowingly hindering police investigations into a terrorist activity. I must advise you that under the new anti-terrorism laws, you do not have the right to legal representation.’
A deep scowl came over the VC’s face. ‘It is Sir Gerald to you. And you have no right to accuse me of some trumped up charge. Get out of my office and don’t forget to close the doors behind you.’
‘You just don’t get it, do you? You’re implicated and in the proverbial shit.’
‘You can’t talk to me like that! Get out of here or I’ll call security and have you thrown out.’
‘Gerald Staniland, I have reason to believe your college is being used as a recruiting ground for terrorists and, should you be convicted, you will formally and publicly be stripped of your title by the Palace,’ said Jeremy. ‘John, pass me your handcuffs. If the bastard wants to play hardball, so be it; read him his rights and take him away.’
The VC’s confidence crumpled. His face turned ashen grey.
‘Alright, alright, I’ll help. Their files are in the registry building – next door. Margery knows where to find them.’ He picked up the phone.
Moments later Margery appeared at the door. ‘Vice chancellor?’
‘Please show these two gentlemen to the registry where the student files are kept.’
It was 7.20 p.m. on Wednesday evening, and it was all hands to the paperwork at Wood Street. Emma was busy printing out and collating all the documents coming in from MI5.
The door swung open. ‘My goodness, you’ve been busy,’ said Jeremy as he entered the room. ‘Where on earth did all this paper come from?’
He was followed by John, who looked equally surprised and impressed.
‘Had a useful time?’ asked Emma, trying to sound upbeat.
‘Too right,’ replied Jeremy beaming from ear to ear. ‘I reckon that the vice chancellor just aged a year or so, don’t you John?’
‘Well, he was being rather obstructive.’
‘OK, the suspense is killing us,’ said Emma, ‘what did you find out?’
‘We have three more names for you,’ replied John. ‘Jeremy has his colleagues at MI5 digging up as much as they can on them. Before we start briefing you, we’ve got a few things in our notes to sort out,’John shot a momentary look at Jeremy, who nodded. ‘Perhaps we could chat over a bite to eat in a few minutes?’
‘Pardon?’ said Kate.
‘Oh, we stopped off at Luigi’s and ordered a selection of things to keep us going – a sort of buffet supper. It should be here shortly,’ said Jeremy with a grin.
Minutes later the food arrived in reception. Jeremy and John deep in conversation, went off to collect it.
‘I’ve no idea what we’ve got here,’ remarked Jeremy as he came back in. ‘I hope you find something you like. Help your-selves. We’ve organised our notes. John, do you want to start or shall I?’
‘OK, I’ll go first. The vice chancellor we visited is living the life of Riley. He’s on a different planet,’ said John.
‘Lord Muck was well out of order. He tried to pretend he knew nothing. Didn’t take John seriously, refused to help. We sort of leant on him, didn’t we John?’ interjected Jeremy with a cheeky grin.
John quickly finished a mouthful of food. ‘Our two original suspects, Jameel Furud and Basel Talal were part of a clique of five students, who all frequented the same mosque. Sheikh Akram Tufayl and Miti Lakhani, an Asian-African were fellow PhD students and close friends. The fifth member was Maryam Vynckt, Basel Talal’s younger sister, who studied for a Masters in Law nearby.’
‘Bloody hell! I think she could be related to the Luxembourg financier that Callum visited just before he died,’ interrupted Rafi. ‘Sorry – do go on.’
‘We tracked down one of their contemporaries, Dr Mario Lutchins, who is now a senior lecturer at a business school in London. We dropped in to see him on our way back,’ said Jeremy, reaching over to help himself to more food, whilst John took up the running.
‘To cut a long story short, the VC is caught between a rock and a hard place. His problem is that Sheikh Tufayl makes a hefty donation of half a million pounds a year to the College, but there is a non-disclosure clause… The money stops if the sheikh’s name is made public. And without the money the VC’s lifestyle would go down the pan.’
It was now Jeremy’s turn. ‘These five individuals certainly made an impression on our Dr Lutchins, who at the time was going out with a secretary in the Faculty Office. Unfortunately for him, Jameel turned on the charm, had his way with her and then dumped her. Mario has never forgiven him and has since then taken a sinister interest in Jameel and his colleagues’ activities. He has been particularly helpful in filling in some of the gaps.’
Jeremy looked down at his notes. ‘Sheikh Tufayl was the man with the money. He had a lovely duplex flat in NW8 overlooking Regent’s Park. He led the high life.’
John continued while Jeremy took a mouthful of food. ‘The sheikh was outwardly religious, a driven man, always on the go. He was seriously wealthy, enjoyed a luxurious Western lifestyle, and thought studying for a PhD was a great way to live, particularly as it kept his father off his back. He liked to hypothesise and seemed to be more interested in the big picture side of things.’
John looked down at his notebook. ‘To quote Mario: The sheikh despised us for Iraq, disliked our meddling foreign policies. He thought the UK had become too soft and trusting and forgotten one of the key rules of economic and personal survival – when the chips are down, the oil-rich countries look after themselves. Or put another way – if a country runs out of energy, it is stuffed,’ John took another mouthful and nodded towards Jeremy.
‘The sheikh completed the last eighteen months of his PhD from his home in the Gulf, following his father’s death in a freak skiing accident,’ continued Jeremy. ‘A MI5 source tells me that he fell into a small ravine. The fall didn’t kill him, but he was injured sufficiently badly that he wasn’t able to climb out, and died from hypothermia… Sadly for him, his mobile phone’s battery was knackered. Sheikh Tufayl was on holiday with his father at the time.’
Jeremy looked at his notes. ‘Sheikh Tufayl took over the family business – or should I say, the oil wells. When the sheikh received his PhD two years later, the VC talked him into funding a high profile annual lecture… and the sheikh’s money started rolling into the College. The great and the good are invited to the lectures and to a sumptuous dinner afterwards at one of the finest City of London livery companies. The vice chancellor plans the lectures and dinners with military precision.’
‘Now let’s turn to the number two in the clique: Basel Talal,’ continued John. ‘According to Mario he was moderately wealthy by Arab standards – bloody rich by yours or mine – and lived within walking distance of the sheikh. He had an incisive but practical brain, and paid great attention to detail. He was an excellent manager and manipulator. According to Mario, Basel has been successful in the venture capital business, but keeps a surprisingly low profile. And Mario believes that Basel has a wealthy offshore backer… His guess is that the money comes from the sheikh.’
‘Oh, did we mention that Basel was the sheikh’s cousin?’ interjected Jeremy.
‘And now on to number three in the clique: your erstwhile boss Jameel Furud,’ continued John. ‘He was a close friend of the sheikh and his cousin, but lacked their money. He shared their interests in discussing economic strategies and how markets worked, and whether they could be manipulated. He loved the high life and his particular talent was his ability to charm the ladies. This talent went down especially well with the sheikh, who loved to party and to have a beautiful woman on his arm. After his PhD, Jameel spent time setting up and running a fund management business in the Gulf and looked after the sheikh’s newfound wealth. The business grew and moved to Zurich for a short while, before moving to London where it was rebranded as Prima Terra. Mario finds it strange that since his return to the UK, Jameel rarely promotes the fact that he has a PhD…’
‘I suppose he likes his wheeler-dealer image,’ said Rafi.
‘According to Mario the fourth member of the group was Maryam Talal, now Mrs Maryam Vynckt. She’s the younger sister of Basel and of course cousin to the sheikh,’ said John. ‘She read Law at Cambridge, followed by a two-year Master‘s in Law in London. Her masters dissertation was on: Cross border investment vehicles and cross border taxation. According to Mario, she an Eastern beauty and a fantastic linguist – she speaks most of the main European languages as if they were her native tongue.’
John looked at his notes. ‘Maryam worked for the international legal firm Tollemarsh Ruddock and Leveritt in the City where she specialised in corporate acquisitions. There she renewed her acquaintance with Mr Hubert Vynckt – he’d read Business Administration at the Judge Institute and had been in the same Cambridge University college as her. Hubert’s family investment business, CPR Investment Funds, became a big client of hers.’
‘John, you’re losing out on the food,’ commented Jeremy. ‘Let me do the next bit. Maryam, visited Hubert frequently and then Hubert made Maryam an offer she couldn’t refuse: to head up his private clients division and a wedding ring. They married and she moved to Luxembourg. Then, out of the blue, her division was bought by the Gulf Trade Bank. Maryam, is CEO, of the merged private clients departments and now works from the Bank’s headquarters in the Gulf and from its offices in Luxembourg, which are in the same building as Hubert’s CPR Investment Funds.’
Rafi sat bolt upright. ‘Oh yes! I really do bet Callum met her.’
‘OK, I’ll get that checked out,’ said Jeremy.
‘According to Mario,’ said John, ‘the Gulf Trade Bank is part of the sheikh’s business empire and that the bank’s acquisition of Hubert’s private clients division was the sheikh’s way of ensuring that Maryam was close by… Ah yes, I nearly forgot. Mario says that Maryam is the most driven of the clique.’
‘That leaves us with the last member: Miti Lakhani,’ said Jeremy. ‘He struggled to make ends meet whilst in London. It seems that the money was there but his father wanted his son to work and not play and so kept Miti on a tight financial rein. Unfortunately, after five years he went home to Mogadishu with an MPhil and not the expected PhD. It seems he drew the short straw, in that his supervisor was more interested in his consultancy work than tending to his academic flock… Miti’s family owns a thriving import/export business based in Sudan and Somalia. Mario reckons they also own a lot of land there.’
‘Now for the scary bit,’ said John looking at his notes. ‘To quote Mario, In a crazier world, the PhD dissertations of Tufayl, Talal and Furud, when put together, could be viewed as the instruction kit for building a financial atomic bomb…’
Kate, who up to this point had been listening quietly and intently, suddenly sat up and took notice. ‘Explain, please.’
‘Rafi knows more about these things than I do,’ said Jeremy. ‘If I read out the dissertation titles, perhaps Rafi can explain? Sheikh Tufayl started his on: Sovereign credit ratings and public sector debt, but amended it after his mid-stage viva to: The impact of energy shortages on the financial markets. Basel Talal’s thesis was on: The identification of business failure and contagion in finance, insurance and banking sectors. He looked mainly at the reasons why these businesses got into financial trouble and the ripple effects that this could cause.’
Jeremy looked at Rafi. ‘Does that make sense?’
Rafi nodded.
‘Jameel Furud’s thesis,’ Jeremy continued hesitantly, reading carefully from his notes, was on: The risks of financial products in destabilised markets. His thesis considered whether it was possible for a significant number of small items to go below the risk management radar screen, with the consequence that if the markets took a plunge one or more institutions might become insolvent.’
‘I agree with Mario,’ said Rafi, ‘If one puts the three theses together – energy shortages, with business failure and large losses in the derivative markets – it makes for a very volatile and potentially dangerous cocktail.’
Emma and Kate looked concerned. Emma was about to say something when John carried on. ‘Oh… I quite forgot. We spotted that two of the PhDs had dedications. The sheikh’s dissertation was dedicated to Yousif and Basel’s to Khalid. MI5 are trying to find out who they might be,’ said John.
Wisps of ideas were swirling around inside Rafi’s head. They did not paint a reassuring picture. The bombing was only a distraction. Jameel and his associates were after a far larger target.
Sensing Rafi was deep in thought, Kate stepped in. ‘Thank you both. That was an extremely useful synopsis! You did well to find Mario. We’re fortunate that he took such a keen interest in the group.’
‘All thanks to Jameel’s fling with his girlfriend!’ said Emma.
Kate ignored her comment. ‘I reckon you’ve found us our ringleaders. I’m uncertain where Miti fits in, though. Thank you both. Any questions?’
‘I’ve one,’ said Emma. ‘Where is the vice chancellor now?’
‘I have arranged for him to spend a few days enjoying the hospitality of MI5… As we couldn’t trust him to keep his mouth shut,’ added Jeremy. ‘His PA overheard John and I talking. We let her think that we’d charged him for molesting one of his daughter’s underage friends. You should have seen his face when the squad car arrived to take him away. Serves him right!’
‘I have a big problem,’ said Kate. ‘I worry that this is all too circumstantial. Are we going in the right direction, given the starting point of the Bishopsgate bombing? Shouldn’t we be looking at other scenarios? Though I’ll be damned if I know what they might be.’
John looked at her in a reassuring way. ‘Kate, by all means keep an open mind and if another scenario comes along, use my team downstairs to work on it. But for now, you must run with what you’ve got.’
‘Emma and Rafi, keep researching the companies,’ instructed Kate. ‘John, Jeremy and I will focus on the individuals involved. Let’s touch base in an hour’s time.’
Emma pushed her chair across to Rafi’s desk. ‘Can we go back a step? Is Prima Terra valuable?’
‘Yep,’ replied Rafi. ‘Something like?1.5 billion.’
‘And the ultimate owner of Prima Terra is the sheikh?’
‘Yes, I now believe so.’
‘So if the sheikh is willing to jeopardise Prima Terra and as a consequence lose an investment worth many hundreds of millions of pounds… He must be confident of making a great deal of money from whatever he is planning to do.’
‘And as I see it,’ said Rafi, ‘The two dodgy companies that Callum found plus the venture capital business are too small to make the sort of returns they’ll need.’
Emma frowned.
Rafi could almost see the cogs going round in her mind.
‘If one takes their PhD topics and then add in Jameel Furud and Maryam Vynckt’s expertise and financial clout… I’d put my money on the terrorists targeting the derivatives markets,’ said Emma.
‘I agree… If they could find a way to make the markets crash, they could then walk away with shed loads of money,’ added Rafi with a large yawn.
‘Precisely,’ continued Emma, ‘And there must be enough dishonest international bankers out there who – for a fee – would provide a front for dubious derivatives trading. And it would be practically impossible for the authorities to track down where the profits went – let alone get them back again!’
‘OK, so the terrorists will want to give the market a fright,’ started Rafi. He was about to say something more, but was interrupted by a series of large yawns.
‘You look dead on your feet,’ said Emma.
Kate looked across at Rafi. ‘Time for you to take a nap I reckon.’
Rafi stifled another yawn and nodded.
‘Follow me.’ She led him down to the basement cells, with a blanket over his head. When they reached their destination, she picked up a second blanket and a pillow and ushered him into a cell.
‘Not five-star accommodation, but at least it’s quiet. I’ll come back and get you in a couple of hours. I’m sorry but I need to lock you in, otherwise the duty policeman might investigate.’ The door swung shut behind her.
Rafi climbed onto the hard bed and pulled the blankets over him – a few seconds later he was sound asleep.
The next thing Rafi knew, Kate was standing over him.
‘Come on sleepyhead, time to get up.’
He followed her back to the office. On his desk was a cup of steaming hot black coffee; next to it was a large pile of papers.
‘I thought you might like to get your teeth into the accounts of the companies financed by the venture capital business. Let me know if you spot anything out of the ordinary,’ said Kate.
‘Will do,’ replied Rafi, picking up the first set of accounts.
A couple of hours later Rafi was hunched over his desk hard at work – the clock on the wall showed WED 21:15.
‘Anyone else found an Estonian connection?’ called out Rafi. ‘The security business has an activity there. It’s in the fine print in their accounts, under currency exchange rates.’
Emma rifled through a stack of papers. ‘Hold on a minute… Yup… The fish processing business has the same!’
‘Good work, you two.’ Kate picked up her phone. ‘Let’s see if David has any Estonian contacts… Good evening David… How do I find a police or security services contact who we can trust in Estonia? There’s some digging that we need done and quickly.’
‘That’s a good one,’ came the reply. The speakerphone went quiet for a moment. ‘If you go to my office… You know where the keys to my filing cabinet are, don’t you…? Go to the second drawer down; near the back is a folder marked EU Money Laundering and Illegal Trade Conference. At the front you’ll find a business card stapled to a sheet of paper – Colonel Hendrik Matlik. He is one of their top dogs in their Security Police. Give him a ring and say that you’re working with me and that you could do with some help. On first impressions he comes across as very severe, but underneath he’s a huge teddy bear. He’s a real five-star compatriot, very proud of his country joining the EU and is determined to keep organised crime out. Oh yes, and remember to send my love to his daughter, Kristina. She must be at university now… Also ask him to ring you back on a secure line – he’ll appreciate that! Good luck.’
A couple of minutes later, Kate returned with the business card – “Colonel Hendrik Matlik, Kaitsepolitseiamet”. On the reverse was the English translation – “Estonian Security Police”. ‘There’s a direct line number. Excellent!’
It was 9.40 p.m. in the UK and 10.40 p.m. in Tallinn. As Kate dialled the number, she wondered whether there would be anyone in the office.
‘Halloo, tere ohtust.’
Kate raised her eyebrows. ‘Do you speak English?’
‘Of course.’
Kate breathed a sigh of relief. ‘Could I please speak to Colonel Hendrik Matlik?’
‘Do you know what time it is?’ came the reply.
‘Yes, I must apologise, but it’s important that I speak to him.’
‘Can I say who is calling?’
‘Detective Inspector Kate Adams, I’m a colleague of Chief Superintendent David Pryke, City of London Police.’
‘Thank you.’
The phone went silent. The wait seemed to go on for ages. Then a deep voice came on the line.
‘Hello, Matlik here.’
‘Good evening,’ said Kate, ‘My boss, David Pryke, suggested I called you as he believes you might be able to help us. Oh, and he sends his kind regards to Kristina.’
‘Is it essential that I should help… Now?’
‘Yes, please,’ replied Kate. ‘We’re investigating the Bishopsgate police station bombing and a follow-up terrorist attack.’
‘I read of that atrocity; please pass my condolences to David,’ said the colonel.
‘Could you ring me back on a secure line?’ requested Kate.
There was a loud chuckle from the other end of the phone, which turned into a laugh. ‘I’m going to like working with you.’
Kate looked blankly at the phone and wondered how David knew her comment would tickle the colonel’s sense of humour.
‘No need to worry about the phone line. As one of the bosses of the KAPO my line is secure and before you were put through my office traced your call back to Wood Street police station. Isn’t technology wonderful? How can I be of assistance?’
Kate told the colonel of her pressing need for information on two UK companies with operations in Tallinn and gave him the name and Tallinn address of a former director, Pinja Koit. ‘We sense time is against us. At the moment we’ve identified a network of companies that seem to be involved.’
‘I’ll see what I can do to help and get back to you first thing in the morning. If you want to reach me, I’ll be on the number you phoned.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kate, hanging up.
‘While you were on the other line, the commissioner phoned,’ said Emma. ‘John’s now formally on our team. He said we could do with his experience and low cunning.’
John smiled and nodded. ‘Pleased to help.’
‘And we’ve also co-opted Peter Ashby from Traffic. He’s to be our gofer.’
The phone rang – it was reception for Jeremy. ‘OK,’ he said, ‘I’ll be down straight away.’
He was soon back, clutching bags filled with steaming cups of coffee and delicious-looking Italian cakes. ‘With Luigi’s compliments,’ he smiled as he passed the coffee around.
Emma looked across at Jeremy. ‘But we only had our supper a few hours ago. When will your obsession with food calm down?’
‘This is the afters! Who was it that said: An army marches on its stomach?’
‘Napoleon?’ ventured Emma, pleased to have answered before Kate.
‘Precisely. I asked Luigi to prepare us something to keep us going, in case we begin to flag. It’s going to be a very long night. And you try living off crap for two months and see if you can keep away from good food.’
‘Point taken,’ said Kate. ‘Now we have Rafi back with us, it would be a good moment to pull together all we’ve been doing over the past four or five hours, so that we can keep an eye on the big picture and make sure we aren’t going off on a wild goose chase. OK, who wants to start?’
‘I will,’ said John. ‘My team downstairs has been helping me with the terrorists’ public sector services businesses. They are investigating exactly what they do and who they employ. Thankfully, as incorporated limited partnerships, their businesses have to be registered at Companies House.’John paused and looked at his notes. ‘The scale of these activities is downright impressive or, from our perspective, very scary! Their empire comprises numerous operations: security for police cells -and includes Paddington Green. They also operate prisons, schools and hospitals. They have a number of soft facilities management contracts for the Home Office and the Foreign Office. And through a spider’s web of connected limited partnerships they employ over 200,000 people!’
‘Wow, that is impressive.’ exclaimed Kate. ‘What are their finances like?’
‘They’re sailing very close to the wind. They’ve got massive debts, and carry unlimited liability if things go wrong,’ replied John.
‘So if we take Jeremy’s line that the terrorists will be in destruction mode, this public sector business of theirs is a house of cards?’ asked Kate.
‘Precisely,’ said John. ‘And it wouldn’t be difficult to make it collapse.’
‘And if it did go bust?’ asked Kate.
‘It would leave one hell of a mess across the public sector!’John took a slurp of his coffee. ‘My team has also come up with another angle. With the help of Companies House we’ve drawn up a list of all the people who sit on the management boards of these limited liability partnerships. Several of the names are very interesting. There are a couple of politicians and some professional advisers to Government departments! I have given Jeremy’s colleagues the full list of names to see what they can make of it.’
‘Oh, I almost forgot to say,’ added John. ‘We had a look at where else they operate. One of their businesses provides the guards to the garage at Bishopsgate police station! MI5 has traced their security man, who was away from his post at the time of the bombing. He’s now on holiday in Spain and, rumour has it, he’s buying a villa out there!
‘I’ve passed our preliminary findings to the commissioner and he’s briefing all his opposite numbers that their security may be compromised and that they have to keep this under wraps. So far he hasn’t spoken to the Government departments, given the number of politicians and special advisers that seem to be on the terrorists’ payroll, innocently or otherwise.’
The atmosphere in the room had perceivably cooled. Kate finally broke the silence. ‘Who would like to go next?’
‘MI5 has found another link between Jameel Furud and Basel Talal,’ said Jeremy. They are trustees of a charity, which works with a number of high profile companies, and sponsors students undertaking voluntary work in Africa. It’s not a big enterprise. MI5 are looking into how the airline tickets are booked and where the students have worked.’
‘My team has also been looking into their fish processing business,’ continued John. ‘It’s a substantial business and a nicely profitable one at that. It operates a fleet of trawlers out of the UK and Estonia, which gives them a base close to the old Soviet Bloc.’
Kate looked thoughtfully at John. ‘Their fishing boats could provide a means of moving things and people in and out of the UK… We should locate all of their trawlers…’
‘We are already on to it,’ said John. ‘On the internet there are lists of EU trawlers. The information includes lots of details on each vessel and who owns them – shown by port…’
‘Can I make an observation?’ interrupted Rafi. ‘I’m thinking practicalities. We’re talking in terms of trawlers being used to get people in and out of the UK. I agree with their usefulness for getting things in, but I’ve a problem with using them for an exit… Wouldn’t they be too slow?’
‘I agree,’ said John. ‘How about they use them just to get the terrorists out of UK territorial waters? Thereafter, I personally would want something much faster to whisk me away.’
‘That’s a good point John; make sure that we pick it up when we discuss the terrorists’ exit strategy in more detail.’ Kate paused. ‘Where have we got to on the property front?’
‘Emma and I were wondering whether they might use one or more of their properties to support potential terrorist attacks,’ said Rafi. ‘Just imagine how much easier it would be to attack something from a secure, nearby property over which you have complete control. And if one takes PREH’s full name – Prime Real Estate Holdings – literally, their portfolio should comprise property investments of institutional quality. Ergo, the properties should be in prime locations. The list of property addresses from the company’s mortgage register runs to three pages and, among those, I’ve identified four properties which look distinctly out of place…’ Rafi studied his scribbled notes. ‘A retail park on the outskirts of Peterhead and three industrial estates in: Prestwick, North Walsham and Hartlepool. I’ve given Emma the addresses. She’s seeing whether they’re near any potential targets.’
‘Why do you think that?’ enquired John. ‘Surely that’s a bit over the top. These days a plain van suffices for most purposes, so who needs properties?’
Emma raised her head from the screen of her PC; her face was sombre. ‘What if one of the properties overlooked a nuclear power station – would that change your view?’
‘Oh shit, yes!’ replied John.
‘Well, at a first glance, the Hartlepool property is bang next to the nuclear power station. If you follow the energy theme,’ continued Emma, ‘The North Walsham property is only a stone’s throw away from the huge gas terminal at Bacton. Peterhead is one of the major Scottish fishing ports and it’s close to another gas facility at St Fergus… Which is vast. The fourth property is next to Prestwick airport and is not that far from Hunterston nuclear power station.’
A shocked silence fell over the room. It was broken by Jeremy who spoke to John. ‘Remember when we chatted to Mario about the PhD dissertations?’
‘Bloody hell! Yes. Energy targets would fit.’
‘How’s about we get a large map, plus several sheets of acetate which can be laid over it with the locations of the properties? We can add the other items as we come across them. For example, Emma will soon have the ports that the trawlers are operating out of and the list of key energy installations.’
‘We can do better than that,’ added Kate. ‘Let’s borrow the touch screen monitor and the computer with mapping software from downstairs.’
‘Great idea,’ said Emma, ‘I’ll sort it.’
Rafi felt shattered. It was well after midnight. Sleep deprivation was closing in on him. Slumped over his desk, something nagged at him. On the one hand, his brain told him it needed to turn off; on the other hand, a thought was niggling at him – he felt sure there was something obvious he’d missed. He would reread the property company’s accounts and then get some sleep.
He opened up the accounts for the current and previous years; some sections had scanned badly. He found the note on properties in both sets of accounts. They were not very clear. Rafi took out a blank sheet of paper and started to decipher what was written there. He picked out the word external and a word beginning with valu… It was as if someone had let off a firecracker behind him. He sat bolt upright. His tiredness evaporated. Of course, how bloody stupid of him! The accounting standards required property companies to have annual revaluations of their assets.
He called across to Kate. ‘There’s an external valuer out there with the full details of all the properties in the portfolio. Sorry I’ve been a right idiot not to have thought of this earlier.’ He was annoyed by his elementary slip-up. The nagging feeling had stopped and abject tiredness took over.
‘I’m off to get some shut-eye, before I keel over. Kate could you arrange for me to be woken first thing, please?’
‘Will do. Sleep well.’
Rafi slept soundly. By 6.40 a.m. he was back at his desk with a steaming cup of strong coffee, wondering what Thursday might bring. First, he rechecked the web to see if he had missed anything on PREH, the terrorists’ property investment company. There was little there to help him. His next task was to find the elusive property valuers and quickly. He was pleased that PREH used an external and not an independent valuer. The latter would be difficult to track down quickly as it could have no dealings with the company other than undertaking its valuations. In contrast, an external valuer could undertake other work for the company, and their property lettings, buying or selling work would, with any luck, be recorded on one of the specialist property databases. Rafi realised this was where he had to look. The cynic in him surmised that PREH’s external valuers would be rewarded with excellent fees for their non-valuation work.
He shouted across to Kate and Emma. ‘As a matter of urgency, we need a contact at a commercial property agent who will do a search of their property databases for us. Do you know anyone? Unfortunately, I now can’t trust any of my contacts.’
Kate shook her head.
‘Would the commissioner be able to help?’ asked Rafi.
‘More than likely,’ said Kate. ‘I’ll give him a call.’
A couple of minutes later she had the name and mobile number of a Mr Perryman: a director at a major international property agent. Kate smiled. ‘The commissioner hopes that this individual will be more cooperative than the vice chancellor!’ she said as she dialled the number and was put through to voicemail. She left a message asking whoever picked it up to return the call as quickly as possible.
Kate hung up, then rang back and spoke to the receptionist. It transpired that there was no one in from Mr Perryman’s team. The receptionist promised to get the first one who came in to ring her.
Ten minutes later Kate received a call from Mr Perryman’s personal assistant: Pam Blake. Kate introduced herself.
‘Could I speak to Mr Perryman?’
‘I’m afraid not; he’s on his way to a property inspection.’
‘I have a problem and was wondering whether you might be able to help. What I am about to tell you is in strictest confidence.’
‘I understand.’
‘We’re investigating a serious crime; my commissioner advises me that your boss is the man to help us access your databases. We could do with his help, now, please!’
‘Leave it to me; I’ll contact Mr Perryman and ask for his permission to help you.’
Only a few minutes later, Pam was back on the phone to Kate.
‘I have confirmation that I may help you – within reasonable bounds, of course.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘May I email you a list of the addresses? What I need,’ she looked down at Rafi’s scribbled note, ‘Are the printouts from your in-house database, Focus and EGi giving details of which agents have done deals at these addresses in the past four years. Could you do this as a matter of urgency?’
‘Of course! I’ll get Mr Perryman’s colleague, Justin Smith, to run the searches. As luck would have it he’s just walked in the door.’
‘Will you please advise Mr Smith that this information isn’t to be discussed with any of his colleagues. When he’s printed it out, I’d be most grateful if you’d ring me so that I can arrange for it to be picked up. If there’s going to be a delay, could you please let me know?’
‘Will do.’
‘Thank you, Pam.’
‘My pleasure.’
Kate turned to Rafi. ‘This has all happened so fast. Remind me what precisely you are looking for? And what are Focus and EGi?’
‘If we can find the external valuer, we can get hold of the property portfolio valuation report. I’ve a feeling it’ll show properties which are not on the mortgage register and which could be part of the terrorist plans. Focus and EGi are the two huge online databases that property agents use to find information on deals done, amongst other things.’
‘Thanks… If it helps us find more properties, it seems like a good call,’ said Kate.
Kate took a call from Colonel Matlik. ‘Good morning colonel. Your timing is perfect; David has just walked into the room. Let me put you on the speakerphone.’
‘Hello David,’ said the distinctive voice of Colonel Matlik.
‘Good to hear you again,’ replied David.
‘I was so sorry to hear of the deaths of your colleagues; rest assured we are leaving no stone unturned at this end,’ said the colonel. ‘And we are treating your request on a strictly need-to-know basis, as asked.’
‘Thank you.’
‘Regarding the security business; initially we were unable to find any link to them, but the name you gave us is very interesting. Mr Koit was well-connected and very wealthy. He had a shadowy past. The FSB – Russian Federal Security Service – had been keeping an eye on him. They tell me that he was killed in a private plane crash several months ago and that he had some very unsavoury connections with people from Chechnya. Through Mr Koit we have traced a local company specialising in executive training in guns and personal security. They are based deep in the countryside, twenty kilometres from Tallinn. I have sent two of my officers undercover to see what is there.’
‘Excellent,’ said David.
‘I have also been looking into their fishing activities. Your terrorists operate two trawlers, and it seems that they have quite a set-up in Tallinn. I have spoken to a tax inspector and asked him to look at their books. He knows nothing of our suspicions. In one hour’s time he will be paying their warehouse in the docks a visit. Two of my operatives are tagging along to have a proper look around.’ A deep chuckle echoed down the phone line.
The colonel hesitated. ‘What worries me is that they aren’t showing the telltale signs of an Al Qaeda cell, but those of a very professional organisation which uses experts rather than recently trained recruits.’
There was a pause. ‘My team monitors the activities of Russian investors and mafia. This creates tension from time to time with the Russian FSB, but as there is a Chechen connection they’re being most cooperative. Oh, by the way, our laws prohibit us from using phone taps unless we have a court order from a judge. A colleague will petition the judge as soon as the court opens this morning. I’ll let you know if they produce anything useful.’
‘Thank you,’ said David. ‘By the way, how’s Kristina – is she enjoying university?’
‘Yes, thank you. When all this is over you must come and visit us. We will talk again soon.’
The speakerphone went silent.
David turned to Kate. ‘Kristina is his only daughter; his wife was killed by a car bomb meant for the colonel several years ago. It seems that he upset some people in the Russian mafia who were trying to set up business in Tallinn. He’s a driven man, determined to right the wrong of his wife’s death. Heaven help any terrorist who crosses his path. We couldn’t ask for a better ally.’
It was 7.45 a.m. when Giles arrived for his morning briefing. He indicated to Kate that she should make a start.
‘Commissioner, we’ve uncovered a large amount of background material which indicates that the terrorists are thinking big. As the financial markets are involved we believe that the attacks will be sooner than later; probably a matter of days, certainly not weeks.’
‘Kate, it does no harm to work to a short timescale, but be very, very careful not to overlook critical pieces of information in your quest for speed.’ The commissioner glanced up and looked at the others. ‘Is that noted?’
‘Yes, sir,’ they chorused.
‘What investigations are ongoing?’ enquired Giles.
‘We have a number of balls up in the air, sir,’ replied Kate. ‘The Estonian Security Service is investigating the terrorists’ activities on a firing range outside Tallinn, an Estonian import/export business and their fishing business there. Emma is researching the whereabouts of the terrorists’ trawler fleet, as we believe that they may use it as part of their exit strategy.
‘Rafi,’ continued Kate, ‘is working on the property angle to see how many of the properties the terrorists own are close to likely targets. John and his team are working with MI5 to unravel the terrorists’ sizeable public sector businesses. This is proving to be an unexpectedly large project. They’re working on the list of its public sector contracts and the senior people on their payroll. The list is long and the names include a couple of Members of Parliament and many very well-connected people. This causes MI5 and us major concerns. Our investigations could be set back if one of these people learned of what we are doing and tipped off the terrorist leaders.’
David and Giles nodded. Kate continued, ‘Also, Jeremy has received confirmation that Callum’s last meeting was with one of the suspected ring leaders: Maryam Vynckt. She’s a director at Gulf Trade Bank and is ideally placed to move money around unseen, offshore.’
Giles turned to David. ‘We’ve got a meeting with the London anti-terrorist committee at 12 o’clock. They’re still convinced that the next attacks will target public places: airports, underground trains, stations, and the like. We’ll have to break cover soon or else we’ll be in deep s h one t, if events conspire against us.’
‘Kate, how much longer before we have a clearer picture of what they’re targeting?’ asked the commissioner.
‘Sir, one of our lines of thinking is that they could use their property portfolio as the base for attacks on energy installations. Rafi believes their aim is also to crash the financial markets and in the process make a fortune in the derivatives markets. They’re thinking big, as they seem willing to throw away Prima Terra which is worth around?1.5 billion, and we reckon that they’ve invested a couple of years in planning these attacks.’ Kate paused. ‘We also think that they’ll pull the rug from under their public sector company and all in all give the Government a particularly bloody nose.’
‘Surely you’re exaggerating the position, aren’t you?’ asked David.
‘Well, no, I’m afraid not; in fact, as things stand I’d be willing to bet a year’s salary on this hunch,’ said Rafi.
‘Do, please, keep me informed. See where you’ve got to at 2.00 p.m. David and I will make a decision on who to inform at that point.’
‘Could I make a request?’ ventured Rafi.
‘What is it?’ enquired David.
‘I think we need an expert to see what Jameel and his colleagues have been up to in the derivatives markets.’
David looked across at Rafi. ‘Do you know a suitably qualified person?’
‘Yes, sir.’
Jeremy, who had been sitting quietly, spoke up. ‘Seems straightforward enough – you name him, I get him, problem solved.’
‘Agreed,’ said the commissioner. ‘Please see to it as soon as we finish this meeting.’
The two senior officers stood up to leave. ‘We’ll be close at hand should you require any, and I repeat, any assistance,’ said Giles. ‘All this station’s resources are at your disposal -just ask.’
‘As are all those of my colleagues,’ added Jeremy.
The meeting was over.