Kate sat at her desk hoping beyond all hope that crucial missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle would start falling into place. Her instincts as a detective told her that her investigation was perilously poised. Rafi and Aidan’s reading of the position could all be a horrendous miscalculation and if their scenario was wrong, she would not only look a real idiot, but…
Jeremy’s phone rang, interrupting Kate’s thoughts. John picked up the call and put it on speakerphone. It was a call from Gareth, in Iceland. ‘How’s tricks? Sorry, Jeremy’s out at the moment.’
‘It’s brass monkeys here! And there’s no daylight!’ came the reply. ‘Got a nice hotel, though I’m not certain if I go a bundle on the cod liver oil or the roast puffin. What the heck! At least the locals are hospitable. I’ve hooked up with the Vikingasveitin, their Viking Squad, who seem to be a cross between our MI5 and the SAS. We’ve been inspecting all the shipyards and boatyards around Reykjavik – said it was a health and safety check. We just hit the bullseye at the last boatyard. There was a large yellowhulled motorboat on a slipway, inside the big boat shed. Didn’t look anything like the picture I got of Flying Goddess; they have altered her superstructure and given her a new colour to go with her new name: Golden Sundancer. I spotted Talal inspecting the boat with a geezer wearing a captain’s hat. We didn’t want to tip Talal off, so I’ve backed off.’
‘Good news that you’ve found Talal,’ said John.
Kate called across, ‘Any chance you could find out exactly what work the boatyard has done to her?’
‘While Talal is in there, I can’t just walk in and chat to the boatyard manager,’ replied Gareth. ‘It would be too obvious. As we speak, I am standing outside, waiting to see when they leave, which is why I’m so frigging cold.’
‘Rather you than me! But that’s great work – do keep in touch,’ said John replacing the receiver.
‘Now we’ve found Talal and the sheikh’s yacht, what we could do with knowing is when it’s due to leave,’ said Kate.
‘I’ve an idea,’ interjected Emma. ‘If I could borrow Aidan for a few minutes and if the people at the Icelandic boatyard speak English, it might work.’
‘What do you have in mind?’ asked Kate.
‘Well… Aidan is the type of guy who could afford a boat like Golden Sundancer. If he had a contact suggesting the Reykjavik yard… And he then asks the yard manager about the cost of some work on his boat… Hopefully the manager will be interested in new business and won’t consider questions linked to his last four or five fit-outs as suspicious.’
‘Good idea,’ said Kate, before adding, ‘John, see if you can get the contact details of the yacht broker – Jeremy’s journalist friend, Pete, has been using.’
‘No problems.’
Several minutes later, after a tortuous phone call, John had the broker’s name and phone number. ‘My God, that was like drawing teeth,’ he complained. ‘Journalists are too darn protective of their sources for their own good.’
Emma took the piece of paper from Jeremy and dialled the yacht broker’s number. ‘Hello, I wonder if you could help me. I’m the personal assistant of Aidan Gilchrist, of Maine Leadbetter, international financiers in the City of London. My boss tells me that you’re the agents to speak to concerning the purchase of a large powerboat… Good, good, thank you. Could you please give me the details of what you have on your books in the €3 million price bracket? If possible located in Scandinavia, which is where his partner is from… I should mention that he’s thinking in terms of spending a tidy sum on getting the boat refitted to her taste – lucky lady!’ Emma chuckled. ‘Yes, I can give you some contact details… My boss is a bit impatient. Could you perhaps fax me something at your earliest convenience? Within the next ten minutes would be great. Thank you.’
As good as his word, within five minutes the yacht broker had faxed through the details of three stunning motor yachts, ranging from twenty to thirty metres in length with prices between €2 million and €3.5 million.
Aidan, briefed by Emma, picked up the phone and spoke to the Reykjavik boatyard. One could see very quickly why Aidan was a top financial dealer. He oozed charm, but came quickly to the point. It didn’t take long before the boatyard manager was chatting openly and describing the boats they’d worked on.
‘So, have you refitted anything seriously fast?’ enquired Aidan.
‘Yes,’ came the reply.
‘Excellent.’ And before Aidan could ask, the shipyard manager helpfully proceeded to give a lengthy description of what they’d done to a Sunseeker Predator 75. ‘She’s had a complete refit; new colour to the hull. We installed long-range fuel tanks, upgraded the engines and the air-conditioning, done work to the bridge and superstructure to make the vessel more comfortable in inclement seas and installed a de-icing kit to help her with the local weather. Basically we’ve enabled the boat to go virtually anywhere at any time of the year,’ said the manager proudly.
‘Did you do any work to the interior?’
‘Not much needed – we did put in a couple of very large ice boxes.’
Aidan cut to the chase. ‘Thank you. My brokers and I are looking at…,’ he hesitated and picked one of the details of the boats in front of him at random, then continuing almost seamlessly, ‘A seventy-foot motor vessel, currently moored in Sweden. She’ll need her engines reconditioning and my partner doesn’t like the colours of the state room or the master bedroom. How soon could you start work on her? I’m thinking of putting in a bid this afternoon – subject to survey, of course.’
Aidan paused and listened to the shipyard manager, and then said, ‘Oh that would be excellent. You say that the works to Golden Sundancer are completed, yes? So you can start as soon as my boat can be delivered?’
Aidan drew breath. ‘My partner, Johanna, is rather particular. Would it possible for her to fly over, say, tomorrow or the next day to see the quality of your work on the Sunseeker 75?’
He paused again. ‘Oh that is a shame – she’ll be disappointed that Golden Sundancer is putting to sea later this evening. Thank you very much for your time though, you’ve been most helpful. I have your name and contact details, so I’ll ring again on Monday to discuss the refit works.’
With that Aidan gently replaced the receiver, stood up and bowed to a round of applause from Emma.
‘Good work – no – excellent work,’ said a smiling Emma. ‘I knew you could do it. So we now know that the sheikh’s boat is leaving within the next twelve hours.’
Emma did some mental arithmetic. ‘That would tie in with a possible rendezvous with the trawler from Peterhead – off the north coast of Scotland tomorrow night.’
‘Time is running out,’ said Kate. ‘We have got to find the missing locations and the people who are going to fire the missiles.’
Emma walked casually over to Aidan’s desk. ‘I didn’t realise you had a partner.’
‘Ah well, I can be rather deceptive.’
‘You can say that again,’ said Emma, looking a little crestfallen.
Aidan smiled. ‘No you have got it wrong; it is my partner that’s the deception.’
Emma brightened visibly.
‘Emma, I have a problem,’ said Aidan, changing the subject. ‘I could do with some more space. I was wondering if you could help. I’ve printed out the vast majority of the contract notes and I’m swamped with paper!’ He flashed one of his charming smiles in her direction. ‘Any bright ideas where I could go?’
Emma muttered something under her breath which Kate didn’t catch.
‘Thanks,’ said Aidan. ‘But, I need to find a large table or floor: somewhere where I can lay out all this bumph,’ he said, pointing to the piles of paper stacked on and around his desk. ‘I’m almost there, but the lack of space is slowing me down.’
Kate stood up. ‘You two follow me. Pass me some papers to carry.’ They left the room weighed down with printouts.
Kate and Emma returned a couple minutes later to collect the remaining paperwork. ‘We’ve put him in the commissioner’s conference room and asked Beverley to keep an eye on him and to top him up with coffee. The commissioner is out, so he should get some peace and quiet,’ said Kate.
Half an hour later Aidan called Emma. He sounded pleased. ‘Could you, Rafi and Kate come up to look at a few things, please?’
They walked into the commissioner’s conference room and saw it was now almost entirely covered with paper – not just the large oval table but also the chairs, which had been pushed against the walls, and the carpet as well.
‘Thanks for coming.’ Aidan greeted them with a grin. ‘What do you think? Look at all the Post-its Beverley’s given me.’
Emma looked around the room; each pile had a Post-it.
‘Is this entire lot colour-coded?’ enquired Emma.
‘Yep. It hasn’t taken nearly as long as I thought it would. I’ve categorised the contract notes, by colour, into various different types of deal. Things are falling into place,’ he said to Emma. ‘Rafi’s hunch is right: there’s definitely something afoot. Let me summarise where I’ve got to. I’ve been focusing on the long gilt contracts. The trades, individually, are modest in size, but when put together it’s a different matter. Someone has been position building for several weeks. I started with my book at Maine Leadbetter. There are six investors writing – that is selling – put contracts. On the other side of these transactions, Prima Terra have been buying via an offshore account. I then looked at deals done by other brokers and I’ve been able to piece together a relatively complete picture. The other players buying the put positions are using intermediaries, mainly second or third division international banks.’
John stuck his head around the corner of the door. ‘I thought that you might be up to something.’
‘Come on in,’ said Aidan with a smile. ‘I’ve identified a number of investors whose exposures could lead to huge losses,’ he said, pointing to the various piles strewn over the conference room table with pink Post-its. We’ve two building societies, two insurance companies, one local authority and one metropolitan authority… All have been investing the wrong way around: they should be buyers of these put contracts, not selling them! They have increased their risk exposure exponentially. Darn strange, darn silly and darn dangerous!’
‘Their risk management systems should have picked this up, unless the contracts were booked in a hidden holding account,’ continued Aidan. ‘If they were, no one other than the dealers would be aware of the positions. The expectation would be that they would be traded on for a profit in a matter of days.’
‘I’d bet the terrorists have bought off these dealers with large bungs into overseas bank accounts. And with the scale of potential losses you have uncovered, if things go as the terrorists plan -given the delicate state of the financial sector – contagion would rapidly set in, wouldn’t it?’ asked Kate.
Aidan nodded.
‘Sorry – I’ve heard you talk about contagion before, could you possibly explain what it means?’ asked John.
‘If you get measles you’re contagious, right? In the financial markets contagion sets in when the troubles of one player are transferred across to another financially healthy player, who, for their part, gets into difficulty and passes the problem on to more players. We saw it happen in the recent credit crunch when a number of banks that had been financially sound, suddenly found themselves to be short of funds. Basically it’s a matter of there being too many forced sellers and too few buyers. Prices of assets fall dramatically, which leaves the financial sector lacking capital. In our case, the terrorists have targeted six institutions. And they will very quickly become insolvent. Other banks, insurance companies and financial institutions get sucked into the downward spiral, unless the provider of liquidity of last resort, the Bank of England, steps in very quickly and provides sufficient cash to help those in trouble,’ said Aidan. ‘What makes it particularly dangerous is that the losses will initially be heaped on just six players!’
‘The Bank would have to act very quickly and decisively or the downward momentum could become unstoppable,’ added Rafi.
‘I do not think they will procrastinate, given their recent experience with the banking crisis.’ Aidan scratched his head. ‘What concerns me is that the UK Government can’t keep on borrowing vast sums of money to bail out companies in the financial markets. Very soon they will hit the buffers and find that international investors will not lend to them. Or if they do, it will be at massively increased interest rates. And then it will be crunch time.’
‘In addition there could be big costs associated with the missile attacks.’ Rafi looked thoughtful. ‘So part of our plan must be to put across to the Government the downside hazards, in such a way that they can make informed decisions quickly.’
‘Good idea,’ agreed John. ‘What scares me is that the terrorists have resources which rival those of a small to medium sized country. We should not underestimate the damage they are capable of inflicting.’
Kate’s mouth was wide open. ‘Thank you for describing the scale of the bad news. This is seriously frightening. But first things first – we have a lot of loose ends to tidy up and time is short. In order of priority, we must stop the terrorists’ attacks or at least significantly limit the damage. And then, Rafi and Aidan, we need you to come up with a solution to stop the markets going into meltdown.’
‘And third, pigs might fly,’ added John.
‘No, thirdly we’ve got to break this appalling news to our bosses – and soon.’ Kate stood up, looking pale and drawn. ‘Aidan, thanks for your excellent work.’
Rafi had been thinking quietly about the practicalities of getting the Government and the Bank of England to move quickly. ‘One last item, please? Devising a strategy to avert the financial chaos will take time, and time is a commodity we don’t have! I’d like to suggest, at our meeting with the chiefs, that we get permission to bring in a small team of financial experts, who could draw up a briefing document for the decision makers at the Treasury and Bank of England.’
‘Good idea,’ replied Kate.
Jeremy returned, positively bouncing. ‘Who’s been clever boy? I’ve had a most fruitful time with Dominique, the manager at the travel agent. We looked at the typical characteristics of the tickets they bought. The vast majority were low-cost packages to locations throughout Africa and were mostly last minute bookings on flights which had unsold seats… The typical visit was between one and three months.’
He smiled. ‘Then I got Dominique to see if there were any tickets which were out of the ordinary. She wasn’t impressed, as there were thousands of them. Specifically, she went searching for business class and full cost tickets, and trips where there were prearranged stopovers. My logic was that if they were recruiting bombers they’d look after them and want them to go to a training camp as well as do their voluntary work.’
Jeremy smiled. ‘We have ten. Yes, ten individuals who were given favoured treatment by Basel and Jameel’s charity. And guess what? One of the names that came out of the computer was that of a Ima Adwafeeq or, if one puts the space in the right place, Imaad Wafeeq, the Bishopsgate bomber! I’ve passed all the names to my colleagues, who will send through as much information as they can find on each of them. As we speak all the suspects are being traced and will be put under surveillance.’
Jeremy beamed, after a ripple of applause. ‘The offer of coffee and doughnuts did the trick. Within half an hour she’d gone back three years and identified all the people who fitted our search criteria. There were literally hundreds of flights that matched. In a tick she had them sorted alphabetically. The number of different names on the list wasn’t that great – just below fifty – but only ten had a pre-booked stopover in Somalia. When I pointed out Imaad Wafeeq’s name, she went white. She thought I was there to prove she was involved. It took me five minutes to calm her down and to emphasise the importance of keeping what we had found totally confidential.’
‘As a matter of curiosity, where exactly were the stopovers in Somalia?’ enquired Emma.
‘Mogadishu,’ replied Jeremy.
‘Hold on a minute – where was it that the other PhD student, Miti someone, came from?’
‘What a good memory you’ve got,’ said Jeremy. ‘You are spot on. Miti Lakhani’s family have a business operation in Mogadishu. I wish I had remembered that before you did,’ he said with a smile in Emma’s direction.
Colonel Matlik was punctual. At 5.15 p.m. Kate’s phone rang. She was pleased to hear his telltale accent on the line.
‘Good evening, I have more news for you,’ he said, in his customary laconic manner. ‘I received the names and photos you emailed me. You have caused quite a stir. We looked at the mugshots and straight away identified three of them as being highly undesirable. I hope it’s OK – I bounced their details on to the FSB, the Russian Secret Service. The phone lines between here and Moscow have been red-hot. It seems that four of them are on their most wanted list! They are using false identities. In reality, they are: Rudnik Miromov and Dakka Dudayev, two former Chechen army officers. The Russians lost track of them ten months ago. The other two are: Aslan Popovskaya and Sergy Kowshaya, whose last known occupation was as part of a specialist Chechen hit squad – they also disappeared. Be advised: all four individuals should be treated with extreme caution. They have no scruples and are trained in everything from unarmed combat and heavy machine guns, to missile launchers and high explosives. In the words of my Russian friends these four are “wermin” – the sooner they can be exterminated, the better! Kornet missiles in their hands are a recipe for disaster.’
‘I see,’ said Kate hesitantly.
Kate, I must tell you, the next person on your list had the Russians rolling with laughter. He’s an Arab, from the Gulf originally. Kaleem Shah trained as an officer cadet at your army’s Sandhurst! No doubt your records will confirm this and where he went subsequently. They have him down, until a year ago, as being attached to an international news corps as their minder in the battle zones of the Middle East. We have nothing untoward on the other names you e-mailed me. I have asked a colleague to email you all the details we have on these undesirables. He is sending you copies of both the Russian files and our translation of them. I hope that they help. Sorry to sound like an overprotective father, but if the Russians say they’re real shits, tell your SAS to treat them with the utmost caution.’
‘Colonel, thank you,’ said Kate.
‘Unfortunately, I have some further information from the manager of the rifle ranges. It is not news you will want to hear. In addition to the Kornet missile launchers, he delivered four South African 60 mm Vektor mortars and eighty high-explosive shells. They’re compact and deadly. Their barrel length is only 650 mm, but they have a range of up to 2 km if the firer opts for a ballistic trajectory.’
‘Sorry?’ queried Kate.
‘The explosive round detonates in the air above the target,’ explained the colonel. ‘In the hands of a professional, the firing rate, is twenty shells a minute. If aimed straight at its target the range drops to half a kilometre and the shells can go through 500 mm of armour or over one metre of reinforced concrete. Basically, they are nasty little weapons – rather good at attacking soft targets, I would suggest.’
‘Such as?’
‘In ballistic trajectory mode, their blast radius is thirty metres. They would work a treat against,’ the colonel paused, ‘Fuel tanks – oil and gas storage plants in particular.’
‘That fits in with a couple of the targets we’ve identified,’ said Kate. ‘Your information is most timely and thank you for all the trouble you’ve taken.’
‘No problem; we Europeans have a duty to protect one another,’ came the reply. ‘Look after yourself.’
‘I’ll try to,’ replied Kate, ending the call.
Kate raised her voice for all to hear. ‘Our worst fears have been confirmed. There are four Chechen mercenaries on the terrorists’ payroll.’ She picked up the phone again and dialled Neil Gunton, Jeremy’s boss. Normally she would have waited for Jeremy to liaise with his boss, but time was critical. She got through on the third ring.
‘Neil Gunton speaking,’ said a gravelly voice.
‘Good afternoon, Kate Adams here.’ She cut to the chase. ‘The names Jeremy sent you earlier from Immigration – how are you getting on?’
‘So far we haven’t managed to get much on them. Our analysts suggest that three, possibly four, of them are Chechen. However, we do have chapter and verse on Kaleem Shah. We trained him at Sandhurst. He’s been working in Lebanon and the Middle East as a journalist with a number of the international networks.’
‘At this end we’ve had a bit of luck,’ Kate replied. ‘I’m emailing you the information we’ve just received from David’s friend at the Estonian Security Service. Unfortunately, four are Chechens and are as bad as they could possibly get. And we’re advised that in addition to the Kornet missiles, they have four South African 60 mm Vector mortars.’
‘Oh, hell!’ came the reply.
‘We’re making good progress at this end identifying likely targets,’ said Kate. ‘And we may be able to eliminate a couple of targets.’
‘What do you mean by eliminating?’
‘Well, if the fifth Kornet missile launcher is on the terrorists’ fast getaway vessel… Then there will be eight and not ten UK targets to find,’ said Kate.
‘What makes you think a missile launcher is destined for their getaway boat?’ asked Neil.
‘The terrorists have had a large cool box installed, and it is the right size to house the boxes containing the missile launcher and its missiles… We think we know the location of five of the targets, so we reckon we’re probably only missing three.’
Kate paused, then went on, ‘An alternative view could be that the fifth Kornet launcher is with the Arab, Kaleem Shah, and that he also has two targets. If so we are five targets short… We have a briefing meeting with the commissioner at 6 p.m. You would be welcome to attend.’
‘Thank you,’ said Neil. ‘Jeremy is keeping me well posted. You’ve pulled more out of the woodwork in the past twenty-four hours than we’ve been able to over the past two months! I’ve got a meeting with my boss too,’ there was an ominous pause. ‘Oh my God! I see what you mean. I’ve just decrypted your email attachments. These Chechens are mean buggers. I’ll speak to the boss immediately and ask that he puts the whole section on standby.’
‘Sir,’ said Kate in a diplomatic tone, ‘the work that you and John’s team have been doing points to the terrorists having many people in high places. I understand your list is still growing and includes a special adviser to Number 10, several Members of Parliament and a number of other very well-connected individuals. Should we be worrying about whether any of these people are moles or sleepers?’
‘Yes, we should.’
‘Well, sir,’ said Kate, hesitating briefly, ‘Our concern is that if the terrorists were to find out through one of these people that we are on to them, they will move to a plan “B” and change their targets, leaving us totally in the dark. With the Kornet missile launchers they can have a shot at practically any target they like…’
‘You’re right, Kate, it’s a very tricky situation. The potential damage that one of these missile launchers can do in the hands of a professional is unthinkable. Your reading of the position is very similar to ours,’ said Neil. ‘MI5 agree that it would be better to go after the terrorists at known targets rather than let them slip away and blow the ruddy daylights out of a series of other targets when the whim takes them.’
‘Thank you, sir,’ said Kate.
‘What’s your latest thinking regarding when the attacks will come?’ asked Neil.
‘Tomorrow between dawn and the London Stock Market’s opening at 8 o’clock. They’ll want as much news exposure as possible to undermine the financial markets, so that they can maximise the huge profits on their derivatives positions. Has Jeremy chatted to you about this?’
‘Yes, thank you,’ answered Neil. ‘I have to dash, we’ll talk again soon.’
Rafi looked across at Kate. He sensed that she felt pleased with her team’s progress, but was shocked by the horrendous possibilities that were opening up in front of her. He looked across at the clock; it was 5.18 p.m. There was less than an hour to go before the evening meeting with the commissioner and the chief superintendent. They were still missing the extra pieces of property information and he was pinning his hopes on Manchester police unearthing something. However, he was worried that they wouldn’t have enough time.
Rafi felt out of sorts and irritable. Something he couldn’t put his finger on was missing. He stood up and walked around the office. His tired head ached and he was finding it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything for more than a few minutes at a time. Bloody hell, he needed to get his act together. It was only late afternoon, but it felt like midnight. He walked over and poured himself a cup of black coffee. Back at his desk, he sipped the hot coffee, studied the valuation report again and picked up the last three sets of accounts for PREH, the terrorists’ property investment company.
He turned to the most recent balance sheet and looked at the property assets figure. Oh shit! Why the hell hadn’t he noticed this earlier? The figure in the accounts was greater than the total set out in the Dewoodson valuation report. Bloody hell! There was?7.4 million unaccounted for! His mind was like a car without synchromesh. He struggled to think of a reason why it might be different. Of course! Development properties could be held in the accounts at cost – and they wouldn’t necessarily be included in the valuation report. Rafi stopped and thought. So somewhere there had to be details of the missing developments -probably a letter from the valuer which simply stated that the developments had a value greater than their book cost. ?7.4 million wasn’t large, but it could conceal one or more key properties. ‘Oh yes!’ he exclaimed.
Kate looked across at him.
‘That devious little bugger Wesson is still hampering our investigations.’
‘What do you mean?’ asked Kate.
‘We’re missing a letter which sets out PREH’s development properties. See if Rick can get Wesson to talk and get him to do a search for the word development on all their computers.’
John called across the room. ‘Want an update from MI5?’ It was a rhetorical question. ‘It seems that the journalist Kaleem Shah is running a group of suicide bombers. The good news is that they have traced and have under surveillance five of the suspected suicide bombers who received their training in Africa. These are the ones identified by Jeremy at the travel agency he visited.’
‘I just hope that they find the rest of the possible suicide bombers – and soon,’ added Kate. Her phone rang; it was Beverley, the commissioner’s personal assistant. ‘Oh dear, yes of course,’ replied Kate. She turned to Emma. ‘Could you and Aidan tidy up the papers strewn around the commissioner’s conference room, please? He’s back and would like to use it!’
Rafi sat there thinking. What else might he have missed? He dozed off.
At 5.55 p.m. Kate lightly shook him but he remained out for the count. She paused wondering which bit was safest to shake a little harder. She softly tapped his leg.
Rafi woke suddenly. ‘Ooouch!’ he exclaimed.
‘Don’t tell me you’ve got a bruise there as well!’ said Kate. ‘Sorry, but I’m running out of options as to what’s not damaged.’
‘No problem! Was I asleep long?’ Rafi sat up to find everyone was looking at him. ‘Sleep has been a bit scarce…’
‘Time to see the boss,’ said Kate.
This was going to be make or break, thought Rafi, as he followed the team up the back stairs to the commissioner’s conference room. He was worried, key pieces of the terrorists’ plans were still missing. He arrived in the boardroom still wrapped up in his own world, but was brought back to reality by a gentle touch on his shoulder.
‘Are you OK?’ enquired Kate.
Rafi sensed that a bond had started to form between them. He turned and looked straight into her warm eyes, not two feet away. He hadn’t really had the opportunity to look at her face close up – it was her eyes that captivated him.
‘A… apologies,’ Rafi stuttered, ‘I was miles away – again. It’s just that the terrorists have been very careful to cover their tracks and plan to attack in several places at once. I keep worrying that I’ve missed something and it turns out to be costly.’
Close up, Kate’s smile and her twinkling eyes had a disarming effect. Rafi wasn’t accustomed to such closeness; he moved back a pace to give himself a bit of breathing space and stepped straight into the path of the commissioner, who had entered the room at some speed, aware no doubt that he and David were running two minutes late.
‘Sorry sir.’ Rafi noticed that he’d scuffed the commissioner’s gleaming shoes.
‘No harm done,’ came the reply, ‘Let’s get started!’
Rafi turned and looked at Kate whose smile was bordering on a chuckle. She looked at him, and whispered, ‘Whoops!’
Kate and Rafi sat opposite each other. The commissioner looked around the boardroom table. ‘How are you progressing? As we agreed at our last meeting, this is crunch time. We will have to inform our political masters sooner rather than later. Kate, please update us.’
Kate looked at the faces around the table. They looked haggard. She just hoped she could do herself justice and convey the gravity of the position to the commissioner. The chips were down and she didn’t like what she was going to report.
‘Sir, let me summarise the position. Many things have happened since our recent phone conversation. We firmly believe that the missile attacks will come in the first couple of hours of daylight tomorrow morning. Through David’s Estonian contact, Colonel Matlik, we have confirmation that the terrorists have five Kornet anti-tank missile launchers and three or four missiles per launcher. As you know, these missiles are lethal pieces of equipment. In addition, we now find that they also have four South African 60 mm Vektor mortars and eighty high-explosive shells.’
Kate paused. ‘We’ve narrowed down the potential targets and I’ll come back to them in a minute.’ The commissioner nodded.
‘Following helpful discussions with the Immigration Office, we have identified two fast track and legitimate ways of getting UK visas, which the terrorists have used to get five people into the UK. Colonel Matlik and his contacts in Moscow have identified four as being former Chechen militia. We have been advised to treat Messrs Miromov, Dudayev, Popovskaya and Kowshaya with extreme caution. We are told that their training and experience is such that they’ll give the SAS a run for their money. The fifth person, a journalist called Kaleem Shah, is ex-Sandhurst and has experience of war zones in the Middle East and urban warfare.’
Kate paused again. ‘We believe that each Chechen mercenary has a Kornet missile launcher, a Vektor mortar and two targets. Jeremy has been chatting to a senior contact in the SAS, who advises that they are likely to be operating as individuals. As far as the fifth missile launcher is concerned, we think it is for their high speed getaway vessel, Golden Sundancer. She is in the North Atlantic, heading, we believe, for a rendezvous point off the north Scottish coast tomorrow evening.’
The commissioner sat bolt upright, unmoving.
‘Nine trained suicide bombers have been identified. Kaleem Shah is running them. Jeremy’s colleagues at MI5 have traced five of them, but unfortunately Mr Shah and four of the suicide bombers are unaccounted for.’
Kate looked at her notes. ‘Moving on to the ringleaders -Jameel Furud, Basel Talal, Maryam Vynckt and Sheikh Akram Tufayl – MI5 has them under constant but discrete surveillance. There is a fifth possible ringleader: Miti Lakhani, who MI5 believes runs their suicide bombers’ training base in Africa. Unfortunately he has vanished. Maryam and the sheikh are behaving normally. Jameel is enjoying his golf at a luxury hotel in Marrakech and Basel is on board their getaway vessel Golden Sundancer, off Iceland. Three of the terrorists’ deep sea trawlers are in port at Peterhead, Great Yarmouth and Troon and are ready to put to sea. This gives them three exit points.’
She looked across at her two bosses. ‘Our current informed guesses are that terrorist number one will attack Hartlepool Nuclear Power Station, plus one further target currently unknown.’ There was an audible drawing in of breath as the word nuclear was uttered. ‘They have a vacant industrial property which overlooks the power station,’ she explained.
‘The second will attack the St Fergus gas terminal and storage tanks and the North Sea oil pumping station at Cruden Bay. Both are close to Peterhead, where the terrorists own two vacant industrial properties. Number three will attack Heysham nuclear power station on the Lancashire coast, where they own a property with a clear line of sight. We think that he will also attack either Sellafield nuclear reprocessing centre or Hunterston “B” nuclear power station.’
The room was silent.
‘And terrorist number four will attack the Bacton gas terminal. They own an industrial building in North Walsham, a few miles away. His second target is still unknown. This could be Sizewell nuclear power station, or the Grays liquid petroleum gas storage depot on the banks of the Thames near to the Dartford crossing. But our instincts tell us the missing target will be in London. We had the marshalling yards at Willesden at the top of our list, but MI5 report that there are currently no nuclear containers there, so we are still looking. We have outstanding leads on some development properties that the terrorists own and hope they will fill in some of the gaps.’
Kate paused and took a sip of water. ‘Missile launcher number five, we believe, is on board Golden Sundancer. Its targets are unknown, but at this point our view is that it is for defensive purposes only.’
Kate shifted in her seat. ‘Time is not on our side. The facts, as we and MI5 read them, point to the attacks coming early tomorrow morning, shortly after dawn. In the meantime MI5 has its operatives and anti-terrorist officers en route to these locations. They will remain very low profile.’
The frown on the commissioner’s face deepened.
‘Now for the terrorists’ overall game plan, as we see it.’ Kate halted briefly, not so much for effect, but rather to collect her thoughts. ‘Rafi and Aidan have been looking at the wider picture. This is where things get truly scary. We have reason to believe that the terrorists are trying to engineer the collapse of our already weakened financial system and UK plc. This, we believe, is their primary objective. By so doing, they expect to reap huge profits in the derivatives market.’
Kate paused again and looked across at the commissioner and the chief superintendent. They were looking shocked and sitting bolt upright, like schoolmasters during the saying of grace. Her face was unsmiling. ‘We have confirmation that the terrorists control two public quoted companies and ten private companies. These businesses employ over 250,000 people. Through these companies they have in their pockets a number of influential individuals who MI5 advise us are being paid exorbitant fees as consultants or non-executive board members. Included within the 300 or so people are: Members of Parliament, special advisers to the Government and people in strategic senior positions. It is MI5’s opinion that a number of these people could be the terrorists’ eyes and ears, and could therefore be invisible sleepers.
Kate looked at John, then Aidan ‘The terrorists have set up their public sector outsourcing businesses and six other financial institutions to go bust following their attacks. And Aidan says that the terrorists stand to make at least?50 billion if all goes to plan, which will add to the financial chaos.’
Kate glanced down the table at the stony faces of the two chiefs. ‘Now for the better news,’ she said, with the beginnings of a smile on her tired face. ‘Unbelievably, we… Actually, I should say Rafi – have come up with a plan which the Government could use to calm and protect the financial markets. Unfortunately, his and Aidan’s cynical view is that our political masters will instinctively move into spin, damage limitation and procrastination mode. This is what the terrorists are expecting. If the politicians procrastinate, all too quickly the downward momentum will become too great for even the Bank of England to stop. However, if – and it’s a massive if – the Government can keep the markets steady, we can beat them at their own game. If interest rates and gilt prices can be held stable, the terrorists’ derivative positions will become untenable and they and their co-conspirators will rapidly face huge losses. The scale of such losses would set terrorism back several years and even bankrupt many of their financial backers.’
‘Rafi’s plan is for the Government to put into place a war chest which will enable them to issue shares in Government Real Estate Investment Trusts, instead of tapping the gilts market. These can be used to meet the potentially large increase in their liabilities. It’s ingenious, in that they can draw down what they need, when it’s needed. Aidan reckons that this war chest could have?400 billion in it. This would be more than enough to placate the markets under all but the very worst outcomes of the terrorist missile attacks.’
Kate paused. Now for the difficult bit, she thought. ‘What we need is complete secrecy. MI5’s and our worry is that the terrorists’ well-placed sleepers include contacts in both COBRA and the Mayor of London’s disaster unit. MI5 are still working on the list of names that John has given them. Our concern, and a big one at that, is that if the terrorists were to be tipped off and consequently changed to a plan “B”, we would be completely in the dark as to how to stop them. I appreciate the chances are small, but the hazards are enormous.’
The commissioner almost interrupted, but held his silence.
Kate continued. ‘Our advice is that the London Stock Exchange and Euronext. liffe must, at the last moment, not open tomorrow.’ She paused, ‘Also, we believe that it’s too large a risk to take to expect our political masters to fully and quickly comprehend the scale of what they’re up against. Spin, procrastination and aggrandisement are so ingrained amongst some ministers that we seriously wonder whether they’ll move quickly enough. Accordingly, as of now, Rafi would like to bring together a team of four or five senior City gurus, who will be tasked with drawing up an economic plan for the consideration of our political masters, so that they will be able to make decisions based on facts and not on short-term political expediency. Realistically, by this time tomorrow evening Rafi and Aidan will be ready to drop and won’t be in a fit state to pitch a financial recovery plan to the Bank of England or the Treasury. Who knows, the City gurus might even come up with a better plan!’ At this point Kate shot Rafi and Aidan a cheeky smile.
‘Agreed,’ said the commissioner, letting Kate carry on.
‘Our next proposal is that the SAS and anti-terrorist squads should be brought in to neutralise the terrorists and to search all the properties we have identified as their bases. The individual terrorists must be stopped from causing destruction, but if feasible they should be allowed to escape to the trawlers. We can then follow them and hopefully pull in all those in charge of the terrorist operation.’
‘Lastly, we could do with another Nimrod – AWACS. We have one monitoring Golden Sundancer. It would be useful to have a second keeping an eye on the trawler in Great Yarmouth.’
The commissioner looked carefully at the team around him. ‘Thank you, Kate. What you’re asking David and me to approve, in terms of our careers, is suicide – if you’re wrong! I only have one question for you: have you corroborated the facts as if we were taking these bastards to court?’ There were nods all around.
‘We’ve sought supporting evidence to confirm each link in the chain,’ said Kate. ‘The final proof will be if the terrorists are where we say they are. If they’re not, we don’t have a clue where else to look.’
‘So your suggestion is that the SAS and anti-terrorist squads are put in place to prevent the terrorist attacks?’
Kate nodded.
‘I have a fundamental problem with this suggestion,’ explained the commissioner. ‘We’re duty-bound to treat this threat with the seriousness it deserves, but with the recognition that if we mess this up, it’ll be ranked amongst the biggest police cock-ups on record. The SAS will require full military support at each of the locations, plus field hospital and medical support, in case any of the missiles reaches its target. We don’t have the powers to run this scale of operation alone.’ Giles turned to David. ‘Who do we need to persuade?’
‘I reckon we need the say-so of four people: the Home Secretary, the Secretary of State for Defence, the head of MI5 and the chief of staff of the armed services. The Home Secretary is out of the country until tomorrow attending an inter-government conference in Germany. We’ll need to get his stand-in. From a practical point of view they’d need to be based here, as this is where all the information is. I agree with MI5: it would be too risky to use COBRA, given the likelihood of there being embedded sleepers.’
The commissioner turned to the chief superintendent and said, ‘Are you willing to gamble your career and pension on this?’
‘Sir, as I see it, I’ve no choice. If we don’t follow this covert route and MI5 are proved to be right, and the terrorists do have moles within COBRA, it would be a total disaster. They would be alerted and could change their targets.’
‘Right, it’s agreed – you and I will take full responsibility for this if we’ve got it wrong.’
‘Agreed, sir,’ said David gravely. ‘I have one other issue, but it can be discussed at a later time… I’m uncertain if it would be wise to let any terrorists leave the UK mainland.’
‘Perhaps one could view it as letting them move to a location where it would be safe to capture them, and where the chances of collateral damage would be low,’ suggested Kate.
The commissioner tipped his head to one side, taking on board her comment. ‘Thank you – your observations and the hard work of your team are noted. However, before our political masters arrive for a briefing, I have two strong requests. First, get confirmation that there are only four missile launchers on the mainland. Second, find the whereabouts of the unknown properties.’
‘David, will you please phone the Home Secretary’s office and see which minister is covering for him and get their phone number? Also, get the number for the Secretary of State for Defence. I met with the head of MI5 a couple of days ago concerning Rafi, and I promised to keep him in the loop. I’ll call him and invite him. I’ll also speak to the chief of staff of the armed services who, as luck or good planning would have it, is due to have dinner with me tonight at my West End club. I’ll arrange for them to be here for a council of war at 8 p.m. I’ll then invite the two ministers. Kate and the rest of you, please find me the missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle.’
As Kate’s team was leaving the room, Jeremy turned to John. ‘I think we did rather well there, don’t you?’
‘Yep, I couldn’t have put it better if I’d tried,’ said John.
They shot an approving glance at Kate, who had heard their comments.
‘Thanks guys, I’m so pleased you kept quiet!’
At that moment the phone next to the commissioner rang. It was Jeremy’s boss at MI5. Giles switched the phone to conference mode.
‘Evening all. Just a quick call to update you before your meeting ends,’ said Neil. Kate and her team moved back into the room and stood by the door. ‘We’ve a lead on Kaleem Shah. There are two suicide bombers with him. One of them used a credit card in Tilehurst, on the outskirts of Reading. Our informed guess is that they’re going to attack the Atomic Weapons Establishment at Aldermaston and/or Burghfield, where nuclear warheads are put together. Both sites hold stocks of plutonium. Kaleem Shah, the cell leader, has many years’ experience of living on battlefields. It is likely that he will want to lie low somewhere near to the targets.’
‘Thank you for the update, Neil. While you’re on… Do you happen to know where your boss is?’ asked the commissioner.
‘He’s sitting next to me as we speak.’
‘Good evening, Giles,’ said the head of MI5.
‘Hello Ewan. Can you attend a briefing and strategy meeting here at 8 p.m.?’
‘My pleasure. See you then.’
The phone line went dead.
‘Right, you’ve got until 8 o’clock to find me the missing targets,’ said the commissioner.
Kate looked at her team, seated around her in the fourth floor office. They looked exhausted. She had to keep their adrenaline flowing. ‘We have less than two hours to find a way to get confirmation that the fifth missile launcher is on board Golden Sundancer, and we have to find the missing properties. Emma please chase up Rick in Manchester. In the meantime, Rafi please decide on who you want on the economics team The commissioner has put his head on the block. Time to tie up some loose ends! We have to deliver!’
Emma phoned Rick Feldon in Manchester. After a brief conversation it transpired that the word search of the computers had revealed nothing relating to the missing development properties.
‘Wesson is being as uncooperative as ever. He has a huge persecution complex. How long have we got?’ asked Rick.
‘Well, put it this way, by dawn tomorrow it could be too late.’
Rick went quiet for a moment. ‘I’m really getting nowhere with Wesson. He’s cantankerous and tired; if I push him any more I reckon he will go into his shell and won’t come out again for a long while. And Stone has clammed up and is refusing to talk to anyone.’
‘Good luck,’ said Kate, and hung up.
Rafi’s thoughts had turned to the economics team when Kate came and sat on the edge of his desk.
‘How do you think the briefing went?’
‘Rather well,’ Rafi replied. ‘You were outstanding.’
‘Thanks. This economics team of yours – I’m looking forward to meeting them, especially if they’re anything like you and Aidan!’ she said with a twinkle in her eye.
Rafi nodded, but his thoughts were already back on the economics team.
Sensing that his mind was elsewhere, Kate returned to her desk.
Rafi started with the easiest choice: the real estate analyst. It would have to be Bob Tieson. Bob worked for one of the big US banks and Rafi spoke to him on a regular basis at work. His knowledge of European and North American REITs, and the real estate investment trust sector was second to none. Yes, Bob was his first choice.
He called across to Jeremy who was sorting out a supper order with Luigi’s. Jeremy sensed that he was needed and gave Luigi carte blanche. ‘Supper for, say, ten… No make that fifteen, please. Something we can eat whilst working. And orange juice, water and some strong coffee, please, delivered in, say, three quarters of an hour? Great, thanks Luigi.’
Jeremy put down the phone and looked across at Rafi. ‘What can I do for you?’
‘I’ve five people that I need brought in to work with Aidan. Kid gloves approach, but no taking no for an answer. OK?’
‘Who did you have in mind?’
‘The first person is Bob Tieson.’ Rafi passed Jeremy the contact details. ‘I’ll let you have the next four names in a couple minutes.’
‘Good,’ replied Jeremy, ‘That’ll give me time to track him down.’
Now for the financials analyst, Rafi thought. He wondered who Callum would have picked. His first idea was the sector’s star analyst, Steven Moreland, but both Callum and he viewed him as a bit of a prima donna and he was not really a team player. Rafi moved on to the next name: Matthew Wilson – who worked for a large European bank. Yes, he was highly regarded, very bright and would work well with others under pressure. And he’d been around for long enough to understand how painful extended bear markets could be.
Rafi passed Matthew’s details to Jeremy. He now had two excellent people, but neither had any experience of dealing with the Treasury mandarins or the Bank of England. The economist would have to be someone to whom they’d listen. Rafi had a choice of five or six individuals. Then it came to him: why not get someone from the inside? Yes, Alex Lynton – the relatively new senior economist at the Bank of England. Before joining the Bank he’d held down impressive posts in the private sector and in academia. Was Alex a gamble? What if he’d become institutionalised and unwilling to take painful decisions? The more Rafi considered him, the more sure he became of his choice and passed Alex’s details to Jeremy.
For the corporate finance specialist – he needed someone who understood real estate investment vehicles. Rafi thought of a name straight away: Donald Hollingsworth. He was a friend from his from his corporate finance days, where he had been Rafi’s boss. He still ran a very successful corporate finance team. Several years ago he had become a non-executive director of a leading listed property company. Donald knew his way around the corporate finance market blindfolded and had a good working knowledge of the commercial property market. His experience would be a great help and he was undoubtedly very well connected in financial circles.
Jeremy took the fourth name and what Rafi could remember of Donald’s contact details.
‘How are you getting on?’ enquired Rafi.
‘We’ve tracked down Matthew and my colleagues are working on Bob‘s whereabouts as we speak.’
The fifth member of the team needed to be able to think out of the box and have a clear and incisive mind. A thought came to him… His sister fitted the criteria perfectly. He scribbled a note for Jeremy. ‘Here’s the fifth name.’
Jeremy looked at it. ‘Saara Khan of Birmingham University. Ah, your little sister; our background research shows her to be an impressive academic and just as unassuming as you are! She’s in Birmingham… Do you think that she would prefer a smart squad car or a helicopter?’
‘Which do you think would be the faster?’
‘Let me make a call.’ A few minutes later Jeremy replaced the phone. ‘They have arranged a car with a couple of motorbike outriders to keep the road in front clear.’
Jeremy then spoke to his colleagues back at MI5.
‘Rafi, we’ve traced the other four: Donald Hollingsworth and wife are on their way to Dorset, where they have a cottage. We’ve sent a helicopter down in the direction of the A303 and have the traffic police between here and Yeovil looking out for their car. John has left to collect Bob Tieson; he is working late at his office in the Docklands. I’m collecting Alex Lynton from the theatre – I hope the performance hasn’t started! And last but not least, Matthew Wilson is flying into Heathrow. He’s been working in Frankfurt. I’ve arranged for him to be met by a colleague and taken through Immigration and Customs the VIP way.’
‘Excellent,’ said Rafi with a smile.
Jeremy called across to Kate. ‘Do we have any cars left?’
‘Of course, but heaven only knows where,’ came the reply. ‘If you go down to reception I’ll get you one.’
‘Thanks.’
Rafi sat there, thinking. Would this team of five plus Aidan have sufficient gravitas to stand up to the new Chancellor of the Exchequer? He was a serious politician, but with only a few months’ experience of the job it was difficult to predict whether he had become influenced by the highly PR conscious Treasury team. And how would he react when the pressure was really on? Would he understand the seriousness of the huge risks facing the country, or opt for the easier strategy of procrastinating?
‘Where have we got to on the London property front?’ asked Kate.
‘I’ve been trying to find out the address of the London or South of England property that the fish processing business owns,’ replied Emma. ‘I’ve spoken to Land Registry again. Sadly, their system isn’t set up for this type of general enquiry. I spoke to Justin again and he’s been trawling through their property databases. He says that there are too many permutations, even if you try to narrow down the search criteria, and that it’s likely the deal would have been done subject to a confidentiality clause, so wouldn’t even be on the databases!’
‘Emma,’ Kate called across to her, ‘the immigration officer, Roger Harewood – the man who keeps the notebooks – is en route back from the West coast of the United States. Could you find the airline and flight number? There can’t be many long haul planes from the USA landing at Manchester Airport early tomorrow morning. Then arrange for us to speak to him, in case he can remember something.’
‘I’ll get straight on to it.’
There was a momentary lull. Rafi leant back in his chair. What else could he be doing on the property front? What seemed like moments later, but was in fact half an hour, he was woken by Kate, standing over him and calling his name.
Rafi looked up into her hazel eyes. A sight to lift the spirits, he thought to himself.
‘I thought a short power nap would do you good. Here’s a cup of coffee. You’ll need it… The first two members of your economics team should be here in five minutes,’ said Kate.
Jeremy and John arrived within moments of each other. They had two very angry individuals with them, and took Bob Tieson and Alex Lynton straight up to the fourth floor interview room.
‘I think that you had better placate your two friends,’ said John as he walked into the office. ‘Even though we told them otherwise, they still think they’ve been arrested. Bob definitely didn’t want to come. I had to threaten him with handcuffs. I told him he could speak to his lawyer, if he wanted, when he got here.’
Jeremy came off his mobile phone. ‘Saara is making excellent progress down the M1 and Matthew has landed at Heathrow where his reception committee is waiting for him on the tarmac. They should both be here within the hour, hopefully sooner. We caught up with Donald on the A303. His helicopter is en route to the rugby pitch at the Honourable Artillery Company, just around the corner.’
‘You better go and greet your two irritable friends. Jeremy no doubt has arranged for fresh coffee and cream cakes as a peace offering… And Aidan is on his way – says he’s finished his filing!’ said Kate.
Alex and Bob were sitting in silence awaiting their fate.
Rafi walked in with Kate and Aidan following close behind him. He realised that he probably looked like someone who had been dragged through a hedge backwards and sensed that they feared the worst – being implicated as one of his friends. Rafi sat down opposite the two irate individuals, who eyed him suspiciously. Kate sat to his left and Aidan to his right.
Kate started the conversation. ‘We will shortly be joined by Donald Hollingsworth, Matthew Wilson and a fifth person who is winging her way down the M1 as we speak. You know Rafi and Aidan Gilchrist? Good. No doubt you want to know why we’ve hauled you in here.’
Kate smiled. ‘You are not in any trouble. Rafi is innocent. He was setup and has been helping us unravel a terrorist plot. It’s probably simplest if I get him to explain what is going on and how you can help us.’
Rafi observed the two of them: Alex Lynton, the economist, sat uneasily, whilst Bob Tieson looked as if the father of all black clouds was hovering over his head. Rafi guessed he still had a lot of work to do on the IPO he was launching in a few days’ time and didn’t appreciate being dragged away from his office, even at this hour of the evening.
‘If it makes you feel any better,’ said Rafi in a calm and collected tone, ‘In ten minutes’ time a home office minister, the Defence Secretary, and the heads of MI5 and the armed forces are meeting with the commissioner two floors up. Like you, they have been asked in for a briefing, and like you, have dropped whatever they were doing… We have uncovered a terrorist plot to attack a number of key energy and nuclear facilities in the UK. They are also planning to trigger havoc in the financial markets, where they have built up massive derivative positions. To cut a long story short, we believe the terrorist attacks will knock market sentiment so severely that the stock market will fall dramatically. And when the terrorists close their derivative positions, this will make the markets and the financial system crash.’ Rafi paused and then went on. ‘Put simply, we have to stop the markets gaining any major downward momentum.’
The silence was interrupted by Bob. ‘What do you want us to do? The impossible? Or should we man the printing presses, print money out of thin air and then wave our magic wands?’
‘Not quite,’ Rafi replied. ‘What we need is a plan that can be put in place to calm the markets.’
‘Boy, that would be pulling a rabbit and a half out of a hat,’ said Alex.
Aidan cut in. ‘Rafi has a plan, which we believe you and your colleagues can make a reality. We believe there is the possibility to create listed Government property vehicles – REITs – and use share issues to mop up the liabilities that the Government may face, and to finance gilts buy-backs.’
At that moment a flustered Donald Hollingsworth appeared through the door. Rafi got up and walked over to greet him.
‘My God, Rafi, you look terrible!’
‘Yes, thank you Donald. Sorry to have ruined your weekend away. Let me introduce you to the other members of the team who beat you here. In the next fifteen minutes you’ll be joined by Matthew Wilson – who I believe you know – and by a Dr Saara Khan, who you won’t. Aidan will brief you.’
Aidan stood up. ‘In straightforward terms, gentlemen, your mission, should you wish to accept it, is to come up with a credible strategy that the Bank of England and Treasury can adopt to avert a financial meltdown. I will bring you up to speed with the minutiae as soon as the others arrive. In a moment Detective Constable Emma Jessop will join us and help us turn this room into our office. And, I understand some coffee is on its way.’
Rafi could sense that they were hooked – their body language had visibly relaxed and there was determination in their eyes.
‘If you’ll excuse us, Kate and I have a number of things to attend to. Thank you for helping,’ said Rafi. ‘And so far as the attacks are concerned, there is a team upstairs planning how the SAS can neutralise them.’
There was a quiet knock on the office door. Standing outside was Rafi’s sister. On catching a glimpse of him, Saara broke into a run. ‘I’ve been so worried.’
‘Thanks sis. Me too! Meet Kate, with whom I’m working.’
‘You’re not under arrest?’
‘No,’ replied Kate, ‘your brother is working with us – he’s a godsend.’
Rafi looked at his little sister. She smiled a smile that he would not forget in a long time – its intensity was wonderful. ‘I’m sorry to drag you away from home, but we need someone with a clear, logical mind who can act as an independent thinker amongst a team of financial experts.’
‘But finance is a blank in my book.’
‘Yes, but you know how to structure a hypothesis and set up tests to prove or disprove it. Come and get a cup of coffee and let me introduce you to the team,’ said Rafi.
They entered the interview room; it was buzzing and exuded a sense of teamwork and urgency. The conversation paused and Rafi introduced his sister to Aidan’s team. ‘Saara is here to be your devil’s advocate. Forgive her if she asks any naive questions on the finance front; I promise you she’ll be worth her weight in gold by the time you’ve finished. Aidan here will explain what’s going on.’
Bob enquired, ‘What are the chances of nipping back to the office to collect some papers and download some files?’
‘No problem,’ said Kate. ‘We’ll assign you Constable Peter Ashby to act as your chauffeur. Is the gravity of the position understood? No one outside this building other than MI5 and the SAS have a clue what’s going on. Absolutely no talking to anyone! Got that?’
‘Of course,’ replied Bob.
‘When Bob gets back could I borrow Constable Ashby?’ asked Alex.
‘Me too,’ said Matthew.
‘Emma will make the arrangements for you.’
‘Aidan, whilst the others are out could you bring Donald and Saara up to speed, please?’ asked Rafi.
‘Will do.’
Rafi left to rejoin Kate. He re-entered the office that had become his home.
She looked across at him. ‘You look bloody awful,’ she said with a soft smile.
‘You don’t look too good yourself,’ Rafi added gently. ‘Where do we go from here?’
‘Time to ring Rick Feldon in Manchester.’
After a long wait Kate was finally put through to a tired sounding Rick Feldon.
‘Sorry to keep you waiting, but it is a bit busy here. Wesson is one sandwich short of a picnic and proving to be highly incommunicative. Anyway… When our word search on the computer files came up with nothing, I spoke to the MI5 suits and they have gone through the secretaries’ paper files. The good news is they have just found the letter. No wonder the word search revealed zilch – the letter was never saved on the computer. It’s being faxed to you as we speak. It gives you two more properties!’
Kate smiled. ‘Excellent work Rick; it’s just what we needed. Thanks.’
Rafi sat on the edge of his chair; he couldn’t wait to get his hands on the fax.
‘Oh, by the way, Rick, we think that we’re missing one more property,’ said Kate. ‘One in the South East or London area. It might be worth trying to chat to your man about it.’
‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Rick, ‘And sorry again for not finding the letter sooner.’
‘We’ve got it now – that’s what matters.’
Moments later the fax arrived. Rafi read it. It was very straightforward. It confirmed that the value of two properties exceeded their book cost of?7.4 million. Rafi looked at the addresses: development land at Park Avenue, Wasdale Road, Gosforth, and Marfleet Lane, Kingston-upon-Hull.
Rafi went back to his desk and pulled up Google Maps on the screen. He typed in ‘Gosforth’ and was given the option of either Gosforth NE3 or Gosforth CA20. Rafi clicked on the CA20 link and a large scale map appeared on the screen. With a couple of mouse clicks, Rafi reduced the scale so that he could scan the surrounding area. Oh hell! He recognised the location; it was close to Sellafield nuclear reprocessing plant.
‘Kate,’ he called across, ‘do you have a spare moment?’ He showed her the map. ‘We have found another location. The terrorists have a property within a mile or so of Sellafield,’
‘Oh shit!’ exclaimed Kate. ‘This isn’t what we wanted.’
‘But at least we now know where to look,’ added John.
Rafi typed in the address of the Hull property and looked at the map.
Kate, standing over his shoulder, said, ‘Go east a bit. Thought so – it’s just down the road from Easington, where there is a gas terminal and storage facility… And it’s vast!.’ She looked pleased. ‘So, by my calculations, seven targets found… Three still to track down! As long as none of the missing three is a nuclear installation, I reckon we’re in with a chance.’
‘Or seven down and one to go, if we can get confirmation that the fifth missile launcher is on board Golden Sundancer. That would leave only one more to find,’ said Rafi apprehensively.
‘Let’s hope you are right,’ Kate handed Rafi a pile of papers. ‘Could you help me with a bit of photocopying…? There’s no one else to ask! I’m putting together corroborating evidence to support what we believe is going on – in case we get a frosty reception upstairs.’
Upstairs, Giles and David were preparing for the 8 o’clock meeting.
Air Chief Marshal Sir Nigel Hawser and the head of MI5, Ewan Thorn, were booked to come; however, it was proving more difficult to get the Government ministers to the meeting without telling them why.
Giles had phoned the Defence Secretary. He introduced himself and immediately cut to the chase. ‘I’ve arranged a meeting for 8 o’clock this evening. It is of vital importance; can you attend please?’
‘What’s it about?’ answered a frosty voice. ‘I have a social engagement – Covent Garden with the wife. The tickets are like gold dust.’
‘I can’t talk over the phone, but we would value your input alongside that of the head of the armed forces and the head of MI5.’
‘Oh, I see. Yes, I’ll be there.’
‘Thank you, sir.’ Giles gave the minister the details of the venue and put the phone down. He looked relieved; the Defence Secretary, though new to the department, was a level-headed man and a renowned stickler for the minutiae. Once brought on side, he would be an invaluable asset to the team.
His next phone call, Giles mused, was likely to be interesting. The stand-in Home Secretary was a different ball game altogether. He phoned the Home Office, and was put through to the minister’s personal assistant.
‘The minister is in a strategy meeting and has left instructions not to be disturbed.’
‘This is extremely important; I would have spoken to the Home Secretary but he’s out of the country,’ said Giles.
‘Let me have a word with the minister,’ replied the secretary.
What seemed like ages later, the minister’s voice came on the phone. He sounded peeved.
‘What, may I ask, is the purpose of this call?’ he asked bluntly.
‘When we met at the Bishopsgate bomb location you said you would be available to help 24/7. I have arranged a meeting for 8 o’clock this evening; it is of vital importance. Can you attend please?’
‘I’m sorry but I’m busy. I could send my assistant, or we could have the meeting tomorrow morning, say, at 11 a.m.?’ replied the minister.
‘Sir, under normal circumstances I would have asked the Home Secretary,’ said Giles politely, hoping the minister would get the point that the meeting was crucial.
‘If I am to consider rearranging my diary, I’d have to know why it’s so important that I attend this meeting. I’m booked to give a keynote speech. I’m spearheading the launch of our new data handling unit on immigration statistics. The press will be there. I have a first class speech and it has already been distributed for tomorrow’s papers… Unfortunately, I’ll have to decline your offer.’
‘Sir, this is sufficiently sensitive that I can’t tell you about it until we meet, but it is of utmost importance.’
‘No. I’ve made my mind up; you can have my assistant or you can see me at my office tomorrow morning,’ added the minister uncompromisingly.
Giles raised his eyebrows, perplexed. ‘But it is important.’
The minister wasn’t pleased. ‘Damn it! You won’t be getting me to your meeting at this short notice. Do you know who you are speaking to? My press conference is far too important an opportunity to miss, particularly as our newly formatted statistics look excellent. Good evening to you.’ The phone line went dead.
The commissioner did not rise to the provocation; it was as if he was dealing with a petulant teenager. He dialled the 10 Downing Street hotline, got straight through to the PM’s office and asked to speak to the Prime Minister regarding the recent bombing. Within a minute the PM came on the phone.
‘How may I help you?’
‘Prime Minister, we have a situation developing. It would be helpful if we had your or the Home Secretary’s input, alongside that of the Defence Secretary, the head of the armed forces and the head of MI5. I have spoken to the minister covering for the Home Secretary and have been informed that his prior engagement means he’s unavailable. I was hoping…’
‘When do you want to see me?’ came the businesslike reply.
‘Eight o’clock this evening at Wood Street, please.’
‘I will have to put you on hold – bear with me; I need to speak to my secretary.’
Giles waited, fingers crossed. The recent General Election meant that the Prime Minister was working with a wafer-thin majority and had a lot to contend with.
The PM’s voice came back on the line. ‘My secretary has rescheduled my diary. Traffic permitting, I shouldn’t be more than five minutes late.’
Giles was grinning when he put the phone down. ‘There are times when a politician can restore one’s faith in the system.’
‘You couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to pitch our problems to,’ said David, who was also smiling.
A couple of minutes later the phone rang: it was a very disgruntled Home Office minister. ‘Regarding your recent phone call… For the record, I wish to repeat that I am unwilling to drop this press briefing, unless you explain to me in detail why it is so important I attend.’
David sensed that Giles wanted to get him off the line as quickly as possible, in case the topic of the PM was brought up.
Giles said very politely, ‘I’ve been considering your offer of a meeting tomorrow morning; perhaps I could come over and brief you. Would 11 o’clock at your office be acceptable?’
‘Er… yes, that should be fine. Do phone my personal assistant first thing to check the time and venue and that my diary is still free, though,’ came the reply.
‘Thank you, minister.’
Giles couldn’t put the phone down quickly enough. ‘Don’t repeat me, but that man is a self-obsessed idiot of the first order. Heaven help the country if he ever gets a department to run. Can you see if Kate has made any progress with the missing information? Thanks. I’m going to pay Greg a visit to tell him to implement our emergency plans and get a command centre set up.’
Kate and Rafi were collating their supporting information for the 8 o’clock meeting.
Down the corridor Aidan and the economics team had transformed the interview room into their base. Beyond them, the rooms that had been the offices of Chief Superintendent David Pryke and his team had been cleared. Greg and his team were working on turning them into an operations room. A group of desks had been put back-to-back in the centre of the room, with a row of phones and networked PCs with flat screens down the middle. Video-conferencing and LCD screens were being mounted on the walls and secure phone and video links to the SAS command centre, the HQ of the paratroopers and the army’s command centre in Wiltshire were being set up. The PM’s hotlines were being installed in an adjoining office.
Greg was looking concerned – his assistant was having problems getting two video links working properly. And it seemed that one of the big screens had developed an electrical gremlin, another simply didn’t want to work and in addition a touch screen was playing up intermittently.
Aidan and Emma came down the corridor to chat to Greg about their PC and printer needs. As they walked through the door, they saw that it was a bad moment.
Greg saw Aidan looking at him. ‘It’s the damn wiring…’
‘Can I have a look?’ asked Aidan.
Greg waved him across and asked Emma quietly, ‘Don’t tell me he has a degree in electrical engineering as well?’ which Aidan overheard.
‘No, I’m afraid not -just as I thought: the same leads in and out. What you have here is an older version of what we have in the office. Emma, see if you can find Rafi; he’ll know.’
Moments later Emma reappeared with Rafi in tow.
‘Rafi, what do you think? It’s similar to the kit we’ve got in our conference rooms and use to link into our laptops, isn’t it? The leads look the same; it’s just the screen and the electronics that are older.’
Rafi looked at the leads. ‘You’re right.’
‘Thanks, mate,’ said Aidan. He turned and spoke to Greg. ‘I just need to make a quick call.’
Aidan spoke to his boss, a main board director of Maine Leadbetter. ‘Hi, Russell, it’s your erstwhile colleague Aidan here… Yes, I’ve been working hard… No, I’m not off somewhere with a bit of fluff… Yes, I aim to be back in the office tomorrow… Probably by 10.30 a. m… Sorry, yes, I’ll miss the morning meeting and the early trading… Don’t worry, if I get what I’m doing right, it’ll be excellent news for the firm.’ Aidan paused. ‘This brings me to the reason for my call: I’ve a pitch to some wealthy players first thing tomorrow and I need to knock the socks off them. I’ve got a favour to ask. Would you ring the security guards on reception and authorise my borrowing the screen from the small conference room and a little bit of associated kit?’
The request was met with silence. Greg and Rafi could tell from Aidan’s face that his boss wasn’t keen.
‘OK, let’s say that if it’s not back in time, I’ll buy a new one. You do trust me, don’t you? Oh, good. Thanks. Yes, I know I take liberties! See you tomorrow.’ Aidan put down the phone. ‘I hope he won’t mind the small white lie. There’s no way what I’m planning to borrow will be back in time. But since the markets will be closed, they won’t be much good to him anyway!
Greg, if you could find a van, would you and one of your assistants like to pay my office a visit?’
Greg’s expression changed from a scowl to a beaming smile. ‘Give me a couple of minutes to draw up a list of what I need and I’ll meet you by the back door.’
Rafi looked at Aidan, ‘Good move! I hope you’ve got what he needs.’
‘Oh, I don’t think that there should be too much of a problem. We have a basement storeroom full of last year’s kit which makes this lot look steam age in comparison. This should be fun. I’m willing to bet Greg will think he’s visiting Santa’s Grotto!’
Kate put her head around the corner of the door.
‘So this is where you are! Rafi, I thought you might like to listen in; we have the captain of the Nimrod, tracking Golden Sundancer, on the phone.’
As they scurried back to the office, Kate brought Rafi up to speed. ‘Twenty minutes ago he radioed in and spoke to John to report that Golden Sundancer was on a converging course with a trawler around 250 miles from Iceland, north-west of the Faeroes, in the middle of nowhere.’
Back in the office, the voice of the Nimrod captain could be heard clearly over the speaker phone. ‘Your vessel has hove to in close proximity to a fishing vessel, which we’ve identified as an Estonian trawler, named Anu Riina. The captain of the trawler is transferring an inflatable dinghy over to Golden Sundancer as we speak. There’s a big swell down there and the temperatures are sub-zero… A line has been secured aboard Golden Sundancer and her captain is manoeuvring to get the dinghy into the lee of the wind to make it easier to get it on board.
‘Can you see what’s in the dinghy?’ asked Kate.
‘Hold on a moment… We’ve started to get enhanced images from our high magnification camera… Would you believe it! Looks like two wooden coffins… The dinghy and the two boxes are now being pulled on board Golden Sundancer… Give me a moment and I’ll send through the pictures.’
‘While you’re at it, could you include any markings on the wooden boxes?’ asked Kate.
‘Will do.’
‘What speed has Golden Sundancer been cruising at?’
‘Between thirty-seven and forty-one knots – very respectable given the conditions down there. Their de-icing system seems to be working well; unusual, though, for this type of boat.’
‘How many do you reckon are on board?’
‘Two men; the captain and a crew member are all we’ve seen… The trawler has disengaged. She is turning south-east and heading for home.’
‘Is there any chance of them picking you up on their radar? Seeing or hearing you?’ asked Kate.
‘Don’t worry, we’re as good as invisible; we’ve got our radarcloaking device on.’ The Nimrod captain paused. ‘They have completed the unloading of the dinghy and the two boxes have been safely stowed on board.’ After a moment’s silence he continued, ‘Golden Sundancer is returning to her bearing of 152° and is getting back up to her previous speed. I’ll keep you posted if she alters speed or course, or has another rendezvous. Out.’
Kate looked up. ‘Emma have you got the pictures?’
‘Yep,’ came the reply. ‘The boxes and their markings are just what we wanted. They confirm the whereabouts of our missing Kornet missile launcher!’
‘Excellent, now we’ve only got one missile target to find, not three!’ Kate picked up the phone and relayed the good news to the commissioner’s assistant, Beverley.
John, who was now back in the room, raised his coffee cup towards Kate, toasting her.
‘Here’s to your eclectic team. Twenty-four hours ago I wouldn’t have given you any odds. Now – who knows? – we might beat the buggers, yet.’
Alex entered the room. ‘I thought I’d see how the other half lives. My goodness, it’s cosy in here!’
‘You should have seen it thirty-six hours ago – none of this mess was here,’ replied Rafi.
‘No,’ said Emma, ‘it was all tidied away into the filing cabinets!’
Alex walked across to Rafi’s desk and pulled up a chair. ‘I am so pleased that you are OK. Might I ask why you chose me, when you could have picked one of the high-profile City economists?’
Rafi looked at Alex. ‘It was a no-brainer. How are you getting on with your colleagues?’
‘Really well.’
‘There’s your answer,’ he said with a broad smile.
‘Thank you and thanks for choosing me. Oh, by the way, your little sister is proving an inspired choice; she’s a bright cookie and has us all organised. Chat to you later,’ with that Alex turned and left.
Kate looked across at Rafi. ‘You don’t by any chance have a brother? If so, I’d like to meet him, please!’
‘Afraid not.’
She looked at Rafi, her head slightly to one side. ‘You are proving to be a most resourceful guy, with some great friends. I’m pleased that I let David bully me into getting you out of Paddington Green!’
Kate and Rafi were finalising the background materials for the presentation to the Chiefs upstairs, when Jeremy bounced into the room.
‘Well done tracking down the fifth missile launcher; at last we’ve something to celebrate.’
How he managed to keep up to date amazed Rafi.
‘Talking of having fun, we’ve been over to Aidan’s office,’ said Jeremy. Greg has had a field day. He’s borrowed three large state-of-the-art video-conferencing screens, a large plasma screen and a selection of other useful gismos. The basement store proved to be a real Aladdin’s cave. Aidan did a brilliant job of distracting his two security guards and he even got them to lock up the conference rooms before he left, saying that they were to remain locked until 8 a.m. tomorrow. Greg is down the corridor setting up his new toys. How long has the meeting been going on upstairs?’
‘Almost an hour,’ replied Emma. ‘The PM arrived a bit late.’
Kate had finished her collating and walked over to Rafi’s desk. ‘Well, I seem to be ready. How are you feeling?’
‘Given the circumstances, not that bad, thanks. At least my brain is still working; the rest of me feels due for a refit and needs a bit of TLC.’
Kate smiled and whispered, ‘When all this is over, I’ll see what I can do – as a small thank you.’
‘A thank you for what?’ Rafi replied.
‘You’re simply impossible! What planet are you on? If it hadn’t been for you, I’d be having a normal night, oblivious to the fact that tomorrow we could be facing Armageddon.’
‘Excuse me.’ Rafi, still deep in thought, walked off down the corridor to see how the economics team was getting on. He put his head around the door. The six occupants had reorganised the room, with a group of desks in the middle. Alex and Donald were sitting next to each other, opposite Matthew and Bob. Saara was at one end and Aidan at the other. On one side of the room were a couple of PCs and a printer photocopier. A whiteboard, now covered with writing, had been hung on the opposite wall. Plates littered the table. The room definitely had a work-in-progress air to it.
‘Just thought I’d drop by to see how you were getting on and to let you know that we currently have a good idea where seven of the eight terrorist targets are.’
‘And they’ve traced the two suicide bombers with the journalist Kaleem Shah to the outskirts of Aldermaston, not far from the Nuclear Weapons Research Establishment, as Emma predicted,’ added Kate who had arrived just behind Rafi.
Matthew spoke up. ‘Emma and Aidan have explained what the terrorists are planning. My view is that you are underestimating the financial downside.’
‘But at least we have advance warning,’ said Aidan.
Rafi smiled at his sister.
‘They’re being very tolerant of my lack of finance skills,’ she said.
‘Have none of it Rafi; this young lady could join my team any day!’ said Donald, Rafi’s former boss, with a smile.
Rafi turned to leave. The soft voice of Saara follow him down the corridor. ‘Rafi, look after yourself.’
Back at his desk, Rafi called across to Kate. ‘For the life of me, I can’t come up with any more ideas where the missing target might be. I’m beginning to feel rather useless…’
Kate looked up. ‘Why don’t you put your feet up for a few minutes and have a bite to eat. How you manage to still think straight, amazes me.’ she added in a caring tone.
Rafi was halfway through a sandwich when Kate’s phone rang. ‘We’re on. Time to face the music!’
As they went down the corridor, Kate put her head around the door of the interview room and asked Aidan to join them.
They walked past a positively beaming Greg, who by the looks of things had the Ops Room fully up and running. He gave a thumbs up sign to Aidan, who acknowledged it with a wave and a grin.
The walk up the back stairs took Rafi back to his school days; it conjured up memories of visiting his house master – the gloomy lighting and the greying wall paint added to his apprehension. The question he was thinking, was ‘what would the PM do?’