by N C Mander
‘And I assume you have all the necessary permits for such surveillance?’ Colchester spat.
The tension in the room was interrupted by Colin’s arrival with a large cafetière of coffee and four mugs.
‘Thank you, Colin,’ Tanya said, and he retreated quickly.
‘What a merry little dance you lead here,’ Colchester said, as the door closed behind Colin. ‘Why hasn’t this Jamie been collected?’
‘We felt it would be more beneficial to continue to collect intelligence. We believe he is a scapegoat. He’s under close surveillance,’ Tanya said. Kat shifted uncomfortably, knowing that Edison had not been in the office at Penwill & Mallinson for most of the day.
‘Not good enough, Tanya,’ Colchester roared and slammed his fist on the table. The mugs rattled and coffee spilled from the spout of the generously filled cafetière. ‘We need to bring this joker in. If he has information, we need it. And we need it yesterday.’
‘We don’t think he’s the operator. He’s probably just a puppet. What if it forces the hand of this organisation and they rush an attack? We don’t have any idea as to what they’re targeting or when. It’s too risky,’ Tanya countered, her accent colouring with a West Indian twang.
‘Probably … We don’t think … No. No more waiting. There’s enough evidence. You said he was caught red-handed, removing digital material from the bank. We have to bring him in.’ Colchester’s face was set in a grim expression, his jaw hard, his teeth grinding.
‘No,’ Kat pleaded. She sensed her grip on the case loosening. ‘He didn’t go to the internet café.’
‘He could have passed the flash drive on to another operator. A brush drop. Isn’t that right up your alley as spooks?’
‘He’s not our man.’ She wished Edison had told her more about his suspicions, wherever and however he was uncovering his information. At least then she would have been able to make a more coherent argument for leaving Jamie in the field. Instead, she flailed helplessly, ‘It’s not him. We know it’s not him.’
Colchester ignored her and spoke to Tanya, ‘We’ll move first thing in the morning. Perhaps that chap who’s been twiddling his thumbs, getting under my team’s feet all week would like to observe the interrogation for you.’
Tanya ignored the Met officer’s jibe, ‘He’s busy in the field. Kat is the senior investigating officer. If you must go ahead, please let her know when you have your suspect in custody, and she will join you at the Yard.’
Colchester nodded, ‘Ok.’
‘Will that be all?’ Tanya asked.
Colchester looked at his watch. ‘I don’t think now is the time to discuss the appalling lack of cooperation we’re receiving on this case. I shall speak to the commander in the morning.’
His threat delivered, Colchester stood up and stalked out of the office.
Tanya watched him go then turned on Jock and Kat, her face set in stone. They both squirmed under her gaze, waiting for the tirade that would inevitably come. She looked tired and not just because of the early hour of the morning. For the first time, Kat saw signs of severe strain on her boss’s face. There were tight lines developing at the edge of her mouth and dark bags under her eyes, betraying a lack of sleep. ‘I can’t afford many more mistakes like that,’ she said. Jock and Kat felt the full force of her authority. ‘The JIC is really worried about the lack of intelligence we have on what is considered to be a significant existential threat to national security, and they believe, as do we all, that an attack is imminent.’
Jock nodded and opened his mouth, preparing to defend what his boss had labelled a mistake but decided against it.
‘I don’t think there’s any doubt that the DG will hear from the commander tomorrow morning,’ Tanya went on. ‘Make sure you’re playing by all the rules for the next few days, at least, and keep the Met well apprised of our intelligence. Is Mo still on site with them?’
Kat nodded.
‘He’ll be in for the morning briefing though?’
Kat nodded again.
‘Ok – I’ll be there.’ Kat felt every bit of the criticism being levied was directed at her personally. She didn’t relish the idea of her boss attending her morning case briefing and worried about her credibility in front of her team.
‘That’ll be all,’ Tanya dismissed them.
*
Back in the open-plan office, she slumped at her desk. Jock, Natalie and Colin seemed to materialise from nowhere and huddled round her. ‘Guys, go home,’ she insisted. ‘It’s late, and tomorrow’s going to be a hell of a day.’ The assembled company made their protests but eventually started to dissipate.
As Natalie was picking up her handbag and preparing to leave, Kat turned to her, ‘See you in the morning, chief’s taking the brief.’
Natalie smiled, ‘You’re heading home too, aren’t you?’
‘Definitely.’ Kat picked up her own bag to prove the point and watched the others leaving the building. As the last of her team disappeared into the lift, she collapsed into a chair and turned her attention to the HAPSBURG board. Since the morning, new information had been added from Natalie’s visit to Barinak Holdings. The two hot-property addresses were written up in Colin’s familiar hand – carefully articulated capital letters: Flat Thirteen, St Joseph’s Court, Carpenter’s Road and Twenty Danesdale Road. Nothing new had come in that afternoon from Mo. He had been stuck at New Scotland Yard for the day, and his surveillance unit had got caught in the same traffic she had crawled through that afternoon. He’d assured her that they would be at the first property at dawn.
Kat stood up to examine the photographs. The man she’d met that day was shaking hands with his business partner, standing in front of the shop, both beaming into the camera lens. Murat Yousuf was a tall, wiry man with a long face and a sharp jawline. His dark hair was sprinkled with grey flecks. The hand held by Hakan had slender fingers, tipped with neatly shaped nails. Like Natalie, she felt as though she’d seen Murat Yousuf somewhere before. How did she know him? It was from another photograph, she was sure they hadn’t met in person. She willed her mind to work as she dug desperately into her memory. Where had she seen that man before?
After twenty minutes staring at the picture, a kernel of an idea wormed its way into her head, and she snatched open a cabinet where the team kept files from earlier in the investigation. She sifted through the exhausted leads and evidence from countless dead ends.
In triumph, she pulled out the photograph she was looking for. Kerim Dastan. The brother of Metin Dastan, the body in the box at Billingsgate, discovered last year. The body delivered on the same shipping line used by the HAPSBURG drugs pushers. The same route that VIPERSNEST had used to enter the country. The team had toiled for months, trying to dig up the connection between the body and HAPSBURG. And here it was, smiling back at her from beneath the Barinak Holdings sign.
‘But why?’ Kat asked the empty room. If Kerim’s brother had met his end at the hands of a terrorist cell, why would he be working with them? And she was still missing a link to the bank. ‘Damn it,’ she cried and slammed her palm against the picture of Hakan Gurbuz and Murat Yousuf. She composed herself and pinned the grainy image of Kerim Dastan, a passport photograph blown up to A4 size, onto the board.
It was three o’clock in the morning when Kat made her way out into the dark and hailed a taxi. Half an hour later, she was lying on her bed, staring at the ceiling, her thoughts racing. Twice, she pulled out her phone and considered calling Edison. All she wanted was to hear a friendly, familiar voice. Someone to listen as she vented her frustrations and to sympathise, encourage and advise. But Edison wasn’t and couldn’t be that person. There were too many layers of complication. His dead wife. His remarkable recall to unofficial active duty with the Service. His gonzo behaviour – dashing off to Scotland, abandoning his surveillance post. The fact that he used to do her job and did it so much better than her. Finally, she dozed off and managed to sleep for the full two and a half hours until
her alarm went off, summoning her back to Thames House.
*
She tells me they have taken the bait. That was a clever idea of hers to ensure we had what the English call a scapegoat. They are so stupid. To arrest a man who has simply been set up. But I do not care. The plans are working, and whilst they are looking the other way, we shall strike. Less than three days now. As they sip their champagne and eat their strawberries, we will rain down on them the full power of our rage. In the moment, they will not know what has hit them. But as the dust settles, as my brothers enter paradise, they will know the name Dastan, and they will know that they should not have crossed my family. I will follow my brothers, I will follow them then, and we shall know the glory of martyrdom.
Chapter Fifteen
0738, Friday 7th July, The East Coast mainline, between Newcastle and Edinburgh
Shortly after the 7.30 a.m. train, carrying Edison, drew out of Newcastle Central Station, bound for Scotland, the postman buzzed at flat number twenty-five and delivered a brand-new kettle to Mary Edison with a message attached. ‘I love you, Mam,’ was all it said. Mary Edison placed the note carefully on the mantlepiece beside the cheaply framed photograph of her only child in his Harrow uniform.
Edison was dozing in his seat when a notification of the delivery came through. ‘The wonder of the internet,’ he muttered to himself, pocketing his phone and hauling himself into the aisle. ‘If only its uses were limited to next-day deliveries.’ He swayed through the train to the buffet car where he ordered a cup of tea and surveyed the breakfast options. With little enthusiasm, he settled on a bacon bap and watched with horror as the attendant heated it up in a microwave.
Back in his seat, he nibbled on the sweaty sandwich whilst flicking through the street atlas of the UK that he’d bought at the WHSmith’s on the station. He found the page showing Inverness and turned over a couple more pages to find his intended destination. The navigation would be straightforward, although the roads appeared twisty and narrow.
In Edinburgh, he changed trains and continued his journey north, watching as the countryside that sped past the window transformed from the arable farmland of the lowlands to wild, moss-covered crags. The moorland stretched away endlessly toward a blue horizon, occasionally broken by woodland of majestic fir trees. It would be an inhospitable place in winter, but today, the sun was shining, and the countryside was bathed in bright summer light that picked out the spectrum of yellows, greens and purples in the heather.
He had made this trip with Ellie when they had travelled to Moniedubh, on Hughes’ invitation, and they had mused together, as they’d travelled, what it would be like to leave London behind and live a quieter, rural life in Scotland.
As the train laboured further north, Edison lost himself in a fantasy, imagining chasing a cluster of small children across the vast open countryside. The children weren’t Charlie’s three boys, they were his own with Ellie, and they were squealing with delight as they skipped over the heather, lost in a game. Edison gathered them to him, hoisting the smallest onto his shoulders. The little girl had ribbons tied neatly around her pigtails. Everyone said she looked like Edison, but to him, she was the stamp of her mother. Edison held the hands of the other two children, both boys, as they returned to the picnic mat, where, in Edison’s mind’s eye, Ellie, resplendent in the sunshine, was waiting for them with sandwiches, lovingly wrapped in brown paper and salty crisps and tea, poured from a huge thermos flask.
The train drew to a stop, and Edison was catapulted from his daydream by the guard announcing their arrival in Aviemore. Edison wiped tears from his eyes and smiled at an elderly lady who had taken a seat across the aisle from him and was offering him a tissue in a warm Scottish accent.
‘Oh, no thank you,’ Edison said, waving her away.
‘I’ll just leave it here,’ the kind stranger replied, placing the folded tissue on the open tray table in front of Edison and patting it.
Edison blushed, ‘Thank you.’ He turned away from her to hide his embarrassment.
Half an hour later, the train pulled into Inverness. ‘This is the end of the line, ladies and gentlemen. This train terminates here,’ the train guard announced. ‘All change please, all change.’
Edison grabbed his holdall from the overhead rack and hurried from the train. He took his bearings at the station and made a beeline for the car hire booth. He explained to the clerk behind the desk that he wanted an entry level hatchback for a couple of days’ sightseeing. He declined the salesperson’s attempts to upsell him to a more luxurious model. Having failed to upgrade Edison, the young man behind the counter pushed firmly on the optional extras.
‘Your 3G won’t be much use up here,’ he said, trying to hammer home the value of the satellite navigation system.
Edison brandished his newly purchased road map and replied, ‘I’ll stick with the old-fashioned methods, thanks.’
The salesman’s final attempt to extract more money from Edison involved something to do with not having to return the car with a full petrol tank. At this point, Edison’s patience deserted him, and he snapped, ‘I explained exactly what I wanted when I first arrived. That was now,’ he made a dramatic show of looking at his watch as he paused in his diatribe, ‘nearly fifteen minutes ago. Please could you simply furnish me with the keys, direct me to the vehicle assigned to me, and I will be on my way.’
The poor young man mumbled something about ‘only trying to help’ and pulled open a drawer to retrieve a set of keys. He showed Edison to a silver-grey Peugeot 207 and rattled through the pre-hire vehicle check.
Edison signed the paperwork, slung his holdall onto the back seat and got into the car. The clerk retreated to the safety of his booth, and Edison started the engine. He put the car in gear, briefly consulted the road atlas that was laid open on the passenger seat and set off. The digital clock on the dashboard read eleven fifty. The drive would take the better part of two hours. Edison considered briefly picking up something to eat at the large Tesco he was passing but decided to press on.
Soon, the large roads gave way to country lanes that wended their way along the edges of lochs and around the bottom of mountains. After an hour and a half’s driving, Edison pulled into a passing point to collect his thoughts. The familiar landscape was playing havoc with his emotions. He was less than half an hour from the Moniedubh Estate and an audience with Sir Donald Hughes.
*
0645, Friday, 7th July, Thames House, Westminster, London
Kat arrived to a near-empty office. The revelations about the true identity of Murat Yousuf had done little to calm her frayed nerves. The new piece of intelligence seemed to throw up more questions than it answered. She knew she was no closer to identifying the location of the imminent attack, and that had consumed her thoughts as she tried to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep. She had fifteen minutes before Tanya would host the morning’s briefing. Only Colin was at his desk, who looked up and gave her a welcoming smile. ‘Eventful night, huh?’ he said. ‘This is interesting.’ He wagged a finger at the photograph of Kerim Dastan, ‘Great spot, Kat.’
Kat turned on her heels. Somehow Colin’s praise made her feel worse. In the kitchen, she was glad to see that Colin had fulfilled his duty as first on the Grid to put the filter coffee on. Colin tailed her with his own empty cup in hand.
‘Where’s Edison?’ he asked.
‘Taking a bit of time off, visiting Charlie, who’s on holiday in the Highlands.’ A shadow passed over Kat’s brain, like someone walking in front of a projector screen. She tried to grasp whatever it was that was worrying her about Edison, but the shadow eluded her. She brought her focus back to the room, wrenching her thoughts away from the agent. She topped up Colin’s cup with coffee before pouring herself some.
‘Anything on the investor list, Colin?’ she asked.
‘Nothing noteworthy,’ Colin replied. ‘A bunch of pretty clean family offices and private banks.’ He paused. ‘You know the former director ge
neral’s wife has got money tied up in the fund?’
‘Yes, she’s minted, probably invested in half the funds in London.’
‘True,’ Colin agreed. ‘It was all her money, wasn’t it? Even if Hughes likes to pretend he’s landed gentry. That great big estate up in the Highlands is Lady Elizabeth’s family home.’
‘Hughes loved playing lord of the manor, as if he wasn’t just a bright lad from the East End who got lucky. He was always hosting politicians and industry CEOs for hunting parties. I think Edison went to a few—’ Kat stopped speaking abruptly. It hit her. Edison’s dash to Scotland. His insistence that the former director general was somehow mixed up in HAPSBURG. ‘Shit. Shit. Shit.’ She bolted back to her desk, coffee sloshing from her mug. She ignored the splatters of hot liquid peppering her hand.
Colin followed her, matching her pace, ‘What’s up, Kat?’
‘Edison. Shit. Edison.’ Kat ignored him and scrabbled for her phone. She dialled. ‘Straight to voicemail. He’s got no signal. Damn it.’
‘Kat,’ Colin caught her slender arm and spun her round her to look at him. ‘What is going on?’
‘Edison’s not going to visit Charlie. He’s going to confront Hughes about all this!’ She gestured wildly at the wall where every detail of the HAPSBURG was plastered.
‘He can’t be involved, can he?’
‘He’s a lying, cheating, greedy bastard, but he’s patriotic. He can’t. He can’t be …’
‘What can we do?’
Over Colin’s shoulder, Kat saw the lights in Tanya’s office flickering. ‘Put an analyst on calling Edison’s number non-stop, with strict instructions that I’m to be buzzed the second it connects. We best get moving. Tanya’s hosting this morning’s briefing.’ The pair, grasping their full mugs, made their way to Tanya’s office where Jock, Mo and Natalie were waiting for them.