by N C Mander
Kat switched on a pencil torch and tiptoed to the back of the empty garage, sweeping the beam back and forth as she moved. A door creaked open onto a hallway and a flight of stairs. The two spies crept up to the first floor. They passed through a kitchen at the top. At the doorway to the next room, Kat drew to a halt, and Edison heard her take a sharp breath. He peered over her shoulder into a sparsely furnished living room. A pale orange light from the streetlights seeped in. Through the gloom, he could just make out an armchair. In the armchair sat a figure, perfectly motionless but for a pair of glassy eyes that flicked occasionally toward where they were standing. He reached for his gun.
‘Murat Yousuf,’ Kat said, her words echoing in the empty room.
The figure declined his head.
‘Or should I say, Kerim Dastan?’
The man in the chair parted his dry lips and rasped, ‘You should say that. Although you have shown no respect for that name in the past.’
Kat ventured forward, and Edison, one hand on the butt of his gun, followed, not taking his eyes from Yousuf.
‘You killed one of my officers,’ Kat said as she advanced.
Painfully, Yousuf turned his head to one side and spat. ‘And you killed my family.’ His breath was short.
Kat’s eyes were locked on Yousuf. ‘Your brother was murdered by thugs. Drug lords. What does that have to do with us?’
‘You may not have pulled the trigger,’ the man in the chair gasped for breath, and his hands spasmed, ‘but you killed my brother as surely as you killed my sister and niece. It has everything to do with you. You and your Home Secretary killed them. You had to suffer. You had to know what it is to deny people their freedom. The Right Honourable Timothy Johnson signed their death warrants when he forbade them entry to this country. He should have died.’ Yousuf’s voice rose, ‘He should have been dead today. He killed my family.’ He was wheezing.
‘Did you kill the captain of the Boston Jubilee?’
The headlights of a passing car briefly illuminated the room and picked out Yousuf’s white teeth, set in a jackal’s smile. He coughed. ‘The ever-amenable Captain Jack Fleming. Yes, I killed him. Although, like me, he had nothing left to live for anyway.’ His fingers clutched at the arms of the chair, and a small pill bottle slipped from his fingers. Edison dived to retrieve it.
Examining the label, he spoke, ‘Kat, call an ambulance.’ Kat fumbled with her phone whilst Edison turned to the dying man.
‘What about Anna?’ Edison fixed his gaze on Yousuf, sat on his haunches, his eyes level with the man in the armchair.
Yousuf gave a rasping laugh. ‘Anna. The beautiful Anna. So many useful connections. Like the computer programmer …’ He trailed off, wheezing.
‘Christoph?’
‘Was that his name? He was a mercenary.’ He lifted a trembling hand as if to dismiss the topic.
‘And Hughes? What about Sir Donald Hughes?’ He felt, rather than saw, Kat shoot him a dark look, but before she could say anything, her call connected to the ambulance service.
Yousuf looked at Edison, a vacant expression in his eyes. ‘This name means nothing to me.’
‘Are you sure? Are you sure you know nothing about Sir Donald Hughes?’
‘Maybe, maybe,’ the words were uttered between short, gasps for breath. ‘Maybe he helped sell the drugs. There was someone … Anna … mentioned.’ His head began to loll. ‘Metin was the messenger.’ He was delirious now. ‘I had no choice.’ His chest was barely rising as he tried to suck air into his lungs. ‘They were my only family. And you British pigs killed them.’
Kat hung up the phone. ‘ETA eight minutes.’
‘It’s too late.’ Yousuf’s body slumped, lifeless in the chair, ‘He’s dead.’
Chapter Twenty-Five
2256, Sunday, 9th July, Moniedubh Estate, nr. North Ballachulish, Lochaber
‘Today’s events at the All England Club have sent shockwaves through London. Our security correspondent is at the scene in South West London, where earlier, three men were thwarted in their attempts to blow up Centre Court at Wimbledon.’ The newsreader handed over to her colleague, who stood in front of the police tape, behind which an army of forensic scientists was hard at work, combing over the scene.
Hughes had watched the footage over and over again. Every time the news cycle repeated itself, he found himself drawn back to the television screen. He stood in the middle of his study, aghast at what he was seeing unfold. There were snatches of film from iPhones that the television crews had secured. He swallowed hard as he watched each of the men go down. He watched Scott Edison emerge from the debris of the crash and wondered whether he should have paid more attention to his attempted warning.
The Home Secretary had been on the phone, wanting his old friend’s view on the atrocities, but Hughes could only bluster his way through the conversation. His thoughts were elsewhere. With Anna. Having hung up with Johnson, he’d tried to call her again, but it was going straight to answerphone. It just wasn’t possible that she could be mixed up in all of this, he thought. In a daze, he paced the floor, imagining reasons why Anna might not be answering the phone. It was ok, he told himself, the phone signal in London is likely to be jammed in the circumstances. She’ll call to reassure me soon.
The news coverage had moved on. ‘We understand some links have been made to a boutique investment bank.’ The anchor was talking via video link to a reporter who was in Canary Wharf. ‘That’s right, we understand that the terrorist attack today has been linked to a money laundering arrest at Penwill & Mallinson just last week. The suspect hasn’t been named, but we believe a man in his twenties and a woman, believed to be the office manager at the bank, are helping the police with their enquiries.’ Hughes’ heart sank.
His desperation was soon replaced by panic. What if the investigation led back to him? He needed to do something. There were missed calls on Anna’s phone. He put in a hasty call to Waring at the Met with instructions.
Hughes rewound through the coverage to Colchester’s statement. He had listened to it enough times to know it by heart and had the sound on mute. But this time, he was focused on the cluster of people just visible over Colchester’s shoulder. One of them was a gesticulating, fraught Tony. Panic consumed him once more. How much had he divulged to the halfwit? He was vulnerable and a vulnerability. He might say something. Something had to be done.
Hughes took a deep breath and picked up the phone again. He called Bantam on a secure line. The fixer answered. ‘Awright guv’ner,’ he said in his Cockney drawl.
‘Bantam, I need to you to sort something out for me,’ and Hughes went on to explain his requirements.
‘No bovver guv’ner, but that’s a bit out of the ordinary,’ Bantam said and quoted a huge sum for his services.
‘I’ll arrange the money. Just get it done.’ Hughes hung up. He never thought he would have to call on Bantam for a professional hit. He felt oddly exhilarated.
Lady Elizabeth knocked on the door. ‘I shall be going to bed, dear,’ she said. ‘Such terrible news from London. I am very glad you decided not to join the Home Secretary.’
‘Indeed,’ Hughes said. ‘Thankfully, my former colleagues seemed to have everything just about in hand.’
‘That poor policeman though. They were saying on the news that he has a six-month-old baby.’
‘Yes, quite terrible. But it could have been a lot worse.’
‘Yes, I suppose so,’ Elizabeth said, turning to go. ‘Good night, dear.’
Hughes turned back to the television. His earlier fear was slowly being displaced by rage. How had he let himself be drawn into this? He poured himself a drink and took a seat by the window, watching the last rays of light fade from the hillside. His escape from this place was on hold for now. There are other ways and means.
Angus trotted over to him and laid his head on his master’s knee. Absentmindedly, Hughes scratched behind the dog’s ears, and the dog whimpered his contentment.
/> ‘Time, that’s all we need,’ he told the dog. ‘Time.’
Chapter Twenty-Six
0710, Monday 10th July, Thames House, Westminster, London
The weather had broken overnight, and a thunderous storm had hit London in the early hours of the morning. Rain still hung in the air as Edison made his way to Thames House.
At just gone midnight, he and Kat had left the scene of Yousuf’s suicide.
‘What was in that bottle?’ Kat had asked him.
‘Coniine,’ Edison replied.
‘Hemlock. Like Socrates,’ Kat mused. ‘Convicted and sentenced to death for moral corruption and impiety.’
‘The irony.’ They were silent until they reached the car. They threw their flak jackets onto the back seats. Kat checked her phone before getting into the car. Edison hovered, preparing for the short walk home. She listened to Mo’s voicemail. Her response had been muted. With her phone pressed to her ear, her shoulders slumped as she listened to Mo telling her that Nick had died earlier that evening. Her exhaustion precluded a more emotional response to the news. When she hung up, she relayed the information to Edison.
‘I’ll drop you at home,’ she suggested, sliding into the driver’s seat.
Outside the flat, they’d wished one another good night with a perfunctory hug. They had gone their separate ways, reeling from the events of the day, both too tired to consider what Edison’s return to MI5 meant for their relationship.
With the majestic façade of MI5’s headquarters looming above him, Edison fingered his security pass in his pocket and felt his heartbeat quicken as he approached the security gates. For a moment, he wondered whether the pass would permit him access. Perhaps yesterday’s triumphant return to the Grid had been a one-off thing. But no, he bid Craig good morning and waved the plastic badge at the scanner, the gates parted and let him through.
The fifth floor, the home of the counter-terrorism section, was subdued, although there were already dozens of people at their desks. As he exited the lift, there was an urgent knocking on the glass that separated Tanya’s office from the rest of the floor. Edison looked over and saw Kat beckoning him to join them.
‘Where’s Mo?’ Edison asked, concerned for the young officer who had spent so much time with Nick Walsh in the past two weeks.
‘I told him to take the day off,’ Kat said. She waved a plate of pastries under Edison’s nose. ‘Want one?’ she asked.
Edison took a croissant and looked around hopefully for a teapot. ‘On the side,’ Tanya said, and Edison moved across the room to pour a cup.
‘We haven’t been here long. I’ve filled the team in on last night. Also, Anna Graham has been charged,’ Kat explained to Edison as he returned to the conference table and pulled up a seat. ‘Colin was just telling us that we have ID on the three bombers.’
He studied the photos on the board that had been wheeled in. They were grainy images taken from the sighting equipment used by the armed police unit.
Colin looked around at the team, his eyes were bright, and his skin glowed. He never looked like he’d sacrificed any sleep to this job, despite Edison’s strong suspicion that it was unlikely Colin had been home the previous night. He pointed at the first photograph, ‘This is Anan,’ he moved his finger along, ‘Saada and Bakar.’
‘Mohammed Anan, Zeki Saada and Asif Bakar. Anan and Bakar are Yemeni. Anan is Syrian. We’re checking with the respective authorities for any further intelligence. But all three have links to an extremist group with training camps in Northern Syria.’
‘Good, that’s been bothering me,’ Edison said. ‘Yousuf had a very personal vendetta, his own score to settle. But to achieve what he did, he would need access to a much bigger infrastructure to identify potential recruits, source weapons, buy explosives and so on.’
‘You’re right, of course,’ said Tanya, ‘but we all know what a minefield that is. Do we have any leads?’
‘We’ll work with Six to follow up, but those trails go cold pretty quickly. They’re renowned for going to ground at the first sign of trouble.’
‘What about Christoph?’ Edison asked.
‘It was the Hungarians who eventually owned up to recognising his picture,’ said Colin. ‘Ernő Török is a Hungarian national. He studied computer science at the University of Budapest. He was arrested a couple of times in the early 2000s for malware attacks on state institutions before he disappeared, they think to Israel. The Swiss were interested in the picture as someone matching that description was wanted in connection to a money laundering fraud at one of their private banks. A similar story from the Belgians.’
‘A hacker for hire,’ Edison mused, thinking back to his conversations with RubiksKube. ‘You never know, we might be able to track him down someday.’
‘Ok,’ Tanya said authoritatively, ‘other than a few loose ends, this operation has been pretty much put to bed.’ Tanya concluded the meeting, ‘Very well done, once again. Edison, could I have a quick word?’
Colin grabbed another pastry, and the team made their way out.
‘How is Tony?’ Tanya asked once they had gone. ‘You live with him, don’t you?’
‘Yes,’ Edison replied, ‘but I didn’t see him this morning.’
Tanya looked perplexed. ‘We received his resignation by email first thing this morning, which seems like a rather extravagant response. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Edison didn’t know what to say. ‘He may come around,’ he ventured.
‘Desk jobbers don’t really appreciate what it’s like in the field,’ Tanya said. ‘I think I’ll have to accept the resignation, but we’ll need him in for a proper debrief. This isn’t the kind of job you can just walk away from.’
‘Tell me about it.’ Tanya smiled at him. ‘What exactly is my status, Tanya?’
‘Let’s say you’re here on probation.’
Edison raised his eyebrows, ‘Probation?’
‘You’re one of the best intelligence officers this service has ever seen, Edison. I need you in the inner sanctum. But it’s not simple. This is still a bureaucratic government department and …’ she trailed off.
‘And Sir Donald Hughes has many friends.’
‘Yes,’ Tanya shifted uneasily, ‘including the Home Secretary. Who had a lucky escape yesterday. He was clearly the high-profile target that Murat Yousuf was after.’
‘And the collateral damage was there to satisfy the fundamentalists.’
‘Rather puts paid to your theory that Hughes was somehow involved. He wouldn’t have plotted to kill his friend.’
‘He’s a mercenary, Hughes. Sells his allegiance to the highest bidder.’
‘As I told you yesterday, you need to be careful, Edison,’ Tanya warned him, her brow furrowing. ‘I’ve waged a few wars to get you back on the Grid. If you pursue Hughes, it will have disastrous consequences.’ She looked sternly at Edison and added, ‘For us all.’
Edison nodded his understanding. Tanya turned her attention to her computer screen, dismissing Edison who made his escape. As he crossed the floor, Kat pounced on him.
‘What are you thinking, Edison?’
‘Have you been skulking there all this time?’
Kat shrugged and asked him again, ‘Come on, what are you thinking? This isn’t wrapped up as far as you’re concerned.’
He pulled Kat to one side, Tanya’s warning about Hughes still ringing in his ears, he lowered his voice and said, ‘There’s still the connection between Anna and Hughes.’
Kat’s eyes widened, ‘Come on Edison. It’s more than your job’s worth to pursue that. Anyway, how can you be so sure there is a connection?’
‘Absolutely sure. He was involved in all of this in some way. Maybe just skimming money off at the top. Coordinating the drugs racket perhaps. He’s got form on that front. I’m sure he was involved.’ Edison’s voice rose as the accusations rolled off his tongue.
‘Keep your voice down,’ Kat said urgently. ‘It’s all conjecture. I don�
��t think there’s anything that can be done.’
He looked over Kat’s shoulder at the buzzing Grid. His colleagues, his friends, working diligently to tie up HAPSBURG and work on the hundreds of new threats that landed in their inboxes every day. Edison sighed, remembering his promise to Tanya, ‘I agree.’ Kat seemed surprised by Edison’s willingness to let go, ‘We’ve got our man.’
‘And woman,’ Kat said. ‘Yousuf couldn’t have done it without Anna. She was cool as a cucumber in the interview. And even now, with Yousuf dead, she’s not breathing a word.’
‘Unflappable. Office managers and assistants tend to be. They know all the secrets and how to keep them.’
In their efforts to prevent any of their colleagues overhearing their conversation, Kat and Edison had found themselves speaking with their bodies just millimetres apart. The intimacy of the situation dawned on Edison, and he took a step back.
‘So, you’re back then,’ Kat said.
‘On probation, apparently,’ Edison pulled a face and Kat laughed. Edison reached for her hand and Kat looked around, pulling it back from his grasp. She looked awkward, shuffling from one foot to another. ‘What’s up?’ Edison asked.
‘If you’re back, maybe we should cool off a little.’
‘Oh,’ Edison stuttered, ‘um, ok. If you think it’s best.’
‘I think it is,’ Kat said resolutely. And with that, she marched off across the office. Edison watched her go, unsure what to make of it.
His phone vibrated in his pocket. He retrieved it and was surprised to see a French number displayed. ‘Hello,’ he answered.
‘Oh, hello, Edison, it’s Gauthier.’
‘Oh, hello, Gauthier, it’s good to hear from you. How are you?’
‘I’m well. I just thought I would give you a call, given what day it is.’
Edison looked around wildly for a calendar. What day was it? Monday in mid-July. Surely, he hadn’t forgotten? Surely, he couldn’t have, even with everything that was going on. He peered over Colin’s shoulder at the lower right corner of the screen, and sure enough, there it was – the date, the tenth of July. How could he have forgotten?