Tested by Fire

by David Costa

  Reece knew there would be a lot of pressure on SG9 and especially him, so he was going to make damn sure he had everything he needed.

  ‘An SAS CQ assault team on standby in Manchester. I’ll brief them personally on what might be needed.’

  ‘You’ve got it.’

  ‘Can you also have our Special Branch and boarder people go through all passenger and vehicle arrivals into the country from Ireland in the past week? Pass on Costello’s latest description and photos, bearing in mind he won’t be giving us any full-frontal face displays. You could do the same for Lyndsey through Manchester and Liverpool airports. It’s a shot in the dark, but maybe something will turn up. We can assume that Costello won’t be on his own, so CCTV around the area of the Conference might look for a six-foot white and fit looking male who may be accompanied by an Asian friend. It’s rarer than you might think.’

  Broad pulled up the calendar on his laptop.

  ‘OK, let’s see, the Conference starts on Sunday twenty-ninth of September, with the main appearance by the PM on Wednesday the second of October, so we don’t have much time. The PM will be attending the Conference no matter what. You must remember the legacy set by Margaret Thatcher the morning after the Brighton bomb. She went on stage at the Conference to say the terrorists would never win. Today’s Prime Minister will say and do the same. I also remember the words of the Provisional IRA after the bombing, we only need to be lucky once.’

  Reece stood and reached out his hand. Broad took it and shook it firmly. No more words were necessary, the deal had been made and both men knew what was at stake.

  Chapter Fourteen

  When Sharon Lyndsey’s flight landed at Manchester Airport from Zurich, she’d already travelled from Iran to Turkey to Switzerland under the name Karen Webb. She’d discarded her Islamic dress instead dressing in the dark trouser suit of a Swiss banker with Gucci luggage and handbag to match. She’d dyed her hair blonde and covered her blue eyes with brown contact lenses.

  Her documents matched her appearance with a genuine passport provided by an official in the Swiss Civil Service after he’d been blackmailed through a honey trap extra-marital affair with a lady working for the Islamic Jihad.

  Once through the airport she took a taxi to the Hilton Hotel in Deansgate and booked in for three days under her assumed name.

  WEDNESDAY, 25 SEPTEMBER 2019

  Chapter Fifteen

  It was typical Manchester weather, showers with a little sunshine peering through the clouds now and then. Mohammad had driven them both to Irlam railway station where they took a train to Deansgate Station Manchester. Costello was now in operational mode as he liked to call it. He carried the Browning 9mm in the right-hand pocket of his green Barbour jacket. His hand felt comfortable wrapped around the pistol grip. He constantly observed the other people on the train and again as they walked across the overhead walkway leaving the station and down the steps turning right into Deansgate itself. Costello had been here years before when he’d driven a lorry with nearly one ton of HME from South Armagh, to park it up near the Arndale Centre before activating the timer which triggered one of the largest explosions in Britain since the Second World War.

  He was aware he was on the British Security Service’s most wanted list but a visit to Tehran and a few cosmetic snips here and there had been enough to change his facial profile, enough to allow him to move about more freely. Only someone who really knew him could spot the man below the new mask.

  It was while he was in Tehran that he’d met by accident his old friend Sharon Lyndsey while sipping a cup of strong Arabic coffee outside a café in The Square of the Revolution.

  She was wearing the traditional Muslim headscarf and when he called out to her, she stopped and taking a long look said, ‘My God, Sean is that you?’

  They had hugged and talked non-stop through three cups of coffee. The last time they’d met was in a training camp in the Becca Valley in Lebanon. She was teaching in tradecraft on how to use forged documents to get through security checks and how to set up false covers and bank accounts. Costello had been improving his skills as one of the world’s deadliest snipers.

  After two more meetings, the plan that brought Costello back to Manchester had been hatched. Lyndsey had hitched her star to a number of Islamic Jihad groups from Hezbollah to Al Shabab but always staying close to the al-Qaeda terrorist campaign. Like Costello, she’d always moved when one group seemed to be going soft on the West. Lyndsey had told Costello she had contacts in England who wanted to attack the British establishment where it would hurt most, its own streets. In particular, there was a small team of three men who she’d helped with false documents and money. These men were now ready to carry out attacks in England but what they needed was a good target and the proper resources to hit it, determination they had in abundance according to Lyndsey. It was then that Costello had floated the idea of a joint operation where he could supply the equipment and they could hit two targets at once. They agreed that Lyndsey would be the finance provider and the point of liaison between the two groups on the ground and Costello would be the leader of the overall operation.

  Costello worried that she’d be too well known and might be spotted in England. She’d laughed and told him she’d been there many times helping to radicalise young men to the cause of the Islamic Jihad, then helping them to train and fight in the countries where they were needed.

  The three-man team she spoke of were of the highest calibre and commitment. One of them, Waheed, was a cousin of Azhari Husin who had been al-Qaeda’s bomb maker in chief. He’d been killed when a house he was in at Batu, Indonesia was assaulted by their Special Forces acting on intelligence received from the Israeli Secret Service, Mossad. He’d been wounded twice but died a martyr to the cause when one of his associates detonated a suicide vest killing them both. Waheed had followed in his cousin’s footsteps and was now one of Islamic Jihad’s top bomb makers.

  The seed of an idea had started to formulate in Costello’s mind. He didn’t know if he could work with a fanatic who was willing to kill himself to get the job done. To Costello, this was a waste of good talent. Talent like him, who, if with the right organisation and planning, not only gets the job done but gets away to do the same on another day and time. He was prepared to die for his cause, but he would rather live for it.

  ‘Can you get them all to Manchester before October first?’ he’d asked her.

  ‘No problem. Two of them are there already; one of them works in an office in the city. The third man is in London, but I can have him there by the first.’

  ‘Good, if we can do what I think we can, we’ll bring about the greatest defeat of the British and the West since 9/11 and the day your husband died a martyr in London.’

  ‘If you can do this, I’ll help you all I can.’

  Now, as Costello left Deansgate Station with Mohammad and walked over the walkway down into Deansgate, then past the front entrance of the Hilton Hotel, he knew what he was looking for and the questions in his head that needed answers.

  The hotel staff were standing out in the street on what appeared to be the emergency hotel drill. Many of them in flimsy uniforms offering little protection against the strong, cold wind.

  When Costello had told Lyndsey his idea, she’d been sceptical at first but when he went into the details, she’d agreed that with a little planning and the right team, it could be done. Lyndsey had contacted her al-Qaeda masters to brief them. At first, they too were sceptical, especially from the point of view of a Western Terrorist working closely with the Islamic group, but in the end admitted that if the operation was a success, it would be a great victory for both groups. If not a success, they would lose little and could blame Costello for the failure. Lyndsey had told Costello this and what they were thinking. He was still happy to proceed and now, with Mohammad he turned off Deansgate and continued with his recon of Manchester where in just over a week, he hoped to carry out the attack that would put the all-Irel
and question back on the world political stage and the cause of Irish freedom at the forefront once again.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Mohammad left Costello outside the Hilton and crossed the road to the office where he worked. Costello crossed the Great Northern Square into Windmill Street where he walked to the rear entrance of the Midland Hotel. The hotel was one of Manchester’s iconic landmarks. Stopping at the rear door he turned to face the square in front of him. Directly facing was the entrance to the Manchester Central Convention Centre Complex. He walked at a normal pace towards the Convention Complex main doors counting the number of paces and seconds it took from the hotel doorway to the steps at the front of the Convention Centre. He noted the line of small trees that dissected his path as he crossed the otherwise open space. He turned and retraced his steps back to the hotel door turning once more to face the open square. This time under the peak of his baseball cap his eyes took in a slow right to left arc. He noted the many CCTV cameras and the tall buildings. Turning once more he walked along the outside of the hotel towards Peter Street emerging with the hotel’s main front entrance to his right. He crossed Peter Street into Mount Street towards Manchester Town Hall and Albert Square.

  Halfway along Mount Street, he found the café Mohammad had told him about. The Browners Café was quiet, apart from three workmen having a full English breakfast each. Costello took a seat by the window. Outside, the rain had started to fall more heavily. The few people on the street moved to cover from the sudden shower. Costello could see why Mohammad liked the café. Apart from being quiet, the menu was simple and cheap. The people who worked in the café were all Asian and from the familiar way they spoke to each other probably family.

  Costello ordered a pot of tea and a full English breakfast with extra toast. Looking outside he could see the rain had started to die down, people started to come out onto the street again but still, few of them. He took out his pocket notebook and made cryptic notes. In between bites of breakfast and hot black tea, his plan started to develop. His mobile phone vibrated in his pocket. The text read:

  I’m here, Hilton Hotel, coffee at two.

  The White Widow had arrived.

  Chapter Seventeen

  The morning after his meeting with Sir Martin Bryant, Reece had thrown his things in his bag, checked out of his hotel, and returned to the Department HQ at London City Airport. When he entered the main briefing room, Jim Broad had already started to brief the three other people present. Reece knew everyone and had worked with them at one time or another. All were in their early to late thirties and each had a long background in the intelligence game.

  April Grey, slim with blond hair and blue eyes, smiled as Reece waved a hand of acknowledgement around the table. Grey was ex-military police and someone who knew her way around a surveillance grid. The fair-haired, blue-eyed man sitting next to her was six-foot ex-14 Int and Detachment operator Joe Cousins. Reece had worked with him in Northern Ireland during the Troubles in South Armagh and Belfast, on some of the most dangerous and tricky operations ever carried out against the terrorist elements at that time.

  Reece was glad to see him as he knew Cousins was one of the best locksmiths around. If they needed to gain quiet entry to any premises, Joe was the man to do it.

  The final agent at the table was the kind of person nobody looked at twice. Steve Harrison could walk into a room and no one would know he was there. He’d come to SG9 via the famous MI5 surveillance team known as the Watchers. Steve had also worked in Northern Ireland backing up the police and military surveillance units when MI5 were assisting Special Branch, usually when installing bugging devices deep into the terrorist heartlands. Although Reece had never worked with Harrison, he’d done his surveillance training under Harrison’s watchful eye when he attended the MI5 courses in London. That training had saved Reece’s life on more than one occasion.

  Broad spoke first. ‘David, I know you all know each other, so we can dispense with the introductions. I’ve given everyone the background as far as we know it. There is a credible threat. We have information that there may be an assassination attempt on the Prime Minister when he attends the Conservative Party Conference in Manchester. Now, David, I’ll let you fill in the details as it’s your agent who has provided the intelligence.’

  ‘At the moment, we think the Prime Minister is the primary target. His personal security detail and local protection services will still be in place to protect him. Our job isn’t to babysit the PM but to identify, find, and eliminate this enemy. We can’t remove the Prime Minister from the target zone as it’s the Conference in Manchester, where he’ll go no matter what. The intelligence we have to go on, although sketchy, gives us enough to take this threat seriously.’

  ‘Do you think we’ll be able to get any more information?’ asked Harrison.

  ‘My source is heading back to Northern Ireland with that in mind. Our immediate task is to get to Manchester, embed ourselves in the standard security setup, then familiarise ourselves with the possible target area. The operation will be overseen by Mr Broad and run from the control room here. We’ve been authorised to carry and use firearms. The people we’re looking for will be armed and dangerous so, Big Boys’ Rules, we take them out before they take us out. So, let’s hit the armoury, get what we need… from weapons to surveillance equipment and report back here in one hour.’

  ‘The code name for this operation is Longshot,’ Broad said. ‘Which I think is very appropriate. There’s a Puma chopper ready to transport you to a secure location just outside the city. There’ll be an SAS team allocated to you so if you need heavy weapons backup, they’ll take care of it. Your job is to find these people and if needs be, take them out yourselves. Good luck and good hunting.’

  Chapter Eighteen

  When Costello left the café, he turned left and walked in the opposite direction with the Midland Hotel behind him. Now he walked into the main square in front of the Town Hall. The rain kept people off the street even though it had now stopped. Costello would have liked to sit at one of the outside tables in front of the cafés and restaurants facing the Town Hall and observe the whole area for a while, but the chairs were still too wet, so he walked on. At the rear of the Town Hall he passed a small group waving coloured flags protesting about something, but he didn’t get close enough to find out what in case they were being observed by the local police. He walked alongside the tram lines that dissected St Peter’s Square, passing the Manchester Library on his right. He turned at the end of the building and crossing the road, he entered the Midland Hotel through the front revolving doors.

  Inside, the large open lobby was busy with customers. The main seated public area had been closed for what appeared to be a conference group having tea and coffee. Costello decided to keep walking through the reception area and down the corridor which led to the rear door out of the building. He stepped outside, stopped, and looked around from left to right. This was the exact route his target would take. He could look straight across at the Manchester Conference Centre steps and main entrance door. He estimated it would take fifteen seconds to get off his shots, no more than two accurately, as the target would be moving and a line of small trees would protect the target from view for a few seconds during the walk.

  Costello kept his head down as once more his eyes, below the line of the peak of his baseball cap, scanned the ground from left to right and back again. He took in the outline of the many tall buildings surrounding the background to the square patch of land with its concrete path and walkways where the target would cross in those few seconds. Two buildings caught his attention. At the rear of the Conference Centre he could see the large outline of the Hilton Hotel towering in the distance; too far away to make it a viable prospect for Costello’s needs. To hit his target from one of its high-up windows would be a supreme effort and too far for the accuracy he needed being almost a mile away. At that distance and height, the shot would be too shallow and with possible windage, too muc
h could go wrong. As he looked to his right, a building of what appeared to be apartments with balconies looked more promising.

  Costello set off at a casual pace in the direction of this building. As he walked towards it, the possibilities firmed up in his mind. Walking alongside the building down Windmill Street he crossed to the front of the building on Great Northern Square. Looking back the way he’d come, he could just make out the rear door of the Midland about three hundred yards away.

  A few more steps took him to the front of the building with a sign that said Great Northern Tower Apartments. Access was via a button keypad and all the apartments numbers were on a metal plate with a button next to them, allowing a visitor to press and speak for access. Costello discreetly took a photo of all this and then the building from a distance across the square. He looked at his watch. He still had an hour to use up before his meeting with Sharon in the Hilton, plenty of time for a little more thinking over a cup of coffee in one of the cafés on Deansgate.

  Finding one, and as he usually did, took a seat near the back so he could watch the door and people passing by outside. Ordering a black coffee, he took out his notebook and made a few notes with a crudely drawn sketch showing where he’d walked. He then looked at the tourist map provided by Mohammad. Now he could feel a sense of relaxation come over him; the satisfied calm that always came when he’d completed a profitable recognisance of the ground where he would operate. The next time he’d cover this ground would be with the whole team – each with a different task to complete. Each one of them would have to be sure of the part they would play and where they would be operating.