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Tested by Fire

Page 17

by David Costa


  ‘We can send Mohammad out for something to eat when we’re in there otherwise we’re just making it a longer stay than we need to.’

  Now that they were close to the finish, and there was nothing more they could do, the hours would drag out, they knew this from experience.

  ‘I can never think of food in the future when I’m eating, it’s the same if I go to the supermarket on a full stomach,’ said Costello.

  ‘After tomorrow we can have a banquet wherever you want.’

  ‘On a yacht on some beautiful ocean.’

  ‘Sounds wonderful, it’s something I’ve never done.’

  ‘Let’s make that a date then. Job done tomorrow then yacht in Mediterranean for dinner. I’m off to get a paper and do some of that relaxing you talk about. See you later.’

  Chapter Forty-eight

  The Prime Minister had arrived in Manchester and was now in a meeting with senior ministers at his suite in the Midland Hotel when Jim Broad called to update him on progress.

  He’d parked his car some distance away and had used the walk to take the time to think, putting together in his mind what he would say to the PM. It was early evening and though the conference delegates had, in the main, left the main Conference building for the day, there was still a large group of demonstrators in the area. The crowd were a mixture of all sorts. Some with placards showing their grievances and that were always complaining about something and looking for trouble instead of getting off their backsides and doing something to change the problem. Then there was the usual Union and left-wing protesters and agitators with placards from Save our NHS to Tory Scum, Ban Foxhunting all accompanied by the usual chants of ‘Tories Out’, ‘Tory Scum’, ‘Down with the capitalist system’. It was all meant to intimidate the delegates who had to pass them to get into the Conference area.

  Broad liked to think that he would fight for what was the free speech these demonstrators represented, even if he didn’t like how they used it. The thing that angered him most was that the puppet masters behind the demonstrators who organised the rent a mob would show up when the crowd was at its biggest, spout a few words for the benefit of the cameras, then having heated up the crowd once more, would disappear to the warmth of their limo and the expensive hotel being paid for with Union or taxpayers money.

  Broad knew some of the history of the hotel that had been used by kings, queens, presidents, and now prime ministers. The prime ministers mostly staying when attending the Conservative Party Annual Conference which Manchester had shared every two years with Birmingham. The two main political parties in Britain had moved their conferences into the big cities away from the old coastal resorts due to the fact the numbers attending had grown, now more hotel space was needed.

  Broad had no problem getting through security and was now sitting outside the suite of rooms being used by the Prime Minister. He wasn’t alone. There was a secretary behind a desk and standing at the door to the rooms was one of the PM’s Personal Protection team standing quietly but alert.

  ‘You may go in now, sir,’ said the secretary.

  When Broad entered the suite, Peter Brookfield came and shook his hand.

  ‘Jim, welcome, thank you for coming. Please, take a seat.’

  Broad sat in one of the large winged leather chairs that made up a three-piece set surrounding a large glass coffee table which had two empty coffee cups and a buff folder with TOP SECRET across the top of the file and below in smaller letters Operation Longshot. Brookfield sat in the other armchair. Sitting on the large sofa were Sir Hugh Fraser and Sir Martin Bryant. After everyone said hello it was Bryant who spoke.

  ‘Well, Mr Broad, where are we now, can you bring us up to date?’

  His question indicated two things to Broad. He’d used the word ‘we’ which he could take to mean we’re all in this together. But he’d started with a more formal, Mister, which Broad took as we’re together in this but if the shit hits the fan, you’re on your own.

  Broad spent the next twenty minutes bringing them up to date.

  ‘So, despite all the resources we have, we’re not much closer to getting these people? You say we are, but how close?’ Bryant asked.

  There was that ‘we’ again, thought Broad, and he was sure Sir Hugh had picked up on it too when he smiled and winked at him.

  ‘I do think we’re close. We have them moving out of the Hilton in a hurry and obviously spooked. They exposed themselves and we can now confirm that the Real IRA and Islamic Jihad are working together. Most likely, led by Costello and Lyndsey. From the CCTV we have a full description of the driver of the BMW and its registration details. Thanks to the PSNI we’ve confirmation of Costello phoning Ireland, the conversation recorded, and the number of the burner phone he’s using. CCHQ are monitoring it with the hope of pinning down his location.’

  ‘Is there anything else you need?’ asked Brookfield.

  ‘Not now, Prime Minister. Can I ask, have you briefed your own protection detail or changed any of your plans?’

  ‘Yes and no. We have increased my Personal Protection by two and my plans for the Conference remain the same, on schedule.’

  ‘The Prime Minister will be attending some Party events in the city tonight then back here to work on his speech and more meetings with ministers. We don’t want the Press alerted by drastic changes to his security or itinerary,’ said Bryant.

  ‘Thank you, Martin,’ said Hugh Fraser, ‘I think we can let Jim get on with the job in hand. We must remember his team aren’t policemen but a specialist unit with a specialist task as set out by the Prime Minister and the Intelligence Committee. Their job is to find the terrorists and deal with them.’

  ‘Yes, thank you, Jim, for all that you and your team are doing, please keep me updated,’ said the Prime Minister.

  ‘Come and let me buy you a cup of coffee, Jim,’ said Sir Hugh putting his arm around Jim’s shoulder and guiding him to the door.

  ‘Yes, good night, Mr Broad, and thank you,’ said Bryant.

  ‘Good night, sir,’ said Broad before he left.

  There it was again, the politician’s language of formality. You’re not one of us, you’re on your own. At least Broad knew who his real friends were and who he could trust the kind of friend who would follow him through the door of danger. The politicians he’d come into contact with always looked for a scapegoat if things went wrong.

  When they got to the hotel lobby, they found a seat in the corner of the crowded room still full of delegates talking in full flow.

  Instead of the coffee he’d suggested, Sir Hugh ordered two large malt whiskies and a jug of water. Now, as he looked over his glass at Broad, he smiled again.

  ‘I needed this, Jim. Any longer in that room with that jumped up one-trick pony, Bryant, and I would have shot him myself.’

  Broad laughed. He knew Hugh Fraser hated the grey suit mob, as they called ministers and their lackeys, as much as he did. Bryant, because he had the Prime Minister’s ear, could be a tough-talking mandarin one of the boys when he wanted to, but talk was cheap – action on the ground sorts the real men from the boys. Bryant was the kind of civil servant who had perfected the art of smiling to your face while stabbing you in the back. He would have been comfortable in the company of the gang that surrounded Julius Caesar on the steps of the Senate all those years ago. The locations might be different, but the tactics were the same.

  ‘But, Jim, I want you know that no matter what we think of Bryant, he’s smart and because he has the ear of the PM, we need to think like a politician. We work in the background of life not in the full glare of the British and world news cycle. The first people know about us is when something has happened, usually when people are dead.’

  More people were filling the spaces in the bar. The Conference and its fringe events were closing down for the day. The sound of voices filled the air and the two men found they could speak without being overheard.

  ‘I know what you mean, Hugh. But the politicians
might change but as far as we’re concerned, their politics doesn’t. Look at what they’re now doing in Northern Ireland pandering to the Republicans and then getting the PSNI to hound old soldiers in their seventies trying to prosecute them for killings they were involved in during the Troubles when serving Queen and Country. The politicians did the same after Iraq; allowing ambulance chasing lawyers to lead spurious, made-up investigations on the behalf of the terrorists we were fighting. That’s what I fear now for SG9. Our people put their head on the block at the behest of these same politicians who are only too pleased to point the finger of blame when the shit hits the fan.’

  Hugh took a long sip of his malt then leaned a little closer towards Jim.

  ‘I know, and I agree with what you’re saying. All our lives we’ve had to deal with these pen pushers. I’ve always stood by my people. I would never ask them to do something I wouldn’t do myself. I don’t want you and the team to have any worries. If push comes to shove, I have enough information on the skeletons in their cupboards to bring down the lot of them. In the meantime, let’s get on with the job. I know your team have been briefed and trained to take these bastards out. But, if there is a chance to take Lyndsey alive, the information she has on the Islamic network would be more useful without a bullet in it.’

  Broad understood what his boss was saying. It would give him the ace up his sleeve he needed to continue playing his game with the politicians.

  ‘We will do our best. Now, can we get out of here and get some food, I’m starving, somewhere a little quieter?’

  ‘There’s a little club I just happen to be a member of not too far from here.’

  Chapter Forty-nine

  After he’d shown his identification to one of the security men, Reece was escorted to the security suite on the first floor of the Conference Centre. The Centre itself was full of delegates and the noise of a thousand voices in conversation was deafening. The security suite held around ten people who were either talking on phones or radios or watching monitors. Sitting at the back was Graham Lockwood, Gold Commander, who stood to greet Reece.

  ‘Mr Reece, for what do we owe the pleasure?’

  Reece sensed the question was in no way a pleasant greeting.

  ‘Good to meet you again, sir,’ he lied. ‘We’ve been following a suspect this morning and it would appear he is one of your conference delegates.’

  A look of panic came over Lockwood’s face.

  ‘You mean they’re here, in here now?’

  ‘It would appear he is on his own and completely clean, not carrying anything of danger to us but we can’t take any chances.’

  ‘Can you be sure? Where is he now? What are you going to do?’

  There it was again, thought Reece, what are you going to do, the old swift two-step making sure he knew that if anything went wrong, it would be Reece to blame.

  ‘That’s why I want to use your screens to monitor him while he’s here and try to get his details from when he scanned his Conference card at the security tent.’

  Lockwood knew Reece was in charge and he was only too happy to hand over control in this particular instance.

  ‘Everyone,’ shouted Lockwood attracting all the eyes in the room to look his way. ‘This is Mr Reece I want you to give him whatever assistance he asks of you, this is important. Mr Reece, you have the room.’

  Reece could see the questions on the officers’ faces as they looked from Lockwood to him.

  ‘At this stage, I need someone who can use the screens to cover the whole Conference area from the main hall itself to the side shows and cafés, so which screen is best and who can do this for me?’

  A young-looking constable put up his hand.

  ‘I have good coverage, sir.’

  ‘What’s your name?’ asked Reece as he pulled up a chair and sat down beside the constable.

  ‘Jones, sir.’

  ‘OK, Jones, first off I’m not a Sir call me David. Second, show me what you can see.’

  It only took Reece five minutes to spot Tourist One sitting on his own in the café area.

  ‘That’s him, Jones, keep your eye on him while I make a phone call.’

  ‘Yes, sir, sorry, David.’

  Lockwood had been watching over Reece’s shoulder.

  ‘Are you not going to grab him?’

  ‘No, not yet. He’s only a part of the plan. We need to see if he’ll lead us to the rest. Where he is now is no risk to us, after all he’s just gone through your security. He uses a false name of Kevin Jones. I checked with your people at the front security tent when I followed him through, and they confirm it’s the name he’s used to attend as a delegate. A quick check through my people shows the address he’s given exists, but it’s a dead letter drop; he doesn’t live there. Mr Lockwood, as you can now see, these people are very professional and there has been a lot of thought put into their planning. We’re close and this Kevin Jones, who I’m sure is no relation to our Constable Jones here, will help us bring the lot of them down.’

  ‘I hope for all our sakes you’re right, Mr Reece.’

  ‘So do I, so do I. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to speak to my people and let them know where our friend Kevin Jones is right now.’

  Reece then phoned Jim Broad describing what had happened and where he now was.

  ‘What do we do now, David?’

  ‘We need to keep Tourist One under tight surveillance. We can’t afford to lose sight of him. Send April here to work with me. Get her to pick up Mary we might need her insight to help us identify people we don’t know if Costello is the only Irish connection here. Keep Cousins and Harrison in Irlam for now while you find out what house Tourist One came out of this morning. If we find that, then we can move in closer and work out if we use the troop to hit it or wait and follow whoever leaves it.’

  ‘We might have some good news on the house. We discovered number two Henley Avenue is the only house in the street that’s rented – the rest are long-term ownership.’

  ‘That’s great. Get the boys to walk past a few times to see if they can spot any occupants, but not to get close until after dark, by that time, with the Conference more or less closing up around five, we should find Tourist One on the move again.’

  Reece went back to the screens and Constable Jones.

  ‘Anything to report, Jonesy?’

  ‘No. He’s just sitting there drinking and appears to be watching the world go by.’

  ‘Is he watching anything in particular?’

  ‘No, that’s just it, just watching.’

  ‘Keep watching but change cameras regularly; he might be watching us watching him. I haven’t had a bite for some time, so I think I’ll go down and see what they have to offer. If he moves, follow him and phone me.’

  Reece wrote down his number and headed for the ground floor. It was easy to find the café and to mingle with the large crowd. He entered the open café behind Tourist One, who was still sitting at the table and reading a newspaper scanning the crowds. Reece ordered a coffee and a ham sandwich before sitting down six tables behind Tourist One. As he ate, he watched his target. Dressed like many here, a navy pin striped suit and shiny black shoes. His hair was short and neatly trimmed, a short-trimmed beard, and a round face with square thick framed black glasses.

  He looked calm and relaxed, but Reece knew he was at work here, on a mission of his own. Watching the world go by was just a part of his reason for being here and Reece now knew he was assessing the security surrounding the Conference.

  Good, he thought, you’re in my playing area now.

  As he watched, Tourist One folded his paper and leaving it on the table, he got up and started walking towards the main Hall. Reece took another bite from his sandwich then left half of it on his plate. His phone buzzed. It was Jones to tell him his target was on the move.

  ‘Yes, thanks, Jonesy. Stay with him I’m not far behind. Can you print up some close-up photos of him from what you’ve been seeing?’
/>
  ‘I already have, David, they’re here waiting for you and I have just sent one to your phone.’

  ‘Good man.’

  Reece followed Tourist One into the main hall staying about five rows behind him. On the main stage, the Conference Chairman was holding a three-way discussion on education with two company directors. This was followed with a speech by the Education Secretary.

  Tourist One clapped at the appropriate places but he continued to move his head around making it obvious to Reece that he was also looking for CCTV and security but also checking for anyone watching him.

  Near the end of the education speech, Tourist One left his seat and began to make his way back into the main area. Reece remained a safe distance away and watched as he circulated the stalls and displays, taking some of the freebies, one a bag to carry his goodies, before going back to the café and resuming his position with a pot of tea and a different newspaper.

  Grey text him to say she’d arrived, so instead of resuming his position in the café, Reece went back to monitor Tourist One from the safety of the security room.

  On entering the security suite Reece felt his spirits lift when he saw Mary sitting at the back of the room. Smiling he went and sat beside her.

  ‘Well, how are you today?’

  ‘I’m fine, Joseph, all the better for seeing you. Are you OK, you look tired?’

  ‘I haven’t had much sleep in the last twenty-four hours, but, it’s always the same when you get to the end game in these things, and we’re definitely nearing the end. I hope you’ve had a good night’s sleep because it might be a long day.’

  ‘Slept like a baby, with some nice dreams involving you.’

  April, who had been watching the screen from behind Jonesy, joined them.

  ‘He’s still enjoying his paper. Here are the stills, they’re good,’ she said handing over the pictures.

  They were very good, thought Reece. Almost as good as a passport photo showing Tourist One’s face looking directly at the security camera.

  ‘Get these emailed to the hanger, the troop, and the rest of the team. We can hang on to these.’

 

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