by Matt Johnson
‘There’s a lot to read, Nell. Couldn’t you just summarise it for me?’
Nell sat back in her chair. ‘OK, but it’s all in there.’
‘Pretty please?’ said Toni.
‘Alright, it’s like this. Did you see I mentioned a man called Ahmad Shah Massoud?’
‘Yes … the Mujahideen leader?’
‘Exactly. Until his death, Massoud was the Cristea contact in Afghan. He ran the heroin trails … and he also ran weapons. The FIA reports on Massoud being supplied with American-manufactured weapons to use in the fight against the Russians would normally have been a distraction and outside my research brief. What spurred my curiosity was the coincidence that Massoud had been assassinated just before the 9/11 attacks.’
‘You think it was connected?’
‘Maybe, maybe not. Anyway, that led me down a route that I thought was a blind alley, but I did notice that it happened on the same day as the Chas Collins’ book came out and, well, you always say not to believe in coincidence.’
‘You’re learning. Go on.’
‘OK, so the Cristea link led me to the FIA reports. The FIA gave a name to the CIA operation in Afghanistan. It was called ‘Operation Cyclone’. You know? The same name as the book?’
‘I thought you knew that’s where he got the name from, Nell?’
Nell stopped for a moment, a puzzled look on her face. ‘If I’d known, I would have said so.’
‘OK, no matter. So what’s the relevance?’
‘Cyclone was mentioned in one of the career histories of the SAS soldiers that you asked me to look at: the one called Bridges. Cyclone is the connection.’
‘I don’t get you. Why … I mean how does the name of one operation that Bridges was on establish a serious connection?’
‘Through Massoud!’
‘Who is the man that was assassinated the day before 9/11, I know. On the same day the Cyclone book came out?’
‘That’s it. That’s the connection.’
‘I still don’t understand. How does that link the Cristeas to the Hastings enquiry? What else do you have on Massoud? I need a bit more than a reference to Cyclone on the Bridges file to have us start a whole new line of enquiry into his past.’
Nell sighed. Ahmad Shah Massoud, she said, was a fascinating character. He was a Sunni Muslim, also from the Panjshir valley in northern Afghanistan, where the Cristeas had established their connections. The son of an Afghan army officer, he had studied engineering and obtained a degree at Kabul University. When the Russians invaded to support the weak communist government, Massoud joined the resistance in the mountains.
It was easy to see how Massoud had hooked up with the Cristeas. They had an established import/export route through the mountains of Pakistan and Iran into Eastern Europe. Massoud needed weapons and had access to opium and precious stones. The Cristeas provided the connections.
Having satisfied her interest in Massoud, Nell explained, she had been about to switch back to the Operation Hastings enquiry when, out of idle curiosity she had typed Massoud’s name into the video website YouTube. Several links came up. Most were entirely in Arabic but in one – an interview with an Irish journalist – he spoke in English.
Nell had watched it. During the ten-minute clip, Massoud was asked his opinion on several subjects, including his frustration at not receiving help from the CIA during the fight against the Soviets. Massoud was effusive in his condemnation of the CIA operation and how it had favoured what he referred to as ‘bad people’ who would one day use the American weapons against the very people who had supplied them. He talked about Al Q’aeda and the rumours of Afghan-based training camps.
‘Should we watch this video you mention?’ Toni asked.
‘Already lined up. It’s an oldie, but I think you’ll find it interesting.’ Nell rotated the nearest computer screen and pressed a key.’
It was as Nell had described. Toni was surprised at the standard of Massoud’s English. His accent was strong, but he was easy to understand. She picked up on one expression that she hadn’t heard before. Massoud used it several times. He referred to something called ‘Al Anfal’. She made a note to google it.
It was, however, a single word that he used towards the end of the interview that caused Toni to sit upright. He referred to the CIA operation, and he called it ‘Cyclone’. He knew the name, even back then.
She checked the video listing. It had been uploaded before Massoud’s death but looked to have been recorded many years previously. Just as the recording was drawing to a close, Nell leaned across the desk and tapped the pause key.
‘Look at the men in the background.’
Toni did as asked and, within a few seconds, spotted the very thing that had caused Nell to become so animated.
In the background, clear as day, was former SAS Sergeant, Bob Bridges.
‘That’s amazing,’ said Toni.
‘And it’s not the best bit.’ Nell held her hand over the open page of her report, her index finger indicating a particular section of text.
Toni pulled the file closer to get a better look and, as she did so, the true cause of her researcher’s excitement became very, very clear. The Personal File in the name of the Cristeas had been created by none other than Howard Green.
Chapter 54
Hampstead, North London
Rewinding the CCTV recording provided absolute confirmation that I was right.
On the station forecourt stood a black Mercedes, of the type that appeared so popular with the Cristeas. The registration mark was easily readable. As I read the number out loud, it dawned on me that I was off the hook. The car was the key to identifying Relia’s killers.
Josh telephoned the office to report what we had learned.
After updating Naomi, things moved very quickly. Back at the enquiry room, the office team made calls. The Mercedes was a hire car. Within just half an hour of me telling the DCI that I had recognised the escaped gunman on the CCTV, detectives from Heathrow were seizing paperwork from the hire car company.
Before the hour had elapsed, Immigration Control at Heathrow Airport had come up with a list of four male East Europeans who had arrived as a group on the Sunday morning. They were Constantin Macovei, Iulian Roman and Marius Gabor from Romania and a Serbian, Petre Gavrić.
Iulian Roman and Marius Gabor had provided the Border Agency with an address in Ealing. It matched the one given to the hire car company. Plus, the desk clerk had taken copies of the men’s passports.
At seven that evening, I was able to confirm, from a photograph, that the escaped gunman was Marius Gabor. The DCI even congratulated us. I began to feel like a proper detective and, best of all, Gabor was identified without my having to say how I knew him.
By seven-thirty, the address provided by Roman and Gabor was under surveillance by local CID. They were relieved by the Met Specialist Surveillance Team, SO11, at eight-thirty.
SO11 confirmed that the house was occupied.
SO19, firearms branch, sent their initial assessor onto the plot at ten.
By eleven o’clock, Josh and I were with DCI Bowler and six of the AMIT team, sitting in the rear of a dark-grey Luton van parked around the corner from the house.
By eleven-thirty, the SO19 arrest team were ready to go.
Chapter 55
In the rear of the SO19 Rapid Deployment Vehicle sat eight black-clad figures. One of them, much smaller than the others, was the first to emerge from the rear door of the vehicle.
Lynn Wainwright was a rarity in a male dominated world. One of only two female specialist firearms officers in the department, her job on this operation was to use a Remington semi-automatic shotgun loaded with Hatton rounds – made to destroy locks and hinges, but not harm anyone behind the door – thereby getting her team through any locked doors quickly.
A twelve-man SO19 team was to be used to secure the house quickly and ensure minimum risk to life. At the pre-deployment briefing, she and the others ha
d learned that one of the AMIT detectives had previously seen a suspect with a semi-automatic pistol. As a result of that warning, it had been decided that SO19 would make the initial entry, secure the premises, and then hand over to the CID officers.
Surveillance officers had reported movement at the house. Lights had been turned on and off, and shadows had been seen in both upstairs and downstairs rooms. Initial estimate was that there were at least three occupants.
Two hours after arriving on the plot, the CID officer in charge had called a meeting. The firearms tactical advisor, an SO19 inspector, returned after about half an hour with the surveillance team report. They moved into attack positions fifteen minutes later.
The house was reported to now be in darkness. It was a standard 1930s three bedroom semi-detached. There was rear access via a carwidth alleyway to a separate garage at the end of the garden. A gate on the left-hand side of the front door provided access to the rear. The back garden contained a skip that was full of earth and rubble. It would provide good cover for the team at the rear.
The briefing from the inspector had detailed expected room layouts with three downstairs, including the kitchen, and four upstairs including a bathroom.
Lynn was assigned to the initial entry team. She would work closely with Brad, the shield man, and Tony, who would open the front door with the ‘big key’. Tony was a sixteen-stone weightlifting enthusiast who handled the ‘Enforcer’ battering-ram door-opener as if it were made of balsa wood.
As number three behind Brad and Tony, Lynn’s Remington would open anything the Enforcer didn’t. Her prowess with the weapon had resulted in her affectionately being known as ‘Avon calling’. The nickname was the only hint of a joke that Lynn was ever subject to; she knew she had the respect of her colleagues.
At 01:15 hrs, under cover of darkness, they took up positions as briefed.
At 01:30 hrs, the inspector radioed that all officers were in place.
At 01:32 hrs, the ‘GO’ command came over the radio network.
Chapter 56
Tony had the front door down in an instant. It was UPVC and, despite having security bolts, offered little resistance to the Enforcer.
With the Remington surplus to requirements, Lynn tucked in behind Tony’s ballistic shield as the remaining team members entered the hallway and dispersed to clear the rooms. The first four black-clad officers dived past her and Tony, moving towards the ground floor rooms. Five more then followed the two of them up the stairs to the bedrooms.
The house was secure within twenty-five seconds of the front door going in. It was also empty.
Immediately, the Inspector gave the command to check the garage and the understairs cupboard. Within a couple of minutes, Lynn heard the transmission that they had been cleared.
That left the attic.
Lynn knew the team Sergeant wouldn’t relish that prospect. Attic entry had its own particular problems. Not only would any suspect have the high ground, they would also have the opportunity to place themselves anywhere within a three hundred and sixty-degree arc of fire. The officer entering might be backlit and the suspect hidden in the darkness.
The surveillance team had confirmed multiple occupants, so unless they had made some kind of unholy foul-up, there were several people up there.
Tony was called up to remove the ceiling hatch. Manoeuvring the ram above head height wasn’t easy, but Tony was strong. One hard swing and the flimsy wooden door burst open and flew away into the dark loft space. Ron, the Sergeant, called upwards for those inside to come down. There was no response.
From her position in the hall, Lynn was vaguely aware of whispered voices at the top of the stairs. A few moments later, the Sergeant came down to speak to her.
‘Hatch is too small for us lads. With kit on, we can’t get into it quick enough. Sorry Avon, but I’m gonna have to ask you to do the entry.’
Lynn was horrified. For some, fear of the dark is culturally indoctrinated, for others, her included, it was instinctive. Darkness spelled danger.
Any lone cop, faced with unknown horrors in the dark, knows that he doesn’t have the luxury of a computer-generated restart or an extra life. So Lynn was already starting to sweat as she trudged up the stairs to the landing. She wondered how the average member of the public would feel about poking their head into a dark and dusty attic expecting to be confronted by an armed and cornered criminal. Peering into the darkness to find herself lit up by a bright-orange flash was not what she signed up for.
But, as the smallest member of the team, there was no way she could turn down the request.
Ron handed Lynn an MP5 then outlined his plan. They would balance her on the ballistic shield, just below the hatch. Brad and Tony would stand by with a small aluminium ladder. All lights would be killed and then they would wait for a minute and listen. Ron would then throw two flash-bangs into the attic and exactly three seconds after the second grenade exploded, the two lads holding the shield would launch Lynn into the loft like a jack-in-a-box. Once inside, she should step to one side and use the Maglite on the MP5 she was now carrying to light up the east and south faces of the house.
Brad would be behind her in the loft space. Ron figured Brad would be slim enough to squeeze his upper body through the space so that he could cover the north and west aspects. It sounded a reasonable plan, if it wasn’t for the darkness.
Two minutes later, Lynn was balanced and standing on the shield, her head just below the roof-space entrance. She closed her eyes to buy a little time and allow them to get used to the darkness. A moment later, all lights were killed and they waited.
Silence. Nothing stirred.
The grenades went in. Lynn closed her eyes and pressed her hands hard against the gas mask to shield her ears and minimise the percussion effect.
In an enclosed area like a roof space, stun grenades were at their most effective. Both exploded, almost simultaneously. Lynn waited, counting the seconds.
The flash-bangs were designed to emit a blinding light and a noise so loud that it caused temporary loss of hearing. They would give the incoming firearms team a momentary advantage over any waiting suspect.
Lynn was all too aware that the grenades also came at a cost, though. The element of surprise was lost as the defenders knew you were coming and the dust cloud that was thrown up in the attic obscured any view. She braced herself for launch.
A hand tapped her left shoulder and in an instant the shield lifted and she was thrown through the hatch into the darkness.
Lynn dived right, away from the opening. Switching the Maglite torch on, she scanned her designated sides of the roof space while moving down and to the left to get clear of the opening. The dust cloud was thick and almost impenetrable. The light picked up dirt particles, swirling and choking the air. To her right, someone coughed. She swung the MP5 towards the sound.
Ron’s plan hadn’t allowed for the dust disturbance, she realised. If someone fired at the source of the beam, she would be toast. There was more coughing, then a voice, female. The accent, foreign.
‘Please … don’t shoot. Don’t shoot.’
She called out. ‘Armed police. Step forward.’
There was a movement, just discernible through the dust cloud. To her left, there was scuffling. Brad was squeezing through the loft hatch.
There were no orange flashes from the darkness, no shots, no sudden pain or explosion of movement of the kind that she had prepared herself to face. Just a woman, in underwear, coughing and choking on the dust as she struggled across the joists that made up the attic floor.
‘Hands out. Stand still,’ she shouted, her voice muffled by the mask. The half-naked woman stood.
‘Lie down, keep your hands in front of you where I can see you.’ The woman hesitated.
‘Lie down … now!’
Lynn kept the woman covered with the MP5 and Maglite beam as Brad squeezed through the hatch and then stepped forward to plasticuff her wrists behind her back. The dus
t was clearing. A third black-clad figure appeared from below. A voice crackled though her earpiece.
‘Trojan five. Multiple movements from adjacent house.’ The neighbours were awake.
Brad lowered the woman through the loft hatch. She was skinny and fitted through easily. There was a muffled voice from ahead of her.
The third firearms officer had found something.
Chapter 57
With the house secured, the DCI called us in to have a look around.
I was one of the last to enter. Josh volunteered to check though the downstairs rooms. The DCI winked at him as I was despatched up the stairs to take a look at what had happened in the loft area.
I was slightly surprised that the SFO team had chosen to use flashbangs. At the Iranian Embassy siege, the heat generated by the grenades had been responsible for starting the fires that gutted the building. In the cramped space of the attic, any inflammable materials might have caused severe problems. That said, any operation that ends in success without loss of life is a good one. The debrief would be the time for questions.
An eagle-eyed member of the firearms team had spotted the reason for the apparent lack of people in the house. In the attic space, behind a cardboard box that had been pulled against the wall adjoining the nextdoor property, he had spotted a hole cut into the brickwork. Enough bricks had been removed to allow the occupants of the target house to escape and then pull the box behind them to conceal their route. The first woman found hadn’t quite made it in time.
The firearms team had moved quickly to seal off both houses. With no further escape possible, they had entered the second house. In the upstairs rear bedroom they found the remaining occupants. Cowering in the dark, their faces pale and petrified, were seven more women. All were dressed as the first, in just underwear. There was no light bulb in the room and no heating in the house.
And there was no sign of the Romanian men we were looking for.