by Matt Johnson
‘She threatened you?’
‘It was a warning to a friend she considers she owes her life to. Unfortunately, Jenny opened it.’
‘Christ … I’m sorry. Is Jenny upset?’
I stood, walked to the office door, and closed it gently before answering. ‘You could say that, Toni. Or you might even start to think she is running out of patience. I’m heading home soon and she wants to talk. I put her through enough with what Monaghan tried to do to us. I hadn’t wanted her to know anything about the Cristea family or the risk you exposed us to in Romania.’
‘She would have found out eventually.’
‘Would she?’ I demanded, my voice revealing the anger I felt building. ‘Sometimes ignorance is bliss, wouldn’t you say?’
‘And look where that got you before, Finlay. You kept your past secret for too long, and from the one person best placed to help you.’
‘That’s completely different,’ I snapped.
Toni raised her hands again. ‘OK … Ok, let’s not argue. It’s not going to get either of us anywhere. What’s this I hear on the news about a missing WPC?’
She was changing the subject, but she was right: arguing got us nowhere. ‘Bad luck seems to be my shadow at the moment,’ I answered. ‘We were involved in a shooting in West London. She shot one of the Cristea goons.’
‘Dead?’
‘Yes. And one escaped; I think it’s the one who recognised me in Hampstead.’
‘If there’s anything I can do?’
‘To make things up to me, you mean? Well, hold on to that thought, Toni, because you never know.’
‘Is the WPC suspended?’
‘Just from carrying a weapon, not from duty.’
‘She’s probably fine. Things like that can affect people. Maybe she’s lying low for a while.’
I looked at Toni, aware she was tempering the conversation, trying to calm me down. ‘Who knows? But, from what I’m being told, her disappearing like this is completely out of character. Anyway … if you didn’t ask me up here to talk about the Cristea email, what do you want?’
‘I need to ask you some questions, some of which may seem a bit random. But I need you to be honest.’
‘Sounds ominous. But fire away.’
I sat down and, for the next few minutes listened in silence while Toni spelled out the progress she had been making on the enquiry into Monaghan and Richard Webb. It wasn’t good news. Her researcher, Nell had uncovered even more links between the dead men than Tom Cochran had suggested when Kevin and I visited Credenhill.
The longer Toni spoke, the greater became my sense of impending doom. She asked a lot of questions, some of which I would have preferred she hadn’t. I explained that I hadn’t heard of Black Suit Travel but I knew there were people who did that type of work for MI6 and, yes, I was aware they were called Increment. I also confirmed I was aware Bob Bridges had been in the Middle East on operations with Increment after he left the Regiment.
Toni wanted to run some names and facts past me. First was Brian McNeil. The name was only vaguely familiar and no, he wasn’t on the Iranian Embassy operation. Apparently, McNeil was another name from the same Black Suit Travel organisation. It employed another man she wanted to know about: Chris Grady. Grady I did remember – a Sergeant from ‘D’ squadron during the early 1980s. Grady hadn’t been at the Embassy either.
‘Are you in touch with any of the other men on the Increment team?’ she asked.
‘No … I lost contact with everyone from those days, apart from Kevin … although I bumped into Bob Bridges a couple of times after we both joined the Met, but we didn’t keep in touch.’
‘Have you ever met a man called Howard Green?’
My hesitation and the resulting look on Toni’s face gave things away. The answer was yes. I did know a man called Howard Green.
‘How do you know him, Finlay?’ she asked.
I stalled. ‘I’m not sure how to explain. About the same height as me, skinny?’
‘Sounds like him. Let’s continue with the honesty, shall we? I’ll be open with you and, in turn, you tell me the truth.’
‘Sounds good to me. Why are you asking about Howard?’
‘I know there is a connection between you, him, the dead cops and Afghanistan.’
‘Is there really?’ I asked. ‘And how might that be?’
‘The book … Cyclone. The author changes names but it’s pretty clear to me that it was Howard Green pulling the strings of the Increment team that were sent in to deliver the CIA weapons.’
‘Green was with Six in those days,’ I said. ‘For all I know, he still is. Do you know him as well?’
‘Yes, I do, and he’s still with MI6. I think he holds the key to what was really behind the killings.’
‘What do you mean, “really behind the killings”? Are you telling me it wasn’t a case of Webb and Monaghan settling old scores?’
Toni hesitated. ‘I can’t be sure … look, I don’t want to alarm you, but it’s beginning to look that way. Yours and Kevin’s army records have the same gap at the same time as the men who were killed. What were you two doing during that time?’
‘Are you saying that me and Kevin are still targets?’ I demanded. Even as I uttered the words, I felt myself getting hot, and my chest tightened. I could hardly believe what I was asking. I thought once more about what Jenny had said and what she wanted to talk about that evening. With the promises I had only recently made, I wouldn’t want to tell her that the threat was back unless I was sure.
‘I’m not saying that, no. I’m just saying that I can’t solve the riddle until I have the whole picture.’
‘For Christ’s sake, Toni. That’s not good enough.’ I didn’t care that I sounded angry now.
‘OK … Ok. I’m sorry. Look, if I thought there was an immediate risk to your family I would have you out of that house straightaway. I don’t … I’m just trying to piece together Monaghan’s motives.’
I breathed more easily, but only slightly. ‘OK…’ I said, unsure if my honesty was being reciprocated.
‘So … how do you know Howard Green?’ Toni asked calmly. From her jacket pocket, she produced a small writing pad.
As I talked, she jotted down notes. I explained that, in the early 1980s, MI6 had brought Mujahideen fighters over to the UK to undertake weapons training and battle tactics – skills it was intended they took back to their home country to use against the occupying Russian forces. Kevin and I had been given the job of teaching them. Most of the theory work had taken place at a camp in Hampshire and then we had bussed them up to Scotland to do some live training in the Cairngorms.
One of the weapons we had taught the Afghans to use was Blowpipe, our UK surface-to-air missile. The Afghans were good students and quick to learn. They were also extremely brave fighters. Using the Blowpipe, they needed to be. Unlike the fire-and-forget missiles that superseded it, the Blowpipe was user-guided onto its target. That gave it the advantage of being able to hit both side-on and oncoming targets, but also meant that the firer had to break cover to be able to see what he was aiming at. The Mujahideen soon found out what we already knew: if you missed, or if there were other enemies in the vicinity, all hell would bear down on your position.
In the end, the fighters grew to hate the weapon and in fact had very little success with it. The CIA became involved and, not long afterwards, someone got hold of a load of American Stinger missiles. And that was when we met Howard Green.
Toni listened intently as I related how Howard had briefed Kevin and me and then travelled with us to the Peshawar Valley on the Pakistan border. There, we taught local fighters how to use the Stinger. The version they were supplied with was an old one, I explained, but very effective. Soviet air impunity was compromised, and the tide was turned in the war against the Afghan occupation.
I stopped talking, and Toni remained silent. She had stopped making notes. I wondered if I had revealed too much, even to an MI5 officer.
I waited. Finally, she spoke. ‘I had no idea,’ she said, her voice low, as if she feared we might be overheard.
‘About the kind of operations our Government sends us on, you mean?’
‘Yes … and the type of things you’ve personally been involved in. I think I now understand why you’ve never confided this in anyone.’
‘It was a black op – a secret. Collins shouldn’t have been allowed to get it published.’
‘If it had been a UK publisher, he wouldn’t. But that’s not what I mean. I mean that, if what you’re saying is true – and I’m certainly not implying it isn’t – we were responsible for training the very people that our troops could be fighting in Iraq. And, if we go into Afghanistan, as the Americans are suggesting we will, our boys could be up against weapons we supplied used by people we trained.’
‘If we go into Afghan. There’s no certainty we will.’
‘It’s no wonder there’s a gap in both yours and Kevin’s military files.’
‘Sometimes what’s missing can tell you more than what is there,’ I said.
‘Someone else said that to me just recently.’
And then, Toni asked her final question. It rocked me to my core. ‘Have you ever heard of something called “Al Anfal”?’ she asked.
My expression gave me away once again.
‘You have, then?’
‘I have. But only recently,’ I answered. ‘I hope I can trust you, Toni.’
‘What do you mean?’
‘People have been searching homes of old mates. People who I think might be from the Security Service.’
‘Me … you mean?’
‘Maybe. Was it you?’
‘No, I promise you. I have no knowledge of any searches.’
Once again, I decided to trust her. ‘OK … I’ll tell you. Bob Bridges left a document. His wife found it amongst his stuff after he died. It mentions the name “Al Anfal”.’
‘Christ. Does she still have it? Where is it now? Can I see it?’
‘It’s with a mate who speaks Arabic. He’s trying to translate it for us. He also asked us if we knew the term.’
‘Us … who’s us?’
‘Me and Kevin. He was with me when we picked it up from Bob’s house. Why do you want to know about it … and what is Al Anfal anyway?’ I demanded.
‘Something or nothing. I’m not sure. Were you aware it was mentioned in the Chas Collins book? Something about a falling-out between the soldiers that resulted in one of them getting killed?’
‘I wasn’t. I’ve read the book and I remember reading about that fight, but I think I scanned through the bit that mentioned “Al Anfal”. It mustn’t have struck me as important at the time.’
‘Well, trust me, it is important. I’d very much like to see that document as soon as possible.’
‘I could do that I expect.’ I thought as I spoke. Armstrong, the translator, was just across the border in Wales. It wouldn’t be that easy to get the document back quickly, and I was also keen to know what it contained before I let Toni see it.
‘Yes, do,’ she said. ‘I’ll get back to you. In the meantime, try not to let my ideas get to you. It’s probably nothing, I just have to make sure we have everything tied up before my final report goes in.’
‘OK, I understand … and Toni?’
‘Yes?’
‘Make sure you’re right. I made a mistake when I first learned of a threat to my family. I reacted too slowly … didn’t take it seriously enough. It nearly cost me everything. So don’t go giving me notions and theories and then wait until you’re a hundred percent sure. If you think we’re at risk, I need to know.’
Chapter 72
A few minutes after Toni headed back to her own office, I made my way to the basement.
Other than to access the underground car park, I hadn’t visited the lower levels of New Scotland Yard in several years. As a result, it took me several attempts before I located the correct set of stairs. I was looking for the boiler room. As the dryness of the air increased, I knew I was getting closer. Finally, after the frustration of finding a couple of access points locked I located the one I was looking for. The wooden door felt warm to the touch and, as I pushed, a waft of hot air hit my face. This was it.
I closed the door, slid across the bolt to lock it and removed my jacket. I was alone now. The boiler room at New Scotland Yard was one of several places I came to when I needed solitude, somewhere to get my thoughts back in some sort of order.
The tension that had gripped me in the immediate aftermath of my conversation with Toni Fellowes began to fade as my heart rate slowed and the warmth relaxed me.
Now … I could focus.
I remembered Howard Green well. Kevin and I had shared many an hour with him in a Pakistan hotel and on the ground in Peshawar. He knew how to look after himself and he looked after us. He was a pro – well prepared and competent. Someone I had come to respect.
If Toni had another theory for the murders, I wasn’t ready to buy into it. I had been with Jenny and Becky in a safe house, but Kevin, he had stayed in his own home and had been in hospital after being shot. He would have been an easy target if someone had wanted to get at him. No, I thought, Toni’s idea didn’t make sense.
But something did. Something Nina had said about Toni having a reason for wanting me to meet the Cristeas. We’d been on the wrong track in assuming the family were her interest. It was Collins, the author. That was the reason for the MI5 interest. It was Collins that Toni had been trying to get me close to, and she’d carelessly let me know it.
By the time I emerged from the basement, the evening was drawing in but I was feeling better. And I’d made a decision. If Toni Fellowes had been trying to get me close to Chas Collins then it hadn’t worked. Jenny and I had got home safe and the Cristeas were a problem that really was unlikely to affect us. I was going to forget about what Toni had done; Jenny and I were going to move out of the safe house, and we were going to get our lives back on track.
As I crossed the street near to St James’s Park, I was whistling a tune that reflected my improved mood. Outside the tube station, the phone in my jacket pocket began ringing again. Josh, I thought. Hopefully with good news about Lynn Wainwright. But the number showing on the screen wasn’t one the device recognised. I pressed the ‘answer’ button, feeling a sense of apprehension as I did so.
It was Julian Armstrong, Rupert’s friend who was doing the document translation. I hadn’t been expecting to hear from him for some time. He had been working on the document and it sounded like he was in a bit of a rush. He wanted to meet and also wanted to know where I was.
Perhaps Toni was going to get to see the document earlier than expected. I smiled to myself. I knew I was going to be busy, so I suggested getting together in the middle of the week.
Armstrong was having none of it. ‘I really can’t stress the urgency of this enough and, to be honest I don’t think we should speak on the telephone. There are some things I need to show you. This really is very, very interesting.’
‘OK,’ I replied, stalling as I thought. The following day was a Sunday, so it was just possible I could drive down to Armstrong’s place. It would also give me a chance to bring the document back to London so Toni could have a look at it.
The biggest problem would be squaring it with Jenny. I was already on a verbal warning; our last conversation having left me in no doubt that she was worried about our future. If I could leave early the next morning, I might get home by lunchtime. Traffic would be light so it wouldn’t be too much of a chore to make the drive and if the document contained a key to what Bridges and the others might have been up to, I needed to know.
Armstrong wouldn’t be drawn on what he meant by ‘very interesting’, just that I would understand once I had seen the translation work he had managed to complete so far. I jotted down the address, some rough directions and promised to try and get to him by about ten.
I decided t
o update Kevin. The connection cut through to his answerphone. I checked my watch, and realised he would be at Billy Lacanivalu’s pre-wedding drink.
Chapter 73
MI5 HQ, London
The phone rang twice before Howard answered.
He seemed pleased, if a little taken aback, to hear from Toni. But the moment she mentioned getting together for dinner, he agreed.
And when she suggested making it that very evening, his enthusiasm was almost palpable. She explained that, as her home central heating had broken down, her plan was to work late and then find a room through one of the late-booking websites. It would be a great chance to have supper and catch up.
Not surprisingly, Howard had a better idea. He suggested they meet at One Aldwych, a hotel at the western end of Strand. It was a comfortable and convenient place for an officer to stay if they found themselves stranded in London without transport. The rates exceeded normal Security Service limits, but Howard explained he had a good contact and could book Toni a room without any great difficulty.
It was arranged. They would meet at eight.
One Aldwych: very nice, she thought. Howard was nothing if not predictable. And the bait was taken.
An hour later, Toni finished the fastest shopping trip she had ever managed. Surprisingly, it had been Stuart who first proposed the idea. ‘Let him think he’s on a promise,’ he said. ‘A honey trap.’ First on the list was a new dress. She had chosen carefully and had settled on a black one, knee length, tight and with just a little cleavage on show. Nothing too obvious, just enough to keep Howard interested.
The shoes were also black, shiny and with three-inch heels. They would show off her legs nicely. As she checked herself over in the mirror, she noticed the approving looks from both Nell and Stuart.
‘Not too tarty?’ she asked.
‘Perfect,’ they both said simultaneously, almost as if they had rehearsed.
Howard was true to his word. When Toni arrived at the hotel reception, an attentive maître d’ saw her to a table tucked away in the corner of the restaurant, a discreet distance from other diners. Her date was waiting.