He should have realized earlier. Mrs Masoud had seen it, he was sure. Had seen something, anyway, been too hesitant about her conclusion, or fearful, to give it voice. Zaki must have been laughing all the while.
The game. That’s what it would have been for Zaki. Gaming Jake. Gaming the world. Whether he was shifting smack or planning attacks. The buzz of it, having it over the likes of Jake and Dave Philpott, being oh so many steps ahead. Payback for the sins the world had perpetrated on the person of Zaki Ibrahim. But Jake would never really know.
Zaki’s network. He must, at least, have had contacts out there from whom he received the details of the boys he would sacrifice. There must have been plans laid. He may have had an infrastructure in this city. But this was beyond Jake, in a place on the distant side of the fog of fatigue he now felt. It would be his colleagues, with their crunching of the data and metadata and their international reach, who would have to unravel all this in due course. He’d reached his limit.
He did not further indulge his curiosity but replaced the keys on Zaki’s body before securing the lock-up and going to his own daypack and the carrier bag he’d left beside it. In careful sequence he removed the bright blue overshoes, the plastic bonnet and the mask before stripping off the white non-contamination suit with the texture of coated paper, placing everything carefully in the carrier. He peeled off the latex gloves, turning them inside out, one inside the other, before tying the hand end off in a knot, feeling the air on his hands cooling the sweat. He dropped them into the bag and knotted it. From his rucksack he took another carrier bag and placed the full one inside it, tying this carefully too. Placing the package inside the daypack, he opened his water bottle and took a long drink. He had a day, maybe two, to dispose of the bag. Even when they discovered Zaki’s body and searched the Transit it was unlikely that the police would come knocking at his door, but he must be cautious.
He resumed his run, thinking the timing was just about perfect.
He did not know how he could continue with the day. He felt exhausted, contrite, mournful. The temptation to call in sick was all but overwhelming. He might, still, do this. Yet Rashid, and possibly Leila, needed him. Everyone needed him.
As he approached his flat he noticed a large black Volvo around the corner, a driver in the front seat. This was not unusual in this part of town, its affluent executives feeding and feeding from the city economy. But on a Sunday? he thought, mildly curious.
Once inside his flat, he found his mobile on the kitchen counter and switched it on. It immediately emitted a chorus of ringtones and alerts and a flashing light show of notifications. As instructed he rang HQ and was patched through instantly to Stuart Calloway.
‘The hell you been?’ asked Stuart.
‘Out for an early run,’ he replied. ‘Not much time recently.’
‘You’re supposed to be on call twenty-four/seven.’
‘So sue me, Stuart. I needed the time to think. Leila can cover for me.’
‘Today you choose to go offline?’
‘For an hour or so.’ He sighed, he hoped, with sufficient resignation. ‘Sorry, Stuart. What’s up?’
‘Get your arse down here.’
‘Today?’
‘Now. You’re needed here.’
‘What’s happened?’
‘Nothing’s happened. I need you here.’
‘But how –?’
‘This is for your own good. Your oppo can stand in.’
‘She’s great. But what if it all kicks off?’
‘She can cope. I’ve told George. I’m telling you to get down here precisely to safeguard the integrity of this op. Now. Get. Your. Arse. Down. Here. There’s a car waiting for you.’
‘I need to shower.’
‘He’s ringing the bell … now.’ Stuart terminated the call, and the entryphone rang.
In his utilitarian flat there were no useful loose floorboards under which he could store the carrier bag, no false-floored cupboards, no unexpected roof voids, no accessible cisterns. One of his two instant decisions was to take it with him. Having showered and shaved meticulously while Derek, Stuart’s driver, sat patiently in the lounge, he packed his overnight bag. He wore a suit but no tie – right, he thought, for the circumstances. As he came into the lounge Derek was consulting his watch. He looked up and scowled.
17
George emerged from the Executive Liaison Group to brief Leila.
‘All systems go,’ he said.
‘Jake,’ she said.
‘I told you. He’s out of it. Stuart’s orders.’
‘You’re joking. He’s run this from the start. Without him there would be no operation. No Rashid.’
‘I know.’
‘He’s done nothing wrong. He’s been great.’
‘I know.’
‘This is nuts. Right now, of all times.’
‘I know, Leila. There’s nothing we can do. We just have to get on with it.’
‘It’s unfair.’
‘Yes. And your point is?’
‘Did you have anything to do with the decision?’
‘What do you think? Of course not. I’ve had a blazing row with Stuart over it.’
He would have, but ultimately he’d have conceded. She remembered an earlier conversation with Jake. ‘George is great,’ he’d said. ‘He has integrity. He’s a very moral person. He has no sense of deference. But you have to understand that at base he’s a company man. This place means more to him than a place of work. It’s a belief system. Besides, he’s married and has four kids, a Border collie and a mortgage to feed.’
‘But Rashid …’ said Leila.
‘Tell me about it,’ said George. ‘He won’t, though. When he says he’ll walk out of the door if Jake isn’t involved, he’s just posturing. Stuart is right on that.’
‘Easy for you to say.’
‘True. Have faith in yourself, Leila. You can do it. Rashid believes in you as much as he believes in Jake. Can’t you see that Jake has been preparing for this all along? Preparing Rashid for it. It’ll be fine.’
‘The timing, though.’
‘Agreed. But we are where we are. This is what we have to deal with.’
‘This is crazy. What do I say to him?’
‘Whatever gets you through the night.’
‘Can I talk to Jake?’
‘No,’ he said firmly. ‘That’s Stuart’s instruction. No one to talk to him. Not me, not you. He’s incommunicado. Let’s just concentrate on what we do now. There’s someone you need to meet. Just wait here.’
Jake made to sit in the front seat but it had been moved forward as far as the runners would take it. ‘Stuart has long legs,’ said Derek, and Jake rather thought that Derek preferred the demarcation of roles and ranks. So he’d climbed in the back, his overnight bag beside him.
He took a call on his office mobile. ‘Only got a few minutes,’ said George. ‘ELG’s just finished and there’s a load to do. Plus, you’re supposed to be in purdah. No one’s supposed to speak to you. I’ve just read the riot act to Leila. Suppose you’re on the way down now?’
‘Yeah,’ said Jake. ‘In the car.’
‘Right. No need to say anything. Just wanted to say how sorry I was.’
‘It’s all right.’
‘It’s not, but Leila will be fine. If she phones, don’t pick up. The ELG went well, by the way. All teed up for today. Everything tickety-boo. Won’t go into detail. Listen, Stuart is in a difficult position.’
‘I know.’
‘He’s trying to save the soul of the place, is the way he sees it. With virtually every other bugger trying to destroy it. Ministers are on his case and, in his eyes, the new boss has been shipped in to do a demolition job. Stuart likes himself in the role of messiah. He’s very gloomy, though. Just what we need at the moment. A lot on his plate, mind you. A detached boss just waiting for us to trip up so he can clear the stables. Won’t involve himself in any decisions in case it makes him complicit.
And a Home Sec who says they’re all operational decisions. Nothing to do with government.’
‘I know.’
‘You know how ambitious Stuart is and he’s not my cup of tea any more than yours. But he’s in an impossible position, trying to keep us in the game. Just don’t fly off the handle when you get there. Or do something you might regret.’
Jake chuckled. ‘Do you really think I’d do that?’
‘No. Again, just wanted to say how sorry I am. Be right as rain by the end of next week. You’ll be back in business. Got to go. Over and out.’
Jake sat back and looked out of the window for a while. It looked as if it might be a fine day. Derek was obviously not in the mood for talking, not surprisingly, as he followed the marked police 4x4 ahead flashing its blue lights and slicing through the traffic. Jake delved in his bag for his personal mobile and began browsing. There was a lot of admin that had stacked up.
‘Care to use the car’s wifi?’ asked Derek, looking in the mirror.
‘It’s all right, thanks,’ said Jake. ‘Got 4G.’
4G on the M1.
‘Please yourself,’ said Derek.
It was on. Word came back from the police ops room that the ELG had confirmed all systems go and that they should spend the rest of the morning preparing. They’d come back from the training facility early in the morning. The kit would be cleaned yet again, each would check his or her gear, including the clothing that they’d wear today. They’d had to line up to make sure they weren’t all inadvertently wearing the same uniform of jeans, trainers and dark jackets. Bits and pieces had been brought in from stores to ensure that as far as possible they looked like normal members of the public.
He’d had a call from the gaffer, who’d been at the ELG. ‘Get yourself over here. Won’t take long. Car’ll pick you up in a couple of minutes.’
He was shown in by the back entrance and ushered up the stairs to the intel unit behind the secure doors. Jon had been here before, once, but never inside the cell that was inside the cell, protected by a further electronically locked door. Where the spooks lived. The gaffer waited inside a small meeting room along with the SIO and a couple of people he didn’t know. The bloke he’d seen once or twice around big meetings. The woman was Asian, tall and young, with an unblinking direct gaze that spoke of a determination he liked.
‘This is George,’ said the SIO. ‘And Leila.’ They shook hands pleasantly enough and looked at each other with wary smiles.
The man called George said, ‘Hello, very pleased to meet you,’ and suggested they should all sit down.
‘George?’ said the SIO.
‘Thanks. You’re aware that there’s a sensitive intelligence background to this case?’
‘Yes,’ said Jon.
‘Would you be surprised to learn that most of the intelligence we have derives from a covert human intelligence source?’
‘I’d kind of worked that out.’
‘I want to talk to you about the source. Before I do that I’m going to have to ask you to sign a document acknowledging that you know and that you will deal with this information under the standing instructions. Any issues with that?’
‘None at all.’
George handed him a form and he read the rubric carefully before signing. There was nothing that wasn’t contained in the criminal law anyway.
‘The case officer for the CHIS is Leila,’ said George.
She smiled politely, and he returned the smile.
‘You’re lead shot for one of the subjects of interest in this operation, that’s right?’ continued George.
‘Yes, for Romeo.’
‘Well, Romeo is Leila’s CHIS.’
Though he’d thought one of the people mixed up in this was an informant, and that suspicion had been heightened when the gaffer had hoicked him out, this was still a surprise. It always would be, he guessed, if Leila’s people were doing their job right. He just said, ‘Fine.’
‘We thought you needed to know and wanted to give you a chance to ask any questions,’ said the gaffer.
‘Thank you, sir.’
‘So?’
‘I suppose the only thing is this. I don’t know how to ask this politely, but is this going to end up like the previous one? The station attack?’
‘Simple answer is I don’t know, Jon. We don’t think so, but it’ll come down to close-run decisions this afternoon and next Wednesday.’
‘Why don’t we just take them out before this afternoon?’
The SIO interrupted. ‘Because as yet we don’t have sufficient evidence to charge them, other than for relatively minor offences. We need to collect more.’
‘But still.’
‘You’re right. We’ll see come Wednesday when the moment’s right to intervene. There’ll be another ELG before that. Possibly we’ll do the capture earlier in the day, depending on the risks. The ELG today was purely for this afternoon.’
‘No thought of disruption?’
‘Plenty of thought. Plenty’d like it called here and now. But the ELG has made its decision. Each of the subjects is under twenty-four-hour surveillance, and none possesses any material currently that could pose a risk to the public. To a high degree of confidence, at least. And when the final firearms briefing comes you’ll be instructed to use the precautionary principle.’
‘Sir.’
‘So,’ said George. ‘Questions. Rather than us all sitting here like a Grand Jury, we thought it might be helpful for you to chat to Leila, to get a feel for Rashid, or rather Romeo.’
‘No evidential note-taking,’ said the gaffer. ‘Background intel. May be admissible in court but no written notes.’
The senior men left the room.
‘Well,’ said Leila.
‘Well,’ he said, looking at his hands, which were clasped together on the table in front of him.
‘What do you need to know?’
‘What’s he like, this boy? He is only a boy, isn’t he?’
‘He looks younger than he is. He’s twenty-two. He’s a sweet boy –’
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I didn’t mean that. I don’t want to know anything about him as a person, apart from one thing, which we’ll come back to at the end. What’s he like physically?’
‘You’ll have seen the surveillance videos and photos, no doubt. They’re a good likeness. He’s tall and lean and intense. He lopes along but covers the ground quickly. He looks as if he’s concentrating on something. If someone surprises him, he can jump. He’s quite nervous, quite easily startled. And then he just stares at you as if he’s frightened.’
‘Is he powerful physically?’
‘Not especially, I’d have thought, though I’m not sure. He’s quite athletic in an awkward way but I’d back myself in a fight with him.’ She smiled again.
‘Right-handed or left-handed?’
‘Right.’
‘Clothes?’
‘He doesn’t seem bothered. Jeans and a sweatshirt, and that blue jacket on the videos. And you know about the rucksacks.’
‘Impulsive? Rash?’
‘Definitely not. You should also know that he’s been comprehensively briefed on what to do in the event of a police challenge. Keep his hands visible, put them in the air and submit to instructions.’
‘Yeah. Final question. We’re called through and I’m facing him. Gun’s levelled. I shout the challenge. I look at him and he puts his hands up, looking with this innocent startled face at me. I look into his eyes. Do I trust him?’
‘I can’t answer that,’ she said.
‘I may have to.’
‘I can’t predict the circumstances. I don’t know what your angle of shot is or how many bystanders there are or what your orders are or whether his stance is aggressive or whether you, in yourself, can interpret the expression on his face and trust it.’
‘Do you believe him?’
‘I can quote you all kinds of crap about never believing, retaining an open mind and staying scepti
cal. All of which are true. It’s by no means conclusive, even in my head, but I wouldn’t be here if fundamentally I didn’t believe him. And will he obey instructions? On balance I think he will. He’s not an idiot.’
‘But don’t blame you if he blows me and a hundred others to oblivion.’ He smiled to lessen the harshness. Or possibly to increase it.
‘That’s about the sum of it,’ she said. No smile from her to soften it.
Before they drew in at the main entrance the police car peeled away and headed for its next task. The car was checked before they slid slowly down the ramp and into Stuart’s parking space below the building. Derek opened the door for him.
Jake shouldered his bag and said, ‘Just going to say hi to Norman. That is, if he’s still chief car washer.’
Derek tutted and raised his eyebrows.
Norman was a sad-eyed widower in his sixties, once a military policeman, then a surveillance officer, and latterly a driver for the brass, now in charge of the wash area for the important cars. When Jake had had a posting in facilities management for a year, to ‘round’ his career – it hadn’t worked – he’d got to know Norman. He had nothing to do without his wife and always put himself on the roster for Sundays. ‘Good time to get the office shipshape. Sort out all the stuff that’s stacked up during the week. All those emails. Invoices,’ he’d say. Both knew it was to bury the emptiness.
He was in the tiny windowless office. ‘How’re you doing, son?’ he said when Jake looked round the door. ‘Cuppa?’
‘No thanks, Norm. In a hurry. Not often I get down to the smoke so thought I’d pop my head in and say hello. Got to see Stuart. You around later?’
‘Should be until five,’ said Norman.
‘Maybe catch you later, then,’ said Jake. ‘Got somewhere I can chuck this?’ He waved the carrier bag in the air. ‘Had my breakfast on the way down.’
‘Dumpster’s where it always was,’ said Norman, and Jake waved his goodbye. Before he turned the corner into the parking area he slid back the metal lid and tossed the bag in. The dumpster was for the rubbish from the garage – oil filters, filthy rags and lengths of dirtied blue cleaning paper, and containers for oil, screen wash, shampoos and waxes – and was cleared early each Monday morning, for landfill.
A Fatal Game Page 19