The Becket Approval

by Falconer, Duncan

  ‘Hello. You haven’t changed at all,’ Gunnymede said to Neve. ‘We last met years ago on a task,’ he explained to Bethan.

  Bethan looked between them, suddenly sensing something but unsure quite what. Neve wasn’t smiling.

  ‘I’m surprised you remembered what I looked like,’ Neve replied. ‘It was dark and brief.’

  Bethan could only wonder what she meant.

  ‘We met on a stakeout,’ Gunnymede explained.

  Bethan nodded. ‘Thank you,’ she said to Gunnymede.

  ‘For what?’ he asked.

  ‘For inviting me onto the team.’

  Gunnymede looked between Bethan and Neve. ‘I didn’t.’

  Bethan was confused.

  ‘I invited you,’ Neve said. ‘Jervis asked me to.’

  ‘Oh. Who’s Jervis?’

  ‘My boss,’ Neve said.

  ‘He’s the operations director,’ Gunnymede explained. ‘He must’ve been impressed with your work.’

  ‘What work?’

  ‘The military assassination theory you’re working on for one,’ Neve said.

  ‘How do you know about that?’ Bethan asked her before looking at Gunnymede for an answer.

  ‘I never said anything to anyone here,’ Gunnymede said in his own defence.

  ‘Jervis mentioned it,’ Neve said. ‘He also gave you credit for assisting Devon in flushing out Krilov.’

  ‘I didn’t do anything,’ Bethan said. ‘In fact I almost screwed it all up.’

  ‘He likes your intuition,’ Neve said. ‘Whatever.’ She was eager to move on. ‘We’re here to find Saleem. Let’s talk about how we’re going to proceed.’

  Neve led the way to the worktop.

  ‘Be flattered,’ Gunnymede said to Bethan as they followed Neve. ‘Jervis is hard to please.’

  Bethan forced a smile.

  Neve leaned over various maps and photographs of players that covered the worktop. ‘The police and border forces were briefed yesterday about Saleem which kicked off a nationwide hunt. The media are being kept out of it for the time being. London is obviously the prime location. The main areas of focus are: Where he is; What the target is; and his Methodology. Search lanes will include Saleem’s history and associates, communications, data analysis, financials tracking and foreign intelligence liaison. Monitoring will take up the bulk of the task with the police and GCHQ sharing comms, facial and DNA tracking.’ Neve looked at Bethan. ‘Be aware, elements of this operation may overlap other operations and there may be information that you are not cleared to know. You may be excluded at times. I don’t need to tell you not to discuss anything you learn in here with anyone out there.’

  Bethan nodded understanding.

  ‘The focus of this operations room will be on finding Saleem’s target. My approach will be to look at Saleem’s task from his point of view. We need to examine his aims and objectives, identify the obstacles he will want to mitigate and hopefully cross a point where he’s been and find a thread. All we have at the moment is his threat to kill thousands of people. That ambition in itself narrows down his target. It also narrows down the methodology. It’s not vehicles running through pedestrians for instance.’

  ‘What about his threat to achieve his objective without WMD?’ Gunnymede asked.

  ‘That would certainly narrow it down further but I don’t think we should take that seriously. I don’t see how he can achieve the death of thousands without chemical or biological weaponry, can you?’

  ‘Not yet.’

  ‘We may be able to form an idea of his objective if we can create an accurate profile,’ Bethan said.

  ‘You’re obviously not the only profiler working on this,’ Neve said. ‘You’ll have access to everything that comes in.’

  ‘How much time do you think we have?’ Gunnymede asked.

  ‘I don’t think we have long. Days perhaps.’

  ‘If we spread our theories too broadly we’ll miss him,’ he said.

  ‘Meaning?’ Neve asked.

  ‘I believe he’s using brains over brawn. I think he’s using creativity over WMD.’

  ‘You think he’s that smart?’

  ‘No. It’s not his plan.’

  ‘Keep your theories narrow and you’ll also risk missing him,’ Neve said.

  ‘I’ve met him. I’ve heard him talk. I’ve looked into his eyes and seen his passion. He’s no genius. There’s something simple about what he wants to do. He has no history of operational command. He’s relatively inexperienced for a job of this importance. He was selected because he’s low profile and can be trusted to execute a simple plan. That’s why we won’t pick up trails of RDX or fertiliser or radioactivity or encrypted messages and complex manpower management. His mission is analogue not digital.’

  ‘I don’t buy it,’ Neve said. ‘Especially the bit about his selection because of inexperience. That doesn’t make sense to me.’

  ‘You said you wanted to look at this task from their point of view.’

  ‘His.’

  ‘His. Theirs. But you’re not. You’re looking at it from our point of view.’

  ‘Let me remind you you’re not the ops officer on this,’ Neve said firmly. ‘I am. We’ll look for fertiliser and radioactivity and bombs and guns and encrypted messages because that’s how we’re going to find him.’

  Bethan looked between the two, wondering what was going on between them.

  ‘Fine,’ Gunnymede said stepping back, doing his best to control his irritation. ‘Let’s go for a drive,’ he said to Bethan.

  ‘Devon?’ Neve said as he started to walk away. ‘Jervis told me something you should know. He doesn’t have much confidence in you.’

  Gunnymede stopped before leaving the room. ‘Why’s that?’ he asked.

  ‘Your only incentive for doing this job is to stay out of jail.’

  ‘Isn’t that good enough?’

  ‘Not if you don’t want this job to end.’

  ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’ Gunnymede asked in a sarcastic tone. ‘If I see Saleem I’ll say to him, shh, keep going, I won’t tell anyone.’

  ‘You know they can’t keep you out of jail forever,’ Neve said. ‘You’re on a temporary pass. Once this operation is over you’re going back to prison.’

  Bethan looked at Gunnymede who was staring coldly at Neve. She felt horrified for him.

  ‘Well, that’s positive incentive, isn’t it,’ he said and walked out the door.

  Bethan studied Neve for a second as if trying to figure her out. Neve looked her in the eyes coldly. Bethan didn’t hold her gaze and left the room.

  Chapter 27

  Gunnymede and Bethan climbed into her car in the Legoland car park. He slammed the door and stared ahead in silence.

  ‘I’m going with former girlfriend, acrimonious split but lots of residuals, not all of them bad. Well, until just now.’

  ‘Just drive, please.’

  She started the car and headed out of the car park. ‘Where too?’

  He held out the pink post-it Harlow gave him. She read it and carried on.

  Twenty-five minutes later they arrived in a residential street in Clapham. Bethan turned off the engine and looked at Gunnymede questioningly. He was staring at a terraced house.

  ‘Are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?’ she asked.

  Gunnymede didn’t respond.

  ‘Need to know,’ she quipped. ‘Got it.’

  Gunnymede climbed out, walked to the front door and pushed the doorbell. It chimed somewhere inside.

  The door opened and an Arab woman in her fifties pulling a scarf over her head looked him up and down. ‘Yes,’ she said, smiling politely.

  ‘I was a friend of Nahim’s,’ he said.

  Her smile disappeared.

  ‘Can I come in? I won’t keep you long.’

  She took a moment to decide before stepping back and letting him in.

  Bethan watched the front door close behind him and took her ph
one from a pocket. She hit a memory dial and waited for it to answer.

  ‘Not working you very hard if you’ve got time to call me,’ Dillon said.

  ‘I missed you.’

  ‘Of course you did. What do you need?’

  ‘Who’s taking over the military homicides case?’

  ‘No one. I don’t have anyone to spare. Besides, it’s your case. I can’t believe you have so little to do with this current threat you’re thinking of that case.’

  ‘It’s not that. I just wondered why I’m here.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I don’t know what I mean exactly. It’s just that I don’t know why I’ve been attached to MI6. I’m not that wonderful. They don’t need me for anything specific. They have their own profilers. And then they mentioned the assassination case and I wondered...’

  ‘Wondered what?’

  ‘It will sound stupid.’

  ‘Tell me.’

  ‘I suddenly wondered if I was attached to 6 so that I couldn’t work on the assassination case.’

  ‘You’re right. That does sound daft. For one, they can’t keep you in the funny farm forever.’

  ‘I know. That’s the obvious answer.’

  ‘Mind you, now that you mention it, there was something that, well, I didn’t think was odd at the time. All of your current files were accessed by MI6. I thought it was you at first, trying to do some homework, you know what a workaholic you can be. But it wasn’t you, was it?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘They’re permitted access because of the relationship with the Albanian case. But with all that’s flying around with this terror threat, why do they want to look at your files? I suspect it was that chap, Gunnymede. Have you seen him since joining them?’

  ‘It’s not him.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘I just am. Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.’

  ‘Okay. Take care of yourself. Remember that lot don’t care about anyone. Not even their own people.’

  ‘’Bye.’

  ‘’Bye.’ She put the phone down and stared into space.

  Gunnymede followed the woman into a reception room. It was neat and tidy with simple furnishings. His attention was immediately drawn to a large framed picture on the mantelpiece of a young man he recognised. A black ribbon was draped around it with plastic flowers either side in small, golden vases. Gunnymede took a closer look at the young man, who was smiling broadly with large, bright eyes.

  ‘You worked with Nahim?’ the woman asked.

  ‘No. Not exactly.’

  ‘When did you last see him?’

  ‘A few days before he died.’

  ‘Do you know how he died? They won’t tell me.’

  ‘I don’t.’

  ‘He never told me anything about his work. I didn’t even know he worked for the government. I thought he was with ISIS.’

  Gunnymede looked at her. She was smiling but she looked like she might start crying any moment.

  ‘I asked him before he left if he was a member of ISIS and he didn’t deny it. He spent the last months before he left in a local mosque. But at school he wasn’t interested in religion. He had his prayer mat in his room in the correct gibla, his Koran by his bed, but he never performed wudu at home or prayed. It was for show. He never mentioned any friends. He was living a lie to protect his secret. His last year alive I thought he was an extremist but he wasn’t. He was a good boy. That’s all they would tell me. That Nahim was a good boy.’

  ‘He saved my life. I came to pay my respects and tell you how very sorry I am that I am unable to thank him in person.’

  She seemed touched by Gunnymede’s sincerity. ‘I’ll thank him for you. In my prayers. What is your name?’

  ‘Devon.’

  ‘I’ll thank him for you, Devon.’

  Gunnymede could see a light in her eyes. Despite her pain there was some kind of positive resignation in them. ‘You see him, don’t you?’

  ‘I see him,’ she said, smiling. ‘He was a lovely boy. He still is a lovely boy. He is with Allah now. He is happy.’ She made him feel somewhat more at ease about her son’s death.

  When he climbed back into the car he was lost in thought. Bethan sat silently, aware he was going through something deep and personal.

  ‘Can I ask if that was her?’ she eventually asked.

  ‘Who?’

  ‘Saleem’s mother?’

  ‘No. It wasn’t her.’ Something occurred to Gunnymede. ‘She lives near here though. Head towards Wandsworth.’

  ‘Are we going to see her?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Do we need to check if she’s been interviewed already? It’s a normal procedure with us.’

  ‘No. Let’s go. I’ll get the address.’

  She drove off as he tapped a message into his phone.

  Twenty minutes later she turned into a street lined with narrow terraced houses and packed with cars.

  ‘Pull in at the end,’ he said as he eyed a particular house they passed.

  Bethan parked the car and turned off the engine.

  ‘Saleem’s mother was interviewed this morning by the police,’ Gunnymede said. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised if there isn’t some form of surveillance on the place.’

  ‘Is there a particular reason we’re here? I mean, apart from the obvious profiling.’

  ‘I’d like to meet her. You coming?’

  They climbed out and walked down the street to the front door.

  ‘Would you do the badge thing,’ Gunnymede said as he looked around.

  Bethan knocked on the door. A man in his sixties opened it. He wore a crisp white shirt and looked at them severely. Bethan held up her badge.

  ‘Who are you?’ Gunnymede asked.

  ‘I’m the uncle,’ the man said. ‘Did you forget something? The police were just here.’

  ‘Is Mrs Saleem in?’ Gunnymede asked.

  The man frowned and stepped aside as they entered. He led the way down the hallway to a door and indicated they should go in. ‘Would you like me to come in?’

  ‘I’ll call you if I need you,’ Gunnymede said.

  The man walked away and Bethan and Gunnymede entered the room.

  Mrs Saleem was seated on a stool in front of a coffee table where there was a picture of Saleem with a black ribbon draped around it. She looked as if she was grieving but there was a hint of theatrics about her posture. Gunnymede and Bethan exchanged looks. She’d also read the insincerity.

  Gunnymede nodded to Bethan to take over.

  ‘Mrs Saleem?’ Bethan said.

  Mrs Saleem looked up at Bethan as if she wasn’t aware they were in the room. Her sunless expression brightened. ‘Hello.’

  ‘I’m with the police,’ Bethan said.

  ‘Of course. Can I offer you some tea?’ she said, getting to her feet.

  ‘No thank you. I’d like to ask you some questions?’

  ‘Are you different police to the ones who were here earlier?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘The same questions or different questions?’

  ‘Let’s see shall we. When’s the last time you saw your son?’

  ‘They asked me that question.’

  ‘I suppose we’re not so different then. When’s the last time you saw your son?’

  ‘Christmas four years ago.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Bethan asked.

  ‘I’m sure.’

  ‘How can you be so sure?’

  ‘Because it was Christmas. We don’t celebrate Christmas but it’s impossible to miss it in England.’

  ‘Why are you sure it was four years ago?’

  ‘Because I count the days and weeks since he left.’

  ‘To join ISIL?’

  ‘I don’t know where he went.’

  ‘You don’t know he went to join ISIL?’

  ‘Eventually. Yes. But I don’t know where he went at first. I don’t think he joined ISIL as soon as he left home.’<
br />
  ‘When’s the last time you heard from him?’

  ‘A year ago. Last November.’

  ‘How did he contact you?’

  ‘He telephoned me?’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘He didn’t have long to talk.’

  ‘What did you talk about?’

  ‘He talked about how he was feeling. How he hated the food and the heat. He mostly called to say goodbye.’

  ‘Why goodbye?’

  ‘Because he knew he was going to die.’

  ‘Why was he going to die?’

  ‘He said he was joining a big battle and he didn’t think he would survive.’

  ‘But he did.’

  ‘No, he did not.’

  ‘Why do you say that?’

  ‘My son is dead. He died in that battle as he predicted he would. All this talk about him coming back to England is lies. Or they have made a mistake.’

  Gunnymede looked at the photo of Saleem, the cold, unholy eyes he knew so well. ‘That’s your son?’ he asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Mrs Saleem said dramatically as she looked upon it.

  ‘Do you pray for him?’

  She looked at Gunnymede as if he was odd. ‘Of course I pray for him. Many times each day.’

  ‘Where do you pray for him.’

  ‘Here of course.’

  ‘Do you see him when you pray?’

  ‘See him?’

  ‘Yes. Do you see him?’

  ‘Of course I see him.’

  ‘I mean, do you see him?’

  ‘Yes, I see him.’

  ‘Next time you see him can you send him a message from me. Tell him the one he tried to kill in Syria a few weeks ago is alive and well and I’m going to find him and kill him.’

  Her eyes darkened as she stared at him.

  ‘I’m going to kill him slowly and painfully, with these.’ He held up his hands. ‘Tell him,’ Gunnymede said before heading for the door.

  He stepped onto the street and did his best to calm himself down. Bethan remained inside for several more minutes. When she came outside they walked back to the car.

  ‘Wasn’t that a bit obvious?’ she asked.

  ‘What?’

  ‘Goading her into making contact with him.’

  ‘I got angry. That old bitch knows he’s alive. She’s spoken to him since he’s been here.’