‘Yes, sure. I’d be happy to,’ replied Emma.
Kate turned and looked at Rafi. Her eyes twinkled. ‘And I’ll team up with Rafi.’
She looked pleased, as if she’d got what she wanted. She held Rafi’s gaze, gave him a barely perceivable wink and added, ‘Which should be interesting.’
Rafi got up to leave as if he’d finished a normal business meeting.
Kate looked a little crestfallen by his lack of interest and right at that moment it dawned on Rafi that he had accidentally ignored her gesture.
He looked at her with new eyes. She was attractive in a gamine sort of way; her hazel eyes were gorgeous… He cut short his thoughts – this definitely wasn’t the time for distractions.
Aidan stood up. ‘Where’s my desk?’
‘Follow me, I’ll show you where we work,’ said Emma.
‘Where do you want it set up?’ asked one of Greg’s team, pulling a trolley with a serious-looking PC on it. Emma pointed to the desk to the left of the whiteboard.
Greg popped his head around the door. ‘By the way, do you happen to know your home IP address or would you like me to find it out for you?’
Aidan gave Greg his nine-digit IP address. ‘Could you also arrange for my home phone line to be routed through to here?’
‘No problem.’ Greg turned and left.
‘Will your colleagues notice your absence?’ asked Emma ‘You might like to tell them you’ll be away from the office for some while.’
‘Good idea. I’ll be able to tell them I’m working from home as soon as Greg has me set up.’
Minutes later Aidan was up and running.
‘The printer is where?’ Aidan called across to no one in particular.
Emma pointed to a large, old HP printer next to her desk.
‘Bloody hell! I haven’t seen one of those for years. Did you get it from the museum up the road?’
‘That’s a bit too close to the truth to be funny,’ interjected Kate.
Aidan busied himself and in no time the printer was churning out sheets of paper.
Emma glanced at him. ‘I didn’t know you had your IP address rerouted yet. What are you up to?’
‘I thought I’d access some background data from the Web to save some time.’
Fifteen minutes later, the phone on the corner of Aidan’s desk rang. He scooped it up without taking his eyes away from his screen, said, ‘Thanks’ and put it down. He now had access to his bank’s intranet.
Rafi went over to Kate. ‘I’m sorry I didn’t seem enthusiastic about the prospect of working with you earlier. My mind was on other things. Shall we get started?’
Kate looked at him carefully, almost quizzically – she couldn’t make him out. ‘Where do you suggest we start?’
‘Let’s work on the property angle. It shouldn’t be long before we hear from the agent,’ replied Rafi.
Twenty minutes later Justin Smith telephoned. He sounded rather sheepish. He had put the list of properties through the three databases and had expected reams of information to come out, but had obtained only seven pages of data.
Constable Peter Ashby was waiting nearby in a squad car and made the pickup.
Less than twenty minutes later, he was handing over the envelope with the data to Kate.
Rafi looked at the printouts. Six agents showed up. Dewoodson cropped up more than any of the other names. Rafi smiled; so they were involved. They would be his starting point. From their website, he located their head office in Manchester, and noted that they also had offices in London, Edinburgh and Bristol. He passed the contact details to Kate.
She rang their head office – she was slightly nervous as this was going to be a difficult phone conversation and she didn’t want to tip them off that she was from the police. ‘May I please speak to the person dealing with the property company PREH?’
The receptionist hesitated.
‘Oliver Stone, our managing director, looks after their agency deals and William Wesson deals with their valuations.’
‘I’d like to speak to Mr Wesson then, please.’
There was a short wait before Kate was put through to his secretary. A curt voice said, ‘Mr Wesson is out of the office and isn’t expected back until after lunch – I suggest you ring back then.’ The secretary hung up.
Kate rang back and asked to speak to Oliver Stone, the MD. After another wait she was put through to his personal assistant.
‘Mr Stone is in a meeting and can’t be disturbed.’
‘It is important.’
The PA was firm in her reply. ‘Mr Stone has left me strict instructions that he mustn’t be disturbed,’ and hung up.
Kate looked across at Rafi, ‘I wonder if it was the mention of the name PREH that made them so unhelpful?’
‘Quite possibly.’
Kate picked up the phone again and rang through to the switchboard.
‘Could you please put me through to Manchester Central?’
Kate spoke to the duty officer. ‘DI Adams here. Could you please put me through to one of your senior colleagues in Special Branch – counter-terrorism?’
A Detective Chief Inspector Rick Feldon picked up the phone.
‘Good morning, how can I help you?’
Kate introduced herself and explained what she was working on. ‘I have good reason to believe that a firm of surveyors, Dewoodson, who are based in Spring Gardens, have information on a property company, PREH, which is linked to our investigations. They are being uncooperative. As a matter of some urgency, I’m after a copy of the last valuation report, together with any other information available on PREH.’
‘Can you email me details of what you want?’
‘Will do.’
‘Also, Rick, please bear in mind that this needs to be done with diplomacy and very quietly. They can’t know we’re on to them. I could do with their MD, Oliver Stone, and their valuer, William Wesson, being interviewed and kept totally incommunicado for at least twenty-four hours.’
‘Sounds right up our street!’
There was a short silence before Rick said, ‘How’s about we pull them in on something else? Leave it with me, I’ll come up with something which will enable us to search their premises and confiscate their computers. My colleague, Phil Smith, and I will pick them up as soon as we get your email.’
It was nearly 10 a.m. on Thursday morning. Rafi had his fingers crossed that the valuation report would reveal more properties. If they, too, were close to energy targets it would confirm his suspicions and fill in valuable missing pieces of the jigsaw puzzle.
Their work was interrupted by a call from Colonel Matlik.
‘Hello, Colonel,’ said Kate, putting him on speakerphone.
‘Sorry for the delay – I had hoped to get back to you sooner. However, your leads have proved most fruitful. Are you sitting down?’ There was an ominous tone to his voice.
‘Er… Yes.’
‘My men have paid a visit to the firearm club which was owned by your former Mr Koit. They tried their hand at shooting on the 1,000-metre range. Behind the firing positions they spotted an area where the winter vegetation was partially scorched -the telltale signs of a missile launcher – and to the side of the targets was what seemed to be a demolished building. After their session they went to have a discrete look. It was not a building, but a concrete wall over two metres thick. Whatever had been fired at it had punched a hole straight through the concrete. It had been hit a couple of times, which explained why it looked such a mess. Beside the rubble, covered by a layer of soil, they found a three-metre by five-metre block of metal. It was made from fifty steel sheets, each two centimetres thick, which had been welded together. It was over one metre thick and it too had two gaping holes in it.’
‘Bloody hell!’ exclaimed Kate under her breath, but she let the Colonel continue.
‘I’ve been doing some research on what could cause such damage. We believe something like the Kornet E Anti-Tank Armour missile wa
s used. It is an impressive piece of equipment and truly destructive if you are on the receiving end. It can blast a hole through one metre of armour; and not just steel armour, but explosive reactive armour. It’s the kit that gives the likes of you or me nightmares. In daylight its range is up to 5.5 kilometres and trained users can fire two missiles per minute. To add spice to its capabilities, it can be fitted with either tank busting or high explosive thermobaric warheads. It gets worse: it is very accurate as it has either thermal or optical sights to detect and track the target. And the launcher comes with a tripod – both are transportable.’
‘Would it need trained operatives to use it?’ enquired a horrified Kate.
‘One professional would do – though it would be like holding a tiger by its tail. One thing is for sure, though: it should not be fired in a confined space unless the operator wishes to have an early cremation.’
‘Can these missiles and the launchers be purchased on the black market?’
‘What can’t these days?’ replied the deep voice. ‘I reckon €50,000 would suffice.’
‘Very helpful and disturbing. Thank you,’ said Kate. ‘You have done a fantastic job…’ she was interrupted.
‘There is more. We brought in the warehouse manager earlier this morning on the grounds of committing a serious road traffic offence involving the death of a pedestrian. A tax inspector and two of my officers have been searching the warehouse and offices. Amongst the paperwork they found two interesting invoices: one was for five miscellaneous launchers, and another one for twenty miscellaneous missiles. The name of the purchaser was left blank. It was dated eleven days ago. The import manifest showed dealings with a private Russian company – Restaya – which is known to the Russian FSB and is believed to be involved in the black market arms trade.’
The colonel paused. ‘Unfortunately, I have some more bad news. The FSB tell me that several months ago pro-Chechen rebels captured a consignment of Kornet E Anti-Tank missiles -five launchers with optical sights and twenty missiles, to be precise.’
Kate was going to speak, but the colonel carried on.
‘I have interviewed the manager. He is pleading ignorance. He insists that he only looks after the day-to-day activities and doesn’t ask questions. The real decisions, he says, are made by his boss who he rarely sees. When I interrogated him further, it turned out he did not know to whom the missile launchers and missiles were sold, just that he delivered them to the same rifle range outside Tallinn that my colleagues visited. He described the size of the wooden crates and the lettering on them. Unfortunately, I can now confirm that they are a match for the missing Kornet missiles and launchers. We are keeping the manager in custody, and he will not be allowed to talk to outsiders. His secretary has been told of his driving accident and that he is being held pending a murder charge.’
‘How long can you hold him for without him seeing his solicitor?’ asked Kate.
‘As long as you like,’ came the reply, ‘now that we know he is involved with a major terrorist plot. Questions will be asked as to why he cannot speak to his solicitor in probably forty-eight hours. My team is currently going through the import/export agency’s paperwork with a fine-tooth comb to see whether any other armaments have recently passed through their hands. I will keep you informed of their progress.’
‘Thank you,’ said Kate.
‘That is not all. I have been looking into the fishing company you mentioned. It owns two deep sea trawlers, the Anu Riina and the Anu Maarja; they both operate out of Tallinn docks. Both are at sea – they left port a week ago. A reasonable assumption is that your Kornets were on board. We understand the vessels are somewhere north of the Faeroes. That is all for the moment. I will get in touch again as soon as we know anything else.’
Kate hesitated and then replied. ‘Thank you. You’ve given us more than enough to get on with. All your help is much appreciated.’
‘A pleasure. I must go now. Give me a call if you need anything more. I regret being the bearer of such bad news.’
She switched the speaker phone off and sat there, taking in what the colonel had just told her… Kate broke the silence. ‘These Estonian trawlers sailing from the Baltic Sea to the Faeroes would go within a couple of hundred miles of Peterhead. If en route they rendezvoused with one of the Peterhead trawlers, then the missiles could now be in the UK!’
‘Things have just got bloody scary, haven’t they?’ exclaimed Emma. ‘When the safety specifications were drawn up for oil and gas depots, or even airports or nuclear power stations, they can’t have had any idea that such a monster as the Kornet missile existed?’
‘I doubt it,’ replied Kate, ‘or if they did, it was a masterly cover-up by our political masters.’
‘If only we had a better idea of the timescale,’ mused Rafi.
‘We should work on the basis that the attacks are imminent,’ said Kate.
‘A thought,’ Rafi replied. ‘If Aidan and I are right and the financial markets are at the heart of the terrorists’ plan, then the attacks won’t come today – it’s already too late. They’ll come first thing in the morning. That way they will get full news coverage and have the whole day to spook the markets. Now whether that’s tomorrow or next week, I don’t know.’
‘We must get information on who the foot soldiers are and what they are targeting. Carry on researching your leads and keep me informed of any developments,’ said Kate with a note of urgency in her voice. ‘I need to brief the commissioner.’
John returned with Jeremy right behind him.
‘Rafi, I’ve been thinking a bit more about the terrorists and their possible exit routes,’ said John. ‘I really would put good money on them using a fast motor vessel in addition to the trawlers. Especially as they could easily afford something very fast.’
‘Where would you start looking for something like that?’ Rafi asked.
‘Firstly, I’d look at the ringleaders,’ replied John, ‘And check out whether the sheikh, Basel, Jameel or Maryam own a large powerboat.’
‘I’ve a friend at Lloyd’s Shipping Register. Let me give her a ring,’ said Emma.
It turned out to be a short conversation. ‘She says our task will be difficult. There are many large powerboats scattered all around the smart harbours and marinas of Europe. The difficulty is that most are owned through special purpose companies for tax reasons and this makes it hard to trace their owners.’
Emma thought for a moment, then got up and went to see Aidan, who was sitting behind a large volume of paper.
‘Aidan, if you wanted to find out if a business contact owned an expensive motor vessel, where would you start?’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Anyone who spends several millions on a yacht will no doubt think it’s the best thing since sliced bread. My bet would be to go and look in their offices, where they’re bound to have photos of it.’
‘Good idea, but we don’t have the time,’ said Emma.
Rafi lifted his head up from his paperwork. ‘Of the four individuals, I doubt whether Jameel has one stashed away. He’s never spoken of boats to me and, to my knowledge, he spends most of his holiday time skiing or playing golf. Basel is a workaholic and I don’t see him leaving something valuable tucked away in a marina, unused. That leaves Sheikh Tufayl and Maryam.’
‘I’d rule out Maryam,’ said Emma. ‘She also works long hours and spends too much time between her homes in the Gulf, Luxembourg and London. I don’t see a large powerboat and outdoor activities going with her lifestyle.’
‘What about her hubby?’ asked John. ‘He is extremely wealthy.’
‘Could be,’ said Kate, ‘But in my book the sheikh seems to be the most likely.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said John. ‘It’s a bit off the wall, but how about we chat to someone working for the tabloid press and see if they’ve any photos of Sheikh Tufayl or Maryam’s husband on board a big boat? We must have some good contacts. Should I make a couple of phone calls and get
some names?’
Kate nodded. ‘But the discussions will have to be in confidence, perhaps in return for a story later?’ Ten minutes later, John’s phone rang; he scribbled down the information on two contacts: one working for a red top newspaper and the other for a tabloid magazine.
‘I could do with a volunteer to pay a journalist a visit,’ said Kate.
‘Count me in,’ offered Jeremy.
‘See what you can find,’ said Kate.
‘Will do.’Jeremy picked up the piece of paper with the names and phone numbers on. ‘Which do you reckon I should try first?’
‘I’d take the top one – he works down at Canary Wharf when he’s at home but, like most tabloid journalists, he could be almost anywhere.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jeremy, slightly sarcastically. ‘It seems a straightforward task.’ He dialled the first journalist, Pete Lockyer, and smiled when the mobile was answered almost immediately.
‘Hello, I was wondering whether you could help me?’
‘Who are you?’ a rather high pitched voice enquired.
Jeremy gave a wry smile. ‘Someone you don’t know. And who probably doesn’t exist in any of your files.’
‘Are you taking the mick?’ snapped Pete Lockyer.
‘No,’ replied Jeremy. ‘I work for a rather special part of the Government and your name has been put forward as someone who could help us.’
‘Sorry mate, I’m rather busy at the moment.’
‘So be it,’ said Jeremy. ‘I thought I’d try you first as you come highly recommended, but if you’re too busy, not to worry. I’ve another couple of people to try, including a rather pushy sod at a tabloid magazine.’
There was a silence at the other end of the phone; one could sense Pete considering whether he was about to turn down a potentially lucrative story.
‘How much of my time would you need?’ inquired Pete.
Jeremy tried hard to conceal a large smile and winked at Emma. ‘Not long! Perhaps you might have time for a cup of coffee or a glass of wine?’
‘It’s a bit early for me. Let’s make it a cup of coffee. There’s a decent coffee bar around the corner from where I work.’
Latent Hazard rkadika-1 Page 11