Latent Hazard rkadika-1

by Piers Venmore-Rowland

  The silence was interrupted by Bob. ‘What do you want us to do? The impossible? Or should we man the printing presses, print money out of thin air and then wave our magic wands?’

  ‘Not quite,’ Rafi replied. ‘What we need is a plan that can be put in place to calm the markets.’

  ‘Boy, that would be pulling a rabbit and a half out of a hat,’ said Alex.

  Aidan cut in. ‘Rafi has a plan, which we believe you and your colleagues can make a reality. We believe there is the possibility to create listed Government property vehicles – REITs – and use share issues to mop up the liabilities that the Government may face, and to finance gilts buy-backs.’

  At that moment a flustered Donald Hollingsworth appeared through the door. Rafi got up and walked over to greet him.

  ‘My God, Rafi, you look terrible!’

  ‘Yes, thank you Donald. Sorry to have ruined your weekend away. Let me introduce you to the other members of the team who beat you here. In the next fifteen minutes you’ll be joined by Matthew Wilson – who I believe you know – and by a Dr Saara Khan, who you won’t. Aidan will brief you.’

  Aidan stood up. ‘In straightforward terms, gentlemen, your mission, should you wish to accept it, is to come up with a credible strategy that the Bank of England and Treasury can adopt to avert a financial meltdown. I will bring you up to speed with the minutiae as soon as the others arrive. In a moment Detective Constable Emma Jessop will join us and help us turn this room into our office. And, I understand some coffee is on its way.’

  Rafi could sense that they were hooked – their body language had visibly relaxed and there was determination in their eyes.

  ‘If you’ll excuse us, Kate and I have a number of things to attend to. Thank you for helping,’ said Rafi. ‘And so far as the attacks are concerned, there is a team upstairs planning how the SAS can neutralise them.’

  There was a quiet knock on the office door. Standing outside was Rafi’s sister. On catching a glimpse of him, Saara broke into a run. ‘I’ve been so worried.’

  ‘Thanks sis. Me too! Meet Kate, with whom I’m working.’

  ‘You’re not under arrest?’

  ‘No,’ replied Kate, ‘your brother is working with us – he’s a godsend.’

  Rafi looked at his little sister. She smiled a smile that he would not forget in a long time – its intensity was wonderful. ‘I’m sorry to drag you away from home, but we need someone with a clear, logical mind who can act as an independent thinker amongst a team of financial experts.’

  ‘But finance is a blank in my book.’

  ‘Yes, but you know how to structure a hypothesis and set up tests to prove or disprove it. Come and get a cup of coffee and let me introduce you to the team,’ said Rafi.

  They entered the interview room; it was buzzing and exuded a sense of teamwork and urgency. The conversation paused and Rafi introduced his sister to Aidan’s team. ‘Saara is here to be your devil’s advocate. Forgive her if she asks any naive questions on the finance front; I promise you she’ll be worth her weight in gold by the time you’ve finished. Aidan here will explain what’s going on.’

  Bob enquired, ‘What are the chances of nipping back to the office to collect some papers and download some files?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Kate. ‘We’ll assign you Constable Peter Ashby to act as your chauffeur. Is the gravity of the position understood? No one outside this building other than MI5 and the SAS have a clue what’s going on. Absolutely no talking to anyone! Got that?’

  ‘Of course,’ replied Bob.

  ‘When Bob gets back could I borrow Constable Ashby?’ asked Alex.

  ‘Me too,’ said Matthew.

  ‘Emma will make the arrangements for you.’

  ‘Aidan, whilst the others are out could you bring Donald and Saara up to speed, please?’ asked Rafi.

  ‘Will do.’

  Rafi left to rejoin Kate. He re-entered the office that had become his home.

  She looked across at him. ‘You look bloody awful,’ she said with a soft smile.

  ‘You don’t look too good yourself,’ Rafi added gently. ‘Where do we go from here?’

  ‘Time to ring Rick Feldon in Manchester.’

  After a long wait Kate was finally put through to a tired sounding Rick Feldon.

  ‘Sorry to keep you waiting, but it is a bit busy here. Wesson is one sandwich short of a picnic and proving to be highly incommunicative. Anyway… When our word search on the computer files came up with nothing, I spoke to the MI5 suits and they have gone through the secretaries’ paper files. The good news is they have just found the letter. No wonder the word search revealed zilch – the letter was never saved on the computer. It’s being faxed to you as we speak. It gives you two more properties!’

  Kate smiled. ‘Excellent work Rick; it’s just what we needed. Thanks.’

  Rafi sat on the edge of his chair; he couldn’t wait to get his hands on the fax.

  ‘Oh, by the way, Rick, we think that we’re missing one more property,’ said Kate. ‘One in the South East or London area. It might be worth trying to chat to your man about it.’

  ‘I’ll see what I can do,’ said Rick, ‘And sorry again for not finding the letter sooner.’

  ‘We’ve got it now – that’s what matters.’

  Moments later the fax arrived. Rafi read it. It was very straightforward. It confirmed that the value of two properties exceeded their book cost of?7.4 million. Rafi looked at the addresses: development land at Park Avenue, Wasdale Road, Gosforth, and Marfleet Lane, Kingston-upon-Hull.

  Rafi went back to his desk and pulled up Google Maps on the screen. He typed in ‘Gosforth’ and was given the option of either Gosforth NE3 or Gosforth CA20. Rafi clicked on the CA20 link and a large scale map appeared on the screen. With a couple of mouse clicks, Rafi reduced the scale so that he could scan the surrounding area. Oh hell! He recognised the location; it was close to Sellafield nuclear reprocessing plant.

  ‘Kate,’ he called across, ‘do you have a spare moment?’ He showed her the map. ‘We have found another location. The terrorists have a property within a mile or so of Sellafield,’

  ‘Oh shit!’ exclaimed Kate. ‘This isn’t what we wanted.’

  ‘But at least we now know where to look,’ added John.

  Rafi typed in the address of the Hull property and looked at the map.

  Kate, standing over his shoulder, said, ‘Go east a bit. Thought so – it’s just down the road from Easington, where there is a gas terminal and storage facility… And it’s vast!.’ She looked pleased. ‘So, by my calculations, seven targets found… Three still to track down! As long as none of the missing three is a nuclear installation, I reckon we’re in with a chance.’

  ‘Or seven down and one to go, if we can get confirmation that the fifth missile launcher is on board Golden Sundancer. That would leave only one more to find,’ said Rafi apprehensively.

  ‘Let’s hope you are right,’ Kate handed Rafi a pile of papers. ‘Could you help me with a bit of photocopying…? There’s no one else to ask! I’m putting together corroborating evidence to support what we believe is going on – in case we get a frosty reception upstairs.’

  Upstairs, Giles and David were preparing for the 8 o’clock meeting.

  Air Chief Marshal Sir Nigel Hawser and the head of MI5, Ewan Thorn, were booked to come; however, it was proving more difficult to get the Government ministers to the meeting without telling them why.

  Giles had phoned the Defence Secretary. He introduced himself and immediately cut to the chase. ‘I’ve arranged a meeting for 8 o’clock this evening. It is of vital importance; can you attend please?’

  ‘What’s it about?’ answered a frosty voice. ‘I have a social engagement – Covent Garden with the wife. The tickets are like gold dust.’

  ‘I can’t talk over the phone, but we would value your input alongside that of the head of the armed forces and the head of MI5.’

  ‘Oh, I see. Yes, I
’ll be there.’

  ‘Thank you, sir.’ Giles gave the minister the details of the venue and put the phone down. He looked relieved; the Defence Secretary, though new to the department, was a level-headed man and a renowned stickler for the minutiae. Once brought on side, he would be an invaluable asset to the team.

  His next phone call, Giles mused, was likely to be interesting. The stand-in Home Secretary was a different ball game altogether. He phoned the Home Office, and was put through to the minister’s personal assistant.

  ‘The minister is in a strategy meeting and has left instructions not to be disturbed.’

  ‘This is extremely important; I would have spoken to the Home Secretary but he’s out of the country,’ said Giles.

  ‘Let me have a word with the minister,’ replied the secretary.

  What seemed like ages later, the minister’s voice came on the phone. He sounded peeved.

  ‘What, may I ask, is the purpose of this call?’ he asked bluntly.

  ‘When we met at the Bishopsgate bomb location you said you would be available to help 24/7. I have arranged a meeting for 8 o’clock this evening; it is of vital importance. Can you attend please?’

  ‘I’m sorry but I’m busy. I could send my assistant, or we could have the meeting tomorrow morning, say, at 11 a.m.?’ replied the minister.

  ‘Sir, under normal circumstances I would have asked the Home Secretary,’ said Giles politely, hoping the minister would get the point that the meeting was crucial.

  ‘If I am to consider rearranging my diary, I’d have to know why it’s so important that I attend this meeting. I’m booked to give a keynote speech. I’m spearheading the launch of our new data handling unit on immigration statistics. The press will be there. I have a first class speech and it has already been distributed for tomorrow’s papers… Unfortunately, I’ll have to decline your offer.’

  ‘Sir, this is sufficiently sensitive that I can’t tell you about it until we meet, but it is of utmost importance.’

  ‘No. I’ve made my mind up; you can have my assistant or you can see me at my office tomorrow morning,’ added the minister uncompromisingly.

  Giles raised his eyebrows, perplexed. ‘But it is important.’

  The minister wasn’t pleased. ‘Damn it! You won’t be getting me to your meeting at this short notice. Do you know who you are speaking to? My press conference is far too important an opportunity to miss, particularly as our newly formatted statistics look excellent. Good evening to you.’ The phone line went dead.

  The commissioner did not rise to the provocation; it was as if he was dealing with a petulant teenager. He dialled the 10 Downing Street hotline, got straight through to the PM’s office and asked to speak to the Prime Minister regarding the recent bombing. Within a minute the PM came on the phone.

  ‘How may I help you?’

  ‘Prime Minister, we have a situation developing. It would be helpful if we had your or the Home Secretary’s input, alongside that of the Defence Secretary, the head of the armed forces and the head of MI5. I have spoken to the minister covering for the Home Secretary and have been informed that his prior engagement means he’s unavailable. I was hoping…’

  ‘When do you want to see me?’ came the businesslike reply.

  ‘Eight o’clock this evening at Wood Street, please.’

  ‘I will have to put you on hold – bear with me; I need to speak to my secretary.’

  Giles waited, fingers crossed. The recent General Election meant that the Prime Minister was working with a wafer-thin majority and had a lot to contend with.

  The PM’s voice came back on the line. ‘My secretary has rescheduled my diary. Traffic permitting, I shouldn’t be more than five minutes late.’

  Giles was grinning when he put the phone down. ‘There are times when a politician can restore one’s faith in the system.’

  ‘You couldn’t have asked for a better group of people to pitch our problems to,’ said David, who was also smiling.

  A couple of minutes later the phone rang: it was a very disgruntled Home Office minister. ‘Regarding your recent phone call… For the record, I wish to repeat that I am unwilling to drop this press briefing, unless you explain to me in detail why it is so important I attend.’

  David sensed that Giles wanted to get him off the line as quickly as possible, in case the topic of the PM was brought up.

  Giles said very politely, ‘I’ve been considering your offer of a meeting tomorrow morning; perhaps I could come over and brief you. Would 11 o’clock at your office be acceptable?’

  ‘Er… yes, that should be fine. Do phone my personal assistant first thing to check the time and venue and that my diary is still free, though,’ came the reply.

  ‘Thank you, minister.’

  Giles couldn’t put the phone down quickly enough. ‘Don’t repeat me, but that man is a self-obsessed idiot of the first order. Heaven help the country if he ever gets a department to run. Can you see if Kate has made any progress with the missing information? Thanks. I’m going to pay Greg a visit to tell him to implement our emergency plans and get a command centre set up.’

  Kate and Rafi were collating their supporting information for the 8 o’clock meeting.

  Down the corridor Aidan and the economics team had transformed the interview room into their base. Beyond them, the rooms that had been the offices of Chief Superintendent David Pryke and his team had been cleared. Greg and his team were working on turning them into an operations room. A group of desks had been put back-to-back in the centre of the room, with a row of phones and networked PCs with flat screens down the middle. Video-conferencing and LCD screens were being mounted on the walls and secure phone and video links to the SAS command centre, the HQ of the paratroopers and the army’s command centre in Wiltshire were being set up. The PM’s hotlines were being installed in an adjoining office.

  Greg was looking concerned – his assistant was having problems getting two video links working properly. And it seemed that one of the big screens had developed an electrical gremlin, another simply didn’t want to work and in addition a touch screen was playing up intermittently.

  Aidan and Emma came down the corridor to chat to Greg about their PC and printer needs. As they walked through the door, they saw that it was a bad moment.

  Greg saw Aidan looking at him. ‘It’s the damn wiring…’

  ‘Can I have a look?’ asked Aidan.

  Greg waved him across and asked Emma quietly, ‘Don’t tell me he has a degree in electrical engineering as well?’ which Aidan overheard.

  ‘No, I’m afraid not -just as I thought: the same leads in and out. What you have here is an older version of what we have in the office. Emma, see if you can find Rafi; he’ll know.’

  Moments later Emma reappeared with Rafi in tow.

  ‘Rafi, what do you think? It’s similar to the kit we’ve got in our conference rooms and use to link into our laptops, isn’t it? The leads look the same; it’s just the screen and the electronics that are older.’

  Rafi looked at the leads. ‘You’re right.’

  ‘Thanks, mate,’ said Aidan. He turned and spoke to Greg. ‘I just need to make a quick call.’

  Aidan spoke to his boss, a main board director of Maine Leadbetter. ‘Hi, Russell, it’s your erstwhile colleague Aidan here… Yes, I’ve been working hard… No, I’m not off somewhere with a bit of fluff… Yes, I aim to be back in the office tomorrow… Probably by 10.30 a. m… Sorry, yes, I’ll miss the morning meeting and the early trading… Don’t worry, if I get what I’m doing right, it’ll be excellent news for the firm.’ Aidan paused. ‘This brings me to the reason for my call: I’ve a pitch to some wealthy players first thing tomorrow and I need to knock the socks off them. I’ve got a favour to ask. Would you ring the security guards on reception and authorise my borrowing the screen from the small conference room and a little bit of associated kit?’

  The request was met with silence. Greg and Rafi could tell from Aid
an’s face that his boss wasn’t keen.

  ‘OK, let’s say that if it’s not back in time, I’ll buy a new one. You do trust me, don’t you? Oh, good. Thanks. Yes, I know I take liberties! See you tomorrow.’ Aidan put down the phone. ‘I hope he won’t mind the small white lie. There’s no way what I’m planning to borrow will be back in time. But since the markets will be closed, they won’t be much good to him anyway!

  Greg, if you could find a van, would you and one of your assistants like to pay my office a visit?’

  Greg’s expression changed from a scowl to a beaming smile. ‘Give me a couple of minutes to draw up a list of what I need and I’ll meet you by the back door.’

  Rafi looked at Aidan, ‘Good move! I hope you’ve got what he needs.’

  ‘Oh, I don’t think that there should be too much of a problem. We have a basement storeroom full of last year’s kit which makes this lot look steam age in comparison. This should be fun. I’m willing to bet Greg will think he’s visiting Santa’s Grotto!’

  Kate put her head around the corner of the door.

  ‘So this is where you are! Rafi, I thought you might like to listen in; we have the captain of the Nimrod, tracking Golden Sundancer, on the phone.’

  As they scurried back to the office, Kate brought Rafi up to speed. ‘Twenty minutes ago he radioed in and spoke to John to report that Golden Sundancer was on a converging course with a trawler around 250 miles from Iceland, north-west of the Faeroes, in the middle of nowhere.’

  Back in the office, the voice of the Nimrod captain could be heard clearly over the speaker phone. ‘Your vessel has hove to in close proximity to a fishing vessel, which we’ve identified as an Estonian trawler, named Anu Riina. The captain of the trawler is transferring an inflatable dinghy over to Golden Sundancer as we speak. There’s a big swell down there and the temperatures are sub-zero… A line has been secured aboard Golden Sundancer and her captain is manoeuvring to get the dinghy into the lee of the wind to make it easier to get it on board.