Tall Order

by Stephen Leather

  ‘What sort of terminations do you want?’ asked Harper.

  ‘Quick ones,’ said Button. ‘I’ll leave it up to you. We’re looking to terminate anyone involved with the suicide bomber, Ali Naveed. He was granted asylum, claiming to be a teenage orphan, but we are fairly sure he was much older. Now, we already have one contact. On the morning of the bombing he made a call to a phone in Birmingham owned by another young Syrian refugee, Israr Farooqi. Farooqi is a cleanskin but his profile is very similar to Naveed’s so I think we can assume he is on the same path. It might be helpful if you see if he has any intel on other jihadists. And in particular, whoever is running them.’

  ‘So interrogation and termination? All good.’

  ‘Over the next few days I should have more names for you. The police are searching Naveed’s house and his foster parents are being questioned by the police as we speak. They are British-British and not at all religious, so it’s likely they are innocent parties in this. Naveed has an uncle, Imran Masood, living in Bolton. He was granted asylum five years ago and is now a British citizen. Once he got his British passport he started to travel frequently back to Syria where he has been in contact with several members of ISIS. Again there is no concrete evidence that he was involved in the bombing.’

  ‘So we’re talking guilt by association? I don’t have a problem with that, Charlie. In fact I’d like to see it as government policy. If these bastards knew that there were consequences for their actions they might think twice before blowing themselves up.’

  ‘The tree-hugging Lefties would have a field day if that were to become official policy.’

  ‘Fuck them,’ said Harper. ‘We’re at war with these bastards, and they don’t fight fair so why the hell should we? Just give me the list and I’ll take it from there.’

  ‘But to be clear, Alex, this job is not government sanctioned.’

  ‘They never are, Charlie,’ laughed Harper. ‘That’s why they use you. And that’s why you use the Pool.’

  Button flashed him a tight smile. ‘They use me when they want to keep an operation at arm’s length. Plausible deniability, as they say. But this is different. This is personal.’

  ‘Personal?’

  ‘I’m not going to say more than that, Alex, so please don’t press me. And to be absolutely clear, I’m not using the Pool on this. I’m using you.’

  Harper nodded and blew smoke down at the grass. ‘If you know about this Farooqi, so do the authorities. Won’t they have snapped him up?’

  ‘We’re ahead of the curve. The phone information is with MI5 and they will keep it to themselves until tomorrow. The phone was destroyed in the blast, obviously, so we won’t be getting any information from the device, but the phone company has downloaded the call and text record and we’ll have its location details later today.’

  ‘But I’m going to have to move quickly, right? Once the cops have him I won’t be able to get to him.’

  ‘That’s why I said it was a rush job, Alex.’

  ‘And what about Masood?’

  ‘Again, MI5 has that information but the police don’t. He’s in Five’s database but the police have never looked at him. If the police do become aware of the uncle, I’ll tell you immediately, obviously. But at the moment, you have a clear run. But Farooqi needs to be your priority.’

  Harper flicked ash on to the grass. ‘And there’s no problem with the terminations looking like assassinations? Isn’t it going to look like what it is – someone taking revenge?’

  ‘It’s a thin line,’ said Button. ‘We need the jihadists to understand that the rules have changed, but we don’t want the Press on our case. I need you to throw out a few red herrings. There’s a particularly nasty racist group on the rise – they’ve been attacking Muslims and nailing pig heads to mosque doors – so it wouldn’t do any harm to point the blame their way. Once you have Signal up and running, contact me and I’ll send you a list of their officials.’

  ‘So you want me to frame innocent people for the killings?’

  For the first time she looked over at him. ‘Is that a problem?’

  Harper smiled. ‘Of course not, Charlotte. I just wanted to be sure, that’s all.’

  She slid her newspaper across the bench to him. ‘There’s some cash here to get you started. I’ll have more for you soon.’

  He picked up the paper and nodded when he saw the bulky manila envelope inside. ‘I probably won’t have much in the way of receipts,’ he said.

  ‘I won’t be sweating the small stuff,’ she said. ‘And I trust you.’

  Chapter 16

  Present Day, London

  S hepherd had fixed a map of the stadium to the wall and circled the location of the CCTV cameras with a red pen. On both sides of the map he had pinned photographs of Ali Naveed, head-and-shoulders shots taken from his asylum applications. There were two dozen Super-Recognisers in the room, eight regulars and sixteen new faces who had been brought in from their stations. They were a mixed bag – young, middle-aged, male, female, one Asian, two mixed-race, fat, thin, short and tall. The ability to be a Super-Recogniser didn’t appear to be linked to any other genetic traits; you either had the talent or you didn’t.

  ‘Right, for those of you who don’t know me, I’m Dan Shepherd. I’m on attachment from the Security Service and our immediate task is to find out how this man – Ali Naveed – managed to get a suicide vest into the stadium. Clearly he had help, and we need to identify whoever it was who helped him. We are going to assume that the person or persons who helped him worked at the stadium. There are thirty-two cameras inside the stadium and ten cameras covering the outside, with another four at the entrances. In the first instance we concentrate on finding out how he got into the stadium. Once we know which entrance he used we can focus on the cameras covering that area. I’m going to suggest that fourteen of you start now by checking those fourteen feeds. The rest of you can familiarise yourself with the staff database. Once you’re happy that you have all the faces memorised, switch places with someone watching the entrance footage. Any questions?’

  An officer held up his hand. He was in his early thirties with close-cropped red hair and piercing green eyes. ‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘Eric Fitzpatrick, I’m from Kilburn nick. I absolutely appreciate the seriousness of this but I’m on earlies this week and I’m supposed to collect my daughter from school this afternoon.’ He smiled apologetically. ‘Sorry to bring it up but, you know—’

  ‘Not a problem,’ said Shepherd. ‘We’ve all got families. Here’s the situation. This room will now operate twenty-four-seven. My bosses have agreed to pick up all overtime payments for the foreseeable future at time and a half. But no one is forcing anyone to work. I understand how stressful recognition can be and I don’t want anyone looking at faces and thinking about something else. So yes, if you need to go, go.’ He pointed at a bald uniformed sergeant who was standing by the door. ‘Sergeant George Hurry will be drawing up the rotas.’ Hurry raised his hand in salute. ‘The canteen should be open twenty-four-seven but George is also your go-to guy for food, coffees, anything you need brought in from the outside. I’ll be here most of the time, but if not then Inspector Nick Hughes will be running the show.’ The inspector was sitting at his terminal and raised his hand. He was a big man with wide shoulders who had been running the Super-Recogniser Unit for more than a year and everyone in the room knew who he was. ‘There were forty thousand people at that match, so let’s get started,’ said Shepherd.

  Chapter 17

  Ten Years Ago, New York

  P eter Leclerc drove in silence. Martin sat with his arms folded, staring ahead. He figured silence was the best option. He didn’t want to appear overeager, and he didn’t want to risk saying anything that would make him look stupid. The man with the tasselled shoes hadn’t introduced himself but the name on his business card said ‘Richard Yokely’. There had been no job title on the card, and no company name, just a couple of phone numbers and a PO Box number.
But Martin was sure he worked for one of the government agencies, maybe the DIA or CIA, certainly something known by its initials. Garcia had been high up in Homeland Security but he was clearly deferring to Yokely, so Yokely carried weight. A lot of weight. They had dropped Garcia at his car in the mall parking lot, then headed for the Park Motel.

  Leclerc had tapped the motel’s location into the SatNav and it showed they were just five minutes away. Ahead of them was a pizza place, and above it a large sign showing a slice of pizza dripping melting cheese.

  ‘We should get a pizza,’ said Martin.

  ‘We can eat later,’ said Leclerc.

  ‘If there’s anyone in the room, they won’t open for strangers,’ said Martin.

  Leclerc grinned. ‘But they might for a guy with a pizza, even if it’s the wrong room?’ He nodded. ‘Nice idea.’ Leclerc turned off the road to pull in front of the pizza place. Martin hurried inside and bought a large pepperoni. He got back into the car and kept the box on his lap.

  ‘Damn, that smells good,’ said Leclerc.

  Martin grinned. It did, too.

  ‘Pepperoni?’

  ‘With extra cheese.’

  ‘You know this guy is almost certainly a Muslim so he won’t be eating pepperoni?’

  Martin shrugged. ‘I wasn’t planning on offering him a slice.’

  The Park Motel was a two-storey H-shaped building with the reception in the central part and the rooms in wings either side. There was a car park in front and a sign indicating another car park at the rear. Leclerc switched off the SUV’s lights and drove slowly around to the rear and parked.

  ‘That’s it,’ said Leclerc, pointing at a room on the ground floor. ‘One-two-six.’ He pulled a Glock from his shoulder holster, checked it and then screwed in a bulbous silencer. ‘Okay, so you play the delivery guy. He’ll probably not open the door but if he does, you step aside and I’ll force entry.’ He handed Martin the key. ‘If he doesn’t open then you can use the key. Assuming the security chain is on, you need to unlock the door, open it and stand to the side. Again, I’ll force entry. Try not to fire your weapon, we don’t want the cops called.’

  Martin nodded. ‘Roger that.’

  Leclerc smiled. ‘Let’s do it.’

  They climbed out of the SUV. Martin walked straight towards the door across the parking lot. Leclerc hurried to the building and stood with his back to it, the gun at his side. The curtains were drawn in all the rooms and most were in darkness. There were televisions on in two rooms but they were both some distance away.

  Martin reached the door, held the pizza box on his left arm and knocked on the door. ‘Pizza!’ he said. When there was no reply, he knocked again. ‘Pizza!’

  He heard a bump inside the room and he turned and nodded at Leclerc.

  Leclerc was pressed against the wall, his gun still low.

  Martin knocked on the door again. ‘Pizza’s getting cold.’

  ‘I didn’t order pizza,’ said a voice from inside.

  ‘Room one-two-six, it’s already paid for.’

  There was a security viewer in the door and Martin stood back, held up the pizza box and smiled amiably. The door stayed shut. He leaned forward and knocked again, a cheery, non-threatening knock.

  The door opened. The security chain was on. Martin caught a glimpse of a dark-skinned face and a brown eye, and black hair. ‘I didn’t order no pizza.’ A British accent, or Australian. Martin could never tell the difference. The TV was on, but the sound was turned down.

  ‘It’s paid for.’

  ‘Just fuck off.’

  The door began to close. The plan had been for Martin to stand to the side and for Leclerc to handle the entry but Martin could see there wasn’t going to be time. He kicked out with his right foot, planting it under the handle and putting all his weight behind the kick. The door flew open, the chain ripped out of the door frame and the man inside staggered back. Martin turned and hit the door with his right shoulder. It slammed into the man and he staggered back again. Martin stepped into the room, taking in everything with one glance. An unmade bed, a stack of fast food cartons and wrappers, bottles of water, clothes strewn over a chair, two cell phones on a dressing table, three holdalls on the floor, an open bathroom door. The TV, showing CNN.

  The man had a gun in his right hand. He snarled as he brought it up but he was slow and Martin’s right hand was already reaching for the man’s wrist. He grabbed and twisted and at the same time stamped down on the man’s left foot. The man yelped and the gun fell to the floor. Martin let go of the wrist and chopped the man’s throat with the side of his hand, being careful not to make it a killing blow. They wanted the man alive.

  The man grunted and both hands went up to his injured throat, panic in his eyes as he fought to breathe.

  Martin pulled back his hand, made it into a fist and chopped at the guy’s solar plexus. The blow instantly paralysed his diaphragm and he went down, his chest heaving.

  Leclerc had followed Martin inside and closed the door. He smiled as he looked down at the almost-unconscious Asian, now rolled up into a foetal ball. ‘You know what was most impressive about the way you handled that?’ asked Leclerc.

  ‘The fact I didn’t drop the pizza?’ said Martin. He opened the box and offered it to Leclerc.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Leclerc, helping himself to a slice.

  Chapter 18

  Present Day, London

  H arper walked back to Queensway and bought an iPod Touch for cash from a small electronics shop. He went to Costa Coffee, paid for an Americano and a croissant and sat at a table to activate the iPod. He used the shop’s Wi-Fi to download the Signal app. Once he had the app up and running he sent a message to Button. He was halfway through his croissant when she replied: That was quick …

  I don’t hang around , he typed.

  He finished his coffee and went back to his hotel room. He used a second throwaway mobile to make a call to a car dealer he’d used many times before. The only driving licence Harper had on him was his own and he didn’t want to use that to rent a car the traditional way. Kev Wheeler was Harper’s go-to guy for untraceable transport. Wheeler operated a small garage under a railway arch in Clapham. He made a nice living repairing cars and issuing MOTs but he had a sideline business that Harper had made use of on several occasions – renting out vehicles with ringer number plates. The vehicles were stolen but Wheeler would replace the number plates with the registration details of an identical vehicle in another part of the country. At any one time he had half a dozen vehicles stored in lock-ups around the city and he was the car rental company of choice for several London criminal gangs. Wheeler demanded a large payment upfront with the promise to rebuy so long as the vehicle hadn’t been compromised.

  Wheeler was happy to hear from Harper and agreed to pick him up in Bayswater within the hour. Harper was outside the hotel when Wheeler pulled up in a white people-carrier. Harper climbed in and the two men shook hands. Wheeler was in his early thirties, tall and stick-thin and wearing stained overalls.

  ‘Bit short notice, Lex,’ said Wheeler, pulling away from the kerb. He had a rough Glasgow accent, not softened in the least by the ten years he’d spent in London.

  ‘Yeah, it’s been a bit of a rush,’ he said.

  ‘What do you need?’

  ‘Something reliable and nondescript. Speed isn’t an issue but I’ll be up and down the motorway so a decent size. And a roomy boot.’

  ‘I’ve got a Toyota Prius?’

  Harper scowled at him. ‘Don’t piss about, Kev.’

  Wheeler laughed. ‘They’re economical and you don’t get more nondescript. But okay, I hear what you’re saying. How about a three-year-old Avensis. Nice size boot.’

  ‘Sounds better,’ said Harper. ‘What are the owner’s details?’

  ‘Dentist in Leicester. He’s about your age. I’ve got all the info you need. Plus a copy of the insurance.’

  Harper nodded. The fact that the car was a
ringer meant that he would need to identify himself as the true owner of the vehicle in the unlikely – but possible – event that he was pulled over by the police. He could get away without providing the driving licence but at the very least he would be expected to know the name, address and date of birth of the owner. ‘Sounds good,’ he said.

  Less than hour later he was driving north in a blue Toyota and Wheeler had eight thousand pounds in cash. Wheeler hadn’t provided a receipt for the transaction but Harper knew that he’d have no problems getting the money back from Charlotte Button.

  Chapter 19

  Present Day, London

  T hey found Ali Naveed after just two hours. He was wearing a black puffa coat, blue jeans and blue Nikes with a gleaming white swoosh on the side. It was a young PC who found him and she had whooped out loud. ‘Got him!’ she shouted.

  Shepherd hurried over to her screen. There was no doubt, it was him. He patted her on the shoulder. ‘Right everybody,’ he shouted. ‘We have Ali Naveed arriving at the stadium an hour and a half before the match started at the west entrance.’ His fingers played across the keyboard and the image flashed up on one of the large wall-mounted screens. Shepherd went over to it. ‘The jacket is fairly distinctive, but I’m really liking the shoes,’ he said. ‘I doubt there were too many Asians there wearing blue Nikes.’ He walked over to the map of the stadium and tapped the entrance where Naveed had been spotted. ‘Right, this is where he came in.’ He looked over at Inspector Hughes. ‘Inspector, could you draw up a schedule for the CCTV cameras adjacent to the entrance. We need to know where he went and more importantly, who he met.’