Sterling

by Robert Cameron

  Gathering information like this always took all day. At least a few hours had to be put between runs past the target, otherwise someone might start to notice. Soon the light would start to fade and Cam wanted to get one more full view of the house before leaving. Standing on the other side of the street was the only place to see the whole building. He didn’t like it and felt exposed, so he would only linger for a second or two while trying to take in as much as he could.

  The white building was a corner house on a quiet suburban street. The roof space had been converted into another floor. A closed curtain blocked any view into the loft conversion. Around the corner was a wall about seven feet high that separated the property’s courtyard from the street. The phone lines entered the house at this point through a junction box.

  His time was up; he had to go. Walking away Cam knew exactly how he was going to get in. He had done things like this before – but not illegally as this was going to be. The last time it was his job.

  * * * * * * *

  He had to hurry. It was approaching the same time that Jabour left the mosque the day before. With the light fading around him, Cam felt more at ease – he was always more comfortable in the dark, where he couldn’t be seen. For the plan to work he would need Jabour’s mobile telephone number.

  Rushing through the alleys to avoid as many cameras as he could, he arrived on the same street as the mosque – but he had to be careful as he didn’t want to run face to face with his target. The alley in which he began his stalk last night would do – he could watch and wait from there.

  Jabour was a little later than the previous night, but Cam could wait. On the way there he spotted a phone box on the corner of the street. As soon as Jabour left the mosque he would head towards it. It would be much easier if Cam could have used his own mobile, but most modern mobiles had GPS trackers in them – and he didn’t want anyone tracking him.

  Jabour finally left the mosque and headed off in the same direction as the previous night, back towards his house. He was setting patterns – another sign he didn’t consider that he was being watched. Cam emerged from the shadows and made his way to the phone box.

  ‘118 118, how can I help you?’

  ‘Can you connect me to the Adl Ghaffari Mosque in Small Heath, Birmingham please?’

  ‘Yes, Sir, connecting you now.’

  ‘Thank you.’ Cam listened to the ring-tone and looked down the street towards the mosque’s main entrance. ‘I’m about to enter the mosque,’ he thought.

  ‘Centre for Islamic Studies,’ said the voice in the public phone’s earpiece.

  ‘Hello, my name is Dr Sam Cooper. I’m a consultant at Birmingham’s Queen Elizabeth hospital. I need to speak to Mr Affan Jabour.’ He felt as if he was virtually inside the mosque.

  That was further than he ever got when he was in the military. Many requests by his team to be allowed to conduct covert reconnaissance inside mosques were all refused. The government’s response was that the ground inside a mosque was the property of the people of Islam, so any non-believer found inside would cause an international incident. Frustration at not being able to get in burned him up. Cam knew he could get in, reveal what was going on inside and get out, leaving no trace of his movements.

  That was what he was for – he had an ability to blend in, disappear. He was silent and cunning and his insertion skills were second to none.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Jabour has just left. Can I take a message?’

  ‘I really need to speak to him, it’s quite urgent. Is there any way of contacting him?’ Cam felt sure it was a peaceful place. ‘No terrorist cells in there. Always follow your gut instinct.’ Cam lived by this, and it had saved his life more than once.

  There was one mosque Cam remembered that was a confirmed weapon store and possible bomb factory. Rumours were circulating that young Muslims were being groomed to be suicide bombers. And still they were refused permission to recce it. Now he was on his own, he could do things his way – he could do what desperately needed to be done.

  ‘I have a landline and a mobile number for Mr Jabour, however, he has instructed me not to pass out his mobile number. Would his home number be any help?’

  ‘Sorry, I have his home number on his notes. And there’s no answer. I really need to speak to him now.’ After a short pause the operator continued.

  ‘Can I ask what it is about?’

  ‘I’m sorry that, due to patient-doctor confidentiality, I can’t discuss this with anyone but him.’

  ‘OK, I have this mobile number for him: 07523 361315.’

  ‘Thank you very much. I’m sure Mr Jabour will appreciate your help.’

  ‘Thank you Sir, goodbye.’ As soon as the phone was hung up, a thought occurred to him. The operator would probably speak to Jabour the next day, since Cam had made it sound very important. And if no doctor had called he would know something was out of the ordinary. Standing in the phone box, he tried desperately to adapt his plan.

  There was no way out of it. He had to act that night.

  * * * * * * *

  Planning and preparation – very important. Cam had to think about every action he was going to take that night. Everything had to be covered; the last thing he wanted was to need something and to have left it behind. Cam was an over-planner; he tended to carry too much, far more than he needed. But not that night; he had to be light; too many trappings meant too much noise, and the aim was to remain silent. He stood in his small, drab hotel room and ran over the list in his head.

  Piece by piece, Cam slipped his equipment into his bag. Small screwdriver set and his leatherman – he would need both of those. Home-made lock-pick set for gaining entry. Not as good as a factory-made set of professional lock-picks, but he didn’t want to be registered as owning a set of picks. Spare gloves – he would be using his black leather aircrew gloves.

  Also some latex gloves for when greater dexterity was necessary. A small blanket about one metre square and some shoe covers, like the ones workmen wear over their boots. Also a camera flash screen and his NVGs. Cam used Cobra Tornado Night Vision goggles; they were expensive but top of the range and small.

  He laid out his dark trousers and black hooded top on the back of a chair. Into the pocket of his top he slid a black balaclava and his first pair of leather gloves. Only one more item was needed. Reaching up, he felt around on the top of the wardrobe. Gripping the cold metal object he lifted it down – an old Browning HP pistol with a sound-suppressor attached. A weapon with which he was very familiar. It was also untraceable; he had brought it home after finding it in Sierra Leone. It was rusty and didn’t work at first, but with a bit of care and attention he had restored it. Getting hold of a sound-suppressor had been more challenging. Although they could be purchased over the internet, he didn’t want any trace of him buying weapon parts. It was a long process, and he had to convince the owner of the weapon shop that it was for a display model. Cam had bought a decommissioned Browning and had produced it to prove that the suppressor would be on a weapon that had its firing-pin cut, rendering it inoperable.

  There was nothing more to do now but wait, try to get some sleep and mentally prepare for the night’s activities. He lay down to rest; he would aim to be at Jabour’s house at about 2 am. At that time of night the human body was naturally most at rest. The average person slept in blocks of four hours, then woke up for perhaps just seconds and would go straight back to sleep. Therefore Cam would try to complete the first half of his plan for about 3 am, then wait for the occupants of the house to go back to sleep before finishing the job.

  Cam hoped that he would be able to slip out of his B&B without being noticed to make the trip to Small Heath. As before, he would use a taxi to get him in the vicinity of the target, and make the rest of the journey on foot. He lay down on the bed with a squeak of the springs and reached over for his a
larm clock. He had owned that old cheap alarm clock for years, it had been everywhere with him. With the alarm set he drifted off into a sound sleep.

  * * * * * * *

  The journey was brief, taking less time than on other occasions. At one o’clock in the morning there was little or no traffic. Cam felt warmed by the orange glow of the passing street lights. Although the darkness was Cam’s best tool, he was comforted by artificial light.

  He had chosen the route with great care. The taxi would only go as far as CCTV coverage. Once there were no more between Cam and the target he would get out. The taxi would hide him from the authorities. He paid the driver and the car accelerated away. As the taxi drove off Cam felt the familiar sensation of being alone. Most people would feel uncomfortable, but for Cam this was where he belonged. When he was alone he knew nothing would go wrong – other people made mistakes, not him.

  A ten-minute walk and Cam was at the house. The street was deserted and Cam knew it was time. Within moments he was in the side-street and leaning on the wall next to the house. In the shadows between the street lights he looked up to the telephone junction box. This small grey box on the outside wall was the network interface for the telephone connection. As he looked up he thought, ‘If I climb this wall, it’s started and there will be no turning back.’ Cam realised his life was about to change. At that point he could still return to his comfortable easy life – he could walk away, or he could make the difference he was never allowed to in the military.

  Decision made, he had the chance to save lives. One last look down the street – nothing. Turning to face the wall he jumped up and gripped the top, then in one smooth motion he pulled himself up. Keeping as low as he could, he shuffled along the top of the wall towards the side of the house. Next to the network interface box. He reached into his pocket and put on a pair of latex gloves. Leave no trace. Out of the bag came his leatherman tool. He clipped the twisted metal tie and levered open the plastic lid. He kept close to the side of the house to mask his movements. He knew that inside every network interface box was a short cable terminating in a jack plug, which connected the house to the phone system. The plug was a similar design to interior phone plugs, all Cam had to do was depress the clip and pull it from its housing. Once done, the power to the house’s phone lines was cut.

  ‘OK, let’s test how sensitive the alarm is.’ Cam closed the hatch to the network box. Raising his arm he pushed against the frame of the window. Nothing, pushing a little bit harder, still nothing. ‘Can’t make too much noise, there must be another way to set it off.’ Down in the courtyard Cam could see the back door of the house. It was old and wooden – possibly alarmed. It was very dark down there and Cam had been on the wall far too long. Silently he jumped down, taking the impact of the landing in his thighs. He felt safer in the darkness of the courtyard – he could take his time now. In case he needed a fast way out of the yard, he unlocked the gate at the rear, allowing him access to the back road. Cam slipped on his leather gloves, reached down and gripped the door handle. Slowly he turned the faded brass handle down, inch by inch until it stopped. It didn’t yield. The door was old, and had been affected by the damp, so was not an exact fit to the frame. Pushing it inwards there was just enough movement to slightly separate the magnetic connectors that initiated the alarm. The quiet of the night was interrupted by the shrill scream of the alarm. Cam quickly but calmly turned and walked out of the yard, and took a left towards a phone box a few yards down the street.

  After a few minutes the alarm was silenced. Cam now had to become an operator from Household Security, the security company that should now know about a possible break-in at the house in Small Heath. With the power to the phone line cut they would be none the wiser.

  ‘Hello, am I speaking to Mr Jabour?’

  ‘Yes, who am I speaking to?’

  ‘My name is Sam, I am calling from Household Security, we have an alarm at your property and we are calling to find out if everything is OK, and to let you know police are on the way to have a look around your property.’

  ‘Why, that’s not necessary, I’m sure there is nothing to worry about, it just went off by accident.’

  ‘OK Mr Jabour. If you would like I can stand down the police and instead I will send over our own security specialists in the morning. They will look into the reason why the alarm has been set off.’

  ‘OK, OK goodbye.’

  ‘One last thing Mr Jabour. The reason I’m calling you on your mobile is your land-line has been blocked. Your alarm system automatically contacts us. Can I have your four digit pass code so I can free up your line?’

  ‘I don’t think I’ve given you one, I don’t remember ever being asked to.’

  ‘If one has not been set up, it will be the same as the code you enter into your system to cancel your alarm.’

  ‘Right, right, 4929.’

  ‘Thank you Mr Jabour, your line is now reset and you should expect our security staff in the morning. Thank you and good night.’

  ‘Good night.’

  Cam had a strong feeling Jabour would not want police to be looking around his house, if he was hiding a wanted man.

  This was the point that Cam did not like – he had to reconnect the phone line as soon as he could. If Jabour tested his line he would discover that it had been cut off.

  Back to the wall he glanced over the windows overlooking the rear courtyard. Everything seemed quiet, no movement. Within seconds he was up on the wall and shutting the network box after reconnecting the power. Cam froze when he heard the handle of the back door rattle. Someone on the inside was moving the handle. If the door were to open, Cam could be spotted. He was only a couple of feet above the door. But the door did not move. ‘Just testing it, maybe their alarm can locate the door or window that was disturbed.’ Cam waited silently, still crouched on the wall. ‘That means they have not reset the alarm and possibly not tested the phone line.’ Cam was convinced he had got away with it. He had succeeded in cutting their line, got their alarm code and reconnected the phone line. And as far as the occupants of the house were concerned, nothing was wrong. Jumping down from the wall he disappeared into the dark of the night to wait for everything to settle down before continuing with his plan.

  Chapter 6

  It was another clear winter night, without a cloud in the sky to hold in the warmth. The temperature had dropped dramatically. The clothing he was dressed in was chosen for a purpose, thin and close-fitting, allowing him to move quietly without making unnecessary noise. It was not designed to keep out the cold.

  Trying not to shiver in the darkness, Cam concentrated on the house. The lights had been out now for over half an hour, and there had been no movement in the windows. He was interested in the room in the converted attic, since he had seen the outline of someone looking out into the street, when the lights went out on the ground floor. There had to be at least two people in the house and Cam was sure that one of them was the man he was looking for.

  It was time; the house was sleeping. With his lock-pick set in one hand and the camera flash screen folded up in his other, he broke cover out of the shadows and into the orange glow of the street lights. Moving closer towards the house, he slipped the lock-pick set into the pocket of his hooded top and pulled the hood up over his head.

  The front door was shrouded in darkness, giving him plenty of cover. All he had to do was overcome the first hurdle – the sensor. If he got that wrong the intruder-light would illuminate him like a rabbit caught in headlights. Turning off the street and facing the house, Cam crouched down making himself as small as possible.

  With the grip on the camera flash screen released, it flipped open into a round silver reflective shield. Hiding behind the screen he inched forward towards the sensor. Concentrating on keeping his entire body behind the screen he dissolved into the shadows of the doorway. The passive infrared sensor
would measure infrared light radiating from objects in its field of view. The camera flash screen would reflect these and protect Cam from being detected as he moved. The closer he got, the higher he lifted his shield until it was right in front of the sensor. He jammed the edges of the screen into the gaps between bricks either side of the sensor and slowly letting go to make sure the screen was secure, he knew he was safe in the blackness of the doorway. Turning towards the door he had plenty of time – picking locks could be time-consuming.

  Automatically he straddled the welcome mat, placing his feet on either side. Always suspicious of booby traps – he hated that term – he knew pressure mats could be used to alert occupants that there was a stranger on their property. Squatting down to get a good view of the lock, he took out his pick set.

  As he opened the leather pouch, he remembered making his pick set from the discarded metal strips found at the side of the road. The thin metal strips that had broken off street-sweeper brushes were perfect for creating picks. He had carefully shaped the ends of the strips into the various picks and tension rods, and had practised on any lock he could find to hone the skills he had first learned years ago in the military.

  Cam inserted the tension rod into the keyhole, turning the plug in the same direction, as if he had the key. He had created a sideways tension on the pins in the lock shaft. Next he chose the appropriate pick and slid it into the keyhole. Feeling for the first pin, he used the shaped end of the pick to lift the pin. A slight click confirmed that he had found the right level for the pin, as if the correct key had been inserted. Moving on to the next pin, he repeated the process and continued until all the pins were in position on the small ledge created inside the lock by the turning of the tension rod. When the last one was in place the lock turned.

  With the door unlocked he returned the pick set to his bag, and out came the small blanket and some shoe covers. With his bag on his back he considered the door. It was modern and should open smoothly and silently. The door opened and immediately he spotted the flashing box on the wall. ‘4929. I hope it’s still the correct code.’ With the code entered using the rubber keypad, the flashing stopped.