Sterling

by Robert Cameron

  As Cam sat on the top of Arthur’s Seat with the sun warming his face, he watched the people of Edinburgh go about their daily business. As the people passed him they had no idea that the lonely figure on the hillside was the man responsible for saving the city.

  He would never receive any acknowledgement for his actions – but he wasn’t the type to need that sort of attention. The police had seemed to be given most of the credit for this one; the troop had been conveniently left out again. They had been the ones who had made the device safe but nobody would ever know.

  Cam thought back to the new members of the troop he had seen before the op started. He had never seen them before – but why would he have? The guys he served with were no longer around. It made him remember some of the times they spent together.

  * * * * * * *

  That day they had spent at an old abandoned American Air Force base in the summer of 2003 was one of their more relaxed training sessions, where Cam was allowed to blow up almost anything he wanted.

  The exercise had been paused for lunch for about an hour and they were just finishing up the BBQ Swanny had cooked up. It was about time to get back to it – time for one more assault lane. This time round it was Cam’s job to set up the trip wires, pressure mats and other devices for the team to make safe.

  He had also been given a box of flash bangs to get rid of, and he was using them to simulate battle noises as distractions, trying to give the exercise more realism. For this practice, Cam had set up the usual devices for the team to deal with, but he had a surprise for them on this one.

  He had wired together three flash bangs and hidden them in an electrical cupboard, and when the practice started he had positioned himself down the corridor with the initiator. From there he would wait until the team was near the cupboard, then set it off.

  Cam held the claymore clicker and waited. He kept a check of where the team was by leaning out of the doorway he was in and peering down the corridor. The black figures sneaked along towards his position, checking everything they passed, as anything could be a hidden device.

  As the team drew up to the electrical cupboard he ducked back inside the doorway and double clicked the claymore clicker. Click, click, BOOM!!! Cam looked in horror as the dirty white cloud of dust and shrapnel flew past the door down the corridor. He could feel the blast wave pass.

  Once it quietened down he looked towards the electrical cupboard, to where the team should be. He remembered thinking that it might not have been the best idea to set it up like that. To have placed the flash bangs in the metal electrical cupboard, effectively made a pipe bomb.

  As the dust cleared he could see some movement and hear coughing. He hoped he had not injured anyone, and he was worried he had until he heard the giggling from the coughing figures in the distance. Luckily they all shared the same sense of humour – the type most squaddies have.

  Once the exercise was finished and it was time to get packed away and return to base, Cam had been instructed to use up the remaining flash bangs. It was always easier to use munitions up than deal with the paperwork of returning them. So off he went with Glenn to find more stuff to blow up.

  Eventually they came across a toilet block and wondered what the flash bangs would do to the toilet cisterns.

  ‘Do you think four together would do to it?’ Glenn said.

  ‘I think it’ll blow the shit out of it.’

  ‘Should we?’ Glenn asked.

  ‘I can’t think of any reason not to – in fact I think we have to.’

  ‘Yeah – in the interests of experimentation.’

  ‘Yes, this is nothing more than a scientific experiment,’ Cam said, as he dropped the linked-up flash bangs into the cistern and closed the porcelain lid over the top.

  BOOM! This time he could feel it in his ears as the pressure wave blasted past where they had taken cover. When they looked there wasn’t much left of the toilet – or even the cubicle it was in.

  ‘What the hell was that?’ the boss shouted, as he rounded the corner.

  ‘We’re – um – using up the flash bangs,’ Glenn said.

  ‘By blowing up the bloody toilets!’ The boss seemed a bit upset and the two braced themselves for a bit of a telling off as they stood in front of the boss like naughty school boys.

  The boss looked at the two culprits and sighed as he thought what to do with them.

  ‘How many you got left?’

  ‘Six, Sir,’ Cam replied.

  After a short pause a small smile appeared on the boss’s face. ‘Well let’s see what six will do.’

  By the time they had wired the last of the flash bangs together, the other members of the troop had turned up to witness the last of the explosions. Eight professional soldiers hiding behind a wall, giggling about blowing up a toilet.

  BOOM! With ringing ears the guys slowly poked their heads up over the wall to see no toilet – just wreckage. Then in unison they looked up to see no roof – it had been blown right off. Only a hole remained, with dirty black smoke rising skyward.

  ‘Someone’s gonna see that shit!’ Spike laughed.

  ‘We better get the hell out of here,’ the boss said, as he joined in the sniggering. The laughter continued most of the way home.

  * * * * * * *

  Cam sat on the hillside with a smile on his face. He could still hear the giggling and funny comments as he looked out over the city. But the laughter in his head faded as other memories took over.

  The merriment turned to fear and the laughter to screams as the confused shouts for help echoed in the distance. He could hear the dazed and muffled screams, and as always the last thing he thought he heard was, ‘Cam, where are you?’ But it had faded. Then the phone rang, as if to say ‘wake up!’ It was Al.

  ‘Cam, you’re needed again. It’s going to be a long one. You ready?’

  ‘Um, can’t speak at the moment,’ he replied, as he cleared the unpleasant thoughts from his mind. ‘Give me twenty minutes; I’ll be home by then.’

  Chapter 22

  ‘I’m sending someone round. You’re going to need help on this one.’ Al’s voice was as cool and well-spoken as usual.

  ‘Who’s coming? How will I know it’s them?’

  ‘You’ll know,’ was Al’s reply. ‘Listen to him; he will give you the brief on what needs to be done. From now on consider yourself active. You have free actions, and if you need anything let me know.’

  ‘It’s not the same guy as last time is it? Do you know the hassle he caused me?’

  ‘Yes, I heard about that. Don’t worry that was just George being George. He’s a bit of a joker.’

  ‘So it is him, then.’

  ‘Yes it is; he’ll be with you shortly.’

  Cam didn’t have to wait long until there was a knock at the door. He had been watching through his CCTV for someone to approach and enter the building. He hadn’t seen anyone until the three knocks on the door. He did however recognise him immediately. It was the same man who had visited him just before the St James job.

  ‘Hey Cam, how you doing?’ He said as if they were best friends.

  ‘Not too bad. Come in George.’

  ‘I heard about what happened, good work,’ said George as he sat down on the same stool as last time.

  ‘I think there was a lot of luck involved,’ Cam said, being modest. ‘Coffee?’

  Cam handed a cup of coffee to the man and joined him at the breakfast bar which separated the kitchen from the living area.

  ‘Al said you have something for me?’

  ‘Yeah. What do you know about Al-Qaeda’s white army of terror?’

  ‘Well, it’s a relatively new thing. Over the past few years British non-Muslims are being recruited by Al-Qaeda. They are seen as perfect weapons as they blend in with the loca
l population and won’t raise any flags.’

  ‘Do you know how many there are?’ George asked.

  ‘I’ve been out of the loop for a while now, but by my best guess, a good few hundred.’

  ‘There’s about one thousand five hundred that we know about. But there may be as many as two thousand. We just don’t know. Not all of them will go down the path of becoming radicalised, but maybe two thirds will – and that is a significant number.’

  ‘Most Islamic groups say that it is impossible to convert a westerner as we have very liberal lifestyles that aren’t compatible with their religion. Praying five times a day, not drinking and a strict diet are all things they must do, that we would find hard to keep up. So they say it isn’t happening, but we know it is.’

  ‘So I take it this guy I got in St James is one of them,’ Cam said.

  ‘Yeah, but we’ll get back to that. What do you know about their recruiting methods?’ George asked.

  ‘The weak-minded, the lonely, prisoners—’

  ‘Good, tell me more about that,’ George interrupted.

  ‘Members of terror groups already serving in prison can spot potential new recruits – the young first-timers who are scared and in need of protection are easy prey. They take their time but over the weeks and months support and comfort will turn to religion. But how much of a threat are they?’ Cam asked.

  ‘New recruits into a religion are always a bit more fanatical than the ones who have grown up in it. They feel they have more to prove and that they must defend their new faith. They are extra sensitive to the apparent discrimination that we hold against them. We can’t find them, we can’t monitor them – they’re a massive threat.’

  ‘I only know of one – Richard Reid, the shoe bomber,’ Cam interrupted. ‘He was a joke; he can’t be classed as a national threat. And I was part of the team who put his mentor away.’

  ‘That was a few years back Cam – they are much more organised now. They are completely compartmentalised; they keep themselves to themselves and don’t report to anyone. And we don’t get any reports from the public about westerners – only on the ethnic population. We were having trouble locating them. That was until a few days ago.’

  ‘So my guy is one of them?’

  ‘It seems that way. The police who were watching them kept lots of important information back in the hope of being the ones who made the arrest, but it got way out of control, and it resulted in the St James job.’

  ‘Did they get anything out of my suspect?’

  ‘Not much, but we do have a little to go on. Come on let’s go for a drive.’

  * * * * * * *

  Leaving the city and heading east, the two sat quietly. Cam was still unsure of where they were going. As George drove, Cam used his peripheral vision to look over at his driver. George was older then Cam – not by much, but maybe by a few years. He looked rough and unshaven – but still sharp. He was obviously an intelligent man and Cam could tell he was ex-military. He might look scruffy in his jeans and t-shirt, but soldiers couldn’t get rid of that look they tended to have.

  Cam was getting anxious; they had been driving now for over three-quarters of an hour. With Edinburgh well and truly behind them they made their way along the A1 towards Dunbar. The coast came into view and they kept going, passing the smaller villages that lay alongside the motorway.

  The silence was starting to get to Cam; he normally didn’t mind the peace and quiet but he had so many questions.

  ‘So, where are we going?’ He had to ask.

  ‘Just here,’ George replied, as he pulled into a lay-by.

  ‘This is where we were going! What the hell’s out here?’

  ‘That,’ George said, as he pointed into the distance.

  ‘Torness Power Station. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?’

  George turned the engine off, undid his seat belt and shuffled round in his seat so he faced slightly more towards Cam.

  ‘The man you stopped in the shopping centre was David Brant. He’s thirty-two years old, a petty criminal and substance abuser. Born and bred in Edinburgh, he’s never left the area and is a bit of a sad character. He’s got nothing going for him and has no close friends, probably because of the drug use. In and out of prison his entire life; he was just paroled about five weeks ago. A real loser.’

  George picked up his take-away coffee, which was now stone cold, and took a sip.

  ‘Sounds it,’ Cam said. ‘So why did you bring me out here to talk about this idiot?’

  ‘Because he works there.’ George pointed towards the power station with his coffee cup.

  Cam and George both turned towards the large nuclear station on the horizon.

  ‘You’re telling me a suicide bomber who tried to blow himself up in Edinburgh city centre works there, in a nuclear power station?’ he said, still looking at the station.

  ‘Yeah. He started there almost immediately after leaving prison. Just a low-level worker – nothing special. We’ve been interrogating him and he’s just a sad loner who has no life outside prison. Now he has nothing except his job in there.’

  ‘You get anything else out of him?’ Cam asked.

  ‘Very little,’ George said, as he leaned forward and rested his forearms on the steering wheel. ‘He is, however, a fanatic. He wasn’t before prison, so we can only gather he was brainwashed while doing his time.’

  ‘We’re going to need more than that.’ Cam said as he joined George by leaning forward on the passenger-side dashboard.

  ‘There is more. Brant was released early,’ George continued. ‘Only on the condition of gaining employment. And the only reason he got out early was because he was given a job by one of the upper-level managers in there.’

  ‘That guy sounds like a good place to start; do we know who he is?’

  ‘Yes we do. Mr Richard Bell. You will get all the information that we have via email tonight.’ George started the engine and fastened his seat belt. ‘There’s more. Bell has two more ex-cons working for him. Two guys with very similar stories to Brant. Again, you will get their details tonight.’ George pulled out of the lay-by and u-turned back towards Edinburgh.

  ‘We’re going to work together on this one, but you’re to take the lead, so if you need any support, get in touch with Al and it will be arranged. Any further information or equipment is yours – again, arrange through Al.’ Cam listened as they approached the outskirts of the city. ‘This could be big. Find out who is involved, the makeup of their organisation and come up with a plan of how to take them out.’

  They pulled up outside Cam’s apartment block. He opened the car door and stepped out. As he closed the door, George lowered the electric window. He leaned over on to the passenger side and looked up at Cam. ‘Wait for those emails and get to work. Keep Al updated. See you soon.’

  * * * * * * *

  People outside the window were walking down the street as if nothing was going on – but in their world, nothing was. Cam sipped his whisky as he waited for the emails to arrive. The computer was on and his email inbox was displayed on the screen. His head was full of questions, but he was certain he had to start with Richard Bell – the man who had secured the release of the prisoners.

  The computer bleeped as the emails arrived. Four separate emails came in almost simultaneously. The emails were named ‘Richard Bell’, ‘Steve Palmer’, ‘Phil Reilly’ and ‘Task Information’. Cam read all the emails carefully and printed out the profiles of the three men.

  Bell was one of the managers of the station; he had got himself involved in some kind of jobs for ex-prisoners scheme. He noted his address and decided to pay him a visit later in the evening. Palmer and Reilly had very similar profiles and histories to David Brant, the St James bomber. They both had long criminal records – mostly petty crimes and
drug addiction.

  The fourth email was a hard copy of everything George had told him. It was obvious that Bell had a plan for the two ex-criminals. A similar fate was in their future. Cam knew they didn’t have much time – with the failure of the St James job, Bell would be sure they would be on to him. He would most probably bring his plan forward.

  Cam had a few questions for Al, but they could wait until after he checked out Bell’s house. Maybe then he would have more of an idea of what he would need to complete this task. The light was fading; it was time to head to the more affluent area of Edinburgh.

  Cam unplugged his phone from the wall; he wanted it to have a full battery for the night. He also pocketed the small Bluetooth headset Al had sent him after he requested it. His silenced P226 and his lock-pick set completed the equipment he might need that night.

  Cam got into his car and pulled out of the underground car park. He realised he had had a couple of whiskies earlier – but he was in complete control; it would take more than a few drams to influence him, although he was definitely over the legal limit. He wondered how far Al’s authority stretched.

  Where Bell lived was well-maintained and lit by street and lawn-lights. Large houses with huge double garages lined the long, straight road. The street was wide and flanked by expensive cars parked up outside the mansions. Bell had done all right for himself, thought Cam. He parked up and began what could be a long night. Luckily the day had been very warm; the heat had been absorbed into the tarmac and bricks and was now keeping the night air at a pleasant temperature.

  Cam studied the information on Bell, and noted the type of car he had. Cam looked up and down the street and realised that nearly everyone on the street had that type of car. Obviously a ‘must-have’ around there. Every time a car drove past it could have been him.

  Bell finally arrived back home just after one in the morning. As he pulled up and waited for the automatic garage door to open, Cam wondered where he had been until this early hour. He might have been at work – or could he have been somewhere else? He wanted to know what he had been up to but there was no way of finding out.