Remember Remember

by Alan Wade

  The Major nodded, smiled, opened his briefcase and from a file of papers overviewed the situation. The Commander listened in silence, nodding occasionally but made no notes. “You do realise the resource you have assigned to this operation is out of all proportion to the results obtained so far?”

  “I do understand but I still believe Johnson is in league with others and is plotting a major terrorist attack on the United Kingdom and the very fact he is so quiet, and there is no communication with others, also reinforces my opinion. It’s not normal behaviour sir.”

  “It’s not abnormal behaviour either is it and you know your objectives were far broader than this individual. Therefore I feel it only right to tell you that if no further information is forthcoming in this case, you will be told to close it and return to your normal duties.”

  The Major’s face hardened as he leaned forward, “please give me some more time sir. I feel very strongly that Johnson is planning a major strike and it is not coincidence that he met Shan Binal Shid in Turkey and in Rhodes.”

  “Again, there is no proof they actually met, only that they were in the same location on the same dates. We also have profiled Shan Binal Shid and find him to have no terrorist connections whatsoever, in fact quite the opposite. He has contacts in very high places in the Middle and Far East and is respected as a high profile financier. Therefore I have no option but to inform you that if by the end of March you have moved no closer to a conviction or gained more evidence, then you will be required to return to your normal duties. Do I make myself clear?”

  “Yes sir.”

  “Then our meeting is concluded,” the Commander stood to go, but then turned to Rock and said, “oh by the way did you ever mention to Johnson about working for us.”

  “Yes I did.”

  “And?”

  He smiled as he answered, “I think his words were that he wasn’t working for anyone, especially us.”

  “No chance there then; you may just be shadowing an innocent man.”

  The Commander beckoned the Major to leave and as Rock turned to go he enquired, “Usually there are three parties at these debriefs, but today just you. Is there any reason for that sir?”

  “It doesn’t take three of us to tell you to get back to your normal duties,” growled Bagshaw, “keep me informed, but from April Fools Day you’re back to your normal duties unless there are significant developments. Do you understand?”

  “Yes sir,” snapped Rock, who exited the room and made his way to St James Park underground station. He reflected as he waited for the train that he had less than three months to make a case or lose Johnson.

  January 13th, Stockport Police Station

  “Sergeant, I want to know more about this guy Johnson, we know he has no family and we have a good record of his background, but the one thing we have not checked are his friends, especially his old comrades from the S.A.S. They may be able to shed new light on what he gets up to, especially when he disappears for days at a time.”

  Lawrence nodded in agreement and replied, “I’ll get onto it right away sir, there can’t be too many of those guys left.” He caught the Major’s eye and continued, “Why don’t we just arrest Johnson sir; we can use the new anti-terrorist legislation and keep him indefinitely and that way he can’t do anything can he?”

  “His lawyers would have him out in 48 hours Sergeant, because everything we have is circumstantial. He’s not Muslim and has served in our forces with honour,” Rock paused then nodded and continued, “but I do like the idea, I think we should put some more pressure on Mr Johnson, we can certainly bring him in for questioning again regarding the murder in Olu Deniz and perhaps extend that investigation for up to 7 days. Let’s do it soon and let it be known in the Brown Cow, it might get Jacky to tell us more about their relationship. But first of all let’s get to know who his friends are.”

  “Yes sir,” replied Lawrence who rose to leave.

  “Don’t waste any time Sergeant, I’ve only got 3 more months on this case and then Johnson will be free to do as he pleases.”

  By January 19th twenty men had been traced who served with Alan Johnson in the S.A.S. before and during the Falklands conflict.

  “Get the local constabulary to organise a first interview with each of them Sergeant. The main point is to know whether Johnson has had contact with any of these men within the last nine months. Use the SBCT code, it might just gee up the local police a little bit to respond to us quickly,” Rock looked at Lawrence to confirm his agreement then continued, “now, what is our Mr Johnson doing at the present?”

  “Nothing, nothing at all, he seems to spend his days at home, then he goes to the Brown Cow at about one o’clock. He has a cooked meal, a few pints and a chat with the lads and then comes home. He nearly always comes back in a taxi, then walks back the next morning for his car which he leaves in the Brown Cow car park. He stays in the house mostly and sometimes goes out in the evening to the Ladybrook or the Shady Oak. He always drinks alone in both those establishments. At least three times a week he goes to his Stockport gym and he jogs for 5 miles around Bramhall Park then Cheadle Hulme and home again. He seems to drink hard and work out hard. That’s all the guy does. His only distraction seems to be Jacky who he takes out at least twice a week. He’s a very ordinary bloke sir.”

  “I know he’s planning something” growled the Major, “you may think I’m being a smart arse or foolish, but I know I’m not wrong in this. We just need to keep grinding away and eventually something or somebody will help us.”

  Lawrence smiled but said nothing.

  January 19th, The Sheraton Pyramids Hotel, Cairo, Egypt.

  Hussein bin Hussein, Mohammed Al-Bari and Shan Binal Shid were seated drinking coffee in a plush suite on the 20th floor of the Sheraton Pyramids Hotel.

  “This man Johnson, who we still have not met, is asking for even more money Shan.”

  “Yes sir, another £3 million to help production in Turkey which is now at full capacity.”

  “We need to know more about his ambitions, before we release the money.”

  “Sir, Alan Johnson is a very secretive and clever operative, he knows how the West thinks and works and if he succeeds in his plan it will be a hundred times or a thousand times more devastating than the 9/11 attack on the United States.”

  “Tell us more,” whispered Al-Bari, intrigued.

  Shan nodded and continued, “To fully understand what Johnson is doing you need to know some history of the UK.” He paused and looked around to make sure they were not being overheard, then continued, “About 500 years ago a man called Guy Fawkes placed barrels of dynamite in the cellars of the Houses of Parliament. His intention was to explode the dynamite on November the 5th when parliament was sitting and blow the ruling class of England to Kingdom come. This he believed would pave the way for a new order and a new way of life in England.”

  Al-Bari interrupted. “Are you saying that Johnson is trying to do the same thing?”

  Shan shook his head and responded, “No sir, not at all, the fact is that Guy Fawkes was caught in the cellars under the Parliament building and never ignited the explosives. He was later tried and hung for his crimes. But his actions have led to a tradition in England which is growing stronger each year called Guy Fawkes night, or November 5th, or Bonfire Night and on this night millions of English people light bonfires and let off thousands of tons of fireworks across the length and breadth of the UK;” He stopped to take a sip of water then continued, “A recent report, prepared for the UK department for the environment stated that nobody actually new how many fireworks are ignited in the UK each year but they estimated it to be between 30 and 100 million, with a weight of up to 30 million kilograms. Alan Johnson has estimated that approximately twenty percent of each fireworks weight is explosive and that on and around November the 5th up to eighty percent of these fireworks will be
ignited to celebrate Guy Fawkes.” This means that at this time in the UK up to 5 million kilograms of explosive will be used. Now if he can get just a small percentage of those exploded to contain anthrax he may well lay a major part of the UK to waste. If you can then imagine these fireworks will be set off everywhere in the UK it may just destroy the whole infrastructure of the island.

  There was now total silence in the room as the two men listened intently to Shan’s words.

  “The money we have already paid and the money now asked for was to acquire a factory in Turkey and to pay its staff to build fireworks, which will be exported to the UK.” Again he looked around then continued, “This process has already begun and the fireworks, named LOLTs, are now being shipped to the UK on a weekly basis. I do not know the exact numbers or the dates, however I do know that 10% of those fireworks, rising to 50% or thereabouts in the following months, will contain weapons grade anthrax which is capable of surviving the heat of the firework explosion. The anthrax will be ejected into the air and then will cascade back to earth in its most virulent form. So literally the English people will kill themselves and lay much of their land to waste and as we speak nothing can stop us achieving our goal.” He looked to see his colleagues were still paying their full attention then concluded, “this is because even if they found out and stopped imports there will soon be thousands of tons of fireworks distributed all over the UK, which will then be sold in every corner shop to the general public. Therefore the only way the Government could stop this would be to cancel November the 5th. But many people would ignore that plea or just not know about the cancellation and go ahead regardless. Death will be indiscriminate and land will be laid to waste across the UK for generations and this is why we must still fund this project.”

  Al Bari nodded, “You will have the funding, but we must meet this man Johnson soon.”

  “This will happen sir, Johnson will be brought to the Middle East and given a new identity, because he has ambitions and novel ideas of other ways to aid our cause. His next target will be the USA with a different but equally devastating attack. We know we have the WMD and the containers located in the oceans and with Johnson’s skill, we have the opportunity to create havoc in the Western world. I will meet with Johnson once more at York Races by which time I believe everything will be in place and the fireworks distributed across the UK. We will then arrange for Johnson to fly perhaps to Turkey or Egypt and to be moved to where we can change his identity, which should happen in September or October of this year. By the way gentlemen, if Johnson is successful we will owe him a very large sum of money.”

  “If he is successful he will get a very large sum of money,” confirmed Bin Hussein.

  The meeting concluded and Shan left the Sheraton with agreement to continue funding the project. He glimpsed up at the great pyramids of Giza which dominated the landscape.

  “They have survived thousands of years,” he thought, “but perhaps Great Britain’s thousand years of success will come to a different end.”

  January 20th, 78 Sandiway, Bramhall, Stockport.

  Alan Johnson rose, dumped, shaved, showered and prepared for the day. He had used the same routine for the past six weeks and knew his police friends would be with him. He had walked the short walk to the paper shop at the roundabout, bought the Times, walked home and read the newspaper. At 12.50 he left the house and drove his car to the rear of the Brown Cow. The usual crowd were in and he was greeted by Jacky, Dave and John. The atmosphere as usual was jovial, the banter as good as ever. He ordered a round for the boys and lamb chops for himself. Jacky took his order and quipped, “You’ll soon be looking like a lamb chop, it’s all you ever seem to eat in here.”

  “If the food’s not broke don’t fix it love, I love lamb chops so tell the chef not to be stingy.”

  She smiled, took the order and pulled the three pints of bitter, “will that be all, sir?” she gushed.

  “And one for yourself, fine wench,” he smiled, “and a sniff of your apron.”

  “Oh God,” interrupted Dave, “they’re at it again; why don’t you both go down the cellar and turn on a tap or something?”

  “Mind your own business Dave,” smiled Jacky “Alan and I have a thing going on, don’t we darling,” she said as she blew him a big kiss.

  Alan’s eyes looked to heaven, “What kind of thing?”

  “You know,” laughed John, “a sexy up against the pumps kind of thing.”

  “Oh sod off,” she hissed, “there’s more to it than that isn’t there Alan?”

  “More than what love.”

  “Sex Alan, sex.”

  “Yes please,” shouted Dave.

  “What, now,” laughed Alan.

  “Sod off the three of you,” she hissed as she disappeared around the bar.

  “I see they’re in good form today,” whispered Sergeant Lawrence.

  “Good form at my expense” she said as she opened the till and returned to give Alan his change.

  “Sorry love,” all three chorused.

  “That’s alright boys, you’ve had your bit of fun, but perhaps I’ll get you all back later,” she smiled.

  “Now don’t you start pissing in the beer love,” replied Dave.

  Alan didn’t hear her retort because he saw Sergeant Lawrence depart out of the back door for a pee break.

  “I’m just going next door fellas to get a paper and the lottery. Hold the lamb chops Jacky, be back soon; I may have a bet as well,” he said as he downed his pint and left by the front door.

  Fifteen minutes later Terry brought the chops out, looked around for Alan and enquired, “Where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” replied Jacky, “he’s gone to the shops and for a bet so try to keep them warm for him until he comes back.”

  “But he likes them pink, if I keep them warm they’ll be well done.”

  “Here,” said Dave, “leave them on the bar and if he’s not back in ten minutes we’ll eat them.”

  “Greedy buggers,” said Terry as she placed the plate on the bar.

  Lawrence eyed Jacky, “Where did he say he was going love?”

  “For a paper and a bet, he may have walked down into town and if he watches the race he could be 40 minutes.”

  “Yeah, I suppose so.”

  “Well his car’s still in the back sergeant, so don’t be so worried, he can’t have gone far can he?” she scolded.

  “Sorry love, just doing my job.”

  “Yeah, just your job, why don’t you do your job else where and leave him alone.”

  She walked away shaking her head, but even she was now concerned about Alan and why he was away so long.

  He had left the Brown Cow, turned right for ten yards then left for twenty then across some waste ground, looked back to see if he had been followed and then joined the ring road. A quarter of a mile later, after making sure he was not being followed he entered City Hire Cars reception.

  “I would like to hire a Ford Fiesta or similar for a few days please, is that OK?”

  The receptionist, an average looking female in every sense of the word replied in a deadpan voice, “How many days?”

  “I think about seven; does it matter?”

  “Yes, it does, we want to know how much to charge you because the rates change depending on the days.”

  “Seven it is then.”

  She ticked a box on a form then continued, “Do you have a current valid driving licence and can I see it please?”

  He proffered his licence, took out extra insurance and paid in cash. He had been withdrawing £50 a day on a regular basis since November, but keeping £20 back from each transaction so that he could now pay cash for certain goods. The deal was done and he drove the Fiesta towards the M60, twenty minutes after he had left the Brown Cow. His destination was York to finalise his business there by gaining ag
reement with fireworks distributors to take his products. He had had no communication with Tony in York and therefore hoped there would be a room available, but it was January and not the tourist season, so he felt fairly confident that Tony would be able to accommodate him.

  He had been on the road for 55 minutes before Major Rock was alerted by Sergeant Lawrence that his quarry may have disappeared again.

  “Bloody hell Sergeant, what were you doing?” groaned Rock.

  “Look sir, he did everything as normal, he ordered his food and beers then went for a paper and a bet. He often does that and comes back a few minutes later, even longer when he has a bet. You know I can’t trail him down Hillgate, so I have to wait, but his time he hasn’t returned.”

  Rock shouted into the phone “The bastard’s lost us again, he does everything normal for weeks, lulls us into a routine then screws us. You don’t need to do that unless you’re doing something you don’t want others to discover. Come and see me at Sandiway in 45 minutes. We need to find out where he’s gone.”

  January 20th, 73 Sandiway, Bramhall, Stockport.

  “Sergeant, put out an alert for Johnson, email his photograph and code it SBCT amber level one. I want to know where he is but I do not want him apprehended. We are to be alerted immediately, twenty four seven. I also want to know how we are getting on with the interview of Johnson’s colleagues, because it may be one of these people who Johnson meets up with.”

  “We have reports back from thirteen of the twenty, sir, and all seem normal, not one of those interviewed so far has seen Johnson since they left the army.”

  “They may be lying.”

  “We know that but there’s little we can do about it if they are, is there sir?”

  He shook his head and replied, “I suppose not,” he shifted position and continued, “what about the other seven people?”

  The Sergeant checked his notes then replied, “Four of them now live abroad, one in Australia, one in Canada and 2 in Spain. Of the remaining three one lives in Wolverhampton, one in York and one in Basingstoke.”