‘A pleasure. I must go now. Give me a call if you need anything more. I regret being the bearer of such bad news.’
She switched the speaker phone off and sat there, taking in what the colonel had just told her… Kate broke the silence. ‘These Estonian trawlers sailing from the Baltic Sea to the Faeroes would go within a couple of hundred miles of Peterhead. If en route they rendezvoused with one of the Peterhead trawlers, then the missiles could now be in the UK!’
‘Things have just got bloody scary, haven’t they?’ exclaimed Emma. ‘When the safety specifications were drawn up for oil and gas depots, or even airports or nuclear power stations, they can’t have had any idea that such a monster as the Kornet missile existed?’
‘I doubt it,’ replied Kate, ‘or if they did, it was a masterly cover-up by our political masters.’
‘If only we had a better idea of the timescale,’ mused Rafi.
‘We should work on the basis that the attacks are imminent,’ said Kate.
‘A thought,’ Rafi replied. ‘If Aidan and I are right and the financial markets are at the heart of the terrorists’ plan, then the attacks won’t come today - it’s already too late. They’ll come first thing in the morning. That way they will get full news coverage and have the whole day to spook the markets. Now whether that’s tomorrow or next week, I don’t know.’
‘We must get information on who the foot soldiers are and what they are targeting. Carry on researching your leads and keep me informed of any developments,’ said Kate with a note of urgency in her voice. ‘I need to brief the commissioner.’
John returned with Jeremy right behind him.
‘Rafi, I’ve been thinking a bit more about the terrorists and their possible exit routes,’ said John. ‘I really would put good money on them using a fast motor vessel in addition to the trawlers. Especially as they could easily afford something very fast.’
‘Where would you start looking for something like that?’ Rafi asked.
‘Firstly, I’d look at the ringleaders,’ replied John, ‘And check out whether the sheikh, Basel, Jameel or Maryam own a large powerboat.’
‘I’ve a friend at Lloyd’s Shipping Register. Let me give her a ring,’ said Emma.
It turned out to be a short conversation. ‘She says our task will be difficult. There are many large powerboats scattered all around the smart harbours and marinas of Europe. The difficulty is that most are owned through special purpose companies for tax reasons and this makes it hard to trace their owners.’
Emma thought for a moment, then got up and went to see Aidan, who was sitting behind a large volume of paper.
‘Aidan, if you wanted to find out if a business contact owned an expensive motor vessel, where would you start?’
He looked at her thoughtfully. ‘Anyone who spends several millions on a yacht will no doubt think it’s the best thing since sliced bread. My bet would be to go and look in their offices, where they’re bound to have photos of it.’
‘Good idea, but we don’t have the time,’ said Emma.
Rafi lifted his head up from his paperwork. ‘Of the four individuals, I doubt whether Jameel has one stashed away. He’s never spoken of boats to me and, to my knowledge, he spends most of his holiday time skiing or playing golf. Basel is a workaholic and I don’t see him leaving something valuable tucked away in a marina, unused. That leaves Sheikh Tufayl and Maryam.’
‘I’d rule out Maryam,’ said Emma. ‘She also works long hours and spends too much time between her homes in the Gulf, Luxembourg and London. I don’t see a large powerboat and outdoor activities going with her lifestyle.’
‘What about her hubby?’ asked John. ‘He is extremely wealthy.’
‘Could be,’ said Kate, ‘But in my book the sheikh seems to be the most likely.’
‘I’ve got an idea,’ said John. ‘It’s a bit off the wall, but how about we chat to someone working for the tabloid press and see if they’ve any photos of Sheikh Tufayl or Maryam’s husband on board a big boat? We must have some good contacts. Should I make a couple of phone calls and get some names?’
Kate nodded. ‘But the discussions will have to be in confidence, perhaps in return for a story later?’ Ten minutes later, John’s phone rang; he scribbled down the information on two contacts: one working for a red top newspaper and the other for a tabloid magazine.
‘I could do with a volunteer to pay a journalist a visit,’ said Kate.
‘Count me in,’ offered Jeremy.
‘See what you can find,’ said Kate.
‘Will do.’Jeremy picked up the piece of paper with the names and phone numbers on. ‘Which do you reckon I should try first?’
‘I’d take the top one - he works down at Canary Wharf when he’s at home but, like most tabloid journalists, he could be almost anywhere.’
‘Thank you,’ said Jeremy, slightly sarcastically. ‘It seems a straightforward task.’ He dialled the first journalist, Pete Lockyer, and smiled when the mobile was answered almost immediately.
‘Hello, I was wondering whether you could help me?’
‘Who are you?’ a rather high pitched voice enquired.
Jeremy gave a wry smile. ‘Someone you don’t know. And who probably doesn’t exist in any of your files.’
‘Are you taking the mick?’ snapped Pete Lockyer.
‘No,’ replied Jeremy. ‘I work for a rather special part of the Government and your name has been put forward as someone who could help us.’
‘Sorry mate, I’m rather busy at the moment.’
‘So be it,’ said Jeremy. ‘I thought I’d try you first as you come highly recommended, but if you’re too busy, not to worry. I’ve another couple of people to try, including a rather pushy sod at a tabloid magazine.’
There was a silence at the other end of the phone; one could sense Pete considering whether he was about to turn down a potentially lucrative story.
‘How much of my time would you need?’ inquired Pete.
Jeremy tried hard to conceal a large smile and winked at Emma. ‘Not long! Perhaps you might have time for a cup of coffee or a glass of wine?’
‘It’s a bit early for me. Let’s make it a cup of coffee. There’s a decent coffee bar around the corner from where I work.’
Jeremy took down the address. ‘Could we meet there in, say, twenty-five minutes?’
‘Fine,’ agreed the journalist. ‘How do I recognise you?’
‘Oh,’ said Jeremy, ‘I look fairly nondescript - 6’ 2”, brown hair and in a grey suit. My name’s Jeremy, by the way.’
‘See you in half an hour.’
‘Twenty-five minutes would be better,’ said Jeremy and hung up. He looked across at Kate. ‘Any bright ideas on how I get to Canary Wharf and back?’
‘No problem. If you go downstairs, I’ll arrange for you to be looked after.’
‘Thanks.’ Jeremy picked up his notepad and hurried off on his errand.
The pressure was on. The team had uncovered a number of crucial leads, but the overall picture was still far from clear. There was tension in the air.
‘Emma, how have you been getting on with your maps?’ asked Kate.
‘Rather well, actually,’ replied Emma. ‘Before I show you what I’ve got, though, I think we should consider how many targets there could be.’
‘Good point.’ Kate nodded for her to continue.
‘They have five missile launchers. Of the twenty missiles they started off with, four were used in Estonia, leaving three or four missiles per launcher. This gives each operative probably one or two targets only. The missile launchers and their tripods are bulky. If the terrorists don’t want to be captured and are keen for a quick getaway, I’d go for one target per launcher and use the three or four missiles to knock the living daylights out of it. A well-trained operative could fire four missiles in less than two minutes and then leave the area discretely.’
‘What if they fire their first couple of missiles at one target and then take the
ir missile launcher with them to some pre-stashed missiles at a property or a vehicle parked near to their next target?’ added Rafi.
‘So we could have ten targets!’ whistled John. ‘Flaming heck! And if they had access to the roof of a suitably located property, they’d have a great launching pad!’
‘Or if a vehicle is involved, a nearby property would be useful to keep it out of sight prior to an attack,’ added Emma.
‘OK then… I suggest we look for ten targets and scale the number down only when we have conclusive proof,’ said an agitated Kate.
‘I have been making progress on the property front,’ said Rafi. ‘The mortgage register of PREH gave us an interesting set of addresses. Emma has chatted to John’s team who have been helping us rule out the true investment properties. We are left with our original four properties as possibles for the terrorists to use: Peterhead, Hartlepool, North Walsham and Prestwick.’
‘Now for the clever bit,’ said Emma. She was standing next to a large, touch screen monitor which Greg had set up.
‘First, let’s put up a map of the UK and add on to it the four suspect properties.’ Emma tapped the LCD screen, highlighting the four locations with bold blue crosses. ‘We can now add an exit port where we know there is one of their trawlers.’ As if by magic a little icon depicting a trawler appeared next to Peterhead.
‘I’m still working on where the other trawlers are. However, I have done some work on the location of our major energy installations.’ She moved back to her PC and, with several clicks of her mouse, a mass of coloured dots appeared on the screen.
Rafi let out an appreciative whistle.
‘To make life easier I’ve colour-coded them,’ said Emma. ‘The green dots are for major gas and oil plants, red dots for the nuclear powers stations, the large red blob is for the Sellafield reprocessing facility in Cumbria and, lastly, the numerous black dots are the oil, gas and coal fired power stations.’
John swore. ‘Bloody hell! I didn’t realise that there were so many of them.’
‘Absolutely,’ replied Emma. ‘But I reckon we can safely remove the black dots. The fossil fuel power stations, whilst large, aren’t in the same league as the others.’
A couple of clicks later and the black dots disappeared from the screen.
‘What precisely are those dots close to the four properties owned by the terrorists’ PREH?’ asked Kate.
Emma pointed at the screen. ‘Peterhead is between the vast gas facility at St Fergus and the main North Sea oil pumping station at Cruden Bay. The Hartlepool property - here,’ Emma tapped the map, ‘is right on top of a nuclear power station. If we go down a bit, the North Walsham property – here,’ Emma tapped again, ‘Is next to the huge gas terminal at Bacton and just down the coast is Sizewell nuclear power station. And, over here, Prestwick is only twenty miles from Hunterston nuclear power station.’
‘Phew!’ exclaimed Aidan under his breath. ‘What percentage of our gas supply comes through St Fergus and Bacton?’
‘I guess around thirty to forty percent,’ replied Emma.
‘It’s highly inelastic,’ said Aidan. ‘A shortfall of just ten percent would cause problems; thirty would be catastrophic - sections of UK industry would have to shut down. There would be electricity blackouts; the financial markets wouldn’t like it at all, sentiment would be hit and the falls could be dramatic. On top of this, crippling the North Sea oil pumping station would shut down the oil refineries it serves, causing considerable knock-on effects.’ Aidan looked worried.
John looked thoughtfully at the map. ‘If we added this up, what would we have?’
‘Potentially six substantial energy targets, of which three are nuclear,’ replied Emma frowning. ‘The bad news is, if you look at the screen, there are a number of other possible targets.’
‘Oh my God! It’s like looking for ten bloody needles in a frigging haystack if you ask me,’ said John.
‘I’ve got a question.’ Kate was looking worried. ‘How does the nuclear fuel travel to and from the power stations and the reprocessing units - and how often?’
‘By train,’ answered Emma, rummaging around for some paper on her desk. ‘Ah, yes, here it is. The trains average one round trip a week.’
‘Do any of them by any chance go near London?’
‘Yes, the Sizewell train does,’ answered Emma. She flipped through her notes. ‘It uses the North London line from Stratford round to the marshalling yards at Willesden Junction, before going on to Sellafield.’
‘Next question,’ said Kate. ‘How robust are the canisters that carry the nuclear fuel?’
Emma looked through her paperwork. ‘It says here that their design and specification have been certified by Government experts.’
‘Does this include the ability to withstand state-of-the-art missiles, like the Kornet missile that our terrorists most likely have?’ continued Kate.
‘Their thickness is…’ Emma looked for the figure. ‘Yes, 900 mm - about three feet.’
‘Could a direct hit penetrate a canister?’
‘Yes, I reckon so,’ replied Emma slowly, looking at Kate to see if there was yet another question winging her way.
‘And a glancing blow would probably ricochet off?’ added Kate.
‘Probably,’ replied Emma, uncertainly. ‘However, the experts who determined the safety specifications don’t seem to be worried. Somewhere it says that - Ah yes! Here it is - the worst radioactive release following a terrorist attack is calculated to be only 0.0024 of one percent of the nuclear waste escaping as particles capable of being inhaled. Each canister contains three and a half tonnes of spent nuclear fuel.’
Emma paused. ‘So by my calculations their figures point to only 0.1 kg of nasties being released, which they think isn’t too calamitous. And as I read them, the reports don’t consider there to be a remote possibility of a successful missile attack. What scares me,’ continued Emma anxiously, ‘Is that I reckon the contents of each canister contains about a quarter of the fallout from Chernobyl and spent nuclear fuel is around a million times more radioactive than the uranium initially sent to the nuclear power stations. I know they say it’s as safe as houses, but if a terrorist were to…’ her voice trailed off.
The uneasy silence was interrupted by John. ‘The question that the terrorist leaders would have to ask themselves is: how easy would it be to hit a moving canister accurately? And are the odds ones that they would be prepared to gamble on? Having said that, a successful attack at Willesden would have a devastating impact on north London.’
‘I suggest you put Willesden marshalling yards on your map,’ said Kate.
‘John’s got a good point - nuclear power stations seem more likely targets, don’t they?’ said Emma sifting through a pile of papers. ‘And I’ve browsed through the reports from the House of Commons and the Mayor of London’s office, which have looked at the issue of nuclear waste transport. Neither is best pleased with the nuclear cargo going through London, but they both conclude that the canisters are safe - as advised by their experts.’
‘For the time being, let’s focus on key oil and gas plants, the nuclear power stations and reprocessing plants,’ said Kate. ‘Excellent work Emma.’
‘I have been thinking,’ said Aida. ‘Hypothetically, let’s say Hartlepool nuclear power station was compromised following a terrorist attack and shut down due to radiation leaks. Public opinion could easily swing against all things nuclear. If nuclear power became politically unpalatable and phased out sooner rather than later, the Government would get hit with a bill of, say, £75 billion for the radiation clean-up and decommissioning costs. If at the same time a couple of large gas plants were to go out of action causing power cuts and if their public sector outsourcing business went belly up… A tipping point would be reached and the UK financial markets would be pushed over the edge.’
Aidan paused. He looked deadly serious. ‘The financial markets would drop like a lead balloon, enabling the terror
ists to make a fortune from their positions in the derivatives markets.’
‘I agree with Aidan,’ said Rafi. ‘Their plan is to attack a number of energy installations and at the same time burden the Government with increased financial liabilities.’
‘So, to put it bluntly, they want to crucify our markets and our economy and then walk away with billions,’ observed Emma.
‘It looks as if we have two separate issues to deal with,’ said Kate. ‘The attacks, and then what they are doing in the financial markets. Aidan, you focus on the financial markets and the rest of the team will concentrate on the attacks.’
‘Will do,’ replied Aidan.
‘Well, who do we think will deploy the missiles?’ Emma enquired. ‘A student fanatic might be trained to use a semiautomatic gun or explosives, but Kornet missiles are a very sophisticated piece of equipment.’
‘I’d go with terrorists with military experience,’ said Kate.
‘But such people wouldn’t be easy to get into the UK, would they? Even on false passports,’ Rafi asked.
‘Who knows?’ replied John. ‘As things stand we can not rule anything out.’
‘We have to substantiate these suppositions and convince our bosses,’ said Kate. ‘It won’t be an easy task.’
‘Oh hell!’ The exclamation came from the direction of Emma’s desk; she turned to Kate. ‘I said that the sides of the steel canisters were 900 mm thick. I was looking at the wrong figures - the ones that are normally used in the UK are only 400 mm, i.e. fifteen inches thick. A thermobaric Kornet missile would literally rip the container apart and spew the contents here, there and bloody everywhere.’
‘My God!’ said Kate. ‘The consequences would be unthinkable.’
There was a stunned silence in the room.
It was broken by Rafi. ‘Aidan, we both believe that part of their plan is to make a financial killing in the derivative markets, don’t we? What if they have placed bent people into the dealing rooms of a number of UK financial institutions. There must be handfuls of people who are now missing their bonuses who could be bought. And if they were discreetly acting as counter parties to the terrorists’ transactions, it would enable the terrorists to build up very big positions, wouldn’t it?’
LATENT HAZARD: On the Edge Page 12