Under Fire: (A Dan Taylor thriller)

by Amphlett, Rachel

  ‘You still seeing that journalist?’ asked Mitch.

  Dan shook his head. ‘No.’ He took a swig from his beer. ‘That didn’t work out.’

  ‘So you just disappeared to the States.’

  Dan shrugged. ‘Well, look what coming back here got me – a whole lot of trouble I could really do without.’

  ‘I’m surprised you came running when David called – it’s not like you work for him.’

  ‘He can be persuasive. Besides, it sounded like he needed my help, so here I am.’

  ‘With the whole British Government ready to lynch you.’ Mitch turned his beer bottle around on the bar. ‘I have to admit, I didn’t see that one coming.’

  They looked up as the pub door opened, to see David hurrying through, running his hand through his hair, and holding a briefcase in his hand.

  David closed the door behind him, gestured to Dan and Mitch to sit at a table away from the main bar area, then ordered a beer for himself before walking over and collapsing into the chair Dan pulled out for him. He gripped the armrests and stared at each man opposite him in turn.

  ‘What I’m about to tell you doesn’t get discussed outside this meeting until I say it can, you understand?’

  Dan and Mitch both nodded their assent.

  David paused, and then pulled his briefcase up onto the table. He unfastened the latches and opened the lid, before removing a sheet of paper.

  Dan noticed the Ministry of Defence seal at the top of the front page and glanced at David, who ignored him and continued. ‘Whatever questions you two have been asking today triggered an alert in the intelligence community’s system. They’ve decided to share this information with us.’

  He pushed the briefing paper towards Dan. ‘Four days ago, the Indian Navy realised it had lost one of its submarines being taken to be decommissioned, after it passed an area of water currently being used for a joint naval exercise.’

  ‘You mean it was sunk by accident?’ asked Mitch.

  David shook his head. ‘No – not sunk. Lost. Gone. Vanished.’

  ‘Shit,’ said Dan. ‘It took them four days to realise that?’

  David nodded. ‘The naval exercise dictated radio and sonar silence in the area. The Indians only found out when the Americans alerted them.’

  Dan raised an eyebrow.

  David shrugged. ‘The Americans were taking part in the naval exercise in the Indian Ocean with the British and Australian fleets when they picked up the signal. They were cheating. Usually do. The game is to let them think the rest of us don’t know it – and make sure we beat them anyway. Ask the Australians.’

  Dan grinned, and waited for David to continue.

  ‘The submarine was being crewed by six personnel recruited from Russia – contractors. Our analysts say they’re originally from Kazakhstan – recruited into the Russian Navy during the eighties, but freelance now. Bear in mind this is a shit job. They’re basically nursing an old second-hand diesel submarine to its graveyard.’ David leaned back in his chair. ‘The conditions on those old subs are dismal to begin with, so you can imagine what it’d be like in one on its last legs.’

  ‘Where was it travelling to?’ asked Dan.

  David shook his head. ‘The Indians won’t tell us – which isn’t surprising. No navy in the world would divulge where it decommissions its old fleet – it wouldn’t want other countries trying to gain access to gather intelligence about the onboard systems.’

  Dan leaned back in his chair, stared at the ceiling and rubbed at the stubble forming on his chin. ‘So, they steal a submarine, strike a ship at Ras Laffan – then what?’

  David put the briefing document to one side and pulled out another folder from the briefcase. He extracted a sheet of paper and laid it on the table in front of Dan and Mitch.

  ‘Thirty-six hours ago, Israeli intelligence picked up a faint signal at these coordinates.’

  Dan frowned, picked up the document, handed it to Mitch and looked at David.

  ‘That’s the Cairo end of the Suez Canal.’

  Mitch whistled. ‘Is that even possible?’

  Dan nodded. ‘Evidently so. The sub must’ve piggy-backed onto the wake of a large ship, stayed just under the surface, and escaped into the Mediterranean.’

  David took the document from Mitch and put it back in the folder, which he slipped back into the briefcase, before putting the case on the floor between his feet.

  ‘So, what do you want us to do?’ asked Dan.

  David sighed. ‘Take a look at what we’ve got so far then tell me where you think we need to go next. Whatever we do, it has to be quick, effective, but subtle – we don’t want to start a pitched battle if we can manage this covertly.’

  He stood up, indicating their meeting was over. ‘And if I haven’t made the urgency of the situation clear enough for you, I’ll remind you that we could have a rogue submarine on the loose…’

  David broke off as the door burst open and a man stormed into the room, brushing a light dusting of snow off his shoulders. He glanced around the pub, saw the three men sitting in the corner and rushed over to the table, thrusting a note at David.

  ‘You’ve got to see this,’ he said. ‘We just took a call from that maritime museum.’

  David read the note quickly and passed it to Dan.

  ‘My god,’ he said. ‘That’s a stroke of luck.’

  ‘What just happened?’ demanded Mitch.

  Dan held up the note. ‘The museum curator just phoned. He was sitting at home watching the BBC news when a story came on about the UK and US wanting more sanctions against Iran. The BBC managed to get an interview with the current Iranian delegate holed up at the Omani embassy. Hastings swears blind the man they interviewed is the same man who called him about the Oscar six months ago.’

  ‘Right,’ said David. ‘Back to the office. Now.’

  ***

  ‘Hassan Nazari,’ Philippa began. ‘Started his career doing a stint in the Revolutionary Guards and then side-stepped into a minor Government role. Worked his way up into the diplomatic corps. First posting was in Jordan in 2001. After that he disappeared from view for fourteen months, and then reappeared in Tangiers in 2009.

  ‘What does he actually do at the embassy?’ asked Dan.

  Philippa flicked through her notes. ‘He’s one of two Iranians allowed to enter the country to assist with consular activities – passports, family law issues such as divorce and marriages, et cetera,’ she said. ‘Since the British Government closed the Iranian embassy in 2010, any approved diplomats are only allowed into the UK for a short period of time before they have to leave again. It’s supposed to make it difficult for them to establish any sort of covert relationship outside their embassy duties.’

  ‘Okay, here’s what I want you to do,’ said David. ‘Have a look the movement on his diplomatic passport – and those of anyone in his office. He’s up to something, and I want to know what.’

  Chapter 20

  Hassan looked out at the grey snow-laden skies from his office window, his mind racing. His UK visa renewal application had stalled, with the British Government refusing to comment on whether the current arrangements which allowed him temporary visits into the country would be extended.

  The Omanis, whose embassy he was currently restricted to, were being equally opaque about the situation.

  He rubbed a hand over his eyes and turned back to the room after hearing a soft knock on the door.

  ‘Come in,’ he said.

  He lowered himself into his chair as Fahd Baqir entered the room, closing the door behind him. As the other man sat down, Hassan considered his options once more, and found them to be limited.

  ‘I just heard the news from the Omanis,’ said Baqir. ‘It would seem our plan to use your Maltese connections to enable you to circumvent the British visa conditions may be under threat?’

  Hassan scowled. ‘Not that it is any concern of yours.’

  Baqir lowered his head. ‘My apo
logies Hassan. I only seek your assurances we will not lose our advantage. I respectfully remind you that we must proceed within the next three days if we are to succeed with your plans.’

  Hassan held up his hand. ‘I know. And I appreciate your dedication to our cause. Do you have any progress to report?’

  The other man leaned back in his chair. ‘Not as much as I would like. The prisoner is still suffering from the after-effects of the drugs. It has required an extreme amount of… patience… just to ascertain he has been working on the English facility’s computer systems.’

  ‘That’s good,’ said Hassan. ‘So now find out exactly what he’s doing with them.’

  Baqir sighed. ‘Hassan, with respect, the man is not going to give up information like that without an element of persuasion.’

  Hassan eased himself out of his chair and began to pace the carpet. He glanced at the office door to make sure it was closed before he spoke.

  ‘You’d have to be careful,’ he said quietly. ‘Do not employ your usual heavy-handiness from the outset, understand?’

  ‘Hassan – you either want fast results, or you don’t.’

  ‘Surely you have other… techniques… you can try before going down that path?’

  Baqir shrugged. ‘I suppose so – but fire is always an excellent motivator, as is electricity…’ He stopped and smiled, noticing Hassan flinch. ‘I didn’t realise you were so squeamish, honoured friend.’

  Hassan shook his head to clear the images in his head. ‘I’ve seen the remains of your handiwork before, Baqir. I wouldn’t want this man to die before we unlock the secrets his mind holds.’

  ‘How is the submarine team progressing?’ asked Baqir. ‘You need this information before they reach their target, or everything you’ve set in motion will be in vain.’

  Hassan frowned. ‘I phoned the villa an hour ago. They’ll finish putting supplies on board within the next thirty-six hours. I’m due to fly back this evening. They’re currently doing the work of a sixty man crew remember, so it’s taking a little longer than expected.’

  ‘Especially since one of those crew members is now at the bottom of the sea,’ said Baqir. His eyes gleamed as Hassan glared at him. ‘And you have the audacity to imply I am evil.’

  Hassan smiled. ‘I had a good teacher,’ he said.

  Baqir inclined his head in acknowledgement, and watched as Hassan sat back down, steepling his fingers under his chin, deep in thought.

  After a moment, Hassan raised his eyes to meet Baqir’s gaze.

  ‘Can you get that information out of him?’

  The other man pushed his chair back and stood up. ‘If you leave it to my judgement to determine the best techniques to obtain it, yes.’

  Hassan closed his eyes. ‘Then get back to the safe house,’ he said, ‘and begin.’

  Chapter 21

  David’s face was grim as the team filed back into the conference room. He paced next to the head of the table, his brow knotted, while Dan and the others settled into their seats.

  He bent down and shared a murmured conversation with Sheik Al-Shahiri as the last person entered the room and closed the door. The Sheik glanced at him, nodded once, and looked around the gathered team as David took his place at the head of the table and opened the meeting.

  ‘Right, Philippa – what have your analysts managed to find out?’ he asked.

  Philippa pushed her glasses up her nose before handing out a one-page biography of Hassan Nazari. ‘This is just a cheat sheet to help everyone familiarise themselves with our lead suspect,’ she explained.

  ‘We’ve been talking to the Border Agency section of the Home Office. It would appear that Nazari does have a limited diplomatic presence here in the UK. Using what records they have, we can ascertain that he spends four to five days per month here in the UK on embassy obligations, but he seems to have established a household in Malta on the north-east coast of the island for the remainder of his time in Europe, rather than fly all the way back to Tehran.’

  Dan leaned forward, Hassan’s biography in one hand. ‘You said ‘what records they have’ – what does that mean?’

  Philippa sighed and leaned back in her chair. ‘The Border Agency only has computerised records for exit and entry dates using major airports,’ she said. ‘The Ministry of Defence has long been complaining about the fact the UK doesn’t have effective border controls at smaller airfields around the country.’

  ‘So Hassan could be a lot more active here in the UK than the official records suggest?’ said David.

  Philippa nodded. ‘Unfortunately, yes.’

  ‘How is he financing himself?’ asked David. ‘Can we pinpoint that his activities are being supported by the Iranian Government?’

  Philippa shook her head and checked her notes before answering. ‘Not yet. The Government funds he receives are in line with what we’d expect. Though, as a diplomat, he has to declare all non-Government funding too. This is where we found an anomaly which might help us. He appears to draw down large sums of money from a bank account in the name of a charity set up for earthquake victims. As you know, Iran has been prone to several destructive earthquakes over the years, and it seems the charity was established five years ago to provide temporary housing and other assistance to those affected. Hassan is one of the registered patrons.’

  ‘How often are those withdrawals made?’ asked Dan.

  ‘We’ve got a couple of our forensic accountants onto it,’ said Philippa. ‘There have been two large withdrawals in the past three weeks – one in Iran itself, the other was arranged through an intermediary in Sicily.’

  ‘Which is only a ferry trip from Malta,’ said Dan.

  ‘Have you found out where the money went?’ asked the Sheik.

  ‘No,’ said Philippa. ‘In both instances, they were cash withdrawals. Hassan seems to be able to avoid any money-laundering investigations by utilising the charity’s funds.’

  David leaned forward, and took a sip of coffee before turning to Dan.

  ‘Okay, Taylor – what did you come up with?’

  Dan cleared his throat before speaking. ‘I caught up with Philippa once she’d established the Malta connection and I’ve spent the last hour going through online newspaper articles to see how much of a public presence Hassan keeps in Malta. Basically – none whatsoever. He’s very private, almost elusive, so we then started to look for any activities which could be linked to his villa’s location on the north-east coast.’

  He handed out copies of a newspaper clipping to the team. ‘This is a small article from a community newsletter published three months ago, warning locals not to approach the property as the track leading up to it had been subject to heavy rain over the autumn and there was a risk of landslides.’

  ‘Establishing a no-go zone?’ suggested David.

  ‘Exactly,’ said Dan. ‘I kept hunting, and found a couple of paragraphs in another local paper about a yacht which hadn’t shown up as planned at a marina late last week.’

  He held up another newspaper article. ‘The captain and the luxury yacht he skippered was reported missing two days ago – it wouldn’t have caught my attention except it mentions the area where they disappeared is extremely deep water and the authorities don’t expect to be able to salvage his boat.’ He paused. ‘It’s a perfect location for hiding a submarine, and it’s the coastline next to Hassan’s villa. I want to get out there and take a look myself. See if there’s anything the newspaper or the authorities missed.’

  David turned back to the table in the centre of the room and inspected the articles laid out on the surface. He picked up his coffee and tapped the side of the cup, deep in thought.

  ‘What aerial surveillance have we managed to establish?’ he asked.

  ‘At such short notice, very little,’ said Dan, ‘but Mitch has a team talking to the Americans and some of our European allies at the moment to try to get some satellite coverage as soon as possible.’

  David nodded. ‘Go
od. Tell him if he needs my input to let me know straight away.’

  ‘Will do.’ Dan sat back in his chair and drummed his fingers on the table briefly before continuing. ‘I really want to get out there, David – take a look on the ground. There’s only so much we’re going to achieve from here.’

  ‘It’s also going to be the only place we’re going to stand a chance of installing some recording devices,’ added Philippa. ‘There’s absolutely no way the Omanis will let us install anything in Hassan’s rooms at the embassy.’

  ‘If you’re going to be investigating this I want my own people involved,’ said the Sheik, leaning forward on the table.

  David frowned. ‘I’d have to clear it with a higher authority,’ he said. ‘Who do you have in mind?’

  ‘My daughter, Antonia,’ said the Sheik.

  ‘Your daughter?’ said Dan. ‘What experience does she have?’ He turned to David. ‘I won’t have time to act as a babysitter,’ he growled.

  The Sheik leaned back in his chair. ‘She excelled in computer programming at university – you’re going to need someone to help guide you through our systems and help with the investigation into how they were hacked.’

  ‘So she can work from here then,’ said Dan, satisfied.

  The Sheik shook his head. ‘If you want my full cooperation, she goes with you.’ He held up his hand to silence Dan, who had begun to argue. ‘I want to be kept informed of your progress at all times,’ he said. Turning to David, he shrugged his shoulders. ‘He’s still an unknown quantity to me,’ he explained, nodding towards Dan.

  ‘Dan’s got a point though,’ said David. ‘He’ll have enough to do without making sure your daughter remains safe.’

  ‘Antonia is an excellent markswoman and has studied karate for several years. She’s easily as resilient as her three older brothers. She is due to fly into Heathrow this afternoon from Doha. I can direct her to meet Taylor in Malta instead. I have to return to Ras Laffan tonight to inspect the salvage efforts,’ the Sheik said, then pointed at Dan. ‘Antonia goes with him.’